Up in Smoke: A Heisei Kumi fanfic (19/36)
Author: ryosukekoibito
Pairing: Hikato, Chiitaro, Ariyama
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death, Strong Language, Explicit Sex, Major Character Death
Genre: Slice of life/Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone.
Summary: After months of peace an attack leaves the Heisei Kumi reeling, and when an old enemy returns to the area reclaiming that peace starts to feel impossible.
A/N: The next installment in my Heisei Kumi AU, this one starts in the last days of December 2016 and continues on into 2017. If you'd like to read the other stories in this AU, please check out my masterlist. All Heisei Kumi fics have 平成組 next to their titles, to mark them as part of the AU! PLEASE NOTE that I have updated my warnings for this chapter to include 'Major Character Death'. Also be aware that the 'Graphic Violence' warning is especially relevant for this chapter. Take care of yourselves!
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18
Keito stumbled into Hikaru, and the Kumi-cho raised his glock, firing at the man on the opposite end of the room, shoving Keito toward the door and yelling, Keito unable to make the words out over the numb ringing in his ears. He stumbled back out the door they’d entered in, Hikaru at his back, pushing him. When they made it out Hikaru pulled the door shut and spun to face him, their faces a hair apart, his words coming out fast and frantic, and he had one hand on the doorknob, holding it shut, the gun in his left hand pointed at the door.
“Can you run?” Keito nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side. “We need to get out of here. We’ll split up, and try to find the others. Tell them to retreat back to the usual meeting place.” There was the sound of someone cursing from the other side of the door, Hikaru bracing himself as the door began to shake, his eyes wide, face pale.
“But what about the bodies?” Keito couldn’t help but ask. Hikaru shook his head
“No time! Go!” Keito paled, realizing that Hikaru was planning on holding the door, and Keito didn’t want to leave him behind. But Hikaru was his leader, and at that moment he needed to follow orders. Hikaru let off a few rounds, the bullets cutting through the metal door like a hot knife through butter, and Keito turned and ran, adrenaline and fear coursing through his system, the burning pain in his side bringing tears to his eyes. He dashed through the halls, getting through a few quick fights with only a bloody nose and what he knew were going to be some big bruises, before bursting through the first exterior door he could find. He’d been expecting a much larger resistance, expecting the sounds of Hikaru’s firefight to have drawn many more Wakaba, but his path had been barely obstructed, and it wasn’t until he was outside that he saw why.
It was total chaos. Daiki was covered in blood standing with his back to Keito, a pistol in his hand that must have been out of ammunition as he was wielding it like a bat, staring down five Wakaba guys. Ryutaro and Yabu were both on the ground unmoving, stained in red. As Keito took the situation in Daiki yelled, his voice rough, and he lunged, bringing the butt of the gun down hard, bludgeoning the nearest opponent on the side of his head, following through with a punch to the chin. The other Wakaba rushed to attack Daiki, and Keito lept to help, stepping over Yabu’s still body to grab the closest Wakaba member, one arm wrapping around the guy's throat from behind, yanking him backwards, away from Daiki.
The guy struggled, clawing at Keito’s arm, one elbow ramming hard into the bullet wound on Keito’s side, Keito letting out a loud yelp of pain, his grip loosening in reflex, and the guy he’d grabbed spun around, kicking out and hitting Keito in the hip with his boot. Keito’s eyes were watering, tears rolling down his face at the pain, and as he pulled himself to his full stature Daiki seemed to notice him, the older man screaming, his voice full of a desperate rage unlike any Keito had ever heard
“KILL HIM! KEITO, KILL HIM!” Keito looked over at his opponent, not recognizing the man but knowing who he must be, fear and surprise hitting him as he stared over at Wakaba Ichinojo. Daiki let out a roar of anguish, the sound guttural and raw, and Keito backed up, almost tripping over Ryutaro where he was lying on the cold ground, reaching for his gun, his heart pounding in his ears. He glanced down at Ryutaro, trying to avoid stepping on his friend, and in that moment a sick feeling hit him, the shock cruel and abrasive, as he stared into Ryu’s face.
Ryutaro’s eyes were open wide, staring blankly up at him, and his face was splattered in blood and small chunks of flesh and bone, his mouth open, split like an overstuffed trash bag. Most of his bottom jaw was gone, the whole area gaping and garrish, unrecognizable but for a few teeth in the mess of mangled flesh. Blood was gleaming wet in the light of the moon, pooled around Ryu’s head, Keito’s shoe stepping in it. Keito was trembling, barely breathing, the breaths shallow and painful in his chest, and he couldn’t process the sight at his feet, a miserably numb emptiness in his head as his body reacted, eyes tearing away from the mangled, gruesome remains of Ryutaro to see Ichinojo still standing in front of him, Daiki’s tortured screams still echoing through the night.
