Trauma Can't Be Avoided

Prompt: In which Vanessa changing fate the first time wasn't only an experience that lived on in the memory of the Witch Queen. 

—

Asta hadn't realized he was avoiding Noelle until Finral pointed it out.

"You, uh… haven't been around her much lately," Finral had said, rubbing the back of his neck. "And, well, she looks… worried."

That was putting it lightly. Noelle looked devastated. But what was he supposed to do?

Every time he saw her, he saw the Witch Queen's magic twisting his body against his will. He saw the way his sword tore through her. Again. And again. And again.

He saw himself decapitating her, again, and again.

He saw himself killing her, again, and again.

No matter how much Vanessa rewrote fate, he remembered. Every scream. Every moment of pain. Every tear in Noelle's eyes before her body collapsed, lifeless.

She was fine. He knew that. She was alive. But the images wouldn't leave his head.

—

Sleep never came easy. When it did, it came in flashes of steel, of crimson-stained silver hair, of his own hands ending the life of someone he swore to protect. He woke up gasping, sheets tangled around his limbs as if they too were trying to restrain him.

More than once, Luck or Magna had knocked on his door, asking if he was okay after hearing him thrash around. He always brushed it off.

But he couldn't brush Noelle off so easily.

So he stayed away.

He made excuses, trained alone, and took missions without her. He even stopped calling her name so much. Anything to put distance between them.

He thought his oblivious act would come off as natural to everyone, Noelle included. 

He hoped they would simply equate him to just being the same, unreadable Asta, that everyone struggled to grasp, or make sense of.

Unaware of his surroundings, the feelings of others, particularly women.

Afterall unaware, ignorant, blind, deaf, and daft, was what he was known as.

It hurt, but he knew how to use such traits to his advantage, to get people to dismiss or underestimate him.

That is unless they knew him, the real him.

The Black Bulls, his second family certainly did.

And among them there were a few that knew him best. 

Noelle was naturally among them.

Noelle wasn't stupid.

—

At first, she assumed he was simply busy, but as days turned into weeks, her patience wore thin. She tried to approach him after missions, during mealtimes, even when they passed each other in the hideout. Each time, he had an excuse ready.

And it hurts.

She didn't understand what she had done wrong. She spent sleepless nights replaying their past conversations, searching for any mistake, any misstep. Had she insulted him without realizing it? Had she pushed him too far during training?

The uncertainty ate away at her.

She tried to brush it off—she wasn't the type to dwell on things, after all. But every time she saw him laughing with others, smiling like nothing was wrong while barely sparing her a glance, it gnawed at her heart.

He had always been her greatest source of frustration, but also her greatest comfort. And now? Now it felt like she was losing him without even knowing why.

Noelle found herself growing anxious whenever he was near, her confidence slipping away in ways she hated. When he used to shout her name, encourage her, push her to be better—it had always irritated her, but now? Now she ached for it.

It all boiled over one evening when she caught him sneaking out for a solo mission. That was it. She had enough.

Which is how he found himself cornered outside the Black Bulls' hideout, her arms crossed, silver eyes burning with frustration.

—

"Alright, spill it," she demanded. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"I don't—"

"Asta."

Her voice wavered, just enough to make his heart clench.

"Did I… do something?" she asked, softer now. "Are you mad at me?"

His eyes widened. "What? No! Noelle, I could never—"

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

Her voice cracked at the end, and he hated himself for it.

Asta looked away, gripping his arms so tightly his nails dug into his skin. "It's not you. It's me."

"Then tell me why."

He shook his head.

"Asta," she whispered. "Please."

Something in him shattered. He exhaled shakily, then forced himself to meet her gaze.

"I killed you."

She blinked. "What?"

"In the Witch's Forest." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I—I killed you. Over and over again. Even though Vanessa undid it every time, I remember all of it. I remember how you looked at me before you—" His voice caught, his throat closing up. "And now every time I see you, I—"

He couldn't finish.

Noelle's breath hitched, and for a terrifying second, he thought she'd step back, that she'd look at him in fear, but—

She stepped forward.

Before he could react, her arms wrapped around him, firm and warm.

"You idiot," she murmured. "You think I blame you for that?"

Asta stood frozen, feeling her heartbeat against his chest.

"You were controlled. You had no choice. And yet—" She hesitated before tightening her grip. "You protected me. You always protect me. You fought against the Witch Queen's control just long enough for Vanessa to save me, to save you, to save us."

"I'm only still here today, because of you."

He swallowed hard. "But I—"

"I don't care," she said fiercely. "You didn't want to hurt me. You didn't want to do any of it. So stop acting like you need to carry this alone."

His walls cracked. The weight in his chest loosened, just a little.

Noelle pulled back just enough to look up at him, searching his face. "I missed you, you know? It felt like you just—" She clenched her jaw, struggling to find the right words. "Like you didn't want me around anymore."

Asta's heart squeezed painfully. "Noelle, I—" He exhaled sharply. "I never wanted to hurt you again. Not even emotionally. I thought if I stayed away, I'd stop seeing it, stop reliving it."

She frowned. "And how's that working out for you?"

He hesitated before letting out a weak chuckle. "Not great."

"Then stop running from me, you idiot."

He let out a breath, hesitant, before his arms finally moved, wrapping around her in return. "I won't."

They stood there, holding each other, neither willing to let go first.

Noelle could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, could hear the way his breathing steadied against her. She knew this wouldn't erase his pain overnight. He was stubborn. He'd carry guilt longer than he should.

But she wasn't going to let him do it alone.

"I'm here, Asta," she whispered. "You're not alone."

And for the first time in weeks, Asta let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he could move forward.

Together.

—

Asta got sleep that night. No nightmares, no gentle lovely dreams. 

Just plain old sleep.

Just nothingness, as he was finally able to close his eyes, bury his face in his pillow, and lay there eyes closed till the morning birds sang.

He didn't trash around on his bed.

He didn't need to constantly get up for a glass of water.

He didn't need to get in some midnight training to tucker himself out.

Sleep came naturally.

It was progress and that was all he could ask for.

Slowly, Asta started smiling again. Really smiling.

So did Noelle.