Zelle
By: PhoenixJustice
Disclaimer: Boku Dake ga Inai Machi (ERASED) is owned by Kei Sanbe; I only own this story and make no profit from this.
Warning: Rated Mature for language, future sexual content, slash, etc.
Pairing: future Gaku Yashiro/Satoru Fujinuma.
Setting: Post-episode 12 of the anime, spoilers for for entire anime (possible spoilers for the manga.)
Summary: He can't let it lie as it were. Unable to help himself, he meets the man in a cell, beginning a dialogue that soon spirals into something deeper, darker, and more.
Flashbacks/thoughts are in italics.
A/N: Using the Japanese way of names (mentioning last name first, first name last.)
A/N 2: Saibancho = judge/the chief justice.
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Chapter One - Sagen Sie kein Übel
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"Investigation is pending. The accused, Nishizono Manabu, will be held in the custody of Sapporo Prison until such a time as either trial or complete freedom is decided."
"Dismiss-."
"Wait!" The voice comes from, not the glasses wearing person whom had been attacked but the blond headed lawyer. "Surely, the evidence presented-"
"That is enough, Kobayashi." The harsh voice of the judge cuts in. "You are not council on this case and as such, have no say over any of it."
"But, Saibancho-"
"It's okay, Kenya." Satoru's quiet voice cuts in. His eyes are cool, but not cold, as they take in Kenya's angry and frantic ones. He gives a small smile of encouragement.
"Are you sure?" Kenya asks, voice low, leaning down to look at Satoru (he had jumped out of his seat at the judge's declaration.)
"Escort Kobayashi out and let him calm himself down." The judge, an older man in his fifties, shakes his head in disgust. "Youth is too eager these days to latch onto anger and not let cooler heads prevail. As I was saying-" He stops, when he notices Satoru, hand raised. "What is it, Fujinuma-san?"
"Ah. I don't mean to interrupt, Saibancho-san. May I approach?"
"Of course. Well. At least one youth here has some calm about him." The judge gestures him forward.
He rolls out of the observers area, towards the judge, feeling the burn of two eyes searing deep into him, feeling the heavy gaze of Yashiro Gaku, who had not uttered one word since being captured.
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"Are you crazy?" Kenya exclaims. And it is yet another shock for him; the second time, in not just as many minutes, but ever that he had seen Kenya lose his cool like this. He seems to recognize where they are at this time, and lowers his voice, hands on either side of Satoru's wheelchair arms, looking at Satoru in obvious concern. "This can't be good for you."
While he appreciated the concern, it was getting difficult to deal with the irritation with his present situation. He had already made good strides in his rehabilitation and would-hopefully-be walking soon enough. All the same, he knew it wasn't fair to blame them for thinking of him this way; to them, he was not much more than the eleven year old boy who had played Detective, gotten in way over his head and ended up in a coma for fifteen years.
They didn't know of the Revivals, or that he was older than he seemed, mentally. He knew this, but it still could get under his skin, when treated like a child.
He moves his hands, pushing gently at Kenya's (he didn't have that much more energy yet to do more than that-but for what he wanted to do, required no energy of that sort on his part.) His friend moves back, with a bit of a sheepish smile (he too seemed to realize how unusual it was for him to act this way. And yet, with the situation, it wasn't a stretch for him to react so.)
"He won't talk to anyone." Satoru points out. And it was true; Yashiro had spoken nothing to anyone since being taken away in handcuffs on the roof of the hospital. His last words had been spoken to Satoru and Satoru alone, as they both were perched upon that precipice. "And you think the prosecution won't go forward without evidence from his own mouth, right?"
I can't live without you.
The words have rattled around in his head since then.
And what had he said before Yashito had said that?
The only one in this world who knows the real you is me.
"You think you can get him to talk?" Kenya asks. It wasn't said in any sort of arrogance; merely a question.
"I think no one else but me can."
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He takes in a deep breath as the officer goes over the rules.
"He'll be handcuffed and chained so he cannot leave his chair. If he makes any threats, call us immediately and we will escort you out. Do you have any questions?"
He shakes his head in the negative. Kenya had wanted guards placed inside but Satoru had vetoed that immediately; Yashiro would certainly not talk then, if others were around. They had taken every safety precaution they could think of. But he wasn't worried about Yashiro hurting him physically; the two of them had already established upon that rooftop how that was something that wouldn't ever happen again.
No, it wasn't violence that Satoru wondered, worried, about.
The feeling of deep eyesthat burned as they watched him come into his mind now.
The door opens with a loud clanking sound and he lets out the breath, steeling himself as he rolls forward.
The door closes behind him.
Silence.
