Judgements of a Stone
folder
Digimon › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,751
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Digimon › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,751
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Digimon: Digital Monsters, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
In Which the Water Called He Seas
Judgments of A Stone
By: Vain
6.2001-11.23.2001
-------------------------------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ -----------------------------------
-----READ THIS INFORMATION OR YOU MAY BE CONFUSED!!!!!-----
Please Note:
THIS IS A STORY CONTAINING MATURE THEMES, DISTURBING IMAGERY, ADULT SITUATIONS, VIOLENT THEMES, CHARACTER DEATH, AND VARIOUS FORMS OF CHILD ABUSE. THIS IS RATED NC-17.
ALSO, THIS IS UNRELATED TO ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS.
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
“Parting is all we know of Heaven,
And all we need of Hell. ”
~ Emily Dickinson
My Life Closed Twice Before It’s Close—
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
Chapter Eight:
In Which the Water Called He Seas
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ---------
Osamu stood on the balcony and let the wind blow through his spiked hair. They didn’t talk anymore. In the months since Sam had caught Ken on the steps with Oikawa, they had drifted apart. It was hard for him. He loved Ken more than anng. ng. Didn’t he know that? Ken was his world. Without him, Ichijouji Osamu was diminished beyond comprehension. He sighed wearily.
But it was so hard not to lose his temper sometimes . . . and Ken . . .
It was that stupid thing that popped out of the computer a little while after everything happened. But after a few weeks Ken seemed to forget about it and just moved on. Then there were those stupid monster reports on the news . . . Ken insisted they were real. Osamu insisted they weren’t and wouldn’t budge, despite the fact that there was no doubt in his mind that the almost-forgotten device and the reports were connected. Ken seemed to think so too, and had begun to pester for the device again. His brother had stoically refused him.
That had been the final straw for Ken. Now the little boy hardly ever spoke to him and there was something dark and dangerous seething behind his violet eyes. Violet—Ken’s eyes had always been blue before. Now they were violet, the same color as Osamu’s. He wondered what had brought about the change, but brushed it off as unimportant. The image of the device rose to the forefront of the elder Ichijouji’s mind and he scowled.
He knew that it wasn’t for him—Osamu was well aware that the device belonged to his ototochan. But that was why the little boy could never, ever have it! That thing would tear them apart. It would separate them. What if Ken hadn’t come out of the computer again? What if it had side effects? What if he had gotten hurt alone in that strange place? What if he lost it and couldn’t get home? What if someone stole him away? Osamu didn’t know how, but he knew, he knew, that that little machine would change Ken. Turn Ken into someone that didn’t need Osamu and that would tear them apart. Ken needed him. If there was no Osamu, there simply could not be a Ken. That was the way things had always been and were always supposed to be. Couldn’t he see that? It was for him, all of it, everything that he did was for Ken. This was in his best interest. SO WHY COULDN’T HE SEE THAT?!
The youth pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He had a headache. He always had a headache nowadays, ever since that night he had lost his temper so bad . . . beat Ken up like that . . . The boy had been sore and bruised for weeks. After they had woken up that ing,ing, Osamu hadn’t touched Ken like that again. For the longest time, he couldn’t even look him in the eye. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone so far . . . but Ken had learned his lesson. There was only Osamu now—Osamu whom he despised.
And that was the one thing that Osamu could not handle. He could survive anything but losing Ken. Losing Ken . . .
It hit him like a physical blow. I’ve lost him . . . He swallowed, feeling his self-control begin to slide away for the first time in so very, very long. I’ve really lost him.
A strangled groan fled Osamu’s lips and he crumpled to the ground, arms wrapped tight around his lean body. For the first time since he realized that he needed to be strong for Ken, hot tears slid down his cheeks. What’s happening to me? How did I lose control of everything so fast? How do I get it back?
The pressure was just too much . . . it hurt. There was school, commercials, work, Ken, home, Momma, grades, classes, reporters, endorsements, Poppa, tests, papers, points, lessons, practice, classmates, fans . . .
He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. “Please . . .”
“Osamu Oniichan?”
School, commercials, work, Ken, home, Momma, grades, classes, reporters, endorsements, Poppa, tests, papers, points, lessons, practice, classmates, fans . . .
It felt like a thousand hot needles were being shoved into his eyes.
How could he possibly keep up with it all?
“Osamu Oniichan?”
School commercials work Ken home Momma grades classes reporters endorsements Poppa tests papers points lessons practice classmates fans . . .
It was crushing him.
“Ken . . .” He didn’t mean to hurt him. But things were so hard and he just got so mad . . .
“Osamu Oniichan?”
School commercials work Ken home Momma grades classes reporters endorsements Poppa tests papers points lessons practice clatesates fans . . .
He couldn’t breath.
“Ken . . .” Why couldn’t he understand?!
“Osamu Oniichan?”
SchoolcommercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreportersendorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .
There wasn’t any air out here . . .
It was for his own damn good. Right? Right . . .?
“Osamu Oniichan?”
SchoolerciercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreportersendorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .
Why wasn’t there any air out here?
“Osamu Oniichan?”
SchoolcommercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreportersendorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .
He couldn’t breath.
HE COULDN’T BREATH!
“Osamu Oniichan?”
“Osamu Oniichan?” They were cold words spoken by a cold voice. Under any other it would have been comical to hear such a flat hard undertone in such a quiet voice, but Osamu didn’t find it the least bit amusing.
