Of Red Bloody Noses and Little Grey Kittens
Summary: The mewing coming from the wet cardboard box could be called pathetic, but Kuwabara thought that the thugs huddled around it were even more so. On a wet afternoon, a young redhead discovers his two passions in life. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: Kuwabara of Yu Yu Hakusho belongs to Yoshiro Togashi and affiliated.
Kuwabara saw them as he rounded the corner: three tough-looking older guys, grouped together around something at the side of the street. At first he though that they were huddled around their cigarettes, maybe trying to shield them with their bodies from the drizzle and cold wind so that they could light them. Then, as he walked closer, he noticed that they were looking further down at something, shoving it with their knock-off trainers: a cardboard box at their feet. At first, Kuwabara was going to just keep walking around them - they looked a few years older than him and menacing. Then he heard the mewing.
He stopped. Now he could hear their jeering and taunts and catch a glimpse of a tiny head poking from the box, mewing in protest at the boys' noise and little kicks - a box of kittens, probably abandoned by someone who lived nearby. One of the boys was now tipping his (probably ill-gotten) beer can over the box, poring some of the liquid inside, making his companions laugh with a dangerous edge. Now they were rummaging in pockets - he thought he saw them reaching for lighters and penknives -
"Hey!" he yelled. Now the three turned towards him - yup, definitely a few years older, cropped or gelled back hair, rumpled uniform, an eyebrow piercing. Now that he got a closer look, Kuwabara though that he'd seen these bruisers around school.
"What do you want runt?" Pierced Eyebrow Guy shot back.
"Leave them alone!" Kuwabara yelled back, standing with feet apart, chest puffed up, trying to look as intimidating as possible. He wasn't as used to talking trash, usually just ignoring anyone who tried to hassle him in his year - he was bigger than most of them, so it usually worked.
"Yeah? Who's gonna make us, ginger?" Another of the thugs replied. His mates laughed. "Hey, maybe we should throw him off the bridge with them!"
They kept taunting and laughing at him, but Kuwabara couldn't hear their exact words anymore - they were starting to blend together into white noise, drowned out by the boiling rage that was building up in him, making his eleven year-old body shake, welding his feet to the floor. This was different to some punks at school making fun of his hair or face or the way he talked: this was a group of thugs tormenting some helpless creatures. The anger gave him strength, coursing through his muscles as though the wet pavement he stood on was sending electricity through his legs and around his body - you shouldn't hurt or abandon the helpless, he thought. Not like the other punks at school. Not like his parents had all but abandoned him.
"Me!" he yelled, as the rage reached boiling point - and suddenly, with an inarticulate roar of rage, he was running towards the thugs, fists and feet flying. At least he knew something of technique - fighting against his sister and constant video games gave the rage something to channel itself through.
The fight was short and vicious, and Kuwabara was aching all over, collapsed to his knees on the wet ground. Nonetheless, it wasn't a total loss, with the odds against him: he was panting with exhaustion, bruised, his clothes ripped, blood pouring from his nose, but the punks were nowhere to be seen, and he was leaning over the box of kittens, stroking their little grey bodies with knuckles grazed from the fight. Their were six kittens in total, young enough to still be mewing almost constantly for their mother, stumbling around their prison. He could see now that the bottom of the box was darker, wet from the rain - the fact that the cardboard was of the thicker variety was probably the only reason it hadn't gotten completely sodden and broken up by now. How could someone be so heartless? Kuwabara wondered, as he crouched there, knees beginning to ache, rainwater beginning to seep through his jeans. Still, as least they hadn't thrown them off the bridge, as those thugs had threatened to. "It's gonna be okay," he murmured to the kittens, chucking one of them under the chin before readjusting his grip on the box. "I'll get you somewhere warm." He stood, box in his arms, able to feel the adrenaline and exhilaration of the fight. It was a release, of sorts, a way to right wrongs in his own way to do something about his strong principles. Then, he sighed. Just so long as his sister didn't catch him too often. And let him keep at least one of the kittens.
Above him, the rain slowed and the sun started to break through the clouds.
End