AN: Posting this up rather quick, please enjoy.
I can't find my keys. I'm a shame to all kitsunes as I stand weakly before the front door to my house, hand pressed up against the dark grain wood. It's only because I'm pressing up against the side of the house that I'm able to stand before I finally give in. Placing a shaking thumb over the lock on the handle I crush it like tin foil before letting the now busted door swing open. Stumbling up the stairs I slip into my room between the door and its jam before collapsing onto my bed. Never have I felt so safe in my life. Closing my eyes I throw myself headlong into unconsciousness, if only to kill the pain that has clouded my mind this entire time.
Some undetermined amount time later, as I don't have a working clock in my room, remember, I awake to the sound of breathing. It's not my own breathing because its lighter and I can smell the faint aroma of roses. Damn you eyes, why won't you open! It's like somebody has taped them shut as a stupid prank 'cept I can't lift my hands enough to remove it. A freakish amount of concentration goes into opening my eyes and I'm greeted with a view of my very plain ceiling. As far as things to see when you wake up, its one of the better things. The BEST thing to see would be a naked model holding a billion dollars, but I digress. Now is not the time to be thinking of those things.
The breathing in the room quickens and I hear somebody sit up quickly in my desk chair. I know they're in that chair because it creaks loudly as they rush off it and kneel down beside my bed and I give a pained smile. Or I think it's a pained smile. My face isn't working too well. I wonder why... I didn't get it bashed in too much. Or did I? The entire night seems rather hazy and just as I'm about to try and focus on what the hell DID happen I hear a voice I'm very grateful to hear.
"Keichi? Keichi are you awake?" The voice is eager as hell and I try to crack a smile at the out of focus face of my father. Alas all I can manage is a gruesome grimace. "Dammit what the hell happened! I told you to be careful you idiot!"
He sounds angry, sure, but he's crying openly and I feel bad as hell. I shouldn't have taken the job, sure, but I didn't have a choice to begin with. Pressing my head against my pillow my entire torso tilts a little until I can see the wall behind me. Gently I feel the pressure of his weight against the side of my bed and with some trouble I shift enough to see that he's slumped over the side. Head resting on his arms I manage to lift my hand enough to rest it on his head.
"I tried, I really did," I mutter mostly to myself but every breath I take aches like my ribcage has become two sizes too small. "Who did you get… to patch me up?" Every sentence fragment is broken by shallow breaths. I sound like an old asthmatic fat guy. The reply is muffled and my hearing is already ruined from blood loss so I wait politely and repeat my question.
"Who do you think?"
Strangely, that answer really didn't help. I know. Maybe I'm just dense or deaf or just really really hella injured. Deciding it wasn't worth it to ask the question again and get a probably rather scathing reply I instead take a moment to take stock of my situation. Like the morning after an especially brutal bender I slowly sort out my memories. The most clear memory is breaking into my own house, rather clumsily I might add. Rewinding carefully I remember… very little. Kazuma sticks out in my mind and being handcuffed but the rest is tattered shadows. Probing the nothingness between fighting the spirit detectives and returning home I am instead greeting with a blinding headache as the colour gold rips through my vision.
"… Are you alright?" my father asks, knowing he sounds rather silly. He knows damn well I feel like shit but it's one of those automatic questions. Sure, you saw somebody get hit by a car and their shoe went flying off like a freed bird. You can see they're in pain and probably busted up but the first thing you says is 'Are you alright", usually in conjecture with "holy shit!".
"How the hell… did I get home…?"
"How should I know? I wake up this morning to see that a horror movie was filmed in my house. Your blood is everywhere! How badly did you mess this up! I knew I shouldn't have let you go…"
Dad's wringing his hands now, an unstable mixture of worried and furious parent, as he paces across the length of my room. I try and follow him but it only hurts my eyes and I close them, trying to block out the light.
"Can we please… do this later…? I need rest…" I groan. The rhythmic pacing stops but I don't hear my father leave. Instead there's the sound of my office chair creaking as he sits down in it. Any other day I would be nervous having someone in the room with me while I sleep, it's a paranoia thing. Sure, I know he won't steal from me because he's my dad but old habits die hard. It's not just the stealing thing either; I know I'm not a nice, happy sleeper. Last thing I want people to see is me crying for no good reason. I've built a reputation around being a snarky jerkass, news like that could ruin me. This isn't any other day though and so I find comfort in his presence.
