a/n: hi lovelies! đź’› i think i am caught up on replies? if I've missed you, I'm truly sorry, but i appreciate all of your comments! they keep me going! to the two Guests who have left reviews: thank you so much omg, I'm sorry, I'm absolute trash at getting back to people, but please please don't think that means i don't care. i promise I do! i wish ffn was set up the way ao3 is, I feel like that would be a lot easier đź’› please enjoy this chapter! happy holidays~


Ch 14 || Baby Steps

Their mother picked them up about two blocks from the studio. Yamato could count one hand the number of times he'd been in his mother's car, and he half-expected Takeru to decline her offer to give them a ride, given his new sensitivity.

The other part of him was relieved. Walking was healthy, and they were pretty used to it, but they'd been walking a lot these past few weeks. Takeru's stomach wasn't used to regular-sized meals, so he often had trouble finishing what was on his plate. Was… was there such a thing as too much exercise?

Not to mention, it was hot. And they had digimon who had heavy coats of fur.

So in the end, he was more thankful than upset, but the ride itself was still awkward. He'd messaged their mom to let her know that Takeru couldn't handle the windows being up—because even though Takeru was being brave in facing his fears and that was admirable, Yamato wanted to make him as comfortable as he could—and she never mentioned it.

Which was also appreciated. Though she did seem really hurt by the fact that both boys chose to sit in the backseat, and a traitorous thread of guilt wormed its way into his heart.

"Tsunomon," he whispered as he slid into the backseat, keeping his voice low so she wouldn't hear. "Can you do me a favor?"

Tsunomon looked up at him curiously. "Yes, Yamato?"

"Digivolve into Gabumon and keep her company up there. Please?"

The confused expression on his face lingered, and even Patamon looked baffled by the sudden request. His partner agreed nonetheless and spoke up.

"...Takaishi-san?"

"Hmm?" She snapped her head around, startled eyes eventually finding Tsunomon's tiny body. "Oh. Yes?"

She stumbled with her words, as if wanting to call him by name, only to realize a second later that he wasn't, in fact, the digimon she expected to see.

Tsunomon just smiled. "Just a moment. This might help."

Yamato set him down on his other side, scooting toward the middle to give him room, and it wasn't long before Tsunomon became cocooned in light and Gabumon stood in his place.

"Oh," she repeated faintly, eyes bulging slightly.

Gabumon's smile became friendlier. Warmer. The very essence of a comforting presence. "May I join you in the front?"

Her eyes darted between Takeru, Yamato, and Patamon, before drifting back to Takeru. As they got in the car, Yamato realized, he'd become tenser, and the sooner they got moving the sooner they'd be out of this vehicle.

And it was another reason to send Gabumon into the passenger seat. Hopefully, he could keep her occupied so she wasn't constantly looking back at them in her rear-view mirror.

"Of course you can," she answered finally, with a shaky smile. "Imagine the faces of the car next to us later… seeing a digimon in the front seat."

"Shoulda seen the kid that passed us on the way to Yamato's rehearsal," Patamon chimed in. "I swear he knew I was real. He kept staring."

She chuckled, half-genuinely amused, half-nervous. Then, hesitantly: "You… you boys wouldn't… mind staying for supper?"

Yamato glanced down at Takeru. His fingers were digging into Patamon's fur, and it was obvious by how white his knuckles were that his grip was extremely tight, but Patamon didn't seem bothered.

Yamato definitely noticed the way the bandages on his fingers started to shift and peel back from the action. Bandages could only hold for so long, and bending his fingers was only going to shorten its life.

"What do you want to do, Teek?" he whispered, careful not to put the pressure on him by speaking too loudly but also not willing to make a decision without hearing Takeru's opinion first.

Takeru gazed at him out of the corner of his eye. Gabumon had slid out of the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat in record time, even going as far to close the door. Slowly, Yamato closed his own car door but decided to remain in the middle seat despite the lack of legroom, and their mom flicked on her turn signal.

As she pulled out of the parking lane and onto the main road, Takeru expelled a near-silent breath. "I-is… if that's ok?"

"Of course it's ok, Takeru," she said, sounding equal parts relieved and happy. "I, um, I actually got… a cookbook."

