Bunta smiled around his cigarette as he heard the 86 pull into the drive way. His boy was home.

He waited one minute, two, before frowning. He'd expected Takumi to come in by now. Unless the boy was putting it off. Had he lost? Was he trying to avoid telling his father?

The car door shut a moment later, though, and Bunta heard his son's feet scraping… unusually slow- on the sidewalk.

Ah- so the boy had lost, then. It was surprising, but it had to happen at some point, Bunta assumed. He set aside his newspaper, pouring himself a shot from the bottle beside him. He didn't intend to have Takumi say much- instead, the boy would probably just go up to his room quietly to think about the race.

Bunta started when there was a crash from the kitchen, jumping to his feet and rushing through the doorway to find Takumi on the floor.

"Eh? Takumi?"

His son looked up at him, and Bunta's breath hitched. His son's face was smeared with blood, eyes glassy and confused.

"H-hey Dad." Takumi staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily.

Takumi stumbled forward, and would've fallen had Bunta not caught him, pulling his son into a hug-like position before slinging his son's arm over his shoulder, helping the boy stumble forward and into the living room.

"You get into a fight?" Bunta asked, uncertain. Brawls on the street racing scene weren't unheard of, but it was hard to imagine Takumi being able to drive home in this state.

"N-no." Takumi blinked furiously, as though trying to clear his head. "Dad- I don't feel so good."

"No shit, son, I'm half ready to drag your ass to a hospital." Takumi was normally a spacy kid, but he was acting entirely out of character.

"What? N-no, I'll be fine, s' just I got a lil' banged up is all…."

"You can barely stand." Bunta willed them onwards- it was a painfully slow pace, especially in negotiating the stairs. Takumi couldn't seem to coordinate his movements very well, and he half-dragged the boy up the last few stairs, pulling him into his room and depositing him on the bed as gently as he could, considering his son was mostly dead weight.

Bunta ducked into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and moving back into the room hurriedly, to find Takumi trying to get up.

"Stay down, son." Bunta said curtly, struggling to wipe the dried blood from his face. Takumi blinked stupidly, before nearly succeeding in sitting up, and Bunta placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down….

He was completely unprepared for the sound Takumi made- something between a whimper and a shout of pain escaped his son's lips, and Takumi was left gasping on the bed, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

Bunta's eyes widened. Damn, your chest too? "What happened to you?" Bunta asked, voice losing most of its edge. Takumi didn't answer, simply lying still on the bed, breathing raggedly.

Bunta hesitantly grabbed his son's baggy t-shirt, despite the raspy protests from Takumi, and managed to get it over the boy's head.

He swallowed when he saw the bruising- mottled purple and blue, nearly black hues were appearing on the boy's ribs, and Bunta had a sneaking feeling he knew what'd happened to his boy.

"You crashed." It wasn't a question- it was a statement. Rising dread filled him- it all made sense. Takumi's hesitance to get out of the car, his off demeanor… the kid had crashed the car, and he was banged up. Hurting pretty badly, if not seriously injured….

"I won. I… 'm sorry about the car. I'll fix her… I promise…."

"Damn the car, what happened to you!?" Bunta demanded, weaving his fingers into the hair above his forehead, blinking worriedly.

"I-I'm fine. Just tired, is all…."

Bunta frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're beat to hell, son. Don't you even realize it?"

Takumi blinked stupidly. "I-I don't remember it happening…."

Damn kid didn't even notice. Probably got lost in the thrill of the race….

"Stop talking and just lay still." Bunta said, sighing. It was clear that Takumi wasn't going to be able to give him any insight on what'd happened tonight, and he leaned forward, roughly scrubbing the dried blood from the boy's face.

Takumi blinked dumbly, batting weakly at his father's hand. "Stop, Dad- jus' lemme sleep…."

Bunta sighed, but relented, pulling back. Takumi was pale, save for some bruising above his right eye and a few small cuts on his face, as well as a split lip. They'd talk in the morning, and possibly see about taking Takumi to a doctor, if his injuries got any worse.

The man sighed, looking down at his son in exasperation before switching off the lights and heading down the hall.

What the hell happened to him? Bunta thought, worried. He had a feeling that looking at the 86 would give him a better feeling as to what'd happened to his son, and he found himself in the drive way, inspecting the 86 he'd trusted with his boy's life for the past 5 years.

The left side of the car was scratched to hell, as though it'd been slammed carelessly into a guard rail. The front window of the left side was broken as well, and the rear end was smashed to hell. Bunta paused, breath catching in his throat at the sight.

Takumi's too good a driver to crash into a guard rail, unless… someone pushed him into it. No, more like crashed into him, forced him into it. Sure enough, there were corresponding dents on the doors of the right side of the car. Bunta's fists clenched, and he felt his blood start to boil.

That idiot racer could've killed them both! Who does he think he is, risking my boy on a kamikaze move like that! Takumi must've gotten away, though- the front end would've been smashed to hell if he'd let the guy force him into a crash. And if he had… he'd have been hurt much worse than he is.

Bunta frowned at the thought, paling at the realization. Takumi must've gone evasive and steered into his attacker, throwing them off and allowing him to get free. He must've spun out and slammed the rear into a guard rail, as well. Damn- that boy was in one hell of a race. Bunta sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was more than a little worried at the sight of the car, and what it meant his boy had done. It was a testament to Takumi's skill that he'd gotten out with the injuries he had. He could've been hurt far worse- even killed.

As it was, his son would be sore as hell in the morning. What was that his son had said? Something about fixing the car?