He raised his gun and Ichinojo ran, the other Wakaba following suit. Keito cocked the pistol, his vision blurring with tears, breath coming in small, sharp gasps as he fired a few rounds. None of them hit, his whole body trembling as the Wakaba disappeared into the darkness. He felt frozen there, unable to process the world around him, just standing with his arm outstretched, gun pointing out into the night, as tears rolled down his cheeks. Daiki meanwhile tossed the pistol he’d been bludgeoning Wakaba members with to the ground and ran over to where Yabu was lying, falling to his knees when he got there.
Keito just stood there numbly, eyes following Daiki’s movements as he leaned over Yabu’s body, not really processing any of it until Daiki turned from Yabu, and Keito could see the the horrible anguish on his housemate’s face, and the fury seeping out from under his skin. Daiki caught sight of him, and when their eyes met it was like something clicked, and they bridged the space between them, throwing their arms around each other. Daiki was slick with sweat and blood, and he was trembling, but his grip was fierce, and Keito felt a sob rise up in his throat as he tucked Daiki’s head under his chin.
They stayed that way for a long moment, hovering on the edge between pulling themselves together and total collapse. It was only when Daiki shifted and a sharp pain from his bullet wound coursed through his torso that Keito got up the courage to say
“Yabu…?” Daiki’s voice was rough and raw, full of unshed tears as he said
“Totally fucked, but alive.” Keito nodded, an unacknowledged fear he’d been harboring falling out of his throat. Daiki paused, asking “The underlings, d’you know if anyone’s found them?” Keito tensed up, the mutilated corpses of the boys they’d found all tied up earlier in the night flashing to the front of his mind accompanied by another wave of nausea.
“Dead.” Was all he said, and Daiki cursed, the sound a fierce growl. Keito could feel hot tears on his neck, the quiver in Daiki’s voice confirmation that the older man was crying, and Keito didn’t know what to do, still not fully grasping their situation, his brain not willing to acknowledge just how horrific their reality was.
“DAIKI!” The call came from the north, and Daiki froze for a split second before yanking himself away from Keito’s arms and saying in a frenzied panic
“I need your clothes. Now!” Keito stared at him for a moment, and that was a moment too long for Daiki, the older man yanking on Keito’s jacket, able to have it half off before Keito sprung to action, the frantic energy in Daiki’s movements keeping him from asking questions, instead just ripping the shirt from his shoulders, tearing it a bit in his haste. Daiki threw himself across their little clearing, Keito standing in the chilly March night, his injured side agitated by the sudden assault, watching as Daiki took the shirt and jacket and threw them over top of Ryutaro’s mutilated face, just as Yamada came into view. He looked panicked, his sword drawn, a few cuts down his face and arms, and Daiki looked up, opening his arms and calling
“RYOSUKE!” There was nothing but relief in Daiki’s face as his husband bolted toward them, Daiki sweeping the younger man up in his arms, passion in his grip, relief and panic in his eyes. It wasn’t until after the hug that Yamada noticed Ryutaro’s partially covered corpse, and Keito watched him realize just what it was, the nausea rising up in his throat again as Yamada’s face contorted in shock and grief. Keito took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, trying not to panic as Daiki noticed his husband’s expression and he said fervently. “Don’t look, Ryosuke.” Yamada’s eyes were glued on the torn, bloodstained shirt covering Ryutaro’s face, and his voice came out in a hard sob as he asked
“Who?” There was a long silence, neither Keito nor Daiki wanting to say it, and Yamada grew more and more visibly upset as it dragged on, before he said again “Who?!”
“R-Ryu.” Keito barely registered that he’d spoken, not really feeling present, withdrawing inside of himself, disassociating from the situation, knowing that if he didn’t there would be no way he would make it out. That thought alone was enough to send his stomach churning.
“Oh god.” Yamada’s voice was weak, and Daiki didn’t let go of him, not until Yabu let out a small whine, drawing everyone’s attention, and reminding them that they couldn’t just stand around. Keito welcomed the distraction, and he told himself not to think about Ryu, not to think about the dead underlings, or the fact that he’d come face to face with Ichinojo and let him get away. Just think about getting Yabu to the meet up place. Just do what Hikaru had asked him to do. He fell to his knees by Yabu’s side, squinting in the darkness to try and get a good look at the older man’s wounds, taking deep breaths in an attempt to quell the nausea and get his heart rate down.
Yabu was a fucking mess, his torso having been slashed to ribbons, a long deep gash dug into the left side of his face. His face was contorted in pain, and Keito leaned down, shoving his handgun into his waistband and struggling for a moment with words before he spoke, his voice a weak trembling mess.
“I’m g-going to get you ho-home.” Yabu’s only reply was another whine, but it was better than nothing, and Keito wrapped his arms around the older man as tenderly as he could, before starting to pull him up to his feet. Yabu yelped in pain, and he latched onto Keito, trying to anchor himself. By the time Keito was back at his full posture Yabu was half draped over his bare shoulder, new trails of blood running down his skin, his face wrenched up in pain and his breathing shallow in Keito’s ear. They were both shaky, barely keeping themselves up, yet despite that Keito managed to start walking, the movement excruciatingly slow.
