A/N: Hurray for random torture fics! Well, celestial-gal's review for "My Sacrifice" got me thinking, and before long I found myself with the urge to write a fic in which Horohoro is tortured. I mean, come on, I've already tortured Ren (twice!), so it's only being fair. Horohoro is actually a hard character to torture though because he isn't an angst-filled character like Ren is, so therefore I ended up borrowing gift-of-the-elves's idea of Ainu discrimination (with permission, of course). Thanks, gift-of-the-elves! Anyone who is interested in reading her HoroRen fic, "Who You Are?" will not be disappointed.

Once again as in "My Sacrifice," I'm pretty sure there are no shounen-ai elements in this story. I suppose you could interpret the ending as light HoroRen, but you could also interpret it as them just being good friends. Either way works.

Just a side note: as mentioned in "Rescue Me," a matanpushi is the name for that headband Horohoro is always wearing.

Oh, and don't ask me what Horohoro is doing at the airport. I needed him to start somewhere. And the setting for this story is somewhere in the middle of the shaman tournament, and even I don't know what they're doing hanging around Yoh's place. Ignore the tweaky little details, please.

Thanks for reading. As always, reviews are welcome and flames are ignored.

Disclaimer: I don't own Shaman King. -MeeLee

It's Not My Fault

BEGIN

I don't know what time it is. I left the airport a little past five o'clock, that I remember, but a century could have passed now and I couldn't have cared less. I really should start wearing a watch, but I keep forgetting. In fact, I forget a lot of things. Like my bus ticket today. That's why I'm stuck walking through the city.

It's really no problem because I know the way back to Yoh's house. It's just that…I would much rather take the bus than walk. I've had some bad experiences walking in this city.

It's not even my fault, really. Well, I guess it is partly my fault because I'm Ainu, but really I can't be blamed for it. It's not like I chose to be what I am; I just am. Really it's the fault of the government and those damn propaganda people who are always saying that our race is a threat to the expansion of the modern Japanese culture—that has got to be the biggest damn lie I've ever heard in my life, which is probably why everyone believes it.

I look carefully up at the traffic light, the crosswalks, the neat little rows of buildings edging the street. I'm still in the developed area of the city, which means I'm still safe. But I will eventually have to pass out of this district—and that's when the fun will start.

The light turns green and I step slowly onto the asphault, knowing that with every step I take, I am coming closer and closer to the hell that is the dark shadowed area I can see before me. I don't even have to look to know what it's like because I've been there before, and I will never forget the dank brick walls decorated with graffiti, the broken windows, the untended garbage cans spilling their refuse into the dirty street. I will never forget what happened to me there.

With any luck, though, they won't even be there. Maybe they won't even remember me, and I'll be able to pass them by with no problems. It's a little hard with an ultraconservative and poor community though. They notice anything that's different about you.

As I finish crossing the street, my feet start to drag. I don't want them to do this, and yet I do. I don't want to go through that hell again. As I continue to walk slowly forward, I find myself wishing that my friends were here with me. There is safety in numbers, and maybe I won't be picked out as an Ainu if I'm hanging around with a bunch of people who aren't even remotely Japanese, like Chocolove, and Faust, and Lyserg, and Ren, for example. I wonder idly if they've ever felt the sort of discrimination I have.

I am very close to that place now. Very slowly I reach up and untie the matanpushi around my head, pulling it off and allowing my bangs to hang in front of my eyes. I typically don't like to do this, especially because it's annoying having hair in your eyes all the time, but I will do it today. I unzip my jacket also and roll it around my arm, careful to keep the traditional Ainu designs turned in so that they are invisible to the outside observer. Usually I am proud of my Ainu heritage, but not when it presents the sort of danger that it does here. It's better to be cowardly than dead.

