[18 July 2013] Edited, because I notice people are still reading this old, old story, and I'm horrified at the grammar of my old self. -_- Also taken the opportunity to straighten out warnings in Author Notes.
Author Notes:
This is the full story of Hisoka's escape that he related to Tsuzuki in Chapter Two. All the way Hisoka-angst. =P This is a sidestory, in Hisoka's POV, with which I intend to justify Hisoka's attachment to Muraki. It helps in understanding the characterization, but you should still be able to follow the main plot even if you decide to skip this.
Italics are thoughts.
A Wing Short of Flying
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It is such a secret place, the land of tears.
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, "The Little Prince"
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Sidestory One: The Untold
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Now.
He crept carefully even though he knew his master had left the house. Nothing was to be risked.
He didn't bring much when he first came. Now he took exactly the same things with him. It helped that they were light on his bruised shoulders.
He doubled his care once he was outside. The house was quite isolated, but there were still people passing by from time to time. They had never seen him outside the house, so either he would be mistaken as a thief or they would know something was wrong, and the doctor would be contacted.
He reached the main road, and began to run.
It hurt terribly even when he walked slowly. But he ran and ran, not bothering that his torn shoes no longer protected his feet from the hot, rough surface.
The doctor was a clever man. He could track him in no time once he found out that the experiment subject had escaped.
People were staring at this little boy who was running all the way as if he was being chased by an invisible train. But that didn't bother him as much as his own frustration when he stumbled into dead ends for more than once. Every wrong turn cost him time, and he could barely afford time.
Finally, after he had shed his useless shoes, drank all the water he brought, and the sun had long declined from its peak, he saw the road sign that announced the entrance to his home village. A sense of small victory engulfed him. I'm home!
He had not been allowed out of his house often, and the few times were not more than two blocks away. Therefore it was pretty much as difficult to find his way home as it was to find his way here from the doctor's place.
But the knowledge that he was getting nearer to home was a great encouragement.
The village roads were much simpler, and gave him little trouble. But they were more crowded, filled with people who were more suspicious at the sight of a stranger. It was a small village, and most residents knew each other. As disconcerting as the whispers were, he could ignore them, but not the curiosity and suspicions which were grating on his mind. On top of that, he could read that some of them had correctly associated the seemingly lost boy with the demon-possessed son of the Kurosaki family who was sent away from the village a month ago.
Fear was the emotion he found most difficult to take. He had received it much too often from beloved ones.
He slowed his steps as he saw the big building that was his parents' home. His home.
He sprinted round the corner, past the row of iron bars fencing the large area of the Kurosaki residence. He recalled the entrance to the cellar just behind that tree, the one place he remembered most clearly. It was where he'd lived for the last two years before the doctor took him away. It was where his nightmares began.
He reached the gate all heaving and sweating, found it secured with chains and a strong lock as usual. He rattled the chains against the metal bars, announcing his presence, and waited anxiously at the gate.
The maid gaped when she saw him, and ran back inside. Minutes later, his mother hurried through the front door.
"Hisoka?" she called, totally astonished. He could still feel her fear.
"I'm cured, Mother," he lied. "I'm fine now. The doctor cured me."
"This is not a sickness, but a psychic ability," the doctor had said. But to his parents it was a sickness; it was a curse. So he'd play along.
His mother hesitated, then gestured at the maid to unlock the gate.
Hisoka ran to her, hugged her tightly before she could decide what to do. He ignored the fear that he sensed from her.
It subsided slowly, and she hugged him back. He'd never felt so happy.
"How is it that you're back here?" A stern voice startled him.
His mother untangled his hold on her, and turned to her husband. "He is cured," she told him, eyes shimmering with guarded hope. "The doctor cured him."
"Father," Hisoka greeted him, trying hard not to tremble.
Suspicion hung heavily around the man. "Is that true?"
"Yes, Father," he summoned his most convincing tone.
Kurosaki Nagare stepped towards his son, and gripped the boy's right arm in one swift motion. Hisoka choked on his own breath.
"You don't feel anything, do you?"
Hisoka found that he couldn't answer. His head was pounding from the intense mix of emotions rushing from his father. Too close… too close…
He tried to pull away, but the grip was strong.
"What's the matter, then?" his father barked.
Hisoka twitched uncontrollably, pressing his free hand on his mouth to stop himself from crying out loud.
"You dare lie to me, you cursed child!"
He was grateful for the breaking of the contact even as he was shoved to the ground. He vaguely heard his mother's startled shriek.
"Why did that Muraki let you on the loose? Did he want money after all?"
His head snapped up, and he stared at his father. Only then he knew that he had not been sent for treatment. Nor had he been sold. The scientist wanted him as an experiment subject— he didn't ask them for fees. His parents wanted to get rid of him— they let the doctor have him for free.
To get rid of…
It had been a curious feeling then. He felt his chest go all cold, and the inside started to freeze.
"Stand up and get away from here! We can't keep a cursed creature in this house!"
"Dear! Is… is there really nothing we can do?" His mother's plea, at least, stroke a warmth through his heart for one brief moment.
"If even that doctor abandons him, then he is hopeless," Nagare grunted. "I wonder if I should kill him myself."
"No!" his mother cried out.
He pushed himself up. Killing me would be a mercy, he thought. Yes… please kill me, Father.
He stood quietly, waiting expectantly for the blow.
