Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2017-10-12 12:51 am
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2017-10-12 12:51 am
[tri OOM] Week Six
It’s raining.
The torrential rain came from nowhere, the sky boiling with dark clouds as the summer heatwave broke into a storm, and Yamato and Sora -- the two of them wandering Odaiba, talking about anything that wasn’t what they were really thinking about -- had to take shelter.
They’ve been settled under a bus stop for ten minutes, with every attempt to leave hindered by the immediate, chilly realisation that by the time they get from where they’re standing to a habitable building, they’ll both be well on their way to a diagnosis of pneumonia.
They’re sitting silently in the rain when they hear it: A whistle, loud and sharp, splitting the air.
(Hikarigaoka. A green feathered parrot monster is advancing on an orange dinosaur, and Yamato watches through Takeru’s binoculars as a little girl, no more than five, Takeru’s age, blows feebly on a whistle until she’s coughing, and even he, an eight year old, knows it’s a stupid thing to do.
Then a boy with a mop of brown hair, dressed in his pyjamas, grabs the whistle from her, sucks in air, and blows, and the shrill noise is the loudest thing in the neighbourhood, louder than the television back in the Ishida household, louder than the Kido kid half a dozen windows along talking to the fire department on the phone, louder than the thudding stomps of the monster.
The dinosaur’s eyes snap open like it’s been hit with a million volts of electricity, and it rears up and releases a wave of white flame. Time hangs still for a moment, and in that strung out split second, Yamato feels a spot of cold against his chest, like a shard of ice buried under his skin.
Then the parrot and the dinosaur are gone, and there’s only the rubble, and next day his parents would be fighting again, and the news would be talking about a terrorist attack, and the memory of green feathers and a whistle would fade.)
Yamato’s breath catches in his throat, and he’s running into the rain before he can stop himself, and he half expects Sora to stop him, but she’s running as well, as madly as he is.
Diablomon teems.
There are more of him than Yamato can count. The squirming, black and orange bodies are crawling all over each other, a mass of glistening bodies, a great sphere surrounding everything, chanting over each other: “Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello …”
There’s MetalGarurumon and WarGreymon there, still and nearly lifeless, and Yamato and Taichi are falling towards them, even though they shouldn’t be here, there’s no way for them to be here.
“Listen,” Taichi says. “I don’t have a whistle to wake you, but I want you to know you’re not alone. I won’t let you fight alone. I’ll be here with you. I’ll be here with you.”
They stir, and Yamato feels his connection to Gabumon explode like a tree, until Taichi and Agumon are as close as Gabumon is, and then outwards further, branching across the world, drawing in more and more power until Omegamon is born.
There are more footsteps. Jyou and Mimi, Koushiro and Takeru, all running towards the source of the whistle, and then Taichi and Hikari as well, until they all reach where it was coming from.
Armagemon is dying, his body splitting into millions of Kuramon, all ready to reform again. It’s a nightmare that will never end.
Yamato doesn’t know where it comes from, but he hears the sharp noise of a whistle, and whether by the acoustics of the area or just the imagination, he hears the sound of the Digital World’s invisible train, and the clanking of the gears in the ancient ruins, and the rumbling noise of a digivice.
There’s a crowd raising their phones, and one by one, they capture every Kuramon, down to the last wriggling one of them. Just this once, when Gabumon and Agumon nearly died for them, the people can do something to help -- and they do, without questioning it. They save themselves.
There’s nothing there.
Yamato doesn’t know what he was expecting. It was just a whistle. Any kid could have blown it. There aren’t any Digimon there to greet them. It was nothing.
But they’re all there anyway. All eight of them, and now there’s no point pretending that they can just leave things as they are, not when there are eight idiots standing in the middle of the rain, chasing whistling noises.
“Taichi-san,” Koushiro starts.
“‘Someday,’ huh,” Taichi murmurs, and turns a smile up at the clouds. “If we keep waiting for ‘someday,’ we’ll have grown old before we know it.”
