[fic] "Naming Day", Sanada-kyoudai, gen, PG for language
hi :3 was telling aishuu a while back that i wanted to write something like this... it may not be as good as what she was expecting, or i was hoping it would be, but i still couldn't help myself...
first-person POV of sanada's older brother -- the former sanada genichirou. sanada is 17, older brother is 20. setting is a hospital, after a certain incident...
this is just me exploring an idea lechaco once presented, that sanada's older brother's name was taken from him because of, uh, inappropriate behavior. also inspired by the thoughts on the sanada household that chaco had translated and compiled for us...
the thing with the names was partly inspired by The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin. one of my all-time favorite books.
**************
Naming Day
by MorphailEffect
Can you hear me?
Been years, huh...
I think you're awake. You know I've spent enough time around sick and dying people to know.
But man, you look like crap.
...Sorry. Yeah. If you were awake right now you'd probably be kicking my ass. So, hi.
Bouchan.
You probably still hate being called that. I'll stop laughing now.
Do you still hate being laughed at? Even when you were little, you tried to be the best at everything so people couldn't find an excuse to make fun of you. But they made fun of you anyway. We did, I should say. Didn't we?
Well, it was just, you tried too hard. You were always doing something, not talking to other kids your age, pretending to be grown up... and people were calling you a stuck-up rich brat. I remember I once called you an arrogant little prick, you were maybe eight, and you looked at me like you were never gonna forgive me, all that hate in one little body...
But you didn't need to pretend. You were never much of a kid. Even at home, everyone called you "Bousama"... not just because you were Granddad's favorite, but because you acted like a "bousama", looking like people ought to respect you. I called you "Bouchan" because I knew it pissed you off.
I never did a lot of things you liked, did I?
Come to think of it, we never did a lot of things together. I was always out with my friends... yeah, but you know all about that. Dad always got on my case about my cutting classes, using the belt sometimes, pulling strings just so I could graduate from primary, right up to when I reached middle school... when I just stopped going to school altogether.
So maybe you know, middle school was around the time I met Mori. High school dropout, tattoos, nice teeth... Remember? You caught me sneaking him into the house a couple of times.
You even came up to me once and told me in your grown-up voice I should stop acting crazy or something like that, and I should straighten up my life, because I'm "the Heir" -- all that talk I hated Dad and Granddad for. I think I blew smoke in your face and you pushed me and I fell back laughing. And when I looked, you were gone, and I remember thinking how ridiculous it was, you really hated being laughed at...
But then, I got stupid. The one who caught Mori and me screwing around was one of Granddad's servants -- the one who hated me for being a "bad influence" on you. It was her last excuse. That night, Dad beat me black and blue. You and Mom were in the other room. Dad never beat you like that, not you. Not even Mom. Though I don't know if after they threw me out of the house...
I was fourteen, going on fifteen. You were eleven.
They took my name away from me and gave it to you.
Dad was "of good standing" in his office. They had a way to make it legal. All of my public and private records were destroyed, all of yours were overhauled, everything changed. Your birth name... do you even remember what it was?
In my head your birth name was "Bouchan," and hearing it made you angry once.
I read in an interview somewhere, four years after you started being known as "Sanada Genichirou," you were still telling people you had an older brother. But you never said what he was like, what his name was -- because nobody ever asked about him, I suppose.
No big deal. I've never really given you a reason to be proud of me.
Heh. I don't think you should know what I've been up to lately. But you should know, I guess, that Mori... we've been apart for years. The man was killing himself.
I still thought of myself as a Sanada then. I still had hope I was going to be forgiven. That one day I was going to wake up and find a guy in a nice suit standing or sitting just waiting for me to open my eyes, so he could smile and tell me my parents didn't mean it, I had my name back and I could go home.
After fifteen years, you think it was so easy for me to forget who i'd been and where i'd come from?
I was the one who left Mori.
I could've tried going back home one more time, yeah... but see what happened was, even if I left Mori, I was still a screwed up kid. Six years... I spent only one of those years not doing drugs, or doing time. I couldn't go home. I wandered around without a name to keep me safe.
So you should know, I guess, that I was far away from here when it happened. I saw it on the news and I had to head back here.
No, I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you. It doesn't really matter. The family is always going to blame me, especially if they knew I'd come to visit. "That one," is what they call me now. "That one," with all his bad friends.
Mori and I stole from the house. I know you knew. I know sometimes servants got fired and you just sat quiet with that stone face while you watched, but you knew. And you never told. Mori knew the ins and outs of the house and just took everything he wanted, and you never said a thing.
I called you "Bouchan" and laughed and blew smoke in your face, and you looked like you were never gonna forgive me. Maybe if your eyes were open now, that same look from six years ago would be in them...
So Mori came back to the house after six years, desperate for cash. He had his gang with him, strung up and not caring what their knives and lead pipes bashed into. It was a real stupid move, the house is always guarded: the dogs and the servants caught them before they could take anything. But not before one of them could pump a few bullets into your gut.
Gotta hand it to you, you landed that one in this same hospital, too, and he's 50/50 unlike you. It'll take time, but you'll definitely get better.