He looked up, unsurprised to see Ken staring down at him coldly. He eyed his little brother sadly for a moment before he sighed softly. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Ken stiffened. “I don’t hate you, Oniichan.” He tilted his head to the side in that peculiar way of his and his cold feature melted into sadness and confusion. “How could I ever hate you? You’re my Oniisan.”
The two stared at one another for a long minute and then Ken looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Ken avoided his gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve made you sad.”
Osamu seized his brother in a fierce hug and the little boy relaxed against his brother’s strong chest. “No, Ken-chan,” Osamu mred red into his brother’s silky hair. “No. You make me so happy; you know that? I love you so much, but sometimes it’s so hard to take care of you. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I just wanna make sure that you’re the best, Ken, and then everyone will see how great you are and love you just like I do. But I’m proud of you. Don’t ever forget that. No matter what I say or do, I’ll always be so proud of you.”
“I’m sorry, Oniichan . . . I just don’t understand . . .”
“Shh. There’s nothing to understand. I love you, okay? That’s all that’s important.” He pulled Ken away from him and stared into his eyes, somehow gratified to see a vivid blue color there. “When was the last time we had a day?”
Ken’s face lit up. “A day? We’re going to have a day?”
Osamu laughed his gentle, delicate laughter, a rare sound that only Ken could elicit. “For you, Kenny-boy, anything. Go get your coat.”
The child bounced up in a surprising display of energy and bounded out of Osamu’s room. A day . . . Perhaps this was just what they both needed. They hadn’t had a day in ages.
Their mother was in the kitchen making dinner—her eternal task—and Ken was putting his shoes on in the doorway. Osamu smiled as he watched his brother tie his laces and then turn around and slide the deadbolt back. The elder Ichijouji noted with a faint surprise and a flash of guilt that Ken no longer needed to stand up on his tiptoes to unlock the door. Was his ototochan really that tall now? How had he missed all this?
He shook his head in determination. He’d make it all up to Ken, he vowed. Today was a new start for both of them. From now on, things would be right again. He wouldn’t lose Ken. He refused to.
“We’re going to the park, Momma,” old old his mother as he pulled on his jacket.
“Have fun, dear.” She didn’t look up from the stove. “Don’t be late for dinner. We’re having Tuna Surprise.”
Osamu grimaced as he followed his brother out of the apartment and wondered what exactly the surprise was. A day . . . that would be just the right thing.
~~~ -+- ~~~
From then on Tuesday was a day. Nothing else mattered. Every Tuesday Osamu would drop everything—school, fans, family, absolutely everything—and devote the day towards make Ken happy. If Ken was unhappy, Osamu was unhappy, and everyone knew that Osamu could be extremely unpleasant when he was not happy.
That was why, on one particularly bright and sunny Tuesday, the two Ichijouji brothers were in the park. Things had greatly improved again and Osamu was extremely pleased to note that Ken was once more his. His move to reclaim the vaunted position as the sole and primary possessor of his brother’s affections had been remarkably successful. Since their first outings, Ken favorite pastime had become either one of two things: the first was blowing bubbles, something Osamu had once taught him t whe when he had had a cold and wasn’t allowed outside. The second, the one they were indulging in now and that was rapidly become Ken’s passion and talent, was soccer.
Osamu was amazed, and just a tiny bit jealous, at the way his brother excelled at soccer. It was astounding. Ken seemed to have a natural affinity for the sport that Osamu was sorely lacking. Osamu was the tennis and swimming type, not the running and kicking type, yet his Kenny-boy seemed to shine there. And, for the first time in memory, that was okay.
Osamu kicked the ball with something approaching clumsiness. A grunt slid between his lips as his ankle turned the wrong way. “Ah!”
“Osamu-Oniichan?” He caged the brand new ball as neatly as possible for someone his size and bent over to pick it up. “Osamu-Oniichan?”
The older boy grimaced as his brother approached, a worried frown marring the little boy’s flushed face.
“Are you okay, Oniisan?”
“Yah, I’m fine, Kenny-boy; I just wrenched my ankle. Wanna sit down for a minute?”
“Okay, Oniisan.” Still clutching the precious black and white ball to his chest, Ken allowed his brother to lean against him as they hobbled over to a nearby bench. Osamu sat down with a sigh and Ken gingerly placed his ball and the ground and pulled himself up onto the bench next to the elder Ichijouji. The ball had been a gift from Osamu on last Tuesday’s excursion and to Ken it was currently the most precious thing in the world barring Oniisan himself. The smaller boy’s legs dangled over the edge and he pointed his toes in an effort to make them brush against the dirt below.
Osamu watched him for a moment before laughing one of his rare tender laughs. He reached over and ruffled his brother’s long hair. “So eager to grow up, Kenny-boy?” He laughed again when Ken flushed brilliant red and he dipped his head in adorable embarrassment. “Don’t worry,” Osamu murmured, his smile warming his voice. “It’ll happen soon enough, so there’s no point in rushing.”
Ken looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Hmm?” Osamu cocked his head to the side, unsure what Ken was asking.
“What do you mean, ‘it will happen soon enough?’ ”
The spiked-hair boy frowned down at his brother’s intense expression. The child’s enormous blue eyes were slightly darkened, like twin oceans right before a storm. “Everything grows and changes, Kenny-boy. Everything dies. That’s just the way things are. You’re growing and changing every minute of the day; in fact, you’re doing it right now.”
Ken looked away from his brother and regarded his shiny new soccer ball intently. The sun shone off of the plastic skin. Growing? Changing? He didn’t feel any different. But if Oniisan said it, it simply had to true. “But we’ll stay together, right?”
