tampered | Log; complete

Log; complete

When; 9/21/08, day of the clothing-switch curse
Rating; R
Characters; Kurosaki Nagare

snakeintheveins, Tatsumi Seiichiro

kageseii
Summary; The snake god appears.
Log; Nagare's measured breaths were the only sound in the room. In; out... he focused on the hands upturned on his knees, shutting away the various aches of his weakening body, allowing tension to ebb away. Today's curse was as foolish as usual; a woman's dress for a form that was still female. He had chosen to forgo the humiliation of donning it; that, however, left him confined to his room for lack of anything else to wear.

A sick twinge threw off the rhythm of his breath. He abandoned the effort at meditation, stretching his legs out in preparation to stand and walk over to the computer that was his connection to this strange world.

He never got that far. The sensation mutated, tearing through him as an angry, all too familiar voice whispered in his ears.

Your body has changed, but I know that blood.

Nagare bit back a sound of horror, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Not here. After more than a month without the curse manifesting, he had begun to hope it would not strike him here-

Yatonogami's scaled form twisted into existence before him, and the room seemed smaller as Nagare forced himself to remain still, not to flinch in the face of that monstrous bulk. It reached out to touch him, and his will abruptly broke. He began to scramble back away from it, and the touch became an iron grip on his waist, his legs, pressing him down against the floor. He coughed, blood filling his mouth, as he felt his skin crack and separate into scales, blood oozing between them. At least his bandages had remained; at least there was something to soak up the blood. It would be a shame to stain Tatsumi's floor.

That filthy blood... The grip moved, tightened. Stroked. Nagare bit his lip hard at the jolt of sensation, fresh blood joining the brackish wash in his mouth. He could not scream - was Tatsumi here? - could not let this be seen.

It touched him again, and he coughed, his spittle red on the bandages and on his lips. The floor might be stained after all, he thought, straining for breath. What a shame.

So stoic, Yatonogami hissed, and moved. Splitting pain, tainted with just enough pleasure to sicken him. Nagare lost control again, writhing against the iron grip. He screamed.

The snake god's laugh filled his ears.

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He had not heard much from Nagare in a while for the day, and the day was a very slow one for a bank. That was the main reason he did from-home work on Sundays - although his priorities had shifted a bit with a guest in the apartment. It had nothing to do with the still-different form he now sported, and he kept reminding himself that, even if he had recently bought official yet decidedly more feminine clothing for work. White button-downs and dark pencil skirts were as close to normalcy as he could get, especially when he reminded himself that it might last longer. At the least, it wasn't as awkward when Nagare was concerned.

There again he stood right at the door, tea at the ready in case. If it were the case in which his guest would not want any, well, there would be more for himself in his work-related reveries. And only knocking once, as per custom, he then opened the door.

"Nagare-dono, I--"

But he was interrupted. What he saw was not what he had expected. Blood, and another sentient being, and... it was enough foer those hands to slacken. Within seconds - even though it felt like an eternity - a heavy clatter, a dull metallic thud, and the breaking of china accompanied the scene.

It felt as though he had been suspended in motion for the time being.

The knock had fallen unheard, and the voice, but the crash of china startled Nagare enough to force his eyes open. He stared up at Tatsumi, looking almost like his normal self in neat white shirt and dark skirt. This - this was just what he hadn't wanted to happen - he was suddenly intensely aware of the scene, of himself lying helpless, bandaged, bloody, and -

And Yatonogami was not vanishing, nor was it releasing him. He choked on his own breath, on the blood welling again in his mouth, as it moved once more, grip coiling even tighter. Would it crush the life out of him here? He was surprised how strongly his heart rebelled against the idea. No, not when there were things he could do; not when he would only return as a cold zombie; not when he still had not truly spoken to Hisoka.

Scream, the god's ghost invited, leaning over him as its chill touch invaded his body. He tried to bite back the noise, but did not - entirely - succeed. Feel him watching you. No one can help you. I could tear that ivory skin apart right now...

Nagare closed his eyes, burning with humiliation as much as agony, and screamed.

The scream broke him from that surrealism. Blood, tentacles, bandages stained with carmine, and - the scream took him from that paralysed state of action. Something had to be done. Something. And it was time for a quick decision. Had to do something, just had to-

He glowered right then, finally tapping into the shadows that he had just remembered were at his disposal. This had to be that curse Nagare was talking about. It had to be that vengeful god - there were ways to make it stop, and it had to. A breath, and then his expression hardened.

Several shadow spears had begun their trajectory towards the thing that was causing that horrendous scream. Seek and destroy.

