Judgments of A Stone

By: Vain

6.2001-11.23.2001

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-----READ THIS INFORMATION OR YOU MAY BE CONFUSED!!!!!-----

Please Note:

THIS IS A STORY CONTAINING MATURE THEMES, DISTURBING IMAGERY, ADULT SITUATIONS, VIOLENT THEMES, CHARACTER DEATH, AND VARIOUS FORMS OF CHILD ABUSE. THIS IS RATED NC-17.

ALSO, THIS IS UNRELATED TO ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS.

I do not own Digimon, Oikawa Yukio, Ichijouji Ken and Osamu, or any of the other characters.

This story spans a period of roughly three years, beginning when Ken was around the age of five and ending shortly after Osamu's death (plus a little tidbit from Ken's Kaiser "phase"), and explains how Ken and Yukio may have met and the events that followed. Oikawa is referred to by his given name Yukio because this is, in large part, HIS story.

I neither support nor condone the actions of any characters in this story, nor can I say that my portrayals of victim and predator were accurate. I did whip out my trusty psych texts for this and do some research, but if there are any glaring errors or inaccuracies, please forgive me.

If you have heart conditions or a weak stomach, don't read this, DON'T FLAME ME!!! Flamers will receive a NASTY response that will be posted on the web for all to see. I'm bitchy and high-strung-you've been forewarned.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

This story is, if she wants it, a gift for Raederle

and was inspired by several interesting IM conversations-nothing naughty, hentais! ^_^

Shout outs and credits must be given to Klitch, Kinslayer, and the smashing Ainokitsune. If there are similarities between anything in here and their work, it's probably because I've been reading them quite a bit as of late.

However, despite similarities: I STOLE NOTHING!!! If perchance it looks like I stole anything e-mail or IM (AIM or yahoo) me (Vainglorious696) and I will review and fix it ASAP.

Also, a special thanks goes out to Evy-chan. You wanted it, you got it! ^_~ And kudos to Samsara and Athena-chan for the fab reviews on Under the Ice. Merci beaucoup!!!! ^_^

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"If you love someone, you don't do something like that to them-

even if you hate them."

~ Alfred Hitchcock

Psycho

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Oikawa Yukio sat on the couch and absorbed his colleagues chatter with disinterest. God, how he wished he were with Hiroki now . . . but work was necessary. He sighed.

"Now if we move that to there-"

"No, no, no! That won't work at all!"

"Would you like any more tea, gentlemen?"

"Thank you, Rika. What do you think, Tsu?"

"Thank you for the tea, dear. I think that-"

"Momma?"

Yukio looked away from his host to where Ichijouji Rika stood holding a tea tray. Standing at Rika's side and tugging on her pant leg was a small boy. The child appeared to be about five years old and had enormous blue eyes and slightly wild long indigo hair. He was tugging at Rika's pants with his right hand while holding his left hand up for inspection.

"Momma?" he repeated piteously.

Tears shone luminously in his eyes and a nasty looking slash marred the palm of his left hand and bled down his arm.

"Not now, Ken," Rika shooed him away without looking down. "We're busy. Go off and play, alright?" She devoted her attention back to the conversation.

Yukio looked around at the assemblage of people. Nobody else had even spared the little boy a glance. Big tears squeezed out of Ken's eyes and his lower lip trembled precipitously. He renewed tugging and raised his hand pleadingly. "Mom~ma!"

"Not now, Ken!" She glared at him and lightly slapped that tugging hand away. She didn't seem to see the boy's injury.

Yukio flinched internally as he watched the child's head drop in despair and he slinked off. The man turned his dark eyes to the boy's mother again and forced down a savage frown. How could she treat her own child like that?

"Momma?"

Yukio looked back down the hall, expecting to see Ken emerging from the hall again, but this time he was rewarded by the sight of a taller boy, probably about ten or eleven. This boy had spiked indigo hair and gold-rimmed reading glasses. In his hands he held a textbook.

"Oh, Osamu!" The woman's voice absolutely beamed as she turned to the older boy. "Everyone, everyone, hush! I want you all to meet our son here. This is Osamu."

A slight grimace passed over the boy's face as Rika shoved him forward and Yukio felt slightly ill. He turned to his host. "Where is your bathroom, Ichijouji-san?"

The older man turned to him with a bright smile. "Down the hall, second door to the left. Hurry back, Oikawa-kun."

He nodded and stood, sliding his way past a fidgeting Osamu and boasting Rika. He grimaced in disgust.

He paused at the bathroom door as soft sniffling traveled through the wood. He raised a hesitant hand and pushed the door open. "Hello?" his baritone rolled softly.

Seated on the toilet and crying his blue eyes out was little Ichijouji Ken. His wounded hand was dripping over the sink and he was trembling with the force of repressed sobs. Yukio entered the bathroom and pushed the door closed softly behind him. He approached the child cautiously, almost as though he was afraid of frightening him off.

"Hey," he said softly.

The boy hiccupped. "Hello." His voice was soft and shy, with something undeniably gentle in it. If a feather could speak, it would have sounded like Ichijouji Ken.

"Can I see?" Oikawa asked, pointing at the damaged hand.

Ken gulped and nodded.

Large, gentle hands inspected the wound as the tall man talked, trying to calm the boy. "My name if Oikawa Yukio and I work for your father. What's your name?"

"I'm Ichijouji Ken." The boy flinched as Oikawa gently washed out the cut in warm water.

The man reached up and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a box of band-aids, hydrogen peroxide, and a small tube. "That's a pretty nasty cut, little Ichijouji Ken. What happened?"

Ken smiled at the adult's mockery of his name. His hand didn't hurt so much now. "I was hungry an' Momma was busy an' Oniisan was studying an' I wanted a san'which, an' I cut myself with the knife."

Yukio blinked as he absorbed all that. "Oh. Okay. You should be more careful, little Ichijouji Ken."

The boy flushed at the unexpected sensation of being the center of attention as Yukio finished bandaging his hand. He wasn't used to this kind of treatment. Nobody ever paid any attention to him . . . well, there was always Osamu Oniichan, but-

"Kenny-boy?" The door swung open, startling them both, and revealing the aforementioned Osamu. Ken jerked his now-bandaged hand away from Yukio and looked down at the ground, his face a guilty red. Osamu looked from his brother, to Yukio, and then back. "What are you doing in here, Ken?" He glared thunderously at his brother through his expensive glasses. "Go to your room."

Ken flinched. He stared desperately at the tile floor and swallowed hard. His voice was a whisper. "But Osamu Oniichan-"

"Go. To. Your. Room." Each soft and carefully controlled word was bitten off crisply and his eyes bored into the smaller boy. "NOW."

The child obediently slipped of the toilet seat and crept past his brother and out the door, cringing as he went. Once Ken was gone, Osamu turned his harsh unforgiving gaze up to the adult. Oikawa looked back, slightly intimidated in spite of himself.

The boy gave him a look bordering on violence and his voice was an undisguised threat. "Stay away from my little brother." He turned and walked out silently, leaving a chill in his wake.

Oikawa stared after the children, feeling more than a little bit bewildered. "That was certainly odd . . ."

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Two Months Later

Ichijouji Osamu glared at his math text for a moment. Five squared plus the square root of one hundred twenty-one equals divided by six . . . equals . . .

"Will you come out and play with me now, Osamu Oniichan?"

The youth gripped his pencil so hard it snapped in two. He took a deep breath before looking down into his brother's enormous blue eyes. "I told you before Ken: No."

The little boy's lower lip trembled. "But you promised me . . ."

"Well, now I can't anymore, understand?" The older boy turned back to his work. Equals . . .

"But you pro~mised."

Osamu stood so fast that his chair fell down and his desk shivered when his thighs hit it. He raised his hand, irritation further stoked when his brother cringed pathetically, and he pointed at the door. "I don't have time to deal with your whining. Some people actually have meaningful things to do with their time, but you wouldn't understand that, would you? Out. Now."

Ken took one look at his brother's face and fled. His tiny feet carried him out the door and into the hallway where he could hear his mother cooking. "Momma, Osamu Oniichan said-"

Rika cast her youngest child a severe look from her place behind the stove. "You haven't been bothering your brother again, have you, Ken?"

Tears filled Ken's eyes. "But Momma, Oniisan-"

"Oh, Ken . . ." The woman heaved a frustrated sigh and put her spoon down on the edge of the stove. She walked over to the small child and placed her hands on his shoulders and knelt to stare him in the eye. "How many times do I have to tell you, Ken, your brother's work is very, very important? How can he concentrate with you pestering him all day long? Why do you have to be so difficult about everything, Ken? Couldn't you just be good and listen to us for once? Osamu never gave us such trouble . . ."

He looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Momma," he whispered in his soft voice. "I'll be good."

She loosed another heavy sigh and rose. "Now you go do something constructive, dear. I have quite a bit of work to do."

Ken looked up and opened his mouth again as though he were going to say something, but then he snapped it shit with a click. His mother didn't notice when he went to the door and slipped on a pair of shoes. She didn't notice when he stood on his tiptoes to slide the dead bolt out of its lock. She didn't notice him quietly open the door and close it as he left. And, twenty minutes later, she still didn't notice that her son was gone.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

The day was bright and clear and the sky seemed to sparkle. Oikawa Yukio walked with a slight bounce in his step and a broad grin on his face. I can't believe it! We are so close now . . . We're really going to do it! We're going to make it to the Digital World!

Earlier that day, during his lunch break with Hiroki, the two men had learned that it was possible for human DNA to travel as data and be reformatted in the Digital World. It didn't seem like much, granted, but it was a definite step in the right direction.

A sudden squeal of tires snapped the tall man out of his thoughts however, and his head snapped around just in time to see a tiny body cringe, face hidden by a familiar mop of blue-ish hair, as a car screeched to an abrupt halt about two inches in front of it.

That looks like . . .

Current breakthrough forgotten, Yukio dropped his bags and ran out into the street to catch the trembling boy in his arms.

"Hey," shouted the irate driver, head stuck out of his car window as he waved a fist, "Why don't you pay attention to your kid, buddy?!! I coulda hit that brat!"

Yukio cradled Ken close to him and turned a terrible look upon the other man. "Why don't you mind the speed limit in a child safety zone? Or perhaps you'd like to involve the authorities?"

The driver pulled his head back in and sped off, muttering curses under his breath. Ignoring the stares and murmurs of concern, Yukio pushed through the people and went back over to the sidewalk to retrieve his briefcase.

He set Ken on the ground and stared at the little boy's downcast eyes. "Are you alright, Ken? What are doing out here? Are you by yourself?"

The child fidgeted. "I-I . . . Osamu Oniichan never taught me to . . . I didn't-I mean there wasn't . . ."

Yukio sighed and placed gentle hands on the boy's shoulders. The boy flinched at the gesture and the big man's brows contracted swiftly. "Ken, where is Osamu?"

A whisper. "Home, Oikawa-san."

"Does your mother know where you are?" Suddenly he closed his eyes and shook his head as he recalled the events that had lead up to his introduction with the child. "No. Never mind. Don't answer that," he muttered half to himself.

The man stood and stared down at Ken, his lips pursed pensively. He really should take Ken home, but . . . He bit his lip. Quite frankly, Yukio wasn't sure if home was the best place for the boy to be. He nodded to himself in quick decision.

"Ken?"

The child peeked up at him through his hair. Yukio smiled indulgently, a gentle expression, and brushed the locks from Ken's eyes. They felt like silk . . . how amazing.

"Do you want to go out with me for some ice cream?"

A shocked expression painted itself across the boy's features and his mouth dropped open. "W-with me?"

The adult chuckled warmly. What a fantastic child! "Of course with you, silly."

"But . . . don't you have something important to do?"

Yukio laughed outright at that and slung his bag up onto one shoulder. He easily caught Ken's non-existent weight up and held him in one arm. The little boy flung his arms around his shoulders in his surprise. "Right now there is nothing more important in this world than you, my little Ichijouji Ken," he declared, feeling oddly gratified when the shocked look intensified.

"But-"

"No buts, little Ichijouji Ken! Now what's your favorite ice cream?"

Ken mentally shrugged and watched as the ground rolled away from them at an amazing rate as the man began to walk away. If there was ice cream involved, who was he to complain? He looked back up at the big man curiously. "I dunno."

This seemed to startle the adult. "You don't know?" Yukio's brown eyes crinkled in a look of disbelief. "You never had ice cream?"

"I have too!" the child piped, blushing hotly.

"Well, then, you must certainly know what you liked best."

Ken's blush deepened. "Well . . ."

"No, no, no," the man interrupted him. "Let me guess." He wrinkled his forehead in a comical parody of pensiveness. "Is it . . . spinach?"

Ken stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Eww!"

"Not spinach then, huh?"

"No! That's icky."

A wounded look settled on Yukio's face. "Well, have you ever had spinach ice cream?"

"No, but-"

"Then how do you know it's 'icky?'"

"Cause that's weird!" the boy declared as though this was the most logical thing imaginable.

"Alright, alright," the adult groused. He wrinkled his forehead again. "What about . . . purpleberry ice cream?"

Ken's eyebrows dropped swiftly. "That's not a real berry!" he protested.

"Why, of course it is!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Well, blueberries are certainly real, aren't they?"

"Yah," the boy agreed warily, trying to discern where this line of thought was headed.

"Then so are purpleberries."

"Nuh-uh." Ken shook his head with a child's conviction.

"And how can you be so certain, little Ichijouji Ken?" Yukio demanded, lifting one eyebrow in challenge.

Ken shrugged. "Cuz I never saw one."

"Well, have you ever seen a Canadian?"

Ken thought this over for a moment. "No."

"Then how do you know that they're real?"

A frowned marred the little boy's pale face and he nibbled his lower lip. Yukio stared at him in fascination. The child then shook his head. "Purpleberries," he declared looking at the adult levelly, "are not a real berry."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh," he said with a nod. "Osamu Oniichan never said anything about 'em and Osamu Oniichan knows everything about everything."

Yukio frowned. "Nobody knows everything, little Ichijouji Ken."

"Osamu Oniichan does."

