Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

The next month went by in a flash of color and sound. Master Gyaru was an excellent teacher, even if his abilities were well below Ranma's. He learned more about teaching and patience in those weeks than he had in twenty-one years from his own father. The Tendou-Tofuu household welcomed him every Sunday, and his parents even came up from Kyoto once, to sit down with Kasumi, Nabiki, and Ono for the first time in four long years, and to see little Kimiko. All in all, the days passed smoothly, and Ranma's spirits began to lift. Kaibutsu was so exhausted from his two-a-day walks by the time Ranma got home in the afternoons or evenings, that the dog barely even seemed excited about his third, and so Ranma was able to spend his evenings helping out Mrs. Watanabe before her husband got home. Sometimes he would eat dinner with them, other times he'd make a quiet meal for him and his dog.

And even though seeing the elder Tendou sisters, and Ono, made him miss Akane so much his chest felt like it was going to cave in, Ranma was happier than he had been in a long time. His father, even, seemed to be warmer towards him, calling him a few days a week just to check in, leaving off on some of his usual gibes. His mother was just as flighty and concerned and a worry-wart, but at the best of times, she seemed to be relaxing, seemed to be prouder of him.

On the last day of his fifth week working for Master Gyaru, Ranma, at the end of the day, was closing up the dojo by himself for the first time. Master Gyaru had left a few minutes early, insisting that Ranma was ready to do the closing himself. He'd already opened a few times, and felt a strange, silly excitement at being trusted with making sure the dojo was secure. They'd started teaching night classes as it got hotter, to conserve energy in the cooler evenings, and it was almost eleven o'clock by the time Master Gyaru had left.

After he'd triple-checked that everything was cleaned and put away, Ranma slid the shoji closed and pulled down the gate. Master Gyaru had added a second padlock, to the top, and he had to reach high to get it after bending low to get the one at the bottom. As he clicked the second padlock, he thought he heard a noise, like a shout.

Ranma paused, standing on his tiptoes, arms and hands tensed where they rested around the securely-locked padlock.

There it was again, definitely a shout. Ranma knew what kind of a shout it was; he'd heard it enough times to recognize the cadence, the level of pain. Someone, somewhere nearby, was being punched in the gut.

Training his ears on where the sound had come from, Ranma took off at a run. The streets of Nerima were quiet and empty; he ran into no one as he ran, leaping onto the low roof of a butcher's shop and listening, straining to hear.

The dull, thumping sounds of boots and blunt instruments hitting flesh. Ranma grit his teeth and leapt down from the roof, took a left down a street, and slid to a stop in front of a dead-end alley where he had found himself many a times in his youth, cornered by his numerous fiancées.

At the end of this alley, barely seen in the moonlight, were a tight group of three people pummeling something meaty and limp on the ground. Blood was shining around the body they were pounding on, and the redness was already congealing and sticking to their feet. Their rhythmic breaths of exertion were quiet in the night, and the sounds of pieces of wood and pipe hitting flesh rang soft against the alley walls.

Ranma absorbed all of this in a half-second, and then leapt into action. He shouted a kiai, meant to distract and surprise, and went for the first standing man. Moving with the speed of a striking snake, Ranma put his elbow in a joint-lock as it raised up to bring some blunt instrument down on the thug's prone victim. The man shouted in pain, dropping his wooden plank, and Ranma continued moving, pulling the man's arm down by his side and twisting to grab the next thug by the wrist. Using their arms for leverage, Ranma aimed a front ball kick at the third thug's open chest, knocking him back against the alley's wall and sending the wooden bat he was wielding clattering noisily onto the ground. He felt a crack in the wrist of the thug to his right, and almost smiled with satisfaction as the man screamed in pain.

The two men were shouting incoherently now as they scrabbled at the hands that held their limbs as tight as the mouth of a predator. Ranma kept moving with his kick, moving through where Baseball Bat had been to plant his feet against the wall. He bent his knees, dragging the other two men with him, and forced them head-first into the wall next to his feet. Before they fell to the ground, Ranma let go of their limbs and put his hands on their heads, pushing them into the wall and launching himself back and away at the same time, landing easily just at the head of their victim.

It took about six seconds, and before any of them could recover, Ranma picked up the lead pipe one of them had been using and pointed it at Baseball Bat, who was in a tangled heap with the other two. He was wheezing, trying to suck air into lungs suddenly pummeled by a pair of feet attached to legs like corded steel. Ranma glared at him, aware of the ferocity in his face and the twitching in his limbs. “Y'got a cell phone?” The man nodded and pulled it out.