The older boy was silent for a long moment and all that could be heard was the sound of birds and the distant shrieking laughter of other children. Alarmed by his brother’s silence, Ken looked up at him through his hair. “Osamu Oniichan?”
A strong arm suddenly looped itself around Ken’s shoulders and drew him into a tight embrace. “Always, Kenny-boy. We’re brothers and that’s an inseparable bond. I’ll always be with you.”
Contented, Ken closed his eyes and snuggled into his brother’s arms and all was right with the world again.
~~~ -+- ~~~
A tree limb trembled as the hand on top of it shook. Yukio stared in fright and amazement as a small figure helped his brother over to a bench and settled him down. A soccer ball was gingerly placed on the ground and Ken pulled himself up to sit by Osamu. Yukio watched in anxious fascination as the two brothers talked for a few moments and then felt a tremendous pain when Osamu suddenly embraced Ken.
He had done everything possible in the past year to forget about Ichijouji Ken and Ichijouji Osamu short of slitting his wrists. Even after Hiroki died, he would find his mind wandering towards his blue-eyed friend: his smile, his hair, the way the sunlight in the room would shift just to touch him—HIS Ichijouji Ken. He had done everything. And now this. Now a simple walk in the park was going to ruin everything.
The two of them—Ken and Osamu—together. Happy. Ken. Happy. With Osamu. Without Yukio.
So there it was. He felt hsurgsurge in his chest. So there it was! All that, everything thing that he had done for Ken, given to Ken, and that was the way things were going to be?! Fine then.
Yukio turned to go, but stiffened when he heard the loud tittering laughter of a group of girls. Still half-concealed by the foliage, Yukio stopped in his tracks and cocked an ear towards where the two boys sat.
“Are you Ichijouji Osamu?”
“Yes.”
“I told you he was!!!”
“Shut up, Nanaka!”
“Shut up, yourself, Mori!! Oh, and is this you’re little brother?!”
“Yes.”
“H-hi—”
“Oh, isn’t he precious?! So, whatcha doing, Ichijouji-san?”
“Today is Ken’s day.”
“Oh, you\'re babysitting?!?! How sweet!!!!”
Yukio shuddered as the sugar sweet shrills of the girls assaulted his ears and peered out of his little hiding place to see how the two brothers were faring under this unwanted feminine assault. Osamu was wearing a smile as he glared at fou four girls that were slowly closing in on him. Ken looked like he was trying to sink into his brother’s side and vanish. Yukio smiled; perfect.
It took so little effort to do things nowadays. Ever since making a deal with his own particular devil, Yukio had found that he could do many things that he couldn’t before. One of them was move things with his mind. He focused on the ball at Ken’s feet and pulled it towards him. It took only seconds for Ken to notice his precious ball rolling away towards a stand of dense brush and trees. He slipped away from Osamu before the older boy could even register the motion and chased the ball down to the slope to the grove where Yukio was waiting. His fingers itched to run themselves through that wealth of silken blue hair as Ken bent down to pick up his toy and held it to his chest.
Yukio stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, my little Ichijouji Ken.”
Ken looked up in shock. It couldn’t be . . . He swallowed hard and stepped back in fear. Where was Oniisan? “Y—Yukio-san . . . I shouldn’t be talking to you Yukio-san. Osamu Oniichan—”
“Is too busy crooning over his devoted fans to notice you right now.” A soft look of disappointment darted across the Yukio’s features and he knelt down in the shadowed glade next to his friend. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. He didn’t understand Ken’s sudden hesitance. Wasn’t he happy to see him anymore? Ken was always happy to see him. “Aren’t you happy to see me, dear? I thought we were friends.”
Ken looked around uneasily. If Oniisan saw him, he knew that he’d be upset. Things had been so good lately too. Oniisan was almost happy. “I can’t talk to you, Yukio-san. I hafta go.”
He started to leave, but a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him further into the glade. “Now wait—”
Ken got scared. The ball tumbled to the ground unnoticed. “Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!”
“Ken—”
He started to struggle. “Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!!!!”
“Stop it!” He jerked Ken towards him and the little boy’s eyes widened as a large hand clamped over his mouth.
A year ago, that might have made Ken cry. A year ago, Ken might have relaxed and done whatever he had been told to do. But this was not a year ago. A year ago—beaten, broken, and vomiting on the bathroom floor—Ken had learned that there was only one thing in his life to ever love or fear; there was only one danger and one omnipresent all-powerful source of protection. And that was not Oikawa Yukio. He bit down on the adult’s hand hard and shrieked as loud as his little frame would allow. “OSAMU ONIICHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Yukio cried out and stumbled backward while clutching his hand. Ken’s ball got entangled in his feet and sent man tumbling to the ground. Ken, who had no desire to stick around and get into even more trouble with his Oniisan, took off in the opposite direction towards the park entrance.
“Ken!!” A curse left Yukio’s mouth as he pushed himself up, absently grasping the ball. He spotted a purple shirt and indigo hair racing towards the busy street in a manner that suggested he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. “Ken!! Damnit!!” Yukio took after him, cursing himself for not joining the company fun runs, and bolted towards the intersection, holding the soccer ball as though it were Ken. He wasn’t going to make it this time and he knew it. He was going to lose Ken now, too. He tried to speed up, only to be passed by a smaller figure running helter skelter towards his frightened brother.
