Viktor got out of the car first, eyes downcast as he walked around to open Yuuri's door for him. He stood back respectfully, one arm behind his back, as Yuuri stepped out into the bright Japanese sun for the first time in almost twenty years.
He blinked in the light for a moment, looking around at his surroundings with an inscrutable look on his face. Hasetsu was a small oceanside town without much in the way of... anything. Buildings and houses were fairly few in number, and the hill leading up to the castle was covered in trees. The place they'd come to was a small inn, a modest sign over the traditional sliding door announcing its name in Japanese characters. Yuuri made a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt.
"You'd think I'd remember a name as stupid as that," he muttered, reaching into his coat pocket for another cigarette. Viktor cleared his throat.
"You shouldn't smoke so much," he said, and Yuuri gave him a pointedly disinterested look.
"That so?" he said, pulling out his lighter regardless. "You shouldn't smile so much," he rebuked. Viktor grinned despite himself.
"Smiling never killed anyone."
"Tell that to those Finnish idiots we took out last week," he said. "You worry too much. People in our line of work don't usually live long enough to die of lung cancer," Yuuri said, calmly. He put the cigarette to his mouth, his long, slender fingers lingering near his face for a moment too long. Viktor reached out, taking his hand and pulling the cigarette away.
"My job is to protect you so that you do live a long time," he said firmly. "So it's also my job to watch out for your health."
Yuuri gave him a long, cold look, searching his face. Finally, to Viktor's relief, he chuckled. "Ah, you're the only person with the cheek to think you can tell me what to do, Vitya." He surrendered his cigarette, allowing Viktor to crush it under his shoe.
"Like I said, it's my job, Yuratchka."
"And why I keep you around," Yuuri said, walking forward. "But call me Yuratchka in public again, and I can't promise that you won't be punished."
"Wo-w, sounds fun," Viktor said, grinning as he fell into step with his boss. "You'll always be my little Yuratchka, though, Yuuri. Always and forever."
Yuuri came to an abrupt stop and grabbed Viktor by the collar violently, pulling him down to his height.
"Careful there, onii-san," he said softly, his voice next to Victor's ear. "Don't you know how to pick your battles?"
Viktor let out a choked sound, caught off guard, and Yuuri bit down on his earlobe. When he pulled away, Viktor stumbled on his own feet, face flushed, and Yuuri licked the corner of his mouth.
"Mm, that's the face I wanted to see," he said, a mischievous shine in his dark eyes. "A great expression to take with me to the grave, just in case we don't make it out of this one alive."
Viktor gasped to catch his breath, pressing a hand to his ear. "Fo-For fuck's sake, don't do that!"
"Don't do what?" Yuuri asked lightly, resuming his walk down the path toward the inn with his hands in his pockets. "I was merely disciplining a puppy."
"You little-"
"Now, now, Vitya, this is no time for messing around. We have a job to do."
The atmosphere in the inn was painfully tense. From the moment Viktor and Yuuri stepped through the sliding door, their chauffeur not far behind, several things happened in quick succession.
Firstly, a small group of Russians in full suits, sticking out like a sore thumb among the Asian decor, stood up from a table in the corner and bowed solemnly in their direction. Viktor nodded at them slightly, signalling at them to come forward. One tall man with an ugly scar on his right cheek and bright green eyes approached them.
"Roma, the situation," Viktor said without prompting. The man named Roma began to give his report in rapid Russian.
"Their leader hasn't arrived yet, and their side hasn't done anything to provoke us outright," he said. His voice was very gruff and low; it was very much at odds with Roma's figure, which was otherwise rather slender. Viktor had always privately thought that it was like listening to a bear speak through the body of a blonde waif.
"But they're here already?"
"Yes, sir. The place seems to have ties to the group; they started arriving soon after we did." Roma gestured behind them subtly, and Viktor surreptitiously looked over to find several rough looking men wearing colorful jackets standing near the counter. Several of them had prominent tattoos, and many of them were quite burly, but they were shorter than the Russians, for the most part, and Viktor noted with curiosity that some of them seemed to carry what looked like wooden swords and clubs.
"Not very subtle, are they?" he said brightly, pressing a finger to his lips.
In that same moment, one of them seemed to notice Viktor and Yuuri and nudged one of his fellows. A heavy-set Japanese man stepped toward them, and Viktor raised an eyebrow, waiting for the man to speak.
"Nikiforov?" he said in accented English.
"Depends who's asking," he replied.
"No need to ask, we already knew what you looked like," the man snorted.
"My, you all did your homework, didn't you?" Viktor said, unable to contained an amused grin. "Ii, ne. Very good. But it's quite rude to know who we are without revealing your own identity, don't you think?"
"Hmph," the man said, turning his head to spit at the floor. "I'm not important, just the boss's messenger boy."
