w2tm

Warnings: Sibling Incest, Yandere Hiiro, Animal Death, Blood and Gore (A fox is cleaned), Mindbreak, Obsessive Behavior, Abusive Relationships, Quad Amputee Rinne

A cloud of mist diffused through the air, out of small lips, out into the cold, harsh world. There was a crunch as a black boot sliced through the thick layer of snow. Heavy fur coats wrapped around their backs as two young boys trekked up the incline of a steep hill. Sharp sounds of arrowheads clinking like a windchime sounded gently as a snowflake landed on Hiiro’s bangs. Looking up to see a white sky and a brown hood, Hiiro was somewhat surprised that a snowflake had managed to penetrate his guard. As he wiped it away, it melted in his glove.

Hiiro kept a couple paces behind, patiently watching his brother. Rinne always led first in things like this, that was what he was trained, and that was what was right. Even if he was not yet ruler, to Hiiro, he would always be his ‘right’. No matter what, Hiiro knew that much was true.

He saw bright red in front of him as Rinne turned around to see if he was keeping up. Rinne smiled at him.

“Are you ready, Hiiro?” he asked.

Hiiro nodded. It was impolite to speak back to your superior.

“Oh come on,” Rinne said, frowning. “You don’t have to be like that with me. It’s just us this time, you don’t have to worry about what father thinks.”

“Sorry, Nii-san.”

“It’s fine, come on.”

Hiiro stumbled through the snow as he hopped quickly, finally reaching Rinne’s side.

Finally at the top of the hill, Hiiro felt like he could see the entire world. Surely to him, especially at that age, Hiiro could imagine nothing more. White expanses of snow, barren trees sat idly in the distance. A perfect vantage point, all things considered. The wind was even relatively light that day.

“You sure you can do this?” Rinne asked, reaching over his back to pull the bow off of his shoulders.

Hiiro nodded.

“I’ve been practicing for years now,” Hiiro said. “I should be fine.”

Rinne looked Hiiro right in the eyes, and the blue looked like an ocean compared to the ice settling on his hood.

“If you say so,” he said with a sigh, before pulling the quiver off of his back, as well. “You’ll be killing something on your own today. Mother would be so worried about you right now, but you don’t even seem nervous.”

“We do not speak of the dead, Nii-san.”

Rinne hesitated.

“That’s right, Hiiro. Let’s go.”

Hiiro took the bow and quiver from Rinne’s hands, throwing the latter over his shoulder in one fluid motion. Really, he was nervous. He couldn’t let his brother down, he knew that. A significant weight added to Hiiro’s back, the two of them began their descent, and into the snow-trodden forest.

“Nii-san, why do I have a name?” Hiiro asked, as he looked around, the white expanse about to leave them, as barren trees slumped over in clumps of fresh snowflakes faced them to their front.

“What are you talking about?” Rinne said, chuckling at him.

“Well, I mean. All the kids my age won’t be given names until they become adults. Why was I allowed to have a name so young?” Hiiro asked again.

“Well, I was given a name, too,” Rinne said.

“You’re going to be chief, Nii-san,” Hiiro said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course you deserve the right to be named.”

“Well, you have my blood, that’s why. My godly blood,” Rinne said with a sneer.

Hiiro frowned. “Nii-san, you sound sarcastic.”

“I am,” he said, simply.

Fuzzy brows furrowed tightly together, Hiiro pouted as the bow swung back and forth on his back in step with his gait, clearly too large for someone his age.

“Nii-san, is it bad that I ask so many questions? Are you annoyed?” he asked, a tinge of worry to his voice.

“No, not at all. Never,” Rinne said, without looking back. “Always keep asking questions, Hiiro.”

“Even if father has Hennauke beat me again?”

“Yes, even father has you beaten again,” Rinne said, his eyes glossy. “Always ask questions, Hiiro.”

Hiiro hummed and somehow, silence had never felt so deafening.

“Shh,” Rinne said, placing a finger to his lips, and quickly hiding behind the trunk of a tree. Hiiro followed, waiting behind him. Bending around the trunk carefully, Hiiro spotted the deer that Rinne had eyed. Although it looked somewhat alert, it hadn’t seemed to notice their presence yet.

“Hiiro, go,” Rinne mouthed, not a whisper escaping his lips.

As quietly as he could, Hiiro fumbled a little bit as he pulled the bow off of his back, taking an arrow out of the quiver. He placed the butt of the wood onto the string, pulled back like how he was taught, and released.

