Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Utter Chaos ❯ The Past ( Chapter 7 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Namimakura 
The unidentified plot thread revealed! But answers only provoke more questions.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Horror / Romance / Suspense / Angst | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 07.20.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.4K | Visits: 178 | Status: Work In Progress
The unidentified plot thread revealed! But answers only provoke more questions.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Horror / Romance / Suspense / Angst | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 07.20.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.4K | Visits: 178 | Status: Work In Progress
was off today.
He could sense it. The very air was humming with unexpected tension. His whole body was so carefully attuned with the atmosphere of acute change that even it was vibrating with anticipation. Though what he was anticipating, he could not guess.
Only that it was wrong.
He wanted to say that he could take advantage of the possible confusion, but the truth was, he was probably still too weak. The injuries he had sustained as a result of his most recent failed attempt had kept him from all fights for a full two days-previously unheard of in his record. Either she had stepped up the torture, or he was better at coping.
However, she hadn’t bothered to take it easy on him, throwing some of her best trained into his darkened cell once those two days had passed. Frankly, he was surprised he had survived. Only his sheer hatred of her had kept death at bay, had kept him from the unconsciousness that surely would have ended all of his ambitions.
It had only been a week and he knew he was nowhere near strong enough to try again. Still, he shifted noiselessly towards the door. Agonizingly slowly, not even he could hear the sound of his own breath or the light shuffle of bandages.
Footsteps. Outside the door.
Pitter, patter, down the hall. They faded slowly, echoes lasting only briefly before being drowned out by faster footsteps, pounding down the hardwood floor.
Usually, there was only absolute silence. It was another of her techniques (combined with absolute darkness) to create a void and vacuum that would encourage heightened attunement towards those senses once freed from the emptiness of stimulus. He snarled silently, hating the constant control, the way it caged his reactions to suit her preferences.
Light, under the doorway.
He stared, fascinated.
Hushed voices whispered into the stillness. Panicked voices.
Clicking, like the tinkle of metal on the stone wall.
A quiet murmur through the cracks.
“Hey, is someone there?”
So faint he could barely hear it coupled with words he’d never heard spoken. He strained, trying to recognize a voice he knew he must have never heard, struggling to convince himself that he had not imagined the sounds.
“Is anyone in this room?”
Voice hoarse from disuse and still partially convinced it was a trap, he whispered back, “Yes, yes, yes. Is there anyone there?” Desperation he hadn’t known existed echoed in the nearly undetectable words.
“Yes!” the unidentified voice was crowing with delight, albeit relatively inaudibly. “We’re picking the locks on your room. You’ll be able to escape!”
Escape? He might have laughed if he remembered how. None of them bothered trying to escape. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to be free of this life. It wasn’t that they were so whipped as to never try to defy her for fear of the consequences.
It was simply that they had already endured so much at her hands that all were more than willing to endure more in order to wait for the opportunity to pay her back. Still, there was no need for his odd compatriots to know that. After all, he still wasn’t sure he didn’t suspect a trap.
The door clicked open and he blinked against the sudden blinding light. Gasping, he fell back, only just remembering how bright all light was after the sublimation into darkness. He blinked his eyes rapidly, carefully focusing on the floor so as to adjust quicker, not looking into the faces of the two individuals he knew were crouched just past the door.
“J-just a little boy….” the second voice whispered, shock and surprise forcing it to speak for the first time.
He looked up at her face swiftly, memorizing the features and quickly realizing it wasn’t her. He growled softly, warningly. “Who are you?”
“We-we’re here to rescue you…” the first voice whispered. “Well, everyone here….” His voice trailed off, clearly frightened by the feral expression still on his face. “But you’re so young…” His voice was anguished.
“Can’t help my age,” he growled, mistakenly interpreting the fragmented sentence to imply that the two were looking for someone older. “So where is she?”
The two glanced at one another in confusion. “Who?”
“Her!”
“Do you mean the lady who owns this place?” the girl asked quickly.
He sneered at her. Clearly, neither had spent any extended time here. Otherwise, they would know. “Get out of here while you still can.”
“No! We’re here to rescue my brother,” the girl said bravely.
He shrugged. “Well, don’t blame me if you get killed or worse, captured.”
He slipped past them to venture down the hall.
“Wait! Don’t you want to help us?”
