The Sun Scratched in the Stars
A Yu-Gi-Oh VRAINS fanfic
Summary: A boy on the run from a dangerous home situation falls asleep at a dojo in the countryside. Discovered and taken in by the owners, he grows to understand what love – and loss of that love – truly means, with the help of a rambunctious, fiery-spirited boy close to his age.
A/N: tw: child-to-child violence, adult-to-child violence (implied). It's not grotesque descriptions or anything, BUT in the event you want to avoid reading it, the section w/ the not so rosy content starts w/ "Like a red flash" and ends with "'Takeru, I-' Ryoken said'.
Chapter 4
A mess.
Ryoken stared, his mouth hanging open. Clothes, toys, thin white paper, bright-colored photos everywhere. Bed terribly unmade. Scuff marks all over the walls. Only the curtain for a mid-size window was left untouched by the tornado that had whirled through. Yet, even with all the destruction, the one he's looking for was nowhere to be found.
"What in the world happened?" muttered Ryoken, Takeru's food in hand, as he stepped over a black toy motorcycle. And, even more importantly, with such devastation and with the walls being thin enough to hear every conversation, every movement, how could Ryoken have not heard any of it? He could get carried away with his reading, yes, but not to the point where he couldn't hear an entire room being ripped apart.
As he walked farther, however, he heard a voice hiss, "Go away!" and stopped in his tracks. That was Takeru's voice. Yet, when Ryoken scanned the room, he still couldn't find the little firecracker. It was far from the biggest space in the house, so finding Takeru should not have been that difficult. So, instead of obeying the voice, he stepped in more, his feet dodging the debris.
"Takeru, this is no time for hide and seek," said Ryoken. "We had dinner without you, you know."
A laugh, a laugh that sounded . . . like a struggle. "I know. I don't care."
Ryoken searched desperately for the source of the voice, food in his hand, but his eyes were unable to find the red and white locks from in the chaos. It's insulting enough that Ryoken was terrible at those search-for-the-hidden-object puzzle books Father always gave him. Having to do one in real life made him more on edge. He wanted to hand the food Takeru personally, since the floor germs made leaving it there unsafe. Maybe he and Takeru didn't get along, maybe he was in a sour mood because searching for things annoyed him, but he wasn't about to give him food poisoning. He needed to find him.
"You might not care, but Ryoko does," said Ryoken, icy blue eyes darting around the room. "She put up a fight for you."
No reply. Only muffled shuffling, as if something were trapped. Then silence again. That meant Takeru was inside something! Ryoken glanced around again and noticed a tall, dark brown piece of furniture with drawers at the bottom, doors at the top – a closet – by where the bed was, the only place he hadn't looked. He tiptoed over the paper and fallen photographs to the closet, the now-cold food clutched in his hand.
Ryoken sighed. "Takeru, I know it's you in there. Stop being ridiculous and come out of there."
Still no reply. Ryoken's heartrate accelerated. Takeru was never this quiet, and as much as he didn't want to admit, Ryoken was afraid. Why was Takeru acting like this? Why was he making it so difficult? He was a problem child, but nowhere near the way he was acting. There was one thing left to do.
"Fine. If you want to be so stubborn, Takeru," said Ryoken, his sharp tongue getting the better of him, "then you can just stay there and go hungry, even after all your mother did to make sure you didn't. No wonder your father and your grandfather can't stand you."
The one thing Ryoken should've never, ever, ever, ever said.
Like a red flash, in sync with the bright sudden lightning storm outside, Takeru leapt from the closet, the door slamming open, and grabbed Ryoken by the neck, tightening his hold with each second, which forced Ryoken to drop the food he had for him. For such a small five year old, Takeru was a physical force to be reckoned with. And, for such a small five year old, Takeru had an unbelievable amount of rage. So much so, words didn't come out. He only snarled and wouldn't let Ryoken free.
"Takeru . . ." Ryoken managed to breathe. "Takeru, stop . . ."
But Takeru was beyond listening, beyond understanding. Instinct and irrationality had taken over, as Ryoken could see in Takeru's sharp eyes, eyes empty of the uncertainty, the lightheartedness, the playfulness he'd come to know and had taken for granted. They were eyes that gave mercy to no one, and Ryoken's heart pounded in his chest, lungs desperate for air. It was a sensation all too familiar for him, as he'd felt the same way with that nightmare. He couldn't let this end the way that had. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't . . .
All kids possessed a rebellious spirit, and the bright ice blue-eyed five-year-old boy Kogami Ryoken was no different. Before he pledged to always follow the rules Father and his associates had set, there was an incident that set him on the path of rule-following, of obeying destiny. It was an incident Ryoken had tried to forget, but without success.