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The cell was sparce, which surprises him. With his influence and money, he had been sure that Yashiro would have asked for some creature comfort of some sort-ahh, there. A small pile of books on the small bed that lay towards the back of the cell. But other than that, it seemed alike the other cells that Satoru had passed on his way here. He seemed to be afforded some privacy-being in a cell away from most of the other population-but they often did that (so Kenya had said) with those whom were either in the midst of trial or potentially going to trial. Until a judgment one way or another, this would be the place Yashiro Gaku (now Nishizono Manabu) would reside.
A decently sized metal table took up most of the room in the middle, the sunlight from the window streaming onto its edges. Yashiro sat at one of the chairs (the other had been thoughtfully set against the wall, so Satoru could wheel up to the other side of the table without a problem), eyes set in a thoughtful look as he looks at the window.
It had been fifteen years, but it felt like those melted away as he looked at his former teacher. His hair was different, but other than that, it felt like the man hadn't aged at all. Another reminder of the past, his many pasts (both failed and nearly completed) but it's eased a bit with their current surroundings. This was no car, with a Satoru in a younger body (though nearly as weak currently, from recovering from his coma), left to drown in the freezing waters.
He was the free one now and Yashiro-
As if hearing him, the older man finally turns his head and Satoru has to steel himself-with great difficulty-at the look in his eyes.
His eyes all but gleam as they take in Satoru and he can almost hear what Yashiro says with those eyes:
I see you, my beloved adversary.
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He fidgets at the table for a few minutes, in the continuing silence. The only sound the faint flick of a page as Yashiro looks at a book. After that first initial look, he seemed to be content to ignore Satoru in the room, which surprises him. After all that had occurred, he had figured that would be the last thing that Yashiro would do-ignore him.
He glances at Yashiro, whose lips purse, brows furrowing ever so slightly as he looks over a page, concentrating intently. Yashiro still seemed content to speak no further. Why? He had thought, though maybe it was arrogant of him, that the man would speak as soon as he saw Satoru. But he hadn't.
Was he waiting for something? But if so...what was he waiting for?
He glances at the door. It held a small window on it, but even if a guard had deigned to look, they wouldn't see anything from the vantage point it was at. So sight was not the issue here. If that was the case, then what else could it be? With both the thickness of the walls as well as-ahh.
That was it.
"I'm not wearing a wire." He says. Kenya and some of the other lawyers thought it a good idea, but he had also shot that down. Yashiro was smart, very smart; he wouldn't be taken in by such a flimsy ploy to talk.
A pause. Yashiro closes his book, setting it on the table and once more looks at Satoru. This time he has a bit more time to prepare, but still feels like the breath is knocked out of him at the sight of it.
His eyes widen when Yashiro smiles.
It is not the malicious smile when he admits to his guilt as kidnapper and killer. It's a simple smile, as if the person giving it is genuinely happy to see the person they are giving it to. And Satoru doesn't know how to handle that.
Yashiro looks at him expectantly and he fumbles with something else to say, to fill the silence.
"I told them you were too smart for it."
Yashiro's smile widens, sharpens.
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He looks down at the book that sat near Yashiro's hand and has trouble reading the title as it's not in Japanese-or even in English. Yashiro notices him looking at it and smiles again, this time a mischievous glint in his eyes, as if guessing Satoru's thoughts.
"Fünfzehn jahre Ich habe auf dich gewartet, Spice." Yashiro finally says, in a hoarse voice (but his accent was impeccable; apparently he had learned in the years Satoru had been in a coma. Or perhaps he already knew beforehand. Yet another question for the man), obvious that he hadn't spoken in quite some time. "Dieses Loch Sie gefüllt...es blutet ohne dass Sie."
Was it something to do with the book? German then. Although he did not speak the language, he recognized it. That must be what the book was in. So he was saying some passages from it then? He does it best to look interested (which wasn't all that difficult) so Yashiro will continue to talk-even if it is in a language he does not understand.
Yashiro's hand, as bound as it was by the handcuffs, strokes the book, looking down at it.
"Ich war krank? Bin ich geheilt?" Yashiro looks back at him, licking his lips. "Und wer ist mein Arzt gewesen?"
"Is it you, Spice?"
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"So what did he say?" Kenya asks, pouring a cup of coffee to Satoru who takes it gratefully.
He takes a long sip before answering.
"He-didn't, really." He says, looking down at his drink. "He kept speaking in German."
Kenya lets out a soft sound, causing Satoru to look up from his drink to look at him. The young lawyer looked surprised.
"I didn't know he knew German." Kenya says, bewilderingly. "No note of it was made anywhere, even in the notes we got from where he worked. Though I suppose those he could have doctored up if he had the time to do so..."
"I didn't either." Yet another mystery revolving around the man named Yashiro Gaku, the man who had named himself Nishizono Manabu. Why Manabu? It was the same kanji even, as Gaku. So it wasn't like he was really hiding.