~~~ -+- ~~~
Osamu grimaced as the girls pressed closer to him and his watchful eyes followed Ken’s retreating figure into the brush after the ball. One of the girls suddenly pushed forward, shoving her non-existent cleavage into his face and waving her arms about. Honestly, how is it that stupid people managed to breed so prolifically? He glared thunder at her, both angry and anxious that his ototochan was out from under his watchful eye. She chattered on viouviously.
“Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!”
Osamu stiffened at the cry and found himself on his feet.
“Where are you going, Ichijouji-san?”
He pulled his arm loose from their prying hands. “Ken!!”
“Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!!!!”
He struggled to break free of them, fear making him wild and careless. One of the girls fell to the ground with a cry.
“OSAMU ONIICHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
He broke free of the girls in time to see a small figure dart out of the grove, only to be followed by a tall man in a heavy coat. Oikawa Yukio. Shit. And they were both heading towards the street.
Oh, no. “Ken!!” He ran faster than he had ever run in his life, past the gawking girls, past Oikawa, past everything, but he just couldn’t seem to catch up to his frightened little brother. His ankle hurt terribly, slowing him down. “Ken, stop!!”
But Ken didn’t listen to him.
The child bolted past the crowd, out the gates, and onto the sidewalk, both Yukio and Osamu hot on his heels, rivalry forgotten in their fear.
“Ken!”
“Ken-chan!!”
He ran straight out into the street without even slowing his pace. A car beeped and swerved wildly, barely missing the child. Ken froze, suddenly realizing where his mad dash had brought him, and whirled around, eyes enormous and terrified as a car bore down on his, horn thundering. He let out a frightened wail. “Onii~san!!!”
Osamu put on a burst of speed that he wouldn’t have believed himself capable of under any other circumstances. He threw himself out into the street, violently knocking Ken aside. There was a bright flash of light and it felt like all the air exploded out of his body straight through his skin. Then there was silence.
“Oniichannnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
~~~ -+- ~~~
For a very, very long time, there would be very few things that Ken would remember about the last minutes he spent with his brother and the weeks that followed the accident. He wouldn’t remember how the people crowded around and the way everyone started screaming. He wouldn’t remember the panicked driver and his sobbing wife in the car. He wouldn’t remember when the ambulance came with bright flashing lights and sirens humming. He wouldn’t even remember the rescue worker who finally succeeded in peeling his hysterical frame from Osamu’s body.
But there was quite a bit that he would remember.
“What the hell?! Somebody get that kid away from the body!”
“Come on, little one . . . what’s your name? I’m a doctor. We’re here to help you, but I need to know who you are so we can find your parents.”
He would always remember the way the air smelled like sakura. For the rest of his life, Ken would never be able to smell the scent of cherry blossoms without thinking of blood.
“We need oxygen and plasma out here!”
The blood itself he would remember, too. It was deep, deep red—so red that it was almost black—and it flowed out of the big wound in Osamu’s head and soaked into both their clothes and stained the streets. It was sweet and hot and when he pressed his face into his brother’s shattered chest, it went into his mouth, sickeningly tangy and sweet.
“Jesus Christ, he seizing!”
“Get back!”
“It’s that boy genius . . . Ichijouji something. But who’s the kid?”
“His brother, I think.”
“I didn’t know he had a brother.”
He would remember Osamu. The way parts of him were bent the wrong way. The way pieces of his skin had been ripped off when his body slid across the pavement and the how hideous gaping hole in his head had gleamed. The way his skin had turned black and purple and yellowish green where the car had hit and he had smashed into the windshield. He would remember how white Osamu looked under the red blood and the odd color that his hair turned where it had soaked up the fluid. He would remember the quiet look on his brother’s face, too, where all the lines of stress and bitterness and frustration smoothed out like he was sleeping—not peaceful, just not strained anymore.
“I don’t think they can do anything . . .”
“Somebody bring down that heartbeat!”
“Where the hell is that IV?!”
“His heart’s stopped! Get the paddles!”
One of the two things that would forever stand out most in his mind, though, was the eyes. Oikawa Yukio’s intense eyes staring at so hard . . . And the light from the sirens made everything look strobed and surrealistic. Made the world spin until all that Ken could focus on those terrible eyes. They didn’t once look away, either; they just stared. And for some reason, Ken found that to be extremely painful. Long after he had pushed down the name of their owner, those eyes would stare at him in his dreams, chase him down long corridors, wanting, commanding,ectiecting things that Ken couldn’t give them anymore—things that should never have been demanded.
“Ready.”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Damnit, Clear!”
The soccer ball. He’d never forget that damnable soccer ball. After Yukio got there, he dropped the soccer ball and it rolled into the street till it came to rest next to the two Ichijouji brothers. The last thing Osamu had given him . . . Ken had picked it up—it was still shiny where it hadn’t rolled through the blood—and clutched it to his chest after the man pulled him off of Osamu. When they tried to take it from him, he merely squeezed it tighter to him like it was some sort of lifeline—like the very act could force the life back into his brother—like he wanted to believe it could.
“We’ve still got a flat line.”
“This isn’t gonna get us anywhere.”
Ken and that ball were inseparable for over a week. He took it everywhere with him and nobody could pry it loose from his arms. He also didn’t speak a single word to anyone. His parents barely noticed in their grief—Ken had rarely spoken to them anyway. On the night before the funeral, he woke up and padded into the kitchen and pulled one of his mother’s big cutting knives out of a drawer. He padded back into his room just as silently and proceeded to slahat hat soccer ball to bits.
