Akira "chaotic extra" Kurusu [Jᴏᴋᴇʀ] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
purrtagonist) wrote2017-12-31 08:16 pm
purrtagonist) wrote2017-12-31 08:16 pm
Entry tags:
[Day 10, night: Ichigo; CW: lots of blood and injuries]
[secret AGENT man plays in the background]
[their agreed meeting spot is in the hallway of the dormitory wing, halfway between each of their rooms. Akira quietly hopes no one else stumbles across him while he waits for Ichigo to arrive, because he sure does look suspicious. mostly because he had managed to fish out a replica of his thieving outfit from his closet, mask and all. but hey, gotta wear the right outfit if your plan is to sneak around, right?]
[he waits, arms folded, back leaning up against the wall, right foot propped up at his side. his mask, at least, is pushed to the top of his head. and he isn't wearing glasses]
[and for the first time, he's wearing the kitchen knife he pilfered openly at his waist. hello, Ichigo. someone is ready and raring to go]
[their agreed meeting spot is in the hallway of the dormitory wing, halfway between each of their rooms. Akira quietly hopes no one else stumbles across him while he waits for Ichigo to arrive, because he sure does look suspicious. mostly because he had managed to fish out a replica of his thieving outfit from his closet, mask and all. but hey, gotta wear the right outfit if your plan is to sneak around, right?]
[he waits, arms folded, back leaning up against the wall, right foot propped up at his side. his mask, at least, is pushed to the top of his head. and he isn't wearing glasses]
[and for the first time, he's wearing the kitchen knife he pilfered openly at his waist. hello, Ichigo. someone is ready and raring to go]
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[and for a moment Akira, too, fears the worst, his heart immediately lodging itself into his throat. until he feels Ichigo yanking at his shoulder, trying to pull him to his feet, and he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. thank fuck]
[Akira scrambles up with little resistance, but his injured leg is no good. he braces himself on the wall again, limping froward much more slowly than before. the death machine whirs on]
Next time I fall, keep going. Don't let me slow you down!
[god he hopes they're heading in the right direction. they've been. . . lucky-ish so far, but the longer they're in here, the greater the probability that one of those traps hits something deadly rises]
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[The conviction in his voice rings out, clear as day - because to leave Akira behind would be like leaving his own heart behind, his own ideals and morals. He would never let himself run when a friend needed him, let alone someone so important to him as Akira, someone who he;s realized he's in love with.
He takes the lead again, careful to keep pace with Akira, not wanting him to fall behind. His arm feels out along the wall, every movement feeling like it takes a year while the machine ominously rumbles and clacks and buzzes - and when his fingertips finally brush against a corner of the room, he nearly feels like yelling in relief.]
Okay, we're at a corn-
[BANG.
This time, a pain unlike any he's ever suffered before thrums up his spine - he's never been shot before. The wall behind him is painted red yet again, the dull whrr of the bullet boring into plaster somehow loud in his ears. It's sharp and somehow hot, the pain - and he can feel blood leaking onto his hip from the bullet hole in his side, the bullet having passed straight through, somehow missing anything vital but still having punched through his flesh.
He bites down a scream, bodily tugging Akira to the other wall he's felt is there, making sure his back is against it before forcing himself to move again.]
Hurry...The - The door has to be close...!
[Akira is the only one who can open it, out of the two of them. He has to make it there, above all else.]
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[he pushes away from the wall-- mistake number two, if breaking into this room is considered mistake number one-- and steps in front of Ichigo, hand grasping one of his shoulders.]
Hey--! Where did it hit you?!
[please say nowhere vital, please say nowhere vital]
[though it's with those words playing on repeat in his head that Akira's second mistake becomes apparent. metal grinds rhythmically behind him, something sharp dragging across something dull, before it whooshes through the air--]
[it catches Akira on the back, from his shoulder to his waist, just to the right of his spine, tearing through his jacket and skin and muscle. any further left, and it probably would have been a far deadlier blow. with a strangled cry of pain caught in his throat, he pitches forward with the force of the blow until his forehead is pressed against Ichigo's shoulder and he's heaving in deep, startled gasps of air. warm liquid seeps through what remains of his jacket, pooling at the hem of his pants at his waist]
[fuck]
[it burns. worse than the bullet grazing on his cheek. worse than the injury on his leg. it burns, and his vision swims, and yet he pushes himself through it to tug against Ichigo's shoulder again]
Come on--
[don't let Akira's concern let him get taken off guard again]
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[He's too late, too late to react as the blade swings down and slashes home, feeling Akira's head press against him (and his body against the wound on his chest, bringing with it another flash of pain that makes him see stars for a moment) and hearing him struggle for breath.
