Family Matters
-Chapter 1-
The Photograph
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words that tell this tale.
When he offered to help his aunt, he hadn't expected it to be so…so…
Achoo!
Dusty.
Kurama rubbed his nose, he hated dust. His nose might not be anywhere near as sensitive as it used to be, but it was a clearly remembered annoyance. One wrong sneeze—or even a sniffle—could potentially draw unwanted attention. That ingrained knowledge one of the reason he was such a neat person. This storage room was full of it. He was too polite to back out now.
"An—" He cut himself off, correcting himself before she could, "Aunty! Where do you want this one?" He gestured to the box by his foot. Being the taller of the two, he'd offered to take the ones that would go on the shelves while she searched for whatever she was looking for.
Blue-lavender eyes flicked his way, "On the shelf in the corner if you'd please Suuichi-kun. You are such a dear, helping me like this."
"It's nothing Aunty…" He hefted the box as she directed. He had no idea what she was looking for.
A few more boxes and he found out.
"Here we are. I'd meant to give your mother some of these. God knows I have many." She was pulling an old fashioned photo-album out of a cardboard box, the kind that were around before the modern age of digital cameras. Photos slipped between plastic sleeves, all bound up in a three ringed cover. "Now that I've found it I'm going to make some snacks—do you want anything?"
Kurama shook his head. She reverently set the album aside, rising to her feet and smoothing out her kimono, "I'll be right back, go ahead and look if you'd like."
When she left Kurama drew near the blue bound book, curiosity fighting together with boredom to drive him near. He settled on the floor next to the open box, noting other colored books packed neatly within its confines.
He folded open the thick covering, opening to a random page. There staring up at him was his mother, holding a—he blinked, Was I really that small?
Since he was a centuries old Youko possessing a human, he'd been fully mature upon this body being born, but his soul had been wounded, exhausted with the task of escaping death. He didn't remember much before Suuichi's fifth year.
He certainly didn't remember being smaller than his fox form. Much smaller.
Mother looked radiant. Beaming with a healthy smile—the happiest he'd seen her in a long time. This wasn't the tired woman who didn't know what to do with a distant son, nor the one suffering from a slow-killing disease. The closest he'd seen was now, and even now she didn't have the youthful radiance he could see in the picture. She was looking off the edge of the camera, not at the taker, but at someone else. …Father?
He closed the book, taking a look at the kanji on the binding, Shiori and Suuichi.
There were many more pictures, obviously taken in the dojo. Had Mother and Father lived here in the beginning? Before moving into the home he knew? It obviously happened before he became aware, since he couldn't recall any of these pictures.
He looked back into the box of albums, eyes falling on a green one lying near the top. Katsuya. The characters of his father's name stood out against the white label-square. Before he realized it he had it in his hands, placing his own book back down on the floor.
He'd never really thought about his human father much. He was gone before that pivotal five year mark, and after, well, he'd thought to leave for the Makai as soon as he could, leaving everything behind him. Mother changed that.
His fingers itched, opening the green cover. All the pictures around the house were of him and Mother, not that there were many in the first place. He was curious.
As soon as he saw the first page, he froze.
Red. Searching fingers tangled with his own scarlet, hair he'd always thought was bleed-over from his demon side, like his eye color. Mother's family was purely Japanese, so it didn't come from there. And he'd always assumed it was the same with his Father, black on black. Not red on violet, shading even more into the purple than Aneko's odd indigo eyes.
The coloring tugged at him, pulling at the strings of old memory. He toyed with the idea that the picture dredged up infant memories, from the splinter of his personality that had been Suuichi Minamino while Youko Kurama's soul still slept.
But no, the impressions felt older, the wild flavor of youki and fresh pine-scent. The fall of drifting snow…
"Suuichi?"
His aunt's voice let the tendrils drift away, sinking back into fragmented memory. He still had difficulty recalling memories older than a couple decades before Youko's death. Dying had really torn him up—eighteen years later and the damage had not yet completely healed. The human mind also had difficulty processing the sheer volume of information; instead relegating it to…storage was an applicable term. He'd had Hiei look into it, after they'd become friends. Worried, just in case something crucial had been lost in the transfer. Hiei had just snorted and told him not to worry about it.
Kurama sighed and let it go; accepting the small plate his aunt offered him. She then leaned over to see what he was looking at, "My brother made a cute baby didn't he?"
Her eyes were unfocused, looking back into distant memory, long before screaming steel took a just-married young man out of her life.
"I've never seen him before." Kurama's soft-spoken admission snapped her out of the past, incredulous, "Surely Shiori had pictures?"
"I haven't seen them." Not that he'd really looked. By the time he'd cared, he still had Mother. Alive.
And that was all that really mattered.
It still didn't matter much, beyond the fact that his mother suddenly dragged him here, to meet his father's sister. And that memory…
Cold…It shouldn't be cold.