Completely devoid of Ainu markings now, I wonder halfheartedly if I can pass as true Japanese. I'll bet I can't, though. It's the hair, mainly, this mass of light and dark blue spikes that surrounds my head. The light blue is from my dad; the dark from my mom. Usually I'm fond of my hair because it's such a unique color, but today it's going to bring me some really bad news.

All right, this is it. I can already see the graffiti lining the walls around me, can already smell the decaying refuse seeping into the gutters at my feet. Damn, I wish my friends were here with me. Actually, I wish Ren was here with me. With his kung-fu ass-kicking skills, I'd have nothing to worry about.

But Ren isn't here. I'm alone, and that's that. But I survived once, and I can do it again. That I am sure of. We Ainu have survived centuries of discrimination just like this, and we'll keep right on going.

I am about halfway through the district now with relatively few problems. I see out of the corner of my eye—I don't dare make eye contact—that the people standing on the sidewalk are giving me funny looks. Again, it's probably the hair. But they're not giving me any trouble, which is a blessing in my point of view. Maybe this community isn't as conservative as I remember. It was a couple of years ago, after all. People change, don't they?

"Hey, you." I jump at the voice, even though I try not to. It's very familiar, and I'll never forget it, even though I hardly even remember the name of the person to whom it belongs. No, wait, I remember. It's Shiroshi, I think.

"You, the Ainu over there," he says again, and I know immediately that some people don't change. At the very corner of my peripheral vision I can see the young Japanese man, probably only a couple of years older than me, leaning against a nearby chain-link fence with two of his friends.

Three in all. Damn.

I keep walking, pretending I didn't hear them. I won't turn around, not this time. Turning around definitely didn't help me the last time I was here.

He remembers me though. I know he does because he spits his cigarette onto the ground and says in a high, singsong voice, "What, the little Ainu's afraid of us, is he?"

Any other person would have reacted to this, but I don't. I have trained myself carefully ever since our last encounter. I will not give in to my anger; that is not our way. Maybe if I quicken my pace, they'll lose interest and I'll get away clean. I walk faster.

"Running away now?" Shiroshi laughs. "You know, I think he deserves a licking for that, just like we gave him last time."

I duck my head, my breath catching in my throat at his words. I break into a run, but find my path suddenly blocked by three towering bodies. I look slowly up to see the man and his two friends standing in front of me, smirks on their faces. "Well now, little Ainu," he says, grinning. "Do you remember me?"

I lower my head. Don't make it worse than it already is. "I'm sorry, but I don't," I say in a small voice. It sounds meek and scared, and I wish it didn't but that's the truth of how I feel right now. I'm scared. Scared that they'll kill me like they tried to do last time.

"Oh, look, the Ainu's so scared he's gonna shit himself," Shiroshi says, and he and his friends laugh.

I grit my teeth, my entire body trembling even though I will it not to. "I—I'm n-not…" But I can't say it. I can't deny my entire culture, my entire being, just because I'm afraid of three pumped-up punks with stone-hard fists and daggers.

Right now, though, I really wish I could.

"Hm?" Shiroshi cups a hand to his ear. "I didn't hear you. Did you just say you weren't Ainu?"

"No." It's out before I'm even aware of it. My voice is low, almost hissing. Damnit, I thought I had control of my anger too.

"What?" Shiroshi bends down closer to me. "I really can't hear you, you'll have to speak up. You're saying you are an Ainu, is that it? You're saying you're a faggoty ass-kissing tree-hugger Ainu?"

My body reacts without my mind having to do anything. There's a flash of white before my eyes, and I hear the furious cry wrench itself from my throat, feeling my fist collide with the side of Shiroshi's face. In the next instant he is on the floor, his two friends crouched beside him, and I am standing over him, my fist cocked.

When I speak, my voice trembles. "I d-dare you to s-say that again," I say.

To my surprise, he gets smoothly to his feet, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. He is still smirking at me. "Oh," he says, "You mean the 'faggoty tree-hugger' part?"