He looked back, vaguely confused. “Why would I do that? Anyone else you ‘rescue’ would just get in my way.”
“At least tell us your name,” the girl pled.
He frowned. “Name? What use would I have for that?” With that, he turned and sprinted down the hall, turning the corner. He had only been down this way a few times, on his journeys to see the sun, but it was burned into his memory. He knew he passed her apartments on the way out. Just as he was nearing the entrance (only minutes later), he heard screams back near his own corridor.
“NO! HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU!” shrieked endlessly down the hallways and he knew instantly the two had not followed his advice, but rather, had been caught. Still, he could not bring himself to feel too sorry, as it would help him now. He knew where she was, but she did not know where he was. He whipped around, racing back to where he had come from.
Peering around the corner, he noted immediately that her back was to him. She was still shouting, kicking and slapping the boy while the girl merely stood by and cried. He was puzzled that she hadn’t moved to attack, especially since her friend was nearly unconscious by this point. He was bleeding from his mouth and nose, bruises forming along the jaw line, as well as up and down his arms and legs.
He knew she was far too infuriated to notice anyone’s approach, especially one as quiet as his own. He only hoped the somehow terribly inexperienced pair wouldn’t give him away as he crept up behind her.
He heard a very distinct crack as foot connected with ribs and the girl screamed, finally shoving herself forward between her and her friend.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead, focused on his task.
She was still wearing her telltale hook, favored torture weapon lately. He bared a private grin to himself. It would be easy enough to take out her legs (with her attention so completely diverted) and snatch the hook right out of her waistband.
The girl was crying out with pain when he finally came within range. He tackled her at the knees, sweeping his shoulder into the back of the joints while his other hand snatched the hook. She fell back to the floor, landing hard on the smoothly polished hardwood. He wasted no time in spinning around and launching on top of her while she was still disoriented. Straddling her waist, he leaned forward, holding the hook carefully at her delicately slender neck.
Her eyes glowed blue with rage at his audacity. Strange, he’d never really seen their color before. Shrugging of her appearance as entirely trivial, he quickly slit through her throat, careful not to cut to deep.
She made a strangled, incoherent noise deep in her throat as her arm flew up to punch his face. He blocked it swiftly, catching her wrist and twisting the arm away from the body until he heard a satisfying snap. She was fairly sputtering with rage now, spittle nearly flying into his face. She tried pushing herself up, as he was quite light in comparison, but he stabbed the hook straight into her chest-not too deep-which effectively forced her back to the ground. She tried to kick at him, and he snickered at the pathetic attempt. He was small and far enough up on her body that she’d never manage a decent reach with her foot.
She kneed him in the back and he ignored the pain that shuddered through him as his recent wounds reopened. Instead, he drew the hook deep along the arm with an intact wrist, cutting far enough into the muscle so as to make it utterly useless. He punched her face with his free hand, as she brought her knee into his back yet again. He lifted her head by the hair and slammed it back into the concrete. As much as he had wanted to draw this moment out, it seemed that his injuries were necessitating a swifter finale. He slammed her head against the now bloodied floor, grinning madly. He would succeed.
Over and over, he pounded her skull to the floor as her eyes slowly glazed over and she simply stopped moving. He barely realized he was laughing. He definitely didn’t hear the girl crying behind him, shouting something at him. She grasped his shoulder and he reacted without thinking, whirling around to grab her wrist and twist it firmly before realizing who it was. He abruptly released her, shoving her away. “Don’t touch me.”
She whimpered fearfully. “Are all of you like that?” she asked, voice unconsciously a whisper.
“Like what?” he asked, puzzled.
“So, so violent!” she finally managed, arms flailing a bit.
He frowned. “Isn’t everyone?”
“No!”
He shrugged. “Well, you should be safe now. Assuming you don’t try to touch anyone else by surprise here.”
“Wait! Do-do you know where my brother is?”
He stopped and looked at her for a moment. “No. If your brother’s been gone for a while…. I wouldn’t count on him being as you remember.”
“N-no, he got kidnapped really recently.”
“Then he’s probably dead.” He turned and started off down the hallway, eager to see the sun now that he was finally free. The strangled cry from behind didn’t mean anything to him as he thought about being outside without her. He started running.
