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twinxyjinx · 2 years

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Wukong never thought about the fact he’d outlive them.

(aka Monkey King is immortal, and his friends are decidedly no)

Read it below, or read it here —> https://archiveofourown.org/works/38831166

TW: character death, depictions of violence, references to depression

WARNING: This fic is meant to show a character being unable to cope with the loss of loved ones. As a result, said character spirals.

—

Wukong never thought of the consequences when he ate those peaches. Never did the thought cross his mind that he would become immortal, rendering death powerless against him. He had been young and stupid in the moment, and it had quickly caught on with him. The idea of living forever had seemed like a great one back then, but now that it had happened and was still happening, he was only haunted by his past actions. The dread of immortality weighed heavy on his shoulders, bringing him an exhaustion only he could experience.

So when he met MK, it brought a new spark of light into his life. The kid had energy, was fairly intelligent, and he could hold the staff. It was a perfect fit for Monkey King’s successor, and Wukong personally couldn’t have been more glad. The idea of having someone else take up the mantle of such a task while allowing him to do whatever he pleased for the rest of the world was a fascinating, yet enticing, idea. But fate never played out how he wanted. The kid wanted to be vulnerable. He wanted to learn all the moves before he became invulnerable, and for all Wukong knew, that could take years… more years than a human could live for.

The idea scared him, of course. He had taken a liking to MK. He was great company, he was a great sparring partner (for the little battle knowledge he knew), and he wasn’t too pushy with Wukong. He had expected him to be somewhat obsessed, seeing how he was an avid Monkey King fan. He still had those moments where he would freak out and obsess over things, but he always seemed to know when to tone it down. He knew when to back off and play it cool. He was surprisingly (and scarily) good at reading body language, and Wukong was practically an open book to him.

“What’s wrong?” That was a question MK asked a lot. Whether it be when Wukong was simply tired or having one of those days, MK always asked that question when he saw even the smallest indication that something was off. Wukong would laugh it off, waving a hand to brush it off while he shrugged. But he always persisted, and Wukong always said the same thing: “I don’t think an immortal should be dumping all his problems onto a mortal who isn’t that old yet.” It seemed to soothe MK, or at least stop him from asking about what was wrong. It was nice that he worried. Endearing, in a way. But Wukong wouldn’t talk to him about that.

When MK introduced him to his friends, it had been a different kind of feeling that ran through his body. A ripple of shock that sent his body into overdrive, his fur standing on end while he stared with wide, hollow eyes. They’re names were Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy. Nothing was overly special about them aside from how they looked. Wukong didn’t believe in coincidences, but he didn’t believe in reincarnation either. He had studied each for an immeasurable amount of time before brushing it off to “they look alike.” It was still unnerving lingering around them. The kind of unease that filled his body rattled his bones and made him shiver.

And MK would do what he always did. He’d ask if Wukong was okay, but Wukong didn’t respond how he normally did. He’d fix him with a stare that held an untold story in his gaze before he’d sigh, looking away wistfully. “You’re friends remind me of someone.” That was his new response, now. He never elaborated on it. Even when MK shoved his face at Wukong’s face, pleading for an explanation, he never offered one. Of course he wished he could tell him everything, but he didn’t feel like doing it would leave him with a clear mind.

It was harder after Lady Bone Demon essentially sent them away. It was more of a retreat than anything, but also a plan to collect the rings. Wukong had felt the hot stares that melted into him when he walked around the ship. He felt the cold glares from MK’s friends, but he never acknowledged them. At night, he would sit on the edge of the ship, staring at the stars overhead with a bored expression. When MK could join him and ask if he was okay, he’d breath out a soft “just thinking.” Because this situation was all too familiar in a way that made him writhe in his own body. It was unsettling to be in the environment he was in, but he did his best to hide that discomfort. Even if it did mean he’d cry out of frustration every moment he was alone.

And even after they had defeated Lady Bone Demon, the distress never left him. MK had been injured in that final fight, rendering him on bed rest for at least a few weeks while he recovered. The whole thing had been a blur for Wukong, but he remembered so vaguely that he could practically piece it together. The way MK fell forward, and the animalistic scream he let out. The raw shriek was so loud that it scratched his throat in a way that it burned. The way he crumbled down next to his body, choking out pleas while he desperately applied pressure to any wounds. The way tears dribbled down the side of his face when he watched MK’s boneless body be carried away with such urgency that it hurt.

He didn’t sleep for a while after that. He wasn’t able to. The mountain he had once called home was a mess compared to the last time he’d seen it, so he spent his nights on Sandy’s ship or at Pigsy’s shop. He could still feel their eyes on him, but they were less heated. They were worried. He shrunk under their gazes, tail twitching irritably. His frustration was growing unbearable. MK hadn’t woken for two weeks since the battle, and Wukong was beginning to grow weary. He was beginning to regret ever taking away his invincibility. Even staring at him on the bed where he lay, despite the recovery he was making, made him regret it.

“Monkey King?” Tang’s voice startled him. Wukong looked away from MK, sitting upright in the chair he was slouching in. He blinked once, and he relished in the split second his eyelids closed. The bite of pain when he opened them again went unnoticed by Tang, who stared at him with a worried expression. “I think you should sleep.” He finally murmured after a moment. Wukong didn’t respond for a long time, processing the words. He stared, and stared, and stared, until he finally inhaled and exhaled. “I will.”

