[FIC] NewS - The Stolen Child
Title: The Stolen Child
Fandom: NewS
Pairing: No Pairing; Tegoshi-centric
Rating: PG-13 (Lightly dark, possibly confusing, and maybe a bit crazy)
Disclaimer: Not associated with Johnny's Entertainment. This is fiction; it never happened.
Summary: He blossomed, grew, changed, and the world shifted and changed with him, folding around this odd creature that didn’t belong, breaking its own rules to suit his needs.
A/N: A remix of sanjihan ’s wonderful fic, Charmed. This is written in the POV of someone who doesn't have all the pieces of the story (and possibly of their own mind), so if you haven't read the original and this confuses you, I've probably done my job right.
Also! This fic marks the 100th post on xborn_of_ashesx ! -confetti- Thanks for all the support, everyone!
“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.”
--William Butler Yeats, “The Stolen Child”
The day she brought him home was the happiest of her life. To everyone else, her husband included, she’d lied and said it was a week earlier, when she’d been exhausted and numb but had finally gotten to see, touch, hold him for the first time. To herself, she could be honest, and admit that until she’d been allowed to bring him home, she hadn’t really believed any of it was even real.
He’d been sick when he was born, her little Yuya, premature and so tiny and fragile she’d been terrified he would break under the slightest pressure. He wouldn’t breathe, and all she really remembered was crying as the doctors took him away.
But now it was alright, because they were home and he was safe in her arms, where she could watch and touch and kiss his little fingers and count his little toes. Her baby, safe and sound, and she was going to keep it that way.
He was her only child-she couldn’t have any more; she wasn’t even supposed to be able to have him, and that’s what made him so special. He was her miracle-and as he grew, she did as well: protective, obsessive, neurotic. She smothered him, she knew, and someday she realized he might hate her for it, but she couldn’t help it.
Whenever he was out of her sight, she felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest from panic, and she remembered those first terrifying moments of his life where the doctors had to struggle and fight to make him breathe, and then the painful days that had followed, when he wouldn’t latch to drink and just cried and cried. She remembered how close she’d been to losing him before she’d even really had him, and that was enough.
And so it went on.
But Yuya never made it easy for her, no. He was bright and curious, precocious, and he got into everything. It seemed they couldn’t go a day without her turning around and finding him gone, and just when the panic was about to boil over and drive her completely insane, he’d reappear, giggling and cheerful and safe. And that was the important part, people always told her; he always came back in one piece. But her heart always ached and cried at those times, because dear God, what if one day he didn’t?
Some days, she just wanted to shake him; take a hold of his little shoulders and make him see the danger, make him realize that he couldn’t do things like that, because it killed her a little bit inside each time he did, and what would she do if she ever lost him? “You scare mommy when you run away like that.” She always said to him, fingers tight on his arms in her half-hysteria. “Don’t, Yuya. Don’t.”
And his sweet little face, like always, began to crumble from guilt, his lower lip trembled, and he said to her, “I’m sorry, mommy,”
And for the next few hours, he would be so wonderfully well behaved, staying close to her side, holding her hand and taking care to stay in one place whenever she turned from him. But it never lasted, and eventually, she always felt his little fingers slip from her grip and then he’d be gone again, and one of these days, she knew-she knew-that something was going to happen. One of these days, he wasn’t going to come back to her.
And she was right. One day, it happened, and her little boy was lost to her forever. She just didn’t realize it at the time.
It was his fourth birthday, and the house was in absolute chaos preparing for a party that she hadn’t wanted to have, but Yuya had begged her, and now it was a half hour until their guests were supposed to arrive and she couldn’t find him. She tore the house apart looking, only half-afraid because they were at home and chances were he was probably hiding in a closet somewhere, giggling behind his hand.
Eventually, she found him, standing in the hallway in front of the full length mirror on the shut closet door, looking into it with large eyes, and all at once she felt a sharp sense of relief, as well as a spark of irritation.
“There you are!” She sighed, reached out to grab his wrist. “What are you doing, Yuya? Your friends will be here soon!”
She steered him towards the bathroom, lifting him onto the little stool they had there so he could reach the sink on his own, and as he obediently moved to start scrubbing his hands, she busied herself with smoothing down his unruly hair. She suddenly felt unsettled, like something wasn’t quite right, and when she peered at his reflection in the mirror for just a moment, she felt a stab of worry.
“What’s happened to your eyes?” She demanded, spinning him around to face her, gripping his face with her hand so she could see them better. There was something wrong with them, she saw it right away. The color wasn’t right, a shade too light than her baby’s natural pigment, and there was something else, too; something just under the surface, a glimmer of something that made her stomach clench and her heart pound. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t right, and that frightened her. She called her husband in, made him look even when he rolled his eyes at her. And then he scowled and told Yuya to run along, turning to his wife with an irritated expression. “Leave the boy alone,” he grumbled. “You’re overreacting about nothing.”
