[fic] The Piper's Promise 1/3
right. this is i dunno, me taking more out of canon than what is actually there. more gen than anything right now, but developments might beg to differ.
WARNING: PG-13 for mention of violence, child abuse.
The Piper's Promise
I. Guido
It was far too late at night for little boys to still be awake. But Guido wasn't just any little boy. Guido was eight years old and he had spent most of his life locked away from the rest of the world.
His tiny body was covered in boils, burns, scabs and bruises - he could not remember a time when it wasn't otherwise. He could not remember the last time he ate or slept.
And the worst part was that he didn't know why this was happening to him. Why his adoptive mother and father came down to the basement just to hurt him and tell him things he couldn't understand. Why it was his fault their family was so miserable. Nothing that they said to him made sense.
Every night at around this time, Guido shrank into as small a ball as he could, to fit in the tiny square of moonlight that streamed onto the floor, from the window just above his reach. This was his only superstition: that if he managed to stay in the light, no monsters leaping out of the dark could touch him. He moved when the light moved, until he lost consciousness, lost track of time, and the light left him behind.
He was stuck in this wretched state, this cage of flesh, of pain punctuated by nothingness. Every day, at the age of 8, the boy on the floor fought desperately for his life.
Guido.
The boy stirred where he lay. He was alone in the room, wasn't he? Why did that voice sound so near?
Guido. Open your eyes.
He did as the gentle voice commanded.
Then Guido saw that a young man all in black was leaning over him, blocking the light from outside the window, that smile and those strangely colored eyes casting a shadow upon him.
"Who are..." Guido managed, with his throat still soldered shut by blows. "...how..."
Don't speak. A finger of a gloved hand against the young man's lips. Come with me. That hand reaching out. I have a surprise for you.
The boy took the hand that was offered, not because he felt he had a choice. And when he was pulled up, he was surprised to find that he could stand.
He didn't know where his strength was coming from. When he looked into the young man's strangely-colored eyes, and that cold otherworldly voice filled his ears, the only emotion he could recognize within himself was fear.
***
Guido and the stranger were walking down a corridor filled with mist. He thought he could smell something - a familiar sickening smell. But it was too hard to see, how did the inside of the house get like this?
Don't let go, the young man said. Guido could barely see his face through the white chill enveloping them. If I lose you, I won't come back for you.
Guido gripped the young man's gloved hand tighter. It was all he could see - the large hand covered in black leather, its long, slender fingers wrapped around his. With every step he took in this man's company, he felt less afraid.
The mist kept him from seeing anything. He might have stepped out of his house (the door must have been bolted shut. How could they have gotten out? For that matter, how could they have left the basement so easily? The door was always locked) and he might have been walking down a long cobblestone road with the young man, but he wasn't sure.
The young man waved his hand once, and the mist slowly cleared... opening up into a vast stretch of land green. Guido did not remember this part of the city. Then again, he had never been out of his basement cell long enough to commit any part of the city to memory.
A meadow?
And not just any meadow - it was a meadow in daylight. Which surprised the child, because he was certain he had not been walking long enough to catch the dawn; he still remembered the touch of moonlight on his bare skin.
But there it was - a meadow filled with sunlight, trees, grass and flowers, such as he had never seen before. He could not tell if it was beautiful or not. All he knew was that it was bright, too bright.
He thought he could hear the sound of other children laughing - a familiar music, one that echoed in his basement cell some days, one that haunted his dreams. But there were no other children in sight.
He should not be here. Mamma and Papà were going to be angry.
"This is where you will stay, for now, Guido." The young man's hold on his hand loosened. His voice... it was no longer as cold as before. What was happening? "Go on, join the others."
In answer, Guido threw his entire weight onto the stranger. He wrapped his arms around the stranger's waist and hung on for dear life. Don't leave me here, his embrace said. I don't belong here. Take me back.
"Guido..." The young man gently pulled away from the boy, but reached down to hold the boy's hands in both of his own. He dropped down on one knee before the boy. Guido saw that the mask-like smile was still on the young man's face.
"You're scared, aren't you," he said, brushing locks of unruly black hair back from the child's forehead. How light his touch was, Guido noted, how different from everything familiar. "Don't be. I took you here because this place is safe. Here, the people who hurt you will not be able to find you. Here, you will never want for anything."
Guido's lower lip shook. He didn't want to cry in front of this stranger - he got beaten for crying, and he got beaten for not crying, so he wasn't sure what to do.
"Tell me what you want, Guido," the stranger instructed. "I will give it to you."
The boy eventually found the strength to say (in a voice that did not croak, out of a throat that suddenly no longer felt battered and sore) "I want... get out." He did not say "go home" or "go back to Mamma and Papà," because that was not what he wanted. He simply wanted to be rid of the bright place.