Takeru's eyes scampered to the window before darting back down. Slowly, vigilantly, Yamato placed a hand on his knee.

"Yamato has plenty of cookbooks," Gabumon said. "Which kind did you purchase?"

What the hell would I do without Gabumon?

"It was a simple one," she said somewhat sheepishly. "Simple recipes. I… I've only looked at it once."

Gabumon, for his part, nodded sagely. "I see."

"Do we need to go to the store?" he asked, somewhat wearily. "To get ingredients?"

"Actually…" Her tone brightened a little. "...I went this morning."

"For real?" Takeru said, his voice a little breathy.

"Yes. I was thinking… that I needed to try a few things in the book, at least. I… I bought salmon, if that's ok? There was a recipe for, um… what was it? Teriyaki, I think? We could pair it with… rice?"

Her confidence wavered as she continued on, like she was afraid of how Yamato would respond. Like she was afraid to say the wrong thing.

"Sounds delicious," Patamon quipped.

"It does," Takeru said, trying to smile. "What… do you think, Nii-san?"

"Sure," Yamato said with a curt nod.

It was kind of a relief to know that they wouldn't have to hunt down ingredients. It was obvious already that Takeru was uncomfortable being in a car, and Yamato's legs ached from the amount of walking they'd done over the course of the week. He couldn't say he wasn't surprised to hear it, though—and from his mother, no less.

Maybe… maybe she really was trying to change, this time.

Regardless, Yamato was highly aware of Takeru's stiff body next to him. Part of him wondered if he should scoot over and give his brother space, but it seemed like physical contact was the one thing that could ground him.

The thought threatened to sunder the stability of his brain, to open up a new chasm of unwanted, guilt-invested thoughts. Dangerous. Baleful. Bottomless, and yet instead of sinking, the thoughts crawled out from its depths, drunk on the very thought of freedom, and scattered like spiders in his brain. Spiders that promised to consume him whole.

Of course Takeru needed physical comfort when he was scared. Of course Takeru needed the contact, to know that it was alright. Because he'd been starved of it for so long—even if it was unintentional—and how do you make up for years of emotional neglect?

The least he could do for Takeru was provide him with the comfort and safety of his presence.

So, without a word, Yamato lifted his arm from Takeru's knee to loop it around his shoulders. Almost immediately, Takeru leaned into him, but only slightly, and kept his eyes on his lap.

Gabumon—bless his heart—carried the conversation with their mother while both boys struggled to find the words. Yamato would never be able to express how much gratitude he felt for Gabumon's preparedness.

Still, despite the fact that he knew his mother was occupied and the car wasn't filled with tense silence, the ride to her apartment felt impossibly long and awkward. Minutes passed with exaggerated slowness, like something invisible and intangible stood in time's way to hinder its progression.

Takeru did not relax until their mother's car was parked. Murmured, "I… I feel sick."

Yamato squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. Said, just as quietly: "Want to wait a bit, or do you want out of the car?"

He wasn't shaking like last time, but the way he breathed was still erratic and shallow. It took a few moments for him to respond. "...let's… let's just get out of the car."

"Alright." Yamato tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he tried to read his brother, determining just how sick he was. "...can you stand?"

Wordlessly, Takeru nodded. Then, still not making a sound, and moving slowly, he reached over to unbuckle and shuffled out of his seat. Opened the car door like something was out there and he couldn't get caught by whatever it was.

Yamato wasn't far behind him, deciding to leave his guitar in the seat and worry about grabbing it later. He didn't like the wobble in his brother's steps.

Seconds later, their mother stepped out, looking at Takeru with uncertainty and worry. Her eyes met Yamato's briefly, before her gaze shifted back to his brother. "Everything ok?"

Takeru nodded again, this time managing to smile. "Um, yeah. Sorry. Carsick."

"Are you sure, hun?"

She took a cautious step toward him, like Takeru was a feral animal that could bolt at any given second. Her hands twitched, and after a moment or two of silence, her arms began to move and she cupped Takeru's cheeks in her fingers.

"Are you sure?"

Unexpectedly, Yamato was hit full-force by a wave of memories. His mind flung him back into the events of yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. The day where they found the digimon underground. The night when Takeru fought his way out of bed and banged on the apartment door until his skin cracked and bruised and bled. The meeting where they practically interrogated his brother, who was as frustrated and confused as the rest of them.