The big man's frown deepened but he said nothing. Ken watched his face warily, knowing that he had somehow upset his new friend. When Osamu Oniichan was upset it normally meant that he should either duck or hold real, real still. His tiny forehead wrinkled as he tried to wrap his five year old mind around what he could have done wrong and how to make it right again, but the problem was too difficult for him. He tried to remember what grown-ups do when they're real mad, but that wasn't working either. Finally he remembered that Momma and Papa got into a fight last week about whether or not to send him to special school and they had yelled so loud that he could hear them through the door. Then Momma had left the room and went into the kitchen and Papa followed her. What had he done then . . . Oh, yeah!

Ken leaned up in Yukio's arms and planted a small kiss on the man's forehead. "I'm sorry," he said humbly.

Yukio stopped dead on the sidewalk and stared at the little boy with wild eyes. For a moment Ken thought that he had messed up again and he dropped his head to his chest, lip trembling dangerously. Osamu Oniichan is right! I'm useless; I can't do anything!

Oikawa Yukio looked at the boy in his arms for a moment and then he put down his briefcase. He lifted his free hand and pushed Ken's hair back from his eyes and lifted the boy's face. He gently kissed Ken on the forehead before pulling away. "You . . ." he whispered heavily, "you are an angel."

Ken smiled, eyes shining with the unique brand of innocence that can only be found in children, and he suddenly pointed ahead of them. "It's the ice cream man!"

Yukio tore his eyes away from the child in his arms and stared at the man in the white paper hat blankly for a moment, mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing. After a moment of confusion it settled in and the big man gently set Ken on the ground. He picked up his briefcase in one hand and took Ken's tiny hand in the other. The child instantly trotted away, trailing the adult behind him like a pull toy.

"And what can I get for you fine gentleman today?" the ice cream man asked when he saw them approaching.

"I'll have a vanilla cone," Yukio said, smiling.

"Alrighty." The ice cream man bent down so that he could look Ken in the eyes. "And what will you be having, young man?"

Ken's big blue eyes shone. "I want purpleberry!"

The ice cream man's brows contracted and he stared at Ken in confusion. Yukio laughed.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

"Here you are, my little Ichijouji Ken," the man said as he set Ken down on the steps that lead up to his apartment. "Do you want me to walk you up to the door? Your mother will probably be worried by now." If she's even noticed, he thought grimly.

Ken shook his head, long hair shifting with the motion and Yukio couldn't resist reaching down and catching a few of those fabulous strands between his fingers. Ken gazed up at him with those adoring, trusting eyes. "No thank you, Oikawa-san."

Yukio released his hair. "You know, you can call me Yukio."

Ken shook his head again. "Osamu-Oniichan says that it's rude to call grown-ups by their given names. It's disrespectful."

The dark-haired man knelt down to look the boy in the eye and placed on hand on Ken's shoulder and gently tapped the child's small nose with the other hand. "Osamu-Oniichan is most certainly correct, my little Ichijouji Ken, but I am not a grown-up anymore. I'm your friend."

The child's eyes widened. "My . . . friend?" He sounded as though he were trying out the words, tasting them for the first time. Yukio wouldn't be surprised if he was.

The adult nodded.

"Oh . . . okay, Oika-Yukio-san."

A smile twitched around the edges of the big man's mouth. This boy was just so precious! He stood to leave.

"Yukio-san?" a small voice quavered behind him.

He turned back around to see Ken staring intently at the ground. "Yes, little Ichijouji Ken."

The boy bit his lip and didn't look up. "I know that you're busy, Yukio-san, but I had fun today and I was wondering if maybe we could . . ."

Yukio almost smiled again. "Do you want to go back to the park tomorrow, my little Ichijouji Ken?"

The child blushed hotly and his eyes sparkled. "Yes!"

Laughter rumbled out of the tall man and he nodded. "Very well then, I will meet you here tomorrow at four. Just wait right here, alright? I don't want to see you out in the streets anymore."

"I will Oikaw-Yukio-san! I mean, I won't!" The little boy turned around, ready to race into his building, when a sudden instinct of Yukio's made him call the child back.

"Ken!"

The boy turned around, looking just a little bit afraid to hear that stern tone emerge from the other's mouth. "Yes . . .?"

Yukio was frowning. He vividly remembered his first and only encounter with Ichijouji Osamu. "Stay away from my little brother." Yukio extended his hand and made a summoning motion. Ken obeyed and walked over to the man only to be lifted up yet again in a strong embrace. Yukio looked him in the eye. "Do you like secrets, my little Ichijouji Ken?"

The boy nodded, sensing that that was what he was required to do.

"Then will you do something for me?"

"Yes, Yukio-san," he chimed dutifully.

The man's dark eyes bore deep into his blue ones. Nobody had ever paid him so much attention before . . . "Good, my little Ichijouji Ken. You mustn't tell anyone that we are friends. Not your father, not your mother, and especially not Osamu."

Blue eyes widened. "Why not?"

"Because it's a secret," the man explained patiently, "and secrets are the best things in the world. When you know a secret, you have power. If you tell other people the secret, you lose power. That's bad. Power is very, very important in the world." He looked at the child a moment longer. "Aren't you my friend, Ken? Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Yes, Yukio-san," the boy answered without hesitation.

"Then you won't tell anyone?"

"No, Yukio-san."

"You are a good boy, my little Ichijouji Ken. A very good boy, indeed."

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"I was born with the devil in me."

~ Dr. H.H. Holmes

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Ken tried not to tremble-it was actually quite an effort for a five year old to exert, but he tried his hardest. If Osamu Oniichan saw him afraid . . . it would be bad.

Osamu was yelling and waving his arms, but the words slipped by faster than Ken could comprehend them. He wondered when Momma and Poppa would be home. He wondered why he had spilled the juice on the carpet. He wondered why Osamu Oniichan was always so very angry. He wondered what Yukio-san was doing.

"Well?! Answer me!"

Ken started and his eyes widened. What had he asked? What should he say? "I . . . Osamu Oniichan, I-"

Osamu scowled and lunged forward, gripping his brother's tiny hand and jerking the boy forward. Acting on pure instinct, Ken tried to pull away, fighting and tugging against the painful grip on his hand. He flailed, accidentally connecting his fist to his Oniichan's thigh. It was nowhere near hard enough to hurt, but it was more than enough to further enrage his brother.

"YOU USELESS BRAT!"

"Aah!" The hand wrapped around Ken's wrist flung the boy away from Osamu and his body slammed into the wall with a hollow thud and his head bounced off the white paint dully. Stars exploded behind the little boy's eyes and he felt his teeth penetrate his lower lip. He slid into a heap on the floor and began to shake. Second later muffled sobs emerged from him.

For a moment there was silence. Then: " . . . Kenny-boy . . .?"

He didn't-couldn't-look up.

"I-Ken?"

Move! Get up! Do something, don't . . . The thought was cut short by a hand pressing against his shoulder. Osamu sat down on the floor and pulled the crying boy into his lap.

"I . . ." Ken hiccupped. "I-I'm sorry, Osamu Oniichan."

"Oh, Kenny-boy . . ." A tired sigh left his brother's lips and Ken cringed at the soft sound. Osamu wrapped his strong arms around his brother and held him close, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. "You just . . . Why can't you just be good?"

"I'm sorry."

When Momma and Poppa got home there was a big stain on the white carpet. Ken was sent to bed without dinner.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

There were bruises on his Ichijouji Ken's wrists. He looked tired, dark circles gradually forming under his eyes and giving him the shadowed appearance of a startled raccoon. Yukio ground his teeth together, angry at whatever had done this to his little Ichijouji Ken. His little Ichijouji Ken.

It had been months since they had first met in the park for ice cream. Autumn had come and gone and now winter was on its way, bringing with it the promise of snowball fights and darkened skies. Ken's birthday had come and gone, too. The child's family didn't throw him a party, though, so Yukio took the situation into his own hands and took Ken to the zoo. It amazed him that he could vanish with Ken for hours and no one seemed to notice that he was missing. It was frightening. It was so thrilling, so intoxicating, that more and more often Yukio entertained the thought of not returning his little angel to the hell that was his home and instead carrying him far, far away to where he could keep Ken all to himself and love and protect Ken forever. He wanted to so badly that he could taste it . . . almost the same way he could taste his Ken. It was almost as sweet, too.

But Ken was quiet now-too quiet. He was always like that after "Osamu Oniichan Got Angry," as the child called it. Yukio hated that. He hated the fact that something could deprive his little bird of its chirp. He hated the fact that Osamu's name, Osamu Oniichan, was a title, a name to be whispered with awe and respect. He hated the fact that something, this Osamu Oniichan thing, could frighten his angel. But most of all, he hated having to share Ken with this Osamu Oniichan thing. Ken was his. He loved Ken. He made Ken laugh and smile. He was privy to Ken's secrets. He was all that Ken needed-would ever need. There was only him . . . And Osamu Oniichan.

A large meaty hand gently ran itself through Ken's hair. It was an addiction for Yukio, that soft silky hair. "What happened?"

Ken sniffled. "Nothing. I fell down."

"What were you doing that you fell?"

"I just slipped. I'm clumsy, s'all."

The two were silent and a cold wind blew. Ken shivered. Yukio regarded him for a long moment and then scooped him up in his immense arms. Ken offered no resistance and allowed the adult to lift him up and begin to walk away. The child was used to such treatment by now; Yukio-san was always lifting him up or touching his hair, or holding his hand, or rubbing his back. It felt nice at first, always being the center of attention. It was a foreign feeling. But lately, it had begun to make him uncomfortable, it made him feel funny inside sometimes when Yukio-san touched him, the way he'd rub his skin or stroke his hair-the way he'd look at him like he was something to eat . . . But Ken knew that he was just being stupid. Yukio-san loved him just like Osamu Oniichan loved him. If they were angry or something was wrong, it was because he messed up. And he had already messed so many things up!

He knew he wasn't smart, and he didn't look nice, and he didn't understand stuff, and he wasn't important, and he did such awfully bad things; he knew it all. But he tried so very hard and Momma and Poppa just didn't love him because he was so bad and Oniisan tried even harder than he did to teach him to be a good boy and obey and Yukio-san was so very important to whatever it was that he did but spent time with Ken anyway and he just had to be gooder and smarter and faster and better to make sure that he didn't mess up.

Osamu Oniichan loved him. Yukio-san loved him. His parents tried to love him, but he was just so bad . . . But Osamu and Yukio were everything. If they hurt him it was only to make him better. It was only because he deserved it. If there was anything that Ken had learned in his short life it was that people never really mean it when they hurt you, when they hit you, or touch you in that weird way that makes your skin crawl, or hit you with the umbrella after you knock over the bridge they had been building with toothpicks to show stuff about stuff in the big school where everyone wears the gray clothes. The big school that he wanted so much to be a part of. They never meant any of that stuff. They only did it because they love you and you're too dumb to understand and to love them back and to be GOOD. Because that's all that he had to do really, the one thing that he didn't understand most: be good. So it was alright when they did those things. He deserved it.

Yukio stopped short in front of a large building and Ken looked up, blue eyes subdued and occasionally flickering to violet. He turned to regard his friend curiously. "Where are we?"

"This is where I live, my little Ichijouji Ken. This is home."

They entered the building and went into a small elevator where Yukio gently set Ken on the ground and pushed a button. Ken was silent as the adult gently squeezed his hand and the elevator lurched upwards. "It's cold outside," Yukio was saying. "You mustn't catch cold, my little Ichijouji Ken."

Mustn't catch cold, the boy repeated to himself silently.

A tinny-sounding bell rang and the door slid open with a groan. Still holding Ken's hand, Yukio left the elevator and walked down the long dim hallway. His long strides shortened automatically so that his companion could keep up with him. Butterflies the size of hedgehogs fluttered in the adult's stomach and he shot a quick glance down to watch Ken's blue-haired head bob back and forth as his little legs worked rapidly to keep up.

What are you doing, Yukio, he thought as he watched the boy. You shouldn't be doing this now . . . Not yet. Not this yet. His mind avoided the thought the same way that it always had, tried to put it off. Maybe I should take him away with me for a little bit first-just for a little before . . . What? But perhaps just a little, not all the way, but just a little bit for now . . .

"Yukio-san? Are you alright?" Ken's wide eyes regarded him in solemn concern.

The big man blinked rapidly at the boy and then raised his eyes to look at the closed door of his apartment. They were here.

"Yukio-san? You look funny, Yukio-san? Do you have a temp'ture?"

"No . . . I . . ." He trailed off, eyes staring blankly at the door. He looked back down at Ken, that look that made Ken feel funny, and his voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away. "Would you like to play a game with me, my little Ichijouji Ken?"

Blue eyes blinked owlishly. "A game? Okay."

Yukio fumbled with the lock for a moment before the door swung open. The hinges shrieked eerily in protest. A firm hand pushed Ken into the apartment and the child blinked, slightly disoriented by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows after the darkness in the hall. They both paused at the entrance to remove their shoes before Ken hesitantly edged the rest of the way into the apartment. The boy regarded the tight quarters with a child's curiosity before his eyes latched onto a large screen TV that occupied most of the living room. He grinned.

"Can we play video games, Yukio-san?"

The adult looked down into those big blue eyes and smiled, his resolve and confidence restored by the boundless love he saw there. "Of course we can, my little Ichijouji Ken."

The boy grinned broadly and happily bounced over to the television set. Yukio trailed behind him.

"What do you want to play?" he asked as he settled himself on the floor next to the boy.

After casting a backwards glance at his friend to be sure it was alright, the child went over to the entertainment center and his small fingers fluttered over the game cartridge. Finally, his eyes widened with pleasure and he settled on a game with a dark picture of space ships shooting lasers at other ships. He whirled around and held it out for Yukio to see, a plea shining in his blue eyes. Yukio accepted the cartridge from him and lifted an eyebrow.

He eyed the boy curiously. "A strategy game?"

Ken nodded eagerly.

The adult frowned. "Don't you think that this is just a bit advanced for you?"

A defiant spark suddenly shone in Ken's eyes and his lips drew into a thin line. "I play them all the time on Osamu Oniichan's computer when he's not using it."

The tall man stared, taken aback by that hard look. He had never seen Ken look like that before. "Alright then." He put the cartridge into the machine and settled himself down next to Ken. "You're player one," he announced as he handed the child a remote.