Ranma flipped open the large device and dialed the Nerima police. “Yeah, there's some guys here beatin' some guy to a pulp, better git over here; they're in the alley next to the bookstore.” He flipped the phone closed and flicked it expertly right into the forehead of Baseball Bat. The man winced.

“You're going to regret this, Saotome,” the thug said, and his partners groaned in response. Ranma wasn't surprised they knew who he was, and he didn't care. Kneeling down, he felt the pulse on the neck of their victim, and felt only cooling flesh. Gritting his teeth, Ranma dared a look at him.

Saw the bald head shining in the moonlight.

Saw the white gi stained crimson.

Saw the smashed glasses.

Saw and almost vomited.

“No, no, no, no, you… you fuckers!” Ranma lashed out with the pipe, hitting the thug who had spoken first, coming down hard enough on his shoulder to hear a pop. The man screamed wordlessly, and Ranma ignored him and moved onto the next man, breaking one of his legs. Dropping the pipe, Ranma resumed his vengeance, forgetting himself in the violence, forgetting everything but what he had caused.

He didn't know when he stopped; he only remembered a sudden pain in his face, his eyes, and then a bright light, and a hard, cold surface underneath his back. Ranma sat up abruptly and cried out, clawing briefly at his eyes as he remembered and felt the after-affects the stinging pain of the pepper spray. It all came back in a rush as his body recovered and he burst into tears, washing out most of the searing agony from his eyes in the process.

After a few moments he hung his head and sniffled pathetically, feeling more ashamed of himself than he had in a long time. “Okay, calm down there son,” Ranma looked up quickly at the speaker and looked around in surprise; he wasn't in a cell. His vision was blurred, and he felt half-blind, but he could tell that he was in an office of some kind, “You're okay, now. They ain't gonna hurt your friend anymore.”

“Fuck,” Ranma cursed, standing, looking white-faced at the blood on his arms and staining his gi, “did… did I…”

“If you'd killed someone, do you think you'd be lounging around on a bench in my office?” the officer in front of him was fat, balding, but had kindness etched deep in the lines on his face. His office was sparse and mostly empty, save for a few metal cabinets, the bench Ranma had lying been on, and a desk piled with papers and a computer. Ranma relaxed visibly, and sighed.

“I still hurt them, that's not what I'm supposed to— oh, god… Eido, Master Gyaru,” Ranma whined in his throat and collapsed back onto the hard metal bench, feeling new sobs well up in his throat.

“We knew who you were almost right after we had to spray you,” the officer sounded very tired, and Ranma wondered stupidly what time it was, “c'mon, let's get you over to the washroom and get your eyes cleaned out proper.”

“Thank you, Officer…”

“Miike, Officer Miike; you can call me Kenichi,” Kenichi smiled at him and led him out of his office and between a few rows of desks. Policemen looked up at Ranma and nodded politely at him, some with looks of awe or confusion on their faces. Ranma could only squint in the bright lights and resist the urge to scrub at his eyes.

Kenichi pushed him into the bathroom gently and turned on the sink. Then he left Ranma to clean out his eyes. The cold water did wonders to wake him out of his stupor of shame and agony, and Ranma opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side, letting the water rush across his still-burning face.

He had hurt someone out of anger. He was no better than them.

But he'd been trying to protect the weak, that was what a martial artist was supposed to do.

Was there any place left for honor when people like that roamed the streets?

Sighing, Ranma continued to let the water pour over his face; even after being cured for four years, he still wasn't used to have cold water on his skin and not feel the accompanying tingle that told him the change was happening.

“Ranma, there's someone here to pick you up,” Kenichi knocked on the bathroom door before stepping inside; Ranma saw his blurred visage through the cascade of water in his eyes, “he's kind of a hero `round here, Miss Tendou.”

“Is that right? He's sort of a hero to us, too.” Nabiki did not sound like she thought he was very heroic. Ranma scrunched his eyes shut and turned the water off, scrambling for a paper towel, unwilling to open his eyes and face her quite yet.

“Well, we'll get his statement an' then he can go home with you.” Ranma heard Kenichi leave after shuffling his feet around uncomfortably for a moment. Nabiki's cold stare, the stare he was sure she had on her face right now, was not something that people felt easily comfortable with.

