For They Shall Be Filled
By:
Vain
__________________________________________________________
Sinister: I'm afraid that Vain has been confined to a—um—body cast and is therefore unable to do the disclaimer.
Kaiser: Yes, which means, you useless simpletons, that Vain owns nothing
and is earning nothing from this, so shut up, read, and review.
Remy: Anybody ever tell you dat you
got anger issues, cher? *looks
around* Ou est-ce que Ken et
Wormmon?
Kaiser: *laughs manically* Ahahahahahahahahaha!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~"A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, weeping, and
great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted,
for they were no
more."
-Matthew 2: 18
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Rika Ichijouji was
terrified. She had reached a fear
beyond tears, beyond words, beyond reaction. The only thing she was capable of doing at that moment was breathing,
and she wasn't even managing that right now. At least, that's how it looked to Wormmon.
The rookie digimon
stared out of the Ken's cracked bedroom door and watched Mrs. Ichijouji pace
frantically.
Ken had told his
mother that he would be home late after soccer practice, but he had never said
how late. Now, it was nearly 8:30, the
sun had set, it was pouring outside, and Mrs. Ichijouji was thirty seconds from
a full-blown panic attack.
Ken's father
walked up behind her and gently rubbed her arms. The man's voice was soft and soothing,
barely detectable to Wormmon's sensitive hearing. "It'll be alright, honey. Ken's a very bright boy. I'm
sure he's fine. He just lost track of
the time, that's all."
Mrs. Ichijouji
pulled away violently and crossed her arms over her chest. She went to stare at the driving rain
through the window, her voice shrill with tears and cracked with pain. "But what if he's not fine, Tsuyoshi?! What if he's been kidnapped or, even worse,
run away again? We don't even know what
happened to him the first time, and now . . . He might not come back this
time. I can't deal with this
again! I cannot lose another son!"
Wormmon sighed and
closed the door softly. His
magenta-tipped feet clicked quietly as he crawled up Ken's bed. Once on top, he curled up in the center of
the bed and turned doleful eyes to the door to await his master's return.
No . . . not
master. Ken now, he corrected himself. Just Ken-chan. The caterpillar digimon closed his eyes
wearily and fought sleep. Ken would
need him when he returned and Wormmon refused to let his partner down.
After practice,
the two of them had went directly to the Digital World for the meeting with
Kari and from there Ken had told Wormmon to return home while he went for a
walk.
"I just need to
clear my head," he had
explained to his partner with one of those fake smiles that made Wormmon's skin
crawl beneath his carapace.
"But it's
raining out."
"I know. Don't worry, my friend. I just need to blow off some steam."
"Today was a
bad day, wasn't it?"
"There's no
fate but what you make, Wormmon."
Wormmon never
should have left him. But that was how
trouble always started, wasn't it? Ken
decided to do something, Wormmon protested, and Ken smiled and did what he was
going to do anyway. ". . . Please be
careful, Ken."
"Ken-chan . .
." Wormmon burrowed deeper into the
covers. He absolutely hated to be
separated from Ken. It always felt like
half of him had been ripped away. Ever since
Ken's first trip to the Digital World nearly five years ago, there had only
been three incidences in which the two of them had been separated for longer
than 24 hours. The first was after
Ken's very first trip when Sam took his digivice, the second was right after
Ryou disappeared—when Ken returned, his Digivice was pitch black and he had
gained that empty smile, the third and final time was when Wormmon died.
But now all
that's over and Ken's going to okay, the little creature thought tiredly. Ken's going to be fine. He
has his Crest and those other humans, Davis and the others, can make him forget
about all the nasty stuff so he'll stop hating everything. And now he loves me again. He's kind to me again, the way he was before
Ryou left and Osamu died—I think he even likes the Davis and TK kids. The little digimon's eyes fluttered shut in
contentment as sleep crept upon him.
The door slammed
shut loudly, startling Wormmon awake. He uncurled and worked his ten legs rapidly to escape the sea of covers
and reach the edge of the elevated bed. Curled into a small ball to absorb the shock, he landed on the floor
with a thud and rolled towards the door. He opened it a crack and stuck his small green head out eagerly.
Ken had come home.
**************
After the door
slammed, Rika Ichijouji whirled around to see her youngest child—her only
child—taking off his shoes with the quiet dignity that he carried with him
everywhere.
She felt Tsu's
presence behind her as his voice rumbled out of his chest. "Where have you been, young man? Your mother and I were worried sick!" Ken took off his left shoe and didn't look
up. Tsu seemed to get even more
upset. "Answer me, Ken! What is wrong with y—"
He choked on the
words as their son raised his eyes face them. Ken looked like he had just walked off a battlefield. Water dripping from his clothing was quickly
pooling on the floor. His normally
bright eyes were dull and his hair clung to his skull. The thin, pale skin that made him the rage
of preteen girls everywhere was nearly translucent and there was an
unsettlingly listless expression on his face.
Rika took a
hesitant step forward. "Ken? Honey?"
The boy turned
dead eyes to her. "Sorry to worry you,
Mother. Father. I'm afraid I lost track of the time."
