Title: Crimson's Child

Authoress: Ladya C. Maxine

Rating: R

Summary: see chapter one

Warnings: see chapter one

Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or any of its characters. Any and all unrecognizable characters belong solely to me and are not to be used without my permission. I am not making any money off of this and I write with the solely to entertain.

In any house, old or new, the basement is the place where no child under the age of twelve dares to venture alone. Those narrow steps that lead down into the dark pit are enough to intimidate a youngster's naïve mind. Shadows reign supreme a few feet down, cloaking horrible things that wait for their victims to enter their realm before dragging them off to be swallowed by the blackness. Basements are simply put the scariest places on earth…

For children with loving families; families to who they could run and cuddle as assurances were whispered in their ears, gentle arms holding them against a warm body as hands smoothed their ruffled hair. Fathers would fetch a flashlight to search the underground chamber, well aware that it was as harmless as the rest of the house, only doing as if to ease their sons or daughters nerves. Mothers would give them a sweet treat with some juice before settling them in their laps as they read out of their favourite books, playing the parts of the characters by changing their voice, awarded when the child would begin to smile before giggling at certain parts.

He wasn't sure if this is what really happened; he personally had never experienced it, but he was pretty sure it did. Besides, his point of view differed greatly from his more fortunate peers. Compared to what he had to endure in the house, their basement was a sanctuary, a cold and isolated retreat where he would go to lick his wounds.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary as far as size was concerned but seeing as it was packed from wall to wall, floor to ceiling made it deceivingly small. Rotting cardboard boxes filled with broken household artefacts took up most of the space though mingled amongst them were bits and pieces of things he couldn't begin to understand their purpose; a bicycle without wheels, a couple of crooked chairs whose wooden frames were swollen, several panes of glass that had been bought months ago with the intent to repair the windows though now they leaned dejectedly amongst the piles, some of them broken and their shards littering the floor. The air was thick with the smell of old and had the unpleasant odour of water that had been standing still for too long. Green mould grew on the damp, bare walls. The only source of light was a narrow window a few feet from the ceiling at ground level though the snow and overgrown weeds on the outside obscured what little light the day had to offer.

It wasn't a pleasant environment, but it was one of the very few things, if not the only thing, he could consider his. No one else had been down here for almost a year, mainly because the amount of junk was so great that it made it impossible for them to navigate through the room. Being the smallest member of the house he could crawl beneath and between the boxes. Their mother had barked to Fritz and Evan, the second eldest son, not too long ago to clean out the basement. Of course Fritz hadn't, flipping her off and calling her a few names of choice before throwing a fit and smashing some of the few entire plates they had in the kitchen. Evan did the expected; he disappeared. Of the nine he was rarely at home, spending up to weeks at a friend's pad where the group of them smoked and slept all day.

The only reason why he didn't simply chose to hide from the others in the basement too often and long was because it was always cold, even in summer. Sometimes, when things simply got too unbearable upstairs he'd retreat to down here, curling into a shivering ball in a corner for the night, but by morning he was forced to resurface in hopes of some warmth. At the moment the cold concrete of the floor bit at his feet through his socks but at least the rest of him was warm, wrapped in the thickness of the coat.

He was pretty sure Kai had loan, not given, him the coat so he went to great lengths to keep it as clean as possible. This morning he had even gotten up extra early to fill a bucket with water from the kitchen sink and using a strip of cloth he had proceeded to wash himself as best he could, the cold water causing goose bumps to rise on his skin to he hadn't stopped until his true skin colour was revealed once more, along with some bruises and cuts here and there. Finding the cleanest clothes he owned, he had put them on and it was only then that he replaced the jacket, noting for the first time that it was a bit too big for him. Kai was taller than him by maybe an inch or so, but the main cause was that he was far thinner than the bluenette.

After making sure no one saw him, he had slipped back down into the basement, carefully making his way through the boxes to the back where he had hidden the rations. Placing several thin blankets he had taken from upstairs on the floor, he sat himself down, burying his feet in the cloths in hopes to warm his toes. As he picked up one of the plastic containers he felt a stab of guilt within him at the thought of keeping the food from the others, especially the kids who were but a few years older than him. He had considered sharing the rations but early experience taught him that his charity would leave him with nothing for himself; the bigger children would take everything without a word of thanks.

Pushing aside the guilt trip, he finished the pack. Today was the first time he had ever eaten breakfast and lunch and if things went well he'd also have dinner. Food does wonders; not only did his stomach no longer ache but his bruises seemed to hurt a lot less too. Kai's coat collected his body heat and kept it close, the warmth, and full stomach, making him doze lightly in the mere comfort of it all.

'Tomorrow…Tomorrow I'll see him again…'

Smiling into the fabric, he curled into a smaller ball and fell sound asleep.

Whether it was the loud crash or the screams that woke him he couldn't tell but the commotion from upstairs jolted him out of his sleep. Slightly disoriented, he rubbed his eyes, looking up to see night had fallen as the world beyond the small window was dark. He usually didn't sleep so long, except when unconscious (which didn't really count as sleep), but the combination of full stomach and warm body had intoxicated him.