He shivered, throwing off the phantom chill before he could slip further into fragmented memory. It floated just out of reach, sneaking forward and prodding again and again. Now that he'd dredged it up it didn't want to settle back down. Now was not the time to slip into the distant past, not with his Aunt muttering under her breath as she took the album from him and began searching through it. He'd make time after dinner, meditation should help.
"It's got to be in here somewhere—not know what his father looked like!—talk to Shiori."
Kurama felt the slightest bit alarmed at how his admission seemed to affect her. He kept forgetting the importance humans placed on the male half of the parenting. It was unsettling, foxes tended to be more attached to the female. The father usually disappeared long before kits left the den.
"Here." She dropped the open page into his lap. There was only one large photo here.
There was his mother, looking nearly the same as she had in the last picture he'd seen. Shrouded in a white wedding kimono, smiling shyly at the camera. One hand on the arm of a man beside her, also in traditional raiment. It was obviously his father, that fiery scarlet out of place against black and white haori. He looked at the face, not at all like his own—twisted as it was to resemble the face of his soul.
And it called up nothing. Whatever it was about the baby photo, it wasn't about his father.
…
Snow where there should be none. A twist of youki raised about himself warded off the dropping temperature, although that didn't do much to help to foliage that had led him here. The broad-leafed ferns were used to a perpetual summer, these lands never seen the touch of ice. Why would it? In the Makai it was always warm, always humid. Only near the great glaciers did snow ever fall.
It was such a shock for these plants, a clawed finger lightly touched a snow-dusted leaf, dislodging the intruder and sending it to the ground in a flurry. The plant-life whimpered, all curling near his probing youki in an effort to warm up. He pulled it back and snorted. They were Makai natives, they would survive a little chilling. As long as the situation didn't persist for centuries, and even then it would likely adapt.
A stray breeze led to him taking in the scents—nothing to indicate the presence of an intruding demon. The snow didn't bear with it the acid-copper taste of youki, ruling out the possibility of an ice demon encroaching on his territory. It also didn't feel like the heavy-freezing death of the north. It felt lighter, purer, just barely affected by the Makai's ever present energy imprint.
Following the flakes on a wind he stepped—slippered foot landing in a good four inches of snow. The thin barrier between foot and wet was no match. Shivered, fur standing on end until he summoned his energy, a twist here, a shove there—and four protected paws touched down in cool, but not unpleasant snow. Insulated by a layer of shiny silver fur, Kurama let out an approving rumble, this form was far more suitable.
The sudden increase in volume wasn't the only difference, what was once a tropical jungle let out into snow covered pines. He reached out and touched the plants as he passed, tasting their essence even as he memorized his trail. He'd need to make sure he knew how to get home after all.
…after a bit of nosing of course. The portal should still be there when he returned. At least that was his best guess at whatever led him here. There hadn't been the spider-webs on skin feel of Reikai's barrier, but somehow he'd stumbled out of the demon realm. There was no other explanation.
He couldn't help staring in wonder about him at the plant-life dozing under winter's chill touch. They were far weaker than the flora he was used to touching, but something about the essence seemed lighter, purer—lacking the hardness that comes from surviving due to sheer necessity. Untouched by Makai's ancient malice and ever present youki that led to the rise of dangerous plants such as the Death Tree. He hadn't felt this in centuries. Not since demons were cast out of the mortal world.
Amongst the scent of snow and pine, whiskers trembled in the winter air. There was an odor he wasn't used to—at least not outside the larger cities where some unscrupulous demons dealt in certain, high commodity foods.
Human. The scent of human lingered on the wind, near and immediate unlike the fire and woodsmoke curled at the edges of his perception.
Nose rose and fell, didn't even realize it as paws followed. Humans could not get into the Makai. Not alive. And the stench of death had yet to permeate the air. The barrier allowed none save for dead flesh to cross its threshold; otherwise someone would have wised up long ago and started a human ranch. It would have killed the smuggling market.
There it was, two largish lumps in the snow, just off to the side of what he thought was a road under all the wind-blown snow. He padded right up to the nearest, nudging the body with his nose. Still warm but cooling fast. He could hear the heartbeat slowing, hypothermia setting in. Even if he were feeling particularly altruistic there wasn't much he could do. The woman's life was fading fast, unraveling as the ghost began to lose its hold on the mortal form.
Kurama turned away from the doomed human, turning to inspect the smaller lump beside her. He used his tails to clear the accumulated snow in a quick flick, revealing a much smaller form than he'd expected. He almost growled at the sight, what kind of caretaker took a kit out in this weather? The human-kit was in much the same predicament as the mother. This kit should be holed up in a den, waiting out the winter with mother and litter-mates. Didn't humans know any better?
Paws shifted into clawed hands as the world rippled. His sense of the fading life beside him fluttered in response, the dying child shivering against something he could only sense. Smart kit. Kurama knew the feeling of a Reikai portal when he sensed one. Death, the greatest thief of them all.
"Can you sense it, kit?" He cooed to the child, watching without eyes the soul slowly unraveling, "Death flies tonight."
