Chapter Text
Killua eventually realized he unconsciously kept steering him and his sister’s runaway party towards small, sad cities with gloomy skies and forests with canopies so dense you couldn’t see the sun, effectively trapping himself in his dark headspace and dragging his sister down with him. He felt awful, both about constricting Alluka’s freedom and because he gave himself a cold in a damp forest trying to find Gon in every muddy crevice. With his achy head and clogged sinuses, he could barely even make out Alluka’s smell, which disheartened him so much he acquiesced and let Alluka choose their next place to visit. She made a few phone calls (on Killua’s phone) and started herding Killua out of the jungle, toward the coast, and eventually onto a boat. Admittedly, the fresh air and Alluka’s insistence that he slept had Killua feeling better almost immediately. Killua knew his cold had finally left him when he emerged from the cabins on their third day at sea and was suddenly struck with Gon’s scent invading his every smell receptor. They were en route to Whale Island, and they were close enough that Killua couldn’t demand the ship be turned around.
Alluka held his hand and patted his back as they trekked towards the Freecs’ cabin. Killua was dragging his feet dramatically, occasionally sniffling just to be an ass, but occasionally the sniffles were real, and had nothing to do with his leftover sickness. Alluka knew this, being a Zoldyck and knowing of the familys’ enhanced immune systems, but said nothing about it.
Killua only relaxed after triple-checking with Alluka that Gon was not in fact home, and he only unclenched his jaw after being enveloped in a long, warm hug by Aunt Mito. Her familiar joy he’d scrubbed off those years ago washed over him again with no discrimination. She smelled like Gon–if Gon smelled like bread–and it made Killua feel more at-home than he had in ages.
To Killua’s utter amazement, Gon’s great-grandmother was still alive and kicking, despite being confined to a wheelchair. Even so, he knew he could trust her to handle taking Alluka into town for the afternoon. The women unnecessarily bribed him into it with tea time at the house, but Killua would’ve said yes as soon as Alluka asked. As much as he loathed his sister being out-of-sight, he knew she needed her freedom. Besides, he was in a good mood, and wanted to talk to Aunt Mito. She was a great conversationalist, despite living on a largely isolated island all her life, and had a wit about her that Gon never quite got.
“So where’s Gon gone now?” He mused, dunking a pastry into his tea to feign casualty after waiting the entire conversation to bring him up. Mito immediately frowned. Killua felt he’d made a mistake by asking about him, but he also felt a great, cruel, needy curiosity about him that Mito’s reaction only heightened.
“Please trust me when I tell you you’re better off not knowing,” she said eventually, around a sigh.
“Really? Is it that bad? Or he just didn’t bother telling you. Oh no, did he really just up and run?”
“Oh, stop it,” Mito chided, Killua’s hostility not lost on her. “Of course he told me, and he knows better than to leave without promising to come back.” Killua was frowning now. “I just mean that you’ll have more peace of mind if you don’t try to search for him.”
Killua knew this, just as he knew that Mito likely spoke from experience. Still, he couldn’t help his knee-jerk indignation.
“Why would I search for him?!” He screeched.
Mito raised a brow. Killua closed his mouth. It always pissed him off how she was able to do that: say all she needed to without ever speaking a word. Killua had to get Alluka off the island fast before she somehow learned the same trick. He’d really be in trouble then.
“You’re a teenager now, Killua, act like it,” Mito said with no venom. Even the lilting way she said his name was similar to Gon. They both emphasized the first and last syllable, drawing out the “ee” ever so slightly, making his horrid name sound like a bird chirp. His own mother’s vowels were much less sing-songy and more guttural, making the way she screeched his name more reminiscent of a haggard crow than a lark. Killua’s scowl deepened and he wished to fill the silence again. For all his anger, he would rather think about Gon than that ghastly woman.
“What would you define as acting like a teenager?” he said. “Governing yourself? Traveling across the world with your little sister, taking charge of your own freedom?”
“Freedom, yes,” Mito mused, raising her cup to her lips absentmindedly. “Getting over your stupid boyfriend might help, though.” This was not at all what Killua expected her to say. He coughed on his sip of tea.