Cutting through flakes of snow, Hiiro’s arrow shot through the air. Whirling in a nice spiral form, there was a loud thunk as the arrowhead pierced the trunk of the oak tree. Frightened by the loud sound, the deer reared its legs to flee.

A hand was wrapped around Hiiro’s as the bow was forcibly taken out of his hands. A shrill, metallic sound rang out as Rinne plucked an arrow from his back. Simply nocking the arrow on the bowstring, Rinne held the bow lightly but securely in his offhand, gripping the bowstring and arrow in his right. While keeping his back straight, Rinne raised the bow in front of him and pulled back on the bowstring. He aligned his eye with the arrow, his eyeball pinned and targeted. Then, he quickly released the arrow.

A screech penetrated silence as a sharp arrowhead sliced open flesh. The deer, however, had already fled. A couple of birds took to flight.

Hiiro whipped his head around to Rinne and the two’s eyes met, sea of blue in sea of blue.

“Nii—” Hiiro began to say, as Rinne broke the eye-contact, running, bow in hand, toward whatever he had shot.

Closing his mouth obediently, Hiiro ran after him, the weight literally taken off of his back. Guilt seeped through him as his boots dug deeper and deeper into thicker layers of snow. He wanted to rip off his coat as his blood began to boil, the shame flooding his heart with sludge. He almost fell over when Rinne stopped suddenly, his eyes trained right at the ground.

An ezo red fox lay dead in the snow, an arrow shot through its heart.

Rinne held out the bow, not taking his eyes off the animal, knowing instinctively that Hiiro would obey his instructions.

“W-Will we get in trouble, Nii-san, are we going to be okay?” Hiiro asked, somewhat worried.

Rinne sighed. “It’s fine, I know how to clean a fox properly. Father showed me.”

Hiiro nodded, biting his lip. Rinne bent down, and rummaged through his pocket for a thick piece of string. He looked back at Hiiro and his expression was serious.

“Hiiro, I need the knife,” he said.

Hiiro nodded rapidly, and he felt the snot in his nose begin to freeze as he shivered in place. Shaking, he reached into the bag that he had been carrying on his back and pulled out a large knife, passing it to Rinne. Taking it in hand, Rinne unsheathed it from its protective hide, and cut a piece off the string. Looking around for a moment, Rinne stood up and walked toward a low-hanging branch.

The string was wrapped around soft little paws, and Rinne’s hands moved somberly as he dexterously tied it to the branch. Hanging upside-down, snowflakes gently landed on the fox’s corpse as Rinne brandished the knife.

Hiiro didn’t wince as the knife split open the fox’s abdomen. He had cleaned fish before. A fox wasn’t much different. Even if it was revered as a god to them. Even if it was only morally right for the chief to clean a fox, Hiiro knew that Rinne would be chief.

“I’m sorry, Nii-san,” Hiiro said as Rinne went to work.

“Stop apologizing, we’ll have another chance to hunt tomorrow,” he said, as blood poured onto the ground.

It was strange how silently a knife cut into flesh, Hiiro realized. How the sloppy wet sounds of pain seemed so dull against ice cold soundproofing. How the sound of his brother’s voice sounded so sweet when he sang. How contented he looked, smiling, his hands stained in blood, like this day was as simple as any other day. How despite entrails oozing out, dropping in squelches of blood, Rinne was singing to himself.

“Nii-san, what are you singing?”

Eyelids fluttered to a close as Rinne blinked, his hair ruffling against the back of his fur coat as his head whipped around.

“...Nothing, it’s nothing,” Rinne said, his voice quiet.

“Hm? It doesn’t sound like one of the kamuy yukar.”

“No, it’s not one of our chants. I think his name was Akehoshi. He’s an idol, you know,” Rinne said, mumbling.

“A what?” Hiiro asked again. “Nii-san, did you run away again?”

“Promise not to tell father?” Rinne said, looking down at him.

“I promise,” Hiiro said, nodding. “Hennauke would beat me.”

Rinne nodded back, before looking at blood and guts as they dyed white snow red.

“I want to be free, Hiiro,” Rinne said.

Rinne looked down when he felt a human’s warmth touch against his hand, and he wondered how the fox must have felt when he strung its legs up and cut open its gut.

“I know,” Hiiro said back, his bare hand wrapped tightly around another.

Ah that’s right, it didn’t care.

