A/N: I know I need to be working on my other stories, and I will. But I've recently gotten back into Bakugan (the original series), and I saw that there were very few fanfics of the show, which is really sad, because it is totally underrated. And like 90% of them are OC or Reader inserts, which makes it difficult when you want the main characters to be...well the main characters.

ANYWAYS, I hope you enjoy the story. It's been a while for me, so please lemme know if any of the characters are OOC or anything like that. This is set sometime after the Gundalian Invaders arc but before Mechtanium Surge, since I haven't watched that season all the way through.

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think of it!

...

Shun took a deep breath as he scaled the steps to his grandfather's dojo, keeping a wary gaze for any traps that could have been set up in his absence as he took in the last rays of the setting sun. A tiny, closed-lip smile broke free from his stoic facade at the idea of dangerous, semi-deadly traps hidden along the walkway. Grandfather always loved his surprises, especially if it meant reliving his glory days as a revered ninja master and scaring any poor soul that would dare intrude upon his home.

It had been six months since Shun and the other Bakugan Battle Brawlers had left Earth for Neathia, where they fought against the Gundalian invaders. So much had happened in that time, and it felt strange to the young ninja to be back on home soil.

Queen Serena had held a ceremonial banquet the night before the brawlers left, where she granted them, as well as Princess Fabia and Ren Krawler, medals of honor for their service. Shun fingered his absently as he shadowed down a familiar hallway of the dojo.

His was gold with a large emerald embedded in its center as a tribute to his status as a Ventus brawler. Having changed back into the clothes he wore before leaving earth and with his Castle Knight uniform neatly packed in his satchel, the medal thumping lightly against his chest was the only physical reminder of Neathia on his person.

A low swiping sound was the only warning he received, and Shun ducked just in time to miss the bamboo bo staff that whooshed where his head had been. Shun twisted out of the way as the staff came back down. The young ninja rolled his amber eyes and flipped back and into a fighting position, slipping a kunai into his palm.

Even though he knew who it was, he had been trained to be ready in case it wasn't who he thought. But this time, he was right.

"Grandpa! Grandpa, it's me!"

The short, old ninja blinked and rubbed his eyes, holding his staff in a resting position. Shun stood and pocketed his blade.

"Shun! You're back! Finally!" the elder exclaimed and wrapped the younger in a sturdy hug around the middle, much to his surprise. The height difference also became very apparent. Shun didn't remember being head and shoulders taller than his caretaker. He had been gone longer than he thought.

His grandfather stepped back and clamped the teen's arms as he sized him up with a critical eye.

"As much as I don't like you playing that Bakugan game, I'm glad you've been able to do something good with it."

That was the closest thing to a compliment his grandfather had ever said to him, and Shun was slightly amused that it took a war on another planet to gain his approval of brawling, or at least, to get the old man to warm up to the idea.

"Now, go get cleaned up, and then you can tell me what you've been up to over a hot cup of green tea. And you better not leave out any details!" he gruffed out at the end, as Shun shouldered his bag and started to walk back down the hall.

The teen hid a wry grin as he replied, "Yes, Grandpa, I'll tell you everything. Missed you too."

Shun listened to the almost silent patter of his grandfather's feet, presumably heading to the kitchen to make tea, as he made his way back to his bedroom. It would be nice to have a quiet room for once.

On Neathia, he was always on alert, listening to the sound of guards patrolling outside and waiting to do his own morning rounds. He'd also had to put up with Jake blasting his music as his own way of unwinding, which did the exact opposite for the ninja, because the walls weren't exactly soundproof. Occasionally Dan would come into his room in search of company when things got tough and he needed his best friend, and like a true friend, Shun was willing to sacrifice a little sleep for the Pyrus brawler.

So Shun allowed himself a deep sigh of relief when he finally stepped into his own bedroom, longing for the serene tranquility it offered. The war was over now, and he could rest at last. Shun unpacked, and it didn't take long, since his belongings were sparse. He hung up his Castle Knights uniform in his closet and set all of his weapons in their designated places.

