Samurai Flamenco (Nightbreed) - Gifts & Curses [15] [Gotoyoshi]

[scriveyner]

Title: gifts & curses [15]
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Nightbreed
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi, Keiko, Masanori
Rating: T
Length: 2503
Summary: Keiko ran until she couldn't anymore.



Keiko ran until she couldn’t any more, her chest heaving and the breath burning in her lungs. Anger and resentment drove her to keep walking, heart beating harshly and her hands stuffed into the pockets of the thin windbreaker she’d pulled on before she left the small apartment safehouse. She could not believe her own blood kin would turn against her like that, that he would side with them, the adults who wouldn’t give them the full story, who weren’t searching for their parents like they promised all those years ago.

Masanori’s face, in the dim bedroom.

I’m not going with you.

She snarled to herself, hands curled into fists, fingernails biting into her palms. They had always been a team, just the two of them – she couldn’t understand his reluctance. Okay, so Hazama had always been kind to them, exceedingly kind and gentle, his eyes soft and caring … but he he was no replacement for their real parents. Wherever they were.

She wasn’t familiar with the city. It was easy to get lost; a myriad of streets, faceless pedestrians were the same no matter which corner she turned down, and the tangle of strange and new scents was completely overwhelming. Keiko kept her head down and kept moving as she tried to formulate something resembling a plan. She had always had the assumption that once she got here, to the city that pieces would just fall into place, her parents would be easy to find and she’d fall into their arms and then … well, then she would be complete. After that, what did it matter?

Her stomach had been growling for a while by the time the sun sank past the skyscrapers. The streets got dark fast, even if the sky was still rosy beyond their height. Keiko was tired, and dirty – her wallet long gone, she eventually found an alley whose dumpster didn’t smell too disgusting and settled in against the brick, behind the dumpster, away from hustle and bustle of the city.

#

In her dreams everything was always soft, warm – Keiko remembered being held close, her eyes closed, strong arms around her and keeping her safe. Her mother smelled like sunlight, faint and fair, hair the color of buckwheat in autumn. It was shorter than the last time she had this dream, shorter and curled up at the ends, and the emotion in her blue eyes made Keiko feel light, loved. This was home, this was where she belonged. Keiko, her mother said, and her voice was wrong.

Keiko opened her eyes, her cheek pressed to her arm, and stared at the dirty wall opposite her, emotions numb. She huddled herself into a smaller ball when her stomach growled, and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the emotion that was threatening to spill down her cheeks when she realized with a start that she wasn’t alone.

Well – that wasn’t entirely accurate. They were lingering in the open maw of the alleyway, they hadn’t come into it, they didn’t know that she was there. Keiko rose to her feet silent, peeking around the dumpster and watched the group of them. She watched one of the boys in particular, he looked to be about her age, maybe a year or so older – and he was standing with a few other boys, they were discussing some late night anime and one was making a mildly obscene gesture – but they all smelled like normal, average teenage boys.

Except for him.

His hair was blond – very blond, to the point that he had to be gaijin, it almost looked white in the sunlight – and he could smell her. He had glanced in the direction of the alley a few times, but never made eye contact, never gave any other indication that he was alerted or aware of her presence.

Her stomach growled, loud, and Keiko dropped down behind the dumpster again, hands folded over her stomach. She was hungry, and now was not the time to be malingering around staring at packs of teenager boys. So there were boys out there who smelled different, so what? Of course there were other wolves – there were vampires and witches and sirens and other shapeshifters too numerous to mention – she and Masanori were hardly the only wolves in Japan, after all. The timing did seem rather suspect, but she had run, and run blindly. It wasn’t like she had any idea what she was doing, anyway.

His scent grew stronger – it wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t fully blooded werewolf like Hazama or Gotou, but it was similar. It reminded Keiko of Masanori’s scent, just a bit – and she lifted her head and stared at the boy standing in front of her. He had his hands in the pockets of his school uniform – he looked so much older and more mature, but she could tell he wasn’t but a year older than she was. “You’re a wolf,” he said, and then dropped into a crouch before her, head cocked and staring, pale blue eyes wide. “What are you doing here, alone?”

Keiko resented his tone, resented the patronizing way he presented himself – she wanted to puff up, snarl – but she was tired, and hurt, and hungry, and all she had in her was a half-hearted growl. “I’m not-” she started to say, thinking of her backup, her other half, tawny hair and dark eyes and remembered. It felt like a limb had been cut off. “Go away.”

He stood – but he didn’t leave. He half-turned to the alley’s entrance, and Keiko could smell the other boys. “What did you find?” one of them said, and he responded, casual and guileless. “Nothing to worry about. Go ahead, I’ll catch up later.”

“Yeah, whatever,”the boy said, there was some laughter and their scents retreated.

The white-haired boy watched them leave, didn’t glance back at her. “I don’t mean you any harm,” he said. He looked down at her and grinned, and it was weirdly comforting, that smile. “I just, it’s so rare to find other wolves my age? The packs’ all but fallen apart now.” He crouched again, one hand on his own bent knees, extending the other out to her. “I’m Kaoru,” the boy said, his earnest eyes reminding her of something else entirely.

Keiko slowly extended her hand out. She didn’t take his hand but instead smacked it with her own, palm to palm, with enough resistance to feel the impact down her arm. It was a strangely satisfying noise, and the weirdest electric tingle shot up her back at the contact. “Keiko,” she said carefully.

“What are you doing here alone, Keiko-chan?” Kaoru asked her, twinkling blue eyes and infectious smile and that anger, that wave of helplessness that she’d been riding for days seemed to ebb just slightly.