“What!? Mito! He’s your son!” Killua yelled.
“Who said he wasn’t? I’m just saying he’s a stupid boyfriend, which is true.”
“I… We were never dating.”
“Oh, honey,” Mito said, her eyes smiling, “I think that might be worse.”
“So? What do you suggest, then?” Killua found himself sarcastically asking, despite really not wanting to hear any of what she had to say. To his relief, his sister chose that moment to bound through the door, yelling a quick greeting before darting back out to wheel in the old hag. Killua had never been more glad to be interrupted in his life. Annoyingly, Mito seemed undeterred, even as her grandmother took up a place at the table and Alluka went to wash up before dinner.
“Maybe join your sister at the market tomorrow,” Mito suggested, “Soak your feet in the sand. Go catch a fish for dinner,” Mito paused. “Do the laundry over and over again.” She laughed quietly to herself. “That’s the part I’m convinced I never really got better at.”
“What, laundry?”
“The living-my-life-through-the-grief-over-someone-who-isn’t-dead part.”
The self-deprecating way Mito spoke made Killua sink into himself as well. His gaze flicked down to the old woman who was resting a hand over Mito’s in comfort. It was funny, she seemed barely lucid sometimes and perfectly spry at others. Tentatively, took a whiff of the air and could barely make out her expired perfume next to the stale soap-smell that seemed to accompany all old people. Mito called his name, and he reluctantly tuned in to the conversation again. He suddenly felt very sad and very small.
“I know you love Gon. You’re allowed to hate him a little bit.”
Killua blinked. “You can do both? At the same time?”
“I would argue they often happen at the same time.” Mito took the last sip of her tea, then set her cup down so carefully that it barely even clicked against the saucer.
“Obāsan,” she called to the woman sitting right next to her, “Do you want to help me make dinner?”
“No, my dear.” Her voice was clear, if a little weathered. “I’m too tired. I will wait for Miss Alluka to set the table with me.”
As with everything, Killua took offense to that. “I’m right here, granny,” he said.
“I know, you stinking teen, but you always do it wrong.”
Dinner was amazing, as always. The Zoldycks played a game where they tried to guess each of the individual ingredients in the meal through taste and smell alone, which theoretically they should both be experts at, but were hindered by their lack of any cooking knowledge, so they were wrong just often enough for it to be fun. It was nice, but Killiua still didn’t sleep well regardless, as once he got into bed he could only think of Gon.
The next day Killua joined Alluka at the market, per Mito’s repeated suggestion. He already woke up with a headache, so it was a bit like hell for the first half hour as he dragged himself behind his sister as she raced between every stall. Slowly, though, the clear air and the walking did manage to lift his spirits, if only slightly. Alluka dragged him to a booth brimming with candles. Feeling haughty, he nudged his sister, inhaled deeply, and immediately started coughing. Sandalwood was no joke, and neither was whatever citrus oil had caused his eyes to water. It worked, though, as it got Alluka to laugh and try it herself, hacking and wheezing in front of the slightly offended clerk. Killua bought a small candle in a glass jar as a half-assed apology, and was slightly angry at himself when he realized it was sea-salt and oak scented. Just great. Alluka then went back to the house while Killua stayed out, venturing into the woods, mindful of the candle in his pocket. He retraced some of his and Gon’s old steps and imagined green hair and brown eyes jumping along the canopy, veering off from him into the deep woods with a subtle hand wave and wink as a goodbye. Killua tried to feel a sense of closure, but it just brought his headache back and caused a churning feeling in his stomach.
The dark feeling doubled when he eventually trudged back to the Freecs house at sunset. Something wasn’t right. He checked on Alluka first, finding her asleep, and put his hand under her nose to feel her breathing. After double-checking the room and finding nothing wrong, he went to Mito’s room next door. Usually at this time she would be in bed reading, but she too was fast asleep. Killua scowled deeper, and started to Obāsan’s, then started running halfway through when his nose caught wind of something not as it should be. He opened the old woman’s door and was hit with more of the wrong smell. There was no soap smell, and in its place was the almost overwhelming scent of cinnamon apple sugar. Killua’d bet anything it was the exact smell that hung around her nearly two decades ago, as Gon had described it in his early childhood, before her lethargy and arthritis took away her ability to bake on a regular basis.