“Time of death?”
“16:45.”
Nobody ever asked what had happened to it.
By: Vain
6.2001-11.23.2001
-------------------------------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ -----------------------------------
-----READ THIS INFORMATION OR YOU MAY BE CONFUSED!!!!!-----
Please Note:
THIS IS A STORY CONTAINING MATURE THEMES, DISTURBING IMAGERY, ADULT SITUATIONS, VIOLENT THEMES, CHARACTER DEATH, AND VARIOUS FORMS OF CHILD ABUSE. THIS IS RATED NC-17.
ALSO, THIS IS UNRELATED TO ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS.
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
“Parting is all we know of Heaven,
And all we need of Hell. ”
~ Emily Dickinson
My Life Closed Twice Before It’s Close—
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
Chapter Eight:
In Which the Water Called He Seas
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ---------
Osamu stood on the balcony and let the wind blow through his spiked hair. They didn’t talk anymore. In the months since Sam had caught Ken on the steps with Oikawa, they had drifted apart. It was hard for him. He loved Ken more than anng. ng. Didn’t he know that? Ken was his world. Without him, Ichijouji Osamu was diminished beyond comprehension. He sighed wearily.
But it was so hard not to lose his temper sometimes . . . and Ken . . .
It was that stupid thing that popped out of the computer a little while after everything happened. But after a few weeks Ken seemed to forget about it and just moved on. Then there were those stupid monster reports on the news . . . Ken insisted they were real. Osamu insisted they weren’t and wouldn’t budge, despite the fact that there was no doubt in his mind that the almost-forgotten device and the reports were connected. Ken seemed to think so too, and had begun to pester for the device again. His brother had stoically refused him.
That had been the final straw for Ken. Now the little boy hardly ever spoke to him and there was something dark and dangerous seething behind his violet eyes. Violet—Ken’s eyes had always been blue before. Now they were violet, the same color as Osamu’s. He wondered what had brought about the change, but brushed it off as unimportant. The image of the device rose to the forefront of the elder Ichijouji’s mind and he scowled.
He knew that it wasn’t for him—Osamu was well aware that the device belonged to his ototochan. But that was why the little boy could never, ever have it! That thing would tear them apart. It would separate them. What if Ken hadn’t come out of the computer again? What if it had side effects? What if he had gotten hurt alone in that strange place? What if he lost it and couldn’t get home? What if someone stole him away? Osamu didn’t know how, but he knew, he knew, that that little machine would change Ken. Turn Ken into someone that didn’t need Osamu and that would tear them apart. Ken needed him. If there was no Osamu, there simply could not be a Ken. That was the way things had always been and were always supposed to be. Couldn’t he see that? It was for him, all of it, everything that he did was for Ken. This was in his best interest. SO WHY COULDN’T HE SEE THAT?!
The youth pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He had a headache. He always had a headache nowadays, ever since that night he had lost his temper so bad . . . beat Ken up like that . . . The boy had been sore and bruised for weeks. After they had woken up that ing,ing, Osamu hadn’t touched Ken like that again. For the longest time, he couldn’t even look him in the eye. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone so far . . . but Ken had learned his lesson. There was only Osamu now—Osamu whom he despised.
And that was the one thing that Osamu could not handle. He could survive anything but losing Ken. Losing Ken . . .
It hit him like a physical blow. I’ve lost him . . . He swallowed, feeling his self-control begin to slide away for the first time in so very, very long. I’ve really lost him.
A strangled groan fled Osamu’s lips and he crumpled to the ground, arms wrapped tight around his lean body. For the first time since he realized that he needed to be strong for Ken, hot tears slid down his cheeks. What’s happening to me? How did I lose control of everything so fast? How do I get it back?
The pressure was just too much . . . it hurt. There was school, commercials, work, Ken, home, Momma, grades, classes, reporters, endorsements, Poppa, tests, papers, points, lessons, practice, classmates, fans . . .
He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. “Please . . .”
“Osamu Oniichan?”
School, commercials, work, Ken, home, Momma, grades, classes, reporters, endorsements, Poppa, tests, papers, points, lessons, practice, classmates, fans . . .
It felt like a thousand hot needles were being shoved into his eyes.
How could he possibly keep up with it all?
“Osamu Oniichan?”
School commercials work Ken home Momma grades classes reporters endorsements Poppa tests papers points lessons practice classmates fans . . .
It was crushing him.
“Ken . . .” He didn’t mean to hurt him. But things were so hard and he just got so mad . . .
“Osamu Oniichan?”
School commercials work Ken home Momma grades classes reporters endorsements Poppa tests papers points lessons practice clatesates fans . . .
He couldn’t breath.
“Ken . . .” Why couldn’t he understand?!
“Osamu Oniichan?”
SchoolcommercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreportersendorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .
There wasn’t any air out here . . .
It was for his own damn good. Right? Right . . .?
“Osamu Oniichan?”
SchoolerciercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreportersendorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .
Why wasn’t there any air out here?
“Osamu Oniichan?”
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He couldn’t breath.
HE COULDN’T BREATH!
“Osamu Oniichan?”
“Osamu Oniichan?” They were cold words spoken by a cold voice. Under any other it would have been comical to hear such a flat hard undertone in such a quiet voice, but Osamu didn’t find it the least bit amusing.
He looked up, unsurprised to see Ken staring down at him coldly. He eyed his little brother sadly for a moment before he sighed softly. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Ken stiffened. “I don’t hate you, Oniichan.” He tilted his head to the side in that peculiar way of his and his cold feature melted into sadness and confusion. “How could I ever hate you? You’re my Oniisan.”
