#not a fix it but not not a fix it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gravitywonagain · 2 years ago

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rounding out my depressing little triptych with lwj's pov

[dialog only] [wwx's pov]

[M, 4k, 1/1, Wangxian]

Tags: Major Character Death, suicide, suicide by zhiji (but, like, softly?), time travel, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt, I’m not going to lie this is all angst, not a happy ending (i’ve added a tiny consolation ending but it’s not really enough here)

There is a cave. Lan Wangji spotted it as he flew to Yiling once, so long ago. Too long ago. Maybe if he’d returned earlier, maybe if he’d stayed--

There is a cave.

Lan Wangji knows his core is spinning low; he feels the pulse of it struggling through his meridians, qi sluggish and dwindling. His body droops, too heavy for his bones to carry. Bichen’s tip wavers where he points it. The descent, when he makes it, is fast.

In his arms, Wei Ying is light as feathers.

The cave is easy enough to find. Too easy, probably, to be safe for very long. But it’s his only option now.

They cannot go back to Yiling. They cannot seek refuge among any of the sects, even his own. They cannot hide within a town, among people who could be hurt by the black, curling resentment leaking out of Wei Ying’s skin. And he could not leave Wei Ying where he was to die.

The cave is deeper than Lan Wangji had anticipated, which is good. He carries Wei Ying inside, steps light and as even as he can make them.

Darkness swallows them whole.

He lays Wei Ying gently down upon the rough stone floor. Considers pillowing Wei Ying’s head in his lap -- like the last time they were in a dark cave together, qi and confessions flowing between them. But he doesn’t have the qi to spare this time. Depleted. He’ll have to settle for confessions alone.

Somewhere deeper in, water drips into a pool. The sound of it bounces off the stone, echoing along the tunnels.

Lan Wangji folds himself into a meditative pose and times his breath with the rhythm of it. If he can rebuild some of his spent qi, he can pass some to Wei Ying. He can protect Wei Ying if others find them here. He can get Wei Ying out, hide him somewhere--

“Did you see them, Lan Zhan? Did you see?”

He hadn’t noticed Wei Ying waking. Hadn’t heard the change in his breath, or pulse. Both are still so slow. So deathly slow.

“Wei Ying--”

“United in their hate.”

Wei Ying sounds so tired. So fed up with the world, and who would blame him for it?

Well…

Lan Wangji feels anger and remorse thick in his throat. He says, “Let me--” But Wei Ying cuts him off again.

“But they were united.”

He sighs with something that sounds like… hope. Relief, perhaps. Which makes little sense.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying shifts, turning to look at Lan Wangji, his smile barely visible through the blood and bruises in the low light of the cave. It is still the most beautiful expression Lan Wangji has ever seen.

His voice is softer when he says, “It doesn’t work if there’s no villain, Lan Zhan. This world doesn’t work if there’s no one to hate.”

United, he’d said.

But it still doesn’t make sense. With no other recourse, Lan Wangji says as much, “I don’t understand.”

But Wei Ying doesn’t answer him this time. He doesn’t explain. He rolls his head so his eyes are pointed up at the cave ceiling.

“You should go,” he says, as if that was something Lan Wangji could do. “Leave me. They’ll only hurt you if they find you here.” As if that was some unexpected outcome, a deterrent to staying by Wei Ying’s side.

“I won’t leave you.”

A harsh, rasping breath breaks in Wei Ying’s throat -- not unlike a laugh, yet so unlike the laugh that lives in Lan Wangji’s dreams. “So stubborn, Lan Zhan. So good. Always so good.”

Lan Wangji feels his blood beat in the tips of his ears. It is Wei Ying, not Lan Wangji, who is good. But to hear him say it…

“Wei Ying, I--”

Again, Wei Ying interrupts him.

“At least Shijie is alive this time.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase that catches Lan Wangji’s attention.

“This time?”

In the darkness, Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying’s eyes fall closed. It’s not unlike the way Brother shuts out the world when it is too much, too harsh, too fast.

The silence between them stretches, broken only by the steady dripping of water that continues to echo, like a clock that counts down the dwindling moments they have left. Like this, time flows too fast, trickling away between breaths and heart beats. Still, Lan Wangji waits. He does not push Wei Ying to answer him. He’s not even really sure what his question is.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, at last.

Another rasping rattle of a laugh.