She could hear the unspoken again there, and it made her bristle. He had always thought she was too overprotective, and it had strained their marriage over the years. These days, he was hardly ever home, and when he was, all they ever did was argue.
She didn’t want that; not today. It was Yuya’s day, her boy’s birthday, so she dropped it, but watched him closely during the party, watched the way he interacted with the other children, the way he played and smiled, the entire time plagued by a feeling of utter wrong that she couldn’t explain.
When the party was over, she called a doctor, even as her husband shouted at her in the background. He came, he looked Yuya over from head to toe, checked his reflexes and hearing and, most importantly, his eyes.
And then he told her there was nothing wrong.
From there, it only got worse. She paid close attention to her son, and the more she saw, the more it bothered her. He wasn’t the same, there was something wrong with him, and no one but her seemed to notice.
Her Yuya, he had always been such a rambunctious child, eager to play and excited to do so with other people. This boy was similar, but different at the same time, shier almost, quiet around strangers in a way that her Yuya had never been. He was still bright and full of energy, but it was a different kind of energy, sharper and more focused; precise.
Her Yuya had never smiled so brightly before, had never looked at people with such blatant adoration and innocence that it made them trip over themselves to cater to him.
And there were other, smaller differences, too, not just in his behavior, but in everything about him. That birthmark on his left hip, she was certain it had always been on the right. The scar on his leg from when he’d accidentally fallen out of his grandmother’s car, that had never been on his left leg.
It tormented her, a constant, unsolvable riddle, in the same way that a word sitting on the edge of your tongue might drive you crazy. There was something there, but it constantly eluded her.
He’d forgotten things, too; important things, events and faces and facts, things that her Yuya would have remembered easily. “Don’t you remember?” She asked him constantly, dreading the answer but knowing it all the same. And the more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder if he hadn’t forgotten at all, but had simply never known to begin with.
That was the start of it, the separation. There was her Yuya, her sweet baby boy that she’d loved and doted on, and there was this Yuya, this strange and wrong imposter that spent his nights in her Yuya’s bed, played with her Yuya’s toys, smiled at her like he belonged there.
It drove her mad. She gave him a new name, a pretty and feminine name and clothes to match because she’d always wanted a girl, and maybe if she made him a different person, other people would see it too, see the differences and realize that she was right. Maybe, this painful ache in her chest would finally dull and she could forget her Yuya.
It didn’t work, though. If anything, it only made it worse, the ache blossoming into a stabbing agony every time she saw him, which in turn began to shift into a deep-seated hatred for this strange boy that had taken her baby away from her.
It was just the two of them by this point, her husband spending his days and nights at work, or maybe with another woman, another family, and that made it harder to keep herself in check, to hold onto the memory of her baby boy and not let it drive her into doing something she’d regret.
It was impossible to avoid, however. Every look, every smile he gave her spawned that agony in her chest, the desperate want for her boy back, and each time it got worse; each time, that hatred grew, and some days, it was all she could think about.
One day, it broke her.
She couldn’t remember what it had been that been the final straw. Maybe there hadn’t been one at all. All she could remember was snapping awake, like from a dream of some kind, and finding herself squeezing his shoulders tightly, shaking him violently, sobbing and screaming all at once, “Give him back!”
He’d cried too, the strange child that wasn’t her; he’d cried and begged her to stop in her Yuya’s voice, and that was what made her pull away, made her run from him like she’d been burned.
After that, she sent him away. His grandmother agreed to take him in, listening to her hysterical rambling patiently and with a knowing sort of look that made her want to curl into herself like a child. And then his grandmother took him and left, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe again.
It was only then that things improved. It would never be okay again, but it could be better than it was. She saw him only once, maybe twice a week, and the limited contact made it easier to bear, easier to fold away her anger and pain and smile whenever the child looked up at her with glowing, happy eyes and called her, “Mother”.
She watched him grow from a distance, and the differences were still there, the constant, sharp reminder that this was not her son; this boy was not her miracle child, but something else.
He blossomed, grew, changed, and the world shifted and changed with him, folding around this odd creature that didn’t belong, breaking its own rules to suit his needs. Nothing was out of his reach, nothing was too high a goal, and everything he wanted came to him eventually. She followed his life, his career, watching in the background, feeling empty and incomplete and cheated, and smiling with false pride whenever someone spoke of him.
No one else saw it. No one else seemed to feel that unsettling sense of ethereality that he provoked. No one else knew, but she always did.