“MK would want you to sleep.” Tang responded curtly, resting a hand on Wukong’s shoulder. The statement stung in a way that made Wukong clench his jaw. He narrowed his eyes, whether it be out of frustration or that they were beginning to burn. “I will.” He repeated again, looking at MK once more. The stillness of him was unnerving. The way he just laid there, his chest rising and falling. If he didn’t see him breathing, Wukong would’ve thought he was a corpse. He could certainly pass as one the way he looked now. His face was relaxed, no wrinkles and no signs of distress. Wukong longed for that.

“Please?” Tang tried again. Wukong looked back at him, swaying unsteadily in the chair. His vision fuzzed for a moment before clearing to a different image. Wukong stalled for a moment before slowly leaning forward, letting his head rest against Tang’s chest. But it wasn’t Tang he saw. “Okay, Tripitaka.” He murmured softly. The moment he uttered those words, it was as if a puppet had lost all of its strings. His body went boneless as he slumped off the chair into Tang, who frantically scrabbled to keep him upright. He didn’t remember much after that, despite being told he didn’t fall asleep for a while. He’d been somewhere between a state of awake and sleep, according to Tang and Pigsy. And he’d been murmuring names they didn’t recognize. But Wukong knew those names. He didn’t dare explain them, however.

MK regained consciousness days later, and Wukong got a little more spring back into his step. His playful banter was back, despite the bags that hung under his eyes. It was overwhelming how quickly he had gotten energy, but he was burning himself out. That exhaustion showed itself once again when he found himself shambling awkwardly through Pigsy’s shop late at night, his mind a haze. Maybe he was coming down with something? That wouldn’t surprise him. He shook his head as he leaned against a nearby wall, staring at his feet.

“What’re you doing up?” The voice caught Wukong off guard. His head snapped upright to stare at Pigsy, but he wasn’t seeing who he actually was. Just like with Tang. His eyebrows furrowed together as he tilted his head. “Bajie?” He breathed out, taking a stumbling step towards him. His legs buckled beneath him, but Pigsy caught him. The other let out a grunt as Wukong hung there for a moment, head drooped, before he looked back up at him. “You’re alive?” He breathed, eyes widening. Pigsy’s face contorted as he carefully brought one of his hands up to Wukong’s forehead. “Not again.” He muttered before pulling his hand away. “You’re burning up. C’mere.”

It all blurred from there once again. He was told the same as last time, of course. Muttering nonsense and talking to him as if he was someone else. Even if embarrassment bit at him, it was the horrible feeling of grief that overpowered it. He hid it to the best of his ability, but MK saw right through it, of course. “Are you okay?” He asked once more on a pleasant day. They had finally gone up to the mountain again to meditate, and MK had broken the long string of silence with that question. Wukong opened his eyes, glancing at MK with a confused look. “Yeah?” He shrugged, uncrossing his legs.

“You don’t look okay.” MK responded, and Wukong winced. He was an open book. An open book with ripped and tattered pages, old and worn, scarred by time. He breathed out a laugh, looking away. “I’m doing great, kid.” He shrugged it off, but MK persisted this time. He didn’t normally do that. “You’ve been lying.” He said, and something in Wukong cracked. He looked back at MK, his voice wobbling as he spoke. “Really?” He asked with an innocent tone, trying to keep the mood light. Maybe, just maybe, he could trick the kid or at least change the subject somehow. But MK did not falter. “You can tell me.”

Another crack. Wukong felt a sting. He laughed again, waving his hands at MK. “I’m telling you, kid, I’m fine!” And despite how many times he had told himself and MK that, he did not, in fact, feel fine. His smile shook before falling into a frown as he looked down. MK made a noise of concern in the back of his throat as he scooted towards Wukong, eyes understanding and soft. “You haven’t been fine. You keep… talking about these other people… I’m going to ask you again, Wukong,” He said his name, “and I want an honest answer.” God kid. “Are you okay?”

His mind blanked for a second, and then he shattered. He stared at MK for a few moments before a sting built up in his eyes. He blinked as the sides of his face grew wet, tears racing down his cheeks and creating streaks. Wukong stared at MK for a moment before a trembling smile formed on his lips. “No, kid.” He finally whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not… I am not okay.” He breathed, wrapping his arms around himself in shame. The noise that forced itself up his throat wasn’t natural as he curled in on himself. MK didn’t point it out. He didn’t mutter anything. He just silently wrapped his arms around Wukong, allowing his mentor to sink into his hold.

It had been temporary relief, of course. He spent years after that lamenting in silence, his mind plagued by thoughts that would leave him staring off into space for hours at a time. It did get better at points, of course. He ended up hanging out with Demon Bull King more due to the fact that MK and Red Son had started to grow close. He and Bull King were like best friends (at least Wukong liked to think that). MK had made fun of them at some points, jabbing that they were “dads watching their kids hang out.” The statement had made Bull King curious, but Wukong had stalled out. Dad. That was… nice.

And everything was nice. Until he got that letter.

I regret to inform you that Tang has recently passed away. That was the line that made Wukong stop. The world around him jerked to a halt, and suddenly, he was spiraling once again. Mortals were fragile beings who had such short life spans. It wasn’t age that took Tang, however. It was an illness. And that was what stung. The funeral was to be a few days from when he got the letter, and that gave him all the time he needed to empty out his emotions so that they wouldn't show at the funeral.

