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Hakkai's voice doesn't sound quite right, and Gojyo's pretty sure he knows why. I remembered, he wants to say. I know who we were, it's fine. I was wrong before. It's fine. But that's the punchline to today's talk, not the intro. There's too many things he needs to confirm first.

Still. A bit of a show can't hurt, right?

"Sure," he agrees amiably, straightening up and shrugging out of his jacket and long-sleeved shirt without the slightest shred of modesty. He's not as sexy as he thinks -- skinniness aside, he's in real need of a shower. A trickle of ice water rolls down his spine and he twitches, swearing under his breath as he bends back over.

Hakkai always comes to his rescue, doesn't he? Every time he's asked, Hakkai's come running, even if they'd been fighting. Even when he asks for something that Hakkai clearly doesn't want to do, like this, he's never said no. Not unless it would put Gojyo in danger.

He's been really unfair to the man, Gojyo thinks. He's got his work ahead of him, mending all these bridges. "Is this good?"

Gojyo's jacket and shirt come off with an easy flourish -- even unwashed and exhausted, he apparently can't help himself. There's a knife wound on his stomach, closed but still marked out in fresh pink skin, and.

Hakkai's breath goes out of him as though he'd been punched. He'd thought the dark streaks above Gojyo's collar were part of the blight; the color is almost the same, dark rust red against wine-purple. They're not. His youkai mark is back, twining around itself in that fiery curl between his shoulderblades.

"When did--"

There's no minus wave here. He'd know if there were; even with his limiters on, he can feel it as a distant pressure, can sense when it's stronger and weaker. He'd certainly have known the moment he took them off.

The blight obscures most of the top half, a few fingers'-breadth worth of purple blotting out the curls. Hakkai's hand clenches tighter on the handle of the plastic jug, and relaxes, deliberately, as it lets out a creak.

It's an effort to force himself to take the step closer, to lift the jug and pour another stream of clear, cold water over the last smear of blight. There's a part of him, buried deep, that's hoping, as he does, the mark beneath it will wash away too.

Hakkai pauses, and Hakkai gasps, and Gojyo cranes his neck around trying to see the other man's face. The hand not supporting his jacket and shirt goes to his side, where the knife wound is nearly healed and hardly tender at all. Is that what Hakkai's stressing about?

"This?" He pats it, gently but not gingerly, as Hakkai pours more water onto his neck. "It's nothin', don't worry about it."

The coil on the back of his neck stands out in sharp relief when the blight is finally washed away, the old-blood red dark against Gojyo's skin.Gojyo shakes the water out of his ears and peers back at Hakkai again.

"Hey, say something."

It doesn't, of course, wash off. Hakkai sets the gallon of water down with care before he fumbles it, and sits down next to it, on one of the bar stools. It's stiff, possibly with someone's old spilled drink, possibly with blood.

"Have you looked at the back of your neck lately?"

What he can't say: I've seen that mark before.

What he can -- what he can't avoid, because one glance into a mirror would give it away -- is that Gojyo has a youkai mark now, and he hadn't before.

He wants to put his face in his hands, or, possibly, run. He doesn't; he doesn't move, for a long moment, until he shifts enough to cross his legs, and clasp his hands on his knee.

"You have a youkai mark. It wasn't there before."

Has he what? Dropping his clothes on the (rather damp) floor, Gojyo rubs roughly at the back of his neck, then examines his fingertips, then rubs his neck again, trying to feel whatever it is Hakkai's talking about.

"That's not possible," he insists, but there's no blight on his fingers. Whatever Hakkai's seeing isn't caused by guilt. It doesn't hurt, so it's not a bruise, and it's not raised, so it's not one of those henna tattoos... With a look of shock (and not a little distrust), Gojyo pulls out his phone and awkwardly angles it to snap a shot of the back of his neck. The picture he takes is off-center and slightly blurry, but it's unmistakable -- there's a dark red coil on his back, and he has no idea how it got there.

"That's not possible." It can't be a youkai mark, but if it's not, then what is it? He rubs the skin there hard enough that it's reddening, which only makes the mark stand out brighter. "It's a tattoo or something, it can't be... that."

Hakkai attempts a laugh (which comes out even less convincing than usual) gives up on trying to look calm, and rubs his face after all.

"Is it a tattoo?" he inquires. After all, if it was, Gojyo would know. It's on his back. The hint of sarcasm slips away into tension, as he adds, "Do you feel any different?"