His medal he placed on his nightstand, next to two pictures—one of the original six Battle Brawlers with their bakugan and the other of his grandfather, mother, and himself. Amber eyes lingered on the second photo before he tore his gaze away, locking his solemn thoughts away.

He knew he should probably take a shower before returning to his grandfather, but at the moment he couldn't help but flop back on his bed and soak in the feeling of being home. His weary muscles and stressed mind relaxed, and slowly his breathing became deeper and longer. For the first time in half a year, Shun fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

"Shun? Boy, where are you?" his grandfather asked as he gently rapped on the bedroom door before letting himself in. Old eyes widened in surprise at the teen asleep on top of his bed, and the old ninja's gaze softened. It looked like catching up would have to wait.

Osamu Kazami was no fool. Though his eyes weren't what they used to be, he was still far more perceptive than most adults half his age. He had seen the weariness in his grandson's eyes and the stare of someone that had returned from battle reflected in them.

It had become clear to him that this bakugan business was more than just a game. People on other planets were using these strange creatures to fight actual wars. His grandson had been a part of several very real conflicts that were never his battles to begin with.

He had tried to keep Shun out of the game after his mother passed, and while he resisted at first, the boy had grown to accept his new life and embrace the way of the ninja. The only exception had been Skyress, a bakugan that had been his mother's parting gift, and Osamu would never take that last piece of her away from him.

But then, his friends had come here to find him and pull him back. Shun had initially refused, but Dan and some blond weirdo with funky sunglasses showed up, and for a reason the older ninja still didn't quite comprehend, Shun returned to the game. And no force on this earth would stop him this time.

From then on, things had only escalated, from disappearing into another dimension to intergalactic war, and he could only pray that the skills he taught him would keep his boy alive. Seeing Shun passed out from pure exhaustion only solidified his thoughts on how dangerous this new life was and how much it was taking its toll on him.

Shun was seventeen now. He should be worried about going to college or getting a girlfriend, not fighting wars with creatures that, from what the teen had described, were gigantic and powerful. All of his ninja training would do him no good if a monster of that size got its claws around him.

But for some reason, Shun trusted those beasts to stay true to the rules of the game, but Osamu never would as long as the possibility was there without some sort of proper safeguard.

A sharp knock at the front door pulled the man from his thoughts, and brown eyes narrowed beneath his bushy eyebrows. He couldn't think of anyone that would be coming to the dojo so late. Martial arts lessons were held in the morning and early afternoon, which meant that whoever had come was either an intruder or one of Shun's annoying friends. Osamu chuckled. Either way, it meant a good scare.

The old ninja found a perch on one of the rafters overlooking the main entryway and unsheathed his bokken, taking a moment to adjust his grip on the familiar wooden sword. The door swung open slowly, and he prepared himself to lunge at the intruder. But just as he was about to jump, the stranger turned and looked directly up at his hiding place. Osamu gasped.

"Ichiro?" he breathed, as if the man staring up at him was a phantom about to be blown away.

"Hey, Dad. I'm home."

Osamu dropped from his perch and held up his wooden sword, not trusting his eyes or ears for a single moment as he carefully stepped closer to the intruder.

The man before him certainly looked like his son. Jet black hair cropped short and chocolate brown eyes. He was tall and well built, and he held himself in a way that suggested that he was trained to fight. He had a small, timid smile, and his eyes glistened with both knowledge and amusement.

"Going blind in your old age, Dad? I thought you said your eyes wouldn't dim till you were well over a hundred and thirty."

The bokken slipped out his hand and clattered on the hardwood floor. The old ninja shuffled up to the man and hesitantly placed his hands on the other's arms, feeling to make sure he was really there. Old hands cupped the now known stranger's chin and brushed a thumb across his cheek. Osamu gripped the man tightly.

"Ichiro...my son. Oh, my son!" he exclaimed as he wept on the man shoulder's, and Ichiro returned the hug fiercely. But for the sake of their pride, they didn't remain that way long.

Osamu huffed and adjusted his glasses as he regained his stern composure, and Ichiro found himself doing the same. They were shinobi after all. Concealment of thought and emotion was second nature to them, but the younger struggled to hide his enthusiasm about something. Osamu, on the other hand, frowned.

