Originally posted on aff 2007-06-27 - 2008-08-23

I. So It Begins

Iruka was no stranger to war. War had taken away his parents, a skirmish between demons and their hunters in which they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Iruka had been five. He could remember sitting beside his parents' bodies, for how long he couldn't remember, but long enough for them to begin to rot and bloat in the sun. Iruka had sat there until the smell finally drove him away, and the five-year-old wandered what had been the battlefield for days until he was found by a demon named Mizuki. Mizuki had taken Iruka from that horrible place and gave him a place – and a reason – to live. Iruka couldn't have been happier, each day filled with a new experience and more lessons from Mizuki. The man taught him everything from reading to writing to herb-lore, and Iruka couldn't bring himself to think of Mizuki as a demon, not when Mizuki took care of him. Iruka spent five more years in Mizuki's care, absorbing what the man – for no demon who was as kind as Mizuki could be thought of as a demon – taught him. He smiled for what seemed to be the first time since his parents' death every time Mizuki brought something new home for Iruka to do. The ten-year-old needed little coercing when Mizuki wanted a whim catered to and Iruka was all too happy to comply with the man's wishes. The night all that changed horribly for the worse was the anniversary of Iruka's parents' demise. The ten-year-old was sleeping, sleeping deep and peaceful in that sleep only children can have when his bedroom door opened.

Mizuki had often checked on him during the night, coming over to pet his head or to soothe after a nightmare. Iruka thought nothing of it, merely rolled over, snuggled his pillow, and dropped back to sleep. He jolted out of slumber when he felt a hand press down where it should not be. Mizuki was pressed against his back, keeping him from going anywhere, and Iruka trembled in fear. It was Mizuki, though, Iruka told himself, Mizuki would never hurt him. Mizuki said nothing to Iruka though, just stroked Iruka's thigh so gently Iruka was almost compelled to open his legs wider, but just almost. Iruka's mind was screaming that this was wrong, that he didn't want this, that Mizuki was his friend and he would never do this.

But when Mizuki's hand wormed its way into his pants to cup his penis – Mizuki had taught him that word – Iruka knew this was horribly real. He cried out and kicked his way out of Mizuki's hold, rolling from the bed to land hard on the floor, scrabbling to his feet and bolting away from the bed and Mizuki. When he looked up at the man – no, demon – Mizuki's face was twisted in a horrible mask of rage.

"Now, now, Iruka," Mizuki hissed, spacing out each syllable of Iruka's name as he approached the boy, "that's no way to treat the one who saved your life."

"I don't want it!" Iruka cried in return, his small body trembling, "I don't want you touching me!"

The laugh Mizuki let out hurt Iruka, the little boy looking down in shame, and when he looked up, Mizuki's face was only inches from his own.

"You're too young to know what you want, Iruka." Mizuki said so sweetly as his fingertips stroked Iruka's face, before that sweet smile turned into a snarl and those fingers wrapped around Iruka's throat, lifting the boy off his feet as Mizuki rose to his full height. He slammed the boy into the wall and put his face dangerously close to Iruka's, their lips touching, before he tossed the ten-year-old back onto the bed.

"Mizuki, please," Iruka tried to whimper, but no sound came out, only a cough that faded into a frightened cry when Mizuki covered him again.

"You'll learn to like it, my little Iruka," Mizuki whispered in that loving – deceiving – voice that Iruka had so dearly loved.

When Mizuki descended for a kiss, Iruka lashed out with his fists and feet, catching the demon off guard. Scant few precious minutes were earned by that rebellion, though, and Iruka used them in the only way he knew how. He squirmed from beneath Mizuki, made a run for the bedroom door, and was out into the hall before the blonde-haired demon recovered enough to give chase. Iruka almost made it to the front door before Mizuki caught him roughly by the shoulders. He was given a rough shake to disorient him, but Iruka didn't want to go back to the bedroom where he would be trapped. His teeth sank into Mizuki's hand when the man tried to cover his mouth, his legs kicking. Mizuki's free hand came across his face in a vicious slap; Iruka felt nails break the skin on his face, felt warm blood slipping down. The pain was pushed aside, no, used to fuel his determination to get away. Iruka spat in Mizuki's eyes – blood and spit and fury – and the demon dropped him. Iruka landed hard – he thought he felt something crack – but he bolted for the door, flung it open and bolted into the night, not stopping until the sun rose above the trees and only then he stopped just long enough to wash his face. It stung, the wound across his nose and cheeks, deep and red and angry. He saw it in his reflection on the stream's water and he dropped to his knees at the water's edge. Iruka began to cry, even though the salt of his tears stung his wound.

Mizuki had betrayed him. Mizuki, the man – demon – he had lived with for five whole years, the demon he had loved like an older brother. Mizuki had hurt him, physically and emotionally, and the ten-year-old knew not how to handle such hurt. So he cried until he could no longer cry, leaving only an emotionless calm that he used to propel himself to his feet and move on. The further he was from Mizuki, the less he would have to worry about his safety.

But even walking alone, Iruka had to keep care of where he went. Even though the war was officially over – Mizuki had told him that – demon hunters still sought out demons to kill, because of a silly prophecy that a storyteller had made up. Still, the demon-hunters believed it, believed that one day the bridge between humans and demons would finally be built and all would live in peace with one another. Iruka knew the prophecy too, silly as it was, but he knew it was just as silly to kill all demons just to prevent it from coming true.

The only demon that deserved to die was Mizuki.

Iruka trembled at the thought and quickly recanted it. Mizuki only deserved to be punished, not killed. Just punished.

The ten-year-old just kept walking, following the road only because he didn't know where else to go. He wasn't even sure how he could survive, having been cared for by Mizuki for a long time. Somehow, though, he managed and spent a year and a half wandering, stealing or foraging food when he was able to. He always hid whenever a human or – as he feared – a demon passed him on the road, waiting for hours before he moved on. He was so tired, tired of running and hiding and he wasn't even sure if he remembered how to speak, he'd been silent for so long.

On the eve of his twelfth birthday, Iruka was driven under the cover of trees by a harsh thunderstorm, his small body battered by fierce winds and hardened raindrops. He kept walking, now so far from the road he had no hope of ever finding it again. He began to cry, not knowing which wetness on his face were tears or rain. He didn't want to keep going, but Iruka forced himself to, the rain hardly lessening even as Iruka found shelter in a cradle of tree roots, the ground relatively dry. He curled around himself to try and keep warm, shivering as thunder and lightning pounded in a horrible, beautiful cacophony of a symphony. Iruka fell asleep beneath the roots, not even noticing when strong but old hands lifted him up and wrapped him in a blanket, carrying him away from that little haven of necessity.