One memory comes back to me from the large portion missing of my life and I find it funny that it's not even a new memory. Just a rehash of an old one. Maybe part of my life flashing before my eyes, though it's a little late for that. I survived after all. I keep seeing myself as 5 years old, standing in the doorway while I hear my mother crying. She did that a lot of that when I was a child. In fact there's hardly a memory I have of where she isn't in tears over one thing or another so I find it hardly surprising that she's upset this time as well. Still I remember the door slamming shut on me… and then darkness. Perhaps it's all just my faulty memory. I don't remember a lot of my childhood, I'll admit but I highly doubt anybody remembers their younger years all that well.
After an indeterminate period of time I wake again and my eyes open more readily this time. Light streams in through my window and I realize that either I've napped for a short period of time, or into the next day. Or the day after that. There's no real way to tell. Taking a deep breath I feel my sore and aching ribs press down on my lungs and I release the breath with a low hiss. So much for waking up and feeling all better. Demonic healing or not my injuries were substantial enough to render me almost comatose.
"What happened out there?" I hear my father ask from across the room and I tilt my head ever so slightly so I can catch his figure leaning against my desk. As always it's easy to find him, his brilliant red hair catches the light like a bonfire.
"A lot of stuff, the mission got busted up to hell when the spirit detectives arrived," I groaned, pushing myself up on my elbows and easing into a sitting position. It'd be an understatement to say that every muscle in my body hurt. Most of the damage seems to be situated on my legs and I lift my bedding cautiously to see the damage. Layers of bandages and gauze wrap up my legs all the way to hem of my boxer shorts. A hiss escapes from between my teeth as the shadow of my father falls over my lap.
"When I found you your legs had been pretty much shredded and haphazardly patched up using ice to seal the wounds. Needless to say there was some damage," he drawls and I wince, letting the sheets fall back down to hide the view. Last thing I want to do is think about what it looks like under all the gauze. "So explain, start from the beginning. Like, oh I don't know, tell me why on earth you decided to become a criminal."
"You're just going to get angry."
"A little late for that, Suekeichi. So start from the beginning and maybe I won't turn you into Koenma right now," He threatens and I back down immediately. Anybody who knows my father knows just how terrifying he can be and the last thing I want to do is try and take him on. Wilting like cooked spinach I sigh and begin to explain the whole ordeal. How I helped an assassin steal a weapon that might or might not destroy the world, got caught by the Spirit Detectives, fought off a class mate and a friend of my father and… well that's about it. The rest is missing. I remember rather distinctly ice shards ripping at my legs and passing out from blood loss. And then I remember breaking into my own home.
"You expect me to believe you have amnesia?" my father frowns and I sigh. I know exactly how it sounds, all too convenient. "So why do all of this? You're not a dumb kid so why on earth did you decide to be an idiot!" He's frustrated. It's hard to tell, he doesn't really lose his composure to anger or anything, but there are simple hints. A glint of gold in his eyes, a clenched jaw, those are the easy hints. It's harder to note the deepening of the voice, the way his steps become slower, heavier with his deliberation.
"It's because… because of ma," I mutter under my breath, calling her by the familial term even though it sounded rusty and forced. There's a silence between us that makes me nervous until I finally clear my throat. Still, he beats me to speaking.
"This is about Arisa. How dumb do you think I am?" he crosses his arms over his chest angrily. Wincing I begin to slide back under my covers, longing to pull them over my head and go back to sleep but I know I can't. I'm a coward but I know when running will just get me gunned down.
"I didn't say I did it FOR her. I did it because of her," I snap, feeling backed into a corner. Backing off my father still doesn't let his arms drop from his chest but he does at least stop glaring. "The assassin… they know where her tree is and there were gonna cut it down. They had planned on threatening you but got us mixed up."
"And… what? I can handle myself you know. In fact I'm pretty sure your mother could handle herself too!"
He's not angry anymore, he's more confused. Giving an exasperated sigh he takes a seat next to my bed as I scowl down at my sheets. Just once I'd like a thank you. It's not like I don't know what I did was dumb, it was just the best option at the time. This is what I get for thinking of others. I get injured, berated and my entire life might be over. So much for being the good guy.
"Keichi… you can't keep doing this. Reckless behavior isn't good for anybody, least of all you. What happened to have a peaceful year? It's not too much to ask for is it?" he sighs, letting his head tilt back to stare at my ceiling, like he can't even bring himself to look directly at me anymore. "I can't take my own son to the hospital. This type of stress can't be good for me." He's not so much talking to me anymore, he's just lamenting to himself. I don't like when he does this, I get the impression that I become something akin to furniture at this point. Without another word he stands up and replaces the chair under my desk. He pauses at my bedside and places a hand on my head. Maybe it's just me but he seems heavier than usual. It's like I can feel the weight of his responsibility upon the crown of my head and he heaves a sigh of truly epic proportions.