The two stared at one another for a long minute and then Ken looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Ken avoided his gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve made you sad.”
Osamu seized his brother in a fierce hug and the little boy relaxed against his brother’s strong chest. “No, Ken-chan,” Osamu mred red into his brother’s silky hair. “No. You make me so happy; you know that? I love you so much, but sometimes it’s so hard to take care of you. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I just wanna make sure that you’re the best, Ken, and then everyone will see how great you are and love you just like I do. But I’m proud of you. Don’t ever forget that. No matter what I say or do, I’ll always be so proud of you.”
“I’m sorry, Oniichan . . . I just don’t understand . . .”
“Shh. There’s nothing to understand. I love you, okay? That’s all that’s important.” He pulled Ken away from him and stared into his eyes, somehow gratified to see a vivid blue color there. “When was the last time we had a day?”
Ken’s face lit up. “A day? We’re going to have a day?”
Osamu laughed his gentle, delicate laughter, a rare sound that only Ken could elicit. “For you, Kenny-boy, anything. Go get your coat.”
The child bounced up in a surprising display of energy and bounded out of Osamu’s room. A day . . . Perhaps this was just what they both needed. They hadn’t had a day in ages.
Their mother was in the kitchen making dinner—her eternal task—and Ken was putting his shoes on in the doorway. Osamu smiled as he watched his brother tie his laces and then turn around and slide the deadbolt back. The elder Ichijouji noted with a faint surprise and a flash of guilt that Ken no longer needed to stand up on his tiptoes to unlock the door. Was his ototochan really that tall now? How had he missed all this?
He shook his head in determination. He’d make it all up to Ken, he vowed. Today was a new start for both of them. From now on, things would be right again. He wouldn’t lose Ken. He refused to.
“We’re going to the park, Momma,” old old his mother as he pulled on his jacket.
“Have fun, dear.” She didn’t look up from the stove. “Don’t be late for dinner. We’re having Tuna Surprise.”
Osamu grimaced as he followed his brother out of the apartment and wondered what exactly the surprise was. A day . . . that would be just the right thing.
~~~ -+- ~~~
From then on Tuesday was a day. Nothing else mattered. Every Tuesday Osamu would drop everything—school, fans, family, absolutely everything—and devote the day towards make Ken happy. If Ken was unhappy, Osamu was unhappy, and everyone knew that Osamu could be extremely unpleasant when he was not happy.
That was why, on one particularly bright and sunny Tuesday, the two Ichijouji brothers were in the park. Things had greatly improved again and Osamu was extremely pleased to note that Ken was once more his. His move to reclaim the vaunted position as the sole and primary possessor of his brother’s affections had been remarkably successful. Since their first outings, Ken favorite pastime had become either one of two things: the first was blowing bubbles, something Osamu had once taught him t whe when he had had a cold and wasn’t allowed outside. The second, the one they were indulging in now and that was rapidly become Ken’s passion and talent, was soccer.
Osamu was amazed, and just a tiny bit jealous, at the way his brother excelled at soccer. It was astounding. Ken seemed to have a natural affinity for the sport that Osamu was sorely lacking. Osamu was the tennis and swimming type, not the running and kicking type, yet his Kenny-boy seemed to shine there. And, for the first time in memory, that was okay.
Osamu kicked the ball with something approaching clumsiness. A grunt slid between his lips as his ankle turned the wrong way. “Ah!”
“Osamu-Oniichan?” He caged the brand new ball as neatly as possible for someone his size and bent over to pick it up. “Osamu-Oniichan?”
The older boy grimaced as his brother approached, a worried frown marring the little boy’s flushed face.
“Are you okay, Oniisan?”
“Yah, I’m fine, Kenny-boy; I just wrenched my ankle. Wanna sit down for a minute?”
“Okay, Oniisan.” Still clutching the precious black and white ball to his chest, Ken allowed his brother to lean against him as they hobbled over to a nearby bench. Osamu sat down with a sigh and Ken gingerly placed his ball and the ground and pulled himself up onto the bench next to the elder Ichijouji. The ball had been a gift from Osamu on last Tuesday’s excursion and to Ken it was currently the most precious thing in the world barring Oniisan himself. The smaller boy’s legs dangled over the edge and he pointed his toes in an effort to make them brush against the dirt below.
Osamu watched him for a moment before laughing one of his rare tender laughs. He reached over and ruffled his brother’s long hair. “So eager to grow up, Kenny-boy?” He laughed again when Ken flushed brilliant red and he dipped his head in adorable embarrassment. “Don’t worry,” Osamu murmured, his smile warming his voice. “It’ll happen soon enough, so there’s no point in rushing.”
Ken looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Hmm?” Osamu cocked his head to the side, unsure what Ken was asking.
“What do you mean, ‘it will happen soon enough?’ ”
The spiked-hair boy frowned down at his brother’s intense expression. The child’s enormous blue eyes were slightly darkened, like twin oceans right before a storm. “Everything grows and changes, Kenny-boy. Everything dies. That’s just the way things are. You’re growing and changing every minute of the day; in fact, you’re doing it right now.”
Ken looked away from his brother and regarded his shiny new soccer ball intently. The sun shone off of the plastic skin. Growing? Changing? He didn’t feel any different. But if Oniisan said it, it simply had to true. “But we’ll stay together, right?”
