I was not expecting this to be so long when I started writing it. :p Whatever though. Written for Dior Crystal's Angst Contest. The prompt was fade, but...I'm not sure if other people will be able to see it in this. Believe it or not, I did get the idea for this fic from innocence fading (you'll (hopefully) see what I mean). If it's not enough for the prompt, then I suppose I'm disqualified. :p I still had fun writing this. Anyways, this is too long, so I'll let you get to reading.

Ignorant Evil

Living a lie is painful.

Living with the truth, however, is infinitely worse.

This is a decision I have come to after much thought, and I truly do believe in it. At least with a lie, you can fool yourself into thinking that everything is alright. The truth, however, is unbearably painful, and once you have heard it, there is no escape. Anyone who says otherwise has never tasted true suffering.

My parents died in a plane crash when I was four years old. I don't remember them, which I suppose is both a blessing and a curse.

I was sent to live with my mother's sister and her family. She and her husband were kind people, perfectly willing to care for another child despite already having one of their own.

Their son was four years older than me, and in my eyes, possibly the best older brother any child could wish for. He was gentle and sweet, though maybe a bit on the soft side when it came to things such as fighting. Still, he was protective of me, and it was not long before I began to think of him as my real sibling.

Given time, I'm sure I would have been able to say the same about my foster mother and father. However, before I was ever given the chance, they too were ripped away from me after only a few short years, shot dead when they were caught in the crossfire of a gang fight.

I have always thought of myself as an unlucky child. I bring harm to those around me, and have accepted this since an early age. In general, most people I know have acknowledged this fact as well.

All except Brother.

He has always been by my side, caring for and in many ways raising me as we moved from orphanage to orphanage. Never did he even consider the idea that his parents' deaths were due to my streak of misfortune, and he blatantly rejected any attempt on my part to apologize. Eventually, I stopped trying.

I'm not quite sure when he began to change.

I suppose the first time I truly began to realize that something was decidedly unnatural about our situation was the day of his eighteenth birthday. He came into my room early in the morning, a smile on his face and brown eyes warm.

"Enma, come walk with me."

I had no reason to decline. Besides, unlike most teenagers my age, I actually liked spending time with my sibling, adoptive or not. So I allowed him to lead me out of the decaying building that was home to our orphanage, its crumbling facade weathered by the passing of time.

Leisurely, we meandered through the town, enjoying the sun on our faces and the warm breezes that the early summer day provided. Eventually, he pulled me to a stop in front of small house, identical to all of those surrounding it, but quaint and cozy-looking all the same. It's white shingles shone in the sunlight, and the navy roof reflected the sun's rays brightly.

The house was nice, but I was unsure of our reason for being here. At my curious glance, his smile only brightened though.

"Welcome to our new home!"

I must have stood, frozen, for a good five minutes, gaze darting between the house and my brother. Finally, though, I managed a few words.

"W-what do you mean?" I asked, searching his face for any sign that this was all some cruel joke. Of course he knew how much I wanted to leave the orphanage, but surely this wasn't actually happening. "You're not... Doesn't... How? You may be eighteen, but you're not old enough to legally become my guardian, are you?"

A dark look passed over his face for the briefest of seconds, but it was gone again before I had really even registered its presence. The grin returned, though perhaps a bit more forced than it had been before. He winked. "Don't worry about it. I promise you, this is real."

Despite his words, I was still uncertain. Questions flew through my mind, and I knew that my expression showed my indecision. I wanted to ask him about this, really I did.

But just I couldn't bring myself to do so.

I'm still not sure whether this was because of my desperation to leave our crowded, noisy former home or simply that I truly did not want to know what my dearest brother was up to. I'd like to think that it is the former.

In the back of my mind, I'm fairly sure it was the latter.

Moving in took no time at all, due to the pathetically small amount of things that were actually in our possession. At first, despite the small exterior, the inside of our new home seemed empty and cold. Brother was quick about changing that though, somehow producing the money to pay for new furniture for both the bedrooms and the living room, as well as a table and chairs for the kitchen.

Again, I didn't comment on our sudden wealth. In fact, I hardly thought about it at all, somehow always managing to put it out of my mind. And I was able to continue like this, purposely keeping myself ignorant, until that fateful day little more than a month later.

In the weeks since we'd moved in, I'd begun to notice an increasing number of rather unpleasant-looking people lingering around our property. At first, I dismissed it, rationalizing in my head that perhaps the reason that Brother had been able to afford this house in the first place was because of the shady neighbors.