********************************************************* ***********************
He’d been outside for a week or two now and it was bloody confusing. For one, there were people everywhere. That in itself was difficult to understand, as he’d never seen anyone outside of the dark except for her. For two, everyone seemed to fight rather randomly and when they did, not well. They also seemed to think that he was someone to be taken advantage of, being only a kid. They tried stealing his food or just looking for a fight, but he killed them all easily. A lot of people commented on his white hair, which he hadn’t even known he’d had before his escape. Even though he didn’t see anyone with his hair color, he still didn’t see the big deal about it. It was only hair after all.
The worst part though, was that everyone talked so much, and so quickly. It was quite difficult getting used to listening for comprehension or remembering that he was occasionally expected to respond. Oftentimes, he’d simply killed someone merely to get them to stop talking. Though he didn’t particularly understand why others got so worked up about him killing. After all, it didn’t seem too terribly uncommon here.
Everything started to take a turn for surreal though, when he spotted this old lady being set upon by a group of thugs, apparently prepared to steal the food she’d managed to acquire. He was bored at the time, and had been missing a good fight since his wounds had started to heal more properly. They all looked fairly weak in comparison, so he sped over and immediately attacked. It was an unfortunately short fight, in which he managed to kill all of the attackers in brief minutes. He sighed, oddly disappointed, before taking note of the old lady.
She was staring at him. “Little boy, why are you such a killer?”
He shrugged, feeling strangely uncomfortable beneath her piercing stare. “Isn’t everyone?”
“No,” she answered.
It was his turn to stare, genuinely confused. “They’re not? Well, I guess that might explain why they’re not so fond of me around here….” He trailed off uncertainly. Was it really possible that his childhood had been so different from everyone else’s? Was it really true that others were not trained as killers?
“Do you have a place to stay?” she queried.
He looked up at her. “No.”
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Well, I suppose you ought to if you’re to stay with me. I have to have something to call you. How does Toushirou sound?”
He shrugged again. “Can’t see as it matters, but all right. You got food, right?”
“Yes,” the lady smiled. “You may call me Okaa-san. Come, I live this way.”
He trotted after her, more interested in the food than the lady or somewhere to sleep.
He ended up staying with her. After all, an old lady who didn’t fear wandering amongst the thugs to obtain food was bound to constantly attract attention, which meant brief reprieves from boredom and a constant supply of food. She did have this thing about trying to stop him from killing those who attacked. Something about appreciating the defense, but it being a bad habit.
He always ignored it. After all, it wasn’t as though he was protecting her, merely entertaining himself. He didn’t particularly understand affection, having never really been exposed to it. Well, maybe he had, but that would have been before her, and he remembered nothing from those times.
And then he saw her. It had been a few weeks since he had met the old lady and, much to his annoyance, he had, in fact, cut back on killing. In this instance, however, she wasn’t the one being attacked.
It was a much younger girl, not much older than himself, surrounded by a ring of what he could only describe as bullies. She clutched a brown paper bag firmly in front of her and was staring down her opponents fearlessly. He was impressed at her bravado, considering most people here tended towards cowardice. She had brown hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders and large brown eyes, set in a defiant expression. He was transfixed.
“Well, don’t just stand there, aren’t you going to rescue her, Toushirou?” the old lady urged him, nudging him in the side.
He glanced at her briefly, scowling, before taking off in the direction of the girl.
So swiftly did he move, it was nearly a blur and all the men antagonizing her had been defeated. There bodies were lying on the ground in pools of their own blood as he turned to face her.
She was glaring at him. “Why did you kill those men?”
He blinked, surprised. Hadn’t he just saved her? “They were bothering.” His brows furrowed in confusion and he scowled at her.
“I could have handled myself. There was no need to kill them!” She put her hands on her hips. “I could have done it without killing them.”
“Oh, really?” He lifted a brow, naturally skeptical of the little girl.
“I wouldn’t have gotten caught at all, only I was distracted by my find today.” Her eyes lit up at the pronouncement and she clutched closer at the paper bag.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on the bag.
“Would you like to see?” Caught up in her excitement, she seemed to have forgotten her anger towards him.
Much as he wanted to say no, he admitted to himself that he was curious. “I guess,” he muttered.
She smiled at him, totally innocent. “Now, now, don’t sound so depressed about it!” She giggled. “Come on, sound interested!”