No. No, goddamnit - Ichigo might be used to this, used to being cut and hurt, but Akira's reaction to it tells him all he needs to know. Akira may be a thief, and used to fighting his way out of things, but not like this - and he'll be damned if he lets the person in front of him, the person he cares for so much, be hurt anymore than this.
He doesn't care about the traps anymore. He doesn't care that he might be killed trying to get them both out - all he cares about is getting Akira out, and getting him to safety. That's what propels him forward, half-dragging, half-carrying Akira forward, protecting him by placing him the closest to the wall while Ichigo is beside him, heedless of another blade swinging down on his shoulder and opening his flesh yet again or the noise of a gun going off and actually missing the two of them for once.
The feeling of the doorframe against his palm is so, so welcome, and he purposefully lets Akira go in front of it, standing in front of the thief at his full height instead of the hobbled crouch they'd been doing since they mistakenly entered this horrific room.]
Open it!! I'll cover you, just go!
[And while he's staring down an unknown enemy - the horrible machine that's taking its pound of flesh from both of them, regardless if they want it to or not - for the first time since he's woken up in this school - Ichigo finally, finally feels confident again, as tempered as it is through fear and pain.
Because if there's anything that he knows he can do, it's that he can protect.]
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[god, he wishes he has his Personas on him. he's suffered his fair share of horrible injuries inflicted by Shadows in the Metaverse, but each one of those had been treated with a quick Diarahan when capable. these? there's no quick fix for these. there's no shower of green sparkles that washes away the pain and clears his head for the battle ahead. he needs to push through, though. because Ichigo is doing too much, putting himself in too much danger, and Ichigo is counting on him to get them out of here alive]
[he stumbles, catches himself on the door when his fellow captive pushes him forward]
Damn it. . .!
[that's directed at Ichigo for once again putting himself in danger, but there isn't any time to protest. for a moment, he braces himself against the door, eyes slipping shut as he tries to focus through the pain, through the sound of his heart beating in his ears. and when he opens them again, he tilts his chin up, grabs the lockpick in his coat pocket, and crouches down to get to work]
[his fingers fumble. breaking out isn't going to be nearly as easy as breaking in. but he has someone relying on him, and he'll be damned if he lets him down]
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But as he stands there, blocking any attacks from reaching Akira, he closes his eyes - listening to the beat of his heart, aware that he's the only thing standing between death itself and someone he loves, a situation that's so achingly familiar to him - before expanding his senses, listening and waiting and feeling, waiting for the next trap to ready itself to fire, hand on the hilt of his broadsword.
The clack of another bullet rings out, and he moves, flinging his sword towards the sound - and the horrible grinding metallic screech that arises is like wonderful music to his ears. No gun shot rings out, and for a moment, he thinks he may have just disabled it.
Then sharp metal cuts through his left shoulder, and he learns that all he did was take out the gun.
Still, if he has to stand there and be slashed, he'll take it - and as the machine begins to reach the finale of it's overture of death, the punishments it triggers become faster and faster. Akira might feel blood splashing on the floor next to him, or even on him, but never hear anything more than pained hisses through clenched teeth as Ichigo dodges just enough to miss fatal blows.
One hits him on his shoulder again, making the wound there larger. A second chest blow leaves him with an 'x' on his torso. A nick on his neck, and on the right side of his face, his other arm gaining a slash to match the other one he'd gained earlier. A blow to his left hip has blood running down his leg, pooling at his feet. He nearly makes a noise when a blade runs along his shin, very nearly cutting to bone, his legs not spared from the attacks.
A shunk rings out as a flung knife digs into his uncut shoulder and he stumbles back for a second, raising a bloodied hand to pull it out and fling it back at the machine, stepping back resolutely, an immovable living wall.
