Chapter Text
"Do you value your friends and family, Kaname Madoka?" They were standing in a suspended hallway between two buildings walled with tinted glass. It was exactly halfway to the nurse's office. Homura didn't wait for an answer, not this time. "Of course you do!" she spat, escalating suddenly from her typical monotone. Madoka's shock turned to fear, her mouth half-open to respond snapping shut, and she took a half-step back from the older girl. "It's always the same. With you. With me." Her lip curled and her eyes flashed, the glint of madness dancing in her purple eyes.
The deadness lurking always behind them was lit now with a ghoulish fervor. She was nearly doubled over and her delicate hands gripped her upper arms with white knuckles. Through her clothes, she left crescent-shaped welts, and the pain only fed her blooming despair. She was almost high off, exulting in the sensation of dread and self-loathing that clawed its way up her spine and flared in her chest. "You don't care about them. You don't care about me. You just want them to think that you're useful. You want them to love you for it. You're pathetic. I hate you," she rasped. She didn't know who she was talking to. Darkness swirled in the amethyst gem fused to the back of her left hand, racing through her mind and cutting through her like an icy wind. She was falling apart. A spiderweb of fine cracks spread over the gem, and it began to warp like molten glass, the golden framing tearing from her skin and falling to the ground like an old scab. Laughter like sobs escaped her lips.
She shakily drew a handgun from her shield and aimed unsteadily at her gem. Madoka was shaking, but she couldn't leave the girl. "Homura..." she whispered, reaching out gently. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" she howled with her voice tearing at her throat as she staggered back out of reach. "I WISH I'D NEVER MET YOU!" She moved to pull the trigger. Madoka panicked, throwing herself around the older girl's waist and causing the shot to go wide as she tackled her to the tile floor. She was so cold, like a corpse. Homura lay still under her. No breath. No pulse. Her back arched, throwing Madoka off her, and an unearthly wail came from everywhere at once, piercing Madoka's ears like knives. Silence, then the tinkling of purple shards falling from Homura's limp hand. Crushing pressure built behind Homura's eyes as her despair surged, her heart felt like it was collapsing in her chest, and she cried out as her body shuddered and started to rip apart under the force of the one month's suffering drawn out a decade. It was finally over. A wan smile played over her face as her mind failed.
Homura became aware again that she was lying on her couch in her apartment, rousing from her half-conscious daze. Her cheeks were wet, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her heart ached, but she didn't open her eyes. She couldn't, not with the contents of the bottle on her nightstand sloshing nauseatingly in her stomach. Her head was spinning, and she could barely feel her cold body, heart pounding as she drew quick, shallow breaths. She could scarcely focus enough to recall any of the nightmare. She should do this more often, she thought with a sickly smile as her breath hissed between her teeth. This was better than waking up sober by far if it was going to be like this every night.
In her later loops, she had started a tradition. The night before Walpurgisnacht, she drank and drank and drank until she slipped away into the pleasant buzz of alcohol and later the soft embrace of death. It was always something to look forward to right before the end and the worst of each loop. She didn't know when it had started exactly, but it made it easier to cope with the next day's failure. Her healing was nothing like Sayaka's, but, as long as there was magic left in her soul gem, she would come back. Her body was so frail that it was held together with magic to begin with. That wasn't the first time she had died, and it wouldn't be the last. Her heart starting again was always such a rush.
She hated herself for doing it. She was ashamed that her love for Madoka alone hadn't been enough to keep her going anymore, but she needed it. She needed the escape, to stop thinking and feeling for a while. Her face couldn't express how she felt anymore, and no one could understand even if she did tell them. She had limited herself to once per loop because she couldn't afford an addiction, but that didn't matter now. Her internal clock precisely tracked every second's passing, but she couldn't focus on what time it was. She didn't want to, not that it mattered anymore either, she thought bitterly. She'd never had enough time, but now she didn't know what to do with all she had. The passage of every single day since Madoka had left her was maddening. It hadn't even been a month. She felt every second like the beating of her own heart, a lingering effect of the curse she had wished upon herself years ago.
She had such a stock of grief cubes that she was in no danger of being taken by the Cycle. Madoka would hate her if she gave up, but there was no reason for her to be kind to herself until her time came. She was the only one who remembered the crimes she had committed; she was the only one who could hold herself accountable.
Tomoe Mami.
Miki Sayaka.
Sakura Kyouko.
Kaname Madoka.