Ranma finished wiping his face, found there was no more reason to stall, and opened his eyes, tossing the paper in the trash. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror over the sink, pressing his hands against the wall on either side of its marred surface. He looked like he'd been dragged through the streets on his face. “I know what yer gonna say, Nabiki.”

“No you don't.” Nabiki said sharply, and then she walked over and grabbed his chin, twisting so that he faced her. Her expression was fierce, and her eyes were puffy and red - had she been crying. “You're my little brother, no matter what my father says, and if you're in trouble, you're supposed to tell me!” And then she slapped him, and promptly yanked him into a tight hug. “Tell me when a fucking street gang tries to muscle their way in on you, you fucking idiot! I know people!” she was whispering into his shoulder, and her own shoulders were shaking as she cried.

“Master Gyaru was…” Ranma said hoarsely, pulling away from her, “I just… I went nuts.” He hung his head in shame, cheek still stinging from her slap. Nabiki shoved him a little.

“Shut the fuck up, Ranma Saotome,” he looked up at her in angry surprise, and her cold, calculated stare met his blazing eyes, “shut the fuck up, just shut up. You did whatever you had to, to protect someone.”

“Someone who was already dead, Nabiki Tendou!” Ranma half-sneered, whirling away from her, any composure he'd had leaving him. “Master Gyaru was already dead when I started pummeling them.” He said darkly, staring at the white tiles on the wall and clenching his fists so hard he swore he heard his bones creak.

“No, he wasn't!” Ranma balked, “He was alive, Ranma!”

“But his pulse was…” Ranma thought back, trying to remember.

“How accurate were you in the dark, Bro?” Nabiki asked quietly. Ranma groaned, loudly, as though his body was coming apart at the seams.

“I hurt them for nothin'!” he shouted.

“No, you didn't! You didn't kill anyone, none of them have the capacity to even press charges—”

Ranma snorted at her in derision. “You think that fucking matters? I hurt them!” Ranma shouted, punching the wall and cracking the tile, bloodying his knuckles.

“And they hurt your friend, you idiot! You made a mistake,” Nabiki reached out and tried to tug him, turn him around to face her, but he refused to budge, “you never were very easy on yourself. She hated that about you.”

Ranma flinched, knowing exactly who she meant, and knowing exactly why she said it. His shoulders sank a little. “I lost control.” He said softly, his anger draining away.

“You're still learning, Bro,” Nabiki pulled him into another hug, this one lighter and more gentle, “we all are.”

“When the hell did y'get so nice, Nabs?” then she pulled away and punched him in the stomach. He let out a little “oof” and grimaced. “Hey, watch it.” She stepped away from him and smirked in a familiar fashion.

“Look, I'm just trying to keep you from doing anything stupider,” Ranma frowned and she continued as though his expression hadn't changed, “now that you're hanging around us again, you've got to watch yourself, hm?” Ranma raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Nabiki turned her head to the side and sniffed disdainfully, somehow looking down her nose at him even though he was almost a foot taller than her. “You think we don't talk to our own little sister, still, Ranma?”

“Has she asked about me?” Ranma asked before he could stop himself. Nabiki laughed, almost cruelly - almost. She turned on her heel and strode out of the bathroom with the confidence of a woman who hadn't just come to pick up her almost-brother-in-law from the Nerima Precinct wearing flannel pajama pants and a pink CHINA GIRL sweater.

Skillfully dodging any further questions from him by completely ignoring him, Nabiki waited whilst Ranma gave his statement, stutteringly, to the police. Afterwards she drove him home in the nicest car he'd ever been in. “Is this yours?” Ranma asked as they drove out of the station and down the street.

“Yep,” she smirked, “got it as a present.”

“From who?” Ranma asked, trying not to sound too disbelieving. He didn't do a good enough job, because she glared at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Men are still interested in powerful women, Ranma, even if you're scared to death of them,” she sighed, and smiled cattily, “his name is Toya Hisamura, and he's rich and handsome and smart.”

Ranma snickered, “Obviously not that sm— ow! Hey!” Ranma rubbed his shoulder which seemed to have gotten in the way of her fist, and laughed a little. Then he leaned his head against the passenger window and looked out at the darkness. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the car pulled to a stop. Nabiki turned off the car and waited whilst he woke up and stretched.

“Are you gonna be okay by yourself?” Nabiki asked quietly as he moved to get out of the car.

Ranma shrugged, “I guess. I'm worried about Master Gyaru.”