“Baka,” he muttered, turning back to head over to the lady, already oddly disappointed at the turns the conversation had taken. First she yelled at him, then she teased him and he was used to neither interactions. At least with the old lady, she didn’t keep changing her mind.
“Hey, come back! Where are you going?” She followed after him. “What’s your name?”
He stopped and turned to face her. “Are you going to follow me all night?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go…” She trailed off. “And you did save me, so you can’t be all bad!” She smiled at him again.
He stared at her, caught in that strange fixation again. “Toushirou,” he finally said.
“Toushirou? That’s a nice name.”
“It’s what the old lady calls me, anyway.”
“I’ll call you Shirou-chan! It’s because your hair’s white,” she added, giggling.
“What, no!” he cried, whirling around. “Don’t call me that,” he said resentfully.
“Why not? If you can’t even be excited about my special treat, then why shouldn’t I?”
He crossed his arms, abruptly turning back and stalking the last few feet to where the old lady was waiting for him.
“What have I told you about killing them?” she asked tiredly, if a tad exasperated.
“I tried telling him that too,” the new girl interjected. “Besides, I could have handled it.”
“Well, what’s your name, sweetheart?” the lady asked, turning her attention aside.
“Hinamori. Hinamori Momo!” She smiled again. “Do you want to see what I found?”
“Momo-chan. What a beautiful name! And I would love to see your surprise, dear.”
“Okay!” She pulled it carefully out of the paper bag with a delicate reverence. It was hard-skinned, striped in various shades of green.
“A watermelon!” Okaa-san exclaimed.
“What’s a watermelon?” Toushirou asked, rather confused.
Momo gasped. “You’ve never had watermelon?”
Toushirou scowled at her.
“Oh, now we have to go have some!”
The old lady smiled. “Of course we do. Why don’t you come home with us, Momo-chan?”
Her eyes turned bright and happy. “I’d love to, Okaa-san.”
And from then on, it had been the three of them, living in their little house and eating watermelons. Hinamori never forced him to change who he was and never really asked how it was he had become a killer. But he did find that somehow, being around her softened him. He found that, bizarre as it was, the passage of time with his little family lessened his urge to kill, to fight, until he could barely remember the times when the dark meant everything. She no longer dominated his thoughts. Weirdest of all, was that he thought he might be happy at last.
And then Hinamori went on to become a shinigami and nothing was ever quite the same again.
He could sense it. The very air was humming with unexpected tension. His whole body was so carefully attuned with the atmosphere of acute change that even it was vibrating with anticipation. Though what he was anticipating, he could not guess.
Only that it was wrong.
He wanted to say that he could take advantage of the possible confusion, but the truth was, he was probably still too weak. The injuries he had sustained as a result of his most recent failed attempt had kept him from all fights for a full two days-previously unheard of in his record. Either she had stepped up the torture, or he was better at coping.
However, she hadn’t bothered to take it easy on him, throwing some of her best trained into his darkened cell once those two days had passed. Frankly, he was surprised he had survived. Only his sheer hatred of her had kept death at bay, had kept him from the unconsciousness that surely would have ended all of his ambitions.
It had only been a week and he knew he was nowhere near strong enough to try again. Still, he shifted noiselessly towards the door. Agonizingly slowly, not even he could hear the sound of his own breath or the light shuffle of bandages.
Footsteps. Outside the door.
Pitter, patter, down the hall. They faded slowly, echoes lasting only briefly before being drowned out by faster footsteps, pounding down the hardwood floor.
Usually, there was only absolute silence. It was another of her techniques (combined with absolute darkness) to create a void and vacuum that would encourage heightened attunement towards those senses once freed from the emptiness of stimulus. He snarled silently, hating the constant control, the way it caged his reactions to suit her preferences.
Light, under the doorway.
He stared, fascinated.
Hushed voices whispered into the stillness. Panicked voices.
Clicking, like the tinkle of metal on the stone wall.
A quiet murmur through the cracks.
“Hey, is someone there?”
So faint he could barely hear it coupled with words he’d never heard spoken. He strained, trying to recognize a voice he knew he must have never heard, struggling to convince himself that he had not imagined the sounds.
“Is anyone in this room?”
Voice hoarse from disuse and still partially convinced it was a trap, he whispered back, “Yes, yes, yes. Is there anyone there?” Desperation he hadn’t known existed echoed in the nearly undetectable words.
