Fandom: Weiss Kreuz
Summary: After the explosion, why didn't Ran's relatives help? Maybe one tried to...
Rating: Hm. Make it a T (PG13/R), since it's a very naughty word.
Length: Around 1400 words.
Warnings: Angst, language, and (barely a) song-fic of sorts. (No, I don't quote lyrics indiscriminately, and other than rewriting songs for use in a story as I did in "Weiss and Son of Cheesy Christmas Special", this is the only way you'll see me use a song in stories. FFNet please take note: I give credit at the end in the Notes section.)
Continuity: Follows the explosion at the Fujimiya residence and precedes any other Ran/Aya stories I've written to date. To my FFNet readers: be warned, this delves into the semi-crossover universe I started with "Siblings", and no, that story is not currently (as of 04Dec2005) on FFNet as it's not complete. Yet.

Title: Messages

"Once there was a way..."

Ran stood motionless in the waiting area, his outward calm a lie to the confusion in his mind. A passerby might have guessed (correctly) he was about to make a call but if prompted to guess why or where, they would have failed. After all, how many people who found themselves alone in the world called the United States for help? But what else was left? He'd already talked with all family and friends located here (that he could reach, at least; not all of them answered the phone) to no avail. Though their wording varied, the answer was the same: your family brought disgrace to their name. If you personally have any honor, you will forget you know us. Besides, you're nearly an adult. You'll survive.

In the background, the desk nurse's CD sang out. Oddly, it wasn't the usual hospital classical music or even J-Pop, but some foreign tune (rock, as a corner of his mind recognized the odd combination of symphonic arrangement and drum set, though the singing style was probably the key factor) and even more strange, Ran found it both irritating and appropriate. If he didn't mind his sister's J-Pop, why was this song annoying?

"Once there was a way... to get back homeward..."

Maybe it was the lyrics. There was no home, not for him and not for her. Not anymore. Their house was gone, destroyed in The Accident. And though a house wasn't a home, home was gone, too: Son, Daughter, Mother, Father, all scattered. Son was here, wearing his fingers and voice out in search of aid, because what did an eighteen year old know about medical insurance and living wills? (Though he was sure he could forget all hopes of university at this point. He knew enough about finances to guess that much.) Daughter was in intensive care, surrounded by machines and in a coma that might never break. Mother and Father? By now even their bodies were gone, cremated thanks to the generosity of the company his father was accused of defrauding. There had been no point in a wake or a funeral; family and friends, even neighbors, told him it was best he not call attention to their shame as no one -- certainly not them! -- would attend.

He choked down a sob, trying to hold it inside. Who would help him place the bones in the urns? Could they even afford two urns? If so, where would he keep them for the forty-nine days? There was no family shrine, no house to hold it. Right now the only place he had to lay his own head was this waiting area. At least the coma provided a bed for Aya-chan. Trying to address the mundane issues drove it home: their parents were dead, the family disgraced. Not that he believed it, not for a moment. Father was a demon in some ways but not when it came to questions of honor. (Was, his mind echoed. Never again.) There was no one he could lean on, no one who would help shoulder this burden, save one. (He hoped.) He held on to that last hope someone could and would help, before he had to be the adult, the man. Unfortunately that "someone" now lived outside the country and thanks to his address book's destruction in The Accident (along with so many other things) it had taken several days to track down a likely number for his cousin. His eyes itched once more, but he forced the tears back. He was eighteen and he was of samurai blood: while he was still a minor in this modern era he was three years into adulthood in his ancestor's eyes. He could make one more lousy phone call without breaking down, tear-inducing lyrics or no.

"Sle-ep pretty darlin' do not cry..."

Sleep was one of his chief problems now, he thought as he punched the barely-legible numbers into the phone. His parents were dead and not buried, yes, and he was stuck in this waiting area, but what about his sister? It had been five days since The Accident and already the doctors were worried she wouldn't wake up. He kept telling himself he was happy she was alive, that any kind of alive was good, that "alive" meant she would be alright, but even he wasn't buying it, not even in the privacy of his mind.

As the song went on, declaiming something about brightness in one's vision and another song -- he wasn't sure, his English needed work -- the phone began to ring. Finally.

Come on, come on, come on, he chanted. Pick up, please, pick up! He'd tried everyone else, everyone he could remember, anyone he could find. Please please please; this is our last chance. Everyone else had turned them away; they believed the lies in the papers and on the news, but he knew this person wouldn't, not him. Ran still had the good luck beads he had received as a gift from this person six years ago. They were on Aya-chan's wrist right now in the hopes they would do her some good. -- A click and a whir finally answered his prayer. Damn, it was a machine. Fuck! What did he say? He didn't even know if it was the right number! He had dealt with so many operators and directory assistance recordings, all because his address book was lost, along with...