Their names and faces floated through her mind. How many times had they met her for the first time? How many times had she let Tomoe Mami die? How many times had she let Miki Sayaka kill herself by her own neglect? How many times had she seen Sakura Kyouko wailing over her beloved's death and let her descend into her own personal hell? How many times now had she failed Kaname Madoka and held her lifeless corpse before turning back the clock? She couldn't remember, and they didn't know. Madoka didn't even exist as far as the rest of them were concerned now. None of it had been worth it. It had all been pointless. None of them even knew her, and Madoka was gone with an utterly finality that she still couldn't accept.
Hopelessness and loneliness crept over her as she sank back into a drunken daze. It was just like her nightmare, realer than reality, more powerful, darker, brighter, her sweat like pinpricks all over her body. She could feel her heartbeat slowing and herself getting colder, she could sense the darkness swirling in her soul gem, so she leaned into the sensation. Teetering on the edge of oblivion was euphoric. She was so close, just a little shove and it would all finally be over.
She was still scared of dying at some primal level, but she didn't want to live anymore either. But she couldn't face Madoka. Not now and not like this. Even disappearing into the Cycle wasn't an option for her. She was trapped in the hell that she had wished for. If only she had never met her.
She knew that she was poisoned; it was a familiar feeling. Her soul gem would purge her body and heal the damage she had already done to her brain if she let it, which was why it was out of reach. It was set on her coffee table with the bottle of hard liquor she was most of the way through.
She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows; a wave of vertigo nearly overcame her. It was dark in her apartment, and her swimming vision only worsened the sensation of the world spinning. Vomit rose in her throat, but she fought it down. She'd lose her buzz, and she knew she couldn't handle being sober in that moment. She was remembering and feeling more with every passing second. She didn't know what she would do, but at the moment at least she was too uncoordinated to do any serious damage.
She reached for the bottle. Her hands were cold, clammy, shaking with her shivering. What was already in her system wasn't enough. She'd done this far too many times for it to be anywhere near enough. Reaching for the bottle, her eyes passed over her wrist. Another urge rose in her chest, an irresistible compulsion that she had pushed away before. It had never gone away from the moment that the thought had seriously crossed her mind. She traced the inside of her wrist with her thumbnail, back and forth. It was calming, mesmerizing, but it also wasn’t enough. She pressed her thumbnail into her skin, hard enough to leave a welt. Just like her dream. The pain eased the knot in her throat, but it still wouldn’t leave. She didn't have anything sharp in reach, but the compulsion wouldn't leave now. This wasn't enough relief. She couldn't resist, her fumbling hands grasping the bottle, raising it over her head, and bringing it down hard on the edge of the table. It shattered into glinting shards on the hard wooden flooring, the last of the liquor soaking into the carpet. She pressed a triangular piece between her thumb and forefinger just enough to draw blood. She was so scared. Maybe this would help. She would try anything.
"Akemi?" a girl's voice called from the hallway outside her apartment.
She couldn't understand who it was, but a whimper escaped her lips. She was so ashamed, but she didn't want to be alone. Anyone would do.
"Akemi? Are you alright?" Mami called, the edge of anxiety sharpening her voice.
Anyone but her. Frigid anxiety gripped her throat, and she fought to croak that she was fine. The effort to speak compressed her stomach, causing her to gag, pitch forward, and vomit into the bucket she kept near the couch.
"I'm coming in." The anxiety in her voice was guarded now behind the sickly kindness that Homura despised. Mami touched the lock lightly, and it unraveled into ribbons of silver metal. She stepped lightly inside and closed the door behind her, the silver ribbons drawing taught and reforming into a doorknob inside the frame. Her eyes glowed a soft yellow in the darkness, the skin around the edges tightening as they passed over Homura clutching the edges of the bucket. She rushed to her side and knelt next to her. Her hand hovered just over Homura's back before she paused.
"May I touch you?" she asked gently.
Homura nodded miserably. No one was supposed to see her like this. Her weakness was disgusting, and it showed just how useless she was. Hot tears sprang to her eyes as Mami gently rubbed her back and picked strands of hair out of her face, tucking them back behind her ears and gathering her hair away from the bucket as another wave of nausea overcame her. She heaved until her stomach was empty, and she was left shaking and exhausted. Mami wiped the vomit from her mouth with a warm wet cloth. She hadn't spoken a word since kneeling beside her. Homura didn't understand the when, where, or who of anyone anymore. They didn't stick to a script. Or maybe they did and she just couldn't read it anymore. It scared her. It all scared her so much, and she started to cry.