I'd never conversed with any of them, though I had gotten several strange looks as I walked home from school. I wouldn't expect my 'guardian' to have any ties to the men either, as I distinctly remember that he had been bullied for a good portion of his high school life, and would thus avoid such people.

I was wrong.

It started out like any other Sunday. I was sitting in the living room of our house which still did not quite feel like a home, curled up within the confines of a large armchair which still did not feel entirely comfortable, silent headphones slung carelessly around my neck with my homework spread out on the coffee table before me. I was chewing my lip in thought over one particularly difficult math problem when a sudden knock on the door broke me out of my work-induced trance.

I remember moving to answer it, but quickly falling back into place when I caught sight of my brother stumbling tiredly down the stairs in that direction. An unfamiliar voice assaulted my ears, again breaking any semblance of concentration I had managed to regain in the last moment.

"Is this the home of Sawada Tsunayoshi?"

My eyes widened slightly at the gruff tone, eyes immediately flying up to find Brother's face. He looked stricken, gaze flitting briefly – worriedly – to me. Our eyes locked momentarily, but he was quick to break the contact.

"Y-yes," he replied, stepping outside and inadvertently allowing me a glimpse of our guest.

He was tall, with hard black eyes and short brown hair. However, what really caught my shocked stare was the slight bulge at his hip, just barely covered by his black jacket. I'd seen enough mafia movies to identify it within seconds: a gun. And judging by his well-built structure, he knew how to use it.

But what could he possibly have to do with my brother?

Slowly, pieces of a puzzle I'd never wanted to solve began to fall into place in my mind. I could sit and try to figure this entire thing out. I may not have been very smart, but I had enough information to understand if I really wanted to.

I didn't want to.

Hear No Evil.

Hurriedly, I flicked through the songs on my iPod, picking the first that my finger happened to land upon. I grabbed my headphones, turning up the volume higher than ever before and bringing them up to snap over my ears. The music blasted into my head, blocking out both outside sounds and internal thoughts.

Perfect.

I was not going to question Brother. It could endanger the easy comfort of our relationship, and that was one thing that I was not, and would never be, willing to loose.

Brother is all I have, and I don't want to be alone.

The mere thought terrifies me.

xXx

Brother blackmailed someone today.

Like always, I never meant to see it. I was sick in school today, and had to go home early.

Obviously, Brother had not been anticipating that.

The moment I reached our house, I had known something was not right. There was a foreign car parked at the curb; compact, dark blue, empty. Realistically, that didn't necessarily mean there would be a stranger in my house. The car's owner could be in any one of the numerous homes that lined our street.

But I didn't really believe in that theory.

I cracked the door open slowly, cautiously, so as not to draw attention to myself. From inside, I could hear vague whispers floating over from the kitchen. The voice was my brother's.

The words chilled my blood.

"...And I wouldn't advise trying to run. We know where your family lives, and your friends. A few lives is nothing to my boss, as I'm sure you know. And even if you can somehow survive with that many deaths on your conscience, know that we can and will find you. And when we do..."

A metallic 'click' echoed through the silent house, a sound I had long ago come to recognize as that of a gun being loaded. My brother continued, voice cold:

"I don't really think I need to explain what will happen."

A long pause followed, broken at length by the others quiet assurance that 'such drastic measures would not need to be taken.' There was a rustle of cloth, and the approaching click of high heels against the hard wood floors was my only warning before the door was roughly pushed open the rest the way. A woman hurried out, brushing past me in her haste to exit the house. She made no move to acknowledge my presence in any way, instead pressing onwards towards her car. Perhaps she didn't want to take the time to stop and apologize, knowing that the sooner she left, the better.

Or perhaps, in her frantic rush to escape, she hadn't even realized I'd been there at all.

A sharp intake of breath alerted me to my brother's arrival at the door, and his sighting of me.

"E-Enma?" he stammered, the corners of his mouth curling downwards in a nervous frown. "W-what are you doing home from school so early? When did you get here?"

He was not sure how long I'd been at the door. I could tell him. I could run inside and call the police. I could threaten him with this knowledge. I could do a lot of things.

But I wouldn't.

Speak No Evil.

Brother is all I have, and I don't want to be alone. So I offer a weak smile, meeting his worried eyes with my own, veiled as they are in a mask of false innocence.

"I was sick in school, and had to come home. I haven't been here long at all."

