#benimaru protective

“Hm. I smell it.”

Smell? Sniffing the air, you don’t pick up on anything much at first apart from Benimaru, dust; and your own need for a bath.

“Don’t worry, [Y/N], just stay calm.” He must have felt you stirring.

Nothing snappy comes to mind and it doesn’t matter because that’s when you realize that a curl of sulphurous stench is mingling with the air.

“Let me down.”

“You can’t stand on that leg,” he argues as Joker steps closer.

Already fumbling with the sash holding the two of you together, the idea of supporting the weight seems like a horrible idea. “It wasn’t an invitation to a discussion, Beni,” you growl, “I’ll hold you back if you carry me.”

“I’m not leaving you behind!” Stubbornly digging the fingers into your thighs, he’s probably stubborn enough to stick to the word.

Finally free of the restraints, you tug at his hair. “I’m only telling you to put me down for now.”

There are whispers now, low murmuring groans coming from both directions as if carried on the fumes. The lightest dust and ashes are starting to dance on the ground in spiralling patterns that clash and divide in mesmerizing patterns. They could have been fascinating to watch if it wasn’t for the temperature slowly rising.

“Do as she says, Shinmon,” Joker drawls, his eye fixed at a warm glow that has appeared in the distance.

Begrudgingly, the man sets you on the ground, careful to let you gain the balance on your good leg before letting go. It’s obvious on his face: one wrong move and he’ll sweep you off your feet. I’m so gonna use this to my benefit once we’re home. You decide to ignore the nagging sense of doubt and instead focus on the growing lights in either direction of the tunnel.

What at first was nothing more than a glow has now, beyond a doubt, taken shape of several flickering fires moving towards the same cluster of targets. Misshapen bodies cast their stretching shadows beneath the flames, obscuring dozens of shuffling feet as the pace begins to pick up. They know you’re there. They are hungry.

Glancing at the men, the darkness before them is illuminated in red and purple and the air around them is shimmering with heat.

“Let them get close.”

“Guess you’re too exhausted to think clearly, dear,” Joker chuckles but then hesitates as he sees your face, “...okay. Call it.”

...  Joker  ...

Smiling behind the collar, Joker recognizes the worry flashing across the other man’s face. It’s a bold plan and he isn’t sure it’s strictly necessary...but they can’t be sure what else they’ll be facing on their way out, so [Y/N]’s idea of preserving the would-be rescuers’ power for later makes sense.

“Lighten up...or not, actually,” he smiles wickedly at Shinmon, “let’s see what our girl can do, eh?”

The glare he receives from the captain is a logical response.

“[Y/N]...there’s no reason to push yourse-”

“I didn’t survive this shit just to be rescued like some fairy tale maiden.” The threatening purr combined with the half-dried blood makes her seem tantalizingly dangerous. “There’s no one to take out my revenge on, but at least I can clean up the mess I’ve made when I let the lab blow up too.”

Oh? That must be an interesting story...for later. Finding an adequate slab of broken concrete, he brushes it off and sits down. In one of the inner pockets of the coat is a pack wrapped in cellophane and he picks a cigarette from it, lighting it with a flick of his fingers. Aaah. The acrid taste fills him for a handful of seconds before it’s blown out through his nostrils together with the last hours’ worth of stress – he could almost chill for a moment if it wasn’t for Benimaru joining him by the boulder, sitting as relaxed as a statue about to crack.

“Has anyone ever told you t-”

“Shut up, Joker.”

The men relapse into silence. It’s not that the man with the hat doesn’t understand Benimaru’s sentiment: the girl’s in horrible condition and is using almost all her strength to stand, it seems. The white-clad ran from her. The image of a dying man clutching a bundle of hastily written notes is still clear in Joker’s mind. Abandoned a comrade together with a demon infernal...he didn’t think they could end it. It’s clear, though, that something did put it to rest, most likely causing the explosion at the same time. Show us what you’ve got, [Y/N).

...  Benimaru ...

Like lit matches, only their heads are burning as they rush forward. At first surging for whomever is nearest until a clear shout orders them to ignore the men.

“I am what you want!”

The way the infernals all zero in on [Y/N] it really looks like she’s right and as they swarm around, pushing closer but never able to touch her, he can barely see her until he stand up on the slab of concrete.

Eye glowing bright yellow even against the infernals’ blaze, she doesn’t flinch as charred fingers scrape against the air, trying to reach her. She stands, immovable, talking calmly as if they could understand her. Maybe they can. Yes, they absolutely can and some must be accepting what she says because they stop and wait without a sound. Wait for what? A few infernals continue their struggle only to be wrapped in the arms of those standing by until finally, none of them are moving more than their dead faces.