A mother always knows.
---
Fandom: NewS
Pairing: No Pairing; Tegoshi-centric
Rating: PG-13 (Lightly dark, possibly confusing, and maybe a bit crazy)
Disclaimer: Not associated with Johnny's Entertainment. This is fiction; it never happened.
Summary: He blossomed, grew, changed, and the world shifted and changed with him, folding around this odd creature that didn’t belong, breaking its own rules to suit his needs.
A/N: A remix of sanjihan ’s wonderful fic, Charmed. This is written in the POV of someone who doesn't have all the pieces of the story (and possibly of their own mind), so if you haven't read the original and this confuses you, I've probably done my job right.
Also! This fic marks the 100th post on xborn_of_ashesx ! -confetti- Thanks for all the support, everyone!
“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.”
--William Butler Yeats, “The Stolen Child”
The day she brought him home was the happiest of her life. To everyone else, her husband included, she’d lied and said it was a week earlier, when she’d been exhausted and numb but had finally gotten to see, touch, hold him for the first time. To herself, she could be honest, and admit that until she’d been allowed to bring him home, she hadn’t really believed any of it was even real.
He’d been sick when he was born, her little Yuya, premature and so tiny and fragile she’d been terrified he would break under the slightest pressure. He wouldn’t breathe, and all she really remembered was crying as the doctors took him away.
But now it was alright, because they were home and he was safe in her arms, where she could watch and touch and kiss his little fingers and count his little toes. Her baby, safe and sound, and she was going to keep it that way.
He was her only child-she couldn’t have any more; she wasn’t even supposed to be able to have him, and that’s what made him so special. He was her miracle-and as he grew, she did as well: protective, obsessive, neurotic. She smothered him, she knew, and someday she realized he might hate her for it, but she couldn’t help it.
Whenever he was out of her sight, she felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest from panic, and she remembered those first terrifying moments of his life where the doctors had to struggle and fight to make him breathe, and then the painful days that had followed, when he wouldn’t latch to drink and just cried and cried. She remembered how close she’d been to losing him before she’d even really had him, and that was enough.
And so it went on.
But Yuya never made it easy for her, no. He was bright and curious, precocious, and he got into everything. It seemed they couldn’t go a day without her turning around and finding him gone, and just when the panic was about to boil over and drive her completely insane, he’d reappear, giggling and cheerful and safe. And that was the important part, people always told her; he always came back in one piece. But her heart always ached and cried at those times, because dear God, what if one day he didn’t?
Some days, she just wanted to shake him; take a hold of his little shoulders and make him see the danger, make him realize that he couldn’t do things like that, because it killed her a little bit inside each time he did, and what would she do if she ever lost him? “You scare mommy when you run away like that.” She always said to him, fingers tight on his arms in her half-hysteria. “Don’t, Yuya. Don’t.”
And his sweet little face, like always, began to crumble from guilt, his lower lip trembled, and he said to her, “I’m sorry, mommy,”
And for the next few hours, he would be so wonderfully well behaved, staying close to her side, holding her hand and taking care to stay in one place whenever she turned from him. But it never lasted, and eventually, she always felt his little fingers slip from her grip and then he’d be gone again, and one of these days, she knew-she knew-that something was going to happen. One of these days, he wasn’t going to come back to her.
And she was right. One day, it happened, and her little boy was lost to her forever. She just didn’t realize it at the time.
It was his fourth birthday, and the house was in absolute chaos preparing for a party that she hadn’t wanted to have, but Yuya had begged her, and now it was a half hour until their guests were supposed to arrive and she couldn’t find him. She tore the house apart looking, only half-afraid because they were at home and chances were he was probably hiding in a closet somewhere, giggling behind his hand.
Eventually, she found him, standing in the hallway in front of the full length mirror on the shut closet door, looking into it with large eyes, and all at once she felt a sharp sense of relief, as well as a spark of irritation.
“There you are!” She sighed, reached out to grab his wrist. “What are you doing, Yuya? Your friends will be here soon!”
She steered him towards the bathroom, lifting him onto the little stool they had there so he could reach the sink on his own, and as he obediently moved to start scrubbing his hands, she busied herself with smoothing down his unruly hair. She suddenly felt unsettled, like something wasn’t quite right, and when she peered at his reflection in the mirror for just a moment, she felt a stab of worry.
“What’s happened to your eyes?” She demanded, spinning him around to face her, gripping his face with her hand so she could see them better. There was something wrong with them, she saw it right away. The color wasn’t right, a shade too light than her baby’s natural pigment, and there was something else, too; something just under the surface, a glimmer of something that made her stomach clench and her heart pound. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t right, and that frightened her. She called her husband in, made him look even when he rolled his eyes at her. And then he scowled and told Yuya to run along, turning to his wife with an irritated expression. “Leave the boy alone,” he grumbled. “You’re overreacting about nothing.”