You know, Granddad really should've listened to me when I said he should invest in high-tech security equipment for the house...
Bouchan.
I wish I'd taken you away with me. Then maybe this wouldn't have happened.
But that's not possible, is it? Even if I'd asked, you would've stayed.
You've always been the Heir -- even if it's gotten you in deep shit, even if it's kept you from getting some things you want, you got no other place.
I've always envied that. Even when I'm used to this. I envy you lying in that bed bleeding like a fucking faucet, I know that if not for you, worse things would have happened. And you know it, don't you? You would never run. You would never let those bastards hurt any more of those servants. Or Granddad. Or Mom.
I envy you having people around who know where to find you, and bring flowers with your name on the card. And know what to call you when they sit beside this bed and hold your hand.
I came across two of them in the hallway and they watched me while I walked. One of them stopped me when he saw I was heading into your room. Excuse me, he said, are you a relative of the patient?
He didn't say your name, maybe he wanted me to say it for myself. I know I don't exactly look respectable right now. I said I was a friend. He held on to my arm and kept his gaze fixed on mine, and I felt him searching for the truth like fire in my veins.
Please check the room number, the other one said, I don't think you have any business here. He had eyes like a smart cat's. The way those two positioned themselves, the way the first one gripped my arm, I knew they could kill me if I tried anything strange.
I had to laugh while I told them I was really a friend, no kidding. I told them your name, told them just that we knew each other as children. It wasn't a lie, so the first guy finally let go of me, and let me in. I wouldn't be surprised if those two are still standing outside your room right now, ears to the door.
Bouchan.
Sanada Genichirou.
This is all yours.
After that one year I spent clean in Hokkaido, it became easier to work my drug problem. I got odd jobs here and there, until it was time to move again.
I just always take up another name, find another place... it's become really easy. It's even pleasant, having nobody to answer to, nobody to care about. I'm on the run, some days... not so much hunted as free for the taking.
And on other days, I'm just...somewhere. Lying back on a patch of ground that doesn't care what piece of crap family threw me out, or where I've been and what kind of shit I've been into. Looking up at a sky nobody owns.
Everything's yours when you're not entitled to anything. That's something we were never taught, you see.
In case you ever worried about me, well, you better stop. It's not the Heir's place to worry about someone who isn't part of the family. That guy in Hokkaido, I can still get in touch with him if I want... he wanted me to have a name, he was willing to give me his, I was going to be a long-lost relative or something funny like that, but I didn't want it.
He said I "deserve a better life," whatever that means. But I don't think so. I think this is as much as I deserve. Until I get a name of my own.
Get better.
Protect your family.
You have to be the one the family can rely on to bleed for them like this.
And someday, maybe, you'll let me have a name again.
first-person POV of sanada's older brother -- the former sanada genichirou. sanada is 17, older brother is 20. setting is a hospital, after a certain incident...
this is just me exploring an idea lechaco once presented, that sanada's older brother's name was taken from him because of, uh, inappropriate behavior. also inspired by the thoughts on the sanada household that chaco had translated and compiled for us...
the thing with the names was partly inspired by The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin. one of my all-time favorite books.
**************
Naming Day
by MorphailEffect
Can you hear me?
Been years, huh...
I think you're awake. You know I've spent enough time around sick and dying people to know.
But man, you look like crap.
...Sorry. Yeah. If you were awake right now you'd probably be kicking my ass. So, hi.
Bouchan.
You probably still hate being called that. I'll stop laughing now.
Do you still hate being laughed at? Even when you were little, you tried to be the best at everything so people couldn't find an excuse to make fun of you. But they made fun of you anyway. We did, I should say. Didn't we?
Well, it was just, you tried too hard. You were always doing something, not talking to other kids your age, pretending to be grown up... and people were calling you a stuck-up rich brat. I remember I once called you an arrogant little prick, you were maybe eight, and you looked at me like you were never gonna forgive me, all that hate in one little body...
But you didn't need to pretend. You were never much of a kid. Even at home, everyone called you "Bousama"... not just because you were Granddad's favorite, but because you acted like a "bousama", looking like people ought to respect you. I called you "Bouchan" because I knew it pissed you off.
I never did a lot of things you liked, did I?
Come to think of it, we never did a lot of things together. I was always out with my friends... yeah, but you know all about that. Dad always got on my case about my cutting classes, using the belt sometimes, pulling strings just so I could graduate from primary, right up to when I reached middle school... when I just stopped going to school altogether.
So maybe you know, middle school was around the time I met Mori. High school dropout, tattoos, nice teeth... Remember? You caught me sneaking him into the house a couple of times.
You even came up to me once and told me in your grown-up voice I should stop acting crazy or something like that, and I should straighten up my life, because I'm "the Heir" -- all that talk I hated Dad and Granddad for. I think I blew smoke in your face and you pushed me and I fell back laughing. And when I looked, you were gone, and I remember thinking how ridiculous it was, you really hated being laughed at...
But then, I got stupid. The one who caught Mori and me screwing around was one of Granddad's servants -- the one who hated me for being a "bad influence" on you. It was her last excuse. That night, Dad beat me black and blue. You and Mom were in the other room. Dad never beat you like that, not you. Not even Mom. Though I don't know if after they threw me out of the house...
