[Fanfiction] - Gift
The plot bunnies attacked me this evening, so I decided to indulge them :) I've been obsessed with writing/drawing Gojyo-centric stuff lately, and this time I decided to write some young!Gojyo stuff. I think out of all of them, Gojyo is probably the most fucked up, but that's why we love him X)
Title: Gift
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairings: 58 genfic (mostly)
Warnings: references to Gojyo's Mom's death
Note: I know that in the manga Hakkai is shown to already have limiters when Gojyo finds him, but I'm feeling like inconsistency, and the plotline was too perfect not to do. Count this as slightly AU if you must.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
GIFT
Everyone had wondered, but never asked, about them. The limiters. Hakkai had never told them, and it was implicit, unspoken understanding that he didn’t like to talk about things like that. At first, there had been curiosity, especially on Goku’s part, but it had died down to an acceptance that he just had them. Like Goku’s limiter, they had no known origin.
It was Gojyo’s secret, of course. So many things were, but this one meant the most to him. Because those limiters were his.
At least, they had been…
********
He hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. He knew, somewhere deep inside that this wasn’t true, however; the blood was still warm, the sickly metallic smell hanging in the air and the puddle of it around Mom slowly spreading out over the tiled floor, going further in the grouting between them than on their surfaces. It was kinda pretty, or at least he supposed it must be because he couldn’t stop looking at it.
He had to go. The knowledge had immobilised him, but he stared at the advancing puddle and knew that if he didn’t move soon, the blood would reach his toes and he’d never stop screaming.
Standing, he blindly walked through the house, intending at first to go to his room and take what little he had; clothes, lighter, cigarettes, maybe the bed sheets if he could find a big enough bag… instead, he ended up outside Mom’s room. For the first time, he realised, he could go in. powerful curiosity overtook him, and he was in and standing on her carpet before he had really thought about it.
It was pretty; the walls were pale yellows and pinks, with matching bed sheets on the big double bed. He opened the curtains, so he could see more; the room was kinda dirty, dusty on some of the shelves and stuff, but no worse than the rest of the house. The light glittered off something on the dressing table, and he walked over, still slightly surprised by the unexpected serenity of the room. It was a hairbrush, silver backed and resting next to a matching compact. Reaching out, he picked it up and opened it, recognizing the smell of the perfumed powder Mom used. He replaced it, and let his fingers drift over the other things on the table, picking his way over shards of glass from items broken in rage and examining anything he wanted; perfume, lipstick, rings and necklaces.
There was one bottle at the back, he noticed, dusty save for the imprint of long, feminine fingers, at odds with the others. Tentatively, he leaned over on one arm, careful not to upset anything, and picked this up, too. He nearly dropped it when he read the label: “Daring, for men”.
For men? He thought, Why would it…
Oh.
Oh.
It was Dad’s.
Suddenly, a sort of terror overcame him, and he started looking around the room desperately, trying to find something else of his father’s. She kept his stuff… she… Photos. He had to find photos. He opened the drawers of the vanity chest first, but it was full of jewellery and odd objects from around the house. Buttons, pins, coins and other unnameable things. The drawer next, but it had only clothes; underwear, scarves, stockings. Nothing important. He ran to the bedside table, but there was nothing there he wanted to touch. Last of all were the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. He took the wardrobe first, pausing a moment to marvel at the beautiful dresses Mom never wore. Still no sign of Dad’s stuff, though. The chest of drawers, too, was full of random clothing, but when he opened the penultimate drawer he almost cried out in relief.
Socks, ties, one or two shirts, and a pile of boxes. For some reason, he pulled out a shirt first, forgetting the hungry desire for photos for a moment as he held it up. It was huge, bigger than Jien’s, even. He smiled; he thought Dad would be big and tall. Cautiously, he undid the buttons, hesitating a moment before putting it on. It was okay, Mom was gone; she was still in the kitchen and couldn’t come in and scream at him. There was a hat, grey and soft, beside the shirt so he put that on too and went to the full-length mirror to inspect himself. He almost laughed the sight - the shirt was ridiculously large, coming down way past his knees, the sleeves flapping uselessly past his fingertips. The hat was kinda nice, solid and grey against his red hair. He almost liked it.
Remembering the photos, he traipsed back over to the drawer and rooted around for big enough boxes. He had to roll up his sleeves twice, but he found a larger-sized box, maybe a shoebox once, and opened it. Inside were, he found, letters. He read one or two haltingly; his Dad’s handwriting was kinda messy, and his reading wasn’t too good, but he sounded nice, and, Gojyo noted with some pride, had handwriting like his. He carried on, but didn’t find much else in that box.
