Judgements of a Stone

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.
I do not own Digimon, Oikawa Yukio, Ichijouji Ken and Osamu, or any of the other characters.
This story spans a period of roughly three years, beginning when Ken was around the age of five and ending shortly after Osamu’s death (plus a little tidbit from Ken’s Kaiser “phase”), and explains how Ken and Yukio may have met and the events that followed. Oikawa is referred to by his given name Yukio because this is, in large part, HIS story.
I neither support nor condone the actions of any characters in this story, nor can I say that my portrayals of victim and predator were accurate. I did whip out my trusty psych texts for this and do some research, but if there are any glaring errors or inaccuracies, please forgive me.
If you have heart conditions or a weak stomach, don’t read this, DON’T FLAME ME!!! Flamers will receive a NASTY response that will be posted on the web for all to see. I’m bitchy and high-strung—you’ve been forewarned.

~~~ -+- ~~~

This story is, if she wants it, a gift for Raederle
and was inspired by several interesting IM conversations—nothing naughty, hentais! ^_^
Shout outs and credits must be given to Klitch, Kinslayer, and the smashing Ainokitsune. If there are similarities between anything in here and their work, it’s probably because I’ve been reading them quite a bit as of late.
However, despite similarities: I STOLE NOTHING!!! If perchance it looks like I stole anything e-mail or IM (AIM or yahoo) me (Vain chan) and I will review and fix it ASAP.
Also, a special thanks goes out to Evy-chan. You wanted it, you got it! ^_~ And kudos to Samsara and Athena-chan for the fab reviews on Under the Ice. Merci beaucoup!!!! ^_^

---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------

“If you love someone, you don’t do something like that to them—
even if you hate them.”
~ Alfred Hitchcock
Psycho

---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------
Chapter One:
In Which There Was Created the Heaven and the Earth
---------- ~~~ -+- ~~~ ----------



Oikawa Yukio sat on the couch and absorbed his colleagues chatter with disinterest. God, how he wished he were with Hiroki now . . . but work was necessary. He sighed.

“Now if we move that to there—”

“No, no, no! That won’t work at all!”

“Would you like any more tea, gentlemen?”

“Thank you, Rika. What do you think, Tsu?”

“Thank you for the tea, dear. I think that—”

“Momma?”

Yukio looked away from his host to where Ichijouji Rika stood holding a tea tray. Standing at Rika’s side and tugging on her pant leg was a small boy. The child appeared to be about five years old and had enormous blue eyes and slightly wild long indigo hair. He was tugging at Rika’s pants with his right hand while holding his left hand up for inspection.

“Momma?” he repeated piteously.

Tears shone luminously in his eyes and a nasty looking slash marred the palm of his left hand and bled down his arm.

“Not now, Ken,” Rika shooed him away without looking down. “We’re busy. Go off and play, alright?” She devoted her attention back to the conversation.

Yukio looked around at the assemblage of people. Nobody else had even spared the little boy a glance. Big tears squeezed out of Ken’s eyes and his lower lip trembled precipitously. He renewed tugging and raised his hand pleadingly. “Mom~ma!”

“Not now, Ken!” She glared at him and lightly slapped that tugging hand away. She didn’t seem to see the boy’s injury.

Yukio flinched internally as he watched the child’s head drop in despair and he slinked off. The man turned his dark eyes to the boy’s mother again and forced down a savage frown. How could she treat her own child like that?

“Momma?”

Yukio looked back down the hall, expecting to see Ken emerging from the hall again, but this time he was rewarded by the sight of a taller boy, probably about ten or eleven. This boy had spiked indigo hair and gold-rimmed reading glasses. In his hands he held a textbook.

“Oh, Osamu!” The woman’s voice absolutely beamed as she turned to the older boy. “Everyone, everyone, hush! I want you all to meet our son here. This is Osamu.”

A slight grimace passed over the boy’s face as Rika shoved him forward and Yukio felt slightly ill. He turned to his host. “Where is your bathroom, Ichijouji-san?”

The older man turned to him with a bright smile. “Down the hall, second door to the left. Hurry back, Oikawa-kun.”

He nodded and stood, sliding his way past a fidgeting Osamu and boasting Rika. He grimaced in disgust.

He paused at the bathroom door as soft sniffling traveled through the wood. He raised a hesitant hand and pushed the door open. “Hello?” his baritone rolled softly.

Seated on the toilet and crying his blue eyes out was little Ichijouji Ken. His wounded hand was dripping over the sink and he was trembling with the force of repressed sobs. Yukio entered the bathroom and pushed the door closed softly behind him. He approached the child cautiously, almost as though he was afraid of frightening him off.

“Hey,” he said softly.

The boy hiccupped. “Hello.” His voice was soft and shy, with something undeniably gentle in it. If a feather could speak, it would have sounded like Ichijouji Ken.

“Can I see?” Oikawa asked, pointing at the damaged hand.

Ken gulped and nodded.

Large, gentle hands inspected the wound as the tall man talked, trying to calm the boy. “My name if Oikawa Yukio and I work for your father. What’s your name?”

“I’m Ichijouji Ken.” The boy flinched as Oikawa gently washed out the cut in warm water.

The man reached up and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a box of band-aids, hydrogen peroxide, and a small tube. “That’s a pretty nasty cut, little Ichijouji Ken. What happened?”

Ken smiled at the adult’s mockery of his name. His hand didn’t hurt so much now. “I was hungry an’ Momma was busy an’ Oniisan was studying an’ I wanted a san’which, an’ I cut myself with the knife.”

Yukio blinked as he absorbed all that. “Oh. OkaYou You should be more careful, little Ichijouji Ken.”

The boy flushed at the unexpected sensation of being the center of attention as Yukio finished bandaging his hand. He wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. Nobody ever paid any attention to him . . . well, there was always Osamu Oniichan, but—

“Kenny-boy?” The door swung open, startling them both, and revealing the aforementioned Osamu. Ken jerked his now-bandaged hand away from Yukio and looked down at the ground, his face a guilty red. Osamu looked from his brother, to Yukio, and then back. “What are you doing in here, Ken?” He glared thunderously at his brother through his expensive glasses. “Go to your room.”

Ken flinched. He stared desperately at the tile floor and swallowed hard. His voice was a whisper. “But Osamu Oniichan—”

“Go. To. Your. Room.” Each soft and carefully controlled word was bitten off crisply and his eyes bored into the smaller boy. “NOW.”

The child obediently slipped of the toilet seat and crept past his brother and out the door, cringing as he went. Once Ken was gone, Osamu turned his harsh unforgiving gaze up to the adult. Oikawa looked back, slightly intimidated in spite of himself.

The boy gave him a look bordering on violence and his voice was an undisguised threat. “Stay away from my little brother.” He turned and walked out silently, leaving a chill in his wake.

Oikawa stared after the children, feeling more than a little bit bewildered. “That was certainly odd . . .”