Yamato had said those exact words. Had repeated them exactly as she had. And Takeru went quiet, only to collapse for unexplained reasons barely a minute later. His eyes swirled with thick ribbons of blood red and...

The sound of Gabumon's footsteps snapped him back, and Yamato's blood crystallized in his veins. He watched Takeru with renewed urgency. His body was already preparing for the imminent fainting spell.

Except it never happened. Takeru looked equally tense, though for a different reason; the smile resurfaced on his face. He looked moved by the display of physical affection, and nodded his head.

"I'm ok," he whispered. "Thank you for asking."

Slowly, hesitantly, his mother smiled as well. Then she pulled away. "Alright. Let's go then, yeah?"

Another nod. Yamato watched his brother with lingering suspicion, still a little concerned. Some kind of aching hung like a web in Takeru's gaze, only deepening Yamato's worry, but along with it came the painful realization that Takeru probably missed their mother.

He didn't blame Takeru at all. What kid wouldn't miss their mother? Nonetheless, it was a brutal reminder that no matter how much Yamato tried… no matter what he did, or how much affection and love he gave Takeru…

Yamato wasn't their mother. Yamato couldn't replace a mother's love.

He wasn't sure why this realization affected him so profoundly. He wasn't sure why it stung so deeply. But it stung all the same.

"Nii-san?"

Yamato blinked. "Hmm?"

"Are… are you ok?" Takeru wondered. "Gabumon asked you something."

Blinking again, Yamato's gaze drifted around to locate his partner. Gabumon stared at him with a subtle sort of understanding that only he could achieve. "Yeah?"

" Asked if you were alright, as Takeru did," Gabumon answered.

Yamato nodded, though this response was a little less than truthful. Without waiting for a reply, his gaze drifted back to Takeru and his mother. "Should we, um… should we go?"

"Right," their mother murmured, nodding as well. "Let's go, then."

The walk to her apartment door was just as awkward as the car ride, but the more they walked, the more relaxed Takeru seemed to become. This, in turn, helped Yamato relax. It did not, however, keep him from fretting.

Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe he was being a bit too overprotective. Takeru was a teenager—he'd be fourteen in a few months. But age meant nothing to Yamato as he thought of the events that occurred very recently. Events that haunted him in every waking moment.

Because who knew what the hell Mirrormon had planned? Who knew if it involved the very boy who walked alongside him? The what ifs circled around and around in his head on an endless loop and he didn't know to close his mind off from them.

Gabumon brushed against his leg as they walked, and even though it probably wasn't very smart to walk with Patamon and Gabumon out in the open like this, their mother had parked relatively close to the building.

Yamato already knew he'd explode without Gabumon there. It was another thing that left him exhausted—always being on the verge of explosion. He wouldn't allow himself to check his phone to see if Koushiro had responded to his message. He didn't need to think about it.

He didn't want to think about it.

"—right, Nii-san?"

They'd entered the building by the time he checked back into the conversation. Their mother was sifting through her keys to locate the one that belonged to her apartment door, and Takeru was looking at him with a strange expression that he couldn't quite read.

"Sorry, kiddo," he murmured with a tiny, sheepish smile, one hand coming down to rest on his shoulder. "My head was up in the clouds. What did you say?"

Takeru smiled. "That's alright. I get it from somewhere, don't I?"

"Your father was always spacing out like that," their mother said with a chuckle. Her words were not laced with bitterness or frustration; instead, her tone was distant. Nostalgic. Wistful. "I'd ask him a question and he'd just, '...what?' Drove me nuts sometimes."

"He still does that," Yamato chose to say, keeping his voice light. No need to create more tension when they were working so hard to break it. "Teek? Seriously, I'm listening now."

"He was just bragging about your cooking," Patamon quipped.

Takeru, for his part, didn't even blush. He just grinned. "He's teaching me."

"You think you could help me out?" their mother said hesitantly, barely daring to smile. "I… I haven't cooked salmon in a long time."

It wasn't ideal, because her kitchen was unfamiliar and he didn't like cooking in a place where he didn't know where things were, but then… it would occupy his hands. Would give him something else to think about.

"...how long?" he asked, teasing just a little.