There’s a shift in the air as [Y/N] spreads her arms, smoke and heat pushed outwards by an unseen pressure and stilling the flames of the damned.

“I’m sorry,” the woman whispers a second before tugging her fists tightly to the chest and plunging the Nether in darkness once more.

Benimaru can hear the muted sounds of clothing landing in heaps on the ground, the impact softened by dust and ashes, but the room is obscured by dark flakes filling the air to the extend that the glow from Joker’s cigarette nor the captain’s excellent vision can guarantee a view of the woman they came here for.

“Impressive,” the smoking man comments, snapping a fiery playing card out of nowhere to illuminate the space.

No one is listening to the compliment. The captain of Special Fire Force Company Seven is reaching out for the swaying figure of the woman he loves, barely making it over the heap of sooty jumpsuits in time to catch her as she collapses one more time.

“[Y/N]!” he croaks, frantically feeling for a pulse.

Now, you can’t move at all even if the giggling puppeteers has relinquished control of your limbs. Strapped down tightly with chains and manacles, it’s impossible to do more than wiggle your toes. Well...you can move your eyes but you’re not sure you dare to.

Before you stands the dis-proportioned figure of Dr. Giovanni. The tall hat’s brim and his collar are cradling darkness behind the freaky mask – you can’t see his face, but you’re sure his smiling.

“Isn’t this better, hmm?” His voice crackles despite minimal intonation, “waiting...on the precipice to your destiny!”

“Mmrmmmglllm!” Shut the fuck up!

He gets the gist even with the gag impeding your speech. “Now, my dear, there’s no need to be so angry. I’m merely going to help you seize the power waiting for you. Wait and see.”

Giovanni strides over and opens a door and in comes yet another person dressed in white with a red cross. This one is big and muscly and his face is hidden behind a shroud but to be honest you’re paying more attention to what he’s dragging along: a girl, maybe ten years old, is trotting behind (her upper arm is engulfed by the man’s fist). Dressed in the same type of clothes as you and barefoot...that’s where the likeness ends because she’s dirty, skinny, her hair is a mop of matted strands managing to shield most of the face but not hiding the dried-up streaks from tears and snot.

“There’s good.” You’re only vaguely aware that Giovanni had gone to the lab and come back before hearing his order.

The muscle man parks the child in the appointed spot in front of you and then steps behind you. Out of sight. You want the girl to run, to show some sign of desire to get out of this hellhole...but her eyes are unseeing and she simply stands with a hanging head.

“[Y/N],” Giovanni’s voice crackles with delight, “let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

...  Benimaru  ...

“No,” Benimaru easily shuts down the conversation, “you’re not coming with me.”

He knows Konro wants to protest – his oldest friend might even go behind his back somehow in an effort to be of help – but there’s no doubt in the captain’s heart. No one else. Information is scant about the Netherworld and the White-Clad who seem to cherish the relics of a burned world, so going there won’t be a stroll in the park. While Benimaru is confident in his own powers (sometimes looking for a challenge, actually), he doesn’t know what waits underground and can’t guarantee the safety of others.

Pausing at the heavy cloth marking the entrance/exit of the fire station, Benimaru looks back briefly at his friend. “Keep Asakusa safe.”

...

The only person who might be willing to share any information of use is Joker. Of course, he’s not the kind of guy that’s easily found when he doesn’t want to be, but somehow it makes sense to see the slender figure waiting in the dark. Only the pulsing glow of his cigarette is occasionally enough to illuminate the man’s maniacal grin as Benimaru jumps off the matoï.

“You remembered, good,” Joker greets him.

Remembered what? Scratching his head, the captain walks over to the wall of metal and concrete that’s blocking the way below ground. Judging by partially overgrown grooves along the edges, it must be supposed to open outwards, but there’s no handle or lock and there are patches of rust wherever water has had a chance to linger.

“Netherworld...nether means below, so I figured this was an easy place to start,” he shrugs and bangs on the gate.

There’s a faint sound of echoing from the other side but, naturally, nothing else happens.

“Huh...” smoke accompanies Joker’s words, “no one’s home?”

The papers in his fist smoke, the feathery cloud mixing with the dust in the air for no more than a few seconds before igniting with a silent phwoomp. Oops? Someone more sensible (Konro, maybe) would have chosen to preserve them as evidence, but Konro isn’t there and a hopelessly naive side of Benimaru is discreetly urging him to destroy any recount of what these white-clad have been doing as if that could delete the actions too.

