[tri OOM] Gennai does Mystery Man things, which are bad

Aw, he looks so innocent when he’s sleeping.

Gennai crouches by Yamato, shifting the shape he’s wearing from Sora’s to Taichi’s, reaching forward to sift his fingers through the boy’s hair. Without the scowling and the gruffness, and the almost regal bearing, he looks like … an eighteen year old kid.

The desire to stamp on the boy’s face until it’s an unrecognisable mess of bone and blood rises up in Gennai like a tidal wave. He has to clench his hands into fists and bite his lip to force it back down.

He hates him. He hates him so much that he feels like he’s going to combust, like all the vitriol and fury stored up inside him is going to split his skin open at the seams and burst out. He wants to wake the boy up, make him watch as a Dark Master rips his brother to shreds, and then the rest of his friends, and see what’s left of his vaunted pride after that.

He brushes his fingers back through Yamato’s hair, drifting over his temple, forcing back the mental image of driving his fingers straight through the sensitive flesh.

But then Yamato stirs in his sleep, and he flinches back so hard he almost trips over his own feet. His breath comes fast, so fast he thinks he’s going to suffocate, and he has to concentrate to calm the rush of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. It takes him several seconds to still his breathing, to calm himself down, and Yamato shows no more signs of waking.

Gennai bites down on a wry laugh, swinging himself unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, hey, Jureimon,” he says, angling his gaze towards the tree Digimon. It doesn’t acknowledge him at all, but that much is to be expected. “Take him to the Tower, with Daisuke Motomiya. Weave for him a pleasant little dream. One he won’t want to wake up from.”

This isn’t just violence, this is revenge, after all. Revenge is a far more complex proposition.

“The boy’s always been his own worst enemy,” Gennai says softly. “We should make good use of that. And while you’re giving him everything his heart desires, good sir, I have another matter to attend to.”

He turns his attention back towards the town, shifting his shape from Taichi’s to Ken’s in a hiss of static. “It’s high time someone else faced up to the consequences of her actions. Inevitability is such an ugly thing.”


---


The town is so unsuspecting, so naively vulnerable.

Gennai walks straight in, wearing Ken’s face, and they just let him. They don’t even seem more than mildly curious when he reaches the town square, rolls out his shoulders, cracks his neck, and spreads his hands.

Infection arcs from his fingers like black wires, crackling with violet lightning, and nobody has time to move away before he skewers them. This isn’t the slow, gentle Infection that robs its victims of their mind over weeks or months -- this is concentrated, harsh, winding its way directly to their Kernels. A dozen Digimon, two dozen, thirty, thirty-two -- they start showing symptoms immediately, their texture graphics shifting and distorting, their movements becoming jerky.

What a terrible outbreak.

If only, if only, there were a doctor in town.

“Oh, Warudamon!” Gennai calls, cupping a hand around his mouth. “I’ve brought you some patients!”

It isn’t Warudamon who hurries out first, but it is the kids -- Koushiro and Miyako from the laboratory first, then Mimi and Takeru from the inn, the Digimon -- including Gabumon, Gennai notes with a wry smile -- behind them. Gennai feels that swell of hatred bubbling up in him again, clawing at his throat, before he shoves it as far down as he can.

Takeru clutches Patamon to his chest, trying to keep him as far away from the screeching, slavering Infected Digimon as possible. Gennai can’t help smirking just a little.

“Where’s Yamato-san?” Koushiro asks Mimi. She looks entirely bewildered by the question.

“I don’t -- …”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Gennai says. “That one’s my bad. We had an altercation. A friendly disagreement, if you will.”

Takeru’s expression passes from shock to panic to anger in a second. “What did you do?!”

“I left him in the care of another old friend of his,” Gennai replies airily. “Dear old Jureimon. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s having a whale of a time -- but he won’t be interfering in this little experiment of ours.”

He expects to see fear, but instead Takeru’s expression turns coldly furious, mouth setting into a thin line as his eyes widen and his pupils narrow to nearly pinpricks. Gennai feels a spike of fear deep in his gut, and has to force himself to stay where he is, peeling his lips back into a defiant grin.

“If you or any of your puppets hurt my brother,” Takeru says, very calmly and very coldly, “I’ll kill you myself.”

The boy really is his brother’s brother.

“I completely believe you,” Gennai says. He flicks a hand at the Infected Digimon, and they start surging forward, a stampede that will flatten every building they come across.

Predictably enough, the kids’ digivices are in their hands immediately, their Digimon leaping forward.

“Tentomon, evolution! Kabuterimon!”
“Palmon, evolution! Togemon!”
“Hawkmon, armor evolution! Piercing Sincerity, Shurimon!”