“Yes!” the unidentified voice was crowing with delight, albeit relatively inaudibly. “We’re picking the locks on your room. You’ll be able to escape!”
Escape? He might have laughed if he remembered how. None of them bothered trying to escape. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to be free of this life. It wasn’t that they were so whipped as to never try to defy her for fear of the consequences.
It was simply that they had already endured so much at her hands that all were more than willing to endure more in order to wait for the opportunity to pay her back. Still, there was no need for his odd compatriots to know that. After all, he still wasn’t sure he didn’t suspect a trap.
The door clicked open and he blinked against the sudden blinding light. Gasping, he fell back, only just remembering how bright all light was after the sublimation into darkness. He blinked his eyes rapidly, carefully focusing on the floor so as to adjust quicker, not looking into the faces of the two individuals he knew were crouched just past the door.
“J-just a little boy….” the second voice whispered, shock and surprise forcing it to speak for the first time.
He looked up at her face swiftly, memorizing the features and quickly realizing it wasn’t her. He growled softly, warningly. “Who are you?”
“We-we’re here to rescue you…” the first voice whispered. “Well, everyone here….” His voice trailed off, clearly frightened by the feral expression still on his face. “But you’re so young…” His voice was anguished.
“Can’t help my age,” he growled, mistakenly interpreting the fragmented sentence to imply that the two were looking for someone older. “So where is she?”
The two glanced at one another in confusion. “Who?”
“Her!”
“Do you mean the lady who owns this place?” the girl asked quickly.
He sneered at her. Clearly, neither had spent any extended time here. Otherwise, they would know. “Get out of here while you still can.”
“No! We’re here to rescue my brother,” the girl said bravely.
He shrugged. “Well, don’t blame me if you get killed or worse, captured.”
He slipped past them to venture down the hall.
“Wait! Don’t you want to help us?”
He looked back, vaguely confused. “Why would I do that? Anyone else you ‘rescue’ would just get in my way.”
“At least tell us your name,” the girl pled.
He frowned. “Name? What use would I have for that?” With that, he turned and sprinted down the hall, turning the corner. He had only been down this way a few times, on his journeys to see the sun, but it was burned into his memory. He knew he passed her apartments on the way out. Just as he was nearing the entrance (only minutes later), he heard screams back near his own corridor.
“NO! HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU!” shrieked endlessly down the hallways and he knew instantly the two had not followed his advice, but rather, had been caught. Still, he could not bring himself to feel too sorry, as it would help him now. He knew where she was, but she did not know where he was. He whipped around, racing back to where he had come from.
Peering around the corner, he noted immediately that her back was to him. She was still shouting, kicking and slapping the boy while the girl merely stood by and cried. He was puzzled that she hadn’t moved to attack, especially since her friend was nearly unconscious by this point. He was bleeding from his mouth and nose, bruises forming along the jaw line, as well as up and down his arms and legs.
He knew she was far too infuriated to notice anyone’s approach, especially one as quiet as his own. He only hoped the somehow terribly inexperienced pair wouldn’t give him away as he crept up behind her.
He heard a very distinct crack as foot connected with ribs and the girl screamed, finally shoving herself forward between her and her friend.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead, focused on his task.
She was still wearing her telltale hook, favored torture weapon lately. He bared a private grin to himself. It would be easy enough to take out her legs (with her attention so completely diverted) and snatch the hook right out of her waistband.
The girl was crying out with pain when he finally came within range. He tackled her at the knees, sweeping his shoulder into the back of the joints while his other hand snatched the hook. She fell back to the floor, landing hard on the smoothly polished hardwood. He wasted no time in spinning around and launching on top of her while she was still disoriented. Straddling her waist, he leaned forward, holding the hook carefully at her delicately slender neck.
Her eyes glowed blue with rage at his audacity. Strange, he’d never really seen their color before. Shrugging of her appearance as entirely trivial, he quickly slit through her throat, careful not to cut to deep.
She made a strangled, incoherent noise deep in her throat as her arm flew up to punch his face. He blocked it swiftly, catching her wrist and twisting the arm away from the body until he heard a satisfying snap. She was fairly sputtering with rage now, spittle nearly flying into his face. She tried pushing herself up, as he was quite light in comparison, but he stabbed the hook straight into her chest-not too deep-which effectively forced her back to the ground. She tried to kick at him, and he snickered at the pathetic attempt. He was small and far enough up on her body that she’d never manage a decent reach with her foot.