Continuing in silence, the men have to be increasingly carefully as walls have been blasted away and the ceiling threatens to cave in the closer to the epicentre they get. Small mounds of ashes and burned clothes dot the way in random intervals – they all look to have been made of a rough material that once might have been a sort of grey...and some are too small for adults.

Benimaru has counted six by the time they reach their destination.

According to the guy they had interrogated, the heart of the cavernous darkness ahead used to be a room of roughly 25 square meters but expanded considerably due to the explosion that had sent heatwaves throughout the subterranean network of tunnels and chambers.

“Still no sign of his comrade,” the drowsy voice of Joker points out.

Maybe the guy we met wasn’t the only one to run. “Well...if Giovanni already had left, why’d one man stay behind and face an infernal alone?”

It’s a rhetorical question which the lanky man decides to ponder. Knowing already that Joker will say what he likes regardless of any protests, the captain of company seven shifts some pieces of rubble to ensure nothing (or rather: no one) is beneath it.

“It was the strongest he’d ever seen, right?” That’s exactly what the white-clad had claimed before expiring. “They can’t have realized that was a risk or Giovanni wouldn’t have told them to continue with the experiments.”

Whichever reason the twisted “doctor” must have had for leaving, the duo haven’t gotten a proper explanation and the risk of Giovanni and maybe more of his fellow nut-jobs returning makes the hairs on Benimaru stand on end.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he growls, “we came here for one reason only.” With that, he clambers over a chunk of ceiling in the hopes of finding [Y/N].

...  Reader  ...

Your body is heavier than lead. Lying still, the only thoughts running through your mind are simple observations related to the physical inputs. The layer of dust settling on your face and getting caught in the eyelashes is soft, blowing into the air if you exhale harder and renewing the smell of concrete and dirt. You’re also vaguely aware that you’re sprawled out across something hard, but it doesn’t really matter much now that the pain has numbed your body – as long as you don’t move, it’ll be fine and you might eventually get some rest.

Sometimes there’s the sound of footsteps passing by at the other side of the door, each time making you hold your breath with dread. But nothing happens – not even when the passer by(s) stop outside as if they’re about to enter. Time just passes and you start to tire from the constant vigilance.

At some point, a bland meal arrives through a hatch and slide in the wall by the desk. Nothing impressive. Nothing that tempts you enough to risk anything by eating or drinking it out of fear of what might be in it. I’m overreacting. They caught me, so why would they spike the food or water? But the worry remains unmoved by any amount of logic you can muster.

...  Konro   ...

Everything has descended into madness.

After returning from the kitchen fire, Konro had presumed that the absence of Beni and [Y/N] was a natural result of their slow start together, but when the night had almost dragged by and the world started to stir, only the captain returned. A grim expression on his face was underlined by the clench of his jaw and fists, his clothes singed and torn.

“Where is -” The question is unnecessary. “Where did you search?”

Benimaru sinks down on the nearest chair. “Third. She’s not there.”

The aftermath of Benimaru’s unsanctioned “search” hit shortly after that.

Representatives from Haijima and the highest up of the Special Fire Force are staring down at the two men from Asakusa, one of which has his mind somewhere else entirely. The last thing needed to dissolve some of the tension is for the captain of Seventh to come off as wry, cooperative, and standoffish.

“I don’t know about a guy with a dark coat and wide-rimmed hat,” Konro sighs, rubbing the scar running across his face, “all I know is that an Asakusan citizen is missing now and that captain Giovanni has practically harassed us on several occasion previous to tonight.” Say something. He attempts to project the desperate wish into Benimaru’s brain. Something useful, he adds.

An exasperated huff betrays one of the Haijima guys, a sleazy man called Oguru, but it’s the Agency Chief who speaks up. “Giovanni...is not a captain anymore.”

Finally, the only captain present seems to listen although his face reveals nothing.

Konro lets his hand fall from his face. “Please explain.”

“As you might know from co-operating with Company Eight, certain...issues have come to light that have dishonoured Giovanni’s standing and warranted his arrest which was set to be handled less than 48 hours ago.”

“Was set to be...?” the lieutenant stressed the grammatical choice.

A potent silence drags out.

“...a simple task which the Fire Force leadership was not able to carry out,” Oguru butts in coldly, “instead allowing him to escape with his research and plans.”

“Hrm,” the Chief grumps, “probably into the Nether.”

