#medic care deeply for Thier leader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackjacketmuses · 6 years

Text

@multiimuse

The butterfly effect was something Nagito Komaeda thought about sometimes. That one little thing, one bit of random chance, could change the world. When he thought about it, he thought about what might have happened that day nearly four years ago now -- well, approximately three and a half years, but did that matter? -- if he hadn’t woken up from his hazy, wounded doze in time to stop the others from going down that elevator, if he hadn’t noticed Chiaki was missing. Perhaps they would have all become like Junko, like Miss Yukizome, like Mikan before they’d saved her. They’d have all become monsters...but they didn’t. They’d saved Chiaki, smashing down the walls of the underground tunnels to snatch her from the jaws of a terrible and bloody fate, and they’d run. They’d run from the crumbling and rotten Hope’s Peak, six months before their graduation, run and slipped underground with Fuyuhiko’s help, found Ryota and helped Mikan heal and watched the world burn.

It had been hard to watch, like torture. Watching the world fall to despair. Nagito can’t remember too much of the first few months of the Incident, if he’s honest. He vaguely recalls some kind of meltdown? Crying and screaming and he may or may not have hit someone-- or was that Ryota who did that? He knows both of them had ended up with hazy memories of that time period, until they came out of it and...Nagito, at least, had found steel in his spine to stand up and drag hope back into the world. They all would. They’d almost been Junko’s monsters, after all-- they felt like it was their duty to help take down the bitch who nearly did that, nearly killed Chiaki.

They’d had no intention, though, of joining the Future Foundation. It was built on corruption, despair weaseled into its depths. No point in doing that. So they were on their own, taking over Fuyuhiko’s family compound and fortifying it, using his clan and Sonia’s connections to get what amounted to a little army of their own (they all wore their class number, 77-B, a badge of honor), and though they kept in touch with some of the Foundation -- especially the survivors of class 78 once they’d been fished out of the school and Junko’s sick game -- they didn’t rely on them for more than supplies. They were their own force. Maybe they didn’t fight for hope (as a whole, anyway; Nagito sure did), but they fought to end despair.

Well...they had other reasons to fight, too. Not just to end despair and to take down Junko Enoshima’s legacy. There was a boy in the ruins of their city, a young man now like the rest of them -- an artificial hope, manmade god of talent, a Frankenstein’s monster named Izuru Kamukura. That hadn’t been his name before, though. It had been Hajime, a talentless boy whom Chiaki had loved deeply, who had been her friend...who had felt unworthy. Nagito could understand that well. To feel unworthy, to feel like you wanted to be part of the symbols of hope but to feel like you were just not good enough or special enough or deserving enough to bathe in their light, but loving them so much you would give anything...he isn’t sure what he would have done, but he can’t entirely fault him for what he did do. He can, however, fault the school for tearing someone apart for their own twisted ideals of hope and talent, for making a false idol out of a boy just like him. So he’s glad to help Chiaki search for him, to help her bring him home and try to find where the boy she’d known went within that monster.

He hadn’t expected to run into him in Towa, though! Not that Towa hadn’t been an unequivocal disaster to begin with. He’d heard that Class 78′s loved ones were being held here, so he’d decided to run off and scout it out for the others, to help out Makoto (who he might idolize just a little more than he should, but he’s got such a cheerful light of hope in him and he can’t not) and...well, he’d ended up caught by the kids who’d taken the place over and made thier Servant. Not the best turn of events, but these children were so badly hurt by life and by Junko, he’d...well, when Makoto’s sister ended that awful brat Monaca’s game, he’d dropped the wounded green-haired girl into Foundation custody and decided to take the other four with him back to 77-B’s headquarters. They didn’t seem to mind. On the way out, though, they’d run into Izuru Kamukura, who seemed to be stealing the AI cores stuck inside those two obnoxious bears. He’d told the kids to hide, of course, knowing Izuru wasn’t the type to discriminate if he thought you were in the way, and confronted him.

He had expected to get a little banged up, was already banged up from his months in Towa with his luck and a lack of any proper medical attention, but he definitely hadn’t expected the little warriors to dogpile Izuru to protect him -- the other man hadn’t, either, and Masaru had caught him with a good hard strike to the head and he’d gone down like a sack of bricks.

He’d called in Kazuichi to come get them, then, and now a few days later he was curled up against a wall in one of the rooms in the compound, reading while he kept an eye on the still unconscious Izuru. He was still a little the worse for wear, bandages visible beneath the worn out jeans and slightly over-large t-shirt (it was hard to find clothes that fit any of them perfectly anymore, after all) he was wearing and generally as worn out and tired looking as they all were, but at least he’d replaced the glasses that had broken when he’d been captured (couldn’t get contacts, either, both he and Kazuichi were mostly out of luck) and he was clean again. Every so often his hand flickers up to scratch at the bruise at his neck where the collar had been, but other than that he’s fairly focused on his book.

He and Chiaki were the two people who sat in here the most -- Chiaki cared deeply for her friend, and she’d probably have never left if it weren’t for the fact she was their little group’s leader and had other responsibilities, and as for Nagito...he’d been attracted to the man since he’d shot him, if he was honest. Maybe it was just that artificial hope, sharp and cold and blindingly bright like hospital lighting, like the sun on snow, that drew him in, maybe it was the idea that he’d once been a boy just like him, who had loved and admired talent an Hope’s Peak above all else -- who had been betrayed deeply by that institution, perhaps in different ways but still they like as not carried that same scar -- or maybe it was something he didn’t have a name for. But all the same, he wanted to be here with the man, so here he was.

#multiimuse #;muse: komaeda #;verse: rebellions are built on hope (dr)

25 notes · View notes