Where had it come from? And how?

If it's a tattoo then it healed faster than any tattoo Gojyo's ever heard of. They're supposed to take several days of being scabby, right? Sure he heals fast, but this isn't...

Shit.

"Shit." His hand falls to his side and he drops onto the bar stool next to Hakkai. On a whim he snaps another picture of himself, this time of his face, eyes wide open, to confirm that they're still the same bastard red. Which they are. "This isn't funny." He doesn't know whether he's excited, terrified, furious... This is somebody's idea of a sick joke, isn't it?

Slamming his phone down on the counter, he heads back behind the bar. "This isn't goddamn funny!" He needs another beer, and Hakkai gets one too, cap popped off and set frothing on the bar in front of him. Gojyo's is getting chugged.

This is not how he planned for this day to go.

Hakkai picks up the bottle. It's warm, but he doesn't care; he takes a long swig himself, sets it down, and remarks, "It's really not."

Because what else did this conversation need? When it started with Gojyo wanting to interrogate him about his past as a god, running so close up to the dangerous line of his past that Hakkai's watched the topic blight him before, and when it's going to have to involve Hakkai naming him, and when Hakkai doesn't even have a hint of what prompted this.

That, he supposes, is going to blow up in his face later. Gojyo bearing a youkai mark... what does that mean, here? That it's developed, sometime between now and the last time Hakkai saw his neck? How much are shinki memories altered, even the ones they regain, even the ones their gods see-- he cuts himself off before the thoughts can spiral off into full-blown conspiracy theories, and takes another swing of warm beer before he looks up at Gojyo again.

"...but I can't do anything about it. Do you still want to hear about your time as a god?"

He finishes his beer before he replies. That's number four (or is it number five?), but he's still feeling level-headed. If anything, he's too sober.

Not trusting his voice for the moment, he nods, and rubs his face roughly with one condensation-slick hand. He wanted to hear some secrets, and the universe (the gods, heaven, Amaterasu, Sharak maybe) decided to share one of their own. He'll figure out what the mark means later, figure out who is responsible. Figure out who he needs to thank.

Slowly, he puts his head down on the bar. The bar top is sticky under his forehead, and cool. Solid. "Yeah. Name me. Let's get this over with."

Hakkai lifts a hand, tracing the character in the air, and murmurs the spell.

At last, he finishes, "Come, Shaki," and his eyes slip closed as he feels the bond flare to life and braces himself for the memory. It's all there: himself, savaging Goku. Was that how he looked, from the outside -- that much of a monster? And there's Gojyo's hand, catching his. Unguarded, fearless. Then what hadn't happened, his turning with nothing but fury on his face, his hand lashing out. The blood.

It's easier the second time. His hand is still clenched on the edge of the bar when he comes back to himself, and the smell of stale blood in the room sends a rush of hot bile rising in the back of his throat, but he swallows, and looks down at the umbrella in his other white-knuckled hand.

Hello, he thinks, half-sick, terrified and shaken with grief. It's the same umbrella: the fear leaps back up in him, whispering look at you, can't let go, can't walk away, won't stop until you've killed him too.

"Return," he says, too fast, "return, Gojyo."

It's always a rush, that feeling of becoming nothing and then reforming into something not himself. The strong, straight spine and the light steel fingers are familiar this time, and he's shocked to discover that he's back in his umbrella form. Well. That's not terrible! He and Hakkai killed a lot of youkai when he was in this form, he thinks, giving his canvas a bit of a shake. It's not a form he minds at all; after they're done here, if Hakkai's still speaking to him and he's still speaking to Hakkai, maybe he'll suggest that they go find some ayakashi. Neither of them really seem to need an excuse to go kill things, and it might be a relief to do something physical.

Hello, he thinks back, but before he can reach out and flap his wing, maybe give it a twirl? Hakkai's calling him back to his person shape. The world fades and reforms, and then he's standing -- still shirtless -- in front of a very pale and shaken looking Hakkai.

He doesn't stop to think. He rarely stops to think -- he's a creature of impulse, of feeling and action, and it might have covered his body in scars but he's not going to stop now. He reaches out, lays one broad hand on Hakkai's shoulder -- really, more on the side of his throat -- and gives that tight muscle there a little squeeze.

"I'm sorry. You had to see it again, huh?"