She laughed as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, widening it for the two of them. "...nineteen, I think? ...maybe twenty?"

Yamato looked at Takeru dramatically. "Looks like I don't have much of a choice?"

"Nii-san!"

His smile only grew even as he chided Yamato, dampening the heat in his tone. Their mother only laughed, too.

"Actually, no, I don't blame him. I'm, uh, culinarily challenged, you could say."

They slipped off their shoes and Takeru laughed at her comment, but something still lingered in the air—a sort of awkwardness which Yamato thought would only exist between his mother and him. Never between her and Takeru.

Or… or maybe that wasn't fair. He knew that their parents were workaholics, but he didn't know how much time Takeru spent alone in the past because of it. Maybe he felt just as perturbed as Yamato did.

Yamato didn't visit the apartment so much as Takeru came over to his place. Still, he knew what the inside of the flat looked like—but somehow it seemed a lot bigger and a lot emptier than it used to be.

Some of the furniture, like the sofa and coffee table, remained, but the small collection of things that she had scattered about, on shelves or hanging up—a clock, some photos, and her college degree were, shamefully, the only things he could remember—were now gone. Suddenly it didn't feel much like someone's home.

I hope she didn't pack away the dishes we need.

It would upset both his mother and Takeru if they had to unpack something—especially because her moving was the reason Takeru came to stay with Yamato in the first place.

"Pardon the clutter. I was putting a timeline together this morning, and I've been, um, packing..." She trailed off. "You boys, um… you want something to drink? I have—oh! Right!"

Her hands were hovering over the (supposed) timeline on the coffee table, but she then was moving toward the kitchen with abrupt haste. Over her shoulder: "I have drinkable yogurt."

"Yogurt?" Takeru echoed, just as Patamon asked, "What's that?"

"I know you're fond of sweet things, but… but I wanted to, um… get something healthy, in… in case you came by. It's supposed to be good for digestion and your immune system, and—and I wasn't sure what flavor you'd actually like, so I…bought..." She trailed off again, hand resting on the handle of the fridge, before continuing with less vigor, "I remember you both loving it as children, but… but sometimes tastes change as we grow older…"

"No, I'd love some," Takeru said, with that same smile from before—two parts mystery, one part affection, one part melancholy—like he knew their family would never be perfect, but he was still happy their mother was trying to do something about it.

"I would, too," Gabumon said warmly. "If that's alright with you, Takaishi-san?"

Her response was immediate. Her face seemed to glow. "Of course. Yamato? Patamon?"

"Sure!"

Well, if he didn't accept… he'd be the odd one out, right? So he said, "Why not?"

"Thanks, Mom," Takeru said sincerely as she placed the different options to choose from on the counter. "This is really cool."

The atmosphere in her apartment changed so fast. Maybe that was just a Takeru thing—no matter how mad or upset anyone was, and no matter how awkward things could become, Takeru's presence seemed to clear the air. He'd peek out through the clouds of a storm like a ray of sunshine.

Not long after they finished their drinks, Patamon shamelessly declared that he was hungry. This prompted them to begin supper, and although the tension had dissipated, it was when Takeru excused himself to use the bathroom that their mother's smile stumbled.

He knew what she was going to say before she said it. Yamato tried to look busy as he washed the rice in the sink, but she was in the kitchen, too, with the cookbook in her hands. Takeru was out of the room. Of course she'd take the opportunity.

"...your father says that he's been having… episodes, lately."

"Mm-hm."

"I know that you probably don't want to talk about it. Especially when he's not in the room..."

"It'd kill the mood if we brought it up in front of him," he muttered as he shut off the faucet.

"But I know how you feel about talking behind your brother's back."

"So you're bringing it up because…?"

He didn't say it to be rude or cold. She'd made mistakes, but she was still their mother—it didn't surprise him that she would want to talk about something so worrying. But damn it, he just wanted to not think about anything stressful while he was here.

"He does sleepwalk sometimes," she murmured in confirmation. "It's usually not anything dangerous or extreme… and it doesn't happen nearly as much as it did when he was a small child…"

Suddenly Yamato's brain did a one-eighty. He gazed up at her with the freshly-washed rice still in hand. A knot formed swiftly in his throat. "...yeah?"