I swing at him again, but he suddenly disappears from my line of sight and I hit nothing but air. For an instant I am confused, but then I feel something slam into the back of my head. I sink to my knees, my entire world spinning, and suddenly I feel like throwing up. While I am thus crouched on the floor, something hard slams into the side of my body; the pain is horrible and my limbs give out beneath me and I sink to the floor.

The blows now rain down upon me, endlessly, each one seeming harder than the last. I cry out as someone's foot connects with my stomach, and I taste blood in my mouth. A fist strikes me across the face, and now I have trouble opening my right eye because of the blood gushing freely from the cut above my eyebrow. I struggle to rise, to fight, to do something against my three tormentors, but already my body is weakening and I know I cannot hope to win. All I can do is allow them to continue hitting me and kicking me, to continue venting their hatred toward my race on my fragile body, and pray that it will all be over soon.

One of them kicks my arm, which I had been using to hold myself partly up, and immediately I fall hard to the asphault, my nerves screaming in protest. It hurts like hell and suddenly I find myself wishing that one of them will just pull out a knife and get it over with.

Suddenly, though, the blows stop. I hear Shiroshi yell something; I can't tell what it is because I'm too far gone to put together the words, but he sounds distressed and soon I hear their footsteps receding as they run away. Only when silence has surrounded me once again do I finally gather up the courage to open my good left eye.

The street is empty; I am the only one left, lying there on the asphault, bleeding. Where is Shiroshi?

And then I hear it: the sirens rapidly approaching. Their wailing pounds in my ears, but I have never heard such a welcome sound. Slowly I push myself up to a kneeling position, blinking at the bright lights as the police car comes to a stop right in front of me. The door opens and the policeman steps out, gun at the ready, but seeing no one, he immediately holsters his weapon and hurries to me.

"You all right, young man?" he asks, placing a hand gently on my shoulder.

Kami, it's good to see someone looking at you without hatred or disgust. "I'm fine," I manage, my voice hoarse. I try to rise but my legs give out beneath me, and the policeman has to grip me firmly by the shoulders and haul me slowly to my feet. Fine, my ass.

"What happened here?" he asks next.

I look up at him, shocked. How can he ask me a question like that? Can't he tell what happened himself? Or did he not notice that the attackers were Japanese and the victim was an Ainu?

He watches me for a moment before I see a light come into his eyes, showing that he understands. "Okay, you don't have to explain," he says, leading me slowly to his patrol car. "I'm going to take you to the hospital and see if we can't get those wounds taken care of."

Instantly I shake my head. "I don't want to go to the hospital," I tell him.

He frowns. "Young man, I just saw you beaten up by three kids bigger than you," he says. "I'm pretty sure you need to have—"

"No," I interrupt. "Please, sir, don't take me to the hospital." I don't want to spend any more time here; I just want to go home, and I tell him so.

To his credit, he sighs in defeat. "All right then," he says. "Where should I take you?" I give him Yoh's address. He helps me into his car and we drive off.

The entire trip is made in silence. I don't want to talk about what happened, and the policeman thankfully does not ask me. I think he understands how I feel right now.

Like I said, this isn't the first time I've been beaten up by Shiroshi and his gang. A couple of years ago, I'd passed through this very same area and run into the very same situation. It's a miracle, actually, that I survived both times. I'm pretty sure Shiroshi had every intention of killing me when he was done with the tormenting.

It's not even my fault, I think angrily. I didn't choose to be Ainu, and neither did I choose to be discriminated against. It's just the way life is, however unfair that is. I mean, I'm a living human being too, aren't I? I have friends and family, I feel emotions, I hurt, I cry, I get angry too. I'm not just some stupid tree-hugger who clings to false ideals or fleeting dreams. I'm human too, can't they see that?

All of a sudden I want to cry, but quickly I suppress my tears, looking at the policeman sitting beside me. He senses me staring, though, and turns. For a moment he seems confused at my look, but then he understands and gives me a warm smile.