~~~ -+- ~~~

Two Months Later

Ichijouji Osamu glared at his math text for a moment. Five squared plus the square root of one hundred twenty-one equals divided by six . . . equals . . .

“Will you come out and play with me now, Osamu Oniichan?”

The youth gripped his pencil so hard it snapped in two. He took a deep breath before looking down into his brother’s enormous blue eyes. “I told you before Ken: No.”

The little boy’s lower lip trembled. “But you promised me . . .”

“Well, now I can’t anymore, understand?” The older boy turned back to his work. Equals . . .

“But you pro~mised.”

Osamu stood so fast that his chair fell down and his desk shivered when his thighs hit it. He raised his hand, irritation further stoked when his brother cringed pathetically, and he pointed at the door. “I don’t have time to deal with your whining. Some people actually have meaningful things to do with their time, but you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Out. Now.”

Ken took one look at his brother’s face and fled. His tiny feet carried him out the door and into the hallway where he could hear his mother cooking. “Momma, Osamu Oniichan said—”

Rika cast her youngest child a severe look from her place behind the stove. “You haven’t been bothering your brother again, have you, Ken?”

Tears filled Ken’s eyes. “But Momma, Oniisan—”
, Ke, Ken . . .” The woman heaved a frustrated sigh and put her spoon down on the edge of the stove. She walked over to the small child and placed her hands on his shoulders and knelt to stare him in the eye. “How many times do I have to tell you, Ken, your brother’s work is very, very important? How can he concentrate with you pestering him all day long? Why do you have to be so difficult about everything, Ken? Couldn’t you just be good and listen to us for once? Osamu never gave us such trouble . . .”

He looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry, Momma,” he whispered in his soft voice. “I’ll be good.”

She loosed another heavy sigh and rose. “Now you go do something constructive, dear. I have quite a bit of work to do.”

