Title: Flinch
Fandom: DGM
Author: su-dama/smokingace
Pairing: Kanda-centric
Rating: PG-13 for language and dark themes
Words: 2,920
Disclaimer: DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al.
A/N: I like the idea of Kanda as a child. It's humbling.
-Flinch-
His mother once said—when he knew her, while he had the chance—that something will go wrong. And when that time comes, he will fix it.
When he tells the person this, the person bigger than him, but somehow darker in the skin, with a bald head, the person nods his head back and smiles at something.
Kanda tells him in modified English that he doesn't want to be a burden. The bald man leaves, bringing back someone with him. The man with the bushy brown hair and big fatherly eyes. He is unlike the old man from China.
I don't need you, Kanda says, clasping his hands together behind his back. He scratches at his wrists.
We always need someone, the fatherly man says. Always.
Kanda gets to know him as a fatherly man, a holy man, a man needing him as a son. He relents, and as his heart should, it goes out to the man.
One time when the world trips him bottom-side up, the man is there to pick him up. Hold him. Like his mother. Like his father never did. But he misses both his mother and father, as if they once existed and all had been well on their way to good things.
Meanwhile, the bald man is Noise, because of the device on his head. Noise tells him that the fatherly man doesn't have to be just anybody; it, he, doesn't have to be merely a name, Froi Theodore. What's the matter with Kanda's heart? Attaching to that Frenchman, be damned.
Kanda doesn't know how to respond quite yet with such a viper tongue; he knows what he knows thus far from early childhood, if one could call it that, but he was never treated or exposed to the treatment he is now exposed to. It is like treatment, but screwy and quick to break a leg.
He trips onto his bottom for the hundredth time today; feels a bruise blooming up his tailbone. His trainer takes him by the arm and lifts him for another round. Kanda is tiny. He is small for his age. His new master tells him it's because he is of mixed humors. His master is not his new father.
--
Kanda keeps thinking something will go wrong. That if this is possible, it is still impossible that he will be the one to fix it. And if this is impossible, then he will be unharmed.
He thinks for something to go wrong, he will be harmed by flesh on flesh.
He is not that harmed (so says a voice in Zen fashion).
Thus, nothing will go wrong. He may lighten his step and visit the girl behind the bars.
He likes to call her Lee and sometimes she speaks Mandarin to him, but broken Mandarin, and he reciprocates with broken Japanese. He is already forgetting himself and maybe this is mercy. Maybe this is his chance to teach her what he knows, his arts, and her chance to tell him what she's seen. What scares her. How Kanda scares her. All the things he's made of. . .
He has been reprogrammed to like his surroundings, anyway. What harm does truth bring?
--
Kanda has been far and wide, and has seen the worst in human beings. (When you are made by humans, in part, you are more or less leaning toward a kind of apathy that sets you apart from others; it is the only way to move on.)
The thirteenth time he sees Lee, she is being led out of her cell. Kanda is slightly confused when he asks to see her. She might have tried to hurt herself.
The big burly guard gives him a dirty look that implies Kanda himself is crazy.
Tch, as if Kanda's never heard that one before. He sneers up at the guard and knows exactly what he's doing when he smashes his little fist into the guard's gut. The muscles are hard; they still twitch under Kanda's fist. They look at each other for the briefest of moments.
Then, as if a screaming banshee had descended upon them, Lee is fighting her way out of the guard's arms and straps and pushes herself into a wall.
No, she says in that tone. She cannot take it anymore. So she runs and jumps and bites at the guard's ear.
In Kanda's expert opinion—well, there is just nothing to say. She'd spoken her reasons.
Someone screams. There's a tiny female fist hitting the guard in all directions. Lee has reached her limit. Kanda won't be seeing her again anytime soon. He stands there with his hands out, frozen in place with the thought of being run out of the castle for this.
Lee, he begins, but she does not hear him. She's too wrapped up in her own little fighter world. Kanda may have seen human beings at their worst, but this, this is a whole other extreme that no one's really ready for. Tiny specks of blood that fly at his face.
Lee, he tries again, and this time her fists freeze as well, her violent eyes roaming widely before locking on his.
Kanda sees the flower petals that float down her face. The violent turns to violet. He refuses to flinch. This is hard business, too hard for a kid to swallow. He's not ready. It's caught in his throat.
The guard manages to shake her off while the other tries to stay out of it. Lee is promptly put to face the wall. The second guard is sent to get word to Old Man Lee.
Kanda watches all this with nothing to give him away. Then he turns on his heel and leaves Lee to suffer the consequences.
--
It is not until the next week, after a particularly grueling day, does Kanda get an earful from General Theodore. In such a short time span, he has learned to respect those he wants nothing to do with, Theodore being one of them. (Tougher than he seems; it's a hard-knock life.)
