A/N: Thank you to all reviewers and readers. And special thanks to my beta-reader: Asami-chann! Much love for putting up with me!

Warnings: Vampirism, BL, AUish

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis.

Pairings: Thrill Pair, Golden Pair, Imperial Pair, Endurance Pair (InuKai), MizuYuu (does this have a name?), others mentioned later

Chapter 3

"I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go."

-"The Waking" by Theodore Roethke

"Seishooooouuneeeeennn!" Nanjirou griped from the bottom of the stairs, tapping his racket against his shoulder. "Oi, come on, get up! Get up! Let's have a match!" he called out cheerfully, before taking the steps two at a time. Karupin came prowling down the hall, mewling softly before scampering between the man's feet. Cursing as he stumbled, Nanjirou righted and continued on towards Ryoma's room, not even bothering to knock.

Stepping in, he grinned slyly at the limp figure curled up in bed. Really, it was all Ryoma's fault for sleeping in until noon. Crouching by the boy's side, his grin widened to maniac proportions as he prepared to bellow in the youth's ear - before it faded away as he really examined his son's face.

There were dull circles under his eyes; not pronounced, but apparent. His skin had gotten paler, it seemed, and a light sheen of sweat covered his skin. His lips were currently twisted in a frown, his eyes moving under their closed eyelids. The sheets were bunched to the side, yet Ryoma had managed to snag a fistful, crossing it over his abdomen. It was almost as if he were in pain.

Rinko had said to let Ryoma sleep, even if it was all day long - she, too, had noticed her son's state. It was distressing and Nanjirou had every intention of blaming it on that deceptively pretty boy that had lured in his son. Ryoma had been in perfect health before that "Fuji" showed up claiming to be the boy's boyfriend; it was quite obviously Fuji's fault.

Nanjirou spent a moment fantasizing about cutting that smiling bastard down to size, before blinking and taking a deep breath.

"SEEEIISHOOOUUNEEEENN!"

Crash.

"ANATA!" Rinko bellowed from downstairs.

Ryoma glared up blearily at the unrepentantly grinning face of his father.

"Go 'way..." the boy mumbled, and no matter how much sleep fogged it, the refusal still sounded so uncute. Nanjirou sniffed, tapping Ryoma's forehead lightly with the racket. The golden eyes were beginning to regain sharper clarity as he woke, however reluctantly, from dreamland. One hand eventually rose to swipe away the blasted piece of wood and net, much to the older man's amusement.

Nanjirou did one last tap before stepping back with a smug grin. "Time to get out of bed, seishounen! You've slept half the day away already!" he crowed. "Get up, get dressed, get lunch, then get ready to be crushed by me in tennis!" he laughed.

Ryoma sat up, glaring hotly, but by then Nanjirou had skipped out.

The freshman prodigy couldn't believe how annoying his father could be. What could he have done to deserve Echizen Nanjirou as a father? Did he slaughter an entire village or something?

"We have not significantly changed from our- human selves, you could say."

Ryoma shook his head from the uncomfortable thought; his dreams were escalating from strange annoyances to a mild sort of horror. Just what the hell was his mind concocting? Was his creative side feeling somewhat denied with the lack of new tennis moves and decided to torture him in his sleep?

Rubbing his eyes with a yawn, Ryoma stood from the bed, trudging out of his room and down the stairs. His mother appeared to be berating his father for disturbing him so only Nanako greeted him cheerfully as she set the table for lunch.

"Did you sleep well, Ryoma-kun?"

"Aa," Ryoma lied, taking a seat.

Nanako just smiled in response, coming out with a Western-style lunch that inwardly made Ryoma want to throw a fit. He resigned himself to it, though, and took a sandwich off the proffered plate, frowning minutely at it. Nanako giggled good-naturedly just as his mother and father came in to take their seats. Nanjiroh eagerly bit into his meal, grinning; Rinko politely took one and ate it with much more grace than her husband.

"How is school, Ryoma?" his mother asked kindly, all benign curiosity. Ryoma shrugged, told her its fine, and continued eating. Nanjiroh asked about his tennis club after Rinko elbowed him, and the reply is similar.

"Will Fuji-kun be stopping by later?" Rinko asked, and without even pausing, added, "You really should invite him to dinner, Ryoma. He seems like such a nice boy."

