Someone's going to go get Minako. Nephrite is purified, Kunzite's at least temporarily in his right mind, Jadeite's already safe, and they need to get Zoisite out-- but someone's going to go get Minako, and given what little Endymion remembers about how tense she'd been, he suspects that 'get Zoisite out before Minako gets here and/or before Kunzite loses his mind again' is the best possible route he can take.
So it is that the Prince is taking the shortcut to Paris: the platform far, far up, where Nephrite and Kunzite had entered the immensely tall forest earlier. He steps into the door in the trunk of the huge old tree...
...and out the other side into the lush and hilly spring garden with the sun in the sky that cradles the physical castle at the heart of Zoisite's realm. Seconds later he's stepped inside the castle proper, the bright cathedral to beauty and transience, and he crouches down with one knee on the floor and puts his hand on the patterned stones.
"Zoisite," he says gently, questing, tracing back over the slender link. It's not a pull, it's not a demand. It's a request.
The place in which Zoisite is sequestered is sealed against outside influences. The problem is the definition of outside. When something is written into the soul of the one creating those seals, well. It takes awareness to block that out. And none of them were aware, at the time.
That's changed.
There's a stirring in answer, then an alertness. It still takes a minute or two for an answer. After all, given where Zoisite is, he has to walk part of the way. Crossing continents is faster than taking stairs --
And then he's there, manifesting a few inches in the air, dropping down to land neatly a few feet away. His uniform has been woven back together without a trace of the previous damage; it makes it hard to tell how much of the actual wounds remain. But given the faint shadows that still linger under the skin of his face ... well. Given any control at all, it's likely Zoisite would have finished healing those first.
He stays back, that little distance. Stays on his feet. Watches the Prince with a wary uncertainty, without saying a word.
And Endymion's eyes are blue, and warm, and awake, and concerned. And when he sees the physical confirmation of the shape Zoisite is still in, the concern swiftly shifts to an expression that's sick with worry and apology. "Oh god, please let me--" he says, holding his hands out, not bothering to finish the sentence, but given Zoisite's caution, also not taking more than one abortive step toward him.
"I'm so sorry, Zoisite," he breathes, "I'm so sorry I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry taking care of me put you in range of that thing--"
It's far too familiar. This situation; the way Zoisite's pulled in on himself -- he's folding his arms tightly even now. There's no fire, at least. And no dissembling. Endymion in any iteration knows him too well for Zoisite to bother with that now.
Zoisite doesn't know this one. That's the problem. The broken doll he could take as a task. The Dark Prince, when his eyes weren't red, he learned despite himself to trust. The figure in his broken memories is too bright for him to look at, too bright for him to imagine clearly. This one -- isn't quite any of those.
"What did you want?" The words are light, cutting, dismissive. Of course they are. Change happened, and Zoisite always falls into the same assumptions about change. If he'd ever been able to feel really secure in his place --
-- well. Worlds too late to speculate about that now.
Endymion tries not to be hurt and just barely manages, though it shows for a half-second in his eyes. He keeps one hand held out, takes another step closer. "It's all in endgame. I want you safe, and I want you with me. But I won't make you, if you don't want to. It's just-- even if you don't want to be with me, at least stay here. She can't see you here, and the control you have over this place-- you can kick anyone out who's trying to hurt you. Probably even me."
The hand the boy Prince had dropped curls and uncurls at his side, and he tries to keep a lid on his own emotions, but it's hard, and he's tired, and he's afraid, and--
Mamoru lets out a shuddering breath, pulling his hand in to fist against his chest, held tightly there for a moment as his face falls. "Zoisite. I need you. That hasn't changed. And I'm still me."
When he looks up, his eyes are too-bright, face stark and vivid, open like the pages of a book. "Neph and Kunzite went after the key in Neph's place. I showed the girls what happened to you when you didn't get the key in Jadeite's place, and Moon told Kunzite to take this one, to keep Beryl from killing you or torturing them. Between everyone there, we managed to wake Kunzite back up. Jupiter dropped henshin to try and snap Nephrite out of it-- he almost remembered, but he was furious and afraid-- but Kunzite did remember, he remembered everything we went through since December, he remembered everything-- and he told Neph to let Moon purify him, to get out of the Dark Kingdom. I came to get you at least safe away from her. You don't have to talk to them. You don't have to do anything. But please don't go back."
"Of course I won't. The second She figures out she's lost another one of us, she'll lock the rest down so hard we'd need explicit orders to be able to blink." Reflex words, amused and bright, buying time to process everything: Mamoru's face, the way he holds himsel, the things he's saying. All the things he's saying. Some of the things he isn't. His turn for a flash of hurt, though Endymion might be the only person alive who could recognize it; and it isn't given enough time to get in the way. He closes his eyes instead, breathes once, then lifts both hands to tuck back the stray curls at either side of his face.