He takes another drink, pondering.
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"Nothing."
"Hmm?"
"Nothing. He hasn't said anything since you left. Honestly, I'm surprised he talked at all; he's been dead silent since being captured." The prison psychologist, a man named Takakura Akira, says with a sigh, sitting back against the folding chair. A day had passed and it was Satoru's second day to visit Yashiro. "Though you've a tie to this case..."
He looks away from the man's assessing and piercing gaze, absently straightening out his shirt. Learning to put on his own clothes without assistance had been next on his list. He still needed help with some of the tasks, as he lacked the strength to do it all on his own, but he was making progress.
He looks up as the prison guard-the same from the day before-comes into the small waiting area and he takes the back of Satoru's chair, wheeling him out. He ignores the cries and screams from some of the cells. Most were quiet, eerily so, but a few were rowdy; he wasn't sure which bothered him more. Finally, they get to the back, the lone cell away from everyone else.
The door opens once more and once more he heads into the lion's den.
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He's in a different set of prisoner garb this time; dressed in soft-if inexpensive-white clothes. It made his black hair stand out all the more. And he is reading again. Not from the German book from last time-though Satoru notes it's next to his right side within easy range to pick up if need arised. Instead he is reading from-
Satoru lets out a choked noise as he gets to the table, when he notices what it is that Yashiro has in his hands. Yashiro looks up, a smirk touching the side of his mouth and Satoru flushes.
In that copy of Young Ace was a set of new one shots by veteran and newbie manga-ka's...which included a one shot he had submitted (and been approved.)
"Most of the work is trivial garbage," Yashiro says dismissively, looking down at the large magazine. His voice already sounded much stronger than yesterday. "Trying to appeal with the same flash and lack of substance; breasts, upskirt shots, and a harem of vapid headed girls who all love the same boy."
"But," he says, a gleam in his eye, looking up at Satoru now. "This last work-Jikan to sono jaaku. The protagonist who has to suffer through time, who can only grasp at ever dwindling straws to try and rebuild everything around him. It's atmospheric. It has character. It's special, Spice."
He smiles at Satoru and it hurts to look at it. He hurries to find something to say.
"Why Spice? What is that-" He stops as Yashiro holds up a hand, a hand that clinks with the sound of the metal handcuffs.
"Answer a question of mine and I'll answer one of yours. Only fair. Right, Satoru?"
He looks at Yashiro, no sign of malice or anger or madness in his face. He was an amazing actor, something that he shouldn't forget. Something he wouldn't forget. But he had also seen the complete and utter truth on the man's face, upon that roof. The openness he had never expected to see-the openness that the man had never expected to give.
"Hn." He waits for whatever the man has to ask, braces himself for whatever dark and disturbing thing that could come from his mouth.
Yashiro's smile widens.
"What suckers were your favorites? I was always partial to the cherry."
Satoru stares at him, eyes wide.
Yashiro laughs. And laughs and laughs. No malicious tone...just laughter. He thinks that startles him more than what he actually expected.
"Why Spice? What significance does that have?"
"Ah-ah. You didn't answer my question, Spice."
He flushes again and looks away, pushing up his glasses on his face.
"Cherry too." He says in a sulking tone. "And the grape."
The older man chuckles. "Good boy." He says, sounding pleased. "Thank you."
He ignores the praise-and thanks-moving back to his question. "Spice?" He inquires again.
It's silent for a few moments and he turns to look at Yashiro, who looked lost in thought, one hand on his book.
"It was the name of something special to me as a child." Yashiro finally says.
He waits for more, but nothing is forthcoming. Oh well, that was fine; the other man gave more than he honestly expected him to give, so it was a good a start as any.
"Thank you." He says honestly. Honesty with honesty. That would be the way to learn things from, and about, Yashiro Gaku. That much, he felt, was certain.
Yashiro tries to reach forward, surprising Satoru, but the shortness of the handcuffs stop him. He shows the first sign of frustration Satoru has seen in him since that time on the roof. He grits his teeth for a moment, eyes clenching shut, before he lets out an obviously frustrated breath.
He opens his eyes to look at Satoru and the look in them is-
He's startled by a knock at the door. It opens slowly and carefully.
"Time to go, Fujinuma." The muffled voice was the guard from earlier's.
Yashiro is quiet right until Satoru is nearly out the door.
"Until next time, Spice."
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A/N: My first foray into ERASED/Boku Dake ga Inai Machi, but after watching the anime I just HAD to create a fic. More chapters will be forthcoming. :3 For Yashiro/Satoru especially; there needs to be much more of this pairing! I've loved all the fic for the pairing I've read so far. Even though the fandom is small so far, there are some really outstanding fics and authors already doing an amazing job.
I hope you enjoyed this!
Let me know what you thought!
-PhoenixJustice