Now Ryoma knew they really didn't know his senpai. That deceptively smiling face always lead older crowds astray - even teachers had been fooled. Still, the boy declined to comment, merely nibbling at his food. Nanako set three jugs of milk in front of him - the milk diet created by Inui had been going on for three years now and much to the freshman's consternation, he still found himself shorter than his senpai-tachi - gifting Ryoma with an encouraging smile.

Ryoma couldn't help but wonder why everyone lately was treating him as something delicate. So he hasn't been getting much sleep - that didn't mean he was some fragile glass sculpture! He could still whip butt in tennis, even if he felt like he was going to collapse dead on his feet after a few matches.

Nanjirou finished first, unsurprisingly, and got up to wander over to the patio, laying down and reaching for a magazine. Rinko and Nanako had started up their usual girl chatter so Ryoma hurriedly finished off his food - eating noticeably less than the mountains he usually did - before meandering back up the steps. He was torn between going back to bed and sleeping the rest of the day away, but his inner athlete was whining about wasting such a nice day.

He managed to drag himself into fresh clothing before heading back downstairs, flopping back on to the unoccupied couch. Grabbing the remote, he flipped the TV on, eyes on the screen but not really watching it. The dull chatter in the background and the sound of pages turning was like a lullaby to him, and as his mind fuzzed over comfortably, the remote slipped from his hand as his eyes slid closed once again.

Sunlight filtered in through the cracks in the hut, bearing down on his closed eyelids. It was a warm irritant and reluctantly, he opened his eyes. The straw mat which he had slept on rustled underneath him as he sat up, golden eyes looking around the small hut curiously.

It was simple, bare; a straw mat, big enough for maybe two people, lay on the ground. There was no door; merely a canvas flap that shielded the entry from the outside. A plain, wood box was nestled in the corner, partially-filled with an assortment of herbs, and some ragged clothes were thrown in the furthest corner from the entryway. Another crate, empty, was propped next to the box; it would normally be filled with the fish or vegetables they would eat.

"Kano-niisan?" he asked aloud, his childish voice seemingly bouncing off the thin walls.

Could he be fishing? But the fish wouldn't be biting at this time of day, so that couldn't be it. He hurriedly got up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one arm. His worn, brown clothes hung limp on his thin, small frame. He was already seven summers old but he still stood shortest amongst the other boys his age in the village.

Scrambling out of the mock-hut, he glanced around the area Kano had set up their home; it was void of life. To the west, the trees of the forest appeared to shiver and moan, but Kin was used to the groans of the foliage. He paid it little heed, instead going east where the sounds of villagers already up and about were.

It was a short distance to the village and Kin's light footwork and quick pace made him near-unnoticeable among the village roads. A few sent him cursory glances but their casual dismissal didn't warrant his attention. He avoided the children playing with each other, praying that they wouldn't' notice him slink by.

"Hey, hey! It's the demon boy!"

Kin shrunk lower, footsteps quickening as child after child turned their attention to him.

"Shh! Not so loud, idiot! Do you want him to hear you?"

Where was Kano-niisan?

"Yeah, he'll burn down your house too!" Childish laughter echoed throughout the air.

He was almost near the river; it was the last place he had to check.

"The demon child with golden eyes!"

Kin kept his gaze to the ground, even as some of the older villagers looked at him as he passed. He hated going into the village alone. Why had Kano-niisan went in so early? He usually waited for him or woke him up!

The riverbank was empty.

Kin turned back around. Where was there left to check? Maybe he had missed him when he was scouring the village? Kin pulled his garments closer around himself. There was an unnatural chill in his body. He was afraid but he couldn't place why. Everything felt so...strange...

"You trying to steal from the fish nursery, you little monster?"

Kin didn't waste any time, quickly fleeing, even as a rock hit his shoulder painfully. He was running, barely avoiding villagers and smaller obstacles. His bare feet thudded against the ground, dirty now, but Kin didn't much care. He never felt entirely clean anymore, not ever since the fire had taken away his parents.

All he had was Kano-niisan now...

He didn't stop running until he reached the hut and he threw himself inside, curling into a ball reflexively as he hit the straw mat. It was so quiet inside and his foot was bleeding after having stepped on something sharp. The place where the rock had struck was starting to burn but the pain was ignorable.

Where was Kano-niisan?

