Fate Stay Night - Medea Caster route

-GOOD ENDING?-

"...And I've done everything I could to obtain it," Medea finished, as her eyes met Shirou's unwavering gaze as he stood on the veranda.

She saw the steel resolve etched into his eyes, and noticed the cold steel sword gripped tightly in his right hand.

"...You sure took your time," she remarked, her voice trembling with anticipation.

In the depths of her thoughts, Medea acknowledged her earlier doubts about her divination. Everything was unfolding precisely as she had foreseen, yet, and her heart ached with the inevitability of it all.

"...You left me with no choice," Shirou replied dryly, his footsteps echoing as he advanced toward her.

Her heart quickened its pace, and she took a hesitant step forward. "...I'm glad that you have finally understood."

"Yes. I understand what I have to do." Shirou's voice held unwavering determination as he continued to close the distance between them. "I understand that I have to save you…"

"Stupid, you can't-!" Medea's words were bitten off sharply, her teeth gritted, as she contemplated stepping back to flee from him.

"…From yourself." Shirou's voice was unwavering as he gripped tighter the steel sword in his right hand, while his words pierced through her defenses.

Frozen, Medea hesitated. Did he truly mean it? Would he go to such extremes to fulfill her desire? As Shirou closed the distance, her heart raced.

Was he serious? Could he truly save her? Was he really about to do it?!

"...After all the things I've done… Do you still want to… save me?" She said, clearly in disbelief.

"Of course." Shirou's voice was gentle but resolute as he drew closer.

"…Why?" Her voice trembled with vulnerability, though she already knew the answer deep inside of herself.

"Because I love you." His words hung in the air, a confession of the deepest emotions, as he stood before her.

As Medea gazed into Shirou's eyes, tears streaming down her face, a mixture of happiness, disbelief, and relief overwhelmed her.

For a prolonged moment, they locked eyes, before Shirou began to move.

He felt the weight of his decision, the irreversibility of the path he had chosen.

Memories flashed before his eyes, of a time when he couldn't save those he cared about. That determination, born from past failures, now fueled his resolve, banishing any lingering insecurities.

It was a defining moment, a moment that required quick and decisive action.

As Medea's tears fell, she struggled to maintain her focus on him while wiping them away. Shirou sensed it was the moment to intervene, realizing that his words had overwhelmed her.

And so, Shirou, with a swift, determined motion, made the steel sword in his hand disappear. In its place, he embraced her tightly. It was a silent reassurance, a shield against the storms raging within her and from herself.

Now she was safe, and most importantly, she could not flee from him anymore.

It took Medea a moment to realize that he wasn't about to put her out of her misery

"I'm here for you," Shirou then declared, his voice resolute, echoing the words Medea had once spoken to him. Confused, she looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes searching for understanding.

"What?" she asked, bewildered.

His embrace was warm and comforting, yet unyielding. He wiped away her tears with a gentle touch.

"I'm here for you," he repeated. "I can't let you go down that path. I won't let you destroy yourself, let alone hurt you."

Medea's confusion slowly transformed into a mix of contrasting and paradoxical emotions—astonishment, hopelessness, gratitude, dread, confusion, fear… and a flicker of hope.

Never had she expected that Shirou would still care for her well-being, especially after the choices she had made in her tumultuous past and the things she had just done to him.

"But why, Shirou? …After everything I've done?" she whispered, disgusted by the thoughts of her actions and most of all, afraid of the answer.

"Because people can change," he replied, his eyes unwavering. "I've seen it. I've seen you. And I believe in redemption."

She stared at him, her mouth left open, speechless. How could he say that, especially in those conditions? Was he even aware of how much he was wounded? Did he understand what he had done to him and what was about to do to those he loved?

"Now, this cold is unbearable. Let's head back indoors," he said before attempting to move alongside her.

Shirou knew that he desperately needed to break the tension. Therefore, he thought that going back inside would be a good start. He needed to bring her back to a secure place where she could calm down without putting anyone in danger, including herself.