Ken nodded and leaned forward, eyes shining brightly. The game was starting.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

An hour later Yukio stared at the television as his last space ship blew into smithereens. He blinked in confusion. What the hell just happened here . . .? He had been bested by a six-year-old boy? He blinked again. How . . .?

Next to him, Ken threw back his head and laughed in childish delight. "I told you I could beat you, Yukio-san!"

"Indeed you did, my little Ichijouji Ken," the man murmured as he pushed himself up. "Indeed you did."

"Yukio-san?" Ken frowned as he watched the grown-up stand. Had he done something wrong?

"No more video games for today, my dear," Yukio said as he moved to turn off the machine.

"Yukio-san?"

He turned and smiled at the child and Ken shifted, suddenly, inexplicably uncomfortable. If Ken had known what the word predatory meant, it would have been the first word he thought of, but as it was, he didn't know what it meant so all he could do was shiver a little at the chill that ran up and down his spine.

"We are going to play a different game now, alright?"

Blue eyes watched him with a mix of caution and curiosity. "Another game?"

"Yes. But you must promise me that you will be quiet and do everything I say, do you understand my little Ichijouji Ken?"

The boy bobbed his head up and down. "Is it like a secret?"

The man paused at a doorway leading out of the room. He blinked owlishly and then smiled that smile again. "It's exactly like a secret, so you must be very, very good, alright?"

"I promise."

"Good. Wait here a minute." Yukio turned and went into his darkened bedroom. Once he was there, he sat down heavily on the bed and reached for the phone. His hands were shaking, making it difficult to punch in the numbers. "What are you doing, Oikawa?" he murmured to himself as he struggled not to hyperventilate. "What are you doing?"

On the other end of the line, the phone rang. "Bourgeoisie. How may I help you?"

His voice sounded hoarse and strained. "This is Oikawa Yukio. I need to leave a message for-yes, that right. Mmm-hmm. No. Just tell him that I have to cancel again. Yes. I'm entertaining a close friend tonight. Thank you."

The phone clattered loudly in its plastic cradle as he hung it up clumsily. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and put his head in his hands.

The curtains were drawn and no light dared to enter the chamber. For a moment, Yukio let the darkness seep into him, sooth him and push away the last of his worries, fears, and the raging headache that he seemed to have developed in less than a minute. Then, all of its own accord, Yukio's body stood up, opened a drawer, and pulled out one of his wide, neatly folded silk ties. He stared down at the material dully, acutely aware of its cool smoothness against his burning skin. His body seemed rooted to the spot, ice cold and burning up all at once. He bit his lower lip. What are you doing . . .?

"Ken?" The deep throb of his voice startled even him. "Will you please come here, my little Ichijouji Ken?"

A minute later a small blue-haired head appeared in the door. "Yes, Yukio-san?"

"Close the door and come here, Ken."

The child did as he was told, the door clicking closed and plunging them both into deep, heavy shadows. "Are you okay, Yukio-san?" he asked as he blinked in the dim lighting, trying to get his bearings. He began to walk towards his friend hesitantly. "You look funny. Are you sick? Osamu Oniichan says that-"

"Stop."

Ken halted instantly.

"Never, ever mention that name in here, do you understand me, Ken? Never."

The bluenette swallowed hard and nodded jerkily. "Yes, Oikawa-san. I understand."

Neither noticed the switch back to formal honorifics. Something had just changed between them-their relationship had shifted-and although neither could say how he knew, they both knew that Yukio-san and little Ichijouji Ken were not in this room. Now there was Oikawa-san and Ken, and those were two completely different people. Yukio's voice softened then, once more the gentle thunder that the boy was so very acquainted with. "Good. Now come here, Ken."

Trembling a bit, he did as he was told. Why was he scared? Yukio-san loved him. He would never hurt Ken. Not unless he deserved it. Gentle hands grazed the child's slim shoulders from behind, unnerving in their insubstantiality. They slid back to stroke his neck, teasing the pale skin beneath those waves of blue hair. Ken shivered violently. It was dark in there. So dark that the tiny youngster felt like it was trying to swallow him up. And Yukio-san wouldn't stop touching him . . .

"Oikawa-san-"

"Do you love me, Ken?"

The voice sounded far away, like Yukio-san wasn't even there. Tears started to well up in Ken's eyes. What was going on? "Y-yes, Oikawa-san . . ."

"I love you," the voice continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Do you trust me?"

"Oikaw-ah!"

Yukio dug his fingers hard into the shaking boy's shoulders. "Do you trust me, Ken?"

"Yes." Tears were sliding down Ken's face now.

A hot breath settled down near his ear, stirring his hair lightly. "Good. We're going to play a game now, Ken. Would you like that?"

Ken whimpered.

"We're going to play a very special game because we're both good friends and we love each other, okay? But this is a secret game, understand? And you mustn't ever tell anyone about this game. If you did they'd make us stop. They'd take you away from me and lock you up and never let you see me again because you were bad and told." The hands trailed down Ken's body and one of them slid up his shirt, wrapping around him to rub his belly. Yukio's palms were rough and hot. "You don't want that, do you? You don't want to be a bad boy, do you?"

Blue hair flew as the boy shook his head miserably. "No . . ." Sobs were collecting in his throat, sitting heavy in his belly, just under Yukio's hand. He pushed them down-he knew better than to cry.

"Then you must be very, very quiet, Ken, and not say a word. I'm going to make you feel good, real good. I promise."

The hand beneath Ken's shirt vanished and he heard the rustle of clothe and motion. Then something cool and smooth was placed over his eyes and tied tight behind his head, pulling at his hair. The boy whimpered again as he was plunged into darkness and the entire world was reduced to smell, taste, touch, and sound. Cool air washed over him as he felt his shirt being pulled over his head and then clutched at his legs when his jeans were roughly dropped. He tried to wrap his arms around himself defensively, but found his wrists caught up in hands much larger and stronger than his own.

"No," Yukio whispered roughly as he jerked him forward a bit. "No. I want to see you."

The sobs started to rise again but Ken pushed them back down. His wrists were released and he dropped them to his sides again, terrified of moving lest he do something wrong. The hands brushed his shoulders again and then slid down his chest towards the waistband of his Power Rangers briefs. Something large and heavy pressed into the shallow dip of his neck and as Oikawa nuzzled his throat something hot and wet moved over his skin. Yukio moaned into his pale, trembling flesh. The hands dipped below the elastic band of his underwear and they were pulled down to land in the pile of jeans around his ankles. The hands continued their exploration.

Behind his blindfold, Ken squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to wail at the horribly invasive and personal touch that traced every inch of his body. The mouth that licked, nipped, and sucked at every part of exposed skin, always moving lower and lower and lower . . . Then it stopped.

Ken let out a gasp of air, suddenly painfully aware that he had been holding his breathe. He ached inside. He felt dirty.

"You . . ." the words were a choking sigh somewhere nearby. "You are an angel. Exquisite. Exquisite."

The blindfold absorbed Ken's tears.

There came the sound of cloth and motion again. A zipper. A grunt. A slight displacement of air. Ken squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tensed so that his entire body shook. Momma, Momma . . . Osamu Oniichan . . .

Something hard and fleshy was pressed against Ken from behind and he flinched as he shook. Osamu, Osamu, I want to go home . . . I want Oniichan . . .

Yukio's roaming hands returned, wrapping around his waist, moving there-gripping hard where it would hurt the most. Ken cried out faintly and bent double, an inborn protective instinct. His body felt like it was trying to shake itself to pieces and he nearly fell, tangled up in his jeans. The grip tightened. Oniichan . . .

"Exquisite," Oikawa murmured almost drunkenly behind him. He pulled Ken closer. "So beautiful."

Something hard, long, and big pressed against him-pushed hard up against him-and then pushed farther-

Ken screamed.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Sitting alone in a café called the Bourgeoisie, Hida Hiroki frowned as he checked his watch. Yukio was late . . .

"Excuse me?" he flagged down a pretty waitress with hideous fake blond highlights. "Waitress?"

She came up to the table and smiled brightly. She was almost pretty enough to block out those highlights. Almost. "Can I help you, sir?"

He frowned darkly, an odd expression on a face that was obviously so used to open laughter and happiness. "Are there any messages for a Hida Hiroki?"

"I'll go check," she said before she swayed off back into the café.

Hiroki stared after her for a minute. "Where are you, Yuk-kun?"

Over the past four months the two of them had been making fabulous progress in the Digital World. Ever since they had discovered that data and DNA were actually interchangeable, they had been moving at an astounding rate of speed. Hiroki was thrilled. It was almost within his reach . . . A beautiful, peaceful world that knew nothing of pain, or crime, or war, or evil. New, pristine. A place where he could watch his little Iori-his precious son, his very reason for being-grow up and learn the right and honorable ways a man should live. And it was right there in front of them-barely out of reach.

But something had been distracting Yuk-kun as of late-eating up their time together. Hiroki's schedule was not his own. He worked for the government. This made any and all time that he could spend with his family and best friend precious, almost sacred. So why was Yukio suddenly so willing to throw it away?

"Sir?"

Hiroki blinked as he shied back from those thoughts. He smiled up at her smile. "Yes?"

"A message was left by one Oikawa Yukio. He says that he's entertaining a friend and won't be able to make it again tonight. Did you need anything else?"

He sighed heavily. "No. No, thank you." He stood up to go and pulled out his cell phone. Six was the speed dial home.

"Moshi-moshi. Hida household."

"Father?" the man said into the phone. He stopped at a crosswalk.

"Ah. Hiroki! I thought that you were going out with that friend of yours tonight. What was his name again?"

"He had to cancel." After checking the light, he stepped into the street. "I'll be home in about fifteen minutes, alright?"

"Very good," the old man's voice crackled through the earpiece. "You'll be just in time for supper. Iori has been anxious to see you. You really should spend more time with the boy. One never knows how much time we are given to lead our lives and therefore we must live everyday to the fullest. Your son is young yet. His earliest memories should be of you, not of hanging onto his mother's apron strings."

"I know, Father, I know. I'll see you all soon, okay?"

"Are you alright, my son?"

"I'm fine, just a little disappointed."

"Disappointment is a fact of life, my Hiroki. One more thing, though?"

"Yes?"

"Could you pick up some prune juice and yogurt?"

Hiroki blinked. "Yogurt? In the cups or the drinkable stuff?"

"Drinkable yogurt? Who would even want to buy such a thing?"

"They're actually not that bad. I like them."

"You young people . . . Just because something's new does not mean that it is better."

He could almost hear his father shaking his head. There was just no use in arguing with the old man: while he could dispense advice from here till doomsday, he just couldn't accept it that well. "I'll get them now, Father. Je na."

"Je na."

Hiroki folded up the phone and returned it to his coat pocket. So you're entertaining someone, Yuk-kun? Why didn't you tell me before? Oh, well. I hope that you're enjoying yourself, my friend.

At that moment, unknown to the world, a child was screaming in Tamachi.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"A person in that situation is God!"

~ Ted Bundy

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

One Month Later:

He had slipped-it was nothing big, but then he fell down the steps. That had been bad. Momma had heard the banging and Ken's scream and instantly ran to see what had happened. Osamu had heard it too, but he hadn't gotten out of the apartment and to the stairwell until after Momma. She wouldn't even let him near Ken as she cradled the sobbing boy.

"Osamu, you were supposed to be watching him!"

What could he say to that? It was true. If he had been paying attention, Ken never would have been outside the apartment, let alone in the stairwell. If had been paying attention, Ken would have been safe in the apartment where he belonged. If he had been paying attention, Ken wouldn't have gotten hurt.

"Osamu, you know that things are hard right now. You have to help us out! Ken is your brother-your little brother. He's your responsibility."

That was true, too. Ken was all Osamu had. He was never too busy for Osamu, or too tired, or too frustrated. He never demanded anything from Osamu except the occasional bedtime story, lullaby, video game, or bubble blowing session. And he tried so hard to be good like Osamu wanted and to stay out of the way . . .

"Now look at what's happened! He's just a little boy, Osamu, he doesn't know how to take care of himself!"

"I know, Momma, I-"

"If you knew, then we wouldn't be having this discussion, would we?"

"But Momma-"

"Just go to your room, Osamu. I don't even want to look at you right now."

Osamu turned and ran back into the apartment, blinking rapidly against the tears in his eyes. He ran all the way back into his room, climbed up the bed, and threw himself face down on the mattress, shoulders heaving with restrained emotion. He didn't even know if Ken was okay.

Time passed and no one came to see Osamu. The boy didn't move, keeping his face buried into the covers and shivering occasionally, although not from the temperature. He wondered how Ken was doing. He wondered if his mother would come tell him. Had he been hurt? Bruised? Was he bleeding? Had he hit his head? The questions swirled around the youth's mind feverishly and horrible images arose in his head. What if he was hurt really, really bad and had to go to the hospital? The idea of somebody whisking Ken away to somewhere Osamu couldn't get to him frightened the young genius more than he was willing to admit.

It was dark by the time his father came home. Osamu stiffened as he heard the big man's voice ring through the apartment and then he heard his mother's quiet voice. After more hushed voices, there came a creak as the door down the hall opened-they were going into Ken's room. The boy was still, concentrating on his own soft breathing, for several torturous minutes. Then there came the noise of footsteps approaching his door, followed a short time later by a knock. The boy pushed himself up, red-faced from lying down like that for so long and guilt swimming in his eyes, as the door was pushed open and Ichijouji Tsuyoshi entered the dark room. The man and boy looked at each other for a long, tense moment before Tsuyoshi heaved a sigh and shook his head.

Osamu's voice sounded loud and scratchy in the stillness. "Is Ken alright?"

"He's fine," the adult said, eyes hard and unforgiving. "But he might not have been."

Osamu flinched visibly and Tsuyoshi looked away.

"So what do you think we should do with you, Osamu? After all, you were supposed to be looking after Ken and you weren't. Do you have any idea how disappointed I am in you? He's practically still a baby. I thought you were smarter than that."

The painful lump in Osamu's throat flared and swelled and he felt tears spring to his eyes anew. He didn't let them fall though. " I'm sorry, Poppa."

Tsuyoshi sighed again. "You're confined to your room for the rest of the night. No dinner, no T.V., no phone, and no video games, understand me? You've got to learn to be more responsible."