A breath, as the pain receded for a second, and Nagare spat blood again as he forced his eyes open. He wanted to know what was happening. Didn't want to know. Had to know. His vision was clouded by the water that stood in his eyes, but still he could see the snake's shape twisting to face Tatsumi in the doorway, see something dark tearing into it as it uttered a splitting yowl.

And then it was gone, pain tearing through him again as it sought its hiding place in his cursed blood.

Nagare curled into a ball, abused limbs slow to respond but moving at last. He couldn't manage another sound; his throat ached from the screams, and as the pain ebbed the shame of having this witnessed welled up to replace it. His eyes closed again, denying the situation despite everything.

It was almost too easy. The shadows ripped right through that alien being, and within seconds, it had disappeared. A slow, steady disappearance, but it had left. The shadows at his feet ceased to eddy about in an erratic pool, once more returning to their usual shape and keeping as still as their owner. All Tatsumi could do for a while was stare, breathing shallowly as he attempted to recollect his calm reserves.

But when a bloodied sight, a huddled mass shaking and rocking slowly before his eyes, was what he was confronted with, he found it was too difficult to resist rushing to the other's side and falling into a kneel. He would not reach out to touch just yet. He would not cry. But he had to do something.

All he could manage after several moments of silence was a gasp of breath; then the words left him in a voice quieter than it should have been. "Nagare-dono...."

There was no helping it. Nagare felt nothing but exhaustion for a long moment: if only he could just rest. But no. He opened his eyes, not moving otherwise - what slim modesty the bandages afforded was, at least, aided by his tightly curled posture. Little need for modesty though there was after what Tatsumi had just seen, he clung to it.

"Tatsumi-san." His voice was weak but steady, the emotion draining away as he forced himself to face reality again. The Kurosaki head would not show... any more weakness than he had to.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." The thank you he left unspoken. Weakness... he felt he was nothing but, and if he showed it now he might crumble to nothing.

He could even ignore the entire lack of modesty. There wasn't anything to think besides of what pain the patriarch could have felt... and what would have happened had he not have opened that door? The thought was enough to send shivers through Tatsumi. But the blood... he was getting odd thoughts from just seeing it. There, again, was something that had to be done. He frowned, rising to his feet soundlessly and exiting the room. Had to do something.

A moment later, he returned, a first-aide kit in tow. "Nagare-dono, your bandages...." The moment he set the kit down and knelt, Tatsumi rolled up those white sleeves and began looking for the gauze. Something had to be done, even if his hands were a little shakier than he liked. Instantly, he willed them to steady. No room for that nonsense - not when someone else was truly in pain.

Nagare lifted a hand to touch the bandages, then stared at the bright smear on his fingertips, only half comprehending. Yes... yes, of course. He shifted, uncurling a little, searching for the end of the bandages. There, tucked under another at his side. His fingers wouldn't curl normally quite yet, but on the second try he managed to pull it free.

The cloth stuck a little, but sagged and slid away from his torso enough to reveal the scales marking his skin. They would fade again, eventually, the raw flesh between them healing; he knew the pattern by now. He wondered how it might look to Tatsumi's fresh eyes.

No, he would not think of that. One thing at a time; the pain was fading a tiny bit between movements, and he let himself fall still again, taking refuge from it for a moment.

For a while, Tatsumi was apprehensive of coming any closer than the metre that separated them both. The man had gone through considerable pain, it seemed, and it looked like blood had just haemorrhaged from his body. Not only that, but finally, decency crept back into the situation... Nagare still was not quite himself in physique, and the bandages were a bit scant. Finally, though, that mantra repeated intself in his mind and he approached cautiously, finally right beside Nagare with an expression of concern.

The scales had to have hurt quite badly - and not just physically. That was what the bandages were for....

"You...," he started, a hand hovering over Nagare's shoulder before firmly lying there. Reassurance - I'm here - that was what he wanted to convey. "You need those replaced." He felt like he was speaking in autopilot now. Hopefully... nothing bad would be said.

He flinched at the touch, but did not pull away. It was reassuring. Strange that a touch - even though it hurt, on the recently cracked flesh - could be reassuring.

"Yes," he murmured. His hands moved more smoothly now as the shock receded. He kept his gaze downcast, beginning to unwind the bloodstained cloth. "Yes, thank you." Between both his hands, it was not impossible to remove the bandages. Usually he would have waited a little longer than this before changing them; until he was able to move again... but it had not been so bad this time. Not gone quite so far.

He swallowed back the impulse to thank Tatsumi again, for more than the medical help, and steadied the tremble in his hands.

The bandages were almost too mesmerising to stop looking - white, then splatters of red, then pure carmine, then back again. But then he remembered that the fresh gauze was in his hands, and those bandages would take a while to get off. Or so it seemed. The gauze then lie at his side and his hands moved to retrieve the now soiled bandages as Nagare was unwinding them. "You don't need to strain yourself further."