She kneed him in the back and he ignored the pain that shuddered through him as his recent wounds reopened. Instead, he drew the hook deep along the arm with an intact wrist, cutting far enough into the muscle so as to make it utterly useless. He punched her face with his free hand, as she brought her knee into his back yet again. He lifted her head by the hair and slammed it back into the concrete. As much as he had wanted to draw this moment out, it seemed that his injuries were necessitating a swifter finale. He slammed her head against the now bloodied floor, grinning madly. He would succeed.
Over and over, he pounded her skull to the floor as her eyes slowly glazed over and she simply stopped moving. He barely realized he was laughing. He definitely didn’t hear the girl crying behind him, shouting something at him. She grasped his shoulder and he reacted without thinking, whirling around to grab her wrist and twist it firmly before realizing who it was. He abruptly released her, shoving her away. “Don’t touch me.”
She whimpered fearfully. “Are all of you like that?” she asked, voice unconsciously a whisper.
“Like what?” he asked, puzzled.
“So, so violent!” she finally managed, arms flailing a bit.
He frowned. “Isn’t everyone?”
“No!”
He shrugged. “Well, you should be safe now. Assuming you don’t try to touch anyone else by surprise here.”
“Wait! Do-do you know where my brother is?”
He stopped and looked at her for a moment. “No. If your brother’s been gone for a while…. I wouldn’t count on him being as you remember.”
“N-no, he got kidnapped really recently.”
“Then he’s probably dead.” He turned and started off down the hallway, eager to see the sun now that he was finally free. The strangled cry from behind didn’t mean anything to him as he thought about being outside without her. He started running.
********************************************************* ***********************
He’d been outside for a week or two now and it was bloody confusing. For one, there were people everywhere. That in itself was difficult to understand, as he’d never seen anyone outside of the dark except for her. For two, everyone seemed to fight rather randomly and when they did, not well. They also seemed to think that he was someone to be taken advantage of, being only a kid. They tried stealing his food or just looking for a fight, but he killed them all easily. A lot of people commented on his white hair, which he hadn’t even known he’d had before his escape. Even though he didn’t see anyone with his hair color, he still didn’t see the big deal about it. It was only hair after all.
The worst part though, was that everyone talked so much, and so quickly. It was quite difficult getting used to listening for comprehension or remembering that he was occasionally expected to respond. Oftentimes, he’d simply killed someone merely to get them to stop talking. Though he didn’t particularly understand why others got so worked up about him killing. After all, it didn’t seem too terribly uncommon here.
Everything started to take a turn for surreal though, when he spotted this old lady being set upon by a group of thugs, apparently prepared to steal the food she’d managed to acquire. He was bored at the time, and had been missing a good fight since his wounds had started to heal more properly. They all looked fairly weak in comparison, so he sped over and immediately attacked. It was an unfortunately short fight, in which he managed to kill all of the attackers in brief minutes. He sighed, oddly disappointed, before taking note of the old lady.
She was staring at him. “Little boy, why are you such a killer?”
He shrugged, feeling strangely uncomfortable beneath her piercing stare. “Isn’t everyone?”
“No,” she answered.
It was his turn to stare, genuinely confused. “They’re not? Well, I guess that might explain why they’re not so fond of me around here….” He trailed off uncertainly. Was it really possible that his childhood had been so different from everyone else’s? Was it really true that others were not trained as killers?
“Do you have a place to stay?” she queried.
He looked up at her. “No.”
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Well, I suppose you ought to if you’re to stay with me. I have to have something to call you. How does Toushirou sound?”
He shrugged again. “Can’t see as it matters, but all right. You got food, right?”
“Yes,” the lady smiled. “You may call me Okaa-san. Come, I live this way.”
He trotted after her, more interested in the food than the lady or somewhere to sleep.
He ended up staying with her. After all, an old lady who didn’t fear wandering amongst the thugs to obtain food was bound to constantly attract attention, which meant brief reprieves from boredom and a constant supply of food. She did have this thing about trying to stop him from killing those who attacked. Something about appreciating the defense, but it being a bad habit.