I say nothing else. I don't need to.

He studies my expression for a moment longer, attempting to gauge my sincerity. I return his scrutiny with a curious look, smiling slightly as I ask:

"Is anything wrong?"

The question seems to break him out of his trance, as the next moment he is smiling at me in that caring, gentle way of his, running a hand through his brown hair sheepishly.

"No, everything's fine. Why don't you come inside and we'll see what we can do to get you back to full health."

I smile and nod. I follow him inside, face a mask of blissful ignorance. And I say nothing about all that I have just heard.

xXx

Brother is going to kill someone today.

It is the first time I have seen such a thing, and I think it may be only time he has done so thus far. Even from the vantage point of my bedroom window, his hesitation is clear. His hands shake. His brown eyes are panicked. Faintly, I think I even see a bead of sweat tracking its way down the side of his face.

The man who stands beside him in the alley outside our house looks no less panicked, perhaps more so. His mouth is moving frantically, no doubt crying desperate pleas and bribes.

I cannot hear him, nor do I want to.

It was pure chance that I happened to look up from my homework at this exact second, that my gaze found the window, and thus the scene outside.

And yet I do nothing.

I know that what brother is doing is wrong. I know that I should call the police and tell them. I know that the man with the gun to his head probably does not deserve to die.

But...

See No Evil.

Brother is all I have, and I don't want to be alone. So I step back, homework forgotten on the desk. I close the curtains. I go to bed. And when the gunshot splits the air only moments later, I am safely hidden away from the world beneath my thick covers and the pillow covering my eyes.

I did not see a thing.

xXx

Brother did not come home last night.

Against all odds, despite all the dangers inherent in his line of work, he had never once returned to our house any later than ten o'clock. At some point, I had stopped waiting up for him, always trusting him to be back when I woke up in the morning.

This morning, however, he is not.

At the sight of his neat, untouched bed, my heart twists into a painful knot, thoughts immediately flying to the worst case scenario. But I do not let my mind dwell there, too scared of what it might come up with.

It is the middle of summer vacation, but throughout the day, I almost find myself wishing for the monotony of school, if only to distract me from the worried bundle of nerves that I have become as the day progresses. And yet, despite that, I decline when my friend calls the house and invites me over.

I do not know when Brother will return. But when he does, I wanted to be there.

And I am.

When he stumbles through the door that night at eleven o'clock, I am there to help him to the living room couch. I dim the lights to accommodate his splitting headache, and fetch him a glass of water when he asks.

It was only when I place the damp towel on his warm forehead that he finally attempts to explain.

"Enma, I'm so sorry," he says quietly, cheeks burning both with fever and humiliation at his own helplessness. "Yesterday, I really tried to come home. But..." he trails off, as if to choose his next words.

If it is a lie, I don't want to hear it. If it is the truth...

If it is the truth, I know that I won't be able to handle it.

Quickly, before he can say anything else, I gently press a finger to his lips.

"Don't worry," I reply, a soft smile tugging at my lips. "I understand."

And that simple fact – that I really do understand – is what pains him most. He knows that I am not as ignorant as I outwardly appear, that I have seen and heard things no one my age ever should, yet have never once said a word.

Unable to bear his agonized look any longer, I swiftly pull myself to my feet and turn towards the door. A weak hand on my wrist stops me short, but I do not turn, too afraid of what I would see.

"Enma..." Brother starts, words pained. I jerk away from his grip, unwilling to hear whatever he is about to say, and once again make to exit the room. This time, he does not stop me.

At the doorway, I pause, eyes flickering back over my shoulder for the briefest of seconds. Brother is lying still on the couch, breathing shallow and eyes shut tight in a vain attempt to block out the world.

In this, we are the same.

I can fool myself all I want into thinking I am able to block out my surroundings, but in reality I never truly can.

I have seen evil.

I have heard evil.

I have spoken evil.

And I have never done a thing about it.

In the end, then, who is the true evil? The one who commits the act, or the one who stands by and pretends not to notice it?

I purse my lips, but my eyes soften all the same as I watch him slip into a restless sleep, torn between retreating to my room and comforting him. I settle somewhere in between.

"Goodnight, Tsuna-nii," I say softly, smiling slightly when he starts at the sudden breach in the silence that had fallen upon the room. "I love you."

And that is the truth.

No matter what happens, no matter what he does, I do love him, and I always will.

Because he is all I have, and I don't want to be alone.