The older boy was silent for a long moment and all that could be heard was the sound of birds and the distant shrieking laughter of other children. Alarmed by his brother’s silence, Ken looked up at him through his hair. “Osamu Oniichan?”
A strong arm suddenly looped itself around Ken’s shoulders and drew him into a tight embrace. “Always, Kenny-boy. We’re brothers and that’s an inseparable bond. I’ll always be with you.”
Contented, Ken closed his eyes and snuggled into his brother’s arms and all was right with the world again.
~~~ -+- ~~~
A tree limb trembled as the hand on top of it shook. Yukio stared in fright and amazement as a small figure helped his brother over to a bench and settled him down. A soccer ball was gingerly placed on the ground and Ken pulled himself up to sit by Osamu. Yukio watched in anxious fascination as the two brothers talked for a few moments and then felt a tremendous pain when Osamu suddenly embraced Ken.
He had done everything possible in the past year to forget about Ichijouji Ken and Ichijouji Osamu short of slitting his wrists. Even after Hiroki died, he would find his mind wandering towards his blue-eyed friend: his smile, his hair, the way the sunlight in the room would shift just to touch him—HIS Ichijouji Ken. He had done everything. And now this. Now a simple walk in the park was going to ruin everything.
The two of them—Ken and Osamu—together. Happy. Ken. Happy. With Osamu. Without Yukio.
So there it was. He felt hsurgsurge in his chest. So there it was! All that, everything thing that he had done for Ken, given to Ken, and that was the way things were going to be?! Fine then.
Yukio turned to go, but stiffened when he heard the loud tittering laughter of a group of girls. Still half-concealed by the foliage, Yukio stopped in his tracks and cocked an ear towards where the two boys sat.
“Are you Ichijouji Osamu?”
“Yes.”
“I told you he was!!!”
“Shut up, Nanaka!”
“Shut up, yourself, Mori!! Oh, and is this you’re little brother?!”
“Yes.”
“H-hi—”
“Oh, isn’t he precious?! So, whatcha doing, Ichijouji-san?”
“Today is Ken’s day.”
“Oh, you\'re babysitting?!?! How sweet!!!!”
Yukio shuddered as the sugar sweet shrills of the girls assaulted his ears and peered out of his little hiding place to see how the two brothers were faring under this unwanted feminine assault. Osamu was wearing a smile as he glared at fou four girls that were slowly closing in on him. Ken looked like he was trying to sink into his brother’s side and vanish. Yukio smiled; perfect.
It took so little effort to do things nowadays. Ever since making a deal with his own particular devil, Yukio had found that he could do many things that he couldn’t before. One of them was move things with his mind. He focused on the ball at Ken’s feet and pulled it towards him. It took only seconds for Ken to notice his precious ball rolling away towards a stand of dense brush and trees. He slipped away from Osamu before the older boy could even register the motion and chased the ball down to the slope to the grove where Yukio was waiting. His fingers itched to run themselves through that wealth of silken blue hair as Ken bent down to pick up his toy and held it to his chest.
Yukio stepped out of the shadows. “Hello, my little Ichijouji Ken.”
Ken looked up in shock. It couldn’t be . . . He swallowed hard and stepped back in fear. Where was Oniisan? “Y—Yukio-san . . . I shouldn’t be talking to you Yukio-san. Osamu Oniichan—”
“Is too busy crooning over his devoted fans to notice you right now.” A soft look of disappointment darted across the Yukio’s features and he knelt down in the shadowed glade next to his friend. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. He didn’t understand Ken’s sudden hesitance. Wasn’t he happy to see him anymore? Ken was always happy to see him. “Aren’t you happy to see me, dear? I thought we were friends.”
Ken looked around uneasily. If Oniisan saw him, he knew that he’d be upset. Things had been so good lately too. Oniisan was almost happy. “I can’t talk to you, Yukio-san. I hafta go.”
He started to leave, but a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him further into the glade. “Now wait—”
Ken got scared. The ball tumbled to the ground unnoticed. “Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!”
“Ken—”
He started to struggle. “Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!!!!”
“Stop it!” He jerked Ken towards him and the little boy’s eyes widened as a large hand clamped over his mouth.
A year ago, that might have made Ken cry. A year ago, Ken might have relaxed and done whatever he had been told to do. But this was not a year ago. A year ago—beaten, broken, and vomiting on the bathroom floor—Ken had learned that there was only one thing in his life to ever love or fear; there was only one danger and one omnipresent all-powerful source of protection. And that was not Oikawa Yukio. He bit down on the adult’s hand hard and shrieked as loud as his little frame would allow. “OSAMU ONIICHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Yukio cried out and stumbled backward while clutching his hand. Ken’s ball got entangled in his feet and sent man tumbling to the ground. Ken, who had no desire to stick around and get into even more trouble with his Oniisan, took off in the opposite direction towards the park entrance.
“Ken!!” A curse left Yukio’s mouth as he pushed himself up, absently grasping the ball. He spotted a purple shirt and indigo hair racing towards the busy street in a manner that suggested he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. “Ken!! Damnit!!” Yukio took after him, cursing himself for not joining the company fun runs, and bolted towards the intersection, holding the soccer ball as though it were Ken. He wasn’t going to make it this time and he knew it. He was going to lose Ken now, too. He tried to speed up, only to be passed by a smaller figure running helter skelter towards his frightened brother.
