A/N:
Hello those of you who followed me here from Kindergarteners... Let's just say there's been a change of tone. Just so you know.
**Hello ff net people! I apologize again. I've finished posting all four chapters of this next part called When Troubles Come on AO3, and once again I have forgotten about you. I am SO SORRY! So according to ff net's guidelines about not uploading fics in parts (from what I remember... I could be wrong), I'm posting all the parts here in just one long fic. The entire story from kindergarten to adulthood is in a series called Pinky Promise on AO3, so that's what I'll use for the fic title here. I'll also title each chapter with the arc and then the original chapter title. As an apology, please accept all four chapters at once. *Sniff* *Bows*
When Troubles Come 1
Zoro lowers his head onto his knees and hugs all three of his shinai as raindrops silently drizzle onto them, seeping into the bamboo. The moisture can't be good for them, but it's not like it matters now. Koshiro has just thrown him out of the house.
His soft spoken foster father, who had never ever raised his voice at anyone, was roaring at him, telling him to get out and to disappear, to die out there so that Kuina could come back.
Zoro knows it's not the alcohol. No, the alcohol only takes off the mask he keeps on to hide his thoughts. Zoro knows the place never was his home, and Koshiro never was his father. He's a stray that belongs on the streets, an outsider, taken in and offered a place to sleep out of the generosity of the sword master's heart. Now he has overstayed his welcome.
"Hey Kuina, would you come back if I go?" He mutters, looking up at the slab of stone that towers over him when no answer comes.
The stone's newly engraved name is darkened by the rain, but still faint in colour compared to the others nearby. It stares down at him, mocking the futility of his attempt to speak to the dead. That's what Kuina is, dead. The dead don't answer, nor do they think or feel or exist. Zoro would join the tombstone in scoffing at his own absurdity if only his chest didn't feel too heavy for a laugh of any kind.
He's technically homeless, like that girl in that story Koshiro used to read to them at bedtime, the one that sells matches on the street on Christmas Eve. Oh but even that girl has a home to return to as soon as she finishes selling those matches. Zoro wonders if there's something he can do to make Koshiro want him around again, something he can either accomplish or die trying, like the girl in the story. It's not like bringing the dead back to life is something he can try harder at.
It's OK though. It's OK because he's nine years old now, almost nine and a half. In a few months he'll be old enough to walk to school without an adult. Then all he'll need is a place to sleep at night, like a cave in one of the mountains around here. It's not like he needs an adult to survive.
It's not like Kuina needed to end her life. It's not like being a girl was a death sentence. There are always ways to work around setbacks. Zoro thought he talked her out of it that day. They even made that promise, so was that all a lie-
He squeezes his eyes shut before resting his forehead on his knees again, letting rain water drip from his hair onto the soaked dojo uniform. He's not about to leave his blames with her, not when she has paid the full price for his negligence. He should've tried harder to stop her, to make sure she was OK that day. Maybe she wouldn't've died then, and maybe Koshiro wouldn't be in so much pain that he has to drown it out with alcohol.
No wonder Koshiro doesn't want to see him anymore.
A/N:
In case you're wondering, yes I am locking myself in this corner writing out "I'm sorry I turned the kindergartener AU into angst." a thousand times by hand, but it ain't stopping me. :/ I promise for this series to end happily since that was the first prompt I got. The series though. No promises for this part.