The stranger sighed. But it wasn't an unhappy sigh - perhaps it even seemed pleased for a split second.
"One of the very few," the young man mysteriously remarked, as he laid a hand on Guido's head. "I should have known. Not to worry - remember I am your friend, Guido. I will always be there for you. If you wish to return here, all you must do is close your eyes and call my name."
Before the little boy could ask, the stranger said "My name is Mukuro. Can you say that?"
"Mu-ku-ro..." the boy attempted. The stranger's smile grew even wider.
"Very good, child. Now..." He looked into Guido's eyes, and Guido thought he saw something change in the stranger's red right eye - something too fast for him to catch or comprehend. "Look closely. I'm going to show you a magic trick."
***
In the morning, fear hit the streets of Venice.
A run-down house in the poor quarter of the city was found with its doors wide open in the middle of a cold autumn evening. When a neighbor walked in, he saw not only corpses of the husband and wife who used to live here, but he saw their blood and bits of flesh splattered all over the room nearest the door.
There were no weapons. There were no witnesses. No one knew who could have done such a horrible thing, and how to find this person so he or she could not terrorize the city again. The police did their best to contain the situation, knowing full well that it meant having to withhold information from the populace.
- And the information they'd had to keep to themselves were the most gruesome parts of the story. It would appear that the couple - a drug-addicted, debt-ridden, childless (as far as anyone knew) pair - had torn each other apart with their bare hands and teeth. They had literally killed themselves like two monsters or wild beasts... and no one could imagine why.
The people of Venice were simply assured that the police were thoroughly investigating this "suspected homicide," and tracking down the couple's killer.
Among the people who had to hear the police lie through their teeth like this was a kindly middle-aged schoolteacher named Benedetto Greco - but unlike the rest of the city, he stood unconvinced.
For last night, Benedetto had a dream about a bruised and battered little boy trapped in a basement. It was only a dream: he could not step forward, or even call out to the child, as he would have done when awake.
In Benedetto's dream a young man, dressed all in black, came for this child... and in his dream, the young man led the boy out of his basement prison, out of the house, expertly wading through a ravaged wooden floor decorated with human blood and entrails (signs of a slaughter, signs of a war - who had lived in this house? What had they done to deserve this?) to walk through the open front door.
Together, the young man and the little boy unhurriedly cut through the mist covering the streets of the poor quarter. The young man led the boy to a brighter-lit corner of a market area. Benedetto knew the place; he passed by it every day, on the way to the school he worked in.
The young man bent down on one knee, looked intently at the child's face. Then he snapped his fingers, and the child pitched forward, into his arms.
The young man's gloved hand stroked the unconscious child's hair once. Then he laid the boy down under a stall, small enough for a child to fit snugly. He covered the child with a large piece of canvas - not good enough for a blanket, in the killing chill.
Then, in Benedetto's dream, the young man looked at him.
At him.
This one is yours to care for, Benedetto. he heard in his head, even if the young man's smiling lips never moved.
He had never before seen such a murderous smile.
Treat him well. I will take him when I need him.
When Benedetto woke, alone as always in his bed, he was filled with a sense of dread, and - to his greater disconcertment - purpose. The dream had felt prophetic.
He told himself: he was a man of logic and reason. What would it benefit him to heed his dreams?
But all this was before Benedetto heard the news from his landlady about the couple who had been killed in their own home. Who could do such a thing, he asked her, what had they done to deserve it? But all of a sudden he felt a chill go down his spine, and he asked no more questions.
***
On the morning of the murder, Benedetto passed by the market area, as always, on his way to work. The stalls were the same stalls he mostly ignored every day.
Except...
This one. This one deserted stall, hidden away in a warm corner. It called to Benedetto out of his dreams, with a voice that came from some other reality.
Benedetto approached it. His aging shoulders were tensing up with dread. He looked under the stall and -
There.
At first he was a shape hidden under a large piece of canvas - solid to the touch, unmistakable. Benedetto reached out to pull the canvas away gently, and the shape underneath stirred, woke.
And started screaming.
Time seemed to stop then. All heads turned to the source of the noise, at the child under the stall and the kindly schoolteacher on his knees by the stall, desperately trying to assure the child he meant no harm. Everyone watched. Everyone waited.
The child raised his arms in front of his face, turned his head away, as if he was afraid of something. Or if something was hurting him. It took a while for Benedetto Greco to realize it was only the light. The child wasn't used to being out in broad daylight?
When words failed to calm the child, the man only reached out. He held the child's battered body close, not caring about the filth and bloodstains ruining his nice clothes, not caring about the screaming in his ears, which steadily subsided.
Soon the child stopped struggling altogether, letting this savior from out of nowhere rock him back and forth.
"Hush now. Don't be afraid. It's okay. It's okay. Poor child. You're going to be all right."