"But-"

"No buts. Ken was lucky today. Just be happy that he'll be alright." The man left the room without another word and the door clicked shut softly, leaving Osamu alone in the darkness once more.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

It was 12:03 when another knock sounded on Osamu's door. The blue-haired boy sat up in bed, his stomach groaning with the motion and hunger. The knock repeated itself. It was a soft, hesitant sound and Osamu instantly knew who was behind his door. The door slid open a crack and a small blue haired head appeared.

"Osamu Oniichan?"

"Come in, Ken."

The door open and then closed again quietly and Ken entered, carefully balancing a big plate in his small hands. "Momma and Poppa are asleep, so I brought you something to eat, cause you weren't at dinner."

Osamu hoped down from the bed, landing next to his brother with a quiet thump. He grinned at the little boy in his dinosaur sleep suit and accepted the plate gratefully. He pulled out a desk chair and sat down, happily inspecting the plate. It consisted of a poorly made sandwich, six big cookies, what Osamu could only assume was Ken's dessert from dinner, and a juice box of Fruit Punch Hi-C. He turned back to where Ken was anxiously watching him survey the meal and pulled his brother up into his lap in a tight hug.

"You're the best ototochan ever, Kenny-boy."

Ken sighed at the approval and leaned into Osamu's chest. He was rewarded with one of the cookies and for a few minutes all that could be heard was the two boys' contented munching.

After a short time, Osamu settled back and gently rubbed Ken's back. "You okay, Kenny-boy?"

Ken nodded in the darkness and crammed a huge bite of cookie into his mouth.

"What were you doing out there anyway?"

The boy swallowed hard and turned his liquid eyes to his brother. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble, Oniisan." His voice trembled a bit.

Osamu sighed and hugged Ken fiercely again. "It's okay, Ken, I forgive you. I'm your brother; I'll always forgive you."

Ken let loose a whimper of pain and Osamu instantly recoiled. "What is it?"

"Nu-nothing . . ."

Ken turned away to avoid his gaze, but Osamu wouldn't stand for it and clicked on his desk lamp. Taking advantage of his brother's momentary surprise, he used the opportunity to pull up Ken's nightshirt and he let out a hiss of painful surprise. There was a large blackish-green bruise on the child's pelvis and hip. He knew he hadn't done anything like that and it was too old to come from the fall.

"What happened to you?!"

"Nothing." Ken tried to twist away again, but Osamu seized his wrist, trapping him cruelly. "Oniisan, please . . ."

"Did somebody hurt you, Ken? Who did this to you?"

"Nobody. Oniisan, please-"

A door swung open down the hall and Osamu released his brother and clicked off the light. They both held stock-still; their parent would be angry if they found out that their sons had disobeyed them. The footsteps vanished down the hall towards the bathroom and a moment later a door creaked closed and a light switch was clicked on. The children breathed a sigh of relief and Ken slid off his brother's lap.

"Night, Oniichan," he murmured as he disappeared out the door.

Osamu stared after him for a minute before he took a bite out of his sandwich. He glared at the closed door. "Night, Ken."

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Yukio barely resisted flinching beneath Tsuyoshi's angry glare and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry, Ichijouji-san."

"Oikawa-kun . . ." The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "What's gotten into you lately?"

Yukio opened his mouth to reply, but his boss merely threw up his hands and shook his head. "No, Oikawa-kun. I'll get it." Tsuyoshi bent down and began to gather the scattered papers from the ground as he muttered curses under his breath. Yukio stared at him helplessly for an instant and then bent down to try and help him reorganize the scattered invoices and receipts. "No, no, no!" Tsuyoshi snapped, irritably waving the taller man off. "Go do something else. Oriya-kun probably needs help. Go help him."

Yukio rose and cast another helpless glance at the ground before turning away and heading towards a row of cubicles. What's wrong with me? He wondered as he sidestepped a mail cart. Why don't I ever defend myself? Why can't I ever talk back, redeem myself? But he's right, of course. I can't do anything lately. Why can't I concentrate? Why . . . He stopped and sighed, feeling suddenly drained. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and changed direction, headed towards a water fountain. After washing his face, he wiped the excess water off his face and sighed yet again.

He was very much aware of what was wrong with him: guilt.

Guilt over the tears that stood in his little Ichijouji Ken's eyes. Guilt over the muffled pain and poorly concealed sobs that he forced out of the boy. Guilt over the trust and adoration that shone from Ken's face. Guilt over the horrid monstrosity that he had allowed himself to become. Guilt over the fact that he both couldn't and didn't want to stop.

What was he becoming? He rubbed his face again. What had he done?

"Oikawa-kun?"

He jumped and whirled around, startled by the sound of Tsuyoshi's voice. He turned around. "Y-yes, sir?"

Tsuyoshi gently smiled at him and patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Oikawa-kun. I just . . ." he trailed off and laughed awkwardly, putting a hand behind his head. "Things have been difficult at home lately. It's nothing really, though." He suddenly became serious then. "Oikawa-kun, you're an excellent worker and you've been invaluable to this project. You've been putting in so much time at the office and outside of work . . . well, it's no wonder you've been so absentminded lately. Go home, my friend. Take the rest of the day off. You need time to relax-recuperate somewhere outside of this hectic office."

"But, Ichijouji-san-"

Tsuyoshi held up a hand. "No, no, no. I insist! We certainly can't lose one of our most important men, now can we? GO HOME, Oikawa-kun. Relax. You deserve it."

Yukio flushed. "Thank you, sir. I hope everything works out for you at home."

"Eh?" A look of confusion painted itself across Tsuyoshi's face before he chuckled and waved Yukio's concern away with a casual gesture. "Oh, it's nothing. Kids, you know? They're quite a trial. You just go get some rest."

"Ah," Yukio uttered noncommittally. He walked away towards his cubicle, a vengeful serpent of guilt coiling itself around his inside and gnawing at him. Rest. Yes, that would be just the thing. Plus he'd see Ken later on today. Ken could always cheer him up. He ignored the serpent as it burrowed deeper into his heart.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"I love you all, and have done no harm to anyone;

and what have you done to me?"

~ Leo Tolstoy

War and Peace

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

Three Months Later:

Osamu glared down at the textbook. He was sick of this. He was sick of his simpering parents. He was tired of the interviews and press conferences. And if he had to talk to one more reporter he simply could not be held responsible for his actions. He sighed and dropped his head down onto his book. It landed with a dull thud and jammed his glasses back into his face. He ignored the discomfort.

Get up, Osamu, he ordered himself. Sit up and just do the goddamn homework. It's not that hard.

He didn't move.

"Osamu, dear?" his mother's falsetto traveled through the locked door.

He winced and slid his eyes to the closed bedroom door without moving. What now?! How can these morons expect me to get anything done with all this noise?! Forehead still pressed against the book, he spoke in an almost cheerful and more than slightly mocking voice, a sharp contrast to the murderous fury on his face. "Yes, Momma?"

"Your father and I are going to the Tasakis, dear. Can you watch your brother? I think that he's asleep in his room."

"Yes, Momma."

The woman crooned something in her sickeningly sweet voice before leaving again. Osamu continued to glare at the door until he heard the front door slam. "Idiot," he snarled under his breath.

His closed his eyes and relaxed for an instant, mind far away from his prison of a bedroom with its academic wardens. For a moment he was almost asleep. Then the nagging voice of responsibility returned. Wake up and get to work. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was just so tired . . . One problem at a time. Get to work. He sighed. Gotta work. What will Momma and Poppa say? What will the other kids say? 'Ichijouji the geniusdidn't do his work! Liar! Failure! Sham!' What would Ken say . . .? Tearful blue eyes suddenly appeared in Osamu's mind's eye and the youth's eyes snapped open and he lurched upright. He stared down at the book.

Kenny-boy . . . His eyes drifted towards his door. Maybe I should go check on him . . . The boy rose, his legs moving before his mind could quite catch up. I wonder how he's doing? Maybe we could go blow bubbles. I've been so busy lately-Halfway down the hall, Osamu froze, a sudden dread striking him. He hadn't seen Ken in a while. A very long while. He had been busy. But Ken was always around, no matter what was going on-always underfoot, whining, and pouting, and just generally being annoying when he was least wanted. So where was his ototochan now?

He reached the door at the end of the hall closest to the kitchen. He knocked softly. "Kenny-boy?"

There was no response.

He knocked again, a bit louder this time. "Kenny-boy? Do you wanna go play?"

Silence.

"Are you in there?" He banged on the door. "Ken! You better not be playing around with me, runt!"

He pushed the door open with the full intent of leveling a soul-piercing glare at his baby brother and thoroughly reaming him out and . . .

And found the room empty.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Ken pulled his pants back on, small arms trembling. He hated trembling. He hated crying. Oniisan would have been disappointed. He never trembled or cried. He never did anything wrong. He was per-

"Are you thirsty, my little Ichijouji Ken?" Yukio-san called from the kitchen.

Ken left the bedroom and went out into the living room. He wasn't allowed to talk in the bedroom. "Yes, please."

Actually, Ken was not at all thirsty-in fact, he wanted nothing more than to throw up until it came out blood and curl up into a tiny ball. Refusing, however, would make Yukio-san quite angry, and he was always so nice after . . . it. So Ken smiled when he wanted to scream and tried his hardest to do what he knew would make his friend happy. It was a surprisingly useful strategy and it seemed to keep him out of trouble. Even Momma and Papa couldn't see through it. Osamu Oniichan seemed to know when something was wrong, but he never did anything but glare anyways, so Ken wasn't sure. It was also becoming much less important that Osamu Oniichan thought or said or noticed. It was even becoming galling . . .

"Orange juice?" Yukio-san declared as he handed the child a plastic tumbler.

Ken smiled a smile that didn't touch his eyes and accepted the juice. "Thank you." He swallowed the orange liquid quickly. It was bitter and stung his throat.

Yukio looked at the digital clock on the VCR. 4:48. He looked down at his friend and smiled gently. "I had better get you home. It's getting late."

Ken returned the tumbler-still over half full-and went to retrieve his jacket. Yukio's eyes followed him for a moment and the man's brow creased in speculation. His little Ichijouji Ken was turning into quite a little . . . adult. It was actually kind of odd to see this terribly mature little boy striding about in his quietly capable fashion. This newfound confidence however was not without consequences and Yukio was both pleased and slightly alarmed to see a void springing between the bluenette and his once-adored brother. It was troublesome to see Ken's personality change so drastically in the past three or four months as he withdrew from his already distant family life and closer to Yukio. It was also revealing an almost frighteningly cold streak of cruelty in the child. For Yukio, though, Ken was always an absolute angel. Always.

"Ready, my little Ichijouji Ken?"

The boy looked up from where he was tying his shoelaces in the doorway-a skill Osamu had taught and was easily mastered when he was barely three years old-and the light caught his eyes oddly, giving them an almost purple glow, like amethysts. A chill went through Yukio as he stared at the child. With that purple gleam in his eyes, he bore a striking resemblance to Osamu. Osamu gave Yukio the creeps.

"Yes, Yukio-san."

The man approached Ken the one approaches a poisonous snake when they aren't sure whether or not it's dead. Upon closer inspection he realized that it was not the light at all, but that Ken's actual eye color had turned to a deep purple.

"Yukio-san? Are you alright?"

"I . . ." he stared down into those narrowed purple eyes for a moment, suffocated by their smooth flatness. Stay away from my little brother . . . "I'm fine, my dear." He held open the door. "Let's get you home now."

Ken eyed the adult curiously for a moment. He was quickly becoming an expert at reading people's emotions and right now Yukio-san looked . . . afraid. "Yes, Yukio-san."

The door slammed shut behind them and as the faded sunlight streamed through the windows it got caught on the dust in the air and shimmered like tears-like a quiet mourning.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Osamu stood behind a tall bush outside his apartment as the two walked up. His eyes narrowed dangerously behind his expensive glasses as he recognized a blue head bobbing into view: Ken. Walking next to him was a tall man in a heavy black coat. The wild-haired genius stiffened as something stirred in him at the sight of the man . . . He looked familiar . . .

Osamu left the living room and heaved a sigh of relief. He absolutely hated it when his mother fawned over him. He hated it even more when she did it at his brother's expense, like she usually did. And just where was the squirt anyway? The boy stopped outside the bathroom door as his hearing zoomed in on his brother's quiet voice. That was odd . . . Ken never talked to people-well, he talked to him, but that was different. He was Ken's brother. Who else would the child talk to if not him? As far as his brother was concerned, Osamu was the center of the cosmos-and that was the way it should be. So just whom was his precious ototochan talking to?

"That's a pretty nasty cut, little Ichijouji Ken. What happened?"

Osamu's eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. That had been the man who needed to go to the bathroom. Annoyance surged through the boy. So just why was he talking to Ken?

"I was hungry an' Momma was busy an' Oniichan was studying an' I wanted a san'which, an' I cut myself with the knife."

"Oh," a brief pause and then, "Okay. You should be more careful, little Ichijouji Ken."

That was too much. It was one thing for Ken to be talking to someone else, but it was quite another thing for someone else to be telling his Ken what to do. Osamu's parents didn't even do that; that was Oniisan's job. Ken was Oniisan's responsibility and burden, no one else's. But now someone else was interfering with him, taking Ken away from him . . . Ken was all he had, but he was also all that Ken had . . . And he'd be damned if someone else came between them. A surge of rage and jealousy shot through Osamu and he pushed the door open.

"Kenny-boy?" Ken sat on the toilet swinging his small legs back and forth looking at a tall pale man in shy adoration. It took all of Osamu's self-control not to leap across the room and seize his brother when he saw the man finish wrapping a bandage around Ken's hand. He was touching his Kenny-boy! He was actually touching Ichijouji Osamu's little brother!! Nobody was everallowed to touch Ken except Osamu. Didn't the fool know that?!

Ken's head snapped up and his blue eyes widened in surprise and fear. Osamu glared at him in fury. That brat was in so much trouble . . . "Go to your room."

Ken flinched and looked at the floor. "But Osamu Oniichan-"

"Go. To. Your. Room. NOW."

Once his brother was safely away, Osamu glared thunder at the stupid insect that had dared shatter Ken's untouchability. "Stay away from my little brother." He slammed the door behind him and stomped down the hall to his brother's room.