And he screamed. He screamed, screeched, sobbed, and hit the ground. He punched the trees, scorched the earth with his temper, and lashed the ground with his tail. By the time he had collapsed to the ground in a trembling heap of tears and ruffled fur, the monkeys had scrambled away to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Mortals… such fragile beings. Such flawed creations. The thought made him sick. His stomach churned as tears welled in his eyes, cascading down his face and darkening the ground below him. Such flawed, flawed creations.

The funeral itself was clear. He remembered it all. From the moment he arrived to the moment he left. He remembered arriving in the suit he had gotten a hold of, greeted by Pigsy at the door. MK and Mei were inside along with Sandy and many other people Wukong didn’t recognize. Likely his family and other friends. The thought was bitter. He let himself into the building, and time flew by at such incredible speed. But he still remembered it. The tears, the speeches, the burial. It only all came back to hit him at once at the after “party,” if you could even call it that.

The atmosphere was solemn. The group that had gone on the journey ended up at Pigsy’s shop nearing the end of the night. A few laughs broke the heavy air, but Wukong never heard what caused the noise. He had isolated himself at the counter of the shop, holding a cup of water while he stared dimly at his reflection. He hadn’t aged since he ate those peaches. The only real difference was the shine in his eyes was no longer there. A haunting reminder of what the past hundreds of years had done to him. The world had not treated him kindly.

“You gonna come join us?” Pigsy appeared at his side. Wukong didn’t flinch, as he had heard the other approaching. He did exhale a heavy sigh, however, allowing his shoulders to slouch down. “I will.” He murmured. It’s what MK would’ve wanted. The response echoed in his mind despite the fact that a very different set of words came out of Pigsy’s mouth. “Take your time.” He simply murmured, patting Wukong’s back before heading back up the stairs. Wukong stared after him for a moment before looking back at the cup of water. He heaved a sigh as he slowly drew himself off the chair and headed up the stairs.

He found the group in a room similar to a living room. There was a couch with a few bean bags, a coffee table, and a television. There were a few shelves with pictures here and there, but it seemed like it was just a room to relax in. A few greeted him as he shuffled in and claimed an untouched bean bag, but there wasn’t much more talking to him other than that. He allowed himself to sit there for a while, staring at his hands until he decided to speak up. He hadn’t processed what he was going to say just yet until he said it. “How much more time do I have?”

“Hm?” MK looked up from the coffee table where he, Red Son, and Mei were doing a puzzle. Wukong held his breath for a moment before he let out an uneasy laugh. He brought a hand up behind his head as he scratched his neck, an awkward smile ghosting his lips. “I was… thinking…” It was better to talk about it. He had to keep telling himself that. “I’m immortal, and you… all are not immortal… So uh… y’know, how much more time do I have? With… you?” He looked down for a moment before looking back up, tilting his head. He hadn’t realized the tears running down his face until he saw the sympathetic looks in their eyes.

He brought a hand up to his face quickly to brush them away, choking out a laugh. “This is awkward.” He whispered, blinking a few times. Sandy hummed from where he was sitting. “Time is a fragile thing, Monkey King. Tang was young. He had plenty more years ahead of him, but things happened… it could change quickly.” He looked at him, eyes flashing. “To be blunt, the time that remains between our deaths is varying as we speak.” He explained in a hushed tone. A stab of grief lanced through Wukong. He grimaced and nodded. “Right… sorry for killing the mood there.” He laughed again, the sound forced and strained. MK noticed, because of course he did. “Don’t worry, Monkey King. I’m sure you still have plenty of time left with us!”

He hoped so. The rest of the night went on without much of any commotion. Wukong found himself nodding off every now and then, only to be woken by the sound of Red Son shouting or someone laughing. He was startled out of his doze when Pigsy jostled him gently. “People are startin’ to head out. Just wanted to let you know… you’re welcome to stay here if you want.” He murmured. Wukong blinked groggily at him before he began to heave himself upright, grunting. “I’ll head out.” He rasped out, grimacing at the dryness in his throat. “Safe travels.” Pigsy patted his back once again before he slipped out of the room. Wukong stared after him for a moment longer, eyes half-lidded.

He decided to stay.

—

Wukong ended up staying at Pigsy’s quite a lot. Between the mountain and his place, he felt closer to the rest. He felt less restless and less paranoid that they would be there and then be gone the next. While it didn’t fully relieve the feeling, it did help muffle it in a way. He was still paranoid whenever someone seemed even slightly off. Mei had gotten a small head cold one time, and it had sent Wukong into a silent spiral that left him sitting in a daze throughout the day, thoughts of what could happen consuming him.

It happened a lot more than he wanted it to. When Demon Bull King invited the group over for a little friendly meal together, he found himself staring off into the distance, his gaze not resting on anything specific. Although he hadn’t been paying attention, he still heard the way Princess Iron Fan murmured a soft “is he always like this” to which Demon Bull King grumbled a low “no.” He hadn’t acknowledged them in any way, but it still made his skin crawl. Even they had noticed, and no one except MK seemed to get that.

When the meal had finally come, a storm rolled in around the area that left the group to stay the night. And Wukong found himself sitting alone on a couch with Demon Bull King later in the night, staring silently at a baking show. He wasn’t paying attention again. And Demon Bull King seemed to have grown tired of that. “What bothers you?” He finally spoke up, pausing the show to lean forward. Wukong looked at him, blinking his glassy eyes for a moment before laughing. “Ah, nothing. Your show is boring.” He played it off with a grin, but the other wasn’t deterred.