"No… stop it…" Medea weakly protested when Shirou tried to move, attempting to resist and detach from the embrace. "This is not how it should have gone! This is not what I have seen!" she then started to say.

Her voice trembled weakly as she attempted to resist, trying to pull away from his embrace, but the weight of her turmoil and their earlier confrontation held her in place, weakened.

"…Not what you have seen?" Shirou repeated after some long moments, intrigued, as he returned his attention to her.

Right. From what he had come to know, Medea did have the power of precognition.

He reasoned that she must have used it at some point, and whatever she must have seen might have been the cause of all of this.

"What did you see, exactly?" Shirou then asked, genuinely curious.

"I…" she started to say before she stopped.

In that moment, Medea came to the stark realization that she had never witnessed Shirou actively taking her life. The truth unfolded before her like the breaking dawn – she had never glimpsed his role in bringing about her demise. Her foresight had merely captured a fleeting instant, a deceptive distortion of reality that she had misunderstood.

All she had seen was a brief moment of Shirou approaching her toward the end of their confrontation—an encounter that, as it turned out, she had initiated.

After glimpsing the foreboding predictions of the cards, fear had overtaken her, compelling her to prematurely jump to the conclusion of her impending demise at Shirou's hands.

"But that cannot be!" she told herself. "The vision! I may have misinterpreted it… But the cards! I also used them! I saw Justice! and I saw Death! What other meanings could they have?! Especially when combined together?!" Her tone was both desperate and incredulous.

"Cards? Death? Justice?" Shirou quietly muttered as he tried to recall anything that had to do with cards.

Shirou then remained silent as his mind raced to decipher the significance of the cards. Meanwhile, Medea grappled with the terror that clutched at her, threatening to unravel her sanity.

All of that… because she failed to see the truth.

All of the damages she had done… Everything she was about to do… all because of a misunderstanding. A failure on her part.

Then, something came to Shirou's mind.

He recalled a time when Rin and Sakura had brought a deck of tarot cards, curious to see if Medea could use them to interpret their future. But only now did he realize that given her abilities, what she told them was not merely an interpretation but their real future…

He tried to remember what she had told them, but nothing came to mind.

Nevertheless, that was not what truly mattered.

Could it be that she had also used them other than her divination? What did she see in them? What kind of future did they reveal to her?

The realization dawned on Shirou — Medea's fear might have been fueled not only by her visions but also by misinterpretations of the very cards she used to predict their fates.

He was not sure how either of them worked, but for now, he could only suspect that it might be that she had misprinted the meaning of her vision, and the cards only made her fear become more… irrational? Maybe it made her think that whatever she had seen would become reality…

Anyway, he needed to return her focus to her.

He shortly tried to remember as best as he could of the cards Medea mentioned. After the sisters had brought those cards, he remembered her explaining to them the general meanings of each card so that they could understand them better.

"...Oh, so you meant the tarot cards," Shirou said after he finally managed to recall the meaning of the thirteenth card. "Nee-san, don't you remember? You spoke once to us about those cards and their many meanings. And other than great misfortune and literal death, didn't that card also mean great change?"

A long pause dawned on them.

"…Yes… It does..." She muttered in realization, looking at the ground, ashamed.

In fact, usually, it is uncommon that this card actually represents a physical death; rather, it typically implies an end, possibly of a relationship or interest, and therefore an increased sense of self-awareness.

And when combined with The Hanged Man, the Death card represents the end of a significant stage or area of life that you have realized is no longer beneficial to you, making way for something far more important and valuable. To open another door, the previous one must be closed.

It was then that Medea turned toward him, and her eyes started to water once again.

"...But why?" she asked, both to him and to herself. "Why did you have to die? …And why am I still here? …It's not right… It's unfair that you died while I lived… Shirou…I'm…" Medea's voice was spent.