I was fourteen, going on fifteen. You were eleven.
They took my name away from me and gave it to you.
Dad was "of good standing" in his office. They had a way to make it legal. All of my public and private records were destroyed, all of yours were overhauled, everything changed. Your birth name... do you even remember what it was?
In my head your birth name was "Bouchan," and hearing it made you angry once.
I read in an interview somewhere, four years after you started being known as "Sanada Genichirou," you were still telling people you had an older brother. But you never said what he was like, what his name was -- because nobody ever asked about him, I suppose.
No big deal. I've never really given you a reason to be proud of me.
Heh. I don't think you should know what I've been up to lately. But you should know, I guess, that Mori... we've been apart for years. The man was killing himself.
I still thought of myself as a Sanada then. I still had hope I was going to be forgiven. That one day I was going to wake up and find a guy in a nice suit standing or sitting just waiting for me to open my eyes, so he could smile and tell me my parents didn't mean it, I had my name back and I could go home.
After fifteen years, you think it was so easy for me to forget who i'd been and where i'd come from?
I was the one who left Mori.
I could've tried going back home one more time, yeah... but see what happened was, even if I left Mori, I was still a screwed up kid. Six years... I spent only one of those years not doing drugs, or doing time. I couldn't go home. I wandered around without a name to keep me safe.
So you should know, I guess, that I was far away from here when it happened. I saw it on the news and I had to head back here.
No, I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you. It doesn't really matter. The family is always going to blame me, especially if they knew I'd come to visit. "That one," is what they call me now. "That one," with all his bad friends.
Mori and I stole from the house. I know you knew. I know sometimes servants got fired and you just sat quiet with that stone face while you watched, but you knew. And you never told. Mori knew the ins and outs of the house and just took everything he wanted, and you never said a thing.
I called you "Bouchan" and laughed and blew smoke in your face, and you looked like you were never gonna forgive me. Maybe if your eyes were open now, that same look from six years ago would be in them...
So Mori came back to the house after six years, desperate for cash. He had his gang with him, strung up and not caring what their knives and lead pipes bashed into. It was a real stupid move, the house is always guarded: the dogs and the servants caught them before they could take anything. But not before one of them could pump a few bullets into your gut.
Gotta hand it to you, you landed that one in this same hospital, too, and he's 50/50 unlike you. It'll take time, but you'll definitely get better.
You know, Granddad really should've listened to me when I said he should invest in high-tech security equipment for the house...
Bouchan.
I wish I'd taken you away with me. Then maybe this wouldn't have happened.
But that's not possible, is it? Even if I'd asked, you would've stayed.
You've always been the Heir -- even if it's gotten you in deep shit, even if it's kept you from getting some things you want, you got no other place.
I've always envied that. Even when I'm used to this. I envy you lying in that bed bleeding like a fucking faucet, I know that if not for you, worse things would have happened. And you know it, don't you? You would never run. You would never let those bastards hurt any more of those servants. Or Granddad. Or Mom.
I envy you having people around who know where to find you, and bring flowers with your name on the card. And know what to call you when they sit beside this bed and hold your hand.
I came across two of them in the hallway and they watched me while I walked. One of them stopped me when he saw I was heading into your room. Excuse me, he said, are you a relative of the patient?
He didn't say your name, maybe he wanted me to say it for myself. I know I don't exactly look respectable right now. I said I was a friend. He held on to my arm and kept his gaze fixed on mine, and I felt him searching for the truth like fire in my veins.
Please check the room number, the other one said, I don't think you have any business here. He had eyes like a smart cat's. The way those two positioned themselves, the way the first one gripped my arm, I knew they could kill me if I tried anything strange.
I had to laugh while I told them I was really a friend, no kidding. I told them your name, told them just that we knew each other as children. It wasn't a lie, so the first guy finally let go of me, and let me in. I wouldn't be surprised if those two are still standing outside your room right now, ears to the door.
Bouchan.
Sanada Genichirou.
This is all yours.
After that one year I spent clean in Hokkaido, it became easier to work my drug problem. I got odd jobs here and there, until it was time to move again.
I just always take up another name, find another place... it's become really easy. It's even pleasant, having nobody to answer to, nobody to care about. I'm on the run, some days... not so much hunted as free for the taking.
And on other days, I'm just...somewhere. Lying back on a patch of ground that doesn't care what piece of crap family threw me out, or where I've been and what kind of shit I've been into. Looking up at a sky nobody owns.
Everything's yours when you're not entitled to anything. That's something we were never taught, you see.
In case you ever worried about me, well, you better stop. It's not the Heir's place to worry about someone who isn't part of the family. That guy in Hokkaido, I can still get in touch with him if I want... he wanted me to have a name, he was willing to give me his, I was going to be a long-lost relative or something funny like that, but I didn't want it.
He said I "deserve a better life," whatever that means. But I don't think so. I think this is as much as I deserve. Until I get a name of my own.
Get better.
Protect your family.
You have to be the one the family can rely on to bleed for them like this.
And someday, maybe, you'll let me have a name again.