“I’m looking for my family,” she said. “My mum and dad, they’re missing.”

#

Masanori sat with his heels up on the couch, knees pulled tight to his chest. He could have followed her, but he didn’t – he waited too long, until his sister’s scent was weak and old and faded, lost in the sea of humanity that coasted along the streets daily. Even if he tried hard now, he might pick its thread up, but at this point who knew how far she had gone. He swallowed, and pressed his forehead to his knees, eyes squeezed closed. He wouldn’t cry.

Gotou was standing in the kitchen, in front of the open refrigerator door. He had been doing that on and off for an hour now, and Masanori wasn’t certain what he hoped to find in its chilled depths, but whatever it was hadn’t magically appeared since the last time he’d opened the door, a scant ten minutes prior.

They hadn’t spoken but two words since Keiko had run off, down the hall and out to the street like a demon out of hell. Gotou had come back in the small safehouse apartment – his ability to track, to scent, was severely hindered by the tide of the moon – and had sat down on the very couch that Masanori now sat, slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“You hungry, kid?” Gotou said from the kitchen, attention still in the depths of the refrigerator. Masanori shook his head, realized Gotou wasn’t looking at him and then didn’t bother to enunciate his thoughts. He put his forehead on his knees again, and jumped when Gotou swore loudly and slammed the refrigerator door shut hard enough for the bottles inside to rattle and something shatter.

“I can’t deal with this,” Gotou announced.

“I’m sorry,” Masanori said quietly, and Gotou half-turned in the kitchen, as if noticing him for the first time.

“What the hell are you sorry for, this isn’t your fault,” Gotou said.

“It is.” Masanori closed his eyes, squeezed his legs close. “I, I overheard …. we’re nothing but freaks cooked up in a laboratory, we’re not, I’m not real-” the tears he had been fighting off all day finally escaped, sliding down his cheeks as he kept his face pressed to his knees. Masanori’s shoulders shook, as he repeated those words, the thoughts that had been chasing around his brain. “I’m not real, I’m not-”

“Hey, hey-” Masanori didn’t look up to the sound of Gotou’s heavy footsteps, or the broad hands that engulfed his shoulders. “Masanori, look at me.”

He refused, hugged his legs tighter. “'neesan ran because I couldn’t tell her, she would have lost her mind,” he confessed miserably, his legs his shield.

“Masanori,” Gotou’s voice was calm and soothing. He rubbed Masanori’s back. “Look at me, kiddo. None of this is your fault.”

The sobs were coming out now, in full force – and Masanori unfolded, flung himself against Gotou. He was small for a twelve-year-old, he knew, waiting anxiously for puberty to hit, that growth spurt – Gotou caught him up in his arms and held him there, let Masanori cry against his shirt and rubbed his back soothingly. “You’re real, you understand me? I don’t ever want to hear you saying that again, what nonsense.”

“We don’t have parents,” Masanori said, hands tight in Gotou’s shirt, his scent calm and soothing.

“Yeah,” Gotou murmured. “You do, kiddo. I promise you do.”

Masanori closed his eyes and clung tighter to Gotou.

#

Masayoshi sat on the cold concrete floor. He’d paced the entire floorplan again, several times over, and if he’d given over to the feeling in his chest he would be on four legs again and growling, tail thrashing in his impatience. He really didn’t know where this other self had come from, all pent-up sound and fury, rage and violence – and it scared him deeply. He had never been scared of being a werewolf before.

“Ah, there you are,” Akino said, stepping out of one of the finished rooms. She walked to Masayoshi, who glanced back at her, leaning on his hands. She’d brought more clothes and some other amenities besides … but no phone. “How are you feeling, Hazama-kun?”

He stared at her quietly. “Are you really Akino-chan?” he asked, and she blinked at him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Masayoshi shook his head. “Don’t know, just … checking. How long do you think it’ll be before I can call out, before I can tell my husband I’m alive?”

“You don’t have to make it sound like we’re punishing you,” Akino said. “We’re just trying to keep everyone safe, your husband included.”

Masayoshi sighed, leaning forward again. “It just seems that everything around here is a lie,” he said. “Lies about the kids, lies about the safety of my friends … lies about me.” He looked at his hand, scraped up raw and thought he could see the wolf’s paw through his skin. “What am I, Akino-chan?”

“You’re a wolf.” Simple and to the point, she dropped into a crouch beside him. “A special wolf, Masayoshi. You have to believe me that, that this isn’t meant to cause you harm or distress.” She put her hand on his shoulder, his left one – and Masayoshi yelped in surprise, felt the familiar pain he’d dismissed to nightmares this time radiate from his shoulder and down, the green lines tracing themselves into his skin.

“What the hell,” Masayoshi said, felt the anger rise and tamped it down, shut down the reaction.

“The taint is gone,” Akino said, and as Masayoshi watched the green lines skimmed down the skin of his arm and vanished by the time it reached his wrist. “But its effects subside. I didn’t know anything about werewolves until Gotou-kun brought you to me. The different clans rarely cross paths.”

“And?” Masayoshi asked, feeling at once both intrigued and terrified.

“And I know more now than I could have ever hoped to learn otherwise,” she said. “I learned about the taint and suppressing transformations, but … most importantly, I learned how to control the transformations of werewolves.” She crouched. “You’re not able to suppress it on your own, do you want my assistance?”

“What’s it gonna cost me,” Masayoshi said, ever the pragmatist. There was no way this information would come free and clear, even from someone he thought he knew, like Akino.

“Not much at all,” Akino said. “Shall we begin?”