Title: Re-Dream
Fandom: Petshop of Horrors
Rating: PG-13. Ish.
Pairing: Chris/T-chan. Leon/D, but about as much in here as in the canon. )
Notes: Takes place after Volume 10 of the manga, although it veers slightly (and obviously) AU. I know I'll be going further than these two chapters, although whether they are stand-alone with an epilogue, added chapters, or optional sequel, I'm not sure. First PoH fic, so the characterization may be a bit (READ: A LOT) off. I'm messing with tenses a lot, I've most likely fucked up somewhere along the way. The Chapter lines are snippets from the wonderful poem, 'Ode' by Aurthur O'Shaughnessy.
Genre: Angst, Romance, what-freakin'-else?

Re-Dream

Chapter I: We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams…world-loosers and world-forsakers, upon whom the pale moon gleams.

Toutetsu does not like it here.

Because it's quiet, too quiet, even when the chirps of birds and yowls of cats echo through the halls created by magic. Pon-chan smiles wistfully when she marks the flimsy paper with Chris' crayons. She stopped crying not long ago, and draws happy, sloppy pictures of their slapdash, now nonexistent family. Leon's scowl and the Count's matching one, and Chris smiling with her in his arms.

Toutetsu never shows up in her pictures. Ever since Chris left, when he spoke away their image from his mind (his heart), there was no 'family' except in her sloppy lines. She grew angry at his lack of tears, with his harsh words, and he grew angry because Chris was supposed to be right on her heels and he wasn't.

"Tetsu, we're leaving! Hurry up, the Count wants Chris to pick up some mille-fuelle and you have to come with us!"

The beast's elegant, elongated ear twitched and he scowled. His nap was deep, the kind that came after a good meal. He wanted nothing more than to go back to it.

Chris clasped his small hands around Toutetsu's and tugged. "C'mon, T-chan."

Chinatown was loud, full of sights and smells. The LA sun was bright and warm, all heavy air and pavement. Colorful buildings pointing to the blue, clear sky.

He shook off Chris' hand from his wrist at a particularly crowded area, and felt a smidgeon of pride as the boy's tears were kept at bay. Chris squared his little shoulders and lead the way fearlessly, because Toutetsu was never far and the youth had faith in that.

He never accompanies the Count outside anymore. The others have learned to keep their distance, and the Count has long stopped asking. Because it's incomplete, wrong, when traffic and crowds catch his attention, and his steps hurry without him realizing it, but there is no one there to lead the way.

Chris is terrified of his first day of 'real school'.

The building is a monotony of linoleum, bad lighting, identical doors and hallways lined with lockers. The bright posters seem to overcompensate for the dullness of the walls. It feels weird to do math without an abacus, to write on standard-issue white paper with blue lines. The plastic chairs distract him with their lack of comfort, and he can't seem to get his mind off the reek of cleaning chemicals.

Mom, Dad, Joyce and Sam are so proud of him, though. Even Leon called before the bus arrived. They all wished him a good day, told him how bright he was and how proud they were. It was all sincere, so 'real school' has to have something good to it, right?

Even so, Chris would like nothing more than to be back at the petshop, nibbling on sweets and sipping on tea. The Count would refill his teacup and supply the words he didn't understand when he read his books, explaining their meanings and then everything would be crystal clear.

At noon, the scent of T-chan's cooking would drift into the sitting area. The toutetsu would set a plate in front of him, looking absolutely ridiculous with all his natural elegance trussed up in a housewife's apron. Chris willingly ate all his vegetables at the Count's persuasion and shared his food with Pon-chan.

He didn't mind polishing off a full plate of T-chan's cooking, because T-chan told him it would help him grow up to be strong (just like Leon) and maybe he'd stop being so much of a crybaby then. T-chan really was a great cook, and Chris often asked for seconds.

At lunch, Chris doesn't finish his food. It is bland and stale as this 'real school', with big crowds and confusing hallways, without the comfort of the petshop's soft lighting, 'his' chair in the sitting area and constant, reassuring sing-song of life (magic?). Chris doesn't know exactly where his next class is, and he dreads the sound of the bell.

Lost in the crowd that sweeps into the ugly halls like a flashflood, Chris looks over his shoulder, but no one is there. The boy feels the familiar sting of oncoming tears. Still, he squares his shoulders and continues on.