The next one was smaller, but had something even better than the old letters - photographs! Eagerly, Gojyo picked them up, reverentially turning them over one by one. They were perfect; Mom, Dad, Jien, sometimes all three or in pairs. Jien looked so funny when he was little! Gojyo decided he would take them all - there were only about ten, anyway. Disappointedly, he realised Mom must have shredded all the rest or something when she got angry.
He moved to put the boxes away, but a box caught his eye smaller than all the rest. It was tiny and looked like it was made out of black stone. He gingerly picked it up and it was indeed heavier than it looked. Setting it down on the carpet, Gojyo opened it. Inside, on blue velvet cushioning, were three small bands of metal. He picked one out carefully, turning it over in his fingers; it felt weird, cool, like rocks in the shade, and he turned it over wonderingly for a few more minutes before realising what it was.
It was a limiter. Three limiters. In a box. In a drawer in Mom’s room full of Dad’s stuff. Gojyo’s breath froze in his throat when he belatedly realised that these were his father’s limiters. For a moment he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think until he realised that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - leave them behind. He would take these too. He put away all the other boxes, and took off the shirt and the hat, deciding he would take them too. They still kinda smelt like him. He considered taking the aftershave too, but figured it might get smashed and leak over everything else.
Gojyo stood in the doorway to Mom’s room, clutching his keepsakes. He gazed over it all one last time, somewhat dispassionately and let the door fall closed.
********
The shirt and the hat had been worn into oblivion, Gojyo buying similar ones to make up for the loss, but not feeling too bad about letting them go. The smell of his father had long gone from them, and in the end, they were just clothes. The photos he’d kept, losing one or two along the way, but still somehow hanging on to them. At some point he had put them in an album and hidden them someplace safe, out of harm’s way. He’d flick through them sometimes when he felt alone. The limiters, he eventually learned, were designed to be worn as ear cuffs, and could be used again if the original user was dead and an activation word was known, or a new one given. He had wanted to use them on himself, hoping they would make him less conspicuous, but he was told it wouldn’t work on account of his not being a full-blood youkai. He kept them anyway.
Years later, he found a man in the street, wrapped in his own guts and shrouded in bloody tatters. In that instant, he thought of Mom. Then the stranger had looked up, and he realised that unlike her, this person could still be saved. He carried him home, and later gave him something that he thought he would need, realising as he did that this man needed them more, and that was why he didn’t feel so bad over giving them away. Gojyo had clipped them on himself, and whispered the activation word as he did so, watching his friend change with a sort of pride.
Finally, he had done something right.
crossposted to saiyukiyaoi and 1000_miles_west
Title: Gift
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairings: 58 genfic (mostly)
Warnings: references to Gojyo's Mom's death
Note: I know that in the manga Hakkai is shown to already have limiters when Gojyo finds him, but I'm feeling like inconsistency, and the plotline was too perfect not to do. Count this as slightly AU if you must.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
GIFT
Everyone had wondered, but never asked, about them. The limiters. Hakkai had never told them, and it was implicit, unspoken understanding that he didn’t like to talk about things like that. At first, there had been curiosity, especially on Goku’s part, but it had died down to an acceptance that he just had them. Like Goku’s limiter, they had no known origin.
It was Gojyo’s secret, of course. So many things were, but this one meant the most to him. Because those limiters were his.
At least, they had been…
********
He hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. He knew, somewhere deep inside that this wasn’t true, however; the blood was still warm, the sickly metallic smell hanging in the air and the puddle of it around Mom slowly spreading out over the tiled floor, going further in the grouting between them than on their surfaces. It was kinda pretty, or at least he supposed it must be because he couldn’t stop looking at it.
He had to go. The knowledge had immobilised him, but he stared at the advancing puddle and knew that if he didn’t move soon, the blood would reach his toes and he’d never stop screaming.
Standing, he blindly walked through the house, intending at first to go to his room and take what little he had; clothes, lighter, cigarettes, maybe the bed sheets if he could find a big enough bag… instead, he ended up outside Mom’s room. For the first time, he realised, he could go in. powerful curiosity overtook him, and he was in and standing on her carpet before he had really thought about it.
It was pretty; the walls were pale yellows and pinks, with matching bed sheets on the big double bed. He opened the curtains, so he could see more; the room was kinda dirty, dusty on some of the shelves and stuff, but no worse than the rest of the house. The light glittered off something on the dressing table, and he walked over, still slightly surprised by the unexpected serenity of the room. It was a hairbrush, silver backed and resting next to a matching compact. Reaching out, he picked it up and opened it, recognizing the smell of the perfumed powder Mom used. He replaced it, and let his fingers drift over the other things on the table, picking his way over shards of glass from items broken in rage and examining anything he wanted; perfume, lipstick, rings and necklaces.