Konro’s mind blanks out for a second, not even able to think of curses strong enough for what he knows will happen.

...   Reader   ...

Your body has betrayed you, allowing you to dose off after hours of hyper-vigilance, and so it comes as a shock when the door is wrenched open to allow an oddly dressed girl to enter the room – a baggy, white onesie that somehow doesn’t manage to make her appear anywhere near decent is topped by a crown that has slid past the forehead.

“Awww! You didna wike what we gave you, huh?” she trills, an edge of insanity looming close in her voice, “well, don’t wowwy wittle girl! We won’t give you anymore.” The last sentence stands in sharp contrast, suddenly void of any emotion or caricatured childishness.

Rather than engage, you remain on the cot and only watch the cold mannerism disappear to make room for impatience. She’s insane! Whatever horrors you had concocted at night, growing up in fear of the many dangers a homeless girl could suffer, none has prepared you for this.

“Get up!” the girl orders.

She can only be a handful of year younger than you. Reminds me of a spoiled toddler. And just like a brat, the tantrum follows much too quickly and unleashes an electrical jolt that spans the distance and enter your body with a sharp pain before everything turns numb.

“Wha-...?”

Numb, but not limp. Your body moves as if invisible strings have been attached at every joint, forcing you to stumble past the grinning girl and into the dark corridor beyond. Fear claws at your lungs, causing bile to boil in the guts at every useless attempt of regaining control.

“Konrooo...” the lad tries, “maybe you could -”

“No.”

“But you don-”

“Yes, I know what you want to ask and the answer is no.” There’s no way Konro is going to be stuck as a negotiator between those two. Both are stubborn, emotional, and smitten to the point that they can’t see clearly. “But if you don’t get your ass together, then I won’t cook for you anymore.”

“You can’t do that!”

Benimaru has always viewed the other man as calm and level-headed, someone who always manages to think before acting. Where Beni can lose his temper easily, Konro never shouts or gets truly angry. But eventually, even the strongest patience can be worn down.

“Boy!” Konro whips around to face him, sharp knife clutched in his hand. “Don’t test me. Stop whining like a baby and go tell her how you feel. Now!”

Of course he feels guilty straight away, still it’s a relief to see the astounded guy stumble to his feet and hurry out the kitchen.

...  Reader   ...

The watchtower has become one of your favourite spots in in all of Asakusa. Up here, you can see the entire district sprawling beneath...and no one can get close without you noticing them beforehand as long as you pay attention. Which you don’t always. At least not right now.

Lying on your back with the legs stretched up against the supporting timber, your focus has strayed to a silly bird is trying to steal loose fibres from the bell’s rope, only to have to give up each time it’s found a string to pull at because the other end is impossibly stuck. The little animal is getting increasingly frustrated. Just give up...some things are meant to be. Yellow and grey feathers fluff with anger at yet another defeat until the bird surveys the remaining options. Don’t bother. As if hearing your thought, it flutters off with an undignified squeak and you watch it disappear between the houses below.

“So this’s where you hide.”

The deep voice causes you to squeak and you scramble to face the one person you’d been trying to avoid by climbing up here in the first place.

“Shinmon.” Why does he have to look so good when the wind tussles his hair? “What...I’m not hiding.”

On your feet, you wish you were tall enough to look down at him to feel superior. Benimaru is always acting aloof, never letting anyone see what he’s thinking...unless everything really does bore him. Or annoy him. This time you notice a faint pull of his lips.

“Hiding or not...we need to talk,” he sighs.

What’ve I done now? Something has changed the day of the raid.

You’ve been feeling it in the silences...or maybe it’s all in your mind. Maybe there really isn’t something brewing in Benimaru’s eyes when he backs off from challenges he’d have picked up on before. Or could it be that Konro’s calm finally have rubbed off on the guy? He barely talks to you, and half the time he begins a conversation it dissolves into nothing and he leaves but only after lingering at the very end before leaving the room. The whole thing has been pissing you off.

“So....talk,” you challenge. As expected, he keeps quiet preferring to lean against the railing rather than face you. “Well, if you won’t then I will!” And don’t you dare look at me while I give you a piece of my mind. “Obviously, it’s brought a lot of complications from the day I’ve stayed here. No, it wasn’t entirely voluntarily from my side to begin with...staying here, I mean,” you begin to falter as you have to search for the words but try to pull yourself together, “and you made it very clear that it wasn’t out of consideration for my needs, which I suppose is fair enough but take your petty grievances out on someone else than me when you regret that decision or have the decency t-”

“I don’t regret it, damnit!” Suddenly, he’s backed you against the beam, arms caging you in as he leans over you. “What bothers me is not you staying with us but the idea of you being gone!”