He flung the door open and Ken cringed automatically. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

"You better stop it right now!!" Osamu growled as Ken started to whimper and tears slid down his cheeks and he tried to twist away from him. He grabbed the smaller boy and shook him until his teeth rattled. "You make one noise and I will break your neck right here, I swear to God! Do you understand me?! Shut up! What the hell were you doing?! You don't know that man!"

He threw the child down one the ground and the carpet muffled his thump. Ken pulled himself up and cringed back while extending his hands in an attempt to pacify his brother.

"Shut up!" Osamu growled again when the little boy's mouth opened. Not knowing what else to do, he slapped him hard, send the child sprawling, a large red streak blossoming on his cheek. "How is it that you are so goddamn stupid?! I can't even believe we're related! Damnit!" Now he was yelling. His parents wouldn't hear. They didn't hear anything. They didn't wanted to.

He grabbed his brother again, knowing that he was hurting him, but too frustrated to care. Didn't Ken get it? Why couldn't he understand? It wasn't that hard. He squeezed Ken's arms far too hard and the little boy groaned in an attempt not to wail. His blue eyes were large and wild with tears and fright.

Osamu looked at him for a long moment. Then he spoke in an intense whisper: "I am all you have, Ken. All you will ever have! You don't need anyone else and no one else wants you!! Why would they?! You're invisible!! You may as well not even exist! Get that through your thick head!"

The expression on Ken's face didn't change a hair and Osamu bit his lip until it bled. He suddenly pulled his brother to his chest in an inescapable hug and rocked back and forth. "You're just so goddamn stupid, Ken, you know that? You're useless. What would you have without me? Nothing! I am everything to you! You aren't anything without me! You don't even exist! You don't matter! I am the only person on this planet that will ever give a damn about you! I'm the only one who'll love you. Ever. You're nothing! Nothing at all!"

Ken burrowed deeper into his brothers arms and nodded his head helplessly. Sobs shook his body was hard that Osamu trembled with him. It seemed like Osamu's embrace was the only thing that stopped him from breaking into a million pieces.

Osamu glared at the man from his hiding spot. So that's what was wrong with his Kenny-boy . . . It was that man again. He had thought that Ken had learned his lesson the first time. Obviously he needed to be retaught . . .

His ground his teeth as the man stopped in front of the steps and then bent down and kissed Ken's forehead. That bastard . . . Oh, yeah; there was gonna be hell to pay for this.

"Goodbye, Yukio-san. See you tomorrow."

Osamu stepped out from his hiding spot. "No, I don't think that you'll be doing that, Ken."

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"Ever see a cock pheasant, stiff and beautiful, ever' feather drawed an' painted,

an' even his eyes drawed in pretty? An' BANG!

You pick him up-bloody an' twisted, an' you spoiled somepin better'n you;

an' eatin' him don't never make it up to you, 'cause

you kilt somepin in yaself, an' you can't never fix it."

~ John Steinbeck

The Grapes of Wrath

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

Yukio's eyes widened and he unconsciously stepped closer to Ken protectively as Ichijouji Osamu emerged from the shadows. The boy genius' eyes were glaring at the two of them malevolently, but there was no emotion on his face. His flat violet eyes drifted first to Ken's pale, frightened face and then Yukio's. He approached them slowly, the way a hunter approaches a frozen doe and its young. He stopped about three feet away from the pair on the steps and locked eyes with Yukio.

"Kenny-boy," the boy said in a completely un-child-like voice, "go upstairs. Now."

Ken cast a frightened glance at Yukio but obeyed. He knew that look in his brother's eyes; something bad was gonna happen soon.

The door closed with a sigh behind him and Osamu and Yukio glared at one another, each recognizing the other as a competitor for Ken's affection and neither one quite ready to yield.

Yukio broke first. His dark eyes slid away from Osamu's and he shivered, instinctively knowing that he had just lost a battle and unsure of how to steel himself for defeat. His voice was a murmur. "Good afternoon, Ichijouji-san."

The boy's head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed, whether it was in amusement or in speculation, Oikawa wasn't sure. "Oikawa-san, I believe it is?"

Yukio nodded and kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Oikawa-san," Osamu repeated, making the name sound like something vile. "Oikawa-san, I see you were out with my little brother." He stopped and waited for an answer that didn't come. Osamu nodded. "Well, then. I'm sorry that he's been bothering you, Oikawa-san. I'll be sure that he stays where he belongs from now on.

Yukio stiffened as though he had been struck, but remained quiet. Why did he always have to remain quiet? Why couldn't he ever speak out?

Osamu stared at him impassively for a moment and then paled as something suddenly occurred to him. The park . . . The boy's eyes widened in both fury and disbelief and he took a step back as something horrifying occurred to him. The night he fell down the stairs trying to sneak out . . . the bruises . . . Ken's weird behavior . . . the nightmares . . . The youth step forward menacingly, instantly closing the distance between him and the startled Yukio.

For months this had to have been going on! Months!! And Ken had never once come to him!! Instead he kept going back to see this . . . this . . .

Osamu's eyes seemed to glow. "You bastard." The words were a terse hiss that hung in the air-a coming storm.

Yukio's eyes widened and he took a nervous step back, hands raised defensively. "Ichijouji-san, I don't . . ."

Osamu advanced, grinding his teeth as a muscle in his jaw twitched. His voice was a powerful, low whisper. "There are things to be said about a man who spends all of his time with a six-year-old, Oikawa-san. So just how do you and my Kenny-boy pass the time?"

Yukio swayed on his feet. He knows. The entire world seemed to drop away beneath him and spots danced in front of his eyes. He knows.

The man licked his lips and took a shaky breath. "Ichijouji-san-"

"So you'd deny it now? The things you've been doing to him?" A smirk slid across the youngster's handsome features, warping them into something cruel and unnatural. He leaned forward a bit and put his hands on his hips. "I'll tell."

Yukio turned white.

"I'll make him tell. You know he will. He'll do anything I tell him to. We'll go to the police, to Momma and Poppa. We'll expose you for the sick, twisted freak you are." The smirk turned into a grin that bordered somewhere on the verge of maniacally sadistic. "Everyone will know."

Yukio's breath had quickened and everything seemed to be spinning-everything except Osamu's hellishly glowing eyes. "What do you want?"

"Stay away from Ken. He belongs to me and no one-not you, not my parents, not anyone-is ever going to take him away from me. You got that? Stay away from him."

Yukio nodded, and it felt like something in heart broke with the motion. Not trusting himself to speak-What could he say? He was exposed-the man turned around as walked away with faltering steps. Osamu's words rang in his ears. "I'll make him tell. You know he will. He'll do anything I tell him to. Everyone will know."

The elder Ichijouji brother watched as the interloper walked away, a deep, seething rage building inside him. "That imbecile . . ." His eyes narrowed as he stared after the retreating figure. "That idiot . . ." The thought occurred to him to tell anyway, just to be sure that Ken was safe, just to be sure that everything would be okay . . . But then they might take Ken away from him . . . He'd be alone. He brushed the feelings aside and turned to go inside.

But why hadn't Ken told him? Ken told him everything. Except this. Why? The question plagued him all the way back up to his apartment and when he thought he found the answer the rage inside him built to something intolerable. His vision was literally tinted red and he was so furious, so overwhelmed with jealousy that he almost threw up. He closed and locked the apartment door behind him. His parents wouldn't back for hours.

Violet eyes stared at the door to the bedroom at the near end of the hall and Osamu was moving towards it before he knew what he was doing. So that was what he wanted? That was what he wanted? Fine then. He'd get more than enough. He pushed the door open.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Ken whirled around as his bedroom door crashed open. His eyes widened in terror when he saw the look on Osamu's face. He didn't look angry or upset, he looked . . . pale. And his eyes gleamed in way that made Ken's skin crawl. He had never seen a look like that on Osamu's face.

"You little slut."

The boy recoiled. He wanted to run as far away as he could, but he knew that there was nowhere to run. Not from Osamu Oniichan . . .

"You little faggot whore!" the older boy hissed. He reached out like a striking snake and seized Ken's wrist, dragging him close. He screamed directly into the smaller boy's face and his eyes seemed to gleam ominously. "Is that what you want?!! Is that what you fucking want, you little shit?!"

Ken stiffened in horror. No! Nonononononono! How did he know? How could he possibly know?! Rage and shame made Ken pale and flush scarlet in turns. Oh, god . . .

"Is that it?!!! Answer me, goddamn you!" He threw Ken to the ground and started to take off his belt.

Ken stuttered helplessly and tried to back peddle, eyes locked on his brothers burning eyes and his desperation making him mute and clumsy. "O-Onii-Onii-"

"Nothing to say?" Osamu jerked the heavy leather belt out of the last loop. "Then we'll just have to make you talk, won't we?" He wound the end of the belt with the heavy steel buckle around one hand, letting the other end swing free suggestively.

Oh, god, no . . . He wouldn't . . . He couldn't . . . Osamu loved him . . .

"Tell me!"

The belt whistled as it cut through the air, smashing into Ken's upraised hands with impossible force. The child shrieked in agony and instantly curled up into a fetal position, stinging hands protectively cradled against his belly. Tears were flowed down his cheeks. He couldn't really . . .

"Shut up!!"

The belt fell again with a loud crack, striking Ken's back this time. The thin t-shirt he wore offered no relief.

"Oniisan, please!!" he sobbed in fear and desperation.

"Shut up!"

Crack!

"Ahh!"

"You useless-"

Crack!

"Oniisan!!"

"Pathetic-"

Crack!

"P-puh-"

"Stupid-"

Crack!

"FREAK!!!!"

Crack!

"Did you want it?!!"

"NO!"

Crack!

"Liar!"

"N-nuh-"

Crack!

"You bitch!"

Crack!

"Did you like it?!"

"Nuh-"

Crack!

"Stop lying to me!!!!"

"Pu-ple-"

Crack!

"Is that what you want?!"

Crack!

"Is that what you want, you little pansy?!"

Crack!

"Y-yu-"

Crack!

"Say it louder, slut!"

"Yes!"

Osamu stopped, suddenly exhausted. Ken lay curled up in a ball at his feet, sobbing uncontrollably. In his terror the boy had wet his pants. He was shaking and crying helplessly and his brother stared down at him panting and looking wild. It was a powerful, heady feeling to know that he had been the one to do this; to hear the other boy screaming out for mercy and watch him spasm beneath every blow. He felt terribly hot and a painful erection strained against the fabric of his briefs. He hadn't ever thought it possible to feel something this potent.

"Get up," he gasped. The belt slid from his limp hands and hit the ground heavily. His face . . . he had to see Ken's face . . .

The boy was shaking and sobbing, but he didn't move.

The elder Ichijouji bent down and gripped his brother by the hair, yanking him to his feet. "I SAID GET UP!!" Ken shrieked and his bruised hands flew up to the crown of his head.

Tears flowed down Ken's cheeks like two rivers and his face was red and splotchy. "Pu-pu-pu-pu-"

"This is what you want?" Osamu groaned. Still clutching Ken's hair in one hand so that the boy couldn't escape, he began to fumble with zipper of his pants with the other. "You want this?"

The child in his cruel grip started to hyperventilate when he realized what his brother was doing, but he couldn't move. His entire body was frozen and a scream had lodged itself in his throat, choking him and preventing him from crying out.

Osamu shook him, obviously expecting and answer. "You want this, slut?!" He pulled his aching erection free from pants and wrapped his hand around the swollen length, slowly stroking it. "You want it?"

Ken choked and gagged, almost throwing up. The scent of sex and sweat was overpowering and bile rose into the little boy's throat. He trembled when his brother's eyes narrowed dangerously and began to nod frantically, still unable to speak. He'd do anything to avoid another beating. Tears slid down his cheeks with renewed force.

The wild-haired boy stopped caressing himself and used his hand to grip Ken's jaw, squeezing it until his lips parted. "Suck me!" he ordered even as he thrust himself into his brother's mouth. "Take it all and swallow every last drop!"

The boy gagged as Osamu pushed his entire length into his mouth and his gag reflex instantly kicked in, sending his stomach into heaves. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Yukio-san . . . The older boy squeezed his jaw painfully as a warning and Ken swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. Osamu shuddered and a groan slipped out from between his lips as the sensation of Ken's swallowing hit him. He pulled out a bit and thrust in again. " . . .Ken . . ."

Ken started to suck.

"Aa-aah!"

Osamu tossed his head back and stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and mouth open to form a little "o" shape. His hand relaxed and began to stroke the other boy's hair as sensations washed over him in wave after wave of inconceivable pleasure. If felt so damn good . . . Hot and wet and hard and the pull . . .

"Oh, Ken . . . Harder . . ." His voice was a strained whimper.

His hips started to work faster in and out of the little boy's mouth and Ken obligingly increased the force of his ministrations.

"Kenkenkenken . . ."

This is so right . . . He squeezed eyes shut and opened his mouth in a silent moan. This is how it should be. My Ken . . . Mine. This is mine. Oh god . . . this is how it belongs . . .

"Oh, yessss! Ken . . ." It seemed so right to murmur that name like that.

His entire body stiffened and he felt his penis swell to impossible proportions. "Ah, ah, ah, ah-" He came.

He pushed himself as far as he could go into the vacuum of his brother's mouth, vaguely aware crushing the boys face hard against his abdomen and the other's frantic struggle as he swallowed more than he was prepared for, and shot his seed straight down the other boy's throat. Ken's reaction was instantaneous and he choked and coughed around the object in his mouth and struggled desperately to free himself. The urge to throw up was overpowering. Osamu's grip was like iron, though, and he had no choice but to swallow the bitter froth that was filling his mouth. He swallowed convulsively six times as Osamu continued to pour himself into him blindly. It felt like he was swallowing crushed glass.

Then Osamu suddenly knocked him aside and staggered backwards. His eyes were wild and panicked as he stared down at his brother. He stuffed his sated organ back into his pants with shaking hands and looked around him in sudden shock. His eyes landed on Ken again. A cracked whisper creaked out from between dry lips. "Go take a bath."

The boy fled.

Osamu swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. What had he done? He hadn't meant to . . . He hadn't meant to . . . Oh, my god . . . His head began to throb horribly.