It had been a day like any other: Ryoken learned how to read more complicated words with Dr. Taki and developed his math skills further with Dr. Aso. He finished both sessions early that day, as he was a super-fast learner, so, of course, Ryoken did what any five year old did in their spare time: go to Father. Father hadn't minded Ryoken's visits, always welcoming him with a pat on the head and a smile. "Good job, Ryoken," he'd say, and Ryoken would beam at the praise, his face flushed with happiness.
But, that day, Father did mind the visit. And Ryoken had noticed something had been wrong too late.
"Father, I'm done, I'm done!" said the young boy cheerfully, running up to Father. But, instead of a smile and a "Good job, Ryoken," a scowl and a hostile stare welcomed Ryoken. Father angrily tossed his pen as Ryoken took a step backwards, breathing stopped, the pen barely missing his face.
"Ryoken, what did I tell you about disturbing me when I'm working?!" Father had screamed at him, and Ryoken felt pins and needles stab every part of his skin. Father had said something to him before, but Ryoken hadn't remembered. He still hadn't remembered, even at that moment, what was said, but it didn't matter. What's the big deal? Ryoken couldn't remember everything at once. And he had said that to Father, annoyance in his voice.
And that made Father get up from his chair, stomping closer and closer to Ryoken as he stepped farther backwards until his back hit the wall, nowhere to hide, nowhere to turn, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. But, Father, in his rage, kept walking towards him. And that was when . . .
He slapped him.
With the back of his right hand and arm, Ryoken slapped Takeru's face, a force so strong, it knocked the smaller boy off him, Takeru's body meeting the wall with a thud, and thunder clapped outside at the same time. Takeru broke free from his rage-induced trance and yelped, the impact shaking the closet, and shocking his small body. Ryoken, brought back to the present and still trying to catch his breath, stared at his hand. Realizing what he had just done, his eyes widened, hand shaking.
"No . . . no, no, no, no . . ." muttered Ryoken, his voice breaking, throat burning. He. He really did hit Takeru. While Takeru could be a pain in the butt, that had been the last thing he deserved. Afraid, deathly afraid, Ryoken stared at Takeru, struggling to get up from the impact, a light pink mark the size of the back of Ryoken's hand plastered on his cheek. He had enough energy to look back at other boy, his eyes no longer strange and piercing, but hurt and confused. Takeru lightly touched the side of his face, wincing as he did so, but not breaking his gaze. Every muscle in Ryoken's body, every nerve, every emotion told Ryoken to look away. He couldn't bear to see Takeru so torn, so beat up like that, because of him. But he couldn't. It would worsen things.
Takeru rolled to where he could sit up, back against the wall, then he stared at Ryoken, a . . . smile on his face? Was Ryoken imagining things? Was the lightning outside playing tricks on hm?
"Takeru, I–" Ryoken finally said, stepping towards the boy. Before he could take another step, however, a gruff voice boomed, "That's enough, Ryoken." Ryoken turned quickly and saw Hisahito-san and Ryoko, with tears streaming faster than a waterfall, standing at the door. Ryoken's heart stopped. No doubt that they saw what he had done to their son.
This is what you get for running away, Ryoken. Away from your destiny. Away from what the stars had set. Forget it, forget it all. Forget this foolishness. Go back to Father. You can only hurt others. It's in your blood.
As Ryoken wrestled with the violent intrusive thoughts and his father's booming voice in his head, Ryoko surged past him towards Takeru, scooping him up in her arms. Takeru, still dazed, lolled his head against her chest, the warmth, the stress of the night's events lulling him deeper into sleep. Tears clung to the corners of his closed eyes and his tired smile got smaller as Ryoko embraced him tight with kisses on the cheek, "I love you," and tear-soaked apologies.
The sight made Ryoken's stomach churn, so he faced the door, not looking anywhere else but the ground. The sound of footsteps on the photo-filled floor came closer until Ryoken saw Hisahito-san's legs in front of him. Ryoken braced himself by closing his eyes so hard, his head hurt. An eye for an eye, Father would always tell him. But, instead of the expected slap to the face, a sharp blow of air hit his face instead, Hisahito-san's hand centimeters from his face. Ryoken brought his head up and forced himself to meet Hisahito-san's gaze, eyes darkened, expression serious. All the hairs on Ryoken's arms and the back of his neck stood up
"If my wife and child weren't here, you know what would happen, right?" he asked. "You know better than this, Ryoken." Ryoken could only nod, too terrified to speak or cry, palms clammy. Hisahito-san really reminded him of Father when he got angry, except not as eager to strike or lash out. And he got angry when his son was threatened, even though the little firecracker had talked otherwise. Ryoken wasn't sure at that moment if the same could be said for Father about him.