Then the child surprised him. Indigo, almost purple eyes opened. Just a sliver. Not even enough to properly see, but it was enough for Kurama to guess why mother and child were out.
"What better way to be rid of a demon child, than give it to the unforgiving winter." Such was the way centuries ago, when youkai still lived among and around humans, before Reikai forced the three worlds separate. Now that he was looking he could see red fuzz where hair should be, cut unevenly—sheared off to hide yet another sign of an impure bloodline.
Anything strange was demonic.
The little one's ki was reaching toward him, desperately searching for the licking tendrils of his youki. Anything. His youki probed back, curious. Kurama frowned, there was something else there. He wasn't sure how to explain it, a plain dish, with a faint twinge of something. Something familiar.
Death was coming closer. He could hear her calling.
Such a will to live…
Kurama was a demon. He admired strength. He admired determination.
What a chance—he wouldn't let it go!
The grandest theft of all.
Youki twinned about the frayed edges of the child's ki. Young enough-he could coax the little one's energies the way he wanted to, not as set in stone as the mother's. Half remembered stories, a hypothesis he'd toyed with, in case something were to go horribly wrong during a heist.
How many can say they've stolen from Death?
"Suuichi."
He ignored it, trying to hold on to the memory, felt it fray in his grasp as his human name was repeated. Mother.
The snowcapped woods of a century old Ningenkai faded, leaving the city-night fallen over the dojo-courtyard. He could feel the wooden veranda through his jeans, legs beginning to cramp up from meditating for hours in search of an elusive memory. That child had been haunting him all day, and now he had some answers. Answers that prompted more questions. What happened to the ki-d? He knew for a fact he hadn't had one around the Den, at least not for very long. Kurama sighed as the fragments of Youko's memories sank away. At least he knew what to look for now.
His name called his attention again. Mother stepped out onto the veranda, pulling the sliding shoji screen shut behind her. No need to let bugs in, "I thought you went to bed?"
That's what he'd said, earlier. Probably where she was headed now, giving the simple, light sleeping yukata she was dressed in. Kurama untangled his legs, feeling the pins and needles of restored circulation, "I did. I had trouble sleeping," he let out another breath, "Many things to think about."
Mother didn't respond. He frowned, she wouldn't have bothered coming out of the house to just say good-night. She could have done that from the corridor. He cast back into memory, what could this be about? Dinner had been fine. Afterward they'd made plans to visit a shrine just off dojo grounds tomorrow, and then he'd begged off, leaving Mother with Aneko…
"I am so sorry…" he almost missed the quiet words. He did not however miss the taste of salt in the air.
Oh. That.
"I hadn't meant to keep Katsuya from you. It…hurt…after…"
"It is fine mother." He could fill in the blanks. There was a hint of old pain in her voice. "Honestly, I was merely surprised to find so many pictures."
"We lived here…until he was transferred. We left…most of the pictures behind."
And then he died. Soon after. Kurama remembered nothing of the affair, but it was the only possible reason given the lack of new pictures. He truly did not care about the progenitor of his human shell. It was Mother who had cared for him. Mother who didn't give up on a distant son who held everything in contempt.
He didn't know how to tell her this, because she wouldn't understand. Most children wanted to know. Most would be raging mad they didn't know. But male foxes left the den, leaving the females to care for the litter. Neither human nor fox thought much about father-figures. But he didn't want to hurt her further so he just let her talk. Let her talk about the man she met in University, who dropped out and joined the police academy because an officer came to speak in one of his criminology classes.
As she talked, Kurama finally realized what this was all about. This wasn't a trip to visit relatives. It wasn't even to let him know about his father. No, this was for her.
Her voice cracked, wavering as she neared the end of the story. He knew what was coming.
"Mom…" he said quietly, "It is okay. You do not need to say anything."
All they had left to talk about was death. Of a death not even in the line of duty, but in a screech of fire and twisted metal brought about by someone else's carelessness.
"I sent his ashes here. To Aneko." Mother stared out, unseeing, past him, into some far corner of the shadowed courtyard. "The shrine—tomorrow—"
He could sense the question she never quite got to ask, and he knew immediately what his answer was. He'd always been her support pillar. "Of course." There was no need to ask.
Because he finally knew. This wasn't for him at all.
She'd come to say good bye.
A/N: I know I said I wouldn't post anything till it's finished. But…this one almost is. It's prolly 4 chapters long, and I'm almost done with number 3. So it's clooose. I really like this fic. If it seems familiar at all, an older version was once posted on a separate account I made years ago, ShioriRecca. I felt guilty working on something other than my main fics so I published it there. Still do, but I wanna post it. I'll probably be refurbishing a couple of these older, mostly finished fics while I try and get the ball rolling on my Final Fantasy fics. Trying to get back into the swing of writing.
As always, please leave a review if you like it. I'll probably post the next chapter in a week or two, or when I finish the fourth chapter. Whichever comes first.