“You are not normally like this. What trouble plagues you?” Demon Bull King persisted once more. Wukong stared at him for a few more moments before he sighed. He leaned back into the cushion, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the paused show. “If I tell you, can we stop the conversation there?” He asked. Demon Bull King hesitated, his eyes narrowing, but he gave a hum and nodded his head slowly.

“Ever since Tang… passed, I’ve been sort of just a little worried about the others dying? Y’know- I mean… I haven’t really had friends or family for awhile and now I do, but they aren’t immortal. They’re normal people. They won’t live for the rest of eternity, and I guess I was just kind of thinking that eventually, they’ll all be gone. And the cycle will just… continue. I’ll keep making more friends, they’ll die, and then I make more friends, and they die, and then-”

Demon Bull King grabbed his wrist, and it was only then that Wukong realized he had raised his hands to his head and had started to dig his claws into his scalp. He carefully pulled his hands away, blinking back the tears that had started to form in his eyes. Not again. He told himself bitterly as he studied Demon Bull King’s sympathetic gaze. “I will not continue this conversation as you asked, but I do believe explaining your issue to the rest would be of great help.” He murmured before turning back to the television to unpause it.

Wukong fell asleep shortly after that. When he woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of soft talking. He let himself lay there in a blissful state between awareness and sleep. Just awake enough so that he could hear what was being said. He recognized one voice as Demon Bull King and the other as Princess Iron Fan. “...slept out here.” Demon Bull King was softly explaining something. Princess Iron Fan gave a hum, and Wukong felt two sets of eyes fall on him.

A moment later, Princess Iron Fan sighed, sympathy lacing her tone as she spoke. “He told you that last night?” She asked, and Demon Bull King must’ve nodded, because she continued. “I’m sure Red Son would be willing to deliver the message to his friends?” She suggested. Demon Bull King huffed out a grunt, and the couch shifted. “He didn’t want to tell me, let alone his friends… We shall allow him to do so when he pleases.” And that seemed to please Princess Iron Fan, as there was a breeze before silence filled the air again. With that, Wukong let sleep claim him once again.

And for a while, it was good again.

But then he got the news. He had been spending time with MK, Mei, Red Son, and Demon Bull King when it happened. It had started out as a friendly conversation until it turned into Wukong and MK versus Red Son and Demon Bull King at foosball while Mei refereed. It had been Princess Iron Fan who arrived with a grievous looking Sandy. He didn’t say anything until they all stopped, staring at him with curious eyes. And then he said it. “Pigsy passed away.”

The reaction was instant for MK and Mei. Wukong watched their faces crumble as tears sprung into their eyes immediately. The hysterical sound of choked sobs and gasps as they launched themselves at Sandy for a hug filled the room. But Wukong didn’t react right away. His hands still had a hold on the handle for one of the sets of the foosball table. He stared at the three for a long, long time, a ringing building in his ears, becoming louder and louder and louder.

The handle snapped in his grasp. Demon Bull King and Red Son looked at him, alarm flashing in their eyes before vanishing into worry. Princess Iron Fan was focused on comforting the other two with Sandy, the four too engulfed in their own troubles to notice. Wukong didn’t notice it either. The way he stared hollowly at a wall as fresh blood dribbled from his hand onto the floor. He’d have to apologize for that later. But at the moment, everything was too loud. The ringing in his ears screamed at him as the world blurred and grew muffled.

His legs wobbled underneath him as he took a staggering step backwards, his body swaying left to right before he straightened up. His gaze remained staring straight ahead even as he looked down, his gaze landing on the splotches of blood that dappled the floor. An ugly, vibrant red. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he noted that wasn’t normal. He was… he was invincible. He couldn't get hurt. But somewhere else, he registered that the noise had become too much. His vision darkened, and his eyes stung as they started to close, his legs sliding out from underneath him.

Demon Bull King clumsily grabbed one of his sleeves while Red Son scrambled around the table, hand outstretched to help guide the other to the ground. Normally, Wukong wouldn’t display such vulnerability or emotions. But he didn’t care. He let his head loll back as his eyelids flickered, dizziness swamping every one of his senses. The noise of sobs and soft murmuring faded out as the world around him disappeared away into nothing.

It had been his age. Wukong learned that a few days after the news. A few days after when the funeral was being planned. Life was fleeting. It was fading. It was a thing that grew and grew, only to end. When he stared at Mei and MK’s sorrowful faces, he couldn’t help the pain that stabbed at his gut. Of course he mourned Pigsy, but the idea of losing the two of them wasn’t any better. He ended up isolating himself for days before the funeral.

And when the funeral came, he didn’t remember it. Unlike the time where he remembered the speeches, the burial, and the entire service, nothing stuck to him. He remembered sitting down, and then he was laying sprawled out on Sandy’s deck, staring up at the stars overhead. He could hear voices coming from inside of the cabin. The door was cracked open a little, casting a little ray of light across him and the deck. He sought the warmth and comfort of someone else’s presence, but his body felt too heavy to move. He wasn’t in a comfortable position by any means. It felt like he had suddenly fallen backwards.

“Monkey King?” MK appeared at his side. Wukong looked at him sluggishly, blinking slowly, letting his eyes stay closed for longer than they should’ve. “Come inside.” He didn’t ask him to do it. No. He told him. Wukong didn’t argue, however. He pushed himself upright shakily, swaying where he sat for a moment. He took the hand MK offered gratefully. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and he allowed MK to help him stagger into the cabin. And he allowed himself to sit on the couch and lean against the kid before the sweet release of sleep took him away once again.