Logically, you know the life down on the streets still is bustling with all the usual noises and smells, but Benimaru and you are suddenly isolated in a little bubble up under the sky and time is standing still there.

“...gone?”

“Dunno when it started or why it took me so long but I realized that day...” He licks his lips quickly. “O-bāchan...of course she had to meddle and she can be impossible to deny. She knew what she was doing when she came to get you, trust me.”

“I thought I knew that she knew but now I think what she knew was something else than I thought...”

That sentence had made a lot more sense in your brain.

“The point is -” and you could have sworn the man was blushing now -“I want you to stay because I...I really like you.”

Then why are you being such an a-oooh! His gaze has never been so tender. His hand is warm and gentle as it cradles your cheek and you can’t help but lean into it. The two of you have touched before when sparring, but to slowly let your hands wander up his chest before snaking behind his neck – it sends goosebumps racing all the way to your toes. Your breath won’t go any deeper than the top half of your lungs, but it doesn’t matter as long as Benimaru’s lips are neari-

“Now what?” he drawls and your subconscious projects lewd images into your mind – most scenarios where he is pulling your hair for “slightly other” reasons.

Your own hand is small around his wrist but the grip is strong and he doesn’t fight as hard against you as a real attack would which means you can pull him along into a tumble that lands you splayed over him on the ground. The hard panes of his muscles cushions your back a bit while the air is knocked out of him. The only problem now is that he somehow has the wits to change the grip, locking your arms by the elbows – the tangle of limbs is angling you awkwardly and pressing you chest out and shoulders back. A slight tilt of the head brings his bored expression into view.

I can grind into his groin, catching him by surprise and -

“Waka! WAKA!” Mamoru and a few of the other men burst out into the sunlit back yard.

Fists clenched, chests heaving, and eyes filled with nervousness, it’s obvious even to you that something’s wrong. Benimaru must have realized to, because he releases you and pulls you to your feet as he urges the men for an explanation.

“Civilian cops -” Mamoru doesn’t get further for the others.

“- they’re everywhere -”

“We heard it’s the same in Sumida and Taito!”

The panicked voice glide into the background and you grab the oversized clothes you had discarded before the sparring, pulling on socks and shoes without bothering to wipe the sand off your feet.

“Other places too, but the worst thing is -”

Mamoru finally manages to overpower his team mates, “- everywhere Company Three is conveniently there too.”

Shinmon’s voice calms your galloping heart though the words are lost on you – they are not meant for you anyways, but the men who set out to track and delay the unwanted search units in their progress as according to the Worst Case Scenario Plan.

“[Y/N].” Like conjured out of nowhere, Benimaru stands before you, his hot hands wrapping tenderly but sternly around your upper arms. “Keep your head clear. You know what to do?”

You could drown in the calm fire of his mix-match eyes. “Yes.”

“Don’t come out until I come for you...” It almost seems like he wants to say something more, his gaze flicking across your face, but his mouth closes and he turns you with a slight push to get you moving.

And move you do.

For once, you don’t bother about removing your shoes as you speed inside, feet beating a scrambling tattoo as you rush down the hallways and into the men’s bathroom (keeping you gaze fixed on the window and ranting apologies to the startled guy who is unaware of anything going on outside). It’s a stretch for you to get up and through the half-sized window, only pausing to check if the little back street is clear.

As you spill out onto the ground ungracefully, a little thought in the back of you head says you’ll be bruised from this. Thankfully, adrenaline is coursing through your veins and forces the body to move on its own.

Over the wall into the neighbour’s garden.

Spot the little outhouse in the north-west corner...and onto the roof while keeping low.

The thoughts have warped into Benimaru’s voice instead of your own, keeping the objective clear just like he would have wanted. Dirty hands reach for the second floor window in the next house, sliding the loose glass pane sideways without the slightest tremble. Are those my hands? They must be, because they do as you want, reaching in and unlocking the window.

It’s a storage room, you realize after entering and closing the unorthodox entry. Technically, some bored-looking wise ass had revealed that days ago but it only really becomes relevant enough to understand now as you clock the futon in the corner. Under there, there’s a couple of altered floorboards to create a hiding space.

Pushing up the cover, you glare at the cramped spot, a hand sliding across your stomach that has gotten softer thanks to Konro’s amazing cooking granting you regular meals. It’ll be tight. Very tight.