That weary exhaustion hangs heavy in his voice as he turns his head to regard Lan Wangji once more. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I’ve done this so many times. I’m so tired.”

The first… Lan Wangji has no idea how to decipher. It sounds confused, mad, nonsensical. Yet Wei Ying says it with perfect lucidity. Whatever it means, he seems to believe it enough to be weary of it in a way that pierces bone.

But the second: This, at least, Lan Wangji can help assuage.

“Rest. I will be here.”

Wei Ying squirms against the stone where he lays. Contrary, as ever.

Lan Wangji aches to take him into his arms, to hold him close and keep him safe. His old desire, his avarice, gnaws at the base of his breastbone. But he knows now that Wei Ying will not come to him willingly, and Lan Wangji will never cage him, even for his own safety.

“They’re coming,” Wei Ying’s throat sounds full of gravel. But his words are timely -- a reminder that any cage Lan Wangji might offer is no longer an option anyway. They both know who they are. And Wei Ying is right. Still right as he continues, “They’ll be here soon. They’ll take you.” But then, “You should let them take you.”

Something like fury rises in Lan Wangji’s blood. Growling and thrashing in his gut. “I will not le--”

“A'Yuan needs you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji’s blood freezes. “Let them take you.”

Wei Ying doesn’t plead with him, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know whether he should feel grateful for that or not. He would not be capable of refusing him if he pleaded.

He may not be capable of refusing him anyway.

“Wei Ying?”

“It’s okay. I– Like I said,” Wei Ying smiles, small but sincere, “it doesn’t work if there’s no villain.”

Lan Wangji thinks he’s beginning to understand. But, “Why you?”

“If not me, then who?”

Tears burn behind Lan Wangji’s eyes. Because of course Wei Ying would offer himself up for this. For this, for the Wen remnants, for any cause deemed worthy and right. He is still that beautiful boy who painted a rabbit on a lantern and pledged his life to protecting the weak and standing with justice.

Lan Wangji holds the tears at bay with clenched fists. “Not you.”

It works, if only just. If only simply delaying the inevitable. But then, all of this is simply delaying the inevitable, isn’t it. A brief respite. The world will not change while Wei Ying and Lan Wangji are hiding away in this cave.

Wei Ying inhales -- a ghastly sound, wet and ragged and rattling.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. I know.” Lan Wangji’s heart leaps into his throat, and Wei Ying says, again, gently, soothing, “I know. You’ve stayed with me before.”

“Before?”

It’s that strange tense again. Does he mean the cave with the false xuanwu?

“Yes. You’re always so good. Too good. They hurt you when you fight. Don’t-- Don’t let them hurt you. A'Yuan needs you.”

“A'Yuan?”

It’s the second time Wei Ying has mentioned him. The boy who brought a smile to Wei Ying’s eyes. Who wrapped himself around Lan Wangji’s leg, full-bodied with trust and wide-eyed with wonder.

“He needs you to raise him,” Wei Ying says, latching on to whatever it is he hears in Lan Wangji’s voice. “I know you’ll take such good care of him, Lan Zhan. You always do.”

This time. Before. Always.

“Wei Ying, I don’t understand.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s nothing, meaningless, but it soothes him all the same.

This man. This beautiful, brave, brilliant man. The light is low, but Lan Wangji can still see the radiance shining out of this man he loves.

The time continues to drip away from him, from them both. He made a confession once, in a cave like this. But whether Wei Ying heard it, grasped it, understood it… Remembers it. Lan Wangji doesn’t believe he’ll have many more chances after this.

“Please,” he says, “Wei Ying, I--”

“Don’t say it.” It’s almost a sob. As much of a sob as Wei Ying’s broken body can manage, Lan Wangji would guess. “Don’t say it, Lan Zhan. It only hurts more if you say it. If I-- Don’t say it.”

Of course. He already said he knows, after all.

The ache is less than he imagined it would be. He swallows it down.

“Okay. Okay, Wei Ying.”

“Let them take you. When they come, just go with them. Don’t fight.”

Obstinance returns, a welcome distraction.

“They will kill you.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t--”

“You must.” Lan Wangji wants to throttle him, just so he stops interrupting.

“They need a villain,” Wei Ying repeats. “They don’t need two. But if you stay with me, if you fight them for me, that is what you become. A'Yuan needs you.”