It had been all for naught. This was the foregone conclusion all along. All she had done had been for nothing. All of this, and-

"I know. You're sorry."

"...I am," Medea said. "Truth is… I always was… but I still don't get it. Why? After everything that you have seen I can do… After all I have just done to you… I'm dangerous…"

Shirou looked at her with sad eyes. How could he make her understand that what she had done to him that night was nothing?

He did not know if she would ever comprehend just how much he loved her. He couldn't help but admire her, a feeling that bordered on worship. Her strength and grace had been his anchor through the years... And how could he be so rash with her, in the moment where she had been at her weakest, when for the past ten years she had given him nothing but happiness, security, and peace.

"You may still be wondering why, but I have to remind you that it is my duty to help you when you need me… And I know you need me," Shirou said.

"...But you can't help me, Shirou. You are you... while I'm a murderer. A monster."

"I can understand how you feel. I felt the same way once," Shirou's voice carried the weight of past self-loathing. "I hated myself for what I did. But you have helped me, and I will do the same."

"But the things we did are completely different!" Medea immediately snapped. "You were but a child who could not save those he wanted to help! While I… I… Gods… my brother… my sons… What have I done?"

"Shhhh. I know, I know," he said as he hugged her closer and started to pat her to calm her down, in the same way she did to him in the past. "I know that it is difficult, but I will not let you alone. Now I know what torments you, I know what to do to help you. I will not let you be alone in this, Nee-san."

"Don't call me that! I'm no one to you in reality… You have to leave me…"

"...Even if you aren't, I will help you all the same."

"Please Shirou, I beg you, end this. I'm truly sorry. But it's too much. Forgive me. Have mercy and end it all."

Shirou looked at her. Tears in her eyes, begging for an ignoble end.

He then understood, much like she did, that begging for forgiveness and acknowledging mistakes wouldn't undo anything. There was no need for her to explicitly express the disdain for the person she had become; it was already too late.

Her plea wasn't a plea for self-preservation; it was a plea for death born out of true repentance.

"I know you're carrying a heavy guilt, and I can see the pain in your eyes. But, you're not defined by your mistakes. You're defined by the strength it takes to overcome them, and regret them. This pain of yours is proof of your change. I believe in you, and I won't let you face this darkness alone. And you're not a burden, you've been my anchor, and now I shall be yours." Shirou told her, before he smiled at her.

"No... No! Please, NO NO NO!" Medea cried out, desperately fighting to break free. "You can't do this to me! Shirou! I don't deserve this! I cannot live with the things I've done!"

He could hear the anguish and fear in her voice, reaching into the depths of his soul. A profound sickness seized him as he grappled with the realization that, for her, the agony of being left alive, spared from death, was a punishment more severe than any other—the ultimate and unbearable fate.

"Either way, your death will not make a difference. No one will come back to life should you die."

"But that would set things right! I shouldn't be alive right now, can't you understand?! I should not exist altogether! …I don't belong here or anywhere!" She choked out, her voice strained, a torrent of tears betraying the deep wounds inflicted by those words. It was evident they struck a raw nerve within her.

And in a swift cascade, Medea succumbed to weeping, heralding the arrival of the moment Shirou had long anticipated.

Medea now found herself too feeble, drained, and wounded to put up any more resistance. Her strength dwindled, not just physically, but as a surrender to the internal turmoil.

Watching her closely, Shirou's brow furrowed, his determination hardened, his gaze turning cold and calculating.

It is as I feared... Those self-destructive tendencies persist, clearer and more pronounced than ever. It's going to be challenging to overcome them... But don't worry, Nee-san… I won't let Medea take you away from me.'

The living room lay in ruins, shards of glass scattered everywhere, the acrid scent of burnt wood and blood lingering in the air.

And in the midst of the shattered living room, at the center of a now cleaned spot, sat Shirou and Medea.

The fractured remnants of their confrontation surrounded them, a visual testament to the emotional wreckage.

