Work Text:
Dan Heng has plenty of reasons to hate this form, the main one being the way everyone looks at him and sees a man long dead, but truth be told, the most frustrating part about it is the number of times he’s underestimated how far he has to duck.
As a fairly well-traveled person, Dan Heng has a fairly colorful vocabulary, gathered from all walks of life. It takes a lot of effort to prevent himself from making full use of it in front of Bailu, who stares at him with a slightly pinched expression, like she’s trying not to laugh.
Jing Yuan, lying in the bed by the window, clearly has no such reservations, giving a low chuckle. “Having trouble?” he teases, but his levity is soured by the exhausted rasp in his voice.
“It won’t go away,” Dan Heng sighs, resisting the urge to rub at the damned appendages adorning his head. The horns don’t do anything, but they certainly have nerves. Nerves Dan Heng has become painfully acquainted with the past few days. If Dan Heng hadn’t already had a perfectly good reason to hate Blade, he certainly has one now. He crushes the part of himself that holds a painful sort of fondness for the bastard instead.
“You’ll return to normal once it’s run its course,” Bailu says, not without sympathy. She pats him on the leg, probably because she can’t reach much higher. “I don’t know how long that will be, unfortunately. Our situation is kinda weird.”
Kinda weird doesn’t quite cover it, but Dan Heng can’t come up with anything better.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Bailu continues after a moment. Dan Heng steps aside for her, letting her carry her medical supplies out with her. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”
Once Bailu’s left the room and Dan Heng’s shut the door behind her, a new tension settles over his shoulders.
Dan Heng takes a moment to study Jing Yuan; it’s the first he’s seen of him since their battle with Phantylia, the general having suffered serious injury. To Dan Heng’s knowledge, Jing Yuan had been unconscious for the better of the past three days, only having woken up properly the night before. He certainly doesn’t look as powerful as Dan Heng is used to– used to runs deeper than Dan Heng would like, old memories that don’t belong to him filling in Jing Yuan’s younger visage, vibrant and boyishly lovely–and a familiar guilt prickles under his skin.
“This isn’t your fault.” Jing Yuan’s voice, surprisingly gentle, shakes Dan Heng out of his thoughts. Dan Heng supposes he hadn’t exactly been discreet about his feelings, but it catches him off guard nonetheless. “Phantylia gave us an opening, and we capitalized on it. It earned us a victory, one without a particularly high cost, even.”
Dan Heng stares at Jing Yuan incredulously; his already pale skin is more ashy than fair, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. He can see snowy bandages peeking out from under Jing Yuan’s sleeping garments, wrapped around his chest. “I almost killed you,” he says.
Jing Yuan laughs again, a low rumble in his chest. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Dan Heng,” he says with far more amusement than he should be feeling about nearly dying. Dan Heng can’t tell if his annoyance is his own or an echo of Dan Feng’s, which is frustrating in its own right. “I will recover from this in no time at all.”
He’s lying. Dan Heng grinds his teeth, ignoring the way his too-sharp fangs cut into his cheek; he doesn’t know Jing Yuan’s mannerisms, but Dan Feng does. Dan Feng is the one who recognizes the too-cheerful smile, the way he holds himself a little bit too still, not Dan Heng. But Dan Heng can’t sit back and do nothing about what he knows either, even if it’s through Dan Feng’s influence. His tail lashes with frustration and knocks into the wall.
“You’re so full of shit,” says Dan Heng. He catches himself off guard with how vehemently the words come out of his mouth, but he doesn’t feel particularly guilty about them either. Jing Yuan blinks at him, the only visible sign of his surprise.
“I suppose there is no lying to you,” Jing Yuan concedes with a slight incline of his head. He sits up properly from where he’d been lying against his pillows. “I see some things never change.”
Anger twists Dan Heng’s guts into knots. “I am not–”
“Not Dan Feng, I know.” Jing Yuan closes his eyes, suddenly seeming very tired. “Why don’t you have a seat, Dan Heng?”
There are two chairs by the bed, one of which is child-sized, likely for Bailu. Dan Heng takes a deep, rattling breath and does as he’s asked, sitting down heavily in the other chair. Up close, Jing Yuan looks even worse, the circles under his eyes becoming plainly visible, and the guilt comes back with a vengeance, mixing with the indignant anger for an unpleasant cocktail of emotion.