Once his eyes had adjusted well enough he hesitated for a few moments before deciding to risk creeping up the stairs to see what was happening; the loud voices had by now escalated and multiplied as others joined in. Another crash, sounding like a bottle, shattered along with a pained cry. Above him the ceiling creaked as someone stomped across the floor of the living room, knocking loose dust and cobwebs which trickled down on him, making him sneeze.

Jumping to his feet, he removed the jacket, shaking it out to remove the debris before folding it neatly and placing it in the box nearby where he kept the rations. Throwing the blankets on top to conceal the precious items, he crawled through the secret path towards the stairs and after a few deep breaths he climbed them, the wood creaking softly beneath his lithe weight.

Opening the door a bit, he peaked into the hall first to make sure it was empty before slipping out, feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable in his own house. Alone didn't fall in the category as his ears were assailed by the cursed threats that were being spawned in the living room. Up here he could discern Fritz's voice along with Bernard's as the two older males voiced their opinion on whatever the argument was about. He didn't have the opportunity to reach the living room as his mother stormed out, eyes flowing with tears which ran over her cheeks. Her bruised cheeks; someone had hit her.

"KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOUR OWN SLUT, FUCKER!!"

"KEEP YER NOSE OUT OF ADULTS' BUSINESS, BRAT!!"

Enough heard. From the slur in his booming voice their uncle was drunk. Very drunk. And a drunken Bernard is one of the most unstable persons he knew period. Unstable enough to attempt a move on his sister-in-law. Again. At least this time his mother had come out of it with her clothes still moderately intact.

"DON'T PUSH ME, OLD MAN!!"

Fritz was sober but livid. The relationship between him and their mother was based merely off tolerance, but while he himself would argue with their mother on many occasions, calling her names that were less than flattering, he never raised more than his voice at her. The other females of the household were treated the same as the males, but Fritz, be it basic instinct or some shrewd sense of morality, never brought any physical ailment upon their mother. So it went without saying that Bernard fondling and then hitting her had earned him Fritz's ire. Their uncle wasn't a smart man but even a fool knew that that was a very bad thing.

Sure enough, the sound of flesh striking flesh issued a fight. A few members fled the scene, shoving past him as they retreated. Others remained, cheering Fritz on. Their eldest was the most likely to be victorious; next to having youth and a well-functioning mind, Fritz had been taught a few fight techniques by Jacob as he sometimes visited the brawler.

The memory of Jacob's angered shouts made him shiver. Once word reached their home of how he stole that package it will be him in Bernard's place as Fritz would be more than pissed off; he looked up to Jacob, for some reason. And then there was their mother…

Her bruised face appeared in his mind and without really considering it, he edged past the doorway to the living room, sparing a glance to see that Fritz had Bernard on the floor, pounding the other's head with his fist as he continued to curse him. Once at the foot of the stairway he made his way to the end of the hall where the door had been left slightly ajar in the woman's retreat.

She was lying on her bed with her back to the door, curled up on her side, not looking up until he walked around the bed and stood before her. Watery eyes studied his before she shuffled back slightly, patting the mattress. He obeyed, climbing onto the bed beside her. It was only then that he realized that her pants were torn.

A hand lightly touched his cheek, tracing the somewhat faded bruise which she studied. He mirrored the gesture, gently running his fingers over the fresh imperfection. Her long nails scraped the back of his neck as she pulled him down and placed a kiss on the darkened skin. It was unexpected, as was when she embraced him, making him lie beside her as she ran fingers through his hair silently, teary eyes fixed on the window.

At first he froze, awaiting the slap or shove that usually accompanied any sign of care, but nothing came. Soon his tense muscles relaxed and he dared to snuggle closer to which she didn't object. He wasn't a fool; he knew this for what it was. It was just temporary. Too upset at the moment, she was only comforting herself. Once the feeling past things would go back to how they've always been. But for now he held onto the moment tightly, eyes drooping at the soothing motion of her hands gently stroking his back.

Footsteps outside went unheard until the bedroom door opened. Fritz stood silhouetted against the pale hall light, his boots heavy on the floor as he walked around the bed to face her. His brown eyes took in the two were they lay for a moment before kneeling down, raising a hand to touch the dark bruise on her face. She flinched and he withdrew; his fingers and hand slightly smudged with Bernard's blood. His eyes fell onto her ripped pants and his fists curled tightly but he said nothing, instead he sat their, watching her as she cuddled the small red-head. Only when her tears stopped did Fritz stand, seemingly satisfied that she was better.

He had almost slipped off to sleep during the silence when hands wrapped around him, pulling him from her arms. Knowing a lost cause when presented with one, he surrendered himself but was surprised when she batted Fritz's hands away, pulling her youngest back against her, lifting her eyes to meet her eldest.

"No," was all she said, emphasizing her words by tucking the child's head under her chin.

Fritz's scowled darkly but assented, rising to his feet, empty handed.

"Skank," he muttered and walked out, closing the door behind him with a click.

"No," she repeated, softer this time, smoothing his clothes which Fritz had ruffled. "No…"

Any other muttering was lost to him as he slipped back into the dream world. Two meals were more than enough for today; until she forcibly pushed him away, he was not leaving this bed.

Tbc…

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