And soon the blood, too, stained his fingertips. But there was antiseptic to clean all that off.

Tatsumi carefully avoided staring directly at Nagare, even at the wounds. It would be too personal. "This... this was the family curse..." It was more of a half-whisper to himself, though it was still within Nagare's earshot. Again, still on that autopilot, and he almost thought he'd need another scream to jolt himself from that.

Nagare let his hands fall away from the bandages as Tatsumi began to help. In this condition, he would only be in the other man's way. It left nothing for him to do with his hands, though. Discomfort made him tense, though he was grateful for Tatsumi's refusal to look at the wounds. He was vulnerable enough, like this; exposed enough. The shreds of dignity that Tatsumi's reticence allowed him were a welcome gift.

And then those words. Nagare closed his eyes. For the first time in a while, he was reminded that Tatsumi was his son's co-worker as well; perhaps friend. This curse had more than one face to him, even if Hisoka's young death had spared him its full manifestation.

"Yes," he whispered in return.

And then, finally, the bandages had stopped. Now came the issue of actually having to look at the wounds. Here came the difficult part - and it would technically be safe, considering they both were the same sex, but... Tatsumi sighed, taking the risk of looking directly at Nagare. There was something about it all nagging him - the blood, the vulnerability - but he had shoved that aside as soon as he again reached into the first-aide kit.

"Nagare-dono... you are all right...?" He had no idea how else to ask if he was feeling any worse pain. Stock phrases were coming too easily, and he was certain it was safe enough to say. It still nagged him, somehow. "You'll need antiseptic for that," he muttered aloud, setting the bottle down and reaching for some cotton swabs. He had to explain why he would be doing what he would be next - the only medication for the pain of potential humiliation that could come.

Eyes closed, Nagare nodded, hands resting on his knees. He couldn't help but flush with embarrassment as his lack of clothing impressed itself upon him again. Even just a yukata - even a sheet would have been welcome. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he forced himself to be calm. Antiseptic. After all, Tatsumi had been masquerading as a doctor's assistant when he first met the man; this was nothing out of the ordinary.

The man was not a doctor's assistant, though; nor his servant. This was kindness acting. A knot that had nothing to do with his injuries clogged Nagare's throat for a moment.

"...Well enough," he managed in response to Tatsumi's question. What was there to say?

Edited 2008-09-22 01:26 (UTC)

He willed himself not to blush - now he had to apply antiseptic to, essentially, a naked woman. That was not what he had planned on his agenda, and he certainly did not think he would ever come across a situation like this in reference to the Kurosaki patriarch. Get a grip, Seiichirou. And dutifully he poured some antiseptic onto the cotton pad and then began to dab at the wounds.

Just doing a job. That's all it is. Those words repeating in his head were what kept him from outright panicking at the impropriety of the situation - that and reminding himself that it technically was quite all right.

"This will sting a little." A precursor to the inevitable sting, and he continued to dab off all the blood at the wounds. There would be a bit of sting to it all, and perhaps not just because of the hydrogen peroxide. Tatsumi frowned at it - again, the impropriety was far too impractical for this situation.

The sting was nothing, really. It was the touch that had Nagare hiding another flinch. He steeled himself to ignore it. Tatsumi was helping, after all. The faster this went, the faster he could find some clothing to wrap himself in and get out of this room. His eyes fell to the splatters of blood marking the floor; the bandages had done little good, it seemed. Yes, he would be glad to get out of here. He felt almost as if he could smell Yatonogami's ghost in the air here. False, he knew; it was in him, not in the room.

He would accept the foolishness if it got him out of here. He kept his eyes on the bloodspatter, kept himself calm and unmoving. And, for fear of what he might say if he allowed himself to, he kept his mouth firmly shut.

It gradually became easier to ignore the awkwardness of the situation, and soon Tatsumi was only thinking of the strangeness once every minute. The wounds were slowly becoming cleaner - eventually, they were all cleaned with the peroxide. There still was that matter of the sticky blood everywhere else. He had to stay strong for this - it would be too insulting to crack when the other was the one to suffer.

Silently, he reached for the distilled water and cloth - that would get the blood off, and then the actual bandaging could come.

"Please tell me when it's enough," he helpfully supplemented. Less blood... that was the objective now.

Nagare was tempted to tell the other man that it was enough already. Though Tatsumi seemed less nervous, he was feeling more and more uncomfortable, more naked, with every moment that passed. But it was true that the blood needed to be washed away.

That did not mean that he had to endure too much more of this in silence. He reached out to take the cloth from Tatsumi.

"Let me," he murmured, hoping that Tatsumi would not insist on helping.