He spent most of his days sleeping now. He noticed that. He also noticed that when he was awake, he spent most of his time around Mei, MK, and Sandy. And the other thing was that he found Macaque was slowly appearing more and more. The two had begun to spend plenty of time together. Even if that time was just spent sparring or chatting, it was common enough that sometimes MK would get to sit on the sidelines and watch or listen. Wukong never told the others what had happened and how it felt, of course, but he could see it in Macaque’s eyes that he knew something was off.

His sleep schedule had been completely destroyed. He didn’t technically need sleep to survive (thanks to immortality), but he needed it to function. So the fact that the sleep he did get wasn’t enough and was messing up his sleep schedule even more. He didn’t think it was a problem until Sandy had invited the Red Son’s family over onto his boat at MK’s request for a little game night. The two groups had grown close due to the fact that MK and Red Son had also grown close. The two had little nicknames for eachother and were affectionate in a way that Wukong envied.

He didn’t remember it happening. He’d been watching, leaning against the railing of the boat as it rocked, as MK and Red Son played against Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan in a game of bean bag toss. The swaying of the boat had started to lull him in a way that Wukong couldn’t resist. His head bobbed up and down every now and then, his eyes blinking lopsidedly as the scene in front of him faded out more and more with each sway. It wasn’t until the feeling of the ground beneath him vanishing happened that he realized something was wrong.

And then he was in the water.

The immediate terror that surged through him was a rude awakening. He startled back into awareness, his body tensing as he lashed his hands through the water blindly. Sun Wukong was the Monkey King, the great sage equal to heaven. But Sun Wukong could not swim. For a moment, he twisted frantically in the water before something else crashed down next to him. He twisted away sluggishly, his body losing its fight a moment after an arm hooked around his chest and heaved him upright.

He broke the surface with a staggered gasp, throwing his head back with a choked gargle as he spit out some water. He could feel his fur plastered to his body in a way that had to make him look like a wet rat. He clumsily scrabbled at the arm around him until he recognized it was Demon Bull King’s arm. With that, he simply allowed himself to slump. He could feel the other’s staring down at him anxiously, and somewhere behind the static in his ears, he thought he heard them calling his name. But it was all lost in the haze that had wrapped itself around him. Later, he recalled, Princess Iron Fan had a talk with him. Not that he had paid any attention.

He was tired. Tired enough to the point where he found himself hysterical. He had originally thought he was alone on a flower fruit mountain, so he dropped to his knees so suddenly that it would’ve startled anyone nearby. He looked up hollowly at the night stares above, his body trembling. They were laughing at him. The stars. Bitterness surged through him as he slumped forward, catching himself with his forearms as he stared up at the sky. “I don’t want it anymore.”

No response. He should’ve expected it, but it still upset him. His claws sunk into the soft dirt below him as he clenched his jaw, his fur starting to bristle. “I don’t want to be immortal anymore, take it away from me.” He pleaded, his voice tense. When he got no response yet again, he slammed a fist into the ground and bowed his head. “Please!” He shrieked as tears formed in his eyes. “I don’t want it anymore! Please, please, please, please, please!” He threw his head back in a scream, but the noise died in his throat, replaced by a guttural whine.

Two arms snaked around him, but he didn’t jump. Rather, he melted into whoever had wrapped their arms around him, trembling as his world spun. “Please…” He whispered once more, allowing himself to droop. He heard a faint sigh that was followed by the rasping whisper of Macaque, concern fogging his tone. “You should sleep…” It was a soft request, but it didn’t need to be asked of Wukong. He was already out before Macaque had finished his sentence.

—

He didn’t know what came over him when it happened.

It had been another day out with Red Son’s family. It’d been a nice day. Nothing had happened… and it had been years since anyone passed. So many years. So much time for Wukong to wallow and dread and fear. The paranoia had climaxed to an unbearable point. He forced himself to follow after the group as they marched through a trail that weaved through a small bit of forest. It was nearing the end of the day, so they had decided to all head back.

Wukong didn’t remember the trip itself. His mind had been overrun with thoughts of worry that pestered him every little second. He had half walked and half stumbled after MK, who had decided to take up the rear of the group with his former mentor. They had just begun to reach the end of the trail when Wukong couldn’t take it anymore. He reached ahead of him, grabbing onto MK’s sleeve and stopping. MK turned around slowly, tilting his head. “Wukong?”

Wukong held still for a moment before he looked at MK. And MK saw the tiredness in his eyes. He saw the stories Wukong had endured in those eyes. And he saw pain in those eyes. The confusion was replaced by worry immediately. Wukong blinked at him, his eyes glistening as he slowly tilted his head. “Please don’t go.” He finally whispered out in a broken voice, taking a trembling step forward. MK made no questions. He opened his arms as Wukong slumped forward into him, helping to guide the other to the ground. “Please.” He continued.

“I won’t.” MK didn’t know what was happening. Wukong didn’t tell anyone when something was wrong. It was a horrible habit, but he didn’t dare push to get the other to talk about it if he didn’t want to. Wukong’s claws sunk into MK’s shirt as he buried his face into his shoulder, his tail coiling around the two. “Please don’t leave me.” He pleaded, his voice shattering furthermore. A choked gasp jarred his body as MK carefully clung to Wukong, keeping his former mentor steady. As steady as he could, anyways.