But Hisahito-san was right. Ryoken had known better. There were better ways of self-defense, and Ryoken had known that. And yet, hadn't he wanted to be like Father? Wasn't that how Father did things? Then, why was how Father would do things making things worse?
An even bigger question: What was it about the Homura family that made Ryoken question all he's ever known?
Ryoko stood up, Takeru secure and asleep in one arm, wiping her nose with her sleeve on the other. Eyeing the food she had given to Ryoken for Takeru, she picked it up. She would have to heat it up for Takeru later. First, Takeru needed first aid and a bath. Normally, it would be dinner first, then the bath. But rules were all out the window that night, and Ryoko didn't know how much more of it she could take.
She'd have to give her parents a call later, since it was a lot for one night and she desperately needed to unload because her in-laws wouldn't understand. But, first, she had to deal with the aftermath of her mistake. She had been so certain Ryoken and Takeru would get along fine while she and Hito searched for hints about Ryoken's parents' whereabouts. While Takeru did have Kiku, having a friend who was a boy too was crucial.
So much for that.
Quite some time had passed since Ryoken had left the dinner table to give the food to Takeru, and only through Ryoko's persistence and concern did Hito agree they should check up on the two of them. If Ryoken wasn't planning to return to the table, he would've politely said, "I'm going to bed," or something of the sort. So Ryoko and Hito went to check on the two of them, not imagining in their wildest dreams they'd see what they'd seen.
Ryoko couldn't help but think about where she and Hito went wrong. What could they have done to diminish the raging animosity between Ryoken and Takeru? What could they have done so that didn't happen?
What.
What.
What…...?
But it was no use thinking on the past, on the would'ves, could'ves, should'ves. The only way was forward. And right then, Ryoko's primary concern was her boy's safety and health. Her precious boy. Her firecracker. Her sunshine.
Her little miracle.
It'd be too much to kick Ryoken out, as much as Ryoko's in-laws would suggest. That'd solve nothing. Several things were clear, however: Ryoken and Takeru couldn't be near each other, let alone together, and, even in her hysterical state, she knew Ryoken couldn't return to his parents. No child in a loving home was capable of being that violent with another child.
And that also meant she and Hito had work to do.
Ryoko pulled herself together enough to look at Ryoken's icy blue eyes: scared, confused, uncertain. And instead anger or hurt for attacking her child, her precious Takeru, she loved him as if he were her own. And for as long as he needed, he would be.
"Ryoken," she said, voice trembling, "I-we won't kick you out for this. We know you didn't mean to do that to Takeru."
Ryoken remained silent as he nodded, eyes shut tight, tears in the corner of his eyes.
"But, as long as you're here," said Ryoko, trying to regain her composure, but her voice betrayed her, "you can't-you need to stay away from Takeru. Please." Turning her attention to Hito, she said, "I'll give Takeru his bath first. Ryoken can take his after."
With that, Hito nodded, Ryoko walked out of the room, Takeru fast asleep in her arms.
"You need to stay away from Takeru."
That should've been great news for Ryoken. He should've felt a massive weight lifted and tossed from his shoulders, the constant pressure in his chest no more than a distant memory. He should've been celebrating being forbidden to see the source of his confusion, his doubt. He should've been able to breathe again. Ever since that day Takeru made it clear Ryoken could never win his favor, it was all he wanted. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. Yet, when Ryoko said that, Ryoken only felt intense hurt, as though he'd been slapped himself.
Why?
As Ryoken struggled with his feelings, Hisahito-san straightened Takeru's room, making separate piles for the fallen pictures, the scattered toys, and the pieces of paper. The room, in barely any time at all, felt as though nothing had happened in the last hour. Putting a firm hand on Ryoken's shoulder, Ryoken nearly jumping out of his skin in the process, Hisahito-san grimaced.
"You're a smart boy, so you know this, but Takeru's room is also off-limits, even when he's not there. You understand, don't you?"
Ryoken nodded his head slightly, enough to acknowledge he was being spoken to, badly wishing this terrible night could be over. Shrugging his shoulders and walking towards the door, he said, "Tell Ryoko she doesn't have to worry about my bath." Remembering his manners, he added, "Please."
"Taking one tomorrow?"
"Uh huh. Good night, Hisahito-san."
"Have a good night, Ryoken."
Ryoken wasn't sure how much Hisahito-san really meant that.