"If only your mother was here," he sighs before leaving, his hand lagging behind and it leaves me reluctantly. The door clicks shut behind him as he leaves me alone and I find myself left feeling bitter. I don't see why I need my mother in this equation, I've done just fine without her.
My memories of her are faded, as I stated earlier, but I know enough from what I can piece together from fragmented images and stories from those around her. Perhaps I'm just jaded that she suffered from severe psychosis after my birth. Don't get me wrong I don't blame myself, I blame her for not being strong enough to over come it. Petty, yes, but I've never admitted to being anything better. Sure, what I did was dumb but my father would have done the same thing to save her life and I know he knows it. That's probably why he hasn't turned me in yet.
Which bring up an interesting point. I'm damn sure that that idiot Kuwabara figured out who I am, in fact I know he did. I admitted to being my father's son and all that. Why wasn't the door to my house being busted down? Why aren't I being brought in to answer for my crimes? Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth I just want to know how fast I need to heal, just in case I need to make a break for it. I'm exhausted all over again, who knew thinking could be so exhausting.
I can't quite tell when I fell asleep as my own life seems to transition neatly into dreams. A small memory comes back to me, of the assassin. After the fight, I think it's after the fight, the Kuwabaras are nowhere to be found, I laid out on the grass while the blood loss attempted to wrest consciousness away from me. Then as I blinked they appeared above me, their dark mass filling my vision and I think humorously to myself that they could be mistaken a grim reaper. Some death vision. Sharply she shoves the sword I'd stolen into my weak arms and tells me I need to deliver the item to a friend of their family for safe keeping. I argue that I can hardly stand, let alone run but I regret the retort instantly as they seals the wounds on my legs shut using ice. There's another fun threat against my life, my father's life, my mother's life and just about anybody else I've ever known.
I wake up after realizing that the pain in my legs in the dream wasn't from the dream. Groaning I roll to my side then regret it instantly, feeling my ribs groan in protest. Having heard the noise in my room I hear a small knock on the door, though my father comes in right after, negating the whole knocking thing. It must be another day, he's dressed in different clothes and there's a bowl of rice in one hand, the chopstick pinned against the rim. After delicately placing it on my computer table he casts me a glance that I can't quite place.
"Listen… for what it's worth… I'm sorry," I sigh, sliding my throbbing legs over the side of my bed before rolling up the pants legs and tearing off the gauze. The cuts were not as deep as I remembered, they were healing over quickly. Its times like this I don't hate being a demon.
"I know," he replies quietly, tossing me a new roll of bandages that I catch clumsily. My coordination is off and I realize that if the spirit detectives were going to choose now to take me in I wouldn't stand a chance.
"Who did you get to patch me up?" I groan, easing carefully onto my feet before immediately dropping back to my bed with a growl. Okay, not so ready to stand yet. But I was close, with any luck I'd be back at school soon enough.
"Same as always, he left you some stuff on your desk," he says, bringing over the bowl of rice to me and I take it gratefully. I'm starving. Shoveling my first bite into my mouth greedily I note that it's rather plain, just a sprinkling of rice wine vinegar for flavour but I prefer it that way. No need to ruin perfectly good rice with all sorts of sauces.
"So am I grounded?"
Having food settle in my stomach helps the return of my usual sense of humour but my father seems hardly amused as he sits at the base of my bed. He doesn't look to me immediately but gazes as the floor before shaking his head.
"Not now. Right now I'm just glad I haven't lost my son. We'll discuss punishments later."
Caught off guard he suddenly pulls me into an embrace, face buried into the top of my head, hands clutching hardly at my shoulders. Still, I don't shrug away or complain about being sappy. I'm not ashamed to admit I find comfort in this hug. I hear it often at school that nobody would miss me if I died but I know it's not true in this moment. Forgetting my lack of memory for the time being, if you can do such a thing, I just sit still and breathe deep the scent of my father, a fine mix of wet soil, roses and crushed moss.
It's another day until I can stand and walk well enough to go school. I wake early and eat my toast in the kitchen while my father finishes off his cereal and packs his briefcase. With a wish for a good day at school he leaves, eager to be at the community college early to set up the latest lab for the class. I thought my memory might return with more sleep but there is still nothing. My reflection in the window is a sorry sight, my uniform for once neatly buttoned closed, hiding as many bandages as possible but the few on my face still stand out. Sighing, I pull my eye patch out of my breast pocket and run a thumb over the thing. It's made of thick raw silk, a dark green that matches its sister eye and I remember fondly when I made it, stitching the little white x near the bottom. Tying it over my face I check everything over before placing my dish into the sink and leaving, careful to lock the door behind me.