~~~ -+- ~~~
Osamu grimaced as the girls pressed closer to him and his watchful eyes followed Ken’s retreating figure into the brush after the ball. One of the girls suddenly pushed forward, shoving her non-existent cleavage into his face and waving her arms about. Honestly, how is it that stupid people managed to breed so prolifically? He glared thunder at her, both angry and anxious that his ototochan was out from under his watchful eye. She chattered on viouviously.
“Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!”
Osamu stiffened at the cry and found himself on his feet.
“Where are you going, Ichijouji-san?”
He pulled his arm loose from their prying hands. “Ken!!”
“Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!!!!”
He struggled to break free of them, fear making him wild and careless. One of the girls fell to the ground with a cry.
“OSAMU ONIICHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
He broke free of the girls in time to see a small figure dart out of the grove, only to be followed by a tall man in a heavy coat. Oikawa Yukio. Shit. And they were both heading towards the street.
Oh, no. “Ken!!” He ran faster than he had ever run in his life, past the gawking girls, past Oikawa, past everything, but he just couldn’t seem to catch up to his frightened little brother. His ankle hurt terribly, slowing him down. “Ken, stop!!”
But Ken didn’t listen to him.
The child bolted past the crowd, out the gates, and onto the sidewalk, both Yukio and Osamu hot on his heels, rivalry forgotten in their fear.
“Ken!”
“Ken-chan!!”
He ran straight out into the street without even slowing his pace. A car beeped and swerved wildly, barely missing the child. Ken froze, suddenly realizing where his mad dash had brought him, and whirled around, eyes enormous and terrified as a car bore down on his, horn thundering. He let out a frightened wail. “Onii~san!!!”
Osamu put on a burst of speed that he wouldn’t have believed himself capable of under any other circumstances. He threw himself out into the street, violently knocking Ken aside. There was a bright flash of light and it felt like all the air exploded out of his body straight through his skin. Then there was silence.
“Oniichannnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
~~~ -+- ~~~
For a very, very long time, there would be very few things that Ken would remember about the last minutes he spent with his brother and the weeks that followed the accident. He wouldn’t remember how the people crowded around and the way everyone started screaming. He wouldn’t remember the panicked driver and his sobbing wife in the car. He wouldn’t remember when the ambulance came with bright flashing lights and sirens humming. He wouldn’t even remember the rescue worker who finally succeeded in peeling his hysterical frame from Osamu’s body.
But there was quite a bit that he would remember.
“What the hell?! Somebody get that kid away from the body!”
“Come on, little one . . . what’s your name? I’m a doctor. We’re here to help you, but I need to know who you are so we can find your parents.”
He would always remember the way the air smelled like sakura. For the rest of his life, Ken would never be able to smell the scent of cherry blossoms without thinking of blood.
“We need oxygen and plasma out here!”
The blood itself he would remember, too. It was deep, deep red—so red that it was almost black—and it flowed out of the big wound in Osamu’s head and soaked into both their clothes and stained the streets. It was sweet and hot and when he pressed his face into his brother’s shattered chest, it went into his mouth, sickeningly tangy and sweet.
“Jesus Christ, he seizing!”
“Get back!”
“It’s that boy genius . . . Ichijouji something. But who’s the kid?”
“His brother, I think.”
“I didn’t know he had a brother.”
He would remember Osamu. The way parts of him were bent the wrong way. The way pieces of his skin had been ripped off when his body slid across the pavement and the how hideous gaping hole in his head had gleamed. The way his skin had turned black and purple and yellowish green where the car had hit and he had smashed into the windshield. He would remember how white Osamu looked under the red blood and the odd color that his hair turned where it had soaked up the fluid. He would remember the quiet look on his brother’s face, too, where all the lines of stress and bitterness and frustration smoothed out like he was sleeping—not peaceful, just not strained anymore.
“I don’t think they can do anything . . .”
“Somebody bring down that heartbeat!”
“Where the hell is that IV?!”
“His heart’s stopped! Get the paddles!”
One of the two things that would forever stand out most in his mind, though, was the eyes. Oikawa Yukio’s intense eyes staring at so hard . . . And the light from the sirens made everything look strobed and surrealistic. Made the world spin until all that Ken could focus on those terrible eyes. They didn’t once look away, either; they just stared. And for some reason, Ken found that to be extremely painful. Long after he had pushed down the name of their owner, those eyes would stare at him in his dreams, chase him down long corridors, wanting, commanding,ectiecting things that Ken couldn’t give them anymore—things that should never have been demanded.
“Ready.”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Damnit, Clear!”
The soccer ball. He’d never forget that damnable soccer ball. After Yukio got there, he dropped the soccer ball and it rolled into the street till it came to rest next to the two Ichijouji brothers. The last thing Osamu had given him . . . Ken had picked it up—it was still shiny where it hadn’t rolled through the blood—and clutched it to his chest after the man pulled him off of Osamu. When they tried to take it from him, he merely squeezed it tighter to him like it was some sort of lifeline—like the very act could force the life back into his brother—like he wanted to believe it could.
“We’ve still got a flat line.”
“This isn’t gonna get us anywhere.”
Ken and that ball were inseparable for over a week. He took it everywhere with him and nobody could pry it loose from his arms. He also didn’t speak a single word to anyone. His parents barely noticed in their grief—Ken had rarely spoken to them anyway. On the night before the funeral, he woke up and padded into the kitchen and pulled one of his mother’s big cutting knives out of a drawer. He padded back into his room just as silently and proceeded to slahat hat soccer ball to bits.
“Time of death?”
“16:45.”
Nobody ever asked what had happened to it.