"Yeah," she went on in the same quiet voice. "I'm talking maybe… an episode every few months or so? The older he gets, the less frequent it becomes. He usually just walks to the couch and goes back to sleep."

"Does he not remember doing it?"

"As far as I know, no. At first, I just assumed he'd accidentally dozed off on the sofa… but then admitted that he couldn't remember doing it. So I suspected for a while… I thought maybe he hadn't yet grown out of it… but I caught him, one time. It wasn't… like the episode your father described, however…"

Yamato wanted to shudder just thinking about it. Had to be careful not to linger in that part of his mind, lest his brother's screams haunt him anew. "So it's just mild, then?"

She nodded. "There are times… when he was a bit younger, right after… you both came home from…"

She glanced at Gabumon, who was respectfully quiet as they spoke. Patamon had gone with Takeru into the bathroom.

"I know what you mean," he said, turning his attention back to the rice. "I know he has nightmares about it, on occasion."

"The screaming used to wake me up."

"...I thought you said it was mild."

"Right." Another nod. "He doesn't… usually act violently or fearfully in his sleep… but when you both came home, he did have nightmares…"

"And you're only just now telling me this?"

"I did discuss it with your father. I wondered if you were going through something similar."

That part made his throat grow even tighter. Tighter. Almost to the point of suffocation.

She… worried about me, too… and never…

She never told me.

It was dangerous territory. Feelings and memories he'd shoved aside years ago. Everything unpleasant was unwanted and so he shut them out. He shut them out so well that he hadn't been able to open them up again. and it wasn't until the journey to the digital world and even the second time that he learned how to reconnect with those emotions, but he still hated the way they made him feel.

"Like I said before," she continued suddenly, "the screaming was as bad as it got. He'd remember the nightmares, so… so I figured that's what they were. If he hadn't remembered, then… then I would have considered them night terrors, like your dad told me. He never… his hands... he's never hurt himself like that. He—"

The bathroom door opened. Their whispered conversation only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like it had dragged on for much longer.

"Sorry, I was just… I got the bandaids all wet, so I just took them off," Takeru said, sounding a little nervous. Like he didn't really want to bring it up in the first place, but he knew that someone would point out that they were suddenly missing.

(That someone would likely be Yamato.)

"Do you need more, hun?" their mom asked.

"Yeah, you should probably redress them," Yamato added. "We should have done it this morning."

"Nah. Besides, look!" He wiggled his fingers. "They're not that bad. I guess I heal fast, huh?"

Yamato thought back to the day he'd injured his foot. Upon coming home, it'd basically repaired itself. Slowly, Yamato set bowl in the sink, making his way over to his brother without hesitation to investigate.

Patamon said, "I… I couldn't believe it, either."

"They didn't bother me that much at your rehearsal," Takeru admitted, and he glanced up for only a moment before looking back down. As Yamato took his hands, he wasn't sure why Takeru was suddenly afraid to meet his eyes, but then the realization hit.

Their mother. He was afraid of what she'd think.

As if sensing this, she stayed back, but Yamato's attention quickly zeroed in on his brother's fingers.

His brother's fingers, which had been bruised and bloody barely even two nights ago. He'd scratched and hit the door hard enough to leave wounds that should have lasted for a week, at the very least.

His fingers, which looked like they'd skipped straight to one of the final healing stages.

"What the hell…?"

"I don't get it," Takeru said with a shrug before pulling away from Yamato's hands. "But… but anyway, I just… didn't want you to worry, so I figured I'd let you know that I took them off. It's time for supper, right?"

"...right," Yamato echoed faintly, brain struggling to catch up.

He thought about the phone in his pocket. It suddenly felt so heavy, so large. Like Koushiro's message was a tangible thing that could increase its weight. He'd made a discovery and they'd had no idea what it was.

And not knowing made it much more frightening. It was a shadow that loomed over him, and Takeru didn't know. Takeru didn't know that he knew. The desire to get out his phone and see just what Koushiro had found out was strong, but it was also dangerous.

What they found out could soothe his fears.

What they found out could also add to his fears.

Yamato inhaled slowly. He… no, he couldn't think about it. No matter how foreboding the feeling was—and no matter how tempted he was to see what the hell Koushiro wanted—he couldn't. All that would do was make everything much, much worse.