An hour had passed since the end of the fight. And now Shirou sat across from Medea, who was drinking some tea that he had brewed for her.

Even though he was trying to hide it, his exhausted gaze revealed the hardships he'd endured, as he leaned heavily on the table. His one good arm bore the weight, elbow resting on the surface, while the other hand gently traced his tousled hair, fingertips delicately touching the wounds on his scalp.

"...So... feeling any better?" he inquired at one point.

"Yeah... kind of..." Medea replied, her voice carrying a sniff.

Another prolonged moment of silence passed before Shirou sighed, remarking, "...Good thing the stoves somehow still work, despite all the damage they have taken... and luckily there was no gas leak... they can become very dangerous from what I've heard," he said, shivering slightly.

He began to survey the surroundings.

"...Brrr... and we really need to patch those holes as soon as possible," Shirou observed as he glanced around the living room, the battleground of his encounter with Medea. After all the damages they had caused, now, the cold air could seep in from any direction.

Medea began to speak but stopped. A lengthy pause ensued before she finally managed to say something.

"Yeah, there are many things to fix in this room in general... rooftop included..." She admitted, a noticeable tinge of shame in her voice.

Shirou looked confused before he followed her gaze upward. His surprise was evident when he noticed the enormous hole in the rooftop, a detail he had somehow overlooked until now.

"Oh! I did not see that hole up there... heh, what did you do? You've got such a bad aim..." Shirou chuckled, finding it somewhat amusing.

Medea frowned under her hood, opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it. She gritted her teeth briefly, displaying frustration with herself. Taking a deep breath to regain composure, she raised her eyes for a quick glance at Shirou, particularly his bloodied arms, before turning her attention to the table.

"Shirou, please, I beg you again, ignore all of these things and tend to your wounds," Medea pleaded, her tone sounding almost desperate.

Shirou paused for a moment before directing his attention towards her.

"...And leave you alone even for an instant? After I somehow managed to calm you down despite everything that has happened? No. way." Shirou declared, his decision firm and unwavering.

Medea seemed hurt by his statement as she returned her gaze to her cup. Despite her desire to say something, to convince him of her trustworthiness, when she raised her head to meet his eyes, her words were stifled before she could utter them, and she simply lowered her head. Shame consumed her, robbing her of the courage to respond or share her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Shirou continued to stare at her. He had discerned that Medea had become genuinely afraid of being near him after the recent events. Merely staying in close proximity made her extremely uncomfortable, and interacting with him only heightened her distress. In fact, she couldn't even bear to look at him.

With reason and clarity returning to her, she must have realized with great horror the consequences of her actions during that moment of madness and weakness.

However, Shirou, having learned from Medea when she helped him confront his traumatic past, was now poised to apply those same lessons. Instead of allowing her to succumb to a panic attack or downplaying what had transpired, he had already formulated a plan to help her redeem herself in both of their eyes.

Confidently, he could say that he knew her much better now than ever before. He patiently awaited the moment when Medea would overcome her fears and extend her aid.

He knew she couldn't bear to stand idly by, merely watching him bleed. Her assistance would be the first tangible step toward repairing the damage she had caused, at least to some extent.

Unable to undo many of her sins, Shirou believed that compelling her to take action to redeem herself was a positive start. A meaningful one.

Until then, he resolved to continue bleeding.

Aware of Avalon's existence within his body, he also understood its current limitations. While the Sheath had saved his life a decade ago, its powers had since diminished significantly. Despite this, some of its effects persisted, slightly slowing down his blood loss and explaining why he remained conscious.

Yet, the amount of blood he might lose didn't concern him, nor did the misting of his sight with blood, or the growing puddle around him. His sole focus remained on her.

Shirou was determined to make her understand that her hesitation and fear in aiding him were not only futile but also exacerbating the current situation. Her inaction and avoidance not only continued to strain their already damaged relationship but also physically wounded him further. He aimed to help her break through the mental block that had taken hold of her, and make her reach the same understanding that it was essential for their well-being, both individually and as a unit.