"Ah, your so-called boss too afraid to show?"
A scowl came over the man's expression. "Watch your mouth, rosuke, if you want to keep that stupid pretty face intact."
Roma made a move to step forward but Viktor held up his hand.
"Ignore it," he ordered. "Well if that's not the case, yaposhka, where is he?" he asked, using his height advantage to leer down at him.
"She is right here."
Everyone turned at once to look at the speaker and found themselves face to face with a very particular woman. Like the other Japanese men, she was dressed in a rather colorful jacket, emblazoned with a tiger, though underneath she seemed to be wearing an odd blue garment that Vitya vaguely recognized as a type of yukata. Her brown hair, dyed at the tips, was pushed away from her face with a diadem, and her ears were covered in piercings. Somehow the effect was striking and severe, especially since she was actually rather tall compared to her companions.
Viktor paused, unsure what to make of her. He looked back to judge Yuuri's expression, but as usual those calm brown eyes betrayed nothing.
"Then the upstart leader is you?" he finally asked.
"Leader, yes. Upstart, no," she said firmly, narrowing his eyes at him. "I am Katsuki Mari, the rightful heir to the Katsuki group. I believe your business is with me, Nikiforov."
"Filthy yaposhka! Go back to where you came from, you fucking weirdo!"
Yuuri shut his eyes tightly and tried to cover his head as best as he could. He whimpered as his body was kicked from all directions, loud, cruel laughter echoing in the cold air around him.
"Stop now!" he cried, but his accent only served to further provoke them.
"Stop now, stop!" they jeered, and Yuuri groaned as a particularly vicious kick was aimed at his stomach. "Listen to him try to speak Russian, he sounds like an idiot!"
"HEY!"
The boys suddenly ceased their taunting and Yuuri opened one eye warily to see a familiar figure hurrying down the alley toward them.
"You fucking assholes!" Viktor shouted, and Yuuri felt his heart lift at the sight of his brother.
"Vitya!" he called, though his voice was lost in the commotion that followed. Though Viktor was older than the bullies, there were more of them, and it quickly devolved into a one-sided brawl that only broke after Viktor managed to draw blood from one of the boys' noses.
"Run!" some of them shouted, and a second later only Yuuri and Viktor were left in the snow, the latter panting heavily, hands on his knees.
"Fuck, stupid brats," he wheezed, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. Once he'd caught his breath, he turned to look at Yuuri.
"Are you okay?!" he asked, kneeling at Yuuri's side. His clear blue eyes were full of concern as his hands reached out to help Yuuri up.
"Vitya..." he sniffled, clinging to Viktor's jacket. Viktor's expression softened and he reached out to gently pat Yuuri's hair.
"It's alright now, I promise." He adjusted Yuuri's scarf and wiped the tears from his cheeks, looking him over for bruises and scratches. He hissed when he found a particularly ugly mark on his arm. "I'll kill 'em next time," he growled, mostly to himself. "Does it hurt anywhere, Yuratchka?"
"Stomach," Yuuri grimaced. "They kick, hurt," he said in his broken Russian. He understood a lot more recently, though his vocabulary was still quite limited. Viktor carefully unbuttoned Yuuri's coat and lifted his shirt to get a quick look. The cold air on his skin made Yuuri shiver violently.
"Crap, that looks bad," Viktor muttered to himself. "Can you walk?"
Yuuri shook his head, feeling faint.
"Okay, onii-san has this," Viktor said, setting his teeth. He lifted Yuuri up over his shoulder, trying to settle his body so that his injuries weren't strained. "Does it hurt like that?" he asked, voice strained with the force of carrying Yuuri's weight.
"No..."
"Okay." He began to walk back the way he'd come, his feet trudging through the snow deliberately. "It's a good thing you're so small," he added, a hint of a smile in his tone. Yuuri closed his eyes, listening to the soothing sound of Viktor's breath as he slowly lost consciousness.
Yuuri had to be hospitalized for a few days due to internal bleeding, and that was the last straw for Mikhail.
"Fucking kids, how dare they?" he growled once Yuuri was put under. He, Katerina, and Viktor were seated around the boy's hospital bed like some odd nativity painting, Viktor holding Yuuri's hand.
"I think they've been bullying him all along," Viktor said, grimacing. "It's my fault for never noticing..."
"It couldn't be helped, you're in a different grade," Mikhail said grudgingly. "Still, why didn't he say anything?!"
"He's always been like that," Katerina said softly. "Yuuri doesn't like to be seen when he's hurting."
"Idiot," Viktor mumbled. "He should just be a cute little brother and come find me when he wants to cry." He stroked the back of Yuuri's hand gently. "He doesn't have to pretend to be strong and hide it."
"I don't think he's pretending," Mikhail sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps he's just not Russian enough. Yet."