Mami settled back against the couch, drawing Homura back from the bucket, tucking the smaller girl under her right arm, and embracing her. She was so soft. Girls were so soft, Homura thought, unconsciously leaning into the embrace and curling up against her side.
"It's alright. You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you," Mami whispered.
"You shouldn't be here, Tomoe Mami." She couldn't muster her characteristic monotone. It came out as a pathetic whine between sobs, which only made her despise her own weakness more. There was nothing left for her to fight, so why did she feel so afraid?
"Is it wrong for me to visit a friend?" Mami answered, an audible smile on her lips.
"It’s the middle of the night," she answered curtly.
"...This was when I wanted to visit." Her voice wavered almost imperceptibly, but not to Homura. That waver was familiar. She was lonely, afraid, and too frightened to admit that she needed help. She always put on this brave face when she was struggling and taking on too much. She had the softest heart of any of them. They were nothing alike. Nothing alike in anything but their weakness.
"You should not be here, Tomoe Mami." Her voice was steadier this time, flatter, safer. Her tears had suddenly dried up, and she couldn't reach them. She moved to push the larger girl's arm aside.
"Stay. Please," she pleaded.
Homura froze. Mami held her wrist firmly, thin fingers curling easily around her delicate wrist. She was so distractingly warm. Mami had given up trying to hide her worry or anything else.
"What happened? You don't have to answer." She seemed to mean it. She wanted to know, but she meant it. Why did she care? Mami didn't know her. Homura didn't deserve this.
"It doesn't matter. I'm fine." Homura didn't try to pull away again. She didn’t have the strength.
"No, you aren't. People who are fine don't do this. You don't need to tell me anything, but you aren't fine," she whispered again. Pain undercut the gentleness in her voice. That sharpness again, but it wasn't directed at Homura. "Did I ever tell you what I wished for?" she asked suddenly.
Another unknown. Homura was pulled further back into her own mind, the overwhelming stress disconnecting her from reality and her body. Her breathing was speeding up, and she was getting lightheaded. Her eyes couldn't focus and-
"Homura, stay with me." The genuine tenderness in Mami's voice grounded her with a shock and another stab of self-loathing. How had she known? Why did she care so much? About someone like her? Tears rose to her eyes again and burned down her cheeks. She was so ashamed.
"It's alright. You're safe." Mami pulled her closer, one arm around her shoulder, and the other hand cupped Homura's cheek, drawing her head onto her shoulder. Homura buried her face in her neck and clung to Mami as the tears poured down her face. She was sobbing uncontrollably and clutching the fabric of Mami's shirt like her life depended on it.
It all hurt so much, every single day. Madoka was gone, she was alone, and no one would ever know or understand what she or Homura had done. It was so unfair. She hated living this way. She remembered what it was like when her face was able to express her emotions, when people at least pretended to care about her. She had loved those days when she first met Madoka, but it wasn't just about her. Sayaka, Kyouko, and Mami were all there too, and they were such wonderful friends. Nothing she could do would ever bring that or them back. It was gone. Everything was gone, and, no matter how she reached, it always slipped away again. She couldn’t have it. "It isn't fair," she hissed.
She kept crying until she was out of tears. Drawing deep breaths, Homura sighed despite herself and started to relax, luxuriating in the sensation of the other girl's long fingers combing through her hair. She smelled so nice, like vanilla and fresh baked goods.
"What did you wish for, M-mami?" She sounded almost like the girl in the cherry glasses again. The girl's first name was awkward in her mouth.
"I wished to live. My parents died in a car crash, and I was bleeding out when Kyubey found me. I never had a choice. I only realized afterward that I could have wished for anything. Now my parents are gone, and they're never coming back. That's my fault. So what you're doing here, I understand. Really. You aren't alone, I promise, I'll stay with you."
"...it wasn't your fault. Kyubey tricks everyone. And you don't understand. No one ever will."
"You're grieving. I don't know what you lost or what horrible pain you've been through, but...you're going to be alright. I'm sorry that your body won't let you be right now. You don't have to do this alone."
Silence fell over the two of them for a while. Mami had pulled a blanket over them both, and Homura had just begun to comfortably doze in the warmth and touch of the other girl when a last question rose in her mind. "Mami, why are you here?" she asked sleepily.
"I'll tell you tomorrow," she said with a hint of her own grief. "It's alright to wake me if you have nightmares. Sleep well." She sounded a little flustered. Homura smiled faintly as she fell asleep.