After tucking in a very sleepy Takeru into his bed and checking on Ryoken, Ryoko put on her bright pink shawl and headed towards the freshly rained-on backyard, the air cold on her tearstained face. No way was she going to let her in-laws see her in such a state. The night was a disaster as it was. She whipped out her phone and tapped the number for her parents' house. Dad and Mom liked going to bed at weird hours, so she'd hoped at least one of them would pick up.
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The other side rung so long, Ryoko was close to giving up on the call entirely, resigning to call them later that week. Just before the last ring closed out, however, a *click* sounded, followed by shuffling, something falling in the background, and a "WHERE'S MY WALKER?" If Ryoko's emotions weren't at an extreme, she'd fall over herself from laughing so hard. She settled for a small laugh.
"Dad?" she projected her voice as quietly as she could, smothering her laugh. "Dad, are you there?"
More shuffling and no indication that he heard her. Ryoko sighed. Why did calling her parents have to be a dramatic production every time? No wonder Hito was insistent on living with his parents and not hers. But, Ryoko wouldn't have it any other way. At least her parents didn't act like they were above everything.
"Oh Great Father, your beloved daughter requests your assistance," said Ryoko, loud as she could, her face flushed. She hadn't said that since she was about Takeru's age. Even worse, that seemed to have finally gotten Papa's attention. More shuffling, clanking, and loud button pressing, a "Hello?!" sounded from the other side. "Is that you, Ryoko?"
"No one else calls you Father," said Ryoko, still not believing that had gotten Dad's attention. "Yes, it's me."
More shuffling and a whoosh later, the voice returned clearer. "Okay, I've given up on finding the walker. Sorry 'bout that. Unusual for you to call this late, though? And so early in the week!"
Ryoko tightened the phone against her ear. Weekends were usually her "call Mom and Dad" days, so, yeah, it was unusual. But, with all she went through that night, it couldn't wait. She tried to hold back a sob, but it still came through as she said, "Yeah, I guess." A heavy silence followed. Only a sizzling frying pan could be heard on one side, crickets chirping on the other.
"Ryoko . . . what happened?" Dad's voice softened. The way he asked – so caring, understanding, non-judgmental — broke through Ryoko's last line of emotional defense, the tears pouring for the thousandth time that night. Telling him what went on with Takeru and Ryoken, she wasn't sure if words were coming out of her mouth as opposed to incoherent sobs, but Dad only listened silently, an occasional muted hum being the only indicators he was listening.
After a while, Ryoko finished recounting, her face cooler from the slight breeze brushing over her freshly tear-stained face. She felt so exhausted, the emotional toll of the night on top of the uncomfortable news she'd gotten at the doctor's office earlier that day finally getting to her. At least, though, she had told someone, someone she trusted dearly—temporary memory relapses and all.
The other side of the call was quiet, and for a few seconds, Ryoko thought Dad had fallen asleep listening. It wouldn't have been the first time, especially since he's notorious for such when Takeru talks with him. Before she said something to confirm, Dad only said, "Ryoko."
Ryoko's eyes started to water again. "Yes, Dad?"
"You're doing a good job." Ryoko could hear the smile in his voice. "It ain't easy taking care of kids, much less two rascals like them. 'specially when it feels like the ones who're supposed to help make it worse."
Ryoko could sense the double meaning in those words. "Dad—"
He continued, "Just make sure those other two buffoon guys you're living with pull their weight. Pullin' out the 'I'm the man of the house' card to lord it over those kids doesn't count."
Ryoko sighed, knowing where that was headed. Dad loved to go on those kinds of tangents, especially ever since she moved in with Hito and his parents. "I got it, I got it," she said. "I have to go now, okay? I'll talk with you soon. Thanks for listening."
"Anything for my daughter," he replied. "Take care of yourself, okay? Don't do anything reckless."
Ryoko slowly rubbed her stomach, laughing. "I can't do anything reckless, even if I wanted to. Bye now."
"Bye!"
A click signaled the end of the conversation. Ryoko sighed as she pulled the pink shawl closer, the wind almost dragging it along, and made her way back inside. The house was eerily quiet, with everyone settled in their rooms for the night. It's time she did the same. On her way to her and Hito's room, she checked Takeru's room first, then Ryoken's. When she saw they were asleep, she made it to her destination to find her husband passed out on the bed as well. Bunch of logs, all of them.
She couldn't complain, though. Compared to the chaos from earlier, it was more than welcome.
Ryoko put the shawl on a chair, deciding she'd call out sick from work tomorrow (they'd understand anyway), and laid down on the cool side of the mattress, snuggling against Hito, who unconsciously put an arm around her, for warmth.
At least her sleep was peaceful that night.