Up in Smoke: A Heisei Kumi fanfic (20/36)
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! Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Hopefully you have a better day than the kumi boys do.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19
The steps leading up to their red door were the first thing Keito registered, and Hikaru stepped to the side allowing Keito in front to open the door as his hands were full. Keito pushed his way in, the warm lights from the kitchen startlingly bright, and he stepped into the house feeling rather overwhelmed by how normal and ordinary it all looked. As though everything was just as it had been when they’d left. There was the sound of scrambling from the second story and he tensed up as his housemates came in after him, looking up to see Yuto come into view at the top of the stairs, his friend smiling and announcing as he leaned down to look at them
“Guy’s Inoo! He’s awake, he-” Yuto paused, freezing in place and he frowned, brow furrowing in concern as he asked “What? Fuck; what is it?” Keito threw himself onto the second step of the stairs, the grip of his Sig Sauer digging into his spine when he tried to lean back, making him jump. He twisted around, pulling the pistol out of his waistband and dropping it by his feet. The flesh covering his left ribs burned in protest at the movement, and he tried to focus on that pain as Yuto passed him on the stairs, his housemates voices going over his head, their tones enough to know he didn’t want to participate in the conversation.
He examined his own body, surprised to find that he was positively bathed in blood now that he could see what all of that pain actually looked like. His right forearm was glazed over in thin running trails of red from cuts, the stripes thick across his skin, before falling off where the blood was still dripping a little onto the floor. His torso meanwhile had a solid sheet of blood coming down from where a bullet had just barely grazed him, leaving a track of exposed flesh about ten centimeters long, the source of most of his pain. He had smears of what he assumed was Yabu’s blood all down his arms and hands and chest, and the parts of his torso that weren’t stained red were starting to show discoloration, bruising where he’d been hit. His hands hurt, and he suspected that a few of his fingers were fractured but he didn’t fucking care.
Chinen was deposited next to him, the smaller man scrambling to stay connected to Takaki, their housemate having to physically pry their former leader off of him, and in that moment Keito reached out one trembling hand, laying it on Chinen’s chest and holding him back so Takaki could stumble away. Keito looked out at the rest of his housemates for the first time since they’d gotten home. Daiki and Yuto were in the corner of the living room that was usually reserved for their Christmas tree in December, bent down over the body. Yuto was crying, but he was still moving, still focusing on whatever task it was they were doing.
Yabu had been lain out across the kitchen table, and he was startling in the fluorescent lights, his clothing in tatters, everything red with blood. He was still unconscious, and the stillness was unnerving, Keito keeping his eyes fixated on the older man until he discerned a subtle rise and fall in his chest, a tension loosening inside of him. Hikaru was hovering around Yabu, working on peeling blood saturated clothing off of his friend, his face screwed up and ugly in grief, whole body tightly wound. Takaki wasn’t moving well, paler than usual, and Yamada sat him down, peeling off his tattered jacket and blood soaked shirt to reveal an extremely ugly cut that ran all the way over his left shoulder and down his back to his right hip, deep and gruesome.
Chinen sat there trembling for a few moments and Keito wasn’t sure who moved first or quite how it happened but he ended up with Chinen’s body curled into his chest, his arms naturally settling around him. Chinen’s head was resting against his shoulder, and it was almost easy; as though they’d done this before. But Chinen was still against him, his eyes locked on where Ryutaro’s body was lying in the corner of their living room. Keito couldn’t see his face at this angle, but that was okay. He didn’t need to see to know how Chinen was feeling. One of Chinen’s legs was pressed against his bullet wound, the fabric of his slacks brushing painfully up against it, but Keito didn’t have the energy or will to do anything but wince whenever some small movement would send a jolt of pain running through him.
He didn’t know how long they sat together. Chinen got up at one point, moving away from the stairs and onto the couch and dragging Keito wordlessly along with him, plopping him down and curling into him again, his whole body shaking, his eyes locked on Ryutaro. Keito found himself watching too, watching as Daiki and Yuto brought a sheet out of the laundry room and unwrapped Ryu from the remnants of Keito’s clothes, before folding him into the sheet. Keito stiffened, recoiling at the sight, but Chinen didn’t flinch and didn’t look away, just stared from his place in Keito’s arms silently as the corpse disappeared inside of the white fabric, first one sheet, and then two when the blood started to leak through.