He had almost offered his son the tea he had made for Shun and himself when he was reminded about the other occupant of the house. It also reminded him about a great many other things that had been locked in his memory for several years. He couldn't let his grandson see what was about to happen, so he motioned to the front door that was left open.

"We will speak outside."

Ichiro tilted his head curiously, "Why?"

Osamu narrowed his eyes in a challenging glare, and the younger man was quick to comply. Some things never changed.

The two shinobi stepped out on to the front porch, both of them seamlessly dodging the small barrage of spikes launched at them.

Ichiro laughed, "You know, you really need to update your security."

"I doubt you returned after so long just to tell me that," he gruffed in reply. The younger man sighed at his father's frown.

"Listen, Dad, I—" Osamu held up a hand to stop him.

"Seventeen years," he said slowly, "without a phone call or even a letter. There wasn't a single sign telling me that you were all right or where you had gone. Nothing."

"I sent messages to Shiori whenever I could. Surely, she told you!"

"Shiori is dead!" he exclaimed, "She's been dead for the past five years!"

Ichiro felt like his heart had stopped, and all he could do was breathe out a whispered, "What?"

"Five years ago, she succumbed to the sickness of her people. You left without a trace or a reason many years before that. If you had been here, then maybe she could have survived."

Ichiro slumped against one of the wooden pillars lining the porch and buried his head in his hands. Choked sobs escaped in muffled intervals as he shook his head back and forth denial.

"No, she can't be...I don't believe it! I don't believe you! Where is she?!"

"She is buried where we first found her. I thought it was a fitting place."

Ichiro clamped his eyes shut and bit his lip in an effort to hold back the emotional breakdown he was experiencing. This was not how he envisioned his return would go.

"I...I'm too late. I finally found it, and I'm too late," he gasped and sunk to his knees. The Kazami patriarch knelt beside him in confusion.

