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Friends
I look down at my hands. Bloodstains streak across my knuckles, over the backs of my hands, my palms. Caught under my nails. Twined around my wrists in snakelike, serpent coils.
I extend my inspection to the rest of my body. Dark patches on the fabric of my shirt. Dry, rust-red flakes swirling down from my every movement, making random patterns on the ground. Solid lines of dried powder, enough to let nothing else mar the purity of the color.
I withdraw into the shadow of the alley, the world consisting of only two shades, the bright red, and the deeper brown rust. My eyes see only a haze of blood.
I collapse against the wall, my hands leaving ungodly streaks on the brick as they slide down to my lap. They shine a little in reflected light, marks of my pain.
I wish for a bucket of water, so I can cry without guilt.
I don't know how, but I make it to the dojo, keeping to the concealing shadows all the way. Nobody can see me there in the darkness, at least not clearly enough for them to make out the results of what I've endured. I don't dare take to the rooftops in my state; I could just as easily miss my landing than reach it safely.
Silently I jump over the wall, landing cat-footed on the grass. I creep over to the house, wanting to wash myself of the blood.
I just wish I could rid my soul of its burden as easily.
I open the door cautiously, not knowing who's up at this hour. Certainly not Akane, which I'm thankful for; I don't think I could face her at the moment, not as I am. Kasumi is a possibility, but the house is dark and quiet, and she keeps the light on. Nabiki I have no idea, but if Kasumi is asleep, it's not likely that she's up.
And as for Tendou-san and oyaji, I know exactly where they are.
I slip through the door, tiptoeing on the creaky wooden floors, praying to whatever Kami is listening in at the moment that nobody will hear me, nobody will come downstairs for a late-night snack . . .
"Bwee!"
Oh gods.
I freeze, not daring to turn around, as little footsteps approach me. A part of my mind is wondering if this was a lucky break or not; Ryouga's not as likely to freak out as the others are, but then again, he might take it the wrong way . . .
The small black shape, almost invisible in the shadows, comes around my legs. Ryouga's little piggy snout flares as he gets a good sniff of me, and his eyes widen. He looks at me, then trots down the hallway to the bathroom. I follow, grateful that he hasn't started making a scene.
I open the door to the bathroom and step softly in, careful not to step on Ryouga, but not bothering to turn on the light. Quietly turning on the water, I pick him up and place him in the furo. There's a sudden *splash* of misplaced water, and Ryouga's there, kneeling in the tub. He looks at me, an expression of shock firmly cemented on his face. I turn away and start to strip off my bloodstained clothing. It's unsalvageable, unsuited for public wear. Unless I want to go out as a murderer on Halloween.
When, by all rights, I should be playing the victim.
I hear the sharp intake of breath as Ryouga sees the marks on my back, the still-oozing wounds. I ignore him, pulling up the loose tiles and tossing him his clothing from the hole revealed underneath. He catches it; that much I know.
I sit down on the bathing stool and start to scrub, slowly and meticulously, rubbing my skin raw with the pressure. I pay careful attention to my hands, scratching at the dried fluids, trying to get them off. I succeed for the most part, but there are still hints of blood on them. Suddenly frantic, I scrape at the marks furiously, opening small cuts in my skin. I scour on and on; more of my blood drips onto the floor, making small puddles on my feet.
Ryouga still hasn't said a word.
My hands are red and raw from my scrubbing and still I go on. There's a long gash on one of my wrists from my nails and I'm in danger of slitting something completely, but still I continue my frenzied cleaning, heedless of the pain.
Suddenly, I can't move any more. Strong hands grasp my own, pressing down painfully on the lacerated skin, but preventing me from doing any more damage to myself. I look up to see Ryouga, fully clothed, staring at me. He looks grim, but sad. I briefly wonder why before my vision is obscured with tears.
I collapse, sobbing, shoulders hitching with each painful breath, against him. He hesitates, then puts his arms around me. We stay like that, two rivals, two enemies. Two friends.
I calm down enough to clean the rest of my body; Ryouga silently helps with my back. I wince internally as the rough towel passes over my cuts and bruises, but I endure. It's nothing compared to how I got them.
Soon I'm soaking in the furo and Ryouga's trying to rinse the blood from the towel. It's a useless pursuit. I know from personal experience.
The stains almost never come out. Never.
Ryouga soon realizes this and tosses it into a corner of the bathroom, making me the center of his attention instead. A part of me wishes he wouldn't. I want nobody to see me like this, so weak. So unmanly.
Yet another part is calling for help, and Ryouga's the only one here.
"What happened?" he asks, rough voice lacking any hostility. I shudder and sink deeper into the warm, soothing water. I suppose it's mostly because of my curse, but hot water has been a comfort to me ever since we came to the dojo.