Everyone was quiet, the only sound Keito could hear Chinen’s choked, ragged breathing. Then there was a hand reaching down over Keito’s shoulder, the fingers curling into Chinen’s hair, and they both turned to look, Takaki standing behind the couch, still looking a little faint, but all bandaged up, and he said quietly
“C’mon Chii.” Chinen nodded, not stopping to allow anyone to look him over or clean the blood off of his face before he and Takaki disappeared upstairs. Keito just sat there trembling with fatigue and eventually Yuto came over with a first aid kit and a wet towel, his movements slow and heavy, his hurt leg dragging a little as he moved. Yuto plopped down next to Keito on the couch and they looked at each other for a few moments, Keito able to see Yuto’s grief in his wet eyes and the curl of his lips and Keito knew that Yuto could see his own, in that moment the two of them understanding without words. Keito reached out grabbing Yuto’s hand, and for a long time they sat together clinging to each other in silence, sharing their pain.
Yuto eventually washed Keito of the blood staining his skin, the sharp tang of iron hitting them as he wiped it all away. Yuto cursed when he got to the gunshot wound, his eyes flicking up to Keito’s face, concern having overtaken grief for a moment. Keito didn’t know what to make of the injury, so he said nothing. It hurt. A lot. But there was a burning aching pain in his chest that made him want to claw out of his own skin; this injured bit of flesh was nothing compared to the pain of his grief. It wasn’t like it would kill him. The bullet had missed. Yuto cleaned him up good, wrapping his torso thickly in gauze and stitching up a particularly deep cut on his arm.
When he was done they just stayed sitting there, looking at each other so they wouldn’t look at the body in the other corner of the room. There were the sounds of the Ariokas patching each other up in the kitchen and Keito realized that Hikaru was still over there, still working on Yabu, and he felt like an idiot. He’d been so relieved to get Yabu home that he’d dismissed the older man from his mind as though getting him back alive was all that had needed to be done. He didn’t really want to get up but he needed to, so he pulled himself to his feet and wandered over into the kitchen, passing Yamada and Daiki-the two of them seemingly trying to fix each other up simultaneously-to where Hikaru was bent over Yabu’s abdomen.
His whole body was quivering like Keito’s was and he was crying quietly, face all scrunched up with the tears, one of his eyes swollen and bruised. Yabu’s whole front was a series of deep lacerations, some of them crossing over each other uglier than Keito had expecting. It was focusing, Keito realizing in a start that the wounds reminded him of ones he’d had before-ones that had left him close to death-and a pang of fear ran through him. He went and washed his hands before returning and getting himself a needle, knowing this needed to be taken care of. Hikaru shouldn’t have had to care for Yabu like this alone. Hikaru barely looked at him, focused on stitching Yabu back together with a harsh determination that was just barely keeping him from falling apart.
Hikaru had started at the shoulder and was working his way down, most of Yabu’s torso already stitched up, the only places left his thighs and his face. His face had a huge cut across the left side, cutting across the eyebrow, and Keito realized as he went to try and stitch it up that everything didn’t line up perfectly, and he knew it would be an ugly scar like the one Keito himself had on his shoulder. He cringed, but he knew that if he didn’t stitch it up it would only heal uglier, and so he got to work trying to steady his hands as he pulled his needle through the split skin on Yabu’s face. Yabu didn’t move-out cold the entire time-and while Keito knew it was better that way, knew that consciousness would only serve to aggravate Yabu’s injuries right then, it was just wrong to see him lay still while Keito’s needle dipped into his skin.
It was only once Yabu was all stitched up and bandaged that Hikaru turned his attention to Keito, the leader still in his bloody suit. He looked over at Keito and Keito pressed into him, not kissing or even hugging, just touching, leaning their bodies together, and the comfort of that simple action was awe inducing. Hikaru’s scent washed over him and instilled something right inside of him, assuring him that despite everything they were going through in that moment, he was where he was supposed to be. It was amazing, Keito caught off guard by the calm he felt inside of himself. He let out a breath, pressing his face into Hikaru’s neck, his eyes fluttering shut, and he murmured just barely above a whisper
“I love you.” Hikaru didn’t say anything, just taking Keito’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together, but the action spoke for him. They stayed like that for a long moment, Keito knowing they weren’t done, but not ready to pull away and go back to the real world. It took real effort to take the step back that drew them apart, and he looked down at Yabu-Hikaru not having let go of his hand. He felt Hikaru’s eyes on him for a few moments longer before they returned to the task at hand and picked Yabu up, taking him up to his room. Except when they went up, they found that Yabu’s room was already occupied.