Extreme problems called for extreme solutions.

Certainly, his head had begun to spin, breathing was becoming increasingly painful, and he was well aware that ignoring some of his deepest wounds would likely lead to unconsciousness in about 10 minutes. Yet, it was a price he was willing to pay—the only course of action available to him.

Having come this far, there was no way he would take a single step back. Determination fueled him to endure, no matter the toll it took on his body and consciousness.

"...B-B-By the gods!" Medea stuttered, abruptly standing up and looking down at him. A mix of emotions flickered across her face. She couldn't deny what had happened, yet she couldn't fully accept it either.

"You are so stupid! Come here! I can't look at you while you are in such a state!" she exclaimed, more to herself than to him. The room felt heavy with the weight of her own actions, and for a moment, she hesitated, grappling with the truth.

In the quiet seconds that followed, a subtle shift occurred within her. It wasn't a grand realization, but a quiet acceptance. She sighed, recognizing the need to face what she had done and make amends.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said gently, as if convincing herself as much as him. Without further words, she guided him towards the bathroom, the unspoken understanding lingering in the air—a commitment to fixing the mess she had unwittingly created.

'Good… she finally did it,' Shirou thought as he tried his best to keep up at her pace.

Soon, they reached the bathroom, and Medea swiftly got to work. She began bandaging him, disinfecting and stitching his wounds, using ointments, and even weaving a bit of magic into the mending process. And yet...

"...You sure I can't help you with anything?" he asked, noticing her emotional state.

"Sniff I… I can do this. J-Just stay still… and… don't move… Sniff" Medea replied, pausing to wipe away her tears.

Shirou said nothing, simply watching her as she worked, her hands trembling as she bandaged his arm.

'Gods, this feels unreal... it can't be happening... it can't be happening... I must be dreaming...' She repeated to herself, caught in a whirlwind of emotions since the start of the procedure.

A part of her wanted to curse both him and herself. Shirou's stubbornness had downplayed the severity of the wounds she had inflicted on him. It was much worse than she had ever anticipated.

Now, with his bloodied clothes removed and the true state of his body revealed, she was left speechless. Barely able to maintain her composure, she navigated through a sea of emotions as she observed and healed each and every wound.

His hands, knees, and elbows displayed horrible abrasions, while his left thigh harbored splinters of wood and glass. Deep lacerations marked his abdomen, and his left hand was nearly split in half. His back bore cuts and contusions, bruises adorned every inch, and there were cuts, gashes, and burned patches scattered across his body.

There was no way she did all of this to him, right?! She reminisced about the moment he jumped on her, remembering how she couldn't fully cast her spells. A mere whisper was usually all she needed, but this... it seemed beyond her capabilities. She reasoned with herself, convinced that Shirou had been in control for most of the fight!

...Yet, the undeniable evidence of the present wounds stood before her, making it impossible to deny the harsh reality of her actions.

The horror struck her like a thunderbolt as the realization of her own actions sank in. Gods! How much had she wounded him?!

What had she done to her little boy?!

A wave of panic crashed over her, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips. Her breath quickened, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. The weight of the truth bore down on her, each wound she tended to a painful reminder of her own deeds.

Medea was in denial, her hands mechanically moving to heal the very wounds that stood as damning evidence before her. Yet, despite her efforts, she couldn't escape the gnawing guilt that clawed at her.

In that moment, her mind became a battlefield, invaded by a torrent of memories. Images of the times they had spent together flooded her thoughts—their happiest moments, their most comforting embraces. Among them, the image of a young Shirou, looking at her with those innocent eyes, stood out vividly. She recalled the times she had patched up tiny cuts on his knees after he had tripped.

His sweet eyes, his little smile, his thanks—those memories clashed with the harsh reality she faced now. Covered in both his and her own blood, she found herself stitching the gashes she had inflicted. The stark contrast between the past warmth and the present horror tore at her, leaving her entangled in a web of conflicting emotions.

