Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ —¤: Boy meets dad :¤— ❯ The Sound of Snow Falling ( Chapter 22 )

Gaki - brat

 

Kozou - rude term for brat

 

Gomen - sorry

 

Gomen nasai - I apologize

 

Daijoubu - all right/okay

 

Daijoubu ka - are you alright? Are you okay?

 

Futon - Japanese style bedding

 

Gozaimasu - is a polite copula

 

Onegai - please

 

Ganbatte - do your best/hang in there/go for it!

 

Shishou - teacher

 

Nani - what

 

Abunai - watch out/danger/dangerous

 

Urusai - shut up/be quiet

 

Kami - God

 

Doko wa - where are you

 

Shinobi - spy/thief

 

 

***

 

CHAPTER 22

The Sound of Snow Falling

 

***

As the days dragged by, the two occupants of the small hut fell into another routine. No one dared mention the incident on their first day of `work' together, and there was a bit of tip-toeing around each other before they mutually decided to put everything aside. `Business' boomed after their first day disaster, and people in town had looked at them differently after Kenji's heroic efforts. Some gave them a wide path; some people looked at them with awe; and some, more thuggish-looking folks were often found leering at the duo. Life, for the Himuras, had resumed its normal course.

 

During the days when they didn't have to peddle medicine or didn't have anything to sell and thus had to wait for Iizuka to bring them back more supplies, they trained. His father still hasn't stopped convincing him to use a `real' katana instead of his usual sakabatou, and he adamantly refused each time. The hitokiri still didn't believe that it was a family heirloom. He knew that his father couldn't understand how a reverse-blade sword could be useful, despite the way he proved it to him otherwise each time they practiced.

 

The summer gradually gave way to autumn as the leaves fell from their branches and the cold air finally gave way to winter. Fresh snow blanketed everything around them and they peddled less and less each day, opting to stay on the mountains instead of braving through several feet of ice.

 

Today, Kenji was reminiscing about how long he's spent with his father. They had just finished with breakfast after a couple of hours' worth of sword practice.

 

“Today,” Kenji said, “will be nine months since I fist came here,” he reminded his father. The other redhead merely nodded his head, encouraging Kenji to continue. “We should celebrate,” he added. “Perhaps we should cut back on the early morning practice this week and relax instead, what do you think?” He looked at his father hopefully. The Battoussai was a slave driver. “It wouldn't hurt to relax once in a while, you know.” He complained.

 

“What do you suggest we do then?” Kenshin replied.

 

Famous last words and all.

 

***

 

“Do you know that you equate celebrating to eating and drinking, then you eventually get drunk after two cups, go to sleep and have a major hangover the next day?”

 

Purple bloodshot eyes glared at him through red bangs.

 

“And not only that,” he continued, “but you're also moody and mostly cranky for at least half a day. Makes me wonder why you even drink. At all.”

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will the massive headache away to no avail. “Must you be so cheerful in the morning?”

 

“If I look cheerful to you then you must really be feeling bad.”

 

He mustered as much strength as he could and glared at his father. “Thank you for pointing out what's very apparent, Captain Obvious.” He yawned, ruining his glare. “Not all of us can be perfect, you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

His father must really enjoy torturing him, Kenji thought. All he asked for was a day or recreation, which his father easily obliged yesterday, but here he was, still sporting a hangover while being subjected to the torture of waking up early for training. How he hated that word.

 

Training.

 

He shuddered. He never knew one word could invoke such strong feelings of disgust from him. His father was a slave driver and he told him so.

 

All he got was a chuckle and an order to continue.

 

Despite his aching head and sluggish movements, he felt unexplainably exhilarated from the fresh mountain air.

 

The mountaintop was now covered in snow and everything was colored white. It seemed like it was only yesterday when summer rolled in.

 

Why couldn't they just have a snowball fights instead of training? What was so important in concealing yourself in the snow anyway?

 

“It's called stealth,” his father said.

 

“What do you need stealth for,” he asked before he realized, and then bit his tongue at the stupidity of the question. His father looked amused. “I'm still half-asleep, okay?” He defended himself. “Nobody I know except for you would take pleasure in torturing people so early in the morning,” he continued to complain as he blocked a swing.

 

“I mean how do you do it anyway?” He rattled off, not really minding that his father wasn't answering him. “I swear, sometimes I think you're not human at all.”

 

Metal clashed against metal as the two redheads exchanged swords, and he rolled off to the side and prepared to launch an attack while talking all the while.

 

“You know,” Kenshin said, “it would help if you concentrate on your moves instead of letting your mouth do all the work when we're practicing.”

 

He snorted and landed a soft kick to his father's legs, hoping to throw his balance off and get the upper hand. “I'm multi-talented, otou.” He said and deflected his father's blow with his sheathe. “I can talk and kick your butt at the same time.”

 

The young hitokiri chuckled. "You're playing a dangerous game, Kenji-chan.” He teased cockily. “And if you must play, decide upon three things at the start,” Using his god-like speed he disappeared in front of Kenji's eyes, “the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time." He finished as he reappeared behind him.

 

Kenji felt the tip of his father's blade on the side of his neck as the man whispered in his ear, “I win.”