"Go ahead," he says, and reaching down he turns up the radio as high as it will go.

That's it. I can't hold it in anymore, and so I bury my face in my hands and begin to sob. I don't care that I'm bawling like an infant; the radio covers me anyway. Bless that man. Thank heavens not all Japanese are as stupid and dense as Shiroshi is.

Before long, we pull up in front of Yoh's house. The policeman reaches over and turns the radio off. I have long since stopped crying, and I'm pretty sure my eyes aren't puffed up anymore. Wouldn't really matter if they were, actually. They're swelling from the beating I got earlier anyway.

I turn to the policeman and for a moment I am at a loss for words. He seems to understand though, and smiles at me again. "Go on," he says. "Take care of yourself, and try not to get into that sort of trouble again."

I nod slowly, opening the door and getting carefully out of his car. "Th-Thank you," I stammer. He nods. I close the door and watch as he drives off, giving me a tap of his horn before he turns the corner and disappears. I am left alone in the gathering darkness.

For a moment I am unsure of what to do. I want to go inside the house, once again within my protective circle of friends, but I know what will happen the instant I walk through that door. There is no way I can hide the bruises and the cuts that decorate my body. They'll all see me, they'll all worry—and then they'll all start asking questions. And I don't think I'm ready for that.

Still, I have nowhere else to go, and so, bracing myself, I walk up the front doorsteps and knock slowly. There is a scrambling of feet from inside the house, and an instant later the lock slides apart and Yoh opens the door. He is grinning as he prepares to greet me, but his smile immediately crashes to the floor the instant he gets a good look at me. "Horohoro, what happened?" he cries.

His startled outburst brings the rest of my friends to the front door, and I can hear them gasping as they see me. I know what I must look like, standing out there on the front porch with the light from the fading sunset seeming to illuminate every gash and dark bruise on my body, along with my torn clothing and my smudged face.

I hear a scream and Pilika rushes to me, her eyes wide with surprise and fear. "Oniichan, are you all right?" she cries worriedly.

I sigh, slowly disengaging her from me and walking past everyone, through the kitchen and toward the stairs. "I ran into a little trouble on my way here, that's all," I say. I really don't have the strength or the will to explain any further than that, and I hope they won't ask. I'm tired and all I want to do is go upstairs, clean up, and get to bed.

I don't get very far though, because I suddenly find my path blocked by a very determined and very strong Tao Ren. He has his arms crossed and is glaring at me. "You're not leaving until you tell us what happened," he says.

I'm really not in the mood for this. "Screw off," I snap, trying to go around him.

I see his eyes widen slightly in surprise at my outburst; had I been him, I would have been astonished too. Then his eyes narrow until they are barely two golden slits, and he moves, once again barring my path. "You're not going anywhere, Ainu-baka," he says.

There is that white flash again, and my fist hits something. I blink and there's Ren, sitting on the floor, staring up at me. It takes me a moment to realize what just happened, and I turn to see Yoh, Pilika and everyone else staring at me, open-mouthed in astonishment. I turn back to see Ren still looking up at me with that same shocked look on his face, his hand now creeping up to touch the side of his face where I struck.

For a moment I can't even remember why I hit him, and I almost apologize when it comes back to me, and then there is only the anger. I glare down at him, and when I speak, my voice is low and dangerous. "Don't ever call me that again," I say. I turn, walk past him, and head up the stairs.

A few minutes later I am in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. I'm not thinking about anything. I didn't even have that shower I wanted; I'm too tired. I want to go to sleep, and yet I can't. There's this nagging feeling in the back of my head; I suppose it's from hitting Ren like that. I really shouldn't have done that; how was he supposed to know what had happened to me?

But then again, why must he always insult me like that? And when he can clearly see how badly hurt I am?