“Please. Please don’t go, please- I can’t- please.” The broken pleas ripped at MK. He rubbed Wukong’s back slowly, tilting his head as he murmured a gentle question. “Why would I ever leave you?” He whispered. Footsteps began to approach the two, but Wukong didn’t pull away. His grip tightened as he pressed his face further into MK’s shoulder, a desperate attempt at hiding himself. “I can’t lose you, too.” He rasped out, and the realization dawned on MK. His eyes widened for only a moment before understanding filled them.

“I won’t.”

“I loved them- I loved them and- and I lost them and- god it hurts like hell.” Wukong croaked out. MK hummed acknowledgement, but he didn’t respond. He knew the rest of the group had returned, seeing as they likely noticed they were missing a pair. He didn’t glance over his shoulder to acknowledge them, however. He simply sat there with Wukong, supporting him the best he could. “I know… I know.” He whispered.

“Don’t go. Don’t go.” Wukong scrabbled at his back once more, and MK had to bite back a hiss of pain as his claws nicked him. “I won’t.” He said once more. A set of light footsteps approached and Mei appeared, sliding down onto her knees next to the two. MK fixed her with a look that told it all, and sympathy glazed over her face. She briefly looked at the shaking mess Wukong was before back at MK, then back over to where the others lingered. There was no way to reassure Wukong completely without lying, and even if they did lie, it likely wouldn’t reassure them.

But for now, they would do everything they could.

—

“I’m so tired.”

Macaque looked over at the other monkey that was leaned against his shoulder, staring as sympathy burned through his body. He’d been in an odd state for a long time now, and it didn’t seem to look like it would get any better. He breathed, looking back at the moon that stared down on the two of them, his eyes narrowing. Time had treated the two of them unfairly, leaving both of them ripped and tattered books. It appeared that damage was finally making Wukong’s book fall apart.

“I know.”

“Are you sleeping?”

MK asked the question for what had been the hundredth time that day. Or, well, it felt like it. Wukong looked up from the murky water he was staring at, blinking. He smiled at the kid, albeit a weak attempt, as he gave a thumbs up. “‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He hummed. MK bit back the response that rose in the back of his throat as he turned to head inside. He finished the sentence in the back of his mind.

Because Sandy is sick.

—

Sandy passed-

Wukong didn’t finish reading the letter. He let his arm fall to his side as he breathed out a shaky breath. He was living an undesirable life. He didn’t want his book to be finished. He breathed out another shaky breath as he stood, allowing a cloud to form beneath his feet. It hovered into the air, rising before it began to soar through the air. An odd burning sensation was filling his eyes and running down the sides of his face.

Take it away from me.

The gods had laughed at his plea, throwing their heads back as they howled, churning their feet. He had left, crestfallen and defeated. And he had tried and tried and tried to find a way to get rid of this curse. But nothing worked. Nothing worked. Everyone was growing older now. MK and Red Son were getting married. Mei had her own relationship. Hell- even Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan had started their own baking show. And here he was. Stuck. Lamenting.

Life is a game in which the world plays with itself. The cloud began to melt away from beneath him, but he didn’t notice until it was too late. When he was suddenly in a free fall towards the dark water below, he reacted. He twisted through the air, swiping his hands frantically while he churned his legs. A game in which the world plays with itself. A game where the world burns and scratches itself for its own amusement.

He hit the water with a slap that knocked the air out of his lungs. And then he was sinking. For a moment, he twisted helplessly in the water, thrashing as bubbles drifted upwards towards the surface. And I… He opened his mouth on instinct. To breathe, to scream- to do anything. A rush of water came flooding in and he jerked away, but it was too late. He choked and sputtered more, watching helplessly as more bubbles drifted upwards. His chest was burning now. His lungs were on fire. His world was on fire. I am done playing this game.

Wukong felt his body slow down. He felt his racing thoughts slow down as his struggles faded, leaving him sinking further and further. His eyes were burning now. He assumed it was tears, but he couldn’t tell. He let his eyes close as he grew boneless, any and all energy draining out of him.

Release me.

—

Macaque was the one that found him.

Macaque was the one that pulled him out of the water and came, crawling with Wukong on his back, to Princess Iron Fan’s home.

It was Macaque who was there when Wukong awoke.

And the first thing the Monkey King did when he woke up was cry. Hysterical, choked sobs as he clung to Macaque.

Horrible sounds thickened in the back of his throat as he mindlessly clawed at Macaque’s clothing for some sort of grip.

Torn pages.

He was a book with torn pages.

Ripped by time and all those who had treated him wrong.

A book forever ruined.

—

“Get up, hm? We’re gonna go for a walk.”

Wukong got up when Macaque asked him to.

“Let’s spar.”

Wukong got up when MK asked him to.

“Come over.”

Wukong got up when Demon Bull King asked him to.

That’s what he had done, anyways. Now, when anyone asked him to stand, he fixed them with a blank stare.

And he did not get up.

“No!”

When MK fell, Wukong’s stomach sank. He hadn’t expected much from the fight. MK had phoned him in for some help against a particularly nasty dust demon. It ended up involving Red Son’s family as well as Mei. Turned out the dust demon was far more formidable than expected. Still, Wukong didn’t think anything would have happened. But then MK fell. And Wukong snapped.