Ken looked up and opened his mouth again as though he were going to say something, but then he snapped it shit with a click. His mother didn’t notice when he went to the door and slipped on a pair of shoes. She didn’t notice when he stood on his tiptoes to slide the dead bolt out of its lock. She didn’t notice him quietly open the door and close it as he left. And, twenty minutes later, she still didn’t notice that her son was gone.

~~~ -+- ~~~

The day was bright and clear and the sky seemed to sparkle. Oikawa Yukio walked with a slight bounce in his step and a broad grin on his face. I can’t believe it! We are so close now . . . We’re really going to do it! We’re going to make it to the Digital World!

Earlier that day, during his lunch break with Hiroki, the two men had learned that it was possible for human DNA to travel as data and be reformatted in the Digital World. It didn’t seem like much, granted, but it was a definite step in the right direction.

A sudden squeal of tires snapped the tall man out of his thoughts however, and his head snapped around just in time to see a tiny body cringe, face hidden by a familiar mop of blue-ish hair, as a car screeched to an abrupt halt about two inches in front of it.

That looks like . . .

Current breakthrough forgotten, Yukio dropped his bags and ran out into the street to catch the trembling boy in his arms.

“Hey,” shouted the irate driver, head stuck out of his car window as he waved a fist, “Why don’t you pay attention to your kid, buddy?!! I coulda hit that brat!”

Yukio cradled Ken close to him and turned a terrible look upon the other man. “Why don’t you mind the speed limit in a child safety zone? Or perhaps you’d like to involve the authorities?”

The driver pulled his head back in and sped off, muttering curses under his breath. Ignoring the stares and murmurs of concern, Yukio pushed through the people and went back over to the sidewalk to retrieve his briefcase.

He set Ken on the ground and stared at the little boy’s downcast eyes. “Are you alright, Ken? What are doing out here? Are you by yourself?”

The child fidgeted. “I—I . . . Osamu Oniichan never taught me to . . . I didn’t—I mean there wasn’t . . .”

Yukio sighed and placed gentle hands on the boy’s shoulders. The boy flinched at the gesture and the big man’s brows contracted swiftly. “Ken, where is Osamu?”

A whisper. “Home, Oikawa-san.”

“Does your mother know where you are?” Suddenly he closed his eyes and shook his head as hcallcalled the events that had lead up to his introduction with the child. “No.ver ver mind. Don’t answer that,” he muttered half to himself.

The man stood and stared down at Ken, his lips pursed pensively. He really should take Ken home, but . . . He bit his lip. Quite frankly, Yukio wasn’t sure if home was the best place for the boy to be. He nodded to himself in quick decision.

“Ken?”

The child peeked up at him through his hair. Yukio smiled indulgently, a gentle expression, and brushed the locks from Ken’s eyes. They felt like silk . . . how amazing.

“Do you want to go out with me for some ice cream?”

A shocked expression painted itself across the boy’s features and his mouth dropped open. “W—with me?”

The adult chuckled warmly. What a fantastic child! “Of course with you, silly.”

“But . . . don’t you have something important to do?”

Yukio laughed outright at that and slung his bag up onto one shoulder. He easily caught Ken’s non-existent weight up and held him in one arm. The little boy flung his arms around his shoulders in his surprise. “Right now there is nothing more important in this world than you, my little Ichijouji Ken,” he declared, feeling oddly gratified when the shocked look intensified.

“But—”

“No buts, little Ichijouji Ken! Now what’s your favorite ice cream?”

Ken mentally shrugged and watched as the ground rolled away from them at an amazing rate as the man began to walk away. If there was ice cream involved, who was he to complain? He looked back up at the big man curiously. “I dunno.”

This seemed to startle the adult. “You don’t know?” Yukio’s brown eyes crinkled in a look of disbelief. “You never had ice cream?”

“I have too!” the child piped, blushing hotly.

“Well, then, you must certainly know what you liked best.”