...   Benimaru   ...

Cops. Benimaru can’t recall the last time they had set foot in Asakusa – the district has been more or less self-governing for as long as anyone can remember and institutions like police and firefighters had been a part of the neighbourhood watch roles. Still is, but a fraction of them (the ones best at handling combustions) had been selected by Konro and formed the Seventh’s Special Fire Force. The people of Asakasu protect their own...but it had still taken too long to round up the unwelcome “visitors” and even longer to find the sleazy bastard from Company Three who had managed to sneak into the headquarters.

It had taken all of Benimaru’s willpower to keep from reducing the man to ashes. The taste of blood seeped into his mouth, while Doctor Giovanni spoke of the so-called righteous need to study and use (abuse) the young woman. Fiery rage simmered beneath the captain’s skin at the outsider’s obvious lack of compassion, the refusal to see [Y/N] as a human with rights.

Thankfully, Konro had been able to think. His voice could cut stone as he calmly stated what the accepted channels for cross-jurisdiction work were and in particular how they had been violated during this “unauthorized operation”.

That’s when they were handed the official documentation overruling anyone in Asakusa. I could take them on and win. But Konro took the option away by accepting the order from the higher-ups and telling Company Seven to stand aside.

...

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Konro grated out.

No. The twins had been fast, grabbing the few belongings that could betray [Y/N]’s existence and stashing them in the storage together with other goodwill things.

“The intel was...incomplete,” Giovanni conceded, goosebump-inducing sweetness slathered onto every word. “I’m thankful for your help. It’s a relief to know we can trust our colleagues across all of Tokyo to be true to the law and the interest of the nation. Imagine if someone had indeed kept vital information Haijima and the Holy Sol...”

Benimaru nearly cracked his teeth at that, but managed to keep a stoic facade despite the inner rage.

“Yes, where would we be without the government?” Konro reiterated rhetorically. “Humanity would be vulnerable, and we’re here to protect the people, after all.”

The words hung for a moment heavy in the room until the sound of departing vehicles rumbled by the building. Police is leaving.

“...indeed. Yes.” A few fingers touched the brim of the hat, tipping it lightly in salute. “At least today was...fruitful.”

What? The two men in charge of Company Seven didn’t dare move until the door had closed behind Giovanni. [Y/N]. I have to...she has to...if she’s not -

...   Reader   ...

You’re still not entirely sure you won’t get in trouble (actually, knowing Shinmon and his grumpiness: you’re screwed), but you’ve learned not to argue with the old woman who finally seems to be pleased with the situation.

“This is my favourite tea, dear,” O-bāchan smiles as she readies the leaves and waits for the water to reach the perfect temperature.

When she first pulled you out of the hiding hole (she’s surprisingly strong!), she had tutted at the sight and refused to listen to explanations or excuses while ushering you along. Then she’d drawn a bath for you (which had been lovely considering the sweat from the training and then the dust) and laid out a clean yukata to wear. Once you were re-freshened, she’d prepared a light meal for the two of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me t-”

“Don’t you dare,” once more, her voice grows sharp as a harpy’s, “you’re my guest.”

You don’t dare point out that a guest normally has a choice of whether or not to go to someone’s home. Instead, you dutifully sit, knees and shins digging into the little cushion as you groan mentally at the constricting cotton from the protonationalistic outfit. You’ve seen a lot of women wear it around in Asakusa. It does sort of look pretty in the same impractical way the yellow sundress you’ve inherited does – the difference there being that the latter still allows free movement. And that’s the thing: for too long, you’ve had to think smart to get by on your own and clothes were meant to be practical; something that helps a person survive.

“Here you go,” O-bāchan hands you a cup of tea with a smile just as there’s a loud knocking on the door.

Are they still searching? Is the first panicked thought shooting through your head and you can’t help but wince as the banging is repeated.

“Oï-oï, such impatience. Excuse me for a moment, sweetie, and do try one of the cookies.” Your host is perfectly unfazed as she clambers to her feet (a few muttered groans proving her age) and shuts the door upon leaving the room.

You don’t taste the baked goods – don’t even have the wherewithal to put down the cup of tea as you listen for the muted sounds of voices. Oh...I know that one.

