Title: Distance
Fandom: Noragami
Rating: T
Length: 524
Content notes: References/leans very heavily on canonical child abuse and involves a character justifying that to another character. Brainwashing. Implied/referenced character death. Dysfunctional and manipulative relationships. Also, spoilers for the manga, and it probably makes no sense without canon knowledge.
Author note: Thanks to Bustle for the beta. <3
Summary: Hiiro tries to console Yato.

She finds him down by the spring; he’s sitting beneath a willow tree, watching the water. The sky is clear today, and in the water, she can see the moon’s reflection rippling with the wind.

“Yato,” she says.

That name still feels odd in her mouth. She hates the way it sounds, how he got it, how much it means to him.

But he gets angry whenever anyone calls him Yaboku now. And it doesn’t matter, does it? It shouldn’t. It’s just a name. She’ll call him by it if it means he’ll still like her.

He turns to look at her — just the briefest of glances, and then he looks back at the water.

She sits down beside him. When she leans against him, he doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge her or put his arm around her. “We should go back,” she says. “You should get some sleep. We’ll be getting up early tomorrow.”

Father is going to take them out again. This time, they’re going to go to a village a few day’s away. They’ve already visited all the closer villages, and killing people there hasn’t had the result Father hoped for. The humans there still pray at their shrines, even though it must be obvious that their gods can’t save them from her and Yato.

“I don’t want to go tomorrow,” Yato says.

“You don’t want to spend time with us?” she asks. She lets her smile fade slightly. “That hurts, Yato.”

“It’s not — “ He pauses, looking down at his hands. He clenches his hands into fists and then opens them again. “I do want to, it’s just — I don’t like it. The killing. I don’t want to do it.”

She hates it when he says things like that. Father says they have to be patient with him. Sooner or later, he’ll realize that killing is his nature.

And as much as he is hurting her with words like that, he’s torturing himself more. So she has to stay calm; she has to protect him and make sure she never stings him. And one day, he’ll love using her again.

She takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, the way they used to before Sakura. His skin is so cold against hers; it’s a cold night, and he’s been out here for longer than she has. It must bother him.

She strokes the tip of her finger against the callus between his thumb and his index finger.

She gave him his calluses, in her form as his weapon; it’s another sign that they belong together, the mark that she’s left on him, same as the name that he’s given her, the mark emblazoned on her skin.

“You can blame me tomorrow,” she says. “You’re not the one killing them. You’re just holding me. I’m the one cutting them down and spilling their blood. Does that make you feel better, Yato?”

He doesn’t answer.

But when she pulls at his hand, he lets her lead him away from the spring, down the winding trail amid the shadowed pines: she takes him back to their little house, to Father, and to home.