Ken’s blush deepened. “Well . . .”

“No, no, no,” the man interrupted him. “Let me guess.” He wrinkled his forehead in a comical parody of pensiveness. “Is it . . . spinach?”

Ken stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Eww!”

“Not spinach then, huh?”

“No! That’s icky.”

A wounded look settled on Yukio’s face. “Well, have you ever had spinach ice cream?”

“No, but—”

“Then how do you know it’s ‘icky?’”

“Cause that’s weird!” the boy declared as though this was the most logical thing imaginable.

“Alright, alright,” the adult groused. He wrinkled his forehead again. “What about . . . purpleberry ice cream?”

Ken’s eyebrows dropped swiftly. “That’s not a real berry!” he protested.

“Why, of course it is!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Well, blueberries are certainly real, aren’t they?”

“Yah,” the boy agreed warily, trying to discern where this line of thought was headed.

“Then so are purpleberries.”

“Nuh-uh.” Ken shook his head with a child’s conviction.

“And how can you be so certain, little Ichijouji Ken?” Yukio demanded, lifting one eyebrow in challenge.

Ken shrugged. “Cuz I never saw one.”

“Well, have you ever seen a Canadian?”

Ken thought this over for a moment. “No.”

“Then how do you know that they’re real?”

A frowned marred the little boy’s pale face and he nibbled his lower lip. Yukio stared at him in fascination. The child then shook his head. “Purpleberries,” he declared looking at the adult levelly, “are not a real berry.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh,” he said with a nod. “Osamu Oniichan never said anything about ‘em and Osamu Oniichan knows everything about everything.”

Yukio frowned. “Nobody knows everything, little Ichijouji Ken.”

“Osamu Oniichan does.”

The big man’s frown deepened but he said nothing. Ken watched his face warily, knowing that he had somehow upset his new friend. When Osamu Oniichan was upset it normally meant that he should either duck or hold real, real still. His tiny forehead wrinkled as he tried to wrap his five year old mind around what he could have done wrong and how to make it right again, but the problem was too difficult for him. He tried to remember what grown-ups do when they’re real mad, but that wasn’t working either. Finally he remembered that Momma and Papa got into a fight last week about whether or not to send him to special school and they had yelled so loud that he could hear them through the door. Then Momma had left the room and went into the kitchen and Papa followed her. What had he done then . . . Oh, yeah!

Ken leaned up in Yukio’s arms and planted a small kiss on the man’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said humbly.

Yukio stopped dead on the sidewalk and stared at the little boy with wild eyes. For a moment Ken thought that he had messed up again and he dropped his head to his chest, lip trembling dangerously. Osamu Oniichan is right! I’m useless; I can’t do anything!

Oikawa Yukio looked at the boy in his arms for a moment and then he put down his briefcase. He lifted his free hand and pushen’s n’s hair back from his eyes and lifted the boy’s face. He gently kissed Ken on the forehead before pulling away. “You . . .” he whispered heavily, “you are an angel.”

Ken smiled, eyes shining with the unique brand of innocence that can only be found in children, and he suddenly pointed ahead of them. “It’s the ice cream man!”

Yukio tore his eyes away from the child in his arms and stared at the man in the white paper hat blankly for a moment, mind unable to comend end what he was seeing. After a moment of confusion it settled in and the big man gently set Ken on the ground. He picked up his briefcase in one hand and took Ken’s tiny hand in the other. The child instantly trotted away, trailing the adult behind him like a pull toy.

“And what can I get for you fine gentleman today?” the ice cream man asked when he saw them approaching.

“I’ll have a vanilla cone,” Yukio said, smiling.

“Alrighty.” The ice cream man bent down so that he could look Ken in the eyes. “And what will you be having, young man?”

Ken’s big blue eyes shone. “I want pebereberry!”

The ice cream man’s brows contracted and he stared at Ken in confusion. Yukio laughed.

