Man it's been a while. Curse school and all its forms. Not to mention early wake up calls. Oh yes, my birthday has passed as of a couple days ago. So that was a fun day. Clozzie I understand your pain. You still haven't answered my question. ImmortalRider, otafujo, and kiba thanks and here you go. DP I figured that would make you laugh. And yes you got it right. Now give me a fanfic idea so i can dedicate it to you. I'm just gonna keep bound and Necessity a duology. Much easier.

Anyway...

Title: Changes

Genre: Family, Angst

Rating: T just in case

Summary: "Do you want to live?"

Fragmented

14. Changes

He lived in the dregs. Stealing, beating, killing, he did it all. (Except pass his body around, he wasn't good enough for it. He was too young.) It was just enough to survive, just enough to keep living. He didn't think something else would come up. What would? He was born a street rat; he would die a street rat. It was just that simple.

At least, it used to be.

He hadn't had water in a while. He was dying, he could tell as he lay listlessly on the gravel. He could hear footsteps all around him from where he lay by the crate. In the beginning, he had tried to fight back, attacking wildly. Now he just laid there, a ready-made corpse, another number on the street rat body count.

But then… he saw them.

They were two people: a man and a child. The man had silver hair, like an old man, but he was anything but that. There was a wild youth in him, one that claimed a refusal to age and die. He wore a white tank top with a black jacket hung about his arms. His pants were dark purple. Swirling around his right leg was a whip with a spiked end, and he clutched a gun in his other hand. His icy blue stare slid around the alley, passing him impassively. I'm nothing to him.

But the child was much more interesting. His hair was dark-blue, like the night itself. The color was improbable yet it suited him. He wore casual clothes and had a pair of strange black skates dangling from one hand. The eyes, golden and catlike, were more dead than the older male's, looking all around as though this world, this rotten hellhole, was nothing more of interest than a fly. The vacant stare very suddenly rested on him, the near dead filth lying there on the pavement. He realized that this child was younger than him, younger yet infinitely more cold than him. He had killed, had mauled and destroyed without a flicker of regret.

"Onii-chan?" The childish voice startled him. He expected something older, deeper, emptier, reflecting the frigid soul in front of him. But this was sweet, innocent, almost kindly warm. "This one is alive Onii-chan."

"Oh?" The man turned. His tone was cruel, mean, like he had expected, but there was an undercurrent of affection to it, so faint it was almost intangible. Then the man looked away again, boredom resting casually in his tone. "He'll die soon. There's no worth to him."

Words he had thought himself, words the higher scum of the world had said to him, they were nothing new, but the despair sank over his eyes like a deep fog that would never lift. But the boy's soft voice cut through it like a blade. "I don't know Onii-chan. There's something in him. He's survived an awful long time. Maybe he could be useful."

"What, do you want a pet of your own, brat?"

"No," the child replied. "I just think it would be a waste. What do you think?" the boy asked, looking at him. "Do you want to live?" He stared blankly back. "Do you want to?" Slowly, struggling, he nodded weakly. The child looked over. "Onii-chan?"

The man snorted before moving over to his side. A smirk played on his face. "Why not? Well then, you little shit, welcome to the fire." With no effort, he lifted the urchin onto his back. The man ordered, "Head back and clean a space." The child slipped the skates on before obeying, skating out of sight quickly. For a moment, the street child wondered. Then, giving up, he slept.

…

He awoke on something soft. A bed? Was that what it was called? How long had he been sleeping? He opened his eyes and shot straight up, suddenly overcome by a sense of paranoia. He was lying on a low bunk. It was dark, shutters closed. His gaze traveled all around as his instincts began to ease into tense complacency. He started at the site of the child, who was curled like an animal on the small soft chair across from him. He was deeply asleep, blanket over him rising and falling steadily with his chest. The urchin rolled out of bed slowly, expecting something, anything to come at him. A strange clicking sound echoed in his ears. He turned cautiously, expecting an animal or person to be making that sound. The man was there, sitting at a table. He was typing on a computer it seemed like, which explained the clicking.

"You're awake, you little shit. Hungry?" The street-child jumped and turned to look at the man. He called him a term people used in general for filth like him. Yet, from that man's trash-talking, shit-spewing mouth, it almost seemed endearing. Are all adults this strange? He then remembered he had been asked a question. He nodded. For some reason the man snorted.

"Is that your name then, "little shit"?" The child shook his head. "Do you even have one?" Another negative response came, causing the man to sigh. "We'll have the brat name you then. He'll be awake in five seconds." As he finished his sentence, he fired a bullet lazily at the sleeping form. The boy was out of bed in an instant, tackling the older man and knocking him to the floor, bullet in one hand.

"Guns aren't alarm clocks! Guns aren't alarm clocks!" the boy yelled, playfully beating fists on the elder. The man simply snickered and threw him off. The boy bounced to the floor, landing to his feet gracefully, giggling like a fool.

"Breakfast brat. The little shit needs food and a name. I'm off. Don't kill him." The man closed the laptop and took it, replacing his lost bullet without looking.

"Yes sir!" The child saluted happily before falling back in laughter, this derisive. "Sir, that's so stupid." The man rolled his eyes before exiting. The other boy had just gaped the whole time. What the heck was that?

The child turned to him. Had he imagined that cold look yesterday? He looked so blindly happy now. "You want breakfast right?" he chirped. Soundlessly, the other nodded. The child clapped his hands. "Okay! Just give me a second!" He bounced over to an area which appeared to be a kitchen. "Oh and stop acting as if we're about to eat you! Onii-chan says children taste bad and I wouldn't eat you anyway. You would need a bath first, at least." The boy flushed. He had been that obvious?

"What…" The little child glanced at him with a cute frown. For a moment the coldness flickered in his eyes as the brown-haired other struggled with his words. "What's… your name?"

The bluenette paused, as if thinking about it. As if it was a meaningless fact that you happened to remember. Then he smiled softly, eyes a gentle light. "Akito." Then he turned away to finish making the rice. After a moment, he placed two bowls on the table, passing one and a pair of chopsticks to the other boy. "Don't eat too fast," Akito warned. "You'll throw up." It was difficult to obey but he managed. After he finished Akito hopped away, almost literally, to the sink to place the dishes in. The other watched the blunette, utterly fascinated.

"Ne, what do you think of Akira?" He jumped.

"Eh?"

"Your name," the boy elaborated patiently. "How about Udou Akira? It makes sense for you."

"Um… sure?"

Akito smiled again. "Nice to meet you Udou-kun."

"…Yeah. Thank you… Akito."

"You're welcome."