Bunta smirked slightly as he made his way upstairs a few minutes later, finding his son's overwhelming concern for the car amusing. You're my son, alright. He thought to himself.

Still, he found himself pausing and peering in on his son. In the few minutes he'd gone, Takumi had fallen asleep, allowing him to get a better look at the boy.

He brushed Takumi's bangs from his eyes, already seeing the bruising along his left temple, along with the split lip. He must've hit his head on the window pretty hand in order to cause that.

Still, it was the bruising on his chest that worried Bunta the most- it was mottled and painful looking, marring the boy's chest. He watched for a moment to make sure his boy was breathing regularly and without issue before sighing, turning and leaving the room.

Takumi would probably be fine, he mused. Though he'd probably be in pain tomorrow morning, and might need to see a doctor.

I'll do the morning tofu run for him. He needs the rest. Bunta decided, unconsciously running a hand through his bangs. He sighed, wincing internally at the pinched expression on his son's face as he slept. He'd been in a crash or two back in the day, but he'd never been as beat up as Takumi was now. He felt guilty and worried for his son's health. But he had to trust in Takumi's skill as a driver- after all, it'd saved him from more serious injury tonight. Still, as a father, he couldn't help but worry. You're making me go gray before my time, kid.

He headed towards the doorway, pausing for a brief moment to take one look at Takumi. Sleep well, son.


Takumi woke up at six in the morning, wondering why he ached so badly as he peered over idly at the clock beside his bed, feeling as though he were forgetting something.

The morning tofu run! He was two hours late!

He stood, stumbling out of bed and nearly collapsing- every inch of him ached, and he frowned, barely catching himself and gasping for breath as his chest ached.

He frowned, looking surprised to see how bruised he was. Still, he fumbled to pull on a shirt, breath hitching as his chest protested with a burst of sharp pain. Still, he managed to dress himself as staggered downstairs, leaning heavily on the wall and gasping as he stumbled into the wall.

"Dad- then morning tofu delivery…. I overslept, I'm sorry…."

Bunta looked up from his newspaper, surprised. "I did the delivery this morning."

"You… huh?" Takumi frowned, looking confused.

Bunta shrugged noncommittally. "you looked like you needed the rest. How're you feeling, by the way?"

Takumi paused. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, confused.

Bunta frowned. "So you don't remember. You could barely stand when you got home last night. I had to help you to your room. Those bruises on your chest, there was blood all over your face- you must be sore as hell. You need to go see a doctor?"

Takumi frowned, looking down at his chest. Ah, that explained it. I got hurt yesterday- it probably happened when I crashed…. He rubbed his chest gingerly.

Wait… last night… Kisumi… the crash… the 86!

Bunta watched all the color drain from his son's face within the span of two seconds and frowned, forgetting the morning paper as he hurried to his feet. "Takumi?" the boy looked as though he was going to faint.

"The 86!" Takumi was stumbling forward, eyes wide with fear. "Is she alright!? He forced me to crash into the guard rail and I steering back- I spun out, hit the other guard rail- dammit, how badly is she damaged!?" Takumi staggered towards the door, surprised when Bunta caught ahold of his arm.

"Hey. Easy there, son- the 86 is alright. Some badly scratched paint, a cracked window, some dents, and a busted up rear, but it's all cosmetic- she's fine."

Takumi sank to the floor, head in his hands. He let out a heavy breath, sighing in relief. "Thank god. I was afraid she was worse off than I remembered…."

That car sure does mean a lot to you son, doesn't it? Bunta thought, surprised and slightly pleased that his son appreciated the 86 like he did. "The 86 is fine. But you still didn't answer my question, kid. You wanna see a doctor? You're pretty banged up, I wouldn't hold it against you if you did… hell, I'd even drive you…."

Takumi shook his head, getting to his feet. "No, I'm fine, but thanks. I mean… it hurts, sure- but I'll be alright in a few days. Besides, I need to check on the 86…."

"Checking on it is all you'll do, Takumi. You're not to touch that car, fixing it or otherwise, until you're well enough to do tofu deliveries." It was Bunta's way of making sure Takumi took the time he needed to rest, while helping him keep his priorities straight. Not to mention, Takumi's alarm clock might just malfunction for the next day or so and not go off, that way the boy didn't push himself into delivering again just so he could work on his beloved 86.

Racer or not, he was still the boy's father, and he'd make sure Takumi took care of his body before the car anyway. His health was far more important than any race.

Takumi slowly made his way outside, trying not to wince with Bunta present. Only after he was outside did he gingerly rub his chest, letting out a harsh breath. He would be very sore for the next couple of days.

Still, his worry for the 86 outweighed his own discomfort, and he trudged over to the car anxiously- the left side was scratched to hell- one window cracked, some minor dents on the right side, and the rear end was smashed to hell.

"It's all cosmetic. I can fix this up without much of a problem." Takumi spoke aloud to himself, sighing with relief, resting a hand on the hood of the 86 affectionately. 'thank you. You performed well for me last night." He smiled- the 86 was more like an old friend than a car, and he stroked the hood lovingly for a moment before he was pulling away, moving painfully slow over the ground until he made his way back inside.

"Satisfied?" Bunta spoke around his cigarette, looking up from his paper as Takumi came back into the house. Takumi nodded, leaning against the wall. "Yeah. It's all cosmetic. I can fix it…."

"Hm." Bunta nodded, agreeing with his son's assessment. "So- what are you going to do now?"

"I… I think I'll head back up to bed, actually. I'm kinda tired."

Bunta nodded- he thought that was a good decision.

Regardless of Takumi's need for racing and his fanatical attitude for the car, he was still a kid. And Bunta would look after him for as long as he needed to.