Forgetting the battle, he lurched towards MK. He scrambled, stumbling over his feet as pillars of dust rose around MK’s body, preparing to drive for the final blow. Wukong barreled through one of them, ignoring the stings of pain that crawled over his skin as he did so. He landed lopsided standing over MK on all fours, tail lashing. His gaze darted around feverishly for a moment before he grabbed MK and launched himself out of the attack area.

He allowed a cloud to form underneath him as he hastily scrambled to pull him and MK up into the air. Once his feet connected with the cloud, he fell back from the battle. Not quite retreating, as he stayed within earshot of the fight, but far away enough to where he would be safe. He carefully sprawled MK out on his back, his stomach churning. He was a face, splattered with blood and bruises that had already turned his skin ugly shades of yellow and purple.

“No, no, no-” He whispered out in a broken voice, pressing his hands close together. A small orb of yellow formed between them, flickering and sparking before vanishing. “C’mon.” He tried again. The orb sputtered hopefully before sizzling away once more. His tail began to lash in irritation as he tried and tried again. “Heal him- heal him, god, work already! Work!” He snarled, watching yet another orb fizzle out. “C’mon!” He snapped, trying again. Nothing happened.

“Fix him!” He hissed at himself as he tried yet again. Try and try he might, but nothing changed. The wounds didn’t magically heal. MK didn’t sit up and blink dazedly as he always did. He did nothing. Wukong frantically scrambled to shake him, his hands grabbing MK’s shoulders as he hunched over the other. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” He whispered under his breath before giving up. He resorted to chest compressions, frantically pressing his palms against MK’s chest to try and revive him. “Don’t take him. Please please please- take me instead. Please.” He strained out. His eyes were burning, now. He blinked bitterly, gritting his teeth as he slumped back, hanging his head. He sat there, heaving in and out rasping breaths. MK wasn’t getting up.. Mk was gone.

The world fell silent.

And suddenly, Wukong collapsed. The cloud drifted to the ground slowly, melting away as he threw himself over MK’s body. He wasn’t sobbing, however. He wasn’t making any noises. HIs gaze lingered on the ending battle ahead, eyes wide and unseeing. Tears were making streaks down the sides of his faces. It was a haunting sight. A book broken by time.

Red Son approached first. His shouting was muffled by the static and ringing in his ears. But Wukong saw the way his face fell. He saw the way the hope in his eyes drained as his joyous prance slowly shifted into a frantic sprint. He collapsed onto his knees by MK and Wukong, and the Monkey King pulled away dazedly. He slouched, staring at the ground where MK had just been laying. Red Son had pulled him close to his chest, frantically whispering to the other as he patted his cheek.

“Please.”

It wasn’t enough.

“Love, MK, wake up.”

He failed.

“I’m here.”

I’m sorry.

Mei came next, dropping down next to Red Son. He listened to the two wail MK’s name, voices shrill and trembling through the air. It hurt his ears, but he didn’t move to cover them. He had to save him. He had to. He had to give him his invincibility back. It would save him. It had to. He began to reach forward, but the world around him spun as he moved. He slumped forward, just barely managing to catch himself with his hands. His gaze slowly slid towards MK’s hand that dangled against the dirt lifelessly. He let himself droop to the ground, trembling as he reached a shaking hand forward. He grabbed onto MK’s head, ignoring the cold skin that bit at him, and he closed his eyes.

The world around him faded away as a horrible burning sensation washed over him.

—

”You finally made it.”

Wukong looked up, blinking rapidly. His body didn’t hurt anymore. He flexed his hands, slowly spinning around. There wasn’t… anything around him. It was just a white void. He furrowed his eyebrows together, frowning. He had heard someone… he was sure of it. They sounded familiar. Familiar in a way that made his skin crawl. He began to spin around slowly once more, looking around until-

“Tang?”

“Tang” laughed, shaking his head softly. “No, Wukong… You know who I am.” He breathed. Wukong stared at him for a moment, holding his breath. And then it hit him. His eyes widened slowly as he sucked in sharply, his mouth opening. No words came out, however. The other smiled softly, opening their arms. “Come here.” He murmured, and Wukong moved. It was a slow stagger, at first, his footsteps uneasy and lopsided. And then he ran, hurling himself into the other with a cry.

And for the first time in a long time, he breathed. He let himself cry. He let himself shake with a fury that he couldn’t control. “I missed you, Tripitaka.” He croaked out shakily. The other hummed, slowly rubbing circles on his back. “I’ve been watching you Wukong…” He said, and Wukong froze for a moment. He slowly pulled away, brushing a few lingering tears out of his eyes. “You… You have?” He whispered. Tripitaka nodded, tilting his head. “The world has not treated you kindly.”

Wukong shook his head mutely, looking down. He had pleaded and prayed for a way out, and now… now he wasn’t sure where he was. Tripitaka must’ve seen the question coming, as he extended a hand in a grand gesture. “This is what comes after the world…” He explained. The startling answer made Wukong’s fur bristle. “Am I dead?” He pointed at himself, blinking a few times. He got a nod and his heart skipped a beat.

”Is MK-” He broke off as Tripitaka rested a hand on his shoulder. “MK is fine… you saved him.” He murmured. Wukong exhaled a shaky breath of release, allowing himself to relax for only a moment before he tensed. “Where’s Baije? And Wujing?” He asked. Tripitaka gave Wukong a wistful smile. “They’re waiting… I came here to get you.” He trailed off, however, his eyes flashing. Wukong grabbed his wrist, leaning forward and tilting his head. “What? What is it?”

”Your friends miss you.”

