Worst birthday fic ever, both in that it's actually set a few weeks after Ban's birthday, and because it isn't particularly happy, as a proper birthday fic should be. Also: I don't own Getbackers, and I'm making no money off this.
They moved often; the old woman had to keep one step ahead of the Voodooists. It was easy enough, though. She was sharp despite her age, and her people reported all the information they heard, whether of loyalty or fear of their queen's power. Sometimes it seemed that they had barely unpacked when Ban pulled his suitcase from the closet and began packing his clothes and books and his few toys. The old woman never bothered to enroll him in school, and he rarely tried to make friends during his stay in any one town.
But he was still a little frightened when his grandmother shook him awake in the middle of the night, three weeks after his sixth birthday and told him to get dressed – warm clothes - in the short, clipped manner she used with her subordinates. When he got downstairs the old woman hastily shoved a duffel bag into his arms and grabbed his arm with a rough, aged hand. Outside there was a waiting taxi.
"Where are we going?" Ban asked, in Japanese so the driver couldn't understand, but she didn't answer. He hadn't really expected her to – it would be unlike her to divulge information in front of even a cab driver. The old woman had not lived so long by taking risks.
After a long, long taxi ride, they were the only passengers on the first train of the morning. They sat next to each other, the old woman deep in thought and Ban hugging the duffel close. They did not look at each other.
He pulled the curtains shut against the bright morning sun when they got in, but Ban couldn't sleep on the too-hard hotel bed. His grandmother had only packed him a single change of clothes and his toothbrush in the bag, so he had no teddy bear to hold. Curling around the lumpy pillow was not the same.
Instead he listened to his grandmother talking with several of her people in the next room. He recognized many of the voices, but more than that the telltale sounds of her followers: the rustle of layered skirts and robes, and the hollow clacking of wooden talismans supposed to protect oneself from evil, which so many of them wore now, though the old woman scoffed at them as signs of cowardice.
Ban thought he could hear Maria's slight accent as well, and found that oddly comforting. It was hard to be certain it was her though – he had so rarely heard that voice be anything but irritatingly cheerful, or perhaps slightly cross if he called her a stupid old hag. The voices were hushed and wary, not at all like on other occasions that the old woman had gathered them. Eventually the murmur lulled him to sleep.
When he woke up he was alone in the suite, and he spent the remainder of the day charging room-service and indulging in sweet, forbidden television. He tried not to think about magic and old animosities and the impending war his grandmother sometimes spoke of.
The next day they went back to the burnt remains of their house. Only one corner of building was still standing. The old woman made her way over to the small unscorched part of the library. Ban knew better, but he looked for his teddy and his other toys through the ash where his room once was. The dust he stirred up in the cold winter air hurt his throat and made him cough. After, he went and sat near his grandmother, who was busy sifting through a century's worth of books to find what could be salvaged, and told himself he was getting too old for teddy bears anyhow.