“He's safe, Ranma. Officer Miike told me that he's safe in the hospital, he's in stable condition, he's going to be fine,” she paused, gripping his shoulder as he prepared to leave the car, “but he would have been dead if you hadn't stopped them, Bro.”

Ranma nodded, but he didn't quite believe her. He left the car and slammed the door shut, watching her drive off after restarting the engine. He stood on the sidewalk until he didn't hear the sound of the engine anymore, and then he turned and moved towards his apartment building. The sun was just starting to come over the horizon, and Ranma felt tired into his bones; it must've been almost five in the morning.

Despite there being only one flight, to Ranma the stairs felt endless. He reached the top of them and sighed, leaning against the mahogany railing briefly before starting down the hallway to his door, knowing that Kaibutsu was probably going nuts.

As he approached the door, something was nagging at him. He frowned and stopped, listening. Silence met him, and that was just the problem.

“Kaibutsu,” Ranma murmured; he should be barking his head off. He always knew when Ranma came home. Moving to the door, Ranma fished his keys out of his pocket with shaky hands. The door next to his opened and a very tired Garou Watanabe, Hitomi's husband, stepped into the hallway, outlined by the light from his larger apartment's entryway.

“Mr. Saotome? We thought you were already home; we heard noises.” Garou yawned, and Ranma's blood ran cold.

He stabbed the key into the door and unlocked it, tearing it open. Inside was what was left of his little studio apartment. The futon was slashed open, all of his anatomy and physiology books were scattered and torn apart on the floor. His table was broken, and the cushions had been turned into nothing but scraps. “We heard Kaibutsu bark, and then some noises, but— ah!” Garou's breath hitched in his throat as he stepped up behind Ranma and saw the damage himself. “Mr. Saotome, I'm so… I'm so sorry, had we known…”

Ranma stepped into the place that was his home a few hours ago and let out a small breath. “Kaibutsu? Kaibutsu? C'mere, c'mere boy, where are ya'?” Ranma's voice cracked as he crept around the room and into the kitchen. He let out a low moan and fell to his knees at what he found.

Kaibutsu was lying on his back next to his food bowl, his belly slashed open, entrails coiling on the floor like greasy snakes. His eyes were wide open, and his neck was split open in a gruesome grin. Ranma felt like tearing his place apart further with his bare hands. Kaibutsu, so trusting, had probably thought the intruders were someone coming to feed him. So many strangers had passed their hands through his fur and walked him in the last month that he must not have thought anything of strange people in his house.

“Kaibutsu!” Ranma screamed, not caring who he woke up or how insane he sounded. Exhausted and swelling with agony, he laid himself across his best friend and sobbed like a child.

Garou dared to set foot in his house, and Ranma barely heard him come up behind him. He didn't respond when Garou put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Saotome. I wish we had known what was happening.” Ranma wiped his nose on Kaibutsu's sticky, smelly fur and leaned away, covered in flakes of dried blood and offal. “Come, you should come stay with us, call the police, get cleaned up and sleep,” when Ranma didn't say anything, just sat there, Garou continued in a whisper, “what happened to you tonight, Mr. Saotome?”

“Everything,” Ranma croaked out, finally standing. He turned and faced Garou, not even feeling energy enough to blame him for Kaibutsu's death; he did what most Good Japanese would do: stay out of their neighbors' damn business. Garou ducked his balding head and looked away from the stark look in Ranma's eyes.

“Come, come, you come with me.” He said urgently, trying to pull Ranma with him. Ranma shook his head.

“No, I'm sleeping here.” Garou squawked and floundered about a little at that.

“Mr. Saotome… Ranma,” he tried, gently, as though speaking to a crazy person, “you cannot sleep here; it's too dangerous, and there is… a corpse…” Garou trailed off lamely.

Ranma glared down at Kaibutsu's lifeless body and closed his eyes. “I'm going to sleep here, and wait for them to come back.”

“At least let me call the police.” Garou said after a few moments of silence. Ranma nodded in acquiescence and Garou left, hesitantly, eyes flashing behind his glasses.

When he'd left, leaving the door open, Ranma leaned down and lifted Kaibutsu's sticky, mangled, body into his arms and brought him into the living room. He laid him down on the shredded white sheets from his own futon and wrapped the dog in mourning colors. And then he slept on the remains of his futon, one arm on the tightly-wrapped body, the other thrown over his eyes to block out the sights around him.