Apprentice Yuu, I thought I've taught you better, Theodore says.
And here my little Lena is telling me what a nice boy you are, Komui says. Rumor has it he'll be transferring here for good, loving thanks to his lunatic sister.
Kanda shrugs on the couch. He's been on it quite a lot. He contemplates taking a nap with his eyes open. This is when he starts the habit of crossing his legs, to hold himself.
Do not ignore me, that's most insolent, what about poor Lenalee, Theodore says.
Kanda. Bottom line, you could have eased her out of her—tantrum, Komui says.
Theodore covers his face in what appears to be fatherly frustration. Komui just hurts.
Don't think I will ever forget this, Komui adds fiercely.
Kanda makes to get up and shriek a few things in Mandarin; he quiets himself. They're disappointed as it is.
It remains deadly still until, perhaps not so fortunately, Theodore tells Komui to mind what he says as well.
Komui calls Theodore a washed-up priest—baring his teeth—and storms out of the office that is not yet his own.
Kanda and Theodore look at each other, plotting behind their eyes, guessing what the other will do. Fight or flight, all over again.
I'm not against you, Theodore says. I. . .am always for you.
But he is so wrong. And Kanda might be feeling bad for turning away from his, possibly, only friend here at headquarters. He could grieve.
You should get some rest before supper, Theodore says smoothly.
Yes, Kanda could grieve in bed. He could pull a modest sheet over his head on the cold floor. He's better off than Lenalee. She's putting her face to the wall right as they speak, learning how to walk through them, to crash through them. She'll need to learn this fine trick. Keep it nestled inside.
Theodore can probably see Kanda's thought process laid out before him, for he is laying his hand upon Kanda's shoulder and apologizing for their lack of understanding. Kanda must have it rough, too.
His chest aches.
--
The day Kanda stuffs himself full of soba (causing people to make stupid, stupid comments) is the day he has to go to Nurse to relieve his stomachache. He chocks up the aches to overeating and returns to Jerry to order another large mat of it. Nurse had shaken her head as if Kanda should be admonished for his hard, hard head.
He thinks idly of his travels and how he would like to drown in the Indian Ocean. It would be sweet and spicy. His head being so hard and all, he would easily sink.
If he could learn how to drown properly without coming back.
Sometimes, he's just Done.
Kanda, being possessive of his food, is run into by someone (who must have done it on purpose); thus, he immediately lets out a sneer that many will come to know very much. Watch it, he says, not looking at this someone. He edges around to continue for the privacy of his chambers, noodles still steaming safely up into his face.
Breathe, out with the negative, in with the positive forces that bind—
Someone speaks in a voice distant yet close to him, and he realizes something that squeezes behind his bellybutton.
Lenalee, he says in wonderment, turning abruptly to stare at her. You're alive. He nearly drops his noodles. He very nearly holds her. What. How. When. This isn't possible.
They sent me away for a—for a wee bit, she says, smiling despite what she is saying.
What a shame.
Kanda can't stop staring; Lee has grown up. Her arms aren't crossed over her chest this time. Her face is clear of fear and tears and anguish. And her skirt. Well.
Not quite the shame he expected.
Kanda swallows and begins to turn away. They'll simply cover up her existence, her sabbatical. Her brother must be very pleased.
Kanda, Lenalee says, it's all right. People. . .they. . . We can start over.
They do. Every second of the day. They just close their eyes and open them and look to see what they've recreated. There she stands, with her hands clasped behind her, standing like a girl out of trouble. Right. (Not to mention, she sounds so English now. Just. Like. Him.)
Alas, he wants to share in her peace.
Please. She offers up her hands. Scars have healed.
He flinches, letting out his breath. Welcome back, he says, and walks away.
Maybe he's not Done yet.
--
Daisya the New Kid was only a New Kid for a second before he got to know the whole castle, and surprisingly Kanda himself. The circumstances surrounding it are hardly interesting, in Kanda's opinion. (He's not very honest with himself.)
The one thing about Daisya that frightened Kanda every time was how beautiful he was—without the clown makeup. He was beautiful, alarmingly so. It kind of made Kanda want to punch a wall. Daisya's alterations drove him crazy.
They relentlessly pull him in all directions.
So on the early morning Kanda walks in on Daisya's training, he is frozen by the clear skin and runner's curves. He is sure they are from running and kicking things. How Kanda wants to kick things.
Suddenly—
Daisya is popping his naked spine and looking over at Kanda. Any problem, Daisya motions.
Kanda thinks to say always, but instead he says, never.
That's hard to believe, he says back. He sounds disappointed.
Kanda perks up further, putting his hands to his hips, wherever they might go. Oh?
