Title: Anzen
Author: Fenikkusu Ai
Rating: T
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh Vrains
Characters: Spectre, Revolver
Words: 584
Genre: General/Angst
Summary: Spectre always had a strong desire for a home. Spectre character study. Child!fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh Vrains.
A/N: In Japanese, Anzen means safety and security. This fic will explore the origins of Spectre's metal state including symptoms of masochism and borderline personality disorder.
Even as an infant, Spectre associated blue with sanctuary. It was a safe color. The color of his inner world.
When the world was blue, it finally got quiet. It was also when sleep came to collect him. He didn't fret or worry because he knew that his mother would protect him.
The baby had no worries as he sucked his thumb and closed his eyes.
He knew that she would protect him in the night. From the wild animals and cold. A place for he and her.
But, it was only a matter of time before they were disturbed.
He was turn away from his mother when they ushered him into a huge house.
Inside, the rooms were sterile and quiet. But, at least there was food. Warm milk that vanquished the cold of the evening winds.
At night in his crib, he imagined that he could hear that wind rustling through the leaves.
She was waiting for him.
Spectre was older now. A child.
It was years later that Spectre realized that she had a face. One day while he was staring at it, it just materialized.
He wondered if it was only for him. She trusted him. Yes, that must be it.
The others asked questions when he lingered at her roots. Eventually, the grown-ups asked him about it.
Where were his friends? Why was he by himself? Again?
His sole response was that he really liked the tree. There was sympathy in their eyes upon hearing his all too honest answer. At least that reply got them off his tail.
Before he was forced to go inside after recess that day, he plucked a flower. Nothing grand, just a tiny bluebell. He laid his offering on a low branch.
From then on, he often left presents for the tree as thanks for its existence. For its care. Bits of flowers and hard candies.
Spectre was sure that she appreciated it.
In this place, he couldn't help but feel a pang for his mother. How was she? Did she miss him?
Spectre sighed and gazed at the ceiling. The inky darkness hid even the dimensions of the small room. It was so boring when he wasn't dueling, but the taste of food made up for it.
Though, the surges of pain could get interesting when he lost, Spectre preferred to win as most children did. He wanted to be rewarded.
Most of Sprectre's needs were met. Food, housing, and entertainment. However, due to dueling for his life, Spectre did get tired. Exhausted, he collapsed in the corner of the room.
A smile ghosted over his lips. At times like these, he pretended that he was deep in her roots as squirrel would.
So, every time Spectre closed his eyes, the world grew dark, and he found himself back under her leaves.
The dream world was merciful.
Spectre didn't understand it; his mind was blank. How could this happen?
She was a stump now. A dead stump. She had become a ghost too.
While he had been gone, the grown-ups had killed his parent. His mother.
There were grooves carved into his palms from his fingernails. The cuts stung and bled.
They would pay for murdering her. They would all pay.
So, Spectre began to wait. He waited for many nights under the moon with tracks of silver tears rolling down his cheeks.
Finally, a masked man appeared. A man that would give him everything he needed.
Spectre didn't hesitate in leaving.