He always ignored it. After all, it wasn’t as though he was protecting her, merely entertaining himself. He didn’t particularly understand affection, having never really been exposed to it. Well, maybe he had, but that would have been before her, and he remembered nothing from those times.
And then he saw her. It had been a few weeks since he had met the old lady and, much to his annoyance, he had, in fact, cut back on killing. In this instance, however, she wasn’t the one being attacked.
It was a much younger girl, not much older than himself, surrounded by a ring of what he could only describe as bullies. She clutched a brown paper bag firmly in front of her and was staring down her opponents fearlessly. He was impressed at her bravado, considering most people here tended towards cowardice. She had brown hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders and large brown eyes, set in a defiant expression. He was transfixed.
“Well, don’t just stand there, aren’t you going to rescue her, Toushirou?” the old lady urged him, nudging him in the side.
He glanced at her briefly, scowling, before taking off in the direction of the girl.
So swiftly did he move, it was nearly a blur and all the men antagonizing her had been defeated. There bodies were lying on the ground in pools of their own blood as he turned to face her.
She was glaring at him. “Why did you kill those men?”
He blinked, surprised. Hadn’t he just saved her? “They were bothering.” His brows furrowed in confusion and he scowled at her.
“I could have handled myself. There was no need to kill them!” She put her hands on her hips. “I could have done it without killing them.”
“Oh, really?” He lifted a brow, naturally skeptical of the little girl.
“I wouldn’t have gotten caught at all, only I was distracted by my find today.” Her eyes lit up at the pronouncement and she clutched closer at the paper bag.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on the bag.
“Would you like to see?” Caught up in her excitement, she seemed to have forgotten her anger towards him.
Much as he wanted to say no, he admitted to himself that he was curious. “I guess,” he muttered.
She smiled at him, totally innocent. “Now, now, don’t sound so depressed about it!” She giggled. “Come on, sound interested!”
“Baka,” he muttered, turning back to head over to the lady, already oddly disappointed at the turns the conversation had taken. First she yelled at him, then she teased him and he was used to neither interactions. At least with the old lady, she didn’t keep changing her mind.
“Hey, come back! Where are you going?” She followed after him. “What’s your name?”
He stopped and turned to face her. “Are you going to follow me all night?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go…” She trailed off. “And you did save me, so you can’t be all bad!” She smiled at him again.
He stared at her, caught in that strange fixation again. “Toushirou,” he finally said.
“Toushirou? That’s a nice name.”
“It’s what the old lady calls me, anyway.”
“I’ll call you Shirou-chan! It’s because your hair’s white,” she added, giggling.
“What, no!” he cried, whirling around. “Don’t call me that,” he said resentfully.
“Why not? If you can’t even be excited about my special treat, then why shouldn’t I?”
He crossed his arms, abruptly turning back and stalking the last few feet to where the old lady was waiting for him.
“What have I told you about killing them?” she asked tiredly, if a tad exasperated.
“I tried telling him that too,” the new girl interjected. “Besides, I could have handled it.”
“Well, what’s your name, sweetheart?” the lady asked, turning her attention aside.
“Hinamori. Hinamori Momo!” She smiled again. “Do you want to see what I found?”
“Momo-chan. What a beautiful name! And I would love to see your surprise, dear.”
“Okay!” She pulled it carefully out of the paper bag with a delicate reverence. It was hard-skinned, striped in various shades of green.
“A watermelon!” Okaa-san exclaimed.
“What’s a watermelon?” Toushirou asked, rather confused.
Momo gasped. “You’ve never had watermelon?”
Toushirou scowled at her.
“Oh, now we have to go have some!”
The old lady smiled. “Of course we do. Why don’t you come home with us, Momo-chan?”
Her eyes turned bright and happy. “I’d love to, Okaa-san.”
And from then on, it had been the three of them, living in their little house and eating watermelons. Hinamori never forced him to change who he was and never really asked how it was he had become a killer. But he did find that somehow, being around her softened him. He found that, bizarre as it was, the passage of time with his little family lessened his urge to kill, to fight, until he could barely remember the times when the dark meant everything. She no longer dominated his thoughts. Weirdest of all, was that he thought he might be happy at last.
And then Hinamori went on to become a shinigami and nothing was ever quite the same again.