One hand lingers there when his eyes open again, twining a fingertip in a lock of his hair and curling it out again, over and over.
"Are you all right?" is all that Zoisite says.
"No," says Endymion matter-of-factly, "and I won't be until everyone's out and Beryl and Metalia are dead and my planet's not in danger of being eaten alive."
His tone changes some; he starts out somewhat encouragingly. "But I'm a lot better. I can actually think, you know? And remember who I am. And my skin isn't trying to crawl off me anymore, and I don't hurt all the time anymore. It's really a huge list of 'oh thank god that's done' perks. I think I'm allergic to being infused with dark energy and brainwashed."
If Zoisite can do it, so can Endymion-- but there's a little too much salt in his tone to match the cheerful carelessness Zoisite affects so easily. He's a little too brittle. Little tells in the way he holds himself, the way his shoulders are tight, the expression on his face that indicates he's trying not to actually think about the things he's talking about.
His voice is quieter, then. "I don't think I'm going to be all better for a while, even after everyone's safe again. Everyone's trying to help, but there's no time to finish fixing me, or finish fixing Jadeite. Not yet. I can cope until there is. I think Nephrite is going to be okay, but I won't know until he's had some time to process. Kunzite is not okay, but we both know how good he is at bulling past it to get things done."
Kunzite is not okay.
The girls haven't come up with anything clever.
Zoisite knows what the fallback plan for that is.
He's had more time to come to terms with it, though; so he can toss his head with apparent ease. "Of course Nephrite's going to be fine," he asserts with a roll of his eyes. Little gestures emphasize his words, growing into larger ones as he warms to his subject. "He'll be following Jupiter around like the world's most drunken puppy. They'll both be fine, if only because anything that tries to get near either of them will get shocked into oblivion and ripped apart while it's still trying to remember which direction 'up' is in."
That last gesture ends with a step forward, and with his right hand catching hold of Endymion's right shoulder.
A moment later Zoisite's behind him, embracing him from there, chest snug against Endymion's spine and forehead resting against the base of his skull.
His voice is still bright, if somewhat muffled. "Just keep your trigger-happy girlfriend away from me with that thing. She's foul when you get her riled up. I'm terribly impressed, when I can stop laughing long enough."
Endymion stumbles slightly when Zoisite attaches himself to his back from having been in front of him, but he's immediately hugging Zoisite's arms to his chest, head down a little; he's suddenly smiling so hard he thinks his face might break. And the contact -- Zoisite's forehead against the back of the Prince's head -- is enough to establish that bright, immediate connection.
Mamoru Chiba has no walls up.
In addition to the sense of him that will flood Zoisite's awareness, the solid and real and accepting and forgiving that the bright-haired General first met in his gardens just outside this realm, there's evidence everywhere of the hastily-patched cracks and shored-up breaks in the boy's heart and mind, of the damage resting below the presentation of himself that he's been stubbornly holding out front.
It's so much better than the tatters and the shards that holding his hand in the night had revealed, so much better! And it's better than the carefully unknowing fog that had surrounded the Prince when he healed Zoisite after the fight here, and it's so very much better than any of the other instances from this lifetime--
This boy is closer to that too-bright figure from Zoi's fractured fever dreams than any of the pieces of him that Zoisite met in the Dark Kingdom, but instead of there being orders of magnitude less of him than there should have been, there's more. There's another lifetime's worth of him, hurting but fighting just the same, finally able to breathe, finally without any question of who he is, who he really is. That is the most solid thing. And in this place, this remnant of an era long vanished, that knowledge is more solid still.
All the same, he's a seventeen year old boy who's been through hell and gotten out again, who's been trying to pretend to be normal for the benefit of people he loves, people who need him to be whole and undamaged. Usagi's been helping, has been giving him time to let go and just exist; she's been mending him, bit by bit. That's why he's even able to put up a front, to be on guard.
Zoisite heard the brittleness, saw the microtensions, and he's got Endymion now, and Endymion knows it-- and the upperclassman sags a little, letting Zoisite shield him for just a moment. He laughs a very little bit. "If you laugh at her it just makes her angrier, you know. She's so cute when she's riled up, though-- it's always horribly tempting to just keep trolling her until she explodes. But then you get a tub of fries or an Escalation to the face."
A beat. "Are you going to let me heal you yet?"
In the first moment that Zoisite felt the contact, he thought he understood what was going on. He knew the locks could be changed. Knew he could do it. Knew that what he could do there was a secondhand power; knew that it matched the one he'd seen Endymion use briefly, casually, in the Dark Kingdom. Knew who it had to be secondhand from. Knew that the girls had been going to take Endymion back. Had an idea what Endymion might be without the darkness occluding him. Knew what he, himself, Zoisite, had done over the past years. Could not see any way those things could be reconciled.
The palace was just one more thing to be taken away from him; but he was bound to it so tightly, it would be hard to do it without him there.
