DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Digimon or related chars. Damn. I do however own any original
creatures, characters, and concepts (except where SPECIFICALLY noted), including this dumb fic. And while there's not much I could actually do to you should you for some reason steal my crap, I WILL put a hex on you. So THERE.
Author's Note: I think everyone should know that since I can't for the life of my recall how I started this story the first time, the chapters might not be so great until I get to a part where I once more know what I'm doing. ^^;;;
This story is faintly AU (or would that be AC?) from the actual series--BelialVamdemon never happened. In fact, nothing after the realease of Quinlongmon and the dissapearacnce of BlackWargreymon happened. Okay? Given that, this takes place one year after 02. I already told you this. =P
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2
Seeing Shadows


It was chasing him.

The boy didn't know what it was ripping after him but he knew it was chasing him, and he could hear it laughing behind him. He didn't turn around, he didn't pause when he tripped and stumbled and his ankle twisted inside the boot, he didn't reach up to push the wind-snapped clots of tangled purple-blue hair from his eyes. Something in his blood was screaming at him through the adrenaline; screaming one word in cadence with his heartbeat and he was inclined to listen: run. Run run run run run. So he ran, and it chased him.

It was catching up. The black was spreading--the brown death of plant and the sudden choked silence of birdsong, the shadows getting longer and creased with the ugly oily purple of the thing chasing him. He choked for a moment but he didn't say anything, he had to save his breath and run run run; had to save his breath and get away from the blue-eyed shadow chasing him. But oh shit his eyes were starting to water from the wind and the branches snapping him in the eye, and he could feel it breathing on his neck. Oh shit, he was a stranger in a strange land and he didn't know how he'd gotten there and he didn't know how to get out either, which mattered a hell of a lot more right now. Oh shit.

Something grabbed him around the neck like long cold clawed fingers, and the shadow pulled him back until he was covered in it--wrapped in it, trapped in it. The purple-black fingers forced his jaws apart and he heard the thing snarl at him-- "Give it to me! Give it to me or I will take it!" The blue eyes were wide, and murderous--shot and hungry and so pale; the eyes of an eater, of a vengeful lost soul.

The boy made a strangled sound, wound his fingers in the choking oily shadow and tried to breathe. "Na. . .namoor anum!!" Blood choked out with the last word, flecking his lips-- his body jerked as though struck.

The shadow howled, pulled away enough that the boy could gasp a breath and fall to his knees but then it was there again; the fingers wrapping around his throat and scrabbling to cut, to make him bleed. It was laughing again--it forced him down into the ground. The boy's eyes unfocused slightly--damnit he was going to pass out, and man oh man what would his uncle and his aunties think about that huh, four hours running in a strange land and then passing out on the ground under some greasy soul-hungry shadow.

He felt something crack under the assault, something important--it wasn't a bone or anything, nothing so basic and replaceably unessential--and his fingers dug the dirt beneath him as he tried to get up, to get up and run again. But the shadow had the crack now, and it was starting--oh shit his aunties were gonna kill him for this--it was starting to go solid. From the dirt his face was pressed into he could see strange and huge dark boots, part of a cape on the ground all fuzzy like computer pixels at the edges. The crack was getting wider.

"W. . .wait. . .!" He had meant to yell but it came out hoarse and choked--yes, he was feeling those big hands now. Or. . .no, wait. That was one fucking huge hand, and it had hitched up a bit, but was now loosening just enough that he could breathe and speak. "Wait. I know what you want. I. . . I can get you more, just. . ."

The hand slipped away and the boy fell forward into the ground again. His nose gushed blood at its impact but he ignored it, breathing the dust and the blood that was quickly making the ground soupy in that one tiny spot right there. That hand grasped the back of his shirt then, and pulled him roughly up, held him dangling above the ground--he found himself looking into those eyes, cruel blue eyes in the oily purpleblackred shadow and they were smiling with the narrow, angular face that was almost visible within. "Really. . ."

The crack was closing up now, but the boy had a feeling--a very nasty, very sinking black feeling in the pit of his stomach--that his aunties were going to kill him anyway.

~~~~~~

"Dude, Ken. . .talk to me."

For the hundred thousandth time so far, Ken did not talk to him though--only sat with his eyes closed and head down, pale face drawn and tearstreaked where Daisuke could see it through the hair hanging in his friend's face. His hands were folded in his lap, gripping each other until the knuckles looked white and strained--they hadn't moved, and really neither had Ken. Not since Dai had hauled him out of his house and dragged him on the bus that morning, thinking it might be better to get him out of the hot puke-smelling room. And away from the softly humming computer that had been, for some weird reason, creeping the hell out of Daisuke.

"Ken. Earth to Ken." He waved a hand in Ken's face, poking him in the ribs lightly--the really annoying tickly way that always made Ken wrinkle his nose like a little kid and say 'stop it, Dais'. "Earth to Ichijouji, this is your best friend speaking. . .hellooooooo. . ."

He frowned slightly as Ken once more failed to respond, looking over briefly to make sure Chibimon hadn't totally traumatized Wormmon in the process of comforting him--he hadn't-- and then back to Ken. "Ken. . .I want to help. But you're not giving me a lot to work with here. . ." He paused, head cocked. "You could at least let me know you're alive in there, buddy. . .come on."

Ken didn't move, but the fact was that of course he was alive, and perfectly aware of Dai's chatter and prodding. But he didn't want to speak, because then he would have to open his eyes. Look up, and open his eyes. . .and see the boy sitting across from them. It shouldn't have bothered him. Really. It was just a boy of eleven to thirteen, tall and not quite scrawny, pale face (and it seemed so much paler with that dark unkempt hair) adorned with slightly crooked glasses and a charming, equally crooked smile. No, it shouldn't have bothered him one bit--he should have been happy to meet the eyes behind the perpetually smudged lenses, or return the good-natured grin. Instead he felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about it, every time his mind called up the face he had seen directly across from him when Daisuke had guided him to a seat.

The bus lurched to a stop, and Ken's system seemed to lurch with it--a hundred thousand miles away he felt Dai put a steadying hand on his arm, yell up to the busdriver to learn to fucking drive. Across from him, so much nearer, he heard the boy shift, stand--he was wearing scruffy sneakers with the laces not quite tied, the back bit of cuff on the faded jeans dragging the ground under the soles; and Ken didn't know how he knew except that it was sick certainty. The sound came, too, of him twitching his short-sleeved green sweater into place over the blue shirt beneath. "You take care now, Kiddo. . .and watch when you cross the streets, hear?" The voice was gentle and laughing. . .a friendly harmless tease.

He was gone then, and the bus started up again, but the bile remained in Ken's throat. The burning acid behind his eyes remained so he kept them shut and he clasped his hands tighter together until the knuckles almost split and bled, and wished he had brought those damned, those fucking accursed pills.