Hey! To the people who are following this fic: I'm not the owner. Cookietherookie issued a challenge to continue the oneshot written by Dark-Phoenix22 and I decided to take it alongside Vegetanime, another author of fanfiction. So we are writing this fic together, but as I already said before, the original idea and first chapter doesn't belong to us.
Link to first chapter (oneshot by Dark-Phoenix22)
www. fanfiction s/3000464/1/ First-Down
ENJOY!
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First Down: Continued. II.
"Youichi, come here."
Sudden movement as he turns around. A hand in his hair, pain shooting through his face as his cheek collides against the wall. Hot breath against his ear.
His hair being pulled backwards, dark eyes boring into his. A shiver running down his spine. Not again. He promised himself he wouldn't let this happen again.
He growls and trashes in the strong hold, but it only earns him a kick in the back and a punch that sends him tumbling to the floor.
"No!" a futile shout, he doesn't stop. He never stops.
His T-shirt is janked and he hears the fabric ripping. Big hands roam his chest, gripping to tightly and leaving bruises.
His pale hands push against broad shoulders, but it doesn't make a difference. Apparetly, his 75 kg bench-press is for nothing. He growls, frustrated, trying to stop the wandering hands from getting lower.
He hates it. Oh, how he hates feeling this vulnerable. He can't do anything. He can't fight, he can't escape, he can't walk away. He can't stop him and it's just here,between this four loathsome walls, that he really hates his physical weakness with a passion.
Suddenly, rough lips are on his. He hisses and bites. A pained yell and a punch to his jaw and a punch to his temple. HIs head is swimming. Big hands begin fumbling with his fly, and there are kisses, licks and bites on his neck and shoulders. The hands get inside his jeans and start to pull it downwards. His instinct kicks in. His foot hits the man squarely in the chest. The heaviness above himdisappears and a thud is heard. He backpedals till his back hits the wall and he takes a revolver from its hiding place.
"Stop it." he yells, aiming at the man in front of him, but he knows his too out of it. He won't listen. He only growls and shouts and charges forwards intent on finishing what he started.
"Dad!" he whimpers. When had his eyes got damp? "I'll kill you if you come any closer!"
He knows it's futile. He won't stop. But he can't let him do this, no again. The time stops. He can hear sirens roaring in the distance and a still rational part of his brain tells him someone must have called the police; they were shouting too much.
He looks at the man's face. The same features that haunt his nightmares and his daylights. The same features that smirk das he fucks him and sneer at him when he beats him.
The same features that he deeply fears but, despite all, still loves.
It all turns red when he pulls the trigger.
X
He woke with a start and sat up abruptly, panting heavily, his eyes wild and unfocused. He looked around in panic and found himself in an unknown location. He pulled the blanket covering him not minding that he was only dressed in a pair of jeans, and tried to stand up. His legs, however, had decided to turn into jelly adn he fell down on the bed again.
He growled, frustrated, but stopped himself from trying again. Instead, he focused on calming his breath, passing a hand through his sweaty blond hair. A small shift in the air caused by an unknown gust of wind made him shiver, goosebumps rising all along his sweat-covered skin. He pulled the previously disregarded blanket around his shoulders. There was a knock that had his green eyes snap towards the door. He didn't reply, but after a small moment of hesitation, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged policeman, Sergeant Yamada. He recognised him from previous encounters, but especifically from the night before. At least, he thought it had been the night before.
"Ah, HIruma-kun. I see you are already awake. You are in the police station's infarmary. A doctor will come in no time to do some checkups on you-"
"I don't need a check up," he cut, earning a surprised blink from the man.- I need to know what the fuck's happening."
"Ah... you see, Hiruma-kun... your father..."
"Is dead." he cut again, his voice cold. "I blew his fucking brains, there's no way he survived that. I need to know what happens to me."
The sudden coldness which the young blond spoke with made Yamada feel strange, something akin to concern and... uneaseness. To some extent, he could understand the contempt the boy was showing, because Hiruma Youichi had indeed suffered traumatic experiences. He found disturbing the fact that imperturbable facade could evolve into... well, the usual for youngesters in similar circumstances: the downward spiral into a life of decadence, almost grazing crime. Hiruma's hacking and extorsion abilities, just this sort from the professional level, only made the concern much more pressing. He approached him carefully, acting as if he was trying to calm down a spooked animal that could run away. He calculated each little movement not to cause any discomfort or pressure.