His mind tried to fade at that, not wanting to recall one more time the events of that terrible day (bodies, blood, timer, sister, running, car, flying, noise, the horrible, final-sounding noise) but he had to focus! By the time he had switched his thoughts over to English to listen properly he'd already missed the names.

"--For the dojo, please hang up and call 555-1234. Otherwise please leave your name and number with your message, so this one can return you call, our pardons."

"'Tousan! Why say that? You sound funny!"

"Oro!"

BEEP!

Quick quick say something, anything, it might be the right number --

"Moshi moshi - ano, greeting. This be Fujimiya Ran. Whether or not correct telephone I know not. I search my cousin Ken. Should be correct, please he to call 03-3541-5151 please. Arigato."

Aaaand hang up, before he could say or do something stupid. Like beg. Or cry.

As he hung up the phone, the tears again prickled the back of his eyes despite his best efforts. As he struggled for focus before turning to face the hall, the hospital staff, and reality, he heard the music swell and announce, "Boy, you're gonna carry that weight..."

Ran really wanted to find that recording and break it.

Coda:

Once more he frantically dialed the number. He didn't need to look at the message pad; in the last several days he'd dialed the number more than enough times to have it memorized by now. Once more a nurse picked up; once more he was told by an exasperated staff member his cousins were gone and still had not called with a forwarding address; and once more, he asked the nurse (politely of course, no matter that he felt the anger uncurling in his stomach, right next to the worry that wasn't the nurse's fault, he reminded himself, he must remain in control) to take his name and number, and had her promise to pass word to anyone else who called concerning the Fujimiya children.

As he hung up the phone, the local radio station played a song, one that had him thinking and reaching into a normally-locked drawer, to pull out a battered address book. True, their wives regularly spoke, but that was using their public phone numbers. This matter called for... discretion... and a return to old habits, long disused. As he dialed, he smiled, but it had no humor in it. At least his wife wasn't present; it would be a tie whether she'd be more worried about the presence of the old address book on the counter or the state of his eyes. He thought about changing out of his "scary face", as his son called it, but not yet. First, he had to make this call and the "scary face" helped to put in him in the proper mood for the favor he was about to ask. Besides, he was angry; let the others hear that in his voice. As the phone rang on the other end, he listened to the lyrics with half an ear. Ironic, wasn't it, that the person he was calling didn't need him to "give me your number"; it was his job to find out that and as well as other secret matters, just as he had provided him and his wife with their official documentation -- "funny papers" indeed. The machine picked up.

"Aoshi, this one has a favor to ask..."

-end-

Notes
1. Aw, come on! Two redheaded swordsmen and they're NOT related? Please! And yes, I've brought the other cast into present day. More details to be revealed in future stories. (Hint: certain sightings in the Christmas stories were NOT an accident, mwhahah. Not now, anyway.) And if you're wondering if some bits here and there are hints for future developments... (twirls imaginary mustache and gives evil grin) (Oops! Didn't give the other fandom: it's Rurouni Kenshin, or by this point in my timeline, not-so-rurouni Kenshin, heh heh.)

2. Songs were Golden Slumbers and Carry that Weight, both by the Beatles and off the Abbey Road album. (FFNet: I quoted them, they're not mine; I only own a copy of the album in question.) Yes, there was synchronicity going on at the two locations and times. Inspiration hit while on a long drive: I heard the songs in question and thought, "Damn! If Ran ever had a non-Weiss theme song, that's it!" (Lyrics available at www(dot)lyricsdownload(dot)com.)

3. While I have the Fujimiyas as Shintoists, research online says many Shintoists use Buddhist funerary practices as corpses are considered unclean in Shinto, so references are to Buddhist funeral practices rather than Shinto. (See http (colon) (slash-slash) tanutech (dot) com (slash) japan (slash) jfunerals (dot) html for my source material.)

4. Apologies for the scrambled grammar in the first call. I had to guess how a native speaker of Japanese might scramble English, based partly on how I've heard other non-native English speakers mix up their sentence construction. If it offends, let me know and I'll change it. Thank you. (bows)

Any and all criticism is welcome, as always, please and thank you. Will say in advance that some repetition is deliberate as thoughts of panicked people tend to run in circles.

Written 05June2005