Takaki and Chinen were inside curled up on Yabu’s big bed, Chinen sobbing all wrapped up in Yabu’s blankets and pressed into Takaki’s side, utterly wrecked. Takaki was barely conscious but he was holding Chinen, a few tears of his own shining on his cheeks. Neither of them seemed to notice that Hikaru and Keito were there, and so they dragged Yabu across the hall to Takaki and Inoo’s room, lying Yabu out in Takaki’s bed instead, Inoo turning his head to watch as they got Yabu up on the mattress. It was good to see Inoo blinking up at them from his little bed, but some of that relief turned to ashes in Keito’s mouth when Inoo asked
“What happened? Where’s Yuya? Yuto said you guys were in another fight. Is everyone okay?” Hikaru closed his eyes, a tear slipping past his eyelids and rolling down his cheek, and Keito could see him trembling, could feel his own body quaking in tandem, fatigued and exhausted. Exhausted by the emotions threatening to choke him, by the blood loss, by the events he was still only half processing, and it was a huge relief to him when Hikaru said
“Takaki is fine, he’s a four...but I...I can’t go into details tonight. Maybe...maybe Daiki? Or-no. I'll-” His voice was cracking, more tears running down his cheeks as he began to fall apart and Inoo nodded, seeming to understand just how overwhelmed Hikaru was, Hikaru immediately falling silent. It was then that the Ariokas appeared in the open doorway, Daiki rushing to Inoo’s side, a warm, relieved smile blooming on his lips. He crouched down by the bed at once, reaching out for Inoo’s hand as Yamada approached at a slower pace, a smaller smile curling his lips. It was then, once Inoo’s attention had been stolen that Keito and Hikaru left.
They went downstairs to find it empty, the kitchen lights left on, Keito’s gun moved from its spot on the floor over to the kitchen table. Hikaru picked it up, handing it over to him. It was then that Keito realized that Hikaru was still grimy, still covered in sweat and blood, only his hands washed clean, to facilitate Yabu’s caretaking. And he took the pistol, stuffing it in his waistband before he said
“Let me fix you.” As it turned out, there wasn’t much fixing to do. Hikaru wasn’t beat up all that bad, only one long cut on his left forearm and some spectacular bruising all along the right side of his body. Still, Keito did what he could before Hikaru pushed him into a chair, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a little rough, Keito too tired to worry about any finesse, and then Hikaru went over to a cabinet above the oven that no one ever used, opening it and pulling out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He set the contents of his hands down with a thud, cracking open the bottle as he threw himself into his own chair, splashing some of the alcohol into the glasses.
Keito wrapped a hand around his tumbler, watching it shake as he brought it up to his lips, feeling the burn as it rolled down his throat. Hikaru stared at his for a long moment before taking a small sip, his head bowed as tears rolled down his face, down to the tip of his nose. Keito could feel the tightness in his own chest and throat, could feel the tears burning in his eyes, and he sank into his chair a little, hunching over, and took another swig from his cup as tears blurred his vision. They drank in relative silence, Hikaru refilling their glasses when they got empty.
Somewhere around the third refill there was the sound of feet on the stairs, and Keito looked up to see Chinen coming down, wearing what had to be some of Yabu’s pajamas, the clothes hanging off of him. He wasn’t looking at them-seemed to be almost pointedly ignoring them-and Keito watched blearily as the petite man shuffled over to the couch and threw himself onto it. He just sat there, his back to them, looking over at the body all wrapped up in the corner, and the sight of it all made Keito feel wretched. A sob escaped his lips, and he put his face in his hands, trying to keep himself from falling to pieces, his breathing shaky. He could feel Hikaru’s eyes on him, and after a long moment he looked up to find Hikaru’s gaze stony, jaw clenched, his grief glazed over by a palpable rage, and he declared
“I’m going to kill them all.” The words were uttered with a cold finality, no room for second guessing or being reasoned with, and it was frightening. Keito looked at him for a moment, the declaration sounding like a promise, and he thought about the four mutilated bodies tonight that had once been their underling boys. About the little boy they’d found dead on their doorstep on New Year’s Eve. About the list of names on Hikaru’s desk that just kept getting longer. About the corpse of their friend lying in the living room, and Yabu barely clinging to life upstairs, and he found himself nodding. Good.
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