It didn't take long at all for Endymion to make it clear that Zoisite's understanding was completely and utterly wrong. It just took a few more seconds, little more information, for Zoisite to retract claws enough that he wouldn't tear anything open again when he made contact.
He can't retract the fire, of course. But that's never been a problem. And he can't retract all of the darkness threaded through his mind and soul and body, but he can rearrange it, choose to keep it from sinking in to Endymion the same way he chose to use pink petals beside Jadeite-Mercury rather than black.
Besides, Endymion knew about that, too.
"She's ridiculous," Zoisite assures Endymion, and given the way he acts sometimes himself, it's very near a compliment. The undercurrent is an assurance, too, and more of one. Bright and hot and strong, as much to do with vines and twining branches as with flames. The promise that growth happens, that healing happens, that he doesn't have to keep every piece in place himself; that where his self meets up with others, they can lean against each other and let their own mutual weight keep things from falling.
Things like, oh, blood, as Endymion reminds him. Zoisite heaves an exaggerated and completely feigned sigh. "Well, if you're going to keep nagging at me till I say yes --" Which is when his own vocal cords betray him, the last syllable cracking partway through into something less word than wheeze. Given their position, and the way Zoisite's supporting some of Endymion's weight, the Prince can literally feel the face the smaller General makes.
It tickles the back of his neck, and Endymion twitches, but it's accompanied by a flood of amusement, of carefully held-back affectionate mockery -- even if it's just at the face, the face is partly because of the pain, and he's not about to laugh at pain.
The healing itself is very much like Zoisite remembers it, except for a few intertwined and incredibly important differences: it's not hiding, and it's not rushed, and there's nothing of the taint of dark energy on Endymion's side this time. Otherwise it's the same, the place where nothing hurts and the light doesn't accuse or judge. If Zoisite were to look at the energy itself, the way Kunzite does, he'd see that it's also not all directly from his Prince-- an explanation as to why he was able to ride out Nephrite's escalation, see to Mars, and now heal Zoisite. In this place, he's just moving it around. Politely requesting the energy of the palace itself to equalize Zoisite's, directing the efforts...
And in the meantime, somewhere in there, Endymion's turned around in the shorter boy's arms; he kisses his forehead. "I like ridiculous," he says quietly. "Thank you for carrying me through the dark."
There's no bright surge of memories, no sudden breakthrough. The words just fit into place, filling one more piece of the Endymion-shaped void that had been driving Zoisite mad longer than Beryl had the chance to. Of course he did that. What else could bind the disparate segments of his personality? Fire to light the dark. Flowers as the reminder that there's something worthwhile on the far side. That even if it's transient, if it dies or burns away, it's still there and still valuable, and it will return. That even if the fire goes out, sooner or later lightning will strike a tree and blaze up anew.
He's always been about endings. They just weren't always final ones.
"You came back for us," Zoisite answers. He's not talking about rebirth. Not talking about what Kunzite did. Walpurgisnacht. Endymion was standing next to Moon; his eyes were blue -- Zoisite didn't need to see them to know. She could have driven the last of Beryl's magic from Endymion then. He could have been spared those last terrible weeks. He chose to stand between them and Beryl instead.
The burst of shame is hot and bright and brief, and Zoisite bends his head for a moment to hide his expression in Endymion's shoulder. But brief, most of all. It's done. It's over. It's past, and there are new patterns shaping themselves in the present, far more to be concerned with.
"So," he's already saying as he lifts his head again, pretty and pristine in the wake of the gold. "How many of them are going to try to shoot me this time? I just want to know how fast i need to be ready to duck." Not words Endymion actually needs to answer; he knows from the undercurrents that so far as Zoisite is concerned there's no hurry, no need for conversation, no need for anything. Only symbols. Yes, he's here. Yes, for however long. No, Endymion doesn't need to talk if he doesn't want to. Yes, he means to stay. No, he's still not comfortable with that Escalation-to-the-face. He doesn't think that matters. (He can't see, from the inside, how wrong he is.) Yes, he can be leaned on, at least so long as he has the strength and focus to work around the darkness still inside him. No, he won't tell.
There's an affirmative there, surrounding Zoisite's first statement. It's somewhat sheepish and somewhat defiant, a red-faced 'what of it'-- but it's over with, Zoisite's left the moment in the past, and Endymion just hugs him tight before the bright-haired boy's lifting his head to look at him.
Black eyebrows shoot upwards, and no: words are not necessary for the actual conversation. Only the prince's hand tightening slightly on Zoisite's arm as he steps back, only the gratitude and relief, only the sense that things are so close to whole and they will be-- and still more shameless thanks at the number of things Zoisite won't tell.
But the words that actually get spoken, as he drops his arm around the other boy's shoulders and starts them toward the door to Neph's, are "Just hide behind me. I'm pretty sure Venus won't actually shoot through me to get to you. Kunzite is going to be /so/ glad to see you, it might even show on his face...!"