Alluka, what have you done?
In the morning, Killua watched the Freecs make breakfast, the old woman seeming to find a certain spring to her step all of a sudden. She had her cane handy, but even with it she nearly matched Mito pace for pace. Killua scowled, suspicions confirmed.
Instead of waiting for Alluka to join them downstairs, he marched back to their room where she was brushing her hair, and firmly grabbed her ear. She immediately started whining loudly, so Killua didn’t even bother trying to talk over her, just leaning in closer to the ear he was holding.
“What the hell were you thinking,” he hissed, “Giving that old woman years of her life back!?”
Alluka stopped her crying and looked at him in the mirror with wide eyes.
“How did you find out?”
Killua scoffed. “Brothers know everything. The only thing I don’t know is why you would even do something that stupid!”
Alluka started protesting again and Killua yanked her ear.
“But this way,” Alluka blubbered, “Obāsan will live longer, and Mito won’t be as lonely!”
“That’s not a choice we can make for other people, Alluka. You can’t just stop people from dying.”
Alluka frowned and gave him a look. Killua groaned, realizing the irony, and abandoned her ear to give her whole head a good shake.
“Gon tried to kill himself. That’s different. You know it is. We weren’t granting his wish, we were fixing his stupid mistakes,” Killua chastised. Once again, Gon was his only exception. Killua wanted to shake his own head around and punt it like a soccer ball, but this wasn’t about him. He sighed, and flattened himself to the floor, pointedly not looking at Alluka.
“You’re not granting any wish that hag, had, either. Or Mito. She wouldn’t want more time with her Grandma if she knew it was because you were prolonging her life!”
“Don’t tell me how to use my gift! Don’t tell Nanika, either!”
Killua sighed again. Wish-granting has always been a touchy subject between them. At least she didn’t accuse him of being like Mother this time. When Alluka didn’t say anything for the next few moments, he knew Nanika was out. She hated when they fought.
“Killu…nee… Sorry.” she warbled.
“You don’t have any reason to be sorry, Nanika. You thought you were doing the right thing.” Killua said, gently stroking his sister’s hair. “The right thing now, though, would be to undo the wish. I won’t ask you to, but it would mean a lot to me if you did.” Killua got up, picked up their bags, and turned to the door. “I’m gonna take our stuff down to the pier. The choice is yours.” He shut the door behind him, said his goodbyes to the pair of women downstairs, and, true to his word, trudged down to the docks to pre-check their baggage.
In the end, she did return Obāsan back to normal. Killua was proud, and continued to be proud even after they heard word of the woman’s death months later. He consoled a crying Alluka, who kept switching to a crying Nanika, both wanting a hug from their big brother. Before they received any sort of invitation to her funeral, Killua sent a postcard as soon as they arrived in York New (“Linger in Lingon!” was actually the least offensive option they had), briefly informing Mito that they were sorry for her loss, but could not travel to Whale Island at that time, and they hoped she’d understand. He left out the part about his selfish real reason of not wanting to see Gon just yet, knowing that he’d be returning to Whale Island as soon as he heard the news. Did that make Killua a coward? Yes, it did, but Mito already knew that, as did Alluka, so Killua didn’t feel the need to justify himself.
Still, he lit his fake ocean candle every now and then, and never blocked Gon’s number in his phone. He knew that idiot hadn’t upgraded from the Beatle-07 Leorio bought him. He never thought that Gon would ever actually attempt communication with him, though, so when he received a photo from Gon’s number one morning a couple weeks later, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
It was a simple selfie of Gon inside of what could only be Lingon Airport, the same one Killua had sent the postcard from. Killua’s eyes were glued to the photo, soaking in every detail. Even though it showed more forehead than face, Gon was unmistakably smiling. It was only during lunch, when Killua finally put his phone down to eat, that his phone ‘ping’ed again with another message from Gon.
“Leo Rio said i jst missed u!!Bet icould find u tho!”
Killua smiled. He didn’t text back until the next day after he and Alluka had moved onto their next town.
“Just try it, slowpoke.”