"Oyaji." My voice is thick with grief and suppressed pain. I can barely hear myself, say nothing of Ryouga.
Ryouga blinks. "He did that to you?" He's clearly surprised. "I thought he stopped that years ago!"
I consider this. "Not really. I just don't hang around him when he's drunk, that's all."
"But even at his best he can't do that sort of damage!"
I shake my head. "Apparently, at his worst, he can." I pause. "He also had Tendou-san helping him."
Ryouga's mouth drops open in surprise. "Akane's father?! Why?!"
I look at him. "When I met them, they were drunk, and frustrated. Pop started complaining that I wasn't respectful enough to him, and when I said that I had nothing to be respectful of, he got mad. Mr. Tendou agreed with him, adding that maybe I needed more persuasion in marrying Akane. That's when they started in on me."
Ryouga's been staring at me throughout my little story, shock, disbelief, and anger battling for room on his face. "But how'd they manage to catch you? I mean, with them as drunk as they were, wouldn't you have been able to get away?"
I close my eyes. "I couldn't. Not with a whole crowd riled up against me. Pop started yelling that youth have no regard for their elders anymore, and since they were all 'elders,' drunk, and angry, they hemmed me in while he and Mr. Tendou beat me down."
I swallow heavily. "Eventually, the two passed out, the crowd dispersed, and I dragged myself to an alley to wait, then came here." I put my face in my hands, resting my elbows against my knees, the night's events catching up to me. "Chances are, they won't even remember it in the morning."
Ryouga is silent for a while, most likely digesting what I've just told him. "When did he start doing this to you?" he asks softly, breaking the stillness.
I think about his question for a moment. "About when we first left home, I guess," I finally reply. "He'd come back to camp drunk as hell, shouting something about training. I'd take it because I didn't know anything else. He claimed that it was good for me, good for my life as a martial artist."
Ryouga's eyes narrow. "He did that to a six-year old child?" he growls angrily, fists clenching. "And he talks of honor!"
I shrug. "Eventually I learned to defend myself. If anything, this made him even more mad, but as I started to use martial arts to do so, he approved."
"How can you take this so lightly, Ranma?" Ryouga exclaims. "You've been beaten to an inch of your life—by your own father and host, no less—and you're talking about it as if it's an everyday event!"
"It was, Ryouga."
He stares at me, dumbfounded. "And that's all you're going to say? Gods, Ranma . . ." He trails off, stands up abruptly. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing." \par "What?!"
My eyes are closing. I'm exhausted, both in body and spirit. I slump forward, the world fading from consciousness. The last thing I know is Ryouga standing protectively over me.
"Not if I can help it . . ."
I wake up, stiff and sore, on my own futon. I'm in my muscle shirt and boxers. Ryouga is sitting at the edge of the sleeping mat, apparently dozing.
My father's futon is empty.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I sit up, trying not to aggravate my injuries, and failing miserably. At my small, unsuccessfully stifled cry of pain, Ryouga's eyes snap open and he turns to look at me.
"How are you feeling, Ranma?" His eyes scan the room, alighting on the other futon. It's unslept in; oyaji must be still on the streets.
It's strange, that I don't feel any anger towards him, nor at Tendou-san. I'm used to it, I guess. Like I told Ryouga, he's been doing it for 10 years now, so there's nothing new, though it's been awhile. The last time I'd gotten something like this was when I was 13, when I'd come back to camp with no food, but unfortunately, a lot of sake.
Tendou-san joining in, though, that surprised me a little. I suppose I can't say anything; it was mostly Pop who actually hit me. Soun was just yelling at me to marry Akane.
No anger, but the black hole inside grows larger. I've been hiding it for so long, the product of all the beatings, the whippings. A child's innocence destroyed the first time oyaji took up a belt against me.
I've fooled Ryouga into thinking that to me it's no big deal, but it is. It is. As much as I've revealed to him already, there's no way I'm ready to uncover that hole. Not yet.
"Ranma, are you there?" Ryouga shouts into my face, startling me.
"Huh?"
Ryouga sighs in exasperation. "I just asked you if you wanted breakfast, Saotome. Pay attention!"
I smirk at him. "Sure do, P-chan. Let's go."
Ryouga growls but I can sense no real anger behind it. Somehow, something's changed between us. We're not just rivals anymore. Sure, there was always the slight trace of friendship under all the fighting, but now, it's stronger.
I think Ryouga can feel it too.
~owari~
Notes: *gestures dramatically* And thus is the pathway to possible future shounen-ai/yaoi feelings opened and unbarred! Maybe, maybe not, but still . . . I have the Ryouga POV counterpart in the works here, I just need to smooth it over a bit (like, sandblaster-required smoothing over *sweatdrop).