The shocked, guilty flinch that starts as Gojyo's hand falls on his shoulder turns into a violent recoil as the words sink in. How does Gojyo know? How had he--

-- and, somewhere in the middle of the movement, gravity and an old bar stool join forces and topple him over backwards. Hakkai manages to catch himself with an outflung hand on the edge of the counter. His beer bottle shatters, his stool thuds and clangs on the bloodstained floor, and Hakkai hangs from his grip on the counter, for one deeply startled moment, blinking.

At least it smells like spilled beer now instead of blood.

He rarely stops to think, but fuck, maybe he should. Hakkai all but falls over backward, his beer spraying across the floor, and Gojyo jerks back like he was burned, clutching his guilty hand to his chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." Guilt, then, through their new link. Guilt and shame, although Hakkai doesn't need the link when Gojyo's so bad at concealing his emotions. He looks away, at the mess on the floor, and carefully circles around Hakkai, heading behind the bar to find the mop. He'll clean up the mess, and then what? If Hakkai's this upset should he suggest that he revoke the name and leave? Or would that make things even worse?

Guilt stings him. It's been a while; not quite since Ayumu, but Chikusa's not given to guilt and Ken isn't given to second thoughts at all. The banal thoughts get him back to his feet, heaving himself up and leaning back against the counter.

God, he's pathetic.

"No," he manages, and crosses his arms, "I'm sorry. I -- you surprised me."

You're not supposed to know what I see. Is it any different, though, from knowing that gods know something about their shinki? He remembers hearing Gojyo tell him it wasn't right, that Gojyo didn't think they were really dead. He remembers surviving that. It's only the details that can't be shared.

Don't touch me again is what Gojyo hears, and he nods, just once, pulling the mop bucket out of its nook in the back of the bar. "It's a surprise kind of day, I guess," he jokes. "Apparently we were both low. Gotta stock up."

He realizes that he needs the hand broom and dustpan about five seconds after he finishes wrangling the mop and bucket out from behind the bar. With a huff of self-mocking laughter he leans the mop against the bar and heads back behind it again, searching for the broom.

"So what can you tell me about Sha Gojyo, Drunk God?" he calls. There's the clink of bottles behind the bar, and then a pair of Budweisers appear, offered by a disembodied hand. "You good with beer, or you want something else?"

"God of drunks," Hakkai says, "it's slightly different," and takes the beer from Gojyo's hand before he turns to right the stool. He hasn't made his best decisions with the help of alcohol, lately. He's still fairly sure he's going to need something to blunt the edges of this conversation.

At least he'll still know, if he says something wrong. And a beer (and the half of the previous beer that isn't all over the floor) isn't likely to take the edge off anything.

"I reserve the right," he adds, considering the cap of the bottle before he pulls his keys out to pop it off, "to switch to something stronger. Why don't I just start at the beginning?

"My first goddess's name was Elsa. I met you for the first time at a festival, only a few weeks after I came here."

Broom acquired, Gojyo kneels down and gets to work cleaning up the broken bottle with a thoroughness that speaks of many broken bottles shattered on this floor in the past. "They really ought to post warnings about those festivals." The traces of blight on the back of his neck are clearly visible from this angle, but there's no reason to clear them away yet. Almost certainly more will follow.

"What happened at that one? Shark attack?" He dumps the glass into the trash can against the far wall. "Everyone get turned into statues?"

"Nothing at all." He laughs softly, and takes another swig of the beer. It's cheap and bland, but inoffensive: he's definitely had worse. "It was a cherry blossom viewing, and nothing happened. I suppose we were being set up for later. You were drinking, and I thought there was something strange about the way you reacted to me. I didn't think about it too hard, at the time."

There's something very strange about watching Gojyo clean up every lost bit of glass scattered across his floor. He's used to it, probably; drunks drop bottles. Still.

He really hasn't paid attention. He's tried not to. It hasn't helped whether he tries or not.

"--and you came to visit after that," he adds, "the day Elsa and I got back from the underworld."

So he reacted 'strangely' to Hakkai, too? Gojyo chuckles at that, low under his breath as he puts the dustpan away. He should really mop, before the beer dries, but if the bar isn't going to open again what's the point?

Instead, he leans against the bar a space or two down from Hakkai, and cracks open his own beer.

"The under world?" Like, a basement city? A moment later realization dawns, and he sets his beer down heavily. "You went to hell?"