“Forgive me, Dan Heng,” says Jing Yuan, opening his eyes again. He’s genuinely contrite, too, and Dan Heng hates that he knows it. “I have offended you greatly; it wasn’t my intention. I was referring to myself when I said some things never change.” His lips twist into a lopsided smile. “Even after a great many years, Dan Feng’s memory of my tells seems to serve you well.”
Even though Jing Yuan takes care to make a distinction between Dan Heng and Dan Feng, it does little to soothe Dan Heng’s anger. “You still see him in me,” Dan Heng accuses, which he understands, to an extent, isn’t quite fair; Dan Heng is the spitting image of his previous incarnation, after all, and he knows–not in detail–that Jing Yuan had been close to him.
“Of course I do,” Jing Yuan admits easily, which is infuriating, but at least it’s the truth. “Dan Feng was a dear friend of mine, and you share many traits with him. However, you are not him; fighting alongside you has made that abundantly clear.”
That stops Dan Heng in his tracks. It’s less Jing Yuan’s words, and more the sincerity behind them. His anger temporarily forgotten, Dan Heng frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You have his powers, his face, and his memories,” Jing Yuan says, “but you speak differently. You carry yourself differently. Your company is different.” There’s a wistfulness in the curve of Jing Yuan’s mouth as he says the last part, but it’s gone before Dan Heng can study it. “Your life as it is now was built by Dan Heng’s hands. You may carry Dan Feng’s memories, and they may have helped shape you, but Dan Feng did not find a family with the Astral Express. Dan Heng did.”
“I…” Dan Heng finds himself floored, staring at Jing Yuan and struggling to find his words. He tears his eyes away, staring at his hands, resting in his lap. “Does that not bother you?”
“I’ve had many centuries to grieve for Dan Feng, if that is what you are asking,” says Jing Yuan. “I miss him greatly, of course, but I do not find you lacking for it.”
“I see.” Dan Heng doesn’t, not really. The people in Luofu–those old enough to remember–stare at him, whisper about him. Blade cannot separate him from Dan Feng at all, no matter how much Dan Heng pleads. Dan Heng himself looks at himself in the mirror now, and sees Dan Feng staring back at him. So why does Jing Yuan find it so easy?
Either it shows very clearly on his face or Jing Yuan is just creepily good at reading his facial expressions, because he softens with sympathy. “You forget, Dan Heng, that I knew Dan Feng well,” Jing Yuan reminds him. “I admit, especially in this form, I first see Dan Feng, but it becomes clear near immediately upon speaking to you that the two of you are not the same.”
There’s a lump in Dan Heng’s throat. He’s not aware of the burning in his eyes until a tissue is extended to him.
“Sorry,” Dan Heng mutters, taking the proffered tissue to wipe furiously at his eyes, blinking rapidly to try and stop the tears. “You called me here. I can’t imagine it was to…” Dan Heng bites his tongue, his cheeks warm with shame.
“I understand it’s been quite the hard time for you, being back here,” Jing Yuan responds lightly. “I did not make it easy for you, either, for which I must offer my sincerest apologies.”
No, he really hadn’t. Dan Heng thinks back to their conversation in Scalegorge, to the battle against Phantylia, to the past three days of praying he hadn’t been the one to finally end Jing Yuan’s long life. “Apology accepted,” he says gruffly, because saying it’s fine would be a lie, but he’s not angry at Jing Yuan anymore. Not really.
If Jing Yuan is aware of Dan Heng’s voice being a little thicker than usual, he doesn’t make any mention of it. “Thank you, Dan Heng,” he says warmly. If Dan Heng keeps that warmth, tucks it away in his chest as something of his, that’s no one’s business but his own. “Now, as you correctly surmised, I didn’t ask for you just to chat, although I must admit I enjoy your company well enough for that to be part of it.”
This time, when Dan Heng’s face flushes, it’s from a pleased sort of embarrassment rather than shame. He doesn’t think Jing Yuan is just being polite. He hopes not, at least. “What did you need me for, then?”
“As promised, your exile has been lifted,” Jing Yuan says. Dan Heng freezes at his words. “Dan Feng is well and truly dead. It is a bit late, for which I must apologize again, but I did so as soon as I was able. I figured it would be most appropriate for me to deliver the news personally, so I sent for you at your earliest convenience.”