She could hear the unspoken again there, and it made her bristle. He had always thought she was too overprotective, and it had strained their marriage over the years. These days, he was hardly ever home, and when he was, all they ever did was argue.
She didn’t want that; not today. It was Yuya’s day, her boy’s birthday, so she dropped it, but watched him closely during the party, watched the way he interacted with the other children, the way he played and smiled, the entire time plagued by a feeling of utter wrong that she couldn’t explain.
When the party was over, she called a doctor, even as her husband shouted at her in the background. He came, he looked Yuya over from head to toe, checked his reflexes and hearing and, most importantly, his eyes.
And then he told her there was nothing wrong.
From there, it only got worse. She paid close attention to her son, and the more she saw, the more it bothered her. He wasn’t the same, there was something wrong with him, and no one but her seemed to notice.
Her Yuya, he had always been such a rambunctious child, eager to play and excited to do so with other people. This boy was similar, but different at the same time, shier almost, quiet around strangers in a way that her Yuya had never been. He was still bright and full of energy, but it was a different kind of energy, sharper and more focused; precise.
Her Yuya had never smiled so brightly before, had never looked at people with such blatant adoration and innocence that it made them trip over themselves to cater to him.
And there were other, smaller differences, too, not just in his behavior, but in everything about him. That birthmark on his left hip, she was certain it had always been on the right. The scar on his leg from when he’d accidentally fallen out of his grandmother’s car, that had never been on his left leg.
It tormented her, a constant, unsolvable riddle, in the same way that a word sitting on the edge of your tongue might drive you crazy. There was something there, but it constantly eluded her.
He’d forgotten things, too; important things, events and faces and facts, things that her Yuya would have remembered easily. “Don’t you remember?” She asked him constantly, dreading the answer but knowing it all the same. And the more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder if he hadn’t forgotten at all, but had simply never known to begin with.
That was the start of it, the separation. There was her Yuya, her sweet baby boy that she’d loved and doted on, and there was this Yuya, this strange and wrong imposter that spent his nights in her Yuya’s bed, played with her Yuya’s toys, smiled at her like he belonged there.
It drove her mad. She gave him a new name, a pretty and feminine name and clothes to match because she’d always wanted a girl, and maybe if she made him a different person, other people would see it too, see the differences and realize that she was right. Maybe, this painful ache in her chest would finally dull and she could forget her Yuya.
It didn’t work, though. If anything, it only made it worse, the ache blossoming into a stabbing agony every time she saw him, which in turn began to shift into a deep-seated hatred for this strange boy that had taken her baby away from her.
It was just the two of them by this point, her husband spending his days and nights at work, or maybe with another woman, another family, and that made it harder to keep herself in check, to hold onto the memory of her baby boy and not let it drive her into doing something she’d regret.
It was impossible to avoid, however. Every look, every smile he gave her spawned that agony in her chest, the desperate want for her boy back, and each time it got worse; each time, that hatred grew, and some days, it was all she could think about.
One day, it broke her.
She couldn’t remember what it had been that been the final straw. Maybe there hadn’t been one at all. All she could remember was snapping awake, like from a dream of some kind, and finding herself squeezing his shoulders tightly, shaking him violently, sobbing and screaming all at once, “Give him back!”
He’d cried too, the strange child that wasn’t her; he’d cried and begged her to stop in her Yuya’s voice, and that was what made her pull away, made her run from him like she’d been burned.
After that, she sent him away. His grandmother agreed to take him in, listening to her hysterical rambling patiently and with a knowing sort of look that made her want to curl into herself like a child. And then his grandmother took him and left, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe again.
It was only then that things improved. It would never be okay again, but it could be better than it was. She saw him only once, maybe twice a week, and the limited contact made it easier to bear, easier to fold away her anger and pain and smile whenever the child looked up at her with glowing, happy eyes and called her, “Mother”.
She watched him grow from a distance, and the differences were still there, the constant, sharp reminder that this was not her son; this boy was not her miracle child, but something else.
He blossomed, grew, changed, and the world shifted and changed with him, folding around this odd creature that didn’t belong, breaking its own rules to suit his needs. Nothing was out of his reach, nothing was too high a goal, and everything he wanted came to him eventually. She followed his life, his career, watching in the background, feeling empty and incomplete and cheated, and smiling with false pride whenever someone spoke of him.
No one else saw it. No one else seemed to feel that unsettling sense of ethereality that he provoked. No one else knew, but she always did.
A mother always knows.
---