(tbc)
part 2 is here.
WARNING: PG-13 for mention of violence, child abuse.
The Piper's Promise
I. Guido
It was far too late at night for little boys to still be awake. But Guido wasn't just any little boy. Guido was eight years old and he had spent most of his life locked away from the rest of the world.
His tiny body was covered in boils, burns, scabs and bruises - he could not remember a time when it wasn't otherwise. He could not remember the last time he ate or slept.
And the worst part was that he didn't know why this was happening to him. Why his adoptive mother and father came down to the basement just to hurt him and tell him things he couldn't understand. Why it was his fault their family was so miserable. Nothing that they said to him made sense.
Every night at around this time, Guido shrank into as small a ball as he could, to fit in the tiny square of moonlight that streamed onto the floor, from the window just above his reach. This was his only superstition: that if he managed to stay in the light, no monsters leaping out of the dark could touch him. He moved when the light moved, until he lost consciousness, lost track of time, and the light left him behind.
He was stuck in this wretched state, this cage of flesh, of pain punctuated by nothingness. Every day, at the age of 8, the boy on the floor fought desperately for his life.
Guido.
The boy stirred where he lay. He was alone in the room, wasn't he? Why did that voice sound so near?
Guido. Open your eyes.
He did as the gentle voice commanded.
Then Guido saw that a young man all in black was leaning over him, blocking the light from outside the window, that smile and those strangely colored eyes casting a shadow upon him.
"Who are..." Guido managed, with his throat still soldered shut by blows. "...how..."
Don't speak. A finger of a gloved hand against the young man's lips. Come with me. That hand reaching out. I have a surprise for you.
The boy took the hand that was offered, not because he felt he had a choice. And when he was pulled up, he was surprised to find that he could stand.
He didn't know where his strength was coming from. When he looked into the young man's strangely-colored eyes, and that cold otherworldly voice filled his ears, the only emotion he could recognize within himself was fear.
***
Guido and the stranger were walking down a corridor filled with mist. He thought he could smell something - a familiar sickening smell. But it was too hard to see, how did the inside of the house get like this?
Don't let go, the young man said. Guido could barely see his face through the white chill enveloping them. If I lose you, I won't come back for you.
Guido gripped the young man's gloved hand tighter. It was all he could see - the large hand covered in black leather, its long, slender fingers wrapped around his. With every step he took in this man's company, he felt less afraid.
The mist kept him from seeing anything. He might have stepped out of his house (the door must have been bolted shut. How could they have gotten out? For that matter, how could they have left the basement so easily? The door was always locked) and he might have been walking down a long cobblestone road with the young man, but he wasn't sure.
The young man waved his hand once, and the mist slowly cleared... opening up into a vast stretch of land green. Guido did not remember this part of the city. Then again, he had never been out of his basement cell long enough to commit any part of the city to memory.
A meadow?
And not just any meadow - it was a meadow in daylight. Which surprised the child, because he was certain he had not been walking long enough to catch the dawn; he still remembered the touch of moonlight on his bare skin.
But there it was - a meadow filled with sunlight, trees, grass and flowers, such as he had never seen before. He could not tell if it was beautiful or not. All he knew was that it was bright, too bright.
He thought he could hear the sound of other children laughing - a familiar music, one that echoed in his basement cell some days, one that haunted his dreams. But there were no other children in sight.
He should not be here. Mamma and Papà were going to be angry.
"This is where you will stay, for now, Guido." The young man's hold on his hand loosened. His voice... it was no longer as cold as before. What was happening? "Go on, join the others."
In answer, Guido threw his entire weight onto the stranger. He wrapped his arms around the stranger's waist and hung on for dear life. Don't leave me here, his embrace said. I don't belong here. Take me back.
"Guido..." The young man gently pulled away from the boy, but reached down to hold the boy's hands in both of his own. He dropped down on one knee before the boy. Guido saw that the mask-like smile was still on the young man's face.
"You're scared, aren't you," he said, brushing locks of unruly black hair back from the child's forehead. How light his touch was, Guido noted, how different from everything familiar. "Don't be. I took you here because this place is safe. Here, the people who hurt you will not be able to find you. Here, you will never want for anything."
Guido's lower lip shook. He didn't want to cry in front of this stranger - he got beaten for crying, and he got beaten for not crying, so he wasn't sure what to do.
"Tell me what you want, Guido," the stranger instructed. "I will give it to you."
The boy eventually found the strength to say (in a voice that did not croak, out of a throat that suddenly no longer felt battered and sore) "I want... get out." He did not say "go home" or "go back to Mamma and Papà," because that was not what he wanted. He simply wanted to be rid of the bright place.
The stranger sighed. But it wasn't an unhappy sigh - perhaps it even seemed pleased for a split second.