He hadn't really expected the other to interject just like that. Really, it was more politesse than an actual request, but of course it wasn't he who had endured what he merely saw. It was just wiping off the blood - it was essential, and in some cases Nagare himself could do it far better. He reluctantly handed the cloth over, allowing Nagare to continue. Silently, he left once more - of course, Nagare needed something to wear besides bandages.

And after a short intermission, he returned, bringing one of his old button-downs; it was one that he had had, a bit too large for himself, but he had worn it anyway. It certainly would do for Nagare with a thinner physique. Gently, he set that aside, far from the soiled bandages. But then he realised something.

"Nagare-dono... you can't reach your back."

Nagare had done his best, hurrying to finish before his host returned. Of course, though, what Tatsumi said was true; he could feel the remaining blood drying on his back. He stopped himself from reaching for the shirt, instead handing over the now-bloodstained cloth with a murmur of apology. His back, and then fresh bandages and a shirt. And by then he should be fine. He swallowed again, the wounds throbbing as he shifted to make it easier for Tatsumi to reach his back.

And, of course, when Nagare shifted, Tatsumi kept his stare away and waited until he heard no more shifting. And this time, he had much less to be concerned about - it wasn't a frontal view, which made it so much easier to focus. He took the cloth, once more systematically wiping the blood off with the efficiency of a true nurse.

Once that was done, well... the bandages now. "It's almost done now," he commented reassuringly. Now it was time to apply the bandages - it would have been such a shame to get his shirt stained with blood. This would be a bit more awkward than the antiseptic. But he still reached for the gauze and began to wrap around... of course, cautiously pausing with the gauze held out in case Nagare himself wanted to wrap at the front.

"Thank you," Nagare murmured again, almost on autopilot himself by now. The shock of the situation was fading, and he found it easier to feign calm over the tiredness that took its place.

He reached out to take the gauze when Tatsumi offered, though, tiredness or no. He was long used to wrapping his own bandages by now, and the movements were reflexive despite the differences in his chest. The gauze, dry though it was, wasn't too painful against his raw skin. Better than antiseptic; not as comforting as the help of another, somehow. But more normal. That was what was important now; normality. He just needed to find his balance again.

It had been too long since Yatonogami's last attack. That must be the problem. He had grown used to a normal life as Tatsumi's ailing houseguest, had almost forgotten his role as the bearer of the Kurosaki curse.

He tucked the end of the gauze in at his waist, hands moving automatically.

Nagare clearly had had experience with the bandages - it answered the question as to who was responsible for the bandages that now lie in a semi-bloodied pile. Tatsumi almost felt a little helpless in this situation - Nagare seemed so self-sufficient, despite the condition in which he was. It was a bit of a sad sight, really - like a painful struggle.

He sighed, deciding he could at least do as much as to help with the shirt. Soon it was on the other's back, and he soon had it on to the point of even buttoning up the shirt. "I really don't want you to overexert yourself," he explained calmly, still fluidly moving to button the shirt up. Once he was satisfied, he paused, now wondering what else to do.

That spilt tea, the shattered china on the floor, was just barely visible through that doorway, and somehow it seemed too powerful an image to really stare at. "Would you like me to bring more tea?" he asked after a long period of more silence and a frown of consternation.

Tatsumi's help surprised him, but he did not object after the first surprised look. After all, he had bandaged himself; and here he was, clothed finally, the fresh wounds aching under the gauze... normal. Normal indeed. How long would pass before the snake god's ghost made its next routine visit?

He shifted, pressing a hand over his face. At least neither hand nor face bore wounds. That touch did not hurt.

Laughter tempted him - mad laughter, he knew how it would sound without even opening his mouth. Was he so used to dealing with this on his own that having Tatsumi's help was too much to bear? Or was it only the month of rest after all? And how much closer had this sent him sliding towards death... a sound escaped him, almost the threatening laugh, but not quite.

How strange. His face was unwounded, and yet he could feel warm liquid against his fingertips.

After a while, Nagare didn't answer - again, Tatsumi's stare was focused on that shattered tea set, and then he looked again. But he now saw tears. He visibly stiffened, gasping a bit and a small look of panic in his eyes showed. Tears, and there was a good reason for them, he knew. But, at last, he could see what it was that had been bothering him about this entire sight.

The tears... and he knew that naturally, Nagare wasn't a woman, but it still made it stick out even more... and the disappointment - was it that? He had seen something like this before... and he wanted to also tell Nagare not to cry. Something was getting in his way, though.

Mother...

The second person to ever bring this reaction deep within Tatsumi, and it wasn't any easier the second time around. Silently, out of pure instinct, he reached for the tears on the other's cheeks to swipe them away. He still couldn't speak, but the expression probably said far more than he himself could.

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