FAMILY

Writing it in first-person point of view since I haven't written in that POV for a long time. This is told on Mika's POV.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gungrave.


I was always afraid to look at him.

He was at least twice as tall as me, but that was okay. He was Mom's close friend, so he should be old. But he didn't look normal. His teeth were big and sharp, unlike mine. He also had so many gunshot scars; one of them was running down the left side of his face. Luckily, I always managed to see only part of it thanks to his long grey bangs.

He too, was creepy. If I spoke to him, he'd either just glare at me with his gold eye or ignore me. He really didn't sound like his name, Brandon Heat. He was cold. Maybe that was why the doctor who had been accompanying him for years called him Beyond the Grave, or just Grave.

But whenever I wanted to hide from him, I remembered Mom's words before those men in black suits shot her. She told me to find this man because he'd protect me from those killers.

So I had faith. Mom always knew the best.

Yeah, Mom was right.

Grave wasn't really that cold. When I was crying while gathering some rocks to decorate Mom's grave, he brought me a big stone. A very big stone. I chuckled when I imagined placing a boulder that was about my height on Mom's grave. And he actually smiled at me that time! Maybe he was just trying to convince me that he wasn't scary at all.

Grave was actually a nice person. And he was a strong man. When those men in black suits found me and pointed their guns at me, I was already on my knees and screaming. But he suddenly hugged me tight when it got really noisy. I didn't know what he meant by that, but when I didn't hear any gunshots again, I looked around carefully. I was first shocked when I found a lot of holes on his body. But no, he was okay. He could stand like nothing had happened. And he then fought those bad guys off.

I started to be less afraid of him since then. It was okay, although his silence was pretty annoying sometimes. When I talked to him, he rarely replied; he would either keep loading his guns or give out blank stares at me or the wall. I often complained him for being so quiet, but he never got angry. He only grinned instead. Maybe being quiet was just his nature.

I got used to his silence lately. He really didn't need to talk much, because his actions spoke for him. Whenever I remembered Mom and was about to cry, Grave would approach me to either put a hand on my head or hug me. I never knew what he was trying to convey, but I always had a feeling that he just wanted to comfort me and say: "You are not alone." Yeah, maybe that was why I could always end up smiling instead of crying.

Tonight it snowed. Through the hole under the shut garage door, some snow seeped in.

Shivering, I searched around the garage for cloth to make a blanket or a sweater, but I found nothing. There were just some empty paint cans and a wooden couch; none of them could warm me up.

As I walked back to the couch, I saw Grave sitting there, lifting an arm and smiling at me. I didn't understand what he meant until he pointed at the flap of his oversized long coat.

I sat beside him and crept into his coat like a lizard. Soon, I felt his huge arm snaking around me before holding me tight.

As he slowly pulled me into his hug, I looked at his face. His smiling face. It had a huge scar running down his left eye to his cheek, but I didn't mind about it. Something else distracted me.

His hug was warm and just as gentle as Mom's.

His smile was soothing and just as sincere as Mom's.

Grave was just like the daddy I had never had, and I would never want to part from him.

Ever.