"You're worried."

He hadn't realized Gabumon was so close to him until he spoke. His words only cemented Yamato's belief that he needed to get his mind off this mess. It'd drive him if he let it.

So, rather than responding, Yamato walked toward the kitchen and asked, "Are you sure there's enough salmon for the five of us?"

His mother's gaze was still locked on Takeru. Or, rather, Takeru's hands. Like she was trying to imagine how bad the wounds used to be.

"I didn't even think of that," Takeru said, eyes widening. "With the digimon…"

"You always know you do not have to feed us," Gabumon said instantly. "Though the offer was very kind."

Suddenly she chuckled. "I'm not too worried about it."

Yamato picked the bowl of rice up and set it aside to wash his hands before he got back to work. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"I, um…" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a self-deprecating smile on her face. "I went shopping extremely motivated, so I might have gone… overboard…"

She gestured to the fridge, and Yamato frowned slightly. "How long have you kept it in the fridge?"

This time she rolled her eyes, though the smile remained on her lips. "I bought it this morning. It's not bad."

"Alright…" He trailed off and opened the fridge. The salmon was the first thing he saw, and he almost snorted. "Mom, were you planning on eating this all by yourself?"

Her head descended into her palms. She continued to laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Takeru squeezed gently. "Whoa."

"You can feed a family of four with this," Yamato went on as he took it out and closed the fridge. "Haven't you heard of, I don't know, 'baby steps'?"

"You must have been really motivated," Patamon said. "Oh! Thanks for supper, too. I didn't say that before."

She peeked at them through the cracks of her fingers. "...so you'll help me eat it?"

"If we don't, Patamon certainly will," Takeru said.

Patamon looked down at him with a pout, feigning hurt, but it only lasted a few seconds. "...I do like fish."

She just chuckled again. "I'm a lucky woman, then." And then, as an afterthought: "This is what I call 'baby steps'."

A certain fondness wrapped around her words, delicate and grateful. Yamato looked at her, attempting to read her. Attempting to figure out what she meant. Before he could get anywhere, Takeru moved forward and wrapped his arms around her waist.

She looked surprised, and for a brief moment, Yamato's heart plummeted. If she rejected the hug, what then? It would kill him. It would erase all the progress they'd made. It would—

"Yeah," Takeru whispered. "...baby steps."

She returned the embrace slowly, suddenly looking close to tears. "Mm-hm."

There it was again. The gut-wrenching feeling that he hated so much. It was like a wound that, somehow, never fully healed, and so it kept reopening. He only ever wanted Takeru to be healthy and happy, but… but he couldn't pretend it didn't hurt to see him run so swiftly up to her.

Takeru never held a grudge, and if he did, it wasn't for long. And of course Yamato would want him to make amends with her, if only so he could live peacefully with himself.

Get a fucking grip, he thought to himself, scowling at the floor. What are you, five? Of course he'd hug her. He's Takeru.

"...still ok if I watch you cook, Nii-san?" Takeru asked suddenly, turning to face him. "I don't know if—hey, Nii-san, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, kiddo."

"And that's exactly why you've got your grumpy face on."

"I don't have a grumpy face."

"Sure you do," Patamon chirped, now fluttering in the air. "You're wearing it right now."

Yamato's scowl deepened.

Takeru stepped toward him. Extended his arms to embrace him. Their mother took the salmon from his hands and he didn't even notice at first. All he could focus on was: "...I told you not to worry about it."

Yamato wasn't a very physically affectionate person. Anyone who knew him knew that. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Takeru thrived on this… maybe it was because Takeru was his brother, his only brother. Or maybe he didn't really have a reason. All the same, his response was instinctive:

He returned it. Rested his chin on Takeru's head like he always did. Murmured, "You know me."

"We'll take it one step at a time." Takeru's voice dropped low. "Baby steps."

The phone weighed heavy again in his pocket, like a dense stone. Their mother looked lost all of a sudden, all warmth gone. Takeru's haunted, frightful screams echoed in the back of his mind like an unpleasant song that he couldn't get out of his head.

Yamato didn't speak of these things. Instead just squeezed Takeru's shoulders gently, like it was the last time he'd ever hug him again.

"Mm." He swallowed and echoed, "Baby steps."