Daisya Barry's nose is too pretty, and strange, for his face. That is why; this is why Kanda couldn't imagine breaking it. It already looks broken.
Do you know, we are to be partners in this fun, Daisya says in his thick accent, like it keeps getting thicker. Growing packed with gushing hope.
Fun, Kanda echoes back.
Oh yes, Daisya nods, muchly. Come to shake my hand, we be good together.
Kanda doesn't know what provokes him, but he goes to shake Daisya's hand while a few trainees watch with beady eyes. He approaches on shifty feet. He sweats down his nape. He'd almost forgotten that he could sweat. His biceps tighten past pain.
He sweats even more, skin turning purple when Daisya decides to strengthen the shake and kiss his cheek. Kanda freezes again and forgets to step back and maybe punch the boy.
Daisya laughs and says, glad to being partners, yeah?
Kanda lets go of his hand now. He should say he feels repulsed. God, he should feel repulsed. It's his dearest inclination. However, he only says, do you like soba? For some reason, it's the most important part.
And Daisya throws up a fist and shouts, evet evet!
Kanda would have to be careful not to introduce him to Lenalee. For that matter, he will have to guard them all from the outsiders that can take away his little comforts.
The charity bell is added to his list of ghosts.
--
Meeting Lavi is another story entirely. Lavi, that dithering idiot, may even be ruder than Kanda, though Kanda thinks his own rudeness is deserved. People are idiots. People who dare address him like that, without knowing him, without loving him, should really be cut in half.
He's just spent a week trying to forget the audacity Lavi had in their first unofficial meeting. Surely Kanda had a right to wield Mugen. Surely he had a right to protect his pride. Before Mugen was wrested out of his hands and put into safekeeping. Oh the audacity of this. . .place. Lavi owes his life to the general, he does. And possibly Lenalee.
Why must Kanda always be denied justice? And why is Lenalee always on his conscience?
Whatever. Lavi would not be forgiven. Kanda will have Mugen back in just a few short days, and vengeance shall be everything he's imagined it to be. He is happy with this plan and drunk from self-confidence. He is taking a little vacation from his missions, off to explore the town. He is full of high hopes. What can possibly go wrong?
Oh wait. Wait one fucking moment.
Tsk tsk, such dirty language, Lavi says from another table, sipping tea.
Kanda sees red, then the vision of a lotus, once again, blinding him. He blinks it away to sip from his own cup. His ears ring. It feels like he's back on that couch. He tries very hard to ignore the person he wants to ignore very much. He even ignores Lavi with the ends of his hair.
The ignoring has no effect, which frankly pisses Kanda off. Lavi is now moving into an empty seat at Kanda's table and singing, good morniiing.
There is one fucking moment of extreme silence. Then Kanda shudders inside and says, get out of my sight, redheaded demon from afar.
I would, but I've come to admit apology. I hope we can still be friends.
Ha. He's heard that one.
I hope we can talk.
Kanda looks down into his breakfast tea. He says, apparently we are, unfortunately. And apparently, I already dislike you.
Could have fooled me. You seem to hate me, Lavi says. He winks and dabs a napkin to his bottom lip. Kanda is scarily wont to touch it.
You might have some brains after all.
Oi, Lavi laughs, but he doesn't smile.
Maybe a heart, Kanda adds heartily in the smallest way, tilting his head against the morning sun.
Lavi goes quiet over his empty cup, placing it thoughtfully on the table. It clinks against the white iron. The open café is getting hot. The flowers on the terrace sigh softly; Kanda can speak Plant. It's a curse entwined with care. The ink on his chest is the insurance. It's a weight Kanda feels even at a time like this. And maybe he's finally said too much in the years he's been at the Order.
He watches as his non-drinking, non-partner, non-friend turns the cup over; he refuses to swallow his tongue when Lavi looks dead serious at him. Kanda wouldn't fight back if Lavi made the same mistake twice. He waits and doesn't breathe.
That's all right, my friend, we're not exactly all there, if you get my meaning. Like your general says, we build character. Don't we. Your aura, or the emotion you can smell off someone? You betcha.
Just like that, Lavi orders another cup and spends his time making small-talk about his travels. Something here, something there, how one loses an eye and lives. Kanda barely registers the words. He's busy seeing a grave of lotus, black hair sliding over tanned flesh, fumes of dying screams. He thinks about his unnatural demise and if it should ever come. This time, he doesn't wish for it.
The astonishing thing: Kanda hardly noticed that their whole conversation, his first in years, had been in Japanese, and Kanda can't help but feel as if Lavi, this drab stranger, is creeping up on his secrets, one by one, on extra limbs.
Lavi has let him in on a few secrets of his own.
Everyone is born into this life to fix something, his mother must have said a long, long time ago.
And when the time comes, they will both fix it, dreaming of vast oceans.