In the bathroom, Ken bent over the toilet and threw up. As he watched the white fluid pouring out of his mouth his stomach heaved again. It was several minutes before he stopped. When he was finished he collapsed in a heap on the floor; his back, previously numb and hot, now felt like it was on fire. He lay on the floor for nearly an twenty minutes before he found the strength to rise and run bath water. I wish he would die, he thought with the fiercely intense hatred of fast burning rage. I wish he would just disappear! He didn't cry though. He had no tears left.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Seven Hours Later:

Osamu stared blankly at the darkened ceiling of his room. His head was pounding mercilessly and he blinked slowly. All he could see was Ken's face when he had pulled himself out and knocked the other boy down. Fear and hate. Those were two emotions that Osamu understood very well, but he had never wanted to see them on Ken's face . . . Not directed at him. It was almost more that he could bear.

A soft, hesitant knock on Osamu's door startled him from his thoughts and he held very still, evening out his breathing and allowing his eyes to flutter shut to feign sleep.

A quiet voice followed the knock and Osamu stiffened. "Oniisan . . .?"

Kenny-boy . . .

The door open and a blue head appeared in the frame, not daring to enter the room without permission. "Oniisan, it's dark. . . . I'm scared."

Osamu remained still. He didn't want Ken near him.

"Oniisan, I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me. I'm scared . . . Please?"

The older boy squeezed his eyes shut against the tears he could hear in that voice.

The child in the doorway snuffled once and started to close the door.

"Ken."

The door opened again and Osamu sat up in his bed, looking down in the doorway. Shadows obscured his brother's face, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there a year ago. It was the same tension that Osamu bore and he knew it well. Too many adult responsibilities and adult secrets for someone so young. How did he miss all this? He was supposed to protect Ken. Ken was all he had.

"Osamu Oniichan?"

It was a request and Osamu pulled back his covers and extended his arms to his brother without a second thought. The little boy closed the door and clambered up the ladder, practically throwing himself into his big brother's arms when he reached the top of the bed. He was shaking.

Osamu hugged him close, taking comfort in giving him comfort, and rocked back and forth. After a few minutes Ken slid underneath the covers and they both lay down, the younger brother still cradled protectively in the elder's arms, careful to avoid the fresh welts that had risen on Ken's back.

"I love you, Kenny-boy. You know that, right? I love you more than anything in the world. I'd do anything for you."

"I know, Osamu Oniichan. I love you, too."

Osamu relaxed and waited until he felt Ken slip into sleep before he laid a gentle but possessive kiss on his forehead. I'll never let anyone hurt you, he promised silently. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you . . ." He was still murmuring it when he went to sleep.

Their parents arrived home two hours later and the first thing they did was check on their children. Despite the fact that Osamu's room was at the end of the hall, they checked him first. They did it without thinking-they had always checked the firstborn first.

Rika leaned against the doorjamb and heaved a very maternal sigh at the sight of her sons snuggled up against one another in slumber. "Aren't they just precious?" she murmured as Tsuyoshi came to stand behind her.

"Absolute angels," her husband concurred. "We're very lucky to have them both."

Rika smiled at him. "We are lucky, aren't we? Everything is just perfect. I couldn't imagine leading a better life." She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. "It would be nice if things would never change and we could all be like this forever."

Tsu nodded as he inhaled the scent of her shampoo and watched his sons sleep. It just couldn't get any better than this.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Yukio paced the length of his apartment in agitation. His head ached, his shoulders were stiff, and he felt ill. He was very hot and it occurred to him that he may have a fever, but he brushed the notion aside. It had been three weeks since he had last seen Ichijouji Ken: three long, long empty weeks. He still had Hiroki, but it just wasn't the same. Ken was a part of him-he was in his blood. He was a drug that Yukio couldn't get out of his system and the urge to go over to his apartment was overpowering . . .

He groaned.

The telephone rang, startling him and he paused in his pacing; he did not, however, make any move to answer it. He already knew who it was. The answering machine obligingly picked up.

"Yukio? . . . I know that you're there, Yukio. Pick up the phone. What's wrong with you? You seem ill. You haven't been eating and you look like you haven't slept in weeks. Hijiri says that you haven't been to work in two weeks. If this continues you could lose your job. Don't you care? . . . Yukio? Please talk to me. Yukio?" The caller sighed into the receiver. "I have to go to work, Yukio. I should be back on Friday. There's an ambassador in town and I have to protect him. Call me, alright? Whatever it is, we can figure it out, okay? Best friends, Yuk. Don't ever forget that."

"Hiroki . . ." The whisper sounded dry and old and hung in the tense air a bit too long.

Hiroki couldn't-mustn't-ever know. If he found out . . .

"I'll tell. I'll make him tell. You know he will. He'll do anything I tell him to. Everyone will know."

Yukio shuddered. "My little Ichijouji Ken-"

But he wasn't his-not anymore. Now he belonged to Osamu Oniichan again. Now there couldn't be any more second-guessing. He had accepted Osamu's conditions. He had walked away. He had to live with his decisions. Yukio bit his lower lip. Ken . . .

He walked over to the phone decisively and lifted it up off the cradle. He had to live with his decision. But maybe . . . someday . . . He dialed the number, not noticing the tiny tremors in his hands. Someday . . . someday maybe there wouldn't be an Osamu Oniichan . . . The phone rang. Someday . . . "Hello, Hiroki? It's me. Yes. I'm sorry, too. Listen, what are you doing right now?"

But for now there was this and he would have to make due.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"One is afraid of the unknown, that's what it is.

Whatever we may say about the soul going to the sky . . .

we know there is no sky but only an atmosphere."

~ Leo Tolstoy

War and Peace

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

One Year Later:

It hurt sometimes-everyday in fact. But he never told anyone. Oniisan was the only one who ever listened to him, and Ken knew better than to ever mention Yukio-san to Oniisan. The little boy sighed.

"Kenny-boy?"

Indigo hair fanned out around him as he whipped his head around. Osamu stepped out onto the balcony, a cup with two straws in it in his hands. The older boy smiled, a tentative, slightly forced expression. Ken stared back at him blankly.

Osamu held out the cup. "I know things have been busy lately, but . . ." he trailed off, more than a little bit unnerved by his brother's consuming eyes. "Did you want to blow bubbles . . .?"

Ken looked back at him expressionlessly for an uncomfortably long time before he opened his mouth. "I-"

The phone rang and Ken fell silent, turning away from his brother to look back out at the city. "It's probably for you."

Behind his back, Osamu's face contorted painfully and he took a step forward, hand outstretched as though the gesture could somehow bridge the widening rift between them.

"Sam!!" Rika shouted from somewhere within the apartment. "Telephone!"

Osamu stood there for a moment longer, feeling terribly inadequate and overwhelmed, before he turned around and went back into the apartment. The door slid shut behind him quietly. Ken stared out over the city and watched the traffic flow up and down the street far below him. They looked like ants.

A sudden suffocating hatred and disgust welled up inside him. Hatred for the world and everything in it for tolerating the way he lived and disgust at himself for tolerating the way he lived. His small hands clenched into fists. "What fools," his child's voice ground out quietly with pained and unnatural harshness. "Nothing but fools."

~~~ ß@à ~~~

A bullet. A bullet is only a carefully cast piece of metal-a drop of steel. A bullet. A bullet can destroy worlds; a bullet can shatter windows, hearts, or even minds. A bullet is a drop of steel, but it's also one of the most underestimated forces in the world. At 8:42 Hida Hiroki stepped out of a car and looked around warily. At 8:43 he helped the statesman out of the car. At 8:47 he saw a flash of light and stepped in front of the statesman. At 8:50 Hida Hiroki was dead, the back of his chest blown out as a .45 caliber punched a hole into his chest and tore it's way free from his body.

At 12:32 that night the phone rang in the darkened apartment of Oikawa Yukio. The man rolled over, sat up in bed, and grappled for the phone.

". . . Moshi-moshi."

A woman's voice trembled on the other end of the line. ". . . Is this Oikawa Yukio?"

The dark haired man scowled a bit and glared at the clock. There was a faint click as the digital numbers changed. 12:34. "Y-yes. Who is this?"

". . . I'm so sorry, Oikawa-san." There came a sound like a sob. "I'm sorry-I can't-"

Yukio stiffened and blinked rapidly, suddenly wide awake. A sudden sense of dread filled him and he felt cold to the bone. "What's happened . . .?"

"This is Hida Hiroki's wife . . . He's dead, Oikawa-san . . . there was a man with a gun . . . his heart . . . I . . . . He-"

The phone slid from numb fingers and hit the ground with a painfully loud bang.

"Oikawa-san? Oikawa-san?!"

"Hiroki . . .?"

For a long moment there was a deep and pulsing silence, broken only by the faint squawking of Hida-san's voice spouting from the receiver of the phone. He pressed down on the button in the cradle of the phone, cutting her off. Moments later there came the shattering of glass as the phone was hurled across the room directly at the vanity mirror. Then the silence descended again, a living thing.

Oh, Hiroki . . .

~~~ ß@à ~~~

"What are you doing, Ken?"

"Watching TV."

"What are you watching?"

"The news."

Osamu walked over and sat down next to Ken on the couch. His brother looked up at him expressionlessly for a moment and then turned back to the anchorwoman who seemed to be wearing far too much lipstick.

"Reports are as yet unconfirmed, but the incidents of these monster sightings seem to be growing. No one is quite sure what to make of this phenomena, but psychologists are-"

Osamu felt a chill run through him and the sudden image of that little device that had come out of the computer popped into his head. He shivered violently and shook his head, but the image of his grinning brother tumbling out of the computer refused to be banished.

"What do you think, Osamu Oniichan?"

He turned and stared down at Ken's expectant face. The child's voice sounded almost mocking. "What do you think?" It gave Osamu another chill.

"Don't be an idiot," the older boy growled with unnecessary anger. "There's no such thing as monsters." He reached across his little brother, snagged the remote from the arm of the couch, and changed the channel. He felt Ken's eyes on him again and looked back his brother.

Ken's eyes were a dark, smoky violet color that contrasted sharply with the round angelic appearance of his face. His expression was totally unreadable and his eyes were devoid of emotion. Osamu recoiled slightly, alarmed and frightened by the look on his ototochan's face. Without a word, Ken slipped off the couch and stalked silently out of the room, leaving a distinct chill in the air.

Osamu stared after him, feeling oddly queasy and disturbed. "What the hell was that all about?"

The little boy's bedroom door closed with an unnaturally loud click.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"No more in darkness shall I hear / The nightingale's voice ringing clear

Or the black woodland's strains, / But only comrades' shrieks of fright,

And keepers' curses in the night, / And screams, and clank of chains."

~ Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Take Not Away My Wits, O God!

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

The eight beams of light that had torn open the sky and descended upon the earth vanished as Yukio dropped to his knees, arms outstretched, "Take me with you!!" The sky darkened once more and Yukio collapsed on the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Take me . . ."

The gaping sky offered no reply and sobs racked the man's body. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!!!! First Ken, then Hiroki, had been snatched away from him and now he had been allowed to view the Digital World in the sky only to have that too taken away form him. It just WASN'T FAIR!!!

Tears slid down his cheeks.

Oikawa Yukio.

"What?!"

Oikawa Yukio . . .

He raised his head, slowly straightening his body. "W-who-"

I know what they've taken from you, Oikawa Yukio. I understand your loss.

"Who are you?!" The big man jerked upright, eyes wide. "What do you want?"

What do you want? the voice mocked. I know what you are seeking. Do you wish to travel to the Digital World, Oikawa Yukio? Do you wish to be free at last of the world that has sunned and tormented you for so very long?

"I-"

What is there here for you, Oikawa Yukio? What has this world left to offer you? I can give you eternity. I can give you the whole Digital World.

"How?" Yukio looked around wildly and saw only trees and an overcast sky hunkering above. A chill filled the air and he turned and nearly fainted at what he saw. Darkness welled up behind him, rising from some unknown source in the earth. It formed a solid wall of blackness and Yukio stared at it in fascination and horror. He stumbled back away from it and fell, one arm slightly raised in a futile gesture of fear and self-defense. "What are you . . .?"

Destiny. Are you willing to accept your destiny, Oikawa Yukio.

"What is my destiny? How can you give me the Digital World?"

By providing you with the necessary tool.

"Tool? I don't understand."

That which was rightfully yours-that which they stole away from you: Ichijouji Ken.

He stared into the darkness without comprehension. Ken? "My little Ichijouji Ken? What does he have to do with the Digital World? He's just a little child."

He is Digidestined. He is the key to what you are seeking-to everything.

"How?"

Reach into my Darkness and all will be made clear, Oikawa Yukio. Stretch out you hand and accept your destiny.

"I . . ." Yukio stared at it for an uncertain moment. This thing could ease his pain, he knew. This could return Ken to him, give him the Digital World . . . This thing . . . was his destiny. He stretched out his hand. "I accept." And the world exploded in a wash of black.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"Parting is all we know of Heaven,

And all we need of Hell. "

~ Emily Dickinson

My Life Closed Twice Before It's Close-

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

Osamu stood on the balcony and let the wind blow through his spiked hair. They didn't talk anymore. In the months since Sam had caught Ken on the steps with Oikawa, they had drifted apart. It was hard for him. He loved Ken more than anything. Didn't he know that? Ken was his world. Without him, Ichijouji Osamu was diminished beyond comprehension. He sighed wearily.

But it was so hard not to lose his temper sometimes . . . and Ken . . .

It was that stupid thing that popped out of the computer a little while after everything happened. But after a few weeks Ken seemed to forget about it and just moved on. Then there were those stupid monster reports on the news . . . Ken insisted they were real. Osamu insisted they weren't and wouldn't budge, despite the fact that there was no doubt in his mind that the almost-forgotten device and the reports were connected. Ken seemed to think so too, and had begun to pester for the device again. His brother had stoically refused him.

That had been the final straw for Ken. Now the little boy hardly ever spoke to him and there was something dark and dangerous seething behind his violet eyes. Violet-Ken's eyes had always been blue before. Now they were violet, the same color as Osamu's. He wondered what had brought about the change, but brushed it off as unimportant. The image of the device rose to the forefront of the elder Ichijouji's mind and he scowled.

