May the Future Bless You
Chapter One
Disclaimer: All characters, laws of the universe, and original plot lines belong to Hayao Miyazaki and his crew.
Synopsis: There was absolutely no way this was happening. Besides, even if Chihiro was hallucinating, she was utterly sure that this wasn't even physically possible. After all, how else could she explain that she had inexplicably ended up twelve years in the past, smack in front of the gate that she had repeatedly tried to access in more than a decade? Time Travel!Chihiro
A/N: As Hayao Miyazaki has mentioned before, ever since Chihiro has crossed the spirit gate, she contains no memories of what happened there. Of course, that doesn't mean some memories can resurface here and there.
"Sweetie, are you completely sure?" The voice was hesitant and laced with more than a little disapproval, but Chihiro ignored that with the practice of more than a decade and a little more than subtle frustration.
"Yeah, Mom. We talked about this, remember?" Chihiro projected an air of somewhat genuine annoyance as she flips through some of the documents on her desk in her bedroom.
"Of course we did," her mother hurriedly assures her on the phone, evidently not going to waste this opportunity of actually being able to normally talk with her daughter, instead of the usual let's-pretend-everything's-alright-when-it's-really-not routine. "...but it is a little strange for you to stay in that town when there's a perfectly good art school here."
Chihiro pauses, her fingers drifting over a page, and a stab of memory hits her like a tsunami.
She's afraid. A sob was clawing at her throat, begging to be let out, but she swallowed her fear with all the dignity of a ten year old and raced past all of the monsters—spirits?—blindly. And yet no one notices her.
"Don't worry," she hears a voice say. A boy with short (was it green or blue?) hair forces her to swallow a red pill, and despite the fact that Chihiro is shaking in her boots, she feels better immediately afterward.
The scene changes. Suddenly, Chihiro finds herself working at a traditional Japanese building, her wrists raw and her limbs aching, but she's happy and satisfied. A pretty girl with dark hair reaching past her shoulders complains and moans about the work she puts up with, but Chihiro can tell it is mostly for show.
The setting whirls and shifts again, and there is blood everywhere. Chihiro furiously runs across the halls, desperately searching the windows and climbs up poles and ladders. But she can see no one, until she follows a trail of blood leading to the old woman's—her colleague? Boss? Subordinate?—room.
"Chihiro? Are you there? Chi—" Her mother frantically calls out her name until the said daughter in question cuts her off tiredly, one hand pressed against a sweaty forehead and a shiver against her spine.
"I'm here, Mom. Sorry."
"...alright, dear. Have a good evening." Chihiro's mother knows well enough not to press the subject, not when their relationship is so strained, and she hangs up the phone.
And all is silent in the apartment except for the chirping of crickets and a strange, lonely lullaby drifting in Chihiro's head.
She didn't remember when they began coming.
In all honesty, she would say that it began during her eleventh year, when she had finally adjusted to the town's sloping alleyways and looping roads. School was fine; Chihiro having a little band of friends that she would play with daily. Her relationships with her family were still in their prime time, and the girl could honestly say that life was going pretty damn well for her.
And then there were the relapses.
Chihiro remembered haunting memories that plagued her at night. At least, that was how her parents described it. But Chihiro looked forward to the time she fell asleep and was disappointed by the time she woke up, and so her parents lingered at the edge of her doorway for now, at least.
And then she found the gate.
It tinged with mystery and old reminiscence, and Chihiro loved it more than the world. Supposedly, it was an abandoned amusement park, but the girl would spend hours going through the streets and looping curves for hours. And she would talk, too. Having a conversation with someone—even if it was someone not there—was always better than no one.
In retrospect, Chihiro thinks dryly, she really should've taken the time she spent there into account.
It doesn't take long for her parents to order her to sit down, and have a talk. It doesn't take long for them to send her in daily meetings with the therapist. It certainly doesn't take long for the friends she makes to slip through her fingers and her parents' relationship with her strain considerably.
It doesn't take long for her life to fall apart, but Chihiro can honestly say that it was worth it, for some strange, inexplicable reason.
So even when her parents decide to move when she's seventeen, she doesn't go with them. No siree, she was going to stay rooted in that town with her precious amusement park if it killed her.
And so Chihiro stayed and waited for something to happen. And waited. And waited.
Until, one day, it came.
Believe it or not, but Chihiro didn't actually know anything was wrong until she took a good look in the mirror. And promptly screamed.
Which lead to her parents running up the staircase in alarm. Which caused another unfortunate scream.
And as Chihiro hurriedly assures her mother that no, she was fine and she thought she saw something with her thoughts racing around like fire prancing in the wind, she realized two things.
One: This was a hallucination.
Two: Why for the love of Kami would she hallucinate about being ten years old again?
But, as Chihiro found out in dismay after slapping herself four times and banging her head on the table seven times, this was most certainly not a hallucination. But there is a spark, something that fizzles in her brain before Chihiro remembers.
Actually honestly-to-God remembers, and if Chihiro doesn't think that's a miracle, she doesn't know what will.
But as tears slip out from beneath her eyelashes and she wipes them away hastily with her t-shirt, her mother calls her, and Chihiro stiffens because she is calling her to get up and moving because they were going to their new house.
Chihiro will be damned if she doesn't remember the day she meets all of her true friends.
So Chihiro all but flies to the car, even resorting to helping her parents with the cardboard boxes of stuff that they decided to bring in the car and not with the movers. Her dad is surprised, even cheerfully saying how mature his little girl was being, and Chihiro can catch a glimpse of her own mother smiling approvingly, something she hadn't seen in a long, long time.
But as Chihiro lies on the backseat of the car, jumping up and down in excitement, she blanches as her father boastfully announces that he will take a detour.
"No." Chihiro puts her foot down before her mother can even reply. And then, sweetly, she says innocently, "Remember when you last took a detour, Daddy? We were stuck on the road for three hours."
Her mother agrees rapidly, and it isn't long before they find themselves in the place were Chihiro was hesitant to call home. After all, the bathhouse was more a home than anywhere else in her world.
But Chihiro is still going to return to that place, no matter what.
Two days later, Akiichirō and Ichiyūko Ogino find a half-heartedly scribbled note on their empty daughter's bed.
Because, if there was any personality that Chihiro retained from before her bathhouse days and after them, it was that she was a stubborn, bright girl.
And there was no way that she was going to waste this chance, no matter what anyone said.