A spray of needles and shuriken, and a blast of lightning, and the Infected Digimon are forced back for a few seconds, skidding across the ground.

“Koushiro-senpai, what do we do?” Miyako asks, glancing over at him. Gennai sees Koushiro’s eyes widen, a momentary flicker of anxiety across his features. “If Yamato-san isn’t here, you’re the ranking Chosen, right?”

“R-right,” Koushiro says. “We -- Yamato-san would order us to lure them out of the town to a safe area and then take them out.”

“What?” Takeru growls, whirling on him. “We don’t need to take them out. Warudamon can cure them, right?”

Miyako grimaces. “Takeru …”

Mimi’s brow furrows. Gennai can’t help but smile at that -- the girl always did know how to read the mood. “You figured out what’s wrong with Warudamon’s cure, didn’t you?”

“She’s …” Koushiro shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Takeru-kun, I know you wanted it to be a miracle cure, but it’s not. Warudamon is taking the Infection into herself -- and she’s already taken on more than she can handle. If she takes any more, she’ll …”

“If she takes any more she’ll what?!” Takeru demands.

The Infected Digimon surge forward again, and another wave of attacks wards them back. Kabuterimon swoops around, raking lightning across the ground behind them, trying to corral them onto the road out of town.

“If she takes any more, she won’t be able to suppress it any more,” Gennai says gleefully. The look of pain that crosses Takeru’s face is a delight. “If she’s lucky, she’ll die. If she’s unlucky, she’ll mutate into something truly, truly horrible. Either way, no more miracle cure.”

Takeru grips Patamon closer to him. Gennai can see he’s starting to tremble now. He’s so close to breaking apart -- maybe Gennai won’t need the boy’s brother after all.

“That’s a lie,” Takeru says. “You’re lying just like you always do.”

“Believe me, I’m not. She even asked your dear, sweet brother to put her out of her misery,” he continues. “He agreed with barely an argu -- …”

“Enough,” Gabumon snarls, lunging for him.

Gennai snaps his fingers. “No.”

A pillar of red light crackles down from the heavens, and Devimon -- well, Gennai’s obedient puppet of him, at least, Apocalymon’s forces are so much more bearable when they’re dancing on strings -- bursts forth from it, one sinewy arm slapping Gabumon away. The little Digimon practically bounces as he hits the ground.

Takeru is shaking now, eyes wide and staring at Devimon, because he never was good at coping with Devimon, was he? Seeing the Digimon that must have haunted his nightmares for so many years looming over him, the boy can’t seem to even speak, just gaping and trembling.

“Takeru?” Patamon asks, straining against his arms.

Takeru doesn’t reply, just shaking his head. Mimi takes him by the shoulders, trying to tug him in for a hug, but he shoves her away, balling his hands into fists so hard that Gennai’s sure he’s going to break the skin and start bleeding.

“Koushiro-senpai?” Miyako asks.

Koushiro shakes his head. “The plan hasn’t changed. Warudamon can’t cure all of them, we have to -- …”

“The plan really has changed,” Gennai says. “Devimon!”

Devimon responds to his command immediately, stretching out one hand and emitting a beam of darkness, sweeping it about in an arc. Kabuterimon goes flying first, then Togemon, then Shurimon, all of them crashing through buildings on their way back.

Devimon settles behind Gennai, hand still raised in case he needs to fire off another blast.

“Koushiro-kun!” Mimi yells. “We need to think of something else, or -- …”

“It is quite all right.”

Ah. Yes. There’s the one Gennai has been waiting to see.

How dignified Warudamon looks, as she strides out of her laboratory, robes trailing through the snow, head held high. Gennai actually thinks he admires that: Such defiance in the face of her own imminent demise. Or worse.

She tips her hat, circling one foot behind her as she bows low. “Good day to you, old man.”

He gives a chuckle, pressing his fingers to his collarbone as he bows equally low. “And to you, doctor. Shall we see how many of your patients you can cure before your own body gives out? Or would you rather let them die?”

“This is rather inelegant for you,” Warudamon says, straightening up. “As schemes go, it’s hardly your most intricate.”

“Is it true?” Takeru manages to choke out. “There was never … I need you. I need you to make sure Patamon doesn’t get Infected again, I can’t … I can’t do it all again, I can’t lose him, you were supposed to -- …”

Warudamon turns a slight smile on him. “I know. I wasn’t completely honest with you, was I? This cure was never going to last,” she says. “Sometimes all you can do is the best you can for as long as you can.”

Those will do for last words. Gennai gives another flick of his hand, and the Infected Digimon charge again, bearing down on Warudamon.