~~~ -+- ~~~

“Here you are, my little Ichijouji Ken,” the man said as he set Ken down on the steps that lead up to his apartment. “Do you want me to walk you up to the door? Your mother will probably be worried by now.” If she’s even noticed, he thought grimly.

Ken shook his head, long hair shifting with the motion and Yukio couldn’t resist reaching down and catching a few of those fabulous strands between his fingers. Ken gazed up at him with those adoring, trusting eyes. “No thank you, Oikawa-san.”

Yukio released his hair. “You know, you can call me Yukio.”

Ken shook his head again. “Osamu-Oniichan says that it’s rude to call grown-ups by their given names. It’s disrespectful.”

The dark-haired man knelt down to look the boy in the eye and placed on hand on Ken’s shoulder and gently tapped the child’s small nose with the other hand. “Osamu-Oniichan is most certainly correct, my little Ichijouji Ken, but I am not a grown-up anymore. I’m your friend.”

The child’s eyes widened. “My . . . friend?” He sounded as though he were trying out the words, tasting them for the first time. Yukio wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

The adult nodded.

“Oh . . . okay,a—Yua—Yukio-san.”

A smile twitched around the edges of the big man’s mouth. This boy was just so precious! He stood to leave.

“Yukio-san?” a small voice quavered behind him.

He turned back around to see Ken staring intently at the ground. “Yes, little Ichijouji Ken.”

The boy bit his lip and didn’t look up. “I know that you’re busy, Yukio-san, but I had fun today and I was wondering if maybe we could . . .”

Yukio almost smiled again. “Do you want to go back to the park tomorrow, my little Ichijouji Ken?”

The child blushed hotly and his eyes sparkled. “Yes!”

Laughter rumbled out of the tall man and he nodded. “Very well then, I will meet you here tomorrow at four. Just wait right here, alright? I don’t want to see you out in the streets anymore.”

“I will Oikaw—Yukio-san! I mean, I won’t!” The little boy turned around, ready to race into his building, when a sudden instinct of Yukio’s made him call the child back.

“Ken!”

The boy turned around, looking just a little bit afraid to hear that stern tone emerge from the other’s mouth. “Yes . . .?”

Yukio was frowning. He vividly remembered his first and only encounter with Ichijouji Osamu. “Stay away from my little brother.” Yukio extended his hand and made a summoning motion. Ken obeyed and walked over to the man only to be lifted up yet again in a strong embrace. Yukio looked him in the eye. “Do you like secrets, my little Ichijouji Ken?”

The boy nodded, sensing that that was what he was required to do.

“Then will you do something for me?”

“Yes, Yukio-san,” he chimed dutifully.

The man’s dark eyes bore deep into his blue ones. Nobody had ever paid him so much attention before . . . “Good, my little Ichijouji Ken. You mustn’t tell anyone that we are friends. Not your father, not your mother, and especially not Osamu.”

Blue eyes widened. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret,” the man explained patiently, “and secrets are the best things in the world. When you know a secret, you have power. If you tell other people the secret, you lose power. That’s bad. Power is very, very important in the world.” He looked at the child a moment longer. “Aren’t you my friend, Ken? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Yes, Yukio-san,” the boy answered without hesitation.

“Then you won’t tell anyone?”

“No, Yukio-san.”

“You are a good boy, my little Ichijouji Ken. A very good boy, indeed.”