"One of the very few," the young man mysteriously remarked, as he laid a hand on Guido's head. "I should have known. Not to worry - remember I am your friend, Guido. I will always be there for you. If you wish to return here, all you must do is close your eyes and call my name."
Before the little boy could ask, the stranger said "My name is Mukuro. Can you say that?"
"Mu-ku-ro..." the boy attempted. The stranger's smile grew even wider.
"Very good, child. Now..." He looked into Guido's eyes, and Guido thought he saw something change in the stranger's red right eye - something too fast for him to catch or comprehend. "Look closely. I'm going to show you a magic trick."
***
In the morning, fear hit the streets of Venice.
A run-down house in the poor quarter of the city was found with its doors wide open in the middle of a cold autumn evening. When a neighbor walked in, he saw not only corpses of the husband and wife who used to live here, but he saw their blood and bits of flesh splattered all over the room nearest the door.
There were no weapons. There were no witnesses. No one knew who could have done such a horrible thing, and how to find this person so he or she could not terrorize the city again. The police did their best to contain the situation, knowing full well that it meant having to withhold information from the populace.
- And the information they'd had to keep to themselves were the most gruesome parts of the story. It would appear that the couple - a drug-addicted, debt-ridden, childless (as far as anyone knew) pair - had torn each other apart with their bare hands and teeth. They had literally killed themselves like two monsters or wild beasts... and no one could imagine why.
The people of Venice were simply assured that the police were thoroughly investigating this "suspected homicide," and tracking down the couple's killer.
Among the people who had to hear the police lie through their teeth like this was a kindly middle-aged schoolteacher named Benedetto Greco - but unlike the rest of the city, he stood unconvinced.
For last night, Benedetto had a dream about a bruised and battered little boy trapped in a basement. It was only a dream: he could not step forward, or even call out to the child, as he would have done when awake.
In Benedetto's dream a young man, dressed all in black, came for this child... and in his dream, the young man led the boy out of his basement prison, out of the house, expertly wading through a ravaged wooden floor decorated with human blood and entrails (signs of a slaughter, signs of a war - who had lived in this house? What had they done to deserve this?) to walk through the open front door.
Together, the young man and the little boy unhurriedly cut through the mist covering the streets of the poor quarter. The young man led the boy to a brighter-lit corner of a market area. Benedetto knew the place; he passed by it every day, on the way to the school he worked in.
The young man bent down on one knee, looked intently at the child's face. Then he snapped his fingers, and the child pitched forward, into his arms.
The young man's gloved hand stroked the unconscious child's hair once. Then he laid the boy down under a stall, small enough for a child to fit snugly. He covered the child with a large piece of canvas - not good enough for a blanket, in the killing chill.
Then, in Benedetto's dream, the young man looked at him.
At him.
This one is yours to care for, Benedetto. he heard in his head, even if the young man's smiling lips never moved.
He had never before seen such a murderous smile.
Treat him well. I will take him when I need him.
When Benedetto woke, alone as always in his bed, he was filled with a sense of dread, and - to his greater disconcertment - purpose. The dream had felt prophetic.
He told himself: he was a man of logic and reason. What would it benefit him to heed his dreams?
But all this was before Benedetto heard the news from his landlady about the couple who had been killed in their own home. Who could do such a thing, he asked her, what had they done to deserve it? But all of a sudden he felt a chill go down his spine, and he asked no more questions.
***
On the morning of the murder, Benedetto passed by the market area, as always, on his way to work. The stalls were the same stalls he mostly ignored every day.
Except...
This one. This one deserted stall, hidden away in a warm corner. It called to Benedetto out of his dreams, with a voice that came from some other reality.
Benedetto approached it. His aging shoulders were tensing up with dread. He looked under the stall and -
There.
At first he was a shape hidden under a large piece of canvas - solid to the touch, unmistakable. Benedetto reached out to pull the canvas away gently, and the shape underneath stirred, woke.
And started screaming.
Time seemed to stop then. All heads turned to the source of the noise, at the child under the stall and the kindly schoolteacher on his knees by the stall, desperately trying to assure the child he meant no harm. Everyone watched. Everyone waited.
The child raised his arms in front of his face, turned his head away, as if he was afraid of something. Or if something was hurting him. It took a while for Benedetto Greco to realize it was only the light. The child wasn't used to being out in broad daylight?
When words failed to calm the child, the man only reached out. He held the child's battered body close, not caring about the filth and bloodstains ruining his nice clothes, not caring about the screaming in his ears, which steadily subsided.
Soon the child stopped struggling altogether, letting this savior from out of nowhere rock him back and forth.
"Hush now. Don't be afraid. It's okay. It's okay. Poor child. You're going to be all right."
(tbc)
part 2 is here.