 

“Arg!!! How do you do that?!” He said, frustrated. His father merely crinkled his eyes, as if smiling at him.

 

“I too am multi-talented.”

 

“Let's do that again!” He challenged and braced for another round.

 

“Be quiet,” his father suddenly said.

 

His brows shot upwards. Never had his father been so rude at him before. “What did you say?”

 

“Urusai,” his father hissed, eyes darting from side to side.

 

“Where were you when the Kami decided to hand out good manners?”

 

“Sssssh!!!” The Battoussai reiterated, placing his finger in front of his mouth for emphasis and stepped closer towards his son. The forest had gone eerily quiet, and his senses were tingling. “Don't you feel it?” He asked his son without taking his eyes off of their surroundings.

 

“Feel what?”

 

There was a dangerous feeling in the atmosphere. The animals were eerily quiet, as if they sensed that something was about to happen as well.

 

“Abunai!” His father shouted just as he was grabbed by the scruff of his kimono and dragged to the side. A small object landed and exploded on impact on the snow where the two of them just vacated.

 

“What the--?!” A small movement to the side caught his attention and he jumped back just as another explosive narrowly missed them by mere inches. If not for their speed and agility, he guessed that the snow would have been decorated with their blood, various body parts and guts by now.

 

He could feel his father's warrior spirit flare up as more projectiles came from varying directions. It was all he could do to avoid the exploding ice and ground.

 

He wanted to stay close to his father, but instincts told him that sticking together would make them an easier target. If someone was set on killing them, he might as well make them work hard for it, ne?

 

After what seemed like hours, even though it was only a few minutes, the explosions eventually ceased but the ringing in his ears still lingered. He wondered if the enemy had ran out of bombs or if they were just getting ready for another round of bombardment.

 

He couldn't sense any ki in the surrounding forest, but he still cautiously stood up from his crouched position on the snow and looked for his father. “Kenshin doko wa?” He loudly whispered. “Daijoubu ka?”

 

“Daijoubu,” his father replied from his position and he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

They patted the snow away from their clothes and surveyed the damage. Trees, dirt and snow were strewn everywhere.

 

“Huh,” he thought out loud. “They ran away.”

 

The Battoussai fixed narrowed eyes towards the trees. “They're trying to lure us somewhere,” he said in a matter of fact. “You stay here while I go check it out.”

 

He huffed indignantly. “You want me to stay here? What do you think I am, a kid!?”

 

“I have no time to argue with you, just do what I say.” The tone of voice brooked no arguments.

 

He narrowed purple eyes at his father and stood his ground. “You are not the boss of me!”

 

“Yes I am and I say you stay here.”

 

“We don't have time for this! Why don't we just both go and watch each others backs, okay? You know I'm going to follow you anyway, and going together is safer.” He coerced. His father didn't actually expect him to sit this one out, did he? “You know it's true and it's the right thing to do,” he added stubbornly.

 

His father sighed. “Fine, but you stay close to me and be on a constant alert.”

 

“You don't need to tell me that,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

 

A brief moment passed as they braced themselves. “If you get yourself hurt,” Kenshin said, “I'll never forgive you.”

 

He snorted. “Shyeah! Don't worry about me old man and just worry about yourself. I can take care of myself.” He added with a wink. “We finally get some action after several months and I refuse to tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death." He added cockily.

 

His father frowned at the statement. “Just don't do anything heroic.”

 

“Me? Heroic?” He blinked innocently. “Never!”

 

That earned him a skeptical look from his companion but he managed to maintain a straight face.

 

Some sort of silent understanding passed between the two redheads before silently and determinedly, they set out to track their prey.

 

***

“It is done.”

 

“Good.”

 

“They're coming.”

 

“Prepare yourselves.”

 

Silent figures sat atop snow-covered trees, expertly blending in with their surroundings as they waited for the arrival of their targets. Today was the day of reckoning. They have been spying on the pair for several months now, and have discovered that the older redhead, who surprisingly wasn't the feared Hitokiri Battoussai and their main target, had a weakness for liquor.

 

Their observation taught them that he got drunk very easily and seemed to pay less attention the next day. Intelligence informed them that the pair had indulged last night, and even though the Battoussai didn't seem to suffer any after-effects, they knew from past events that the other target was going to be more vulnerable.

 

Now all they needed to do was kill the companion first and then the Battoussai would soon follow.

 

Today they were going to go down in history and tales of their heroism will pass down as legends for generations to come.

 

Today, they were going to kill the legendary Battoussai.

 

***

 

Funny how they were practicing stealth not too long ago this morning and now he was actually testing out his stealth skills.

 

He realized that he wasn't very good at it or the enemy was just probably better at it than he was, because as they neared the peak they were ambushed once again. Explosives rained from the treetops and debris flew every which way. He was sort of prepared for it this time, so he quickly dodged out of the way of the exploding ground and snow. He calculated the trajectory of the objects and took down the shinobi on top of the trees. Darn cowards. Why couldn't they just fight hand to hand instead of throwing those toys around?