Hakkai nods. "Elsa had hoped the goddess banished there might have more information than the ones in charge of Heaven were giving us. If she did, she didn't want to share; one of the other shinki with us died, and the rest of us only got out because Bishamon was there."

And much, much better in a fight than any of the newcomers with her. He's silent for a moment, remembering the endless, hopeless battle, retreating back through the caves....

"...I don't recommend it," he adds, "as a destination. You weren't thrilled about it at the time, and you ended up asking me to leave while you and Elsa shouted at each other."

It's been longer since he talked about Elsa than it has since he talked about Gojyo as a god. It still stings, to his surprise. They'd known each other so briefly, and yet it still stings.

He finishes off the beer in one last long swig, and sets it back down.

Gojyo snorts at that. Yeah, he can imagine he yelled. He shows up here, his friend -- his lover -- just got taken to Hell by his god, and people died on the trip? He'd be surprised if he didn't take a swing at her.

"That must have made things hard," he offers, sipping his beer. If he can't remember how many he's had, then it's time to slow down. "Me and your god hating each other."

Hakkai makes a dry little sound of amusement, and shakes his head. "She tried to tell me to stay away from you, yes. I told her that wasn't her business. I..."

He leans forward, crossing his arms on the bar. It's not talking about their past to tell Gojyo what he'd thought of 'Dionysus,' when he was a shinki with no memory. Even so, it's embarrassing, and there's a cynical part of him muttering about the odds that what he says now will be thrown in his face later. Or thrown at his shinki. Or Ayumu -- although he's not sure he and Ayumu are on speaking terms, right now.

Gojyo had asked for this, anyway.

"I liked you," he says, baldly. "I didn't understand you, but you acted as though you cared about me, and I didn't want to stay away.

"When you were a god, you had the power to cause others to go berserk. Neither of you would tell me how it happened, but a few days after that, you used your power on her, and she blacked both your eyes.

"My goddess had been the one to attack you, so I went to make sure you were all right, the next morning. That time, you told me I had to stay away from you, until you had that power under control."

Gojyo's seen him fight. Hakkai leaves it at that.

"--that took about a week," he adds. "Elsa was busy looking into other ways to understand this place and get us out; we took in another young shinki, Son Goku, whose god mistreated and abandoned him. A set of gods showed up with our faces, or very nearly our faces, and I admit I still don't understand why.

"It was about a week after that when Goku's god unleashed ayakashi across the heavens and pulled off his limiter. It turns out he was a powerful youkai, and without his limiter he went on a rampage. We all wound up fighting him -- myself, Elsa, her other shinki Genjo Sanzo; you, and Sanzang, and those gods with our faces."

Halfway through the recitation Gojyo's leaning on the bar too, listening in rapt attention. He has so many questions, so many things he wants to interject and say, but he doesn't want Hakkai to stop talking.

His power made people attack him. What a terrible fucking thing to do to a person.

He has to comment about Goku, though. "Another youkai." His beer's empty, and Hakkai's beer's empty, but he makes no move to get up and refresh their drinks. The booze is all right there if Hakkai wants some, but Gojyo's trying not to get trashed right now. There's too much to think about to risk being drunk. "And people who looked like me and you?" And not like anybody else? "Poor bastards. I assume they're not here anymore?"

"Me, and you, and Genjo Sanzo. They're all gone now," Hakkai confirms, casting Gojyo a veiled glance. He's not making a move to get another drink, either. Gojyo, so far, is reacting much more calmly than he'd expected.

Hakkai keeps finding himself waiting for the moment it all turns sour. Will it be over their divine doppelgangers? Gojyo had been Sanzo's shinki, though not for long before Sanzo disappeared again. That connection, as bizarre as being connected through a lookalike really is, might be too much.

Oh, things will undoubtedly go sideways at some point. But magical duplicates and the implication of something he already knew -- that Genjo Sanzo had been one of their little group -- isn't shocking enough to upset the tentative peace they've got going on here. Not enough to shock, and not yet enough to blight. Yet.

That was a lot of information to take in. Gojyo considers his warped reflection in the stained and cracked glass behind the bar, then, just for good measure, he considers Hakkai's.

"We keep coming back." In the glass, Hakkai's face looks twisted and dark, the angles wrong thanks to the backlighting. Gojyo can't look away. "I was a god, and you were a shinki, Genjo was a shinki. Why us?"

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