A quick glance around cements what you already knew: there’s only one way in and out. It’s tempting to grab the roll of dirty clothes and try to make a dash for it. Perhaps you can escape to another room and wait there until the hallway’s clear? You scrap the idea right away, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

At least O-bāchan’s delighted chatting warns you before the door slides open, revealing her and a blank-faced Shinmon. No, not blank. There’s a tick in his jaw and his eyes narrow the second he spots you sitting at the neatly laden table. He’s still wearing the same clothes as when you were sparring that very morning (something that feels like ages ago), stale sweat momentarily overpowering the more pleasant fragrances as  he too is ushered to take a place. Right next to you.

“I’ll warm bathwater for you, my lad,” Asakusa’s granny chirps.

“No need, we won’t be staying long.” It’s border-lining a growl, and her pointed gaze makes him add, “Thank you, though.”

“Well...fine...” Something is muttered under her breath that neither of you dare ask about. “I guess I’ll find a new cup for myself. [Y/N], be a good girl and pour Waka some tea.”

You do as she says and rush to free your hands, both because you’ve already learned there’s no sense in refusing her but mainly to do something, anything, to keep the awkward silence at bay. The pot trembles slightly as you fill the blue porcelain cup, and it’s much too loud as you replace it in the holder above the little candle.

...

O-bāchan had done most of the talking during the rest of you visit, but despite the unwillingness of her guests, she still seemed mighty pleased with herself when she waved goodbye. While the tea had warmed your belly and the sweets had made you think of happier days...well, nothing lasted long enough to tide you all the way back to Company Seven’s station.

Walking to your room with too short steps, bare feet silent on the wooden planks, you’re uncomfortable aware of Benimaru following you a few steps behind (probably on his way to the showers or his own room). Your fingertips greedily curl around the etched slit of the door, knowing that soon you’ll be in your own little sanctuary. Alone.

“[Y/N].”

You freeze, loath to turn around because you know he’s about to chew you out. “Shinmon.”

“I told you to stay hidden until I came for you.”

Sorry. “I know, but have you tried arguing with her? The old bidd-”

“Shut up. When you weren’t there...all I could think was...if they’d...” his voice is raw as he struggles with the words.

Too curious for your own good, you turn and find the normally stoic captain in a state you never expected. Hands flexing as his side and shoulders tense. His shaggy hair covering most of his face because he’s looking down as if searching for the root to the frustration that’s rolling off of him. He’s not angry? Or maybe he is but that’s not what’s prevalent right this instant. As if feeling your gaze, he lifts his face and allows your eyes to meet and there, just for a millisecond, there’s a flicker of pain and fear.

Then it’s gone.

...  Benimaru   ...

Ever since Mamoru had warned about the cops, it had either felt as if a fire was searing everything inside the captain’s chest or the sharpness of ice had pierced every organ there. No in between until he had finally stepped in and seen the woman – the source of all the trouble – sitting daintily and sipping tea. For a moment all he had felt was weightlessness. Pretty as the flowers on the yukata – obviously a borrowed item which his brain took time to comment that she ought to own instead – and apparently unharmed, [Y/N] somehow mellowed out the extremes battling inside him.

Now the internal storm is back and it’s all he can do to contain it.

“If they’d -” he bites back the urge to say what he wants, mentally stomps out the burning urge to grab the woman to make sure she really still is there. It’s not just hold her hand or grab her arm but a thirst for her lips and her body’s response if he were to melt into her.

Sensing [Y/N]’s movement, he does wrangles it all into submission by reminding himself that despite appreciating the safety provided by the “neighbourhood watch” she has made it clear as sunshine that she shuns him. Konro, the twins, hell even most of the guys are honoured with the friendship...but not Benimaru. Well, I’m still going to keep you safe.

“You worry,” Konro finally states.

Yes. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes. You’re worrying ‘bout [Y/N]...you don’t like that she’s on her own with Haijima and the Temple after her.”

“We don’t know if they are.”

The risk is huge, though, as rumours are circulating – and not just in Asakusa either: a few “leisurely” visits to bars in neighbouring districts had quickly payed off in the form of whispered gossip. And yeah, the people Benimaru had overheard were all civilians but his distrust of the governing bodies fed into what some would consider conspiracy theories.

“...and I don’t worry.”

Simply smiling knowingly, the older man sips his tea and allows the silence to become the answer. Faint notes of jasmine and camellia cocoon them in an attempt to create a fragile, peaceful bubble. Under normal circumstances that would work. This time, however, one of them men remains jittery, his mind losing a battle against unwanted concerns.

“Why would I even worry? You’ve no reason to think that.”

Konro tries to smother a laugh. “I’ve known you since you were a kid, Beni,” he snickers, “and in all that time I’ve never seen anyone get you as riled up as she does.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s infuriating!”