The sight of his current self, juxtaposed with the memory of his innocent childhood, shattered her mind and heart into fragments. But the most devastating blow came when she raised her eyes, and her breath caught. In a haunting repetition of years past, Shirou was smiling at her.

"Thanks." His voice carried a warmth that, against all odds, eased the tension in the room.

She halted in her tracks, staring at him with a mix of disbelief and astonishment. His expression remained serene, content, even, despite the bloodied nose, the almost missing left ear, the split and busted upper lip that revealed some of his teeth underneath, and the small river of blood streaming down from his forehead, staining one of his eyes.

"…Why are you thanking me?" Medea asked, downtrodden, her voice trembling. "...I did all of this to you in the first place… then why…?" Her tone was tired and incredulous as she looked at him, caught between the haunting contrast of his gratitude and the brutal reality of her actions.

"I… I kind of don't care," he admitted, his tone remarkably calm. "What I'm really glad about instead is that… I don't know how to say it… I… *Sigh* Thank you for not having done anything stupid by yourself."

Medea's eyes widened slightly, discerning the genuine relief embedded in his voice.

"Thank you for not having left me alone," he continued.

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog.

"...You may think that what you did was terrible to me… but had you gone to take your life, it would have been much worse for me… so much… worse."

The weight of his words settled in the room, and Medea remained speechless.

"I'm actually glad for this confrontation… I know what the problem is…"

"…How? How can you be happy with all of this? After I-"

"I know, you are worried about these wounds and how you wounded me… but you don't have to. They are just wounds. They will heal, sooner or later… they will pass… they shall be only a mere bad memory… nothing more, nothing less." His words, carrying a strange mix of wisdom and resilience, lingered in the air, challenging the chaos of emotions swirling within Medea's conflicted mind.

His words were also calming, reassuring… and yet, an unsettling discomfort lingered beneath the surface. Medea sensed that something was wrong, horribly off, as if a missing puzzle piece left a void she couldn't define. It felt familiar, uncomfortably so—a specter she had desperately tried to avoid with all of herself.

She couldn't quite articulate it, put a finger on the exact issue, or give a name to the nagging feeling. But there was unquestionably something off about Shirou. Something that wasn't right, and she had an unnerving certainty that… it would never change.

Despite his smile and the familiar glow in his bright, innocent, golden-brown eyes, there was a nuance missing. It wasn't his usual smile. His gaze seemed to convey a depth of understanding, as if he knew something, something buried deep within himself and resonating within her.

Her thoughts were a silent whirlwind, unable to form words or coherent questions. It wasn't for lack of wanting to speak; she simply had no idea what to say or do next. The emptiness of her mind reflected the complexity of the situation. So, she remained silent.

Shirou, sensing the unspoken turmoil, drew closer.

"...But had you taken the other road… I would have always wondered why you'd done it… I would have always wondered if there was anything I could have done… if it was my fault… or how I could have ever noticed how much you suffered," he explained, a moment of silence punctuating his thoughts as he searched for the right words. "...I would have to live the rest of my life without knowing the answer to why you left, and if there was something I could have done to help you. And there is no coming back or healing from that… you understand?"

He locked eyes with her, gently cupping her face.

"That was so selfish of you. What would I do without you here? Let alone after... losing you? …The truth is that I'd be lost. You are all I have." His words hung in the air, charged with a raw vulnerability that cut through the complexities of their shared pain.

"…"

He went back, giving space to the weighty questions hanging in the air.

"I understand that it could be overwhelming at times, that it was simply too much… and that it helped to know to have a way out… but you have to answer this: why me? Why did you have to rely on me?"

"…I'm sorry… I do not know what came to me… I do not know what I truly wanted from all of this…" Medea spoke truthfully.