The morning gave way to noon, and noon gave way to evening, and still Kano-niisan had not come back. Kin had unwound himself, nibbling at a weak vegetable he hadn't even bothered to add herbs too. It was bitter and tough to chew, but it would be enough to satiate his hunger.

He sat at the corner of the mat, eyes fixed on the boxes as if trying to remember something. The box was partially-full of herbs; the crate was empty. His eyes turned to the clothes he had stock-piled in the corner; it was unkempt, as per usual, but it seemed smaller. His eyes returned to the boxes.

The box was partially-fully; the crate was empty.

Kano had gone fishing yesterday.

He had told Kin to go into the forest- "The forest seems to favor you, chibisuke!" -and pick plenty of herbs. Kin hadn't understood why but Kano told him it was important, and Kin did not want to anger his brother. He did as he was told, plucking herb after herb - tasty ones, medicinal ones, spicy ones - until he had collected enough to fill his sack.

He had returned, to put them in the box Kano had fashioned for their new home. Kano came in near-sundown, boasting enough fish to feed them for a few days. He put them in the crate after roasting them; there were at least five good-sized ones. He had been grinning even as he roasted the largest one over the fire. He had cut up the mugroot- Kin's favorite seasoning! - and generously flavored their meal. He cut the fish in half, allowing Kin to have the tail-end.

It had been a good night. It had been their best meal, ever since their parents had died.

The box was partially full; the crate was empty.

Where was Kano-niisan?

The fire had taken away all of their belongings. Kano had started the hut and everything it held from scratch. Some villagers had been kind, at first, giving the two orphans some extra clothes, until rumors had started circulating. Kin should have died in that fire with his parents, they said; had he not been there all along? So why was it that he survived, miraculously unharmed, while both parents - strong, clever people - perished?

That was when his eyes had been mentioned. Never had they seen a child with such eyes; a brown so light it appeared gold.

The villagers stopped being kind. Kano had stopped smiling and looked worse after each day had passed. He had only started to brighten five days ago, smiling and playing with Kin like he did before. Teasing him like a brother, caring for him like a son.

Where was Kano-niisan?

The box was partially full. Only a few medicinal herbs remained and a few cobbles of vegetables that looked unkempt.

The crate was empty. Kano-niisan had caught at least five good-sized ones last night.

The clothes piled in the corner were Kin's and Kin's alone.

Where was Kano-niisan?

Kin curled up atop the straw mat, alone on the expanse of its rustling layer, and prayed for Kano's return in the morning.

Kano had murmured something to him last night, as Kin was drifting to sleep.

"...You have such strange eyes, chibisuke..."

Kano-niisan never came back.

"...yoma. Oi, Ryoma!"

Ryoma opened his eyes, bleary with sleep, but managed to make out the image of his father. Why did everything look weird? He blinked, and was surprised to find wetness roll down his face.

His father was staring at him now, frowning and looking worried. Ryoma backed away from Nanjirou's outstretched hand, rubbing away his tears with one arm. The cushion of the couch pressed up against his back and Ryoma scowled, unnerved not only to find himself crying over some stupid dream, but that of all people, his father saw it.

"What?"

It came out harsher than Ryoma had intended; not that he was worried about hurting his father's feelings, but fearing that it sounded defensive. Nanjirou didn't look affronted but he also didn't look relieved. The ex-pro didn't so much as blink, merely looking thoughtful. Ryoma stared back at him, eyes beginning to narrow with a growing irritation.

"Is something wrong?" His mother's voice piped up from out of his sight range. It had a curious tone, traced with a bit of concern. Nanjirou's frown dissipated and he looked up at his wife with a grin.

"Nothing, Rinko-chan, nothing at all," he laughed off. Ryoma just nodded, standing up, maneuvering around the older man as he made his way over to the kitchen. He was starting to feel hungry; vegetables weren't exactly filling.

Ryoma froze.

What had he just been thinking?

With newfound determination, Ryoma steeled himself as he rummaged through the refrigerator for a snack. Out in the living room, Nanjirou was staring at a spot on the ceiling, frowning; Rinko had gone upstairs for whatever feminine whim passed at her fancy.

Nanako sighed as the unusual tension once again descended on the household. The first time had been when Ryoma's boyfriend - Fuji-kun, wasn't it? - had stopped by, politely asking permission to court Ryoma. Her aunt had been smitten with such traditionalism (ignoring the fact that both were boys) but her uncle nearly had a fit. You would never think Echizen Nanjirou was an overprotective father at first sight.