Yamato can’t help but smile. For the first time since this all started, he sees the Taichi Yagami he chose to follow: The idiot who sets his sights on whatever stupid goal he feels like, and lights the way for everyone else.
“Let’s go there,” Koushiro says. “Let’s go back to the Digital World.”
The sun breaks through the clouds, and for the first time all summer, Yamato can feel its warmth.
The torrential rain came from nowhere, the sky boiling with dark clouds as the summer heatwave broke into a storm, and Yamato and Sora -- the two of them wandering Odaiba, talking about anything that wasn’t what they were really thinking about -- had to take shelter.
They’ve been settled under a bus stop for ten minutes, with every attempt to leave hindered by the immediate, chilly realisation that by the time they get from where they’re standing to a habitable building, they’ll both be well on their way to a diagnosis of pneumonia.
They’re sitting silently in the rain when they hear it: A whistle, loud and sharp, splitting the air.
Then a boy with a mop of brown hair, dressed in his pyjamas, grabs the whistle from her, sucks in air, and blows, and the shrill noise is the loudest thing in the neighbourhood, louder than the television back in the Ishida household, louder than the Kido kid half a dozen windows along talking to the fire department on the phone, louder than the thudding stomps of the monster.
The dinosaur’s eyes snap open like it’s been hit with a million volts of electricity, and it rears up and releases a wave of white flame. Time hangs still for a moment, and in that strung out split second, Yamato feels a spot of cold against his chest, like a shard of ice buried under his skin.
Then the parrot and the dinosaur are gone, and there’s only the rubble, and next day his parents would be fighting again, and the news would be talking about a terrorist attack, and the memory of green feathers and a whistle would fade.)
Yamato’s breath catches in his throat, and he’s running into the rain before he can stop himself, and he half expects Sora to stop him, but she’s running as well, as madly as he is.
There are more of him than Yamato can count. The squirming, black and orange bodies are crawling all over each other, a mass of glistening bodies, a great sphere surrounding everything, chanting over each other: “Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello …”
There’s MetalGarurumon and WarGreymon there, still and nearly lifeless, and Yamato and Taichi are falling towards them, even though they shouldn’t be here, there’s no way for them to be here.
“Listen,” Taichi says. “I don’t have a whistle to wake you, but I want you to know you’re not alone. I won’t let you fight alone. I’ll be here with you. I’ll be here with you.”
They stir, and Yamato feels his connection to Gabumon explode like a tree, until Taichi and Agumon are as close as Gabumon is, and then outwards further, branching across the world, drawing in more and more power until Omegamon is born.
There are more footsteps. Jyou and Mimi, Koushiro and Takeru, all running towards the source of the whistle, and then Taichi and Hikari as well, until they all reach where it was coming from.
Yamato doesn’t know where it comes from, but he hears the sharp noise of a whistle, and whether by the acoustics of the area or just the imagination, he hears the sound of the Digital World’s invisible train, and the clanking of the gears in the ancient ruins, and the rumbling noise of a digivice.
There’s a crowd raising their phones, and one by one, they capture every Kuramon, down to the last wriggling one of them. Just this once, when Gabumon and Agumon nearly died for them, the people can do something to help -- and they do, without questioning it. They save themselves.
There’s nothing there.
Yamato doesn’t know what he was expecting. It was just a whistle. Any kid could have blown it. There aren’t any Digimon there to greet them. It was nothing.
But they’re all there anyway. All eight of them, and now there’s no point pretending that they can just leave things as they are, not when there are eight idiots standing in the middle of the rain, chasing whistling noises.
“Taichi-san,” Koushiro starts.
“‘Someday,’ huh,” Taichi murmurs, and turns a smile up at the clouds. “If we keep waiting for ‘someday,’ we’ll have grown old before we know it.”
Yamato can’t help but smile. For the first time since this all started, he sees the Taichi Yagami he chose to follow: The idiot who sets his sights on whatever stupid goal he feels like, and lights the way for everyone else.
“Let’s go there,” Koushiro says. “Let’s go back to the Digital World.”
The sun breaks through the clouds, and for the first time all summer, Yamato can feel its warmth.