 

The ringing in his ears increased as the spies multiplied like wild mice. There seemed to be an endless supply of bombs as well. By the time his feet touched the ground once again, not only were his ears ringing but his eyes were stinging from the smoke as well.

 

He was sure about getting a headache the next day.

 

He had a slight limp to his walk as he strutted towards his father. The guy seemed to be in the same condition that he was - half-blind and half-deaf.

 

What happened next looked like something out of a horrible kabuki play.

 

There were moments in a person's life when you leap before you look just because instincts tell you to. Seeing a loved one getting attacked by someone at the front and another one jumping behind him was certainly one of those times.

 

On hindsight, he figured that interfering with another person's fight while you couldn't even see your hand clearly if you placed it in front of your face was erroneous. He had to learn the hard way though, right after he just took down the would-be attacker and received a blade through the chest for it in the process.

 

It was all he could do from passing out from the intense pain as well as wanting to give himself a swift kick to the butt.

 

The stark horror that his father wore on his face was going to haunt his dreams for several years at the least. He tried to reassure his father, tell him that it wasn't his fault for his son being so stupid enough as to involve himself in the middle of his fight, but instead of words, blood spilled from his mouth when he tried to talk.

 

The Battoussai dropped his katana on the ground with an anguished roar. The words `oh my god what have I done' ricocheted on his mind, louder than the bomb blasts from earlier. One minute he was fighting the last of the shinobi and the next thing he knew he was stabbing Kenji. He didn't even realize it was his son until he had plunged the katana all the way in and then pulled it back out again.

 

“Kami-sama! Kenji!!!” His father shouted and continued to look stricken. He had never seen his father's hands shake that much before.

 

“Don't look at me like that!” Kenji admonished his father gently. “You look like you think I'm dying or something.”

 

He dropped to his knees. The snow looked really comfortable from his point of view just about now, and he wondered if he could take a short nap to keep the world from spinning for a bit.

 

“Don't say that!” Kenshin said harshly, not liking the joke.

 

“Heh, you should've seen the other guy,” Kenji quipped, nodding to the bodies that littered the forest ground.

 

His father didn't appreciate his humor, if his scowl was any indication of it. “You need to work on your sense of humor,” he said.

 

A strong sense of lightheadedness was seeping into his brain, and he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate. Kenshin was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't understand him. The ice felt oddly comforting as he laid down on it. It would be nice if he had that X on his face, he thought to himself.

 

"Friendship is not measured by the time you have spent together, but by the memories you made along the way.” He coughed and more blood spilled forth from his mouth. “We're friends, aren't we otou-san?”

 

“Yes,” Kenshin said, trying to blink away the tears that were forming in his eyes. “We're friends, Kenji-chan.” He crawled over to the other redhead and cradled his son's head in his lap, his heart clenching.

 

“I'm glad.” Kenji said as he struggled to stay awake. “You won't get mad if I do this then.” Before his father could protest, he pulled out a dagger from his sleeve and raised it to his father's face. He pressed the blade unto the skin, slashing a diagonal line crossing with the one the hitokiri already had.

 

Kenshin sat still through the brief pain, not even minding the blood that now poured out of his fresh wound.

 

“You…” Kenji said as he struggled to stay awake. His vision was starting to get blurry and he felt colder every second. “Now you look like yourself,” he smiled feebly. He couldn't figure out why he was more worried about `completing' the legendary Hitokiri Battoussai's cross-shaped scar than the blood that was freely bleeding out of the gaping wound from the gaping wound on his chest. Maybe it was because of the blood loss, he thought sarcastically.

 

His father smiled unconvincingly back at him, not minding the fresh wound. “Save your strength, you can do it. Can you stand up?”

 

He tried but the pain was too intense.

 

“Alright,” his father instructed. “I can carry you on my back, no problem.” He helped him into a sitting position and then crouched down to lift him up unto his back.

 

It was rather awkward, since he was several inches taller than his teenage father was, but he was half-surprised that he actually managed to do it despite his injuries.

 

“We'll get through this, ne? Don't worry.”

 

Was he trying to reassure the kid or convince himself, he didn't know. He mentally berated himself for the umpteenth time, cursing his diminished eyesight and hearing once more. How could he have been so stupid?

 

“Don't blame yourself Kenshin,” Kenji said in a decrepit tone of voice, “it was my fault for being such a baka. You were right, I really shouldn't try to be so heroic sometimes. Now you have to carry me on your back like a sack of potatoes when you have your own injuries to attend to. Gomen ne.”

 

“Don't worry about it, Kenji-chan. It was my fault,” the hitokiri replied grimly.

 

“I probably weigh like the whole world. I think I put on a few pounds since I came here,” he continued to ramble off. “Do you know what to do when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?” He asked suddenly. “Ask me what, otou.” He prodded the Battoussai.

 

“What do you do when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?” The Battoussai asked brokenly, tears streaming down his cheeks. He felt like his heart was being torn in two at the memory of seeing his son lying in the blood-soaked snow. He knew how badly injured Kenji was but he couldn't see him right now thankfully, being carried on his back as he were.

 

“That's simple.” Kenji smiled weakly from behind his father's back. “You plant your feet.”

 

And then the world turned black.