His voice breaks over A’Yuan’s name, and Lan Wangji breaks for him again.

“Okay. Okay, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying moves slowly. His sleeve drags against the stone, a strangely soft sound for the roughness of the materials making it.

He reaches toward Lan Wangji and asks, “Hold my hand?”

“But--”

“I only said not to say it. Not that it’s unwelcome.”

His touch is surprisingly warm. Lan Wangji laces their fingers together and traces the lines of Wei Ying’s veins with his other hand.

“Wei Ying--” he tries again, but Wei Ying shushes him.

“Hush now, Lan Zhan. Just hold me. They’ll be here soon.”

It’s cold, in the cave. With his core depleted, Lan Wangji feels it seeping in through the many layers of his robes. He hurts -- everywhere. His heart, certainly, but there’s the ache of overtaxed muscles as well, and the nettle-bite of a hundred tiny cuts, partially healed and stinging for it.

He thinks he will hurt much more before the night is through.

Wei Ying’s breath is shallow and murky, but it’s even. His pulse is weak beneath his pale, thin skin. Resentment bleeds from somewhere under his robes, spilling sluggishly and sapping whatever remains of Wei Ying’s warmth.

He’s dying, Lan Wangji knows. He’s dying, and there’s nothing Lan Wangji can do to save him.

So Lan Wangji turns his mind to other problems. The other thing, the tenses that seem out of place, but possibly are not.

Wei Ying is ingenious. He has created things -- terrible, powerful things -- that no one had imagined, that now everyone clamors for. If anyone could… what? Reverse the flow of time? Step in and out of the stream, perhaps? It would be him.

“If you’ve done this before,” Lan Wangji asks, “why not fix it? Why not live?”

Wei Ying does not seem surprised by the question. But, if he’s done this before, perhaps he answered it before. Perhaps none of this is new to him.

“It doesn’t work,” Wei Ying sighs. “It all falls apart. The clans fall to each other if not to Wen Ruohan. They need--”

“A villain. So you’ve said.” Lan Wangji can’t stand to hear the easy acceptance in Wei Ying’s voice as he repeats the brand again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s lungs fail to contain his excitement, and he coughs wetly around what might have been a laugh. He says, “Interrupting me, so bold!”

Which is truly--

“I am trying to understand.”

“I know. I know. There’s no time. Which will be very funny to you later. Nothing but time. Maybe I will see you again, Lan Zhan.”

And maybe he will, but will Lan Wangji see Wei Ying again? If they’ve done this all before, what happens to Lan Wangji when Wei Ying starts over? He certainly has no memory of this. Where does Wei Ying begin again? Is it even the same stream in time, or simply another branch in the watershed?

These questions and more pile up in Lan Wangji’s throat, too thick to speak through.

In the end, they don’t matter because, “They will kill you.”

“Yes. Yes, and you should let them. So you can save A'Yuan.” A’Yuan, again.

Wei Ying turns away from him, then. He doesn’t pull his hand back, and Lan Wangji finds he is pathetically grateful for this small comfort allowed to him.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says, “maybe you can make them all see. Make them open their eyes in the Burial Mounds. Make them see who it is they’re running through.”

The Burial Mounds. The Wens. The tiny village of broken men and women who have drawn life from a mountain made of death.

Lan Wangji cannot fathom why the sects would besiege such a place, yet he knows that they must. That they’ve been threatening it for months. And now that Wei Ying is injured, now that his general has burned, now that his power source has shattered to pieces and the Burial Mounds are left defenseless… Now, he supposes, they must. Or else allow themselves to be called cowards by those who desire power more than justice.

And Wei Ying has done this before.

He brings their entwined hands to his mouth, but stops before he can touch his lips to Wei Ying’s skin. Not unwelcome, but not welcome, either.

“Why can’t we show them together, Wei Ying? Why?”

“It doesn’t work. It’s too late for me. You saw what I did to them. You saw the monster I’ve become.”

The monster they made him into. It was their own hunger for the Yin Tiger Seal that drove Wei Ying to destroy it. The chaos that rained down, a disaster brought about by their greed, their prejudice, their failure to see Wei Ying and all that he was and cherish him as he deserved.

Lan Wangji’s own failure.

“Wei Ying--”

“I asked you to kill me once. If I was too far gone. Do you remember that?”