The door opens slowly, and I look up. I allow my good eye to widen slightly in surprise—my right eye is now swollen shut—when I see Ren step cautiously into my room. He is watching me much as he watches the opponents we face in the shaman tournament, with a wary eye and a careful step. He's probably afraid that I'll rush him like some crazy maniac and beat him up. I almost feel like doing it too, except that I'm too tired, and besides, my conscience is already getting to me.

He seems to sense that I'm not about to go psycho on him, and opens his mouth to speak but I beat him to it. "I'm sorry I hit you," I say. My voice doesn't sound very convincing, but it's just because I'm tired.

He relaxes a bit at my words; I can see it. Slowly he approaches my bed until he is standing before me, looking down at me. I am rather surprised at the look in his golden eyes; he seems almost…concerned for me.

"What happened, Horohoro?" he asks. Now I am really surprised. His voice is soft, almost gentle, without a hint of the coldness it usually contains.

I almost tell him to leave, to go away and let me deal with this on my own. But the look in his eyes is…intoxicating, to say the least, and before I'm even aware of it, it's out of me. The whole thing about the messed-up community, Shiroshi, his friends, the encounter, the policeman, the drive back—everything is out, just like that.

When I finish, I look up to see Ren peering down at me with an odd look in his eyes that I've never seen before. I don't recognize it at all, and it alarms me. It's not anger, it's not annoyance, it's not disgust or scorn or…

Wait a minute. I blink, and stare up at him. Is it…worry? No, it's compassion. I would've recognized it long ago had it not been for the fact that it doesn't seem to fit quite right with Ren's usually scowling face.

But it's there. And when Ren finally turns from me and speaks, his voice almost trembles. "Those bastards," he whispers. Then he turns suddenly and heads toward the bathroom. I hear the water running for a little while and he eventually returns, carrying a basin filled with water and a washcloth. I am so shocked that I give no protest as he dips the cloth into the warm water and proceeds to clean my wounds.

A moment passes before he speaks, pressing the cloth firmly against the cut above my right eye. "You should've fought back," he says.

"I did try," I answer. "But I wasn't…strong enough."

"Hm." He says no more, moving to other wounds. Only when he has finished does he finally turn to face me, hands on his hips. "Are you taking the bus tomorrow?" he asks.

I blink. "Yeah," I answer. Isn't it obvious? Like I would ever want to go through that sort of hell again.

But Ren frowns. "No, you're not," he says.

For a moment I am so confused that I am unable to speak. "What do you mean?" I finally manage to splutter. "Do you want me to get beaten up again?"

"Of course not," he answers. "That's why I'm going to go with you."

All right, that's it, Tao Ren has officially lost his mind. I stare at him blankly for a couple of minutes, almost afraid to believe what I heard. When I finally speak, I can hardly keep my throat from clogging up. I can't help it; I'm a very emotional person.

"You're…protecting me?"

He shrugs as if it's no big deal. "You can call it protecting if you want," he says. "It's more like a form of revenge if you ask me. Eye for an eye, it's what we're taught back in China."

Suddenly I want to cry again, and I can hardly form my words. "Then…you don't hate me like you always say. You actually care about me?"

He smirks. "Don't get your hopes up, Horo," he says. "You're a valuable member of my team, that's all."

It's only a half-truth though, I know. He really does care about me. I can see it in his eyes.

"Ren…" I swallow hard. "Thank you."

He only turns, tossing me the first-aid kit. "I'm pretty sure you can take care of the rest yourself?" he asks, nodding at my wounds. Only a few are bleeding now, thanks to the cleaning he gave me. He doesn't wait for a reply, just walks out the door and soon his footsteps fade away down the hall.

Holding the first-aid kit in the half-darkness, I look out the window at the fading sky and smile for the first time that day. Ren acted like he hadn't heard me…but I know he did. And as I sit there, alone but not quite alone, I find myself hoping that we'll run into Shiroshi again tomorrow, because he'll be in for a nasty surprise.

FINI

Parting words: I am not biased against the Japanese; I tried to get that point across with the policeman. Please don't flame me for something I do not believe in.