Katerina gave a small chuckle. "Dostoevsky was right; Russians truly are overwhelmingly passionate, to a fault."
"Hmph, passion is important for the family business," Mikhail scoffed. "The Bratva relies on the bonds we make with each other, and the emotions that forge those bonds. That's what it means to be brothers. Yuratchka will have to learn that soon enough, if he's to take his place in the ranks. You too, Vitya."
"Yes, Father..."
"In the meantime, I'll be having a talk with the school and the parents involved in this incident," his father said sharply. "No one touches my sons."
"Katsuki... Mari?" Viktor repeated, completely at a loss. Several of the Russians murmured among themselves, and Yuuri made an odd movement, though he didn't step from his spot. "We were told the Katsuki group had no heir; that an upstart had taken control in the past year," he said carefully.
"Ha! I'm sure you would have loved that to be true, Nikiforov," she spat. "I know your people have been wanting to take control of my group for years. You'd dishonor our fathers' ties if it meant you could extend your reach into Japan."
"O-Our fathers?!"
"Don't pretend to be shocked," she said angrily. "Katsuki Toshiya and Mikhail Nikiforov were close, when they were alive. I'm sure you were told that; why else come after us, pakhan?"
Viktor groaned and pressed a hand to his face. "Why do these things always turn out more complicated than we plan?" he muttered. He brushed the hair from his eyes, giving Mari a calculating look. "Well, you're right, we're here because of the ties between my father and Katsuki Toshiya, but not for the reasons you think, Ane-ue."
She seemed shocked that he knew the term used to refer to female leaders in the yakuza.
"You speak Japanese?!"
"Poorly," Viktor grinned. "And there's one other misunderstanding here," he continued. "I'm not the pakhan.
"What?"
Yuuri put a hand on Viktor's shoulder. "That's enough, Vitya. I'll take it from here." He stepped forward, pulling off his glasses. "I wasn't aware that Katsuki Toshiya had a daughter," he said.
"A daughter and a son, by different mothers," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm the only one who survived the incident that killed him and my younger brother, because I wasn't taken into the main family. And you are?"
"Ah, pardon," Yuuri said, nodding thoughtfully. "I am Yuuri Nikiforov, the current head of the Nikiforov Bratva, though I believe you might know me by another name, Ane-ue."
Something about Katsuki Mari's expression as Yuuri spoke made Viktor smile.
Ah, that look when they're caught off guard is identical, he thought, recognizing the wide-eyed look of disbelief and the way her mouth fell open. Though I haven't seen it on Yuuri's face for a while.
He reached into his pocket for his gun and clicked the safety back on. They wouldn't be needing weapons now.
The last thing we expected to find was a sister, but they do look rather alike, don't they? Viktor thought to himself, unable to hide his amusement. The looks on the Katsuki men's faces were priceless. This should be a lot easier now.
"Vitya..."
"Hmm?"
Yuuri had been brought home a few days later, though he hadn't been allowed to leave his bed. Viktor had resolved to keep him company while he recovered, reading to him and playing simple word games to keep him entertained. He had long since grown used to doting on Yuuri, and the younger boy was so quiet and well-mannered that it was rare to see them fight.
"What bratva?" he asked, his brown eyes blinking curiously.
"Bratva?"
"Papa say," he explained. "Lots."
"Ah... hmmmm," Viktor mused for a moment, trying to think of how to explain the word. "Bratva is... me and Yuuri," he finally said.
"Vitya and Yuuri?"
"Mmm. I'm your onii-san, right?" Yuuri nodded. "Well, that's bratva. Siblings."
"Oh." Yuuri looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Papa have lots."
It was such a cute statement that Viktor burst into laughter. "No, no, Yuuri! Bratva as brothers is different from the Bratva! That's the family... You know, the family."
Yuuri frowned, obviously trying to work out what Viktor was saying. "Vitya no sense."
"I guess not, huh," Viktor mused. "Well, I'm sure you'll understand, sooner or later. But first, let's get your Russian up to par, yes?"
Notes:
From here on, bolded portions take place in the past and will set up the backstory for how Yuuri and Vitya got to where they are now. As to their goal in Hasetsu, it will make more sense in the next chapter.
My version of this AU is kinda different from the original, but I hope I'm able to make it justice. Please let me know what you thought at the end!
Translation notes:
1. "Rosuke" and "yaposhka" are both derogatory racial slurs to refer to Russians and Japanese in the opposite language, respectively. They are the mafia, after all.
2. The "Pakhan" is the leader of a Russian mafia group. The "godfather," so to speak.
3. "Ane-ue" is a very respectful term for "older sister." Women in positions of power in the yakuza are sometimes called this, though Yuuri is also using it sarcastically because Mari is his blood related sister.
4. "Bratva" means brothers, but is also used to refer to the mafia.