"I . . . are you
alright, dear?"
"I'm fine, Mother;
it's just been a long day."
He began to walk
towards them with steady steps. A chill
seemed to fill the air as he slipped past his mother. She followed him with her eyes for a moment before gently
reaching out and touching one of his wet arms. "Someone named TK called for you. He said that the trip was set for tomorrow and that his mother would
pick you up. Is this TK a . . . friend of yours, honey?"
Ken nodded
wearily. "Yes."
"Wait a minute,"
Tsu interrupted sternly. "What are you
doing tomorrow? It's The Anniversary."
"I know, but
Mother said that—"
"Rika, did you
give him permission to go out on The Anniversary?"
"Father, it's just
a camping trip and—"
"I was talking to
your Mother, Ken." Tsuyoshi turned his
hard brown eyes to his wife. "Well?"
Rika put her hands
on her hips. "Let the boy have a break,
Tsu. Ken needs a chance to relax and
this long weekend is the perfect time. He doesn't have any games, tests, tournaments, or interviews. When else could he get away?"
Ken attempted to
slip past his father, but Tsuyoshi would have none of it. A muscular arm extended to the wall, level
with Ken's chest. Brown eyes turned to
blue-violet and the two vied for dominance. Tsu's voice was firm and uncompromising. "You are not going."
The blue-violet
eyes widened. "How dare you! You can't just do that to me!"
The older man
blinked in surprise. Ken had never,
ever spoken to anyone that way, let alone his parents. He had never heard so much . . . passion,
some much rage, in his son's voice. If
this was the effect of such "friends" on the quiet young man, then he was definitely
not going. "That settles it," the
businessman declared over his wife's protest. "You are not going. Tomorrow is
Osamu's Anniversary. We all have to go
down to the cemetery and see him—"
"Why does it
matter?" demanded Ken, his temper slipping once more. "We go every year and every year things remain the same. Nothing will ever change; move on, already!"
Tsu went
rigid. "Go to your room, Ken."
Rika's eyes darted
between her husband and her son. Tsuyoshi never spoke in that tone of voice. Never. "Tsu . . ."
Ken's eyes
flared. "Why can't you let him go?"
"Ken . . . I said go
to your room."
"Osamu is DEAD and
he's not coming back! Accept that!"
There are some
things in life which everyone can see coming, but no one can stop. The crash of the New York Stock Exchange in
1929 was one of those things. World War
Two was one of those things. The arch
Tsuyoshi Ichijouji's open hand made towards his son's face was also one of
those things. Rika saw it, Ken saw it,
and even Tsu saw it, but no one could stop it from reaching its
destination. No one could even tell
when it had begun. But suddenly it
connected, violently snapping Ken's head back with an angry crack and slamming
the boy into the wall. There was a loud
"WHUFF!" as the air burst from Ken's lips and he lay there for an instant,
stunned.
There was a full minute
of stillness during which nobody moved. Then, with an incredibly slow motion, Ken raised two fingers to touch
his lower lip. He pulled them away just
as slowly, holding them out in front of him to see blood glittering apple red
in the hall light. He stared at them
without comprehension, barely registering the hot copper flavor in his mouth.
His mother made a small sound like a wounded animal and her hands flew over her
mouth.
Ken's father was
watching him with wide eyes, hand upraised, and body frozen in time. He had never struck a child before, let
alone his child. "Ken—my God—I .
. . Ken—"
Hearing his name
seemed to startle the boy out of his funk. He pressed the hand with the bloodied fingers against the wall and
pushed himself up, leaving a red smear on the white paint to mark his
passing. He hit me . . . He
staggered a bit, pushing himself past his still shocked father. He hit me . . . Ken's body was
operating on autopilot and he locked the door to his bedroom. He didn't even see Wormmon scrambling to get
out of his way as he set up one of his nastier booby traps. My father hit me . . .
Then the shock
faded and Ken wrapped his arms tightly around his body, collapsing on the floor
in a heap. He rocked back and forth and
his shoulder shook as he struggled to fight back the tears he'd been battling
all day.
"Ken-chan?"
Wormmon asked timidly. "Why—"
"Shh." Shaking arms weakly pulled the caterpillar
into his lap. "Shh," Ken whispered
again.
Wormmon pressed
himself into Ken's arms, both offering and seeking comfort. "Why did he hit you, Ken?"
"Today was just a
bad day, that's all, Wormmon. It was
just a bad day . . ."
**************
Tsuyoshi
Ichijouji's entire body was shaking. "My God, Rika . . . I just got so angry—I was so angry, and—What have I
done?" he whispered in horror.
She guided him
over to the couch and then returned several minutes later holding a cup of
strong tea in her hands. He accepted it
gratefully and they sat in silence for a moment. Then he turned to look at her, eyes brimming with sorrow. "We're losing him, aren't we?"
"No, Tsu," his
wife shook her head slowly and her short hair shifted from shoulder to
shoulder. She stared fixedly at the
coffee table. "We lost him a long time
ago."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