Lan Wangji freezes, his blood thickens and slows like ice in his veins.

Of course he remembers. That night haunts him, will forever haunt him, now. The night he should have pulled himself up onto a horse and rode with them. The night he should have trusted Wei Ying. Should have protected him.

His jaw barely moves, “I do.”

“Would you do it now?”

“Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji jumps to his feet, dropping Wei Ying’s hand and immediately missing the touch. But he cannot-- He cannot.

“I know,” Wei Ying says, a rueful edge to his tone. “You’re too good, Lan Zhan. You never agree to that.”

This time. Before. Always. Never.

“Wei Ying, please.” Lan Wangji cannot hold the whine in his throat.

“I could make you.”

There’s something in Wei Ying’s voice when he says it. Something malicious.

No. Venomous.

It is not evil. Wei Ying is not evil. He is good, sunlight, righteousness.

Even the black and white banded snake strikes only in defense, or in hunger. Which is this, Lan Wangji wonders. Defense, or hunger?

“Wei Ying?”

“I could make you kill me,” he says, the venom thick on his tongue. “I haven’t tried that before. You would be the hero, then maybe you could stop the slaughter.”

“You are not a villain, Wei Ying!” His voice sounds harsh to his own ears. It ricochets off the stone walls like a rock slide in a canyon. Loud, crashing, and trembling.

“I am,” Wei Ying presses. “I’m a monster, haven’t you heard? A demon. You would be venerated for putting me down.”

Wei Ying’s eyes -- clever and cruel -- begin to take on that eerie red hue, and Lan Wangji can’t stand it. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what else he can do. He has tried listening, he has tried confessing, he has tried arguing. None of it makes a difference.

The tears he’s held back begin to burn once more. Insistent. Desperate.

His body moves for him, seeking comfort in penance as it has over and over again. He spreads his skirts and kneels on the uneven stone.

The stone is colder now, like the cold of snow over gentian blooms. It is rough and rugged like gravel.

But he remembers that kneeling alone has never worked before. Kneeling alone has brought him nothing but absolution -- a release from the punishment, but not release from longing, not release from his own ruthless hunger.

His mouth moves for him, “Please…”

He watches his tears fall, the curve of them catching whatever light is left in this cave. They shine like diamonds.

“Please, Wei Ying…”

They are as useless to him as diamonds.

“It would crush you to do it, I know.”

The ice in Wei Ying’s voice thaws a little. But Lan Wangji can see determination still flickering in his eyes. The red has faded, at least. The silver seems dulled with exhaustion.

“We could do it together,” Wei Ying offers, “you and I. Draw your sword, Lan Zhan.”

“No.”

Lan Wangji tucks his fingers into fists and squeezes tight. It’s all he can do not to scream. Not to rage. Not to flee.

“Lan Zhan, they’ll kill me either way. Let me die like this: in your arms, with you by my side.”

“I can’t--”

“A quick slide, right through my ribs. It will be almost peaceful this way.”

Almost peaceful --

“No!”

“You can hold me.”

Lan Wangji feels the offer like a slap. He closes his eyes against it, against the want that curls in him even now. Even like this.

“They’ll praise you for it.” Wei Ying knows him well enough to sound sorry about it. “You’ll hate that, but then the spoils will be yours. You can claim them. It could work, Lan Zhan.”

The spoils. The Wens. A’Yuan. As if anyone would allow him this. As if he wouldn’t have to wrench it from their greedy, grasping hands.

“Wei Ying, please do not ask this of me.”

“It’s too much. I know. I know, Zhiji.”

Zhiji. I still am.

Lan Wangji knows he’s being placated, but he doesn’t care. He grasps at the word -- the acknowledgment -- with both hands. He clutches them into Wei Ying’s bloody robes.

“Zhiji. Zhiyin. Wei Ying.”

It still feels exhilarating to say. To speak into existence. Into memory.

“You would do it if I asked you to. I know you would.”

He would. It’s true.

What does that make him? A monster? A fool?

Tears stream down Lan Wangji’s face. He can feel their tracks on his cheeks. A deluge, unstoppable. Unimportant.

Wei Ying bites his lip, turning it even paler around the dull edges of his teeth.

“But is that something I can let myself ask of you? Is it too cruel? To make you bear this with me? To make you take some of the weight.”