"Found what?"

~~~~~~~

Shun stirred and muffled a stiff groan as wakefulness claimed him. He didn't mean to fall asleep that quickly, but he really needed the extra rest. He could only hope that his grandfather would understand.

With silent stealth that came from years of training, the young ninja padded down the empty halls towards the kitchen, placing his feet in just the right places to avoid setting off any traps. But once he finally arrived, he was surprised that Grandpa wasn't waiting for him.

On the counter sat a ceramic teapot and two matching cups. A quick check of the pot revealed it to be full of lukewarm tea. That was the first sign that something wasn't right. Grandpa would never leave his tea unattended long enough for it to cool down. He had only been asleep for an hour or two at most, so what could have gone wrong?

Amber eyes narrowed, and Shun closed them, listening for any sounds suggesting things weren't right in the Kazami household. But all was quiet. Too quiet.

Shun flitted back upstairs to his room without a sound, all of his senses on high alert. With practiced ease, he pulled his katana off of its display above his dresser and secured the sheath to his side before strapping on a bandolier of kunai beneath his shirt.

If it was just a case of Grandpa doing something and forgetting to check the tea, then Shun wouldn't look too out of place. But if something really was wrong, then he would be ready.

He quietly left his room and propelled himself up into the rafters of the dojo. He ghosted from beam to beam until he was looking over the main foyer. A thoughtful frown graced his pale features when he noticed the open door and the sound of voices outside.

He couldn't make out any individual words from his high perch, but he could tell one of the voices was his grandfather. He had no idea who the other voice was, and that made him even more suspicious. Grandpa never just entertained guests in the middle of the evening. Shun ventured closer to the door, sliding down a beam and waiting just within hearing range but also out of sight.

"She would have wanted to be buried there. It was her favorite spot," the stranger stated, and Shun could barely make out a grunt of agreement from his grandfather.

"Yes, but now that you are caught up on the matter, it is time for you to go."

"What?!" the other demanded, and Shun felt his grip on the katana tighten. "But I only just got back! I've been gone for so long—"

"Yes, you have," Grandpa interrupted, "You abandoned your family for something I told you would never solve the problem. She needed you, not a miracle cure! Do you have any idea how difficult it was to watch that? To watch her suffer from an abandonment she didn't understand?"

"I didn't abandon her! I was trying to save her! I thought I had more time, and I didn't think it would have taken this long!"

"Well, it did, and you left your wife to raise a child on her own, only for her to die, leaving me to raise a boy that could have almost been considered an orphan because of you."

Shun's eyes widened in shock, and he pressed himself against the wall with his free hand covering his mouth to hide his gasp. He felt his knees quake, but he forced himself to remain strong as he strained to hear the rest of the conversation. He had missed part of it in his surprise, but he was quick to tune back in.

"No, you may not," his grandfather replied sternly, and the teen cringed internally at the amount of displeasure in his voice.

"As far as he knows, you are dead, and I'm inclined to believe it would better for him to keep thinking that. With the amount of trouble you've stirred in you pointless quest, it would probably be safer for him not to know."

The stranger spluttered indignantly, "You can't keep me from him! He's my son!"

"And you are mine! So you will do as I say!"

Shun slid to the ground, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword and the other tugging at his hair. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He clamped his eyes shut as tears threatened to spill.

"You will stay as far away from him as possible. You will not dare drag him into whatever game you are playing. I won't lose anyone else."

"And what about me? You're willing to sacrifice me to keep your twisted sense of normalcy."

Shun heard his grandfather scoff, "Things haven't been normal for some time, not since those blasted cards fell from the sky."

"The Bakugan," the other awed, "creatures like the one that Shiori brought with her."

"Yes, and it appears that her son has the same affinity with them as she did."

"And I'm guessing you tried to keep him away from it?"

"From the game kids have turned it into, yes, but not from the one she brought with her. That little green ball was the only thing he had left of her, and not even I am that heartless."

"Glad you can draw a line somewhere," he spat and turned away, not that Shun could see him move from his huddled position.

"There's more going on than either of us realize," the stranger continued, "I'll keep my distance for his sake, not yours. But I still have the cure with me. I don't know enough about her illness to know if it was hereditary, but if it is...I won't watch my son die too."

Amber eyes snapped open, and Shun grit his teeth in determination. His father, the man he thought he would get the chance to see, let alone speak to, was just outside. The teen stood to his feet and clenched his free hand into a fist. His grandfather will not deny him this, the chance to see his father's face for the first time.

With a deep breath, he turned and stepped out on to the porch, startling the two men. His eyes instantly trained on the stranger, soaking in every inch of his face, and he could tell the man was doing the same to him.

The stranger was tan, like Grandpa, with short, black hair and eyes a shade or two darker than his own. Dressed in a casual button-up and jeans, he was a stark contrast to the slightly more traditional outfits they were wearing, but the leather satchel slung over his shoulder looked very similar to the one in Shun's bedroom. Coffee brown eyes flickered to the katana strapped at the teen's side before they returned eye contact.

"Grandpa, who's this?" He needed to hear it. He needed the confirmation to be spoken out loud to prove he wasn't going crazy with his own conclusions.

Osamu sighed deeply and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Shun," he began slowly, "this is Ichiro Kazami,...and he's your father."

...

A/N: And that's it for chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it. I know you probably have a lot of questions about what's going on, but all in good time. If you want to ask, feel free to comment or PM me on instagram.

Btw, did you know that Gramps doesn't have an actual first name in the original show? I tried to look him up, but all that came up was literally "Grandpa Kazami." So I had to give him a name, and after some research, I chose:

Osamu, meaning discipline or study.

Shun's dad isn't even mentioned in the original series, so I only had the name they gave him in the new series to work with. I haven't watched the reboot (mainly because it's geared towards a younger audience), so I doubt his personality will be anything like it is in the new show.

Btw, Ichiro means first son, clear, or bright.

Shun means speed, a moment, instant, or blink.

Shiori means guide, bookmark, weave, or poem.

And finally, Kazami means wind or progress.

So just a little background info I found interesting that I wanted to share. Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Thanks for reading!!!