He won't fall. He can't fall. Even if he's unable to dodge all the way, even if a fatal blow is delivered to him - he will stand tall until Akira finishes opening the door and escapes to safety.]
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Ichigo--
[yeah, he feels that. he hears it, and it just makes his heart race even more, makes him work all the more frantically on the lock despite the fact that his whole body is shaking. that he's desperately wishing their positions were reversed (they can't be, and he knows it, he's the only one of them who can pick a lock). that he's internally cursing himself for being so stupid, for encouraging Ichigo on like this, for putting him in so much danger]
[for likely being the reason that he dies when all of this is over. because even if none of those weapons hit something vital, there's blood loss to think about, and--]
[the lock clicks]
[the lock clicks, and Akira scrambles up onto his feet, ignoring the way that leaning on his injured calf sends pain coursing through his entire side]
I got it! Let's g--
[he reaches for the door handle. and finally, after all this time, the lights flicker on to reveal the metallic monster they're up against. a Rube Goldberg machine of death indeed, all clanking and grinding parts, some of the blades still dripping blood from the injuries they inflicted earlier]
[the lights flicker on, and Akira has enough time to see something glint in the air before a knife catches him in the back of the hand, pinning same right against the door before he can twist the knob]
[he swallows his cry of pain, but he can't help the way he has to hunch his shoulders and duck his head to do so. fucking ow]
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Those words alone send a shudder of relief through Ichigo, even though every little movement makes his wounds ache. The light is blinding when it flickers back on, and he only has enough time to see the machine he was up against, see the state of his tattered shihakusho on his frame and the blood splattered in the room, on the blades -
-Before a single thrown knife makes its way past him in his temporarily stunned and blinded state and pins Akira's hand to the door itself.
Instantly, he turns around - cursing himself for hesitating even a second when their situation changed, because hasn't it been drilled in him enough that to hesitate means death? Why did his resolve falter for even a second? He reaches out to take the knife out, so that they can both finally leave this room of death -
And then, he sees it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a blade come from the side, hilt attached to a iron bar with a sensor on it, lifted up for a vertical slash aimed directly at Akira's head, at the back of his neck-]
Akira!!
[He doesn't hesitate, like he did a moment ago. He's not fast enough to grab the knife and pull the teenager away from the door - that would most likely result in Akira losing at least a hand, if not being seriously or mortally wounded - So he does the only thing he can do.
He moves, time slowing down to a crawl as he shoves his body in front of the blade, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest as he prays for one thing, just one thing over all. Please, PLEASE, let me get there in time -
The blade falls.]
CW for future readers: eye gore
What was once fluid from the inside of his left eye -
The pain lances into him, drowning out his entire world, a scream forcing its way from his throat, unable to hold it back when he's just lost a part of one of his senses. His body collapses from under him, falling onto the floor hard, jostling his wounds that he can't even feel anymore as the intense agony lances into his skull, his brain.
The scream feels like it goes on forever, but it's only for a moment - then he lapses into silence and harsh gasps of air, unable to move from where he's fallen.]
1/2
[for a moment, he's frozen as if in tableau, watching Ichigo crumble to the ground. his fingers are curled around the knife in the door, prepared to yank it out (pain be damned), but much as he was on the day Santa was executed? he can't. . . bring himself to move]
[this is his fault]
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[you're braver than this, Kurusu. get your fucking act together!]
[the Rube Goldberg machine of death doesn't care too much for Akira's internal guilt monologue. it continues on, another gun (because there are many) leveling towards Akira right at eye level. the wheel behind it, the wheel that is ready to pull the trigger, spins on, and Akira knows he only has a few seconds to react. and this time, he won't be depending on anyone to protect him]
[with one last frustrated cry, he flexes his fingers around that knife hand and yanks it out of the wall, out of his hand. the blade has sliced through bone and tendons, and he can't feel his fingers, much less move them. but that's not nearly as important as dropping to the fucking ground as the gun cracks, the bullet whizzing past him, striking the door right where his head had been just one second earlier]
[there's no time to be grateful for that, though. Akira moves, expression grim and determined, and kicks the door to the room open. after that, he reaches out to hook his arm underneath Ichigo's and drag him the fuck out of there. they both trail blood as they go, but once they're past the threshhold?]