He knew that it wasn't for him-Osamu was well aware that the device belonged to his ototochan. But that was why the little boy could never, ever have it! That thing would tear them apart. It would separate them. What if Ken hadn't come out of the computer again? What if it had side effects? What if he had gotten hurt alone in that strange place? What if he lost it and couldn't get home? What if someone stole him away? Osamu didn't know how, but he knew, he knew, that that little machine would change Ken. Turn Ken into someone that didn't need Osamu and that would tear them apart. Ken needed him. If there was no Osamu, there simply could not be a Ken. That was the way things had always been and were always supposed to be. Couldn't he see that? It was for him, all of it, everything that he did was for Ken. This was in his best interest. SO WHY COULDN'T HE SEE THAT?!

The youth pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He had a headache. He always had a headache nowadays, ever since that night he had lost his temper so bad . . . beat Ken up like that . . . The boy had been sore and bruised for weeks. After they had woken up that morning, Osamu hadn't touched Ken like that again. For the longest time, he couldn't even look him in the eye. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone so far . . . but Ken had learned his lesson. There was only Osamu now-Osamu whom he despised.

And that was the one thing that Osamu could not handle. He could survive anything but losing Ken. Losing Ken . . .

It hit him like a physical blow. I've lost him . . . He swallowed, feeling his self-control begin to slide away for the first time in so very, very long. I've really lost him.

A strangled groan fled Osamu's lips and he crumpled to the ground, arms wrapped tight around his lean body. For the first time since he realized that he needed to be strong for Ken, hot tears slid down his cheeks. What's happening to me? How did I lose control of everything so fast? How do I get it back?

The pressure was just too much . . . it hurt. There was school, commercials, work, Ken, home, Momma, grades, classes, reporters, endorsements, Poppa, tests, papers, points, lessons, practice, classmates, fans . . .

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. "Please . . ."

"Osamu Oniichan?"

School, commercials, work, Ken, home, Momma, grades, classes, reporters, endorsements, Poppa, tests, papers, points, lessons, practice, classmates, fans . . .

It felt like a thousand hot needles were being shoved into his eyes.

How could he possibly keep up with it all?

"Osamu Oniichan?"

School commercials work Ken home Momma grades classes reporters endorsements Poppa tests papers points lessons practice classmates fans . . .

It was crushing him.

"Ken . . ." He didn't mean to hurt him. But things were so hard and he just got so mad . . .

"Osamu Oniichan?"

School commercials work Ken home Momma grades classes reporters endorsements Poppa tests papers points lessons practice classmates fans . . .

He couldn't breath.

"Ken . . ." Why couldn't he understand?!

"Osamu Oniichan?"

SchoolcommercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreporters endorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .

There wasn't any air out here . . .

It was for his own damn good. Right? Right . . .?

"Osamu Oniichan?"

SchoolcommercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreporters endorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .

Why wasn't there any air out here?

"Osamu Oniichan?"

SchoolcommercialsworkKenhomeMommagradesclassesreporters endorsementsPoppatestspaperspointslessonspracticeclassmatesfans . . .

He couldn't breath.

HE COULDN'T BREATH!

"Osamu Oniichan?"

"Osamu Oniichan?" They were cold words spoken by a cold voice. Under any other it would have been comical to hear such a flat hard undertone in such a quiet voice, but Osamu didn't find it the least bit amusing.

He looked up, unsurprised to see Ken staring down at him coldly. He eyed his little brother sadly for a moment before he sighed softly. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Ken stiffened. "I don't hate you, Oniichan." He tilted his head to the side in that peculiar way of his and his cold feature melted into sadness and confusion. "How could I ever hate you? You're my Oniisan."

The two stared at one another for a long minute and then Ken looked down. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Ken avoided his gaze. "I don't know. I've made you sad."

Osamu seized his brother in a fierce hug and the little boy relaxed against his brother's strong chest. "No, Ken-chan," Osamu murmured into his brother's silky hair. "No. You make me so happy; you know that? I love you so much, but sometimes it's so hard to take care of you. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. I just wanna make sure that you're the best, Ken, and then everyone will see how great you are and love you just like I do. But I'm proud of you. Don't ever forget that. No matter what I say or do, I'll always be so proud of you."

"I'm sorry, Oniichan . . . I just don't understand . . ."

"Shh. There's nothing to understand. I love you, okay? That's all that's important." He pulled Ken away from him and stared into his eyes, somehow gratified to see a vivid blue color there. "When was the last time we had a day?"

Ken's face lit up. "A day? We're going to have a day?"

Osamu laughed his gentle, delicate laughter, a rare sound that only Ken could elicit. "For you, Kenny-boy, anything. Go get your coat."

The child bounced up in a surprising display of energy and bounded out of Osamu's room. A day . . . Perhaps this was just what they both needed. They hadn't had a day in ages.

Their mother was in the kitchen making dinner-her eternal task-and Ken was putting his shoes on in the doorway. Osamu smiled as he watched his brother tie his laces and then turn around and slide the deadbolt back. The elder Ichijouji noted with a faint surprise and a flash of guilt that Ken no longer needed to stand up on his tiptoes to unlock the door. Was his ototochan really that tall now? How had he missed all this?

He shook his head in determination. He'd make it all up to Ken, he vowed. Today was a new start for both of them. From now on, things would be right again. He wouldn't lose Ken. He refused to.

"We're going to the park, Momma," he told his mother as he pulled on his jacket.

"Have fun, dear." She didn't look up from the stove. "Don't be late for dinner. We're having Tuna Surprise."

Osamu grimaced as he followed his brother out of the apartment and wondered what exactly the surprise was. A day . . . that would be just the right thing.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

From then on Tuesday was a day. Nothing else mattered. Every Tuesday Osamu would drop everything-school, fans, family, absolutely everything-and devote the day towards make Ken happy. If Ken was unhappy, Osamu was unhappy, and everyone knew that Osamu could be extremely unpleasant when he was not happy.

That was why, on one particularly bright and sunny Tuesday, the two Ichijouji brothers were in the park. Things had greatly improved again and Osamu was extremely pleased to note that Ken was once more his. His move to reclaim the vaunted position as the sole and primary possessor of his brother's affections had been remarkably successful. Since their first outings, Ken favorite pastime had become either one of two things: the first was blowing bubbles, something Osamu had once taught him to do when he had had a cold and wasn't allowed outside. The second, the one they were indulging in now and that was rapidly become Ken's passion and talent, was soccer.

Osamu was amazed, and just a tiny bit jealous, at the way his brother excelled at soccer. It was astounding. Ken seemed to have a natural affinity for the sport that Osamu was sorely lacking. Osamu was the tennis and swimming type, not the running and kicking type, yet his Kenny-boy seemed to shine there. And, for the first time in memory, that was okay.

Osamu kicked the ball with something approaching clumsiness. A grunt slid between his lips as his ankle turned the wrong way. "Ah!"

"Osamu-Oniichan?" He caged the brand new ball as neatly as possible for someone his size and bent over to pick it up. "Osamu-Oniichan?"

The older boy grimaced as his brother approached, a worried frown marring the little boy's flushed face.

"Are you okay, Oniisan?"

"Yah, I'm fine, Kenny-boy; I just wrenched my ankle. Wanna sit down for a minute?"

"Okay, Oniisan." Still clutching the precious black and white ball to his chest, Ken allowed his brother to lean against him as they hobbled over to a nearby bench. Osamu sat down with a sigh and Ken gingerly placed his ball and the ground and pulled himself up onto the bench next to the elder Ichijouji. The ball had been a gift from Osamu on last Tuesday's excursion and to Ken it was currently the most precious thing in the world barring Oniisan himself. The smaller boy's legs dangled over the edge and he pointed his toes in an effort to make them brush against the dirt below.

Osamu watched him for a moment before laughing one of his rare tender laughs. He reached over and ruffled his brother's long hair. "So eager to grow up, Kenny-boy?" He laughed again when Ken flushed brilliant red and he dipped his head in adorable embarrassment. "Don't worry," Osamu murmured, his smile warming his voice. "It'll happen soon enough, so there's no point in rushing."

Ken looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Hmm?" Osamu cocked his head to the side, unsure what Ken was asking.

"What do you mean, 'it will happen soon enough?' "

The spiked-hair boy frowned down at his brother's intense expression. The child's enormous blue eyes were slightly darkened, like twin oceans right before a storm. "Everything grows and changes, Kenny-boy. Everything dies. That's just the way things are. You're growing and changing every minute of the day; in fact, you're doing it right now."

Ken looked away from his brother and regarded his shiny new soccer ball intently. The sun shone off of the plastic skin. Growing? Changing? He didn't feel any different. But if Oniisan said it, it simply had to true. "But we'll stay together, right?"

The older boy was silent for a long moment and all that could be heard was the sound of birds and the distant shrieking laughter of other children. Alarmed by his brother's silence, Ken looked up at him through his hair. "Osamu Oniichan?"

A strong arm suddenly looped itself around Ken's shoulders and drew him into a tight embrace. "Always, Kenny-boy. We're brothers and that's an inseparable bond. I'll always be with you."

Contented, Ken closed his eyes and snuggled into his brother's arms and all was right with the world again.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

A tree limb trembled as the hand on top of it shook. Yukio stared in fright and amazement as a small figure helped his brother over to a bench and settled him down. A soccer ball was gingerly placed on the ground and Ken pulled himself up to sit by Osamu. Yukio watched in anxious fascination as the two brothers talked for a few moments and then felt a tremendous pain when Osamu suddenly embraced Ken.

He had done everything possible in the past year to forget about Ichijouji Ken and Ichijouji Osamu short of slitting his wrists. Even after Hiroki died, he would find his mind wandering towards his blue-eyed friend: his smile, his hair, the way the sunlight in the room would shift just to touch him-HIS Ichijouji Ken. He had done everything. And now this. Now a simple walk in the park was going to ruin everything.

The two of them-Ken and Osamu-together. Happy. Ken. Happy. With Osamu. Without Yukio.

So there it was. He felt heat surge in his chest. So there it was! All that, everything thing that he had done for Ken, given to Ken, and that was the way things were going to be?! Fine then.

Yukio turned to go, but stiffened when he heard the loud tittering laughter of a group of girls. Still half-concealed by the foliage, Yukio stopped in his tracks and cocked an ear towards where the two boys sat.

"Are you Ichijouji Osamu?"

"Yes."

"I told you he was!!!"

"Shut up, Nanaka!"

"Shut up, yourself, Mori!! Oh, and is this you're little brother?!"

"Yes."

"H-hi-"

"Oh, isn't he precious?! So, whatcha doing, Ichijouji-san?"

"Today is Ken's day."

"Oh, you're babysitting?!?! How sweet!!!!"

Yukio shuddered as the sugar sweet shrills of the girls assaulted his ears and peered out of his little hiding place to see how the two brothers were faring under this unwanted feminine assault. Osamu was wearing a smile as he glared at the four girls that were slowly closing in on him. Ken looked like he was trying to sink into his brother's side and vanish. Yukio smiled; perfect.

It took so little effort to do things nowadays. Ever since making a deal with his own particular devil, Yukio had found that he could do many things that he couldn't before. One of them was move things with his mind. He focused on the ball at Ken's feet and pulled it towards him. It took only seconds for Ken to notice his precious ball rolling away towards a stand of dense brush and trees. He slipped away from Osamu before the older boy could even register the motion and chased the ball down to the slope to the grove where Yukio was waiting. His fingers itched to run themselves through that wealth of silken blue hair as Ken bent down to pick up his toy and held it to his chest.

Yukio stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, my little Ichijouji Ken."

Ken looked up in shock. It couldn't be . . . He swallowed hard and stepped back in fear. Where was Oniisan? "Y-Yukio-san . . . I shouldn't be talking to you Yukio-san. Osamu Oniichan-"

"Is too busy crooning over his devoted fans to notice you right now." A soft look of disappointment darted across the Yukio's features and he knelt down in the shadowed glade next to his friend. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. He didn't understand Ken's sudden hesitance. Wasn't he happy to see him anymore? Ken was always happy to see him. "Aren't you happy to see me, dear? I thought we were friends."

Ken looked around uneasily. If Oniisan saw him, he knew that he'd be upset. Things had been so good lately too. Oniisan was almost happy. "I can't talk to you, Yukio-san. I hafta go."

He started to leave, but a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him further into the glade. "Now wait-"

Ken got scared. The ball tumbled to the ground unnoticed. "Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!"

"Ken-"

He started to struggle. "Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!!!!"

"Stop it!" He jerked Ken towards him and the little boy's eyes widened as a large hand clamped over his mouth.

A year ago, that might have made Ken cry. A year ago, Ken might have relaxed and done whatever he had been told to do. But this was not a year ago. A year ago-beaten, broken, and vomiting on the bathroom floor-Ken had learned that there was only one thing in his life to ever love or fear; there was only one danger and one omnipresent all-powerful source of protection. And that was not Oikawa Yukio. He bit down on the adult's hand hard and shrieked as loud as his little frame would allow. "OSAMU ONIICHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yukio cried out and stumbled backward while clutching his hand. Ken's ball got entangled in his feet and sent man tumbling to the ground. Ken, who had no desire to stick around and get into even more trouble with his Oniisan, took off in the opposite direction towards the park entrance.