Her words hung in the air, a candid admission of her own confusion. Did she seek an end to it all, or was justice her goal, revenge for Meremrus and Phere and all those she had killed? A desire for retribution or perhaps someone to avenge her and destroy the monster she had become? Trapped in the paradox of uncertainty, she longed to break free from the conflicting emotions that held her captive.

"Still, I'm sorry for hurting you," she added, a sincere apology that carried the weight of remorse for the pain she had caused.

"...You know what hurt me the most? Hurting you. You are… all I have," Shirou confessed, his expression turning serious for a single instant.

"You should be more concerned about what I did to you. My wounds are already gone… there is not even a scar to show…" Medea observed her healed self.

"As if I should care about myself. I'm more concerned about saving you; you're still in danger," he stated, flashing a small and confident, still bloodied smile that sent a chill of horror through Medea.

He knew the weight of his words and the impact they would have on Medea.

Shirou deliberately uttered those words with a clear and specific intent—to resurrect the specter of the "first" Shirou, the one she couldn't save. The boy too stubborn to save himself, always ready to throw his life away for the sake of others. The person Medea had fervently worked to groom him away from becoming… or at least tried to.

A pregnant silence stretched out before Shirou "finally realized" the weight of his statement, seeing the shock etched across Medea's face.

"...I mean, do not misunderstand, I do care about myself, but only because YOU made me do it. You taught it to me how… and why I should. You were always there for me, and so you made me feel important, you made me feel cared, you were there to make me feel… desired? cherished? …Needed? … without you… I would surely… " Shirou spoke, his words hanging in the air before trailing off. A palpable sense of shame marked his demeanor.

He left it there, intentionally not fully expressing himself or specifying what would happen to him without her, but artfully hinting at the void that would exist in his life without her, leaving it ambiguous and open-ended. The unspoken words he strategically refrained from fully expressing hanged in the air, allowing Medea to jump to her own conclusions. Shirou, aware of her shaken mindset, counted on her imagining the worst possible scenarios, playing on the ambiguity to evoke a profound sense of guilt.

He needed her to feel the weight of everything she had done to him, fostering a desire to undo and rectify her latest mistake—an attainable goal compared to her past actions. This, he hoped, would give her purpose and, perhaps, even peace in the end.

...Still, he hated it. He truly despised the necessity of manipulation, using deceptions and half-truths to guide her emotions. Yet, she left him no choice. His devotion to her compelled him to go to any lengths. He couldn't simply heed her irrational desires and fulfill her requests. Besides, in all honesty, she had been manipulating him for his own good throughout this time. If he mirrored her actions, wouldn't he be justified in doing so?

Unexpectedly, Shirou's train of thought derailed when a low growl rumbled from Medea's stomach. He couldn't help but feel surprised—she was hungry despite the stress. Reflecting on the day, he realized she had eaten little at lunch and completely skipped dinner during her mental breakdown. Considering the energy expended in their intense battle, her hunger wasn't surprising.

"...Huh, you're right; it's past dinner, and we ate little," Shirou acknowledged, glancing at her before turning his attention to himself and his injuries.

"What are you doing?! Don't move, or you will-!" Medea started to say, her concern evident, before Shirou got up.

"Are we done here for now?" Shirou inquired. "The majority of the serious injuries have been taken care of, and healing what's left will take a while. The night is still long, so we have plenty of time to address everything else. Let's go; I'll try to make something for us. I'm quite hungry as well."

Once again, Medea found herself at a loss for words. She lacked the courage to assert herself over him, even if it was for his own good, and so Shirou proceeded as he saw fit.

As she sat there, immobile, she couldn't help but watch him as he moved to change his clothes. The way he shrugged everything off, holding no grudges, always seeking the best possible outcome —it captivated her.

Despite her influence, trickery, and deceptions… he remained true to himself.

He was still that boy who had saved her all those years ago.

When Shirou put on a new, clean shirt and started to walk away without saying anything, Medea suddenly moved and grabbed one of his arms. It was almost instinctual for her, as if she feared he might escape her once more, risking the possibility of losing him again.