Every walk is slow and awkward and the sunlight is a little too harsh for me. You might recall that I have two perfectly good eyes and this is indeed true, under the patch my left eye is still in its socket. When I was a kid, and a dumb one at that, I injured the eye with a letter opener, it's a long story. I won't go on about it, as I have far better things to do with my time but lets just say that it healed over just fine. Well fine enough, no matter how hard I tried when shape shifting the blasted eye is always a fox eye. This would give my whole being human ruse up kinda quickly, so hence the eye patch. I've made a game of making up how I "lost" my eye, telling a new story every time somebody asks. You'd think somebody would get wise about it.
Class looks the same as it was before I left and I explain to my teacher that I couldn't be in class due to being horribly injured in an accident on my bike. I know she hates me but she can't argue with the proof. Muttering something about how I probably just got my sorry ass kicked deservedly by other students I shrug and take my seat. Next to me the desk is empty and I frown. Blue hair hardly seems the type to miss class, he's a nerd to the highest cliché. Not so much worried as just curious I wonder if he's out hunting me and the assassin down. Maybe coming to class wasn't the right thing to do. I'm a sitting duck here.
Worry disappears though as on my way to P.E class I see Midori and I can't help but say that she looks like shit. Her skin looks like a bad water colour painting it so blotchy and her eyes have puffed up like she's been crying for weeks. Maybe she has. Still it's unsettling to see any expression besides ass kicking fury on her and despite myself I'm too curious not ask why.
"So where's your friend? Shouldn't Blue-san be sitting next to me, ignoring me in class and keeping you from killing me?" I ask nonchalantly but I shouldn't have. Immediately she bursts into loud heavy cries in the empty hallways as class starts without us. Before I can react she's grabbing onto me, hands digging into my shoulders with a sort of desperation I haven't felt since my father this morning. It's the hands of somebody afraid of loss. I can't speak, hands up in the air like a criminal being held up by the police as she hugs me, crying into my collar.
"Jeeeeesus Midori, what the hell is amatter with you?" I ask a little too loudly, eager to leave. Her first response is muffled by my clothes but she seems to figure it out and takes a deep breath, pushing her face just a bit away.
"It's S-s-samui!" she sobs, wringing her hands, "We.. were… he got hurt. Very badly hurt, he hasn't woken yet!"
I'll admit I'm surprised. Must have been that assassin who really messed the kid up. After all, I remember having my ass kicked by the damn half demon and his father before I blacked out so obviously I couldn't have hurt him.
"What the hell were you doing that he got hurt that badly? Testing our your latest fighting techniques again him?"
I feign innocence easily enough as she finally removes herself from me. She's a wreck like I've never seen before. Swallowing dryly she just shivers to herself as she wraps her hands around her perfect hips and takes gasping, sobbing breaths. More curious to get the information I'm missing than anything else I motion for her to take a seat on the floor and she does so gratefully, knees buckling under her. With great strain I manage to half fall, half slip onto the floor without tearing open the wounds on my legs.
"How pathetic is it… that I… I'm talking to you?" she asks me, wiping her nose off on the back of her hand.
"I'm better than nobody. So why don't you explain just what you wild kids were up to," I motion for her to continue her story with a wave of my hand.
And explain she does. Words come gushing out of her like a broken faucet and I sit there stunned for a second as she rattles off her story like a machine gun on auto fire. She'd stolen her dad's pocket communicator and joined the Spirit Detectives, dragging Blue-san along with her rather eagerly and combined the four of them, the kids and their father, were sent after me and the assassin. What a lovely thing for those rookies to deal with. Also ironic that Urameshi and Kuwabara were having to take down yet another thieving Minamino now that I think about it. Hah, isn't the universe just so damn funny? Or not.
The assassin fight sounded like a tough one, with lots of firing the spirit gun off at random directions and hoping that that certain shadow housed the minute little killer and the large boom I remember that allowed me time to run away for a little bit, before being caught by Kuwabara, was caused an overcharged spirit gun shattering a tree. They were knocked unconscious by the assassin in the confusion and curiously spared. Not their usual M.O I would guess and I want to tell her how damn lucky she is but I know it'd blow my cover. I'm not that dumb you know, so… puh-lease. By the time they regrouped Kuwabara was attempting to get his son so wake up but could barely touch the half breed for the cold aura that surrounded him. Somehow, she didn't explain well enough just how, they got him to the Spirit Realm and he was undergoing treatment… but no progress was being made.