She pushes off the ground, spreading her arms as she rises into the air. “Satan Mund!”

Her claws burst into masses of fanged tentacles, snapping out like whips, tightening their jaws on each Infected Digimon and holding them all steady. Gennai sees the Infection being torn free, gulped down those tentacles and into Warudamon, and their symptoms slowly fade, purple and static-ridden textures turning back to their normal shades, the mad light in their eyes fading to leave them blinking and awake.

Slowly, the tentacles draw back, retracting back into Warudamon’s body.

“Well, what do you know,” Gennai says, as Warudamon droops and slumps, static flickering across her textures, purple lightning crackling around her. “You really did cure them. And now … five, four, three, two, one …”

Warudamon’s body suddenly blazes with violet fire, her mouths -- every one of them, practically covering her whole body -- opening in a cacophony of screams. She thrashes about, clawing at her arms and back, hunching in on herself, and Gennai can see her starting to lose her shape, her form decaying and melting around her kernel.

“Warudamon!” Mimi cries, starting forward towards her. Miyako is in her path in a flash, keeping her back.

Koushiro shuts his eyes, looking away. Takeru chokes back a sob.

Gennai grins. Which one is it going to be, death or change?

“Warudamon, ultimate evolution,” Warudamon rasps, her voice entirely not her own as the Infection overwhelms her, takes shape, and speaks through her. Her body hatches like a chrysalis, releasing something humanoid, robed in black and jewel shades, hoisted up by fluttering butterfly wings. “X-Lilithmon.”

Gennai has to laugh. It’s a shrill, hysterical laugh, and not for the first time a part of his mind reminds him that there’s something wrong, that he’s not meant to be like this.

“Good! Good, good!” He laughs, raising his hands. “Now kill them. Kill them all, starting with the smallest child.”

[tri OOM] One perfect day

Riiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Yamato slaps his alarm with one hand, fumbling with it until he finds the snooze button. The nine minutes it takes for the alarm to start ringing again seems to pass in a split second, and then it’s ringing even louder and just -- …

“We should get up,” Gabumon mumbles against his side. Yamato’s heart jumps in his chest, because even just from his voice, the way he’s curled up against him, the ever-so-slightly different feel of his fur, he can tell that this is Gabumon. The one he first met. The one who -- …

His eyes suddenly sting. He has to bite back the noise, the strange sound halfway between laughter and sobbing, that rises up in his throat. It’s like someone stuck their fingers straight into an open wound and pulled.

“Are you okay?” Gabumon asks, wide awake now.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Yamato says. He throws off the covers, sitting up. “We should get up.”

Takeru is eating breakfast in their kitchen when he heads out, with Patamon settled on his shoulder. Yamato ruffles his hair on his way to the cereal, pouring himself a bowl, and an even larger bowl with sugar for Gabumon.

Something beeps. A familiar four-tone noise, rising and then falling at the very end. Yamato’s gaze flicks across the kitchen worktop to where his digivice sits, the screen flickering. He reaches for it on instinct, fingers hovering over it …

“Yamatoooo,” Gabumon whines. “Come eat.”

Yamato turns to look at him, and when he looks back, his digivice isn’t anywhere to be seen. “I’m coming. Don’t scarf it all down without me.”

By the time he sits down, he’s forgotten all about his digivice, cheerfully gossiping with Takeru and their Digimon about stupid, ridiculous things.

There’s no school today, Takeru informs him after breakfast, shortly before nearly ordering him to shower and get dressed. As soon as he’s ready (noting, with some confusion, that Takeru is also showered and dressed, even though there was no time for that), his brother and Gabumon practically drag him through Odaiba until they get to the beach.

It’s nice. The summer sun is warm, the sea air is pleasant, and best of all, better than anything else, everyone’s there. His team and their Digimon, Daisuke’s team and theirs, even Wallace and Terriermon, hell, even Meiko and Meicoomon, laughing together as if the Infection had never happened. Even his old man is there, sipping a beer and discussing something with Jyou.

Gabumon clambers up onto his shoulders and stays there, a warm, comforting weight, and once again Yamato has to push back tears, because he’s back, here as if Yamato never failed him, as if he hadn’t … as if he hadn’t …

That four-tone melody again.

Yamato’s gaze focuses on one of the plastic beach tables, where his digivice is sat, the screen flickering faintly blue.

“Yama!” Taichi calls, practically colliding with him, shoving a bottle of lemonade into his hand. “Volleyball game. You in?”

“A volleyball game,” Yamato says, amused. “Really?”