It’s not that Dan Heng isn’t grateful; the weight of Dan Feng’s sin is just a little less heavy upon his shoulders. But he’s torn between the relief and the irritation bubbling up inside him, because Jing Yuan looks so damn tired and he couldn’t have been fully lucid until recently, and Dan Heng knows his situation must’ve been a headache to work through.
“You do not have to stay here,” Jing Yuan elaborates, misunderstanding Dan Heng’s quiet fuming. “The Alliance is indebted to you for what you’ve done, and to tie you down would be improper. I have simply made certain you would always be welcome.”
“You should’ve waited,” Dan Heng says, letting his irritation seep into his voice. “You are recovering, Jing Yuan! You nearly died not too long ago. You still look like a stiff wind would knock you over.”
Jing Yuan seems startled by his outburst, touching a hand to his face. “I do not look that poor, surely.” Absurdly enough, he sounds slightly alarmed by this, like he hasn’t spent the past three days unconscious under Bailu’s care.
If Dan Heng weren’t afraid he might actually kill Jing Yuan by doing so, he would shake him violently. As it is, his tail just thumps against the ground with agitation. “You shouldn’t be working in this condition. I’ve been exiled my entire life; I would rather you heal before you deal with matters like this!”
Jing Yuan has the audacity to give him that surprised blink again. “I see,” he says, bemused. “If it would soothe your worry any, I did not have to do much of anything at all. Much of the work on lifting your banishment had been prepared far ahead of time; I simply had to pass the word to Lady Fu Xuan, and it would be done.”
That gives Dan Heng pause once more, taking a moment to digest Jing Yuan’s words. His eyes narrow. “Ahead of time?”
At least Jing Yuan has the decency to look sheepish, smiling awkwardly and tilting his head a little. Dan Heng has a brief flash of a memory that isn’t his, an understanding that Jing Yuan knows how to act cute to get away with things.
Dan Heng is a little horrified to find that it works on him. Of all things to not inherit from Dan Feng…
“Yes,” Jing Yuan admits, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “I did have contingencies in place as well; had I perished in our battle, you would still be freed of Dan Feng’s sins.”
Jing Yuan had always intended for Dan Heng to be free. He’d lied to him back in Scalegorge, to push him to join their effort, to fight alongside him.
Dan Heng’s not sure how he feels about it; should he be grateful, that Jing Yuan had wanted to help him from the beginning? Should he be angry that he lied?
He doesn’t have time to sort it out, because Jing Yuan suddenly lists forward, a hand pressed to his head. There’s a part of Dan Heng that wonders if he’s faking it, playing it up to change the topic, but Dan Heng can see the way his hands are shaking, his golden eyes worryingly glassy.
“My apologies; it seems I have overestimated my current capacity,” Jing Yuan murmurs, his voice strained in a way that makes Dan Heng’s heart clench. It’s so unlike his usual countenance, Dan Heng sets his feelings aside in favor of concern.
Dan Heng doesn’t hesitate to reach out, getting to his feet and leaning forward. “Rest now,” he says quietly. “You’ve done enough.” He helps Jing Yuan settle back onto his pillow, his tail sweeping over the floor restlessly.
Jing Yuan somehow finds the energy to smile at him. The expression is exhausted but genuine, and directed at Dan Heng and nobody else. For the first time in awhile, Dan Heng feels… seen. It fills him with a pleasant warmth. “Thank you, Dan Heng.” He says it like Dan Heng’s the one who’s sacrificed his health for Jing Yuan’s freedom, like Dan Heng’s the one doing him a favor here.
Without being fully aware of what he’s doing, Dan Heng smoothes the tousled hair around Jing Yuan’s face, gently brushing it out of the way. Jing Yuan stares at him through lidded eyes. “Get well soon,” Dan Heng says, trying for curt but he winds up sounding a little more genuine than he wants to. “I’ll call for Bailu.”
“Mm…” If Jing Yuan heard him, he makes no acknowledgment of the words, eyes slipping closed fully. Dan Heng lingers for a moment, his fingers ghosting over Jing Yuan’s hand, but he withdraws it eventually.
“Thank you,” Dan Heng says to the sleeping general. There’s no response; Dan Heng will just have to tell him again, when he’s properly awake and more than a few steps away from death’s door. He leaves the room feeling lighter than he has in years.
(And if he hits his horns on the doorframe on his way out, that’s between him and Bailu.)