He isn’t asking Lan Wangji. Not really. He’s thinking through a problem. Lan Wangji’s input is neither required nor requested. His opinion, his desire, is known.

Lan Wangji begs anyway.

“Please, don’t… Please, Wei Ying.”

Even as he does, he knows. He knows how this will end and he hates himself for it. He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be like his father. That he could say, No. You’re coming with me. I will keep you safe, whether you like it or not.

But he can’t.

Wei Ying is right. There are only so many ways forward. This one… This one could save lives. Possibly. Potentially.

It’s excruciating. Like tilling soil on a mountain of bones.

“Draw your sword, Lan Zhan.”

Bichen comes easy to his hands, once he’s untwisted them from Wei Ying’s robes. The white of the scabbard is too clean, too bright, for this place. The blade, too pure.

“Wei Ying.”

“Good. Good. It’ll be quick. So quick.”

Lan Wangji knows well the speed at which life can drain from a body.

He helps Wei Ying sit up as he slides himself down. Wei Ying is still far too thin, but the weight of him as he settles back against Lan Wangji’s chest is grounding. Lan Wangji tries to focus on that. On the places he and Wei Ying are pressed together. An embrace. A last comfort for Lan Wangji to hold onto.

“Don’t worry,”Wei Ying says, “they’ll be here soon. They’ll see. They’ll help you. Your brother will help you.”

Bichen’s tip settles easily -- too easily -- between the ladder-rungs of Wei Ying’s ribs. The blue light lends a sickly hue to Wei Ying’s pallor, but catches in his eyes like cold, crisp winter mornings.

“Yes, right there.”

The angle -- the angle that will kill Wei Ying with the least pain, the least suffering, the-- the fastest… It strains at Lan Wangji’s shoulder and elbow. He doesn’t have the qi to spend to hold Bichen with only his core. He has to use his hand.

He has to use his hand. For this.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s you.”

“This is not--”

“I know. I know. Just hold me.”

This is not what they meant when they said this in the rain. Either of them. This is not what they wanted when they came to this cave. Either of them.

But Wei Ying believes it will work, and Lan Wangji trusts Wei Ying.

He wishes--

No. The time for wishes has passed. But there is, perhaps, time left one thing.

“Wei Ying?”

“Yes, Lan Zhan?”

“May I say it.”

“Ha. Yes, Lan Zhan. I think. I think I’d like to hear it.”

“I love you, Wei Ying.”

“I know. I love you, too, Lan Zhan.”

“I know.”

And he finds he does know. Because as much as he trusts Wei Ying, Wei Ying is trusting him, too. He is here. In Lan Wangji’s arms. Ready to die. Ready for Lan Wangji to kill him. Because it is right. This time.

Lan Wangji’s tears spill onto Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. Deep breath. That’s it. It’s okay. It will be okay.”

“What’s that?”

But he knows.

“Footsteps. They’re almost here.”

Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Ying starts to beg.

“Lan Zhan, please. You can do it. Please. Lan Zh--”

A short slide.

“Wei Ying.”

The only light in the world goes out.

“Wei Ying.”

“I love you.”

“I’m here.”

When his family enters the cavern, they bring with them talismans of light. Dozens of elders follow behind Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, but Lan Wangji only really sees his brother.

“Wangji?”

A sob cracks its way out of Lan Wangji’s chest.

“Xiongzhang. He’s gone.”

Lan Xichen is gracious. His eyes don’t stray from Lan Wangji’s. Not to Wei Ying’s body, or the way Lan Wangji is clutching at it. Not to Bichen, dropped numbly to the ground, blood, red and glistening, wetting several inches at the tip.

Not even to Lan Wangji’s bare forehead. Or to the ribbon wrapped -- too hastily, too late -- around Wei Ying’s wrist.

He lets their uncle, their elders, witness those things.

Lan Xichen simply kneels down before his brother and whispers, “Oh, Wangji.”

(Lan Wangji's love is kept secret. His vanquishing of the evil Yiling Laozu turned legend. He retreats from the world and builds a home for the Wens, this time on a mountain that is already green with life and rich with promise.)

(He wanders in the forgotten places, the places that do not know him. And he teaches his son that rumor is not to be trusted.)

(Lan Wangji will never be more grateful that Wei Ying didn't ask him to sing again as he is when he hears their song played on a poorly cut flute and thinks only of life, survival, and love.)

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