“Hey, it’s a beach party tradition,” Taichi chirps. “C’mon, we’ve never faced off in a volleyball game before. I’m going to kick your ass. Unless you’d rather leave the party early?”

He pulls an exaggeratedly sad expression, so typically Taichi, but Yamato’s gaze is drawn again to the digivice on the table.

“I -- …”

Gabumon settles his cheek against his. “We can stick around a little longer, right? We don’t know when we’ll get the chance again.”

Yamato’s heart twists in his chest, as the memory of the Reboot comes surging up again. I let you die. We’re never going to get this chance again.

“Yeah,” he says. “We can stay. We can stay as long as you like.”

Taichi bounds off towards where the girls are hauling up volleyball nets, cheerfully picking Sora and Takeru out for his team, loudly declaring his intention to win a crushing victory. When Yamato flicks his gaze back over to the table, his digivice is gone.

“Thank you,” Gabumon says softly. “I don’t want this day to end.”

Yamato laughs, leaning against him. “It’s just a beach party, buddy.”

“I mean being here with you,” Gabumon replies. “You remember what I said, right? Seven years ago? I waited years just to meet you, so that I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. I don’t -- …”

“Were you lonely?” Yamato asks, shutting his eyes. “When you -- when the Reboot happened. I couldn’t help you, but I wanted to be able to … I ... I hope you knew I was there. I was right there with you.”

Gabumon doesn’t say anything.

“I wish I could have said goodbye,” Yamato murmurs. “Just one more day to say goodbye to you.”

A volleyball hits him in the side of his head, nearly knocking him over.

“Hey! Yama!” Taichi yells. “Get over here!”

The volleyball game is … fierce. It ends with a draw, and then a short fistfight that results in both Yamato and Taichi sprawled in the sand, laughing until their chests hurt. Gabumon tuts, but he looks more amused than annoyed.

They drink cold lemonade, they chat, people laugh, the sun remains high and bright in the sky. Eventually Yamato sits at the edge of the water and pulls out his harmonica, running his fingers over the metal, feeling out every nick and indentation.

The sun is setting. Everyone is gone. Everyone except Gabumon.

Yamato doesn’t question when either of those things happened. It doesn’t matter. He settles the harmonica against his lips and plays the song he used to play to put Takeru to sleep as a baby. The song Gabumon had asked him to play the day before the Reboot.

His way of saying goodbye, but Yamato had never said it back.

Gabumon leans against him, listening peacefully, but Yamato can’t get all of the way through the song before a lump in his throat stops him.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, lowering his harmonica. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Gabumon laughs. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the arcade and get ice cream, and the day after that we’ll go visit the aquarium, and after that everyone can go back to that -- …”

“I miss you,” Yamato says. “I miss you so much, and I don’t know when it’s going to stop hurting …”

Gabumon settles a little more firmly against his side. “You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.”

He’s right here. His Gabumon.

“You’re not.”

“Of course I am,” Gabumon chuckles. “I was made from you in the first place, right? So even if this is just in your head, it’s still really me. You can stay here with me for as long as you like.”

“I can’t,” Yamato says, shaking his head hard. “I can’t stay. And you wouldn’t want me to, not really, because there’s -- there’s other people who need me. There’s my brother, and Taichi, and Sora, and all of the others, and … and Gabumon. The other you.”

He thinks he has a handle on himself now, thinks he can keep the tears at bay. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Gabumon’s head.

“I’m going to teach him everything you taught me. How to take care of his fur, where all the best places to catch fish are, how to fight, all those stupid little pieces of advice about getting along with people you told me. Everything,” he whispers. “I’m never going to forget you, no matter what. Never.”

Not even if it hurts. Yamato doesn’t think it’s ever going to stop hurting.

That four-tone melody again. His digivice is just past his feet, just under the tide as it washes in. He just has to pick it up.

He blinks back more tears, kissing the top of Gabumon’s head again. “Time for me to go. Goodbye, partner. I love you, you know that?”

Gabumon gives a wry noise, butting his head against Yamato’s jaw. “Goodbye, partner,” he says quietly. “Smile, okay? For me.”

Yamato has to laugh at that, but he pulls back his lips into his best, sharpest smile anyway, leaning back so Gabumon can see him. Gabumon flashes his own teeth in return.

Then, still holding onto Gabumon with one arm, he reaches into the water and curls his hand around his digivice.

The sun vanishes. The full moon looms over the ocean, and a cold wind blows through his hair. He holds onto Gabumon as the moonlight passes over him, as the Digimon’s paws turn to leaves and flower petals, and flutter away from him. His bright, toothy smile is the last thing to fade.

Then everything else collapses into leaves as well, and the dream ends.