"…Shirou," she hesitantly called him, a wave of nostalgia washing over her.

"Yes?" he asked as he turned.

Seeing her open her mouth before mustering the courage to speak surprised even Medea. This spontaneous act had taken her by surprise, perhaps because she acted without thinking.

"…Thank you, Shirou. I'm so glad that it was you…" Medea confessed, her words pouring forth from the depths of her heart, surprising even herself for how sincere and heartfelt they were.

These were sentiments she had never been able to articulate before, whether due to assuming they were understood, or the circumstances not allowing them to blossom, crystallize, and finally emerge into the open.

"…What is that about?" he asked, turning all of his attention to her. For a moment, he wondered if his actions had already begun to make sense to her.

But Medea did not answer; she simply looked down. Shirou couldn't help but smile, looking at her with a bit of fondness. The first step toward rehabilitation had been taken.

Medea then looked up to him as Shirou grabbed her hand with both of his. When they locked eyes, he smiled at her and said, "It's what I do."

[GOOD END]

Author's notes: Finally did it. Nice.

Apologies for the delay. Both endings should be done by now, but better late than never, right?

So, did you enjoy this ending? Did it go in a direction you liked? Or are you eagerly awaiting the [Bad End] and wondering how poor tortured Shirou will come out of it?

I won't ramble much about this Ending, as I think it encapsulates everything I wanted to say.

Now, when's the next ending dropping? Can't say for sure. Just so you know, when I wrote the last chapter, this ending was almost complete – about 75%, just needing some polish and error fixing, the stuff that bores me out of my mind and often leads to procrastination. Why am I sharing this? Well, the next chapter is currently a mess. Sure, the basic stuff is there, but it's a mishmash of undeveloped ideas, incomplete dialogues, and parts in the wrong places because I was too lazy to organize them properly. So, yeah, might take a while…

But hey, how do you think the story will roll on from here? How's the war going to unfold? Who's your guess for the main antagonist?

No, let me throw this at you. Since I sent Medea back in time, things like the Thrones of Heroes are totally untouched, right? What about those unaffected by the Thrones themselves?

No, scratch that. What if Shirou ends up summoning Saber?

I can picture it. He's at the summoning circle, somewhat happy to meet her. He's seen memories of them fighting together, and he's looking forward to the reunion.

...Yet, when he summons her, he notices two things.

Saber stands there in the summoning circle, saying nothing, just looking at him. It takes Shirou a while to realize there's a familiarity in her eyes.

Then it hits him. She remembers him. She still has her memories. The fondness and happiness in her eyes make it seem like she's seeing an old friend she's missed for a long time.

But there's something bothering him. Now, her eyes, instead of being emerald green, are a strong golden color.

"...It seems that we meet yet again, Shirou," her voice is soft, kind, but her eyes burn with passion. She's ready to act. Her new goal is clear.

Shirou smiles a bit, even though he knows something's off. But Saber knows that blood has to be paid with blood.

I considered writing some dialogue where things quickly go south, and Saber bluntly says she's lost interest in the Grail. Now, she's only there to deal with the Servants that don't belong in the war—both of them. From the moment she makes her intentions clear, hostilities between her and Shirou kick off.

Here are some quotes stolen from Dawn of War 2 Dreadnought that I found fitting for this vengeance-hungry Saber:

- "A mockery of my master walks the battlefield."

- "Its unclean mind is a greater threat than any sword or magecraft."

- "He dares to challenge me. I accept."

- "I must fend off her witchery."

- "Even if I fall, it will not avail you."

- "Its misbegotten life is over."

- "It is, as dust."

- "Caster… she tainted the very earth she tread on…"

- "To fall into heresy is a worse defeat than any the battlefield can offer. Hear this from one who has seen it."

It would be interesting, right?

That's it btw. See you with the other ending and the rewrite... whenever they decide to show up.

Stay safe guys.