"You are currently suffering from post traumatic shock. To make sure you are not physically wounded or hurt we'd like to run a check up, where we can give you tips and advice with how to deal with PTSD. We are here to help, Hiruma-kun."
"I don't need your help." he spat, as cold and distant as before, carding a hand through his willowing hair. "Hiruma-kun... I know this is a difficult moment, but you need to trust us. You can't just ignore everything that's happened and bottle it up, hiding it beneath the carpet as if it were long forgotten dust." adviced the Sergeant, trying jet again to get near him, with more confidence this time, and resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Hand which Hiruma rejected, showing his evident distaste for the supposingly 'calming' gestures. This people didn't seem to understand; he wasn't sad. He wasn't feeling guilt, nor remorse, nor anguish or fear... He had just set himself free from the bastard that had fucked his life over, abusing, beating and humiliating him in the worst way possible. It was that thin moral line only, the one born from the echoes of the affection he once had felt for his father, that had refrained him from doing what he had done not 24 hours ago.
He was finally free.
He much preferred Yuuya's death to ending up as just another victim of demented madmen and pederast that killed their sons after abusing them. No, he didn't need anyone's pity.
He just needed to forget.
"I need a shower. I stink adn I wanna be alone." It wasn't a suggestion nor did he wait for an answer.
Yamada nodded symathetically. Maybe that was it. Maybe Hiruma Youichi just needed some time alone to clear his thoughts and feelings. To accept like a human being, like a boy his age, that he had killed his father with a shot to the head.
"There's a shower in the restroom over there." he signaled a door not far from them "If you need anything, call me."
Hiruma lost all interest on the Sergeant, turning instead to said door. "I'll send someone over to bring you clean clothes." he called after the boy before he disappeared into the restroom.
He sighed.
Those last hours' work was turning out to be absolutely exhausting, with a mountain of reports to fulfill and vulture-like journalists to keep away. The later was proving to be increasingly difficult when their disgustingly keen sense of smell for bombshells had taken interest in the rumours of an adult's death in the hands of his own son. That was something the boy would have to face soon too. He wouldn't pass unnoticed anymore: his neighbours had heard te gunshot and some may have even seen him be taken out of his house covered with a blanket and led to the ambulance where he had been sedated. The news were probably on air right now, even though they had tried to keep it close and locked until they had everything under control.
However, one couldn't stop time, nor the world, and now Hiruma would have to be strong enough to return to his life, where he'd be put under the stares of people who may be happy of something so terrible happening to him. He may win others' compassion too. It all depended on luck. He just hoped it all turned out well for the boy. x
x The blond had stripped down some minutes ago and was now under the showerhead. The water was hitting his head and shoulders, sliding down the rest of his body and cleaning it of any dirtiness and stink. And now, aware and alone with his own mind... It was then that everything appeared in his mind's eye again: the images, the sounds, the gunshot. Everything moved in slow-motion but it was clear, more than when it happened really, like the shot at his father... at his... father... He had to lean his forehead against the tiles, breathing rapidly with his mouth. Fuck... why? Why was he feeling this now? He shouldn't feel guilty, he should be happy for having finally killed him! Although that was probably the core of the problem, he had killed... Agon Kongou gave beatings that sent people to hospital, and while he was a complete bastard, he had never killed anyone... at least that he knew... But he had. He had crossed the line, he had lost control of himself.
He was a killer!
But it had been in self-defense, otherwise his father would have done the same to him. He could have died at the hands of that fucking madman.
'But he was his father', replied another voice in his mind, the one that still remembered a time when he had acted like a real father.
With contradictory thoughts flying around in his head, he noticed he was missing air again, that his chest was tightening painfully. He began to slide down, leaning against the wall until he sat in the tub's floor, hugging his legs and shrinking into a fetal position. It was an attempt at calming himself, and attempt at escaping the cruel reality that he found himself in.
In a silence only broken by the sound of falling water, he cried.
Was he crying his father's death? Who knew...
Was he crying because he was scared? Maybe...
In that moment, he felt so small, so weak...
He felt alone.
TBC...
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