Ryoma had not helped to soothe the situation any, likely not even noticing it and continuing on with his daily life. The signs of something were there, though; less of an appetite, the dull circles under his eyes... Nanako almost believed Ryoma had been sneaking out at night to have a secret rendezvous with Fuji-kun, but then she remembered this was Ryoma and he got up for no one.

"Do you want me to make you something, Ryoma-kun?" Nanako asked kindly, looking up from where she had been flipping through the newspaper. Ryoma shook his head, pulling out a grape ponta. He opened it, giving it a strange, criticizing look, before walking out and towards the back. Karupin followed at his heels, quietly mewling.

Nanako reflected on her cousin's strange, tired behavior.

Rinko wondered how a tennis magazine ended up on the sill of Ryoma's locked window- on the outside.

Nanjirou knew something was wrong; his son never had addressed anyone as '-niisan', not even Ryoga.

Elsewhere, Echizen Ryoga frowned as he once again did not get the job, being practically kicked out of the store by a racist shop owner. His golden eyes showed nothing but hurt, remembering foster home after foster home.

Being abandoned time after time.

Momo sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. His house was quiet; his human "family" was out on vacation. Momo had pulled from his own personal funds to pay them through and they were now enjoying a leisurely week at Hawaii. He didn't feel like having them around right now, not with recent - developments.

"I'm not allowing it to happen again," The hiss was full of venom, and had Momo been a weaker person or ignorant of the other's personality, he would have flinched. Instead, he opened his calm violet eyes to watch the other closely as he paced his room in long strides.

With a sigh, Momo leaned his cheek against his hand, using his drawn knees to rest his elbow. "You say that like you can do anything about it," he pointed out, voice bland. "Do you remember what happened when you confronted him last time?" Momo could still vividly picture the long, bloody cuts along the other man's body - as if he had been clawed by some vicious animal.

Kaidoh growled ferally, punching the wall in a burst of anger. His fist went through the plaster and Momo scowled; now he'd have to repair that. "Oi, if you're just going to break things, do it at your own goddamn house. I have four kids running around causing enough havoc in this one," he said as the Viper withdrew his fist.

Kaidoh glared at him. "You're the one that picked them. We told you to pick a smaller family," he sniped. Momo rolled his eyes, standing up to examine the newfound hole in the wall.

"Then I'd have a dreadfully boring family. Kids make it seem a bit brighter, too, you know?" Momo mused. He didn't like the thought of no siblings; he wondered how Takashi endured it. Momo liked the thought of younger siblings; it was fun to watch them grow and see what they become.

In all his years of existence, he had had many siblings; some became influential businessmen and women, entrepreneurs, even millionaires. Others became nothing more than drunks, gangsters, and even street bums. He had watched them with curiosity, wondering if it would be the same if he had lived their lives. Could he become one of the most popular TV stars? Could he pull off the perfect crime?

But Kunimitsu had stressed anonymity.

"We can't draw attention to ourselves," he had said, swords strapped to his side, "Be good enough to live, but not good enough to earn a reputation."

Eiji had had fun with that one. He had claimed shinobi were the epitomes of anonymity.

"Where are they, anyway?" Kaidoh asked, glancing out the window.

"Rather delayed observation, don't you think?" Momo mused with a small grin but didn't wait for the other to retaliate, "Sent them out on a full-paid vacation. I didn't want them to be here when you threw your little fit."

Momo wasn't prepared for the sudden jerking forward as a hand fisted the front of his shirt, but he couldn't claim he was surprised. Furious green eyes bored into him and if he had been anything but what he was, he wouldn't have been able to notice the faint gold outline of the iris. Oh yes, Kaidoh was very angry.

"Do you think this is funny?" Kaidoh growled, before flinging the other man away from him. Momo hit the wall with a painful thud but no recognition of pain showed on his face. He merely remained standing, matching the stare of the other supposedly teenaged boy.

"Or are you forgetting your own participation? Getting senile in your old age, Momo-chan?"

Momo winced; he knew the viper would throw that one at him. He exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair, averting his eyes to the window. Night was nearing; the sky was painted for sunset, an extraordinary combination of red, yellow, and violet hues.

"I know, Kaoru," Momo said softly, regarding the sky with a misty glance, "I know."

END...Chapter 3.

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