[Akira kicks the goddamn door shut again, sealing the death machine back inside]
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He rests for a moment against the door, just breathing - letting the pain dull from the adrenaline in his system, the agony shrinking down to simple burning and sharpness.]
...Got to....get help...
[Even like this, even down an eye and cut open from so many wounds, Ichigo only still worries about Akira - about the wound on his back, the new wound in his hand, the bullet wounds - and he begins to force himself, somehow, to get up, body shaking and slowly moving even as his skin begins to pale.]
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[but he can't pass out yet. not when there's someone who is so, so much worse of than him about to stand up, what the fuck Ichigo]
Shut up.
[Akira's voice is gruff, hoarse, full of gravel. he reaches out to slide his arm around Ichigo's shoulders, heedless of any injuries, heedless of his own pain, if only because his mind is so, so foggy that he can't really think about anything beyond keeping this stupid, self-sacrificial idiot from hurting himself more. with a surprisingly firm grip considering the circumstances, he pulls Ichigo flush against him, bundles him and his bloody self in his lap, and just. . .]
[sits there, trying not to tremble, trying to remain conscious]
Don't do. . . stupid shit, you moron. L. . . look at you. You're a mess.
cw: more eye gore
We're....going into...shock...
[How could they not? They've both lost enough blood, and the pain is overriding everything, even his own hazy thoughts. The adrenaline begins to fade, and everything is becoming so cold, as he can't keep his head up and rests it against Akira's shoulder, unknowingly revealing the extent of his facial wound to his partner.
The cuts on his forehead and cheek are bad, but it's plain to see even through the blood and open wound that his eye has been cut in half, now a useless dissected organ in his skull. Ichigo lifts a trembling hand, resting it on Akira's own (though not the one that had been pierced through by the knife), using what little strength he has left to squeeze it gently.]
I...I'm sorry, Akira...should've...
[He trails off, obviously fighting with himself to stay conscious - because if he falls asleep now, he may never wake up - despite the utter physical and mental impossibility it's becoming.]
...Please...live. That's....all I want...
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[don't apologize, don't sound so contrite, none of this is your fault! he wants to yell all of that until he loses his voice, but he's so. . . so tired. so tired that he's barely registering the mangled state of Ichigo's face, barely registering the fact that he's right about them going into shock. he just tightens his hold on his fellow captive's shoulders and inhales another sharp gasp]
[what a stupid night this has been]
I'm-- I'm gonna. I'm gonna
[he repeats that firmly, emphatically, because he knows he can't die here. dizziness, vertigo and pain-addled exhaustion aside]
But. . . you gotta. . . too.
[there's no making up for this mistake. there's nothing he can do to fix things. but Ichigo needs to live too, so he can at least try]
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...I'll...try.
[Like this, he can feel Akira's heart beginning to speed up as well, as blood loss takes its toll on them both. He wants to stay awake - he has to stay awake - but he just simply can't, and he hates it.
He hates that Akira was injured, that he couldn't stop that. Hates that they both might die here, alone in a corner of a floor that people might not get to until much later. He hates tha they're even in this situation, that things were bad enough that they ignored all warning signs and went in, sure that they could do something, that they could save everyone -
And he hates that he's taking so much comfort in their current state, thinking if he has to die, then he won't have to die alone, without someone he loves nearby.
He takes a rough breath, although his breathing has already slowed down, almost like he was falling asleep right there instead of passing out.]
A...ki...ra.
[His remaining eye finally closes, as he slips away into unconsciousness.]
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Hey--
[for the briefest of moments, panic cuts through his exhaustion, and he fumbles to press his good hand against Ichigo's neck to check for a pulse. he can feel it, rapid and weak, underneath his fingers. . . and for now. it's a small comfort]
[but only for now]
Damn it. . .
[his arms fall away from Ichigo's shoulders and to his sides, the last wave of panic-induced adrenaline fading, along with the final few threads of his consciousness. and the last thing to cross his mind before he fades out, the very last thought he has, is. . .]
What kind of. . . leader. . . gets his team killed. . . h-ha. [the laugh is so self-deprecating] Fffffuck. . .
[and, as though snipped apart by a pair of scissors, those threads of consciousness snap as Akira slips into a bloody darkness]
[good job, boys]