His father's eyes met his, green on green. Nagare drew a sharp breath.
"Don't!" His mother latched onto her husband's arm.
Hisoka looked at her, almost pitying. I'm sorry, Mother.
Nagare glared at his wife disapprovingly, but drew back his raised arm in the end.
"There can't be anything good coming from this," he growled. "Just leave!"
Hisoka turned back to his father, his eyes pleading for the kill. But he should've known that just like all his pleas before that day, it would be ignored. Instead, his father dragged him by the shoulders across the yard and shoved him outside the gate.
The gate was slammed shut, chains rattled to secure it.
"Don't ever open this gate for him again," his father warned the maid, who nodded frightfully. He put his arms around his wife, forced her gaze away from their son, and marched inside the house.
Hisoka watched the front door to the house closed, heard his mother's sobs fading away. For a moment he just froze there, sitting on the ground, his fingers grasping at the dirt.
What should I do now? Where can I go?
He could stay there, of course, and perhaps he would anger his father enough to grant him his death.
"Is there really nothing we can do?"
Mother…
"…he is hopeless."
Am I…?
The doctor was not going to cure his abnormality. He wanted it to last, so that he could study it. Who, then, could help him?
He forced himself up, and wandered aimlessly around the house perimeters.
Even the cellar would be fine for me, if you'd let me stay, Father…
The sun was nearing the horizon, twilight sweeping across the land. He moved away from the shadows. He didn't want to be trapped in the darkness. His demons delighted in the darkness.
He stopped in front of a bookshop, the one his mother once brought him to. It was just about to close for the day, but it had left the outer lights on. He sat down on the pavement, and only then felt the sting on the sole of his feet.
"Hey, you! What are you doing there?"
He turned and saw the man who had shouted at him, standing at the shop entrance, his hands on the half-pulled blinds.
"Don't beg outside my store! Find somewhere else!"
"C-can I stay here, just for the night?"
"Hell no!" the man shouted.
"A tramp? How strange. We've never had tramps and beggars around here." He heard a woman's voice from inside the store. "Be careful, husband. I heard from Shimizu-san that her brother saw someone who looked just like that cursed Kurosaki boy on the street today."
The man's eyes widened. "You— you must be…!"
He picked up a wooden stick that he kept near the door, and swung it threateningly.
"Go away!" he yelled. "Stay away from our village, demon!"
Frightened, Hisoka backed away from him, stepping onto the street.
"What happened, Hojou-san?"
"What's all that noise?"
Neighbors started to gather around the man, the one they called Hojou-san.
More fear. Choking… suffocating…
Under the glimmering light, their eyes flashed at him like the demons he'd always imagined to be living with him in the cellar. The demons who whispered inside his head all the time.
"No… no," he squeaked in fear. Leave me alone!
"Leave!" they shouted. "Leave!"
Where should I go?
The angry demands clogged his brain, flaring hot and cold at the same time, spinning, pressing in, pushing out… His head felt like it was about to explode, or perhaps implode; he could no longer tell where his senses began nor ended.
They dared not touch him, but managed to back him towards the entrance of the village. He stumbled, and felt his back hitting someone's legs.
He looked up, and the person looked down on him.
"M-master," he breathed. He found me!
The crowd paused in their advance, and studied the newcomer suspiciously.
Muraki turned his eyes from the boy to the crowd, meeting their stares with his usual calmness.
Hisoka inched away, preparing to run.
He didn't expect the first blow. The doctor's hand hit him hard across the face, and he fell back to the ground, his nose bleeding.
The next moment he could only crouch in fear, protecting his head in his small arms as the assault seemed to come from all directions.
"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I'm sorry! I won't run away again!"
The pace of the beating slowed down. Hisoka found his master's pant legs, clung to them.
"Forgive… me," he managed in between sobs. He couldn't recognize his own voice that slipped through the choking blood. "Please… take me… back…"
It was most humiliating, but he had learnt bitterly what it meant to live outside the lab or the cellar.
"That will teach you," Muraki said, his face emotionless. He pulled the collar of Hisoka's shirt, forcing him to stand up.
The trembling boy scrambled to his feet, ignoring the cry of his tormented flesh.
"Let's go." The doctor turned to leave the village.
The crowd dissolved behind them. The empathic assault died down, and he found his breath again.
He staggered limply behind Muraki. In the falling darkness, he kept his eyes on the doctor's white coat, letting it lead him back to the lab. With no direction to follow, one way was as good as another.
The doctor never once looked back to check if he was still there. At the first sight of the crowd and the expression on his face, his master had surely known that he wouldn't dare attempt another escape. The lashing was just a show for the village, to assure them that the demon was under control.
How could he ever escape again? He had no place to go.
He was aware of the lack of sadness, the absence of tears in the back of his eyes.
There's only one place where I can stay.
Not a nice place, maybe, but it wasn't as if he had any other choice.
Only one person would understand this abnormality, would accept this monster.
He had even come for him.
For once, someone wanted him to be alive. It felt like he could finally defy all those who had rejected him, and say: "See? There is a meaning to my existence!"
Twisted as that meaning might be.
He would even bear all the hurting. Pain was something he was getting accustomed to, after all.
He could only die once. He could choose it anytime.
Just for the meantime… I'll stay alive. Just while there's still a place for me.
The cold feeling in his chest still hadn't gone away.
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