"Ken!!" A curse left Yukio's mouth as he pushed himself up, absently grasping the ball. He spotted a purple shirt and indigo hair racing towards the busy street in a manner that suggested he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. "Ken!! Damnit!!" Yukio took after him, cursing himself for not joining the company fun runs, and bolted towards the intersection, holding the soccer ball as though it were Ken. He wasn't going to make it this time and he knew it. He was going to lose Ken now, too. He tried to speed up, only to be passed by a smaller figure running helter skelter towards his frightened brother.

~~~ ß@à ~~~

Osamu grimaced as the girls pressed closer to him and his watchful eyes followed Ken's retreating figure into the brush after the ball. One of the girls suddenly pushed forward, shoving her non-existent cleavage into his face and waving her arms about. Honestly, how is it that stupid people managed to breed so prolifically? He glared thunder at her, both angry and anxious that his ototochan was out from under his watchful eye. She chattered on obliviously.

"Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!"

Osamu stiffened at the cry and found himself on his feet.

"Where are you going, Ichijouji-san?"

He pulled his arm loose from their prying hands. "Ken!!"

"Osamu Oniichan!!!!!!!!!!"

He struggled to break free of them, fear making him wild and careless. One of the girls fell to the ground with a cry.

"OSAMU ONIICHAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He broke free of the girls in time to see a small figure dart out of the grove, only to be followed by a tall man in a heavy coat. Oikawa Yukio. Shit. And they were both heading towards the street.

Oh, no. "Ken!!" He ran faster than he had ever run in his life, past the gawking girls, past Oikawa, past everything, but he just couldn't seem to catch up to his frightened little brother. His ankle hurt terribly, slowing him down. "Ken, stop!!"

But Ken didn't listen to him.

The child bolted past the crowd, out the gates, and onto the sidewalk, both Yukio and Osamu hot on his heels, rivalry forgotten in their fear.

"Ken!"

"Ken-chan!!"

He ran straight out into the street without even slowing his pace. A car beeped and swerved wildly, barely missing the child. Ken froze, suddenly realizing where his mad dash had brought him, and whirled around, eyes enormous and terrified as a car bore down on his, horn thundering. He let out a frightened wail. "Onii~san!!!"

Osamu put on a burst of speed that he wouldn't have believed himself capable of under any other circumstances. He threw himself out into the street, violently knocking Ken aside. There was a bright flash of light and it felt like all the air exploded out of his body straight through his skin. Then there was silence.

"Oniichannnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

~~~ ß@à ~~~

For a very, very long time, there would be very few things that Ken would remember about the last minutes he spent with his brother and the weeks that followed the accident. He wouldn't remember how the people crowded around and the way everyone started screaming. He wouldn't remember the panicked driver and his sobbing wife in the car. He wouldn't remember when the ambulance came with bright flashing lights and sirens humming. He wouldn't even remember the rescue worker who finally succeeded in peeling his hysterical frame from Osamu's body.

But there was quite a bit that he would remember.

"What the hell?! Somebody get that kid away from the body!"

"Come on, little one . . . what's your name? I'm a doctor. We're here to help you, but I need to know who you are so we can find your parents."

He would always remember the way the air smelled like sakura. For the rest of his life, Ken would never be able to smell the scent of cherry blossoms without thinking of blood.

"We need oxygen and plasma out here!"

The blood itself he would remember, too. It was deep, deep red-so red that it was almost black-and it flowed out of the big wound in Osamu's head and soaked into both their clothes and stained the streets. It was sweet and hot and when he pressed his face into his brother's shattered chest, it went into his mouth, sickeningly tangy and sweet.

"Jesus Christ, he seizing!"

"Get back!"

"It's that boy genius . . . Ichijouji something. But who's the kid?"

"His brother, I think."

"I didn't know he had a brother."

He would remember Osamu. The way parts of him were bent the wrong way. The way pieces of his skin had been ripped off when his body slid across the pavement and the how hideous gaping hole in his head had gleamed. The way his skin had turned black and purple and yellowish green where the car had hit and he had smashed into the windshield. He would remember how white Osamu looked under the red blood and the odd color that his hair turned where it had soaked up the fluid. He would remember the quiet look on his brother's face, too, where all the lines of stress and bitterness and frustration smoothed out like he was sleeping-not peaceful, just not strained anymore.

"I don't think they can do anything . . ."

"Somebody bring down that heartbeat!"

"Where the hell is that IV?!"

"His heart's stopped! Get the paddles!"

One of the two things that would forever stand out most in his mind, though, was the eyes. Oikawa Yukio's intense eyes staring at so hard . . . And the light from the sirens made everything look strobed and surrealistic. Made the world spin until all that Ken could focus on those terrible eyes. They didn't once look away, either; they just stared. And for some reason, Ken found that to be extremely painful. Long after he had pushed down the name of their owner, those eyes would stare at him in his dreams, chase him down long corridors, wanting, commanding, expecting things that Ken couldn't give them anymore-things that should never have been demanded.

"Ready."

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Damnit, Clear!"

The soccer ball. He'd never forget that damnable soccer ball. After Yukio got there, he dropped the soccer ball and it rolled into the street till it came to rest next to the two Ichijouji brothers. The last thing Osamu had given him . . . Ken had picked it up-it was still shiny where it hadn't rolled through the blood-and clutched it to his chest after the man pulled him off of Osamu. When they tried to take it from him, he merely squeezed it tighter to him like it was some sort of lifeline-like the very act could force the life back into his brother-like he wanted to believe it could.

"We've still got a flat line."

"This isn't gonna get us anywhere."

Ken and that ball were inseparable for over a week. He took it everywhere with him and nobody could pry it loose from his arms. He also didn't speak a single word to anyone. His parents barely noticed in their grief-Ken had rarely spoken to them anyway. On the night before the funeral, he woke up and padded into the kitchen and pulled one of his mother's big cutting knives out of a drawer. He padded back into his room just as silently and proceeded to slash that soccer ball to bits.

"Time of death?"

"16:45."

Nobody ever asked what had happened to it.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

~ T.S. Eliot

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ---------

Ichijouji Ken tossed and turned fitfully. The car. The wind. Yukio-san's eyes . . .

He jerked uptight, a scream lodged in his throat. It trembled there, making him feel as though he had swallowed a butterfly, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to let out the wail of anguish that he had been holding in for the past nine days. Nine days . . . Osamu was gone. Had it only been nine days since the funeral? He didn't know and the scream refused to leave his throat. He swallowed it and it settled in his stomach like a lead weight-like pain. A soft whimper left his lips and vanished into the black night of his bedroom.

He called out to a ghost. "Osamu Oniichan?" But Osamu wouldn't come. He couldn't. Ken was alone now-all alone because of his jealousy and stupidity. "Osamu . . .?" Big tears slid down his cheeks. It was so dark! He hated the dark. He felt like it was burrowing inside him, that darkness. He felt like it was trying to swallow him whole. "I want my Oniisan," the child whispered in despair. I want Oniisan . . .

The little boy slid out from beneath his covers and bit his lip as his small feet sank into the soft carpet on the floor. I want Oniisan. He trembled as he found his way through the darkness, slightly chubby arms extended to ward of any tables or monsters blocking his path. I want Oniisan. The door swung open with a loud shriek of protest and tears slid down Ken's cheeks faster. His body trembled, half in terror and half in grief. Oniisan. Little feet whispered against the carpet as he walked down the hall. Past the laundry room, past Momma and Poppa's room, past the bathroom, to the last door-the door at the end of the hall. This was Osamu's room.

"Oniisan . . .?"

A small hand grasped the doorknob. "Oniisan, I'm scared." The silence was terrible, a dark hungry animal brooding behind him, ready to pounce. By now Ken was sobbing. "Oniisan, I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me. I'm scared . . . Please?"

The door rose before him impassively, unmoved by his pleas. I am a tomb, the door seemed to roar at him in its quiet way. Enter me and you cannot leave again. Enter me and you cannot dream again. Enter me and you cannot breath again. An urge gripped Ken to turn and run-to flee this horrible darkness and hunkering silence and their door that wanted to swallow him up. The scream trapped in his stomach suddenly leapt back into the child's throat and chills and spasms wracked his entire body. His teeth chattered. He could barely hold on to the doorknob.

Then the doorknob seemed to twist in his hand on its own accord. Ken stumbled forward, nearly falling down as the door was suddenly unable or unwilling to bear his light weight and swung open silently. The blue-haired child froze, eyes wide like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. The nine-day-old air in Osamu's room leapt out at him and wrapped around him like an icy blanket. The scream in his throat fluttered.

"O-Oni-Oniisan . . .?" It was something between a sigh, a scream, and a strangled sob. "Please . . ."

Hesitant steps took him past the threshold of the tomb. The room was Osamu's altar. It had become the Ichijouji's shrine to their one true child. No one was ever allowed to go inside-that was an unspoken rule. No one ever even dreamed of going in. Ken was disturbing the sanctity of a holy place-defiling it with his very existence. He knew that. "Osamu Oniichan . . .?"

Small fingers, just now taking on the elegant, delicate bone structure they would one day have, fumbled for a light switch. A soft florescent bulb blinked to life for the first time in over nine days and the darkness fled. It took the silence and the shadows with it. It stole the holiness of the altar. Ken's large blue eyes blinked owlishly as the light flooded them and automatically turned to face Osamu's bed.

"Onii-" The word died in his mouth.

Murderer. Osamu. Thief. Osamu. Liar. Osamu. Osamu. Osamu. Someone had written on the walls. All over the walls. Murderer. Osamu. Thief. Osamu. Liar. Osamu. Osamu. Osamu. The ink was red and thick and smelled like copper or metal-something horrifyingly familiar. Murderer. Osamu. Thief. Osamu. Liar. Osamu. Osamu. Osamu. The words seemed to be etched onto the air without cease. Big letters. Small letters. Murderer. Osamu. Thief. Osamu. Liar. Osamu. Osamu. Osamu. Capitals. Cursive. Sideways. Backwards. Upside down. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Murderer. Osamu. Thief. Osamu. Liar. Osamu. Osamu. Osamu. It was just there. And it was there all for him. Murderer. Osamu. Thief. Osamu. Liar. Osamu. Osamu. Osamu. It had been written to him. For him. In blood.

And Ken began to scream. He didn't move, he couldn't move, but he could scream. So that's what he did. And two minutes later, when his mother found him, that's how he was, arms locked at his sides, tiny hands balled into fists, tears almost pouring down his face, and enormous horror filled eyes staring straight at the walls. It was everywhere. It was IN BLOOD.

Rika dropped to her knees beside her shrieking son in terror; either of him or for him she would never know. Never in her life had she heard such a god awful sound. It wasn't a cry or a yell; it wasn't a child's bawling; it was one loud, long, solid keen, full of too many emotions for her to comprehend.

"Ken! Ken!" She grasped him tight. "Ken, what are you doing in here?! Ken, it's okay! What are you doing in here?!"

Tsuyoshi burst into the room right behind her. He grabbed the child from her roughly, eyes wild and hands pressed over his ears. "Stop it!" he screamed at the boy. He lifted him off his feet and shook him like a rag doll. "Stop screaming!! Stop it!!!"

"Tsu!!" Rika tried to snatch the boy back once more, but her husband was having none of it.

"Shut up!!!!!!!"

But Ken continued to scream and it was terrifying. He didn't move, he didn't blink, he didn't even pause to breathe. And he just didn't stop. Not knowing what else to do, Tsu shook the boy harder, unaware that he was gripping his biceps so hard that they'd be bruised for weeks. He watched with detached horror as Ken's head snapped back and forth with each motion, his mouth still open in that impossible scream and his eyes vacant. The boy's face was bright, bright red-so red it was almost purple-and his lips were bluish.

"Stop it!" his father howled over his cry, hurling the child at his mother.

Rika caught him-barely-and Ken stopped screaming.

The brunette woman cradled his limp form possessively to her bosom. "What have you done, Tsuyoshi?!?!?! What have you done to my baby?!?!?!"

The big man merely stared at the lifeless body in her arms as the red slowly faded from Ken's face. The child's chest rose and fell shakily. He was unconscious.

"What have you done, Tsuyoshi?! What have you done?!"

He raised empty eyes away from his sobbing, screeching wife to stare at the perfectly white, unmarred walls of his dead son's room. He felt his legs give way and he collapsed on the floor next to his wife and child. Rika had stopped screaming and was now devoting her attention to sobbing quietly and rocking the unconscious Ken back and forth. Her words seemed to bounce off the unmarked walls of Osamu's abandoned room. 'What have you done to my baby?'

The man's shoulders trembled, but he did not cry. 'What have you done?'

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"Tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see

the lights all fading and that heaven is overrated?

Tell me, did you fall from a shooting star, land without a permanent scar?

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"

~Trane

Drops of Jupiter

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ---------

Five Years Later

A pair of purple glasses hid her eyes as she stared at him-at her master.

"So it's begun?" he asked, without looking at her.

She nodded, her white hair moving slightly in the breeze. "Yes. There are five of them this time. Two of them are from the original group-Light and Hope, I believe."

"And they will all stand against him?"

"I would imagine so. They have been given Digimentals. The older ones are there, too. They aren't fighting, but they may cause him trouble. Do you think he can handle all thirteen of them alone?"

He closed his eyes and smiled. "Have faith in our little Kaiser, my dear. What choice does he have?"

She frowned at him, but didn't protest. It wasn't her place. She turned to go.

"Keep him safe," the man told her suddenly, making her pause. "If he's injured . . ." he trailed off and the threat hung in the air ominously.

She nodded again and left, her purple boots making no sound on the ground.

My little Ichijouji Ken . . .

He stood for a long moment, glaring at the shimmering sunlight in the air, the heavy finality of the carved words, the emptiness of the silence around him-within him. "I did it," he murmured in a deep voice. "I did it without you-without you."

Perhaps Oikawa Yukio expected something to happen when he said that. Perhaps he expected validation or vindication for his actions: something, anything, to fill the gaping chasm where his soul had been; a chasm that had once known the wondering and adoring gaze of a pair of blue-violet eyes, the firm grip of a friend's handshake, the total trust and innocence of a child's love, the iron-girded bonds of friendship. A soul that had once been his soul and his soul alone. But nothing came. And so there he stood: empty, alone, and forgotten-unloved and unmourned. But he wasn't really alone, was he? No. He would never be alone again; that was a privilege he would be forever denied. There were still the ghosts, you see. The screech of tires in the afternoon sunlight. The promise of a purpleberry ice cream cone. The deep hatred of an older brother. The loss of two precious friends. The shattered innocence of a small boy. And rising above it all-towering above them all-and burying him beneath its hot shadow, rose the unforgiving judgment of a stone-a tombstone.

And that was all there was.

---------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ----------

"Gift in vain, gift of chance, / Life, why wert thou given me?

Why have I been condemned / To a secret fate by thee?

"Who with some strange hostile power / Summoned me from nothingness,

And disturbed my mind with doubt, / Filled my soul with passion's stress?

"Goal there's none before me now: / Empty heart and idle brain,

Life's monotonous roaring sound / Burdens me with endless pain."

~ Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

Gift in Vain, Gift of Chance

--------------- ~~~ ß@à ~~~ ---------------

~Fin