disclaimer: I don't own beyblade.

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Things You Don't Deserve

He looked over in their direction every few minutes, every once and a while, when yelling began and arguing persisted, and the times when silence consumed them. Now, he'd never admit that he was indeed watching over them, he had a hard enough time with saying that he was indeed their friend.

Now, however, he doubted it was necessary. It was basically something that went unspoken, but they knew he obviously gave a shit about their health, as when Ray had attempted to storm off in anger after that kid with the wind bit-beast, he had stopped him then put a stop to the offending kid himself. A slight ache resurfaced from the faded scar on his arm. He'd gotten pretty beat up, all for their sake.

His amethyst-grey eyes scanned over their figures. Max and Daichi were both their beaming, hyperactive selves. Tyson was fighting Ray, and Hilary, despite her obvious crush on Tyson, tried to remain as unbiased as possible, instead turning to the Chief to see what his comentary on the battle would be.

Every once and a while, he'd remember something. Something completely irrelevant to the situation. Or perhaps it was relevant, he hadn't decided; it depended upon the situation. Like his first taste of glory.

The crowd cheering.

The smoke and the explosions.

The first launch.

The crashing and collisions of beyblades.

That was the life he had chosen. The wind brushed the side of his face, and he felt the dried paint he had painted upon his cheeks this morning. It sent him spiraling into a similar reverie.

His father.

His father beyblading with him.

Smiling, laughing, learning things he had never dreamed of.

The resemblance between the two of them.

But things changed, the light that once surrounded him turned into muddy darkness.

The slamming of the car door.

His father's slightly nervous expression.

His mother's silence.

His grandfather.

The hatered upon his face, and the way he looked at his son.

The way they talked, not watering down the choices and the consequences.

The proposition.

The look his father gave him.

The way his father regarded his grandfather.

Refusal to cooperate on his father's part.

The silent goodbye that never happened.

His mother's refusal to speak.

His outburst.

The object pushed into his hand as his father passed by.

The hand that held him back.

His screaming.

The tears that fell down his face.

His mother's disgust.

The words she finally spoke.

His fate-

Rejection.

Two counts.

The words spoken to him by the devil.

The propoganda.

The lies.

The brainwashing.

The darkness.

Sweet darkness.

His darkness.

Abandonment.

The first time he had painted his cheeks, taking on an oath he had never shared with another living soul.

Things he had never chosen, choking him.

The blood on his hands.

The sound of talons on metal.

The only thing left of his father that he kept.

The object placed in his hand.

The cry of an untamable spirit.

The cry mixed with one of his own.

The things he'd never remember.

The addiction he knew he had, but couldn't understand why.

The haunting, terrifying dreams.

The false assurance that nothing was wrong with him.

The day he took the championship.

The day the world looked at him as more than the silent disobedient brat.

The day Tyson stole it all out from underneath him.

The look in the blunette's eyes when he took the championship title from him.

Another proposition.

Acception? He didn't believe that.

It would never happen.

He didn't deserve that; he was worth nothing.

The lies were his morals, his beliefs.

They all wished to change that.

They called him 'captain.'

He made them angry, he called them names, he treated them horribly.

They didn't deserve that.

But people never got what they deserved.

They didn't think that.

They told him that he was their 'friend.'

That was a lie too, right?

He tried to shake it out of his head. It just didn't work.

The allegiance to his grandfather.

His return to the frozen lands of his birth.

The darkness returning.

The addiction returning.

His hands.

The blood on his hands.

The people he broke.

They left him too.

They didn't understand.

They wanted to change him.

He didn't want that.

They said it was for the best.

They didn't know him.

He left them behind.

He left her behind, too.

When he challenged them.

Their saddeness.

They blamed it on him.

He wouldn't be anyone's puppet.

Yet he was, and they knew.

How were they right?

He was the one who had gone through it.

He had them beaten.

Then the blonde had shown up.

He had taken his bit beast.

Yet the runt still fought.

They told Tyson.

Told him it was time.

He had no idea.

His light was gone; black.

Shadows of darkness.

Tides turned.

Suddenly, he was losing.

He never lost.

Shock pulsed through his body.

Tyson's eyes were teary.

How weak.

Crying was weakeness.

He wouldn't be weak.

He would beat them.

She had other plans.

The fire.

The water.

The air.

The earth.

The combination.

He had been wrong.

And he knew it.

When the unbeatable was beaten, he knew it was over.

His eyes were open.

His curse was no more.

He wasn't going to be a puppet anymore.

He knew who was holding him back.

He felt something.

Then he heard the crack.

The ice.

He was going to freeze to death.

Things always went full circle.

A hand.

This time was different.

This hand wouldn't hold him back.

This hand would pull him up.

Pull him from the darkness.

Put him back where he belonged.

A tear.

First time since he was ten years old.

He needed that.

He admitted that.

He was sorry.

For the first time in a long time.

He was ready.

He reached out.

He was supposed to be their captain, to teach them.

And yet, they taught him.

He would defy the odds.

He would be who he was.

The underdog.

The fighter.

The prince.

They brought him through years.

He couldn't beat Tyson.

Perhaps that was a blessing.

Max looked up to him.

Daichi didn't really like him, but when the going got tough, he knew Kai would defend him.

Tyson viewed him as his rival, his best friend.

Ray was his brother, in spirit.

Hilary was his sister, though he'd never tell her that.

Kenny saw him as a hero, as something beyond what he thought he deserved.

They told him that he sold himself short.

He would never tell them that they did the same to themselves.

He was their captain.

Anyone who touched them would pay.

He would not be ashamed to have their blood on his hands.

His power came with responsibility.

And no bit beast stealing bastard would ever take them without killing him first.

He'd never tell them that, though, somewhere, they knew that it stood.

Tyson ran up the hill toward him. "Come on, Kai, let's go! It's getting late."

His eyes were shut, and he made no effort to move.

"Dude, you awake?"

After another round of silence, the blunette laid down in the overgrown grass, tilting his head toward his captain, his arms behind his head.

Kai opened one eye, glancing Tyson's direction.

"Yeah."

"You okay? You seem kind of... well, off."

"I'm fine, Tyson," He said. They'd never know if he was fine or not, because even if he wasn't, he wouldn't tell them that.

"We just worry sometimes, you're not superman, you know. Someone's gotta look out for you."

The rest of the gang had heard this, as they had just recently come up the hill. They looked at Kai, who sat up slowly, then stood, brushing himself off.

Kai smirked, but Tyson saw it in his eyes. The smirk changed.

A smile.

A genuine, real, honest to God, smile. Happiness. What was going on here?

"You're all doing a great job."

Just like that, he turned around, and began walking away, his eyes shut, and his usual swagger slowed and relaxed. He didn't deserve them. He didn't need a mask. He didn't need anything like that anymore. He'd never say it, but he knew they knew.

He had them.

They had him.

He was their captain.

Everything would be okay.

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That was probably pretty bad. But I thought it was okay. So I hope you like.

Please review!