It all made sense now! I was nearly killed; the assassin had rushed over from the other fight, saved me and somehow royally messed up the mutt and his father. Perfect explanation for it. So why am I so uncomfortable with it? Somewhere deep down I get the feeling that despite all my logic and justifications I had something to do with. The story is still over but we sit quietly, the tip of her battered sneaker touching the tip of my cross trainers. If I had nothing to do with why do I feel so damn guilty?
"How did you get busted up?"
"Huh?" I look up at her and she points to my face.
"Who kicked your ass, I want to thank them," she states plainly and I give a terse smile, preparing my explanation before looking off, the expression dropping from my face like a lead balloon.
"I just got busted, that's all." I mean it in both sense of the word. Let it never be said I don't feel guilt, I sure as hell do I'm just better than most at ignoring it. Somehow I can't shove this back and there's this nasty little nagging voice at the back of my head, a sly inner self that seems to purr it's all because of you and you knooooow it even though I can't explain how I'd ever get a comeback from my legs being julienne-d like a bowl of green beans. A quick glance at my watch lets me know there's only another 20 minutes in gym but even now I know what I gotta do.
"Well that's a shitty story," she complains but I shrug.
"Hey, can you do a favour for me?" I ask and she pauses, wary. "It won't take long. I just want you to deliver something to my father for me. If you don't mind. I have… something to do after school and just gotta get a note to my father."
She doesn't mind, but she has to be off to see Blue-san as fast a possible, she heard that he might be getting better. While she rattles off about how it's sad that she had to spill her guts to me and everything I pull out a piece of sheet paper and carefully pen a note to my father. I don't want to mention any of my crimes in it, in case she peeks.
I'm taking responsibility for my actions; I probably won't be home tonight and expect a call. Sorry for doing this but I have little choice. You can ground me when I come back. Food in the fridge.
I sign it quickly and fold it four times before handing it over.
"You know where my house is right?" I ask and she nods her head.
"I've been in school with you for ages and always wanted to beat you up. Of course I know where you live," she states taking the note from me before giving me yet another surprise hug. I'm not used to this much friendly contact. Even at home the closest my father and I usually get is leaning a shoulder against the other while watching T.V. My mother certainly was never one of the "huggy" types and Kai always treated me more like an adult. We'd only shake hands or pat each other on the back.
Wait… how the hell does what she's said justified knowing where I live? Oh of course, she must have stalked me a few times to get a feel for my route home. So she could beat me up. Of course. Wow do I feel safe. Feeling immeasurably heavy I carefully push myself off the floor using the nearby lockers for support before stretching my arms.
"Hope Blue-san gets better, I need to crush him in debate first," I state loudly before walking off, leaving Midori with my letter.
As I head through the halls I'm stopped near the doors and in the main office by a gentle tug on my sleeve. I glance down to see a meek girl I remember only vaguely from being in my class. She's a small thing, about the size of a child but around my age. She's hard to remember as her hair always covers one half of her face with a white streak of a bang and her electric blue eye stares at me. Surprised I attempt to jerk my sleeve out of her finger pinch but she doesn't relent. What was her name again? I've forgotten, I'm so bad at remember names.
"Please, don't do it," she implores and I stand there confused. Don't do what.. turn myself in? Fearing that she's figured me out I then notice that I'm near the exit of the school. Laughing out loud a little and surprising her I rationalize that she's trying to get me to not skip the rest of school.
"Bah, shove off. I'm too good for this school anyhow," I state with my usual arrogance and finally wretch myself away from her. Leaving I don't turn back to see her. No wonder I don't take notice of her in school, she's a creepy little shrinking violet.
Outside the gates of the school I take a deep breath. I'm going to turn myself in myself in for my crimes. A simple enough goal. Maybe if I'm lucky I get off on parole with my father if I manage to catch the damn assassin. Well that should be easy right?
Heh, well what do you know? Like father like son. Though my father was a far more noble man than I, I just want to assuage my guilt, if only a little. Not even sure what to be guilty of, I head off to ruin the rest of my life for stupid selfish reasons. Just another day you could say.
AN: And that's it, my apologies to not responding to reviewers, I'll get around to it soon, for this chapter and the last, please let me know how I'm doing and your opinions and such. It's been hectic lately, but I hope a quick update will make up for it, maybe?