There was one bottle at the back, he noticed, dusty save for the imprint of long, feminine fingers, at odds with the others. Tentatively, he leaned over on one arm, careful not to upset anything, and picked this up, too. He nearly dropped it when he read the label: “Daring, for men”.
For men? He thought, Why would it…
Oh.
Oh.
It was Dad’s.
Suddenly, a sort of terror overcame him, and he started looking around the room desperately, trying to find something else of his father’s. She kept his stuff… she… Photos. He had to find photos. He opened the drawers of the vanity chest first, but it was full of jewellery and odd objects from around the house. Buttons, pins, coins and other unnameable things. The drawer next, but it had only clothes; underwear, scarves, stockings. Nothing important. He ran to the bedside table, but there was nothing there he wanted to touch. Last of all were the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. He took the wardrobe first, pausing a moment to marvel at the beautiful dresses Mom never wore. Still no sign of Dad’s stuff, though. The chest of drawers, too, was full of random clothing, but when he opened the penultimate drawer he almost cried out in relief.
Socks, ties, one or two shirts, and a pile of boxes. For some reason, he pulled out a shirt first, forgetting the hungry desire for photos for a moment as he held it up. It was huge, bigger than Jien’s, even. He smiled; he thought Dad would be big and tall. Cautiously, he undid the buttons, hesitating a moment before putting it on. It was okay, Mom was gone; she was still in the kitchen and couldn’t come in and scream at him. There was a hat, grey and soft, beside the shirt so he put that on too and went to the full-length mirror to inspect himself. He almost laughed the sight - the shirt was ridiculously large, coming down way past his knees, the sleeves flapping uselessly past his fingertips. The hat was kinda nice, solid and grey against his red hair. He almost liked it.
Remembering the photos, he traipsed back over to the drawer and rooted around for big enough boxes. He had to roll up his sleeves twice, but he found a larger-sized box, maybe a shoebox once, and opened it. Inside were, he found, letters. He read one or two haltingly; his Dad’s handwriting was kinda messy, and his reading wasn’t too good, but he sounded nice, and, Gojyo noted with some pride, had handwriting like his. He carried on, but didn’t find much else in that box.
The next one was smaller, but had something even better than the old letters - photographs! Eagerly, Gojyo picked them up, reverentially turning them over one by one. They were perfect; Mom, Dad, Jien, sometimes all three or in pairs. Jien looked so funny when he was little! Gojyo decided he would take them all - there were only about ten, anyway. Disappointedly, he realised Mom must have shredded all the rest or something when she got angry.
He moved to put the boxes away, but a box caught his eye smaller than all the rest. It was tiny and looked like it was made out of black stone. He gingerly picked it up and it was indeed heavier than it looked. Setting it down on the carpet, Gojyo opened it. Inside, on blue velvet cushioning, were three small bands of metal. He picked one out carefully, turning it over in his fingers; it felt weird, cool, like rocks in the shade, and he turned it over wonderingly for a few more minutes before realising what it was.
It was a limiter. Three limiters. In a box. In a drawer in Mom’s room full of Dad’s stuff. Gojyo’s breath froze in his throat when he belatedly realised that these were his father’s limiters. For a moment he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think until he realised that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - leave them behind. He would take these too. He put away all the other boxes, and took off the shirt and the hat, deciding he would take them too. They still kinda smelt like him. He considered taking the aftershave too, but figured it might get smashed and leak over everything else.
Gojyo stood in the doorway to Mom’s room, clutching his keepsakes. He gazed over it all one last time, somewhat dispassionately and let the door fall closed.
********
The shirt and the hat had been worn into oblivion, Gojyo buying similar ones to make up for the loss, but not feeling too bad about letting them go. The smell of his father had long gone from them, and in the end, they were just clothes. The photos he’d kept, losing one or two along the way, but still somehow hanging on to them. At some point he had put them in an album and hidden them someplace safe, out of harm’s way. He’d flick through them sometimes when he felt alone. The limiters, he eventually learned, were designed to be worn as ear cuffs, and could be used again if the original user was dead and an activation word was known, or a new one given. He had wanted to use them on himself, hoping they would make him less conspicuous, but he was told it wouldn’t work on account of his not being a full-blood youkai. He kept them anyway.
Years later, he found a man in the street, wrapped in his own guts and shrouded in bloody tatters. In that instant, he thought of Mom. Then the stranger had looked up, and he realised that unlike her, this person could still be saved. He carried him home, and later gave him something that he thought he would need, realising as he did that this man needed them more, and that was why he didn’t feel so bad over giving them away. Gojyo had clipped them on himself, and whispered the activation word as he did so, watching his friend change with a sort of pride.
Finally, he had done something right.
crossposted to saiyukiyaoi and 1000_miles_west