And she is. Uncooperative, stubborn, reckless, unpredictable, strange, intriguing, resourceful, charming (to those she likes). Fuck. Loath to admit it, the captain has to accept that the list of adjectives would be filled with increasingly positive traits if he were to continue trying to define the woman.

It hardly matters, though. It’s been almost a week and despite the rumours flourishing beyond Asakusa, there hasn’t been a single tangible bit of evidence that [Y/N] is still roaming free somewhere. Maybe, she’s taken his warning seriously and done a proper job at hiding this time, but the risk is great that she’s been caught by either of the authorities for testing.

They’d see her as a blank slate. Someone who clearly has some pyrochinetic ability latent, waiting to be triggered and possibly shaped to fit the needs of the situation in which it arises. She’d be an experiment. A test subject bombarded with horrors until either Haijima or the Temple accomplish what they want...or dispose of her as a failure.

“Listen,” Konro tries to appease, “I don’t want her falling into their hands either and I’ve got both eyes and ears open. Maybe we’ll find her in time.”

...  Reader   ...

Staring at the paper in your hands, the writing blurs in comparison to the picture of two men with attempted smiles – one of them is holding a framed photograph of a pair of sisters, the other father clenches a plushy. Even if the scene is monochrome you know the singed, floppy ear of the toy rabbit is purple. It’s the stiff way they sit that call forth tears which you angrily wipe away. It’s their eyes focused beyond the camera, at whomever choreographed the whole thing from the way they sit to the text which you still haven’t read. You know it’s not the men’s words anyways, despite what the text claims.

“W-where’d y’get this?”

You hate how shaky your voice is. Hate the slight wince that not even the Joker can hide.

“Let’s just say I’ve got...friends in the right places.” The hesitation is obvious to anyone with trust issues, but you decide not to dig into it. “Don’t worry...daddies are still at home, nice and safe and under surveillance in case you show up.”

How? You’d purposely stayed away for more than a year after having seen them through the anguish of rebuilding a life with both daughters gone. Staying away from the neighbourhood and all the places you knew they might frequent...and still they’d been dragged into a manhunt without knowing half of what was going on. Or do they? No. Haijima and the Temple would tell them a lie, that much is clear from the few lines seeping into your consciousness from below the picture. ‘Kidnapped’, ‘vulnerable’, ‘return her home’, ‘reward’.

“Tell me,” your strange rescuer puffs, “why are you so keen on not getting caught by them? They could help you with your powers.”

You suppose it’s a logical question, one that aligns with the plan you’d come up with once the initial panic and concern had faded away during the first weeks alone:

Squeezed in between the dumpsters, you could only see glimpses of the third special fire force company’s battle against the infernals. You could hear the burning screams; wailing, high pitched, cursing the living while craving their souls. One by one, the fiery beings were extinguished. Latôm.

But your legs were shaking too much for you to crawl out of your hiding spot and all you could do was sit and try to breathe. In and out. Thoughts swirled in your head, obscured by a different kind of smoke, and it was the dry voice of one from the third company that brought your attention back to the world:

“What a shame,” he complained in a hush to another, “I was sure it would work this time.”

“More tests,” was the curt answer, “the more we discover and get control over, the closer we’ll get.”

The words held little meaning to a scared teenager but you understood – no, you wanted to think – they were trying to find a way to stop infernals from appearing.

“The faster they combust, the sooner we can find a new Atolla. Burn the place down.”

“Until then...we managed to get those,” the second consoled icily and you saw his shadow point to two children.

Frightened, crying snot so hard that one of them is hiccup’ing, it was clear they didn’t want to be a part of whatever the men were talking about. The first man, wearing a high hat and glasses over a bird-like mask, bend to look at them, giving you the impression that he might as well have been scrutinizing the craftsmanship of a woodworker rather than human beings.

“They won’t be missed?” he inquired.

It seemed to amuse his friend. “Missed? Who’d miss sticky little maggots like these? Besides, it’s for the Cause.”

A few days later, you saw the red-eyed mother handing out homemade pamphlets with description and picture of one of the children.

A week after that, you saw the kid holding on tight to a hand as they walked down a busy street. Not tight enough, though. The boy cried out in distress at being abandoned at first until the confused sounds morphed into screams of agony as flames sprouted from his eyes, arms, body. As you fled the scene, you could have sworn you saw the masked man retreat into an alley.

“I don’t know much about them, but I don’t trust them. They hurt kids. People.”