He didn’t look back, his mind a blank numb emptiness that he let wash over him. It was almost a relief, not thinking, not being able to think, and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or what exactly had happened in that time, but in an instant he was snapped back into his body by Yabu’s voice in his ear.
“Ryu-?” It felt like a punch in the gut, Keito unable to breathe, sucking air without any relief. Panic hit him full force, and he opened his mouth a few times, nothing coming out, before he found himself murmuring
“He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.” The words seemed to comfort Yabu, and Keito felt hot tears run down his own cheeks, could feel the breakdown welling up inside of him, pressing against his ribs, and he wrapped his arm tighter around Yabu, pushing on. It was only then that he noticed Daiki and Yamada following behind him, and he glanced back to see Daiki’s arms holding around the body, Keito’s jacket and shirt wrapped around the upper half, keeping the gore hidden, while Daiki’s husband had his Glock out, eyes scanning the area, jaw set, prepared. The whole scene made Keito feel wretched, and he wished he hadn’t looked.
He had just caught sight of the meet up point, able to see people already standing there under their usual streetlamp off in the distance when Yabu slipped fully out of consciousness, going limp in his arms. Shit. He stopped, trying to readjust his grip on Yabu, ignoring the burning pain shooting through his own body, before he eventually just decided that any time for delicacy had run out and he bent down, Yabu heavy as he collapsed over his back, and he slung the older man up over his shoulder, holding onto him by wrapping his arms around Yabu’s tiny hips, fingers digging into his belt to hold him there.
It was harder going with Yabu’s dead weight, and the Ariokas passed him, both rushing ahead, and Keito watched as they ran, everything just heavy, physically pressing down on him as he saw them reach the others, and knew the new reality that was being forced upon them all wrapped up in Keito’s ruined shirt. He faltered, not wanting to see the others grief, not able to process his own. Not able to deal. It was quiet in that moment, startlingly so, and Keito just stood there, feeling Yabu’s heartbeat under his fingers as he watched his housemates like observing ants as they moved around Daiki and the-Ryutaro, unable to move any further. Falling to pieces.
“Let me see him!” A sharp yell broke the silence, harsh and full of anger. “NO! LET GO. LET ME SEE HIM!” Chinen’s voice held more rage in it than Keito had ever heard, and he barely had time to register that before another voice was calling his own name. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out the first try. And then the second only allotted for one word, barely a whisper
“Here.” He swallowed, blinking a fresh wave of hot tears out of his eyes and he tried again, voice louder the third time “Here! I’m here!” He started moving again, walking toward the group, and he heard footsteps, peering through the darkness to see Hikaru running toward him, cursing when he caught sight of Keito, his voice rough with tears and anger. The cursing just kept going, a long string of words as he got closer, his eyes raking over Keito’s body, and Yabu’s limp form slung over Keito’s shoulder. He immediately reached out, haphazardly pulling Yabu off of Keito and into his own arms, still muttering strings of curse words.
“Fuck. Keito what-what happened?” Hikaru’s voice was shaking, and in the background Chinen was still screaming, and Keito found that he couldn’t open his mouth. He couldn’t even start to think the words he would need to answer Hikaru’s question, and when Hikaru asked a few more-‘are you okay’, ‘where are you hurt’, ‘how bad is Yabu’-all he could find it in himself to do was shake his head, Hikaru’s eyes wide and panicked. He glanced over Hikaru’s shoulder, looking past his leader to where the others were, where Chinen was on his knees on the ground, Takaki bent down over him, Daiki still standing holding Ryutaro, his husband pressed into his side, and promptly threw up.
His body heaved, burned and stung with pain, trembling as he fought to keep himself standing. Everything smelled like stomach acid and blood and gunpowder, and he was crying again, the tears rolling down his cheeks hot and wet. Hikaru just stood there, not able to do much with Yabu in his arms, and after a few moments he said quietly
“We need to get out of here. We need to go home Keito.” Keito looked up at him, still hunched over from the vomiting, and he nodded, wiping at his mouth with his bare hand and standing up, the shaking in his body only worse, the cold sweat covering his bare torso making him shiver. Hikaru nodded at him, looking him over, and he opened his mouth, saying “I-you-” There was a pause, and in the end Hikaru didn’t say it, instead turning and jerking his head for Keito to follow, marching through the grass back to the rest of their housemates, not stopping as he passed by the others, Keito trailing behind him.
They all fell behind their leader and fell silent, Takaki carrying Chinen, the smaller man’s body curled up in a ball in Takaki’s arms, his face pressed into Takaki’s neck. Daiki still was holding the body, his husband’s hands trailing down his arms and across his back as they walked. The only sounds they made were the occasional whimpers of pain and sharp sobs that refused to stay trapped in their throats. Keito could feel himself drifting, could feel that numb disassociation tugging at him, and he let it take over, let the calm nothingness drag him in, his feet following their leader as Hikaru led them all home.
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