Wukong froze for a moment. He pulled his hands away, breathing shakily. That’s right… MK was alive now. But he… “Wukong… I do not break the natural order of the world, but I offer you this one time and one time only.” Tripitaka began, a seriousness seeping into his tone. “I will allow you to return back to the world.” He paused. “Or you may stay here…”

Silence.

Wukong glanced at the white void beneath him nervously. Staying here… staying here sounded wonderful. But at the same time, the bite of pain from leaving MK and the others gnawed away at his insides. One way or another, he would eventually end up here after all. His tail curled around his left leg as he looked at Tripitaka hesitantly. “I’ll miss them.”

“They will miss you, too.”

—

“...ukong? Wukong?”

“Monkey King?!”

“-etting up?”

Wukong squeezed his eyes shut against the voices, his face contorting into a grimace. His body hurt. A horrible, throbbing, aching sensation that coursed through his limbs and veins, lighting his system on fire. He shifted uncomfortably against whatever he was laying on (it was stiff and cold, he didn’t like that). His lungs rattled as he breathed, as if there were bits of gravel trapped in them being shaken with each inhale and exhale.

“Wukong. Get up.” Whatever he was leaning on moved, a cold, large blob grasping his shoulder and jostling him. He grimaced again, unable to hold back the whine that rose in the back of his throat. But he forced his eyes open. Slowly, painfully slow, he pried his eyelids open, blinking a few times dazedly as the blurry scene around him slowly came back into color. He recognized the area immediately. It was where they had been fighting the dust demon… MK.

“MK-” He lurched upright, only to stop and fold in on himself as pain lanced through his ribs. He wrapped his arms around himself, choking out a pained gasp as he bowed his head. “Take it easy, old friend…” A deep voice rumbled from behind him. Demon Bull King. He blinked a few times as he slowly looked up, dazedly glancing around. “Where’s MK…” He croaked out, his head swaying unevenly.

“Red Son is checking on him with Princess Iron Fan.” Mei was there. Wukong hadn’t noticed that. He looked at her, his eyes half-lidded. “‘S he okay?” He slurred out. She nodded vigorously, her lips pressed into a tight line. “He’s good… thanks to you.” She looked away, a look between guilt and sadness flashing in her eyes. Wukong made no comment about it. He glanced over his shoulder at Demon Bull King, who was looking at him with a grateful stare. Wukong put on a weak, strained smile before he began to move.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, ignoring the pain that bit at him. Mei rose to help him, offering herself as a support (which Wukong gladly took). Demon Bull King trailed behind as Mei helped Wukong hobble towards the others. MK was talking excitedly, spewing out words frantically while Red Son waved his hands at him to calm down. Princess Iron Fan had settled to stare with an overwhelmed, but amused, look. She noticed the others approaching first, as she quickly strode forward to meet Demon Bull King.

MK looked away from Red Son, who was muttering something crossly under his breath. His gaze fell on Wukong and Wukong saw his heart skip a beat. It felt like it anyway. “Monkey King!” MK let out a shriek as he raced forward, slamming into Wukong. The force made him stagger backwards. Thankfully, Mei helped him stay upright as MK clung to him. “I thought you were dead!” MK cried out, and Wukong couldn’t stop the jolt of shock when he heard the wobble in his voice. He was crying.

Tears began to sting at his eyes as he let out a weak laugh, wrapping his arms around MK as well. “I thought I lost you…” He whispered, closing his eyes as he burrowed his face into MK’s shoulder. MK didn’t respond, and Wukong was honestly glad he didn’t. For a moment, he just sat there and relished in the hug, taking into every bit of warmth he could get. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, allowing himself to sink against MK. When his legs gave out beneath him, MK held him up for a moment. Then, he slowly lowered the two to the ground.

“You saved me.” MK murmured after a moment. Wukong raised his head from MK’s shoulder, opting to rest his shoulder on it instead. “Yeah, bud?” He hummed, his tail flicking behind him. MK breathed out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into the back of Wukong’s shirt. “Thank you…” He rasped out. Wukong tried to hold back the tremble that wracked his body, but he failed. He let out a shaky exhale, the noise choked as he looked up, blinking rapidly at the sky.

“I couldn’t lose anyone else.”

—

Wukong was better.

He got better. He did better. He was happier than he had been. More playful, not to mention. But all good things had to come to an end. It was still difficult when Mei died. He didn’t spiral as much, this time. MK was there for him. And when MK started to show signs of the inevitable, Wukong was there for him. It still stung, of course. Years after it happened, he still found himself sobbing miserably at night sometimes. It was a horrible thing.

“You coming?”

Wukong glanced up from the gravestone, looking at the source of the voice. Macaque was standing a few yards away, his scarf blowing in the breeze. Wukong nodded, looking back at the stone. “I’ll be there in a second.” He murmured back. Macaque didn’t make any comment, but Wukong heard him walk away. He exhaled a sigh, carefully reaching forward to rest a hand on the stone. “I miss you, bud.” He murmured before he rose, standing on his two feet to follow after Macaque.

And years later, when he finally managed to get his immortality taken away from him, he relished in the darkness that followed the cold. He relished in the sight of his friends, tears racing down the sides of his face as he greeted them. It had been so many years since he had last seen or talked to any of them, and he couldn’t have been happier to see them all once again. And it was still the same. Even there, in what came after life, MK could still read him. He could still understand his body language. And while Wukong was battered and beaten, MK never spoke of it.

He ignored the torn pages of the book.

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