The fox was already dead.

Pushing the curtain open to the chief’s straw hut, with the butt of his elbow, Hiiro let himself inside. He held two bowls in each hand—one rice and one for meat. It was time for him to check on Rinne, after all.

“Good morning, Nii-san!” Hiiro said, a cheery smile plastered across his face.

As summer was approaching, Hiiro wore thin traditional robes, fluttering down in a graceful pattern to his feet, embroidered in elaborate patterns. In contrast, Rinne sat on the floor, naked, save for a metal collar chaining him to the floor, and bandages around where his knees and elbows should have been. His body was beaten with long black lines wrapping around his hips, from fingers having been pushed deep into his flesh. He did not stand, as he could not stand. He sat atop a small futon, with blankets upon blankets for him to rest on, having taken hundreds of hours to stitch by hand, blue and white patterns riveting about.

Hiiro walked over to the low table and set the bowls down. Rinne didn’t tremble anymore, as a part of him had accepted all this, but he looked over at the food, hungry, ready to eat. A part of him was still recovering, after all.

“Nii-san, it’s time to eat, come here,” Hiiro said, kneeling down at the table, patting his lap, beckoning Rinne there.

Rinne looked around shyly before flopping down on his side, trying his best to get onto his stomach without aid. Rolling over without hurting himself, Rinne balanced his body on all four of his stumps, his body weight pressing into his wounds. Flexing his triceps, he realized that they were becoming much stronger after the removal of his forearms. His thighs, too, provided good balancing points for him to slowly crawl across the tatami mat, toward his brother’s lap.

Rinne placed his head against Hiiro’s thighs, collapsing on the floor.

“Here, let me get this off of you, you don’t need this anymore, do you?” Hiiro said, as a clink sounded throughout the room, the metal collar falling off of his neck. He didn’t bother getting one with a lock. It’s not like he would be able to get very far, anyway.

“Would you like to eat breakfast, or shower first?” Hiiro asked, looking down, tilting his head curiously. His lap felt so comfortable like this, with his hand on Rinne’s head, slowly petting his hair. It was so relaxing in such a strange way, and Rinne found himself sinking into the warm abyss that was Hiiro’s soft trousers. Almost as if on instinct, Rinne outstretched his lips, mouthing at Hiiro’s groin.

“Nii-san….” Hiiro said, before grabbing Rinne by the hair, pulling his head in the air and off of him. “Do you think that if you suck me off, I’ll be nice to you today? I know you can’t masturbate anymore, but if you just talked to me, we could sort it out, you know?”

Rinne frowned, looking a little guilty, before letting out a small sound of defeat.

Hiiro sighed, before sliding his hands through Rinne’s armpits and lifting him up and into the air. He had gotten a lot lighter since the procedure. As his aide, it made Hiiro happy to know that he could help him easier this way.

“I had Hennauke prepare fresh bathwater for you, so we should probably get you started on that while it’s still warm,” Hiiro said, with little effort.

With Rinne wrapped securely in his arms, he carried the tattered body into the room at the back. Delicately, he untangled the loose bandages from his stumps, thick stitches keeping the skin together. He poked his the one on the right arm and Rinne winced, feeling a singe of pain.

“Ah, it’s healing very nicely. Should only be a couple more months now until it is fully set, don’t you think, Nii-san?”

Rinne grimaced at him.

“It was for your own sake, otherwise you never would have agreed to come home with me,” Hiiro said, pouting.

Rinne let out a huff of hot air as the two sat in silence, Hiiro setting him down in hot water. It was relaxing on his muscles, easing the dull ache that he felt deep in his core. It would never feel right like this, it would never be the same.

Hiiro washed him delicately and diligently, washing his hair and body with soap, careful not to get any caught in the stitches. After a short rinse, Hiiro picked Rinne back up and brought him back to the room.

Setting him sitting upright on the futon, Rinne waited as Hiiro dried his body and hair with a towel. Going through his closet, Hiiro picked out his outfit, special embroidery, just for him. The most elaborate for the chief, of course. Hiiro had even made sure that it was tailored to his new body. He had to make sure it was comfortable.

“I love you, Nii-san, I couldn’t bear to see you run away again. I might do something dangerous,” Hiiro said, shoving his nose into the crook of Rinne’s neck. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

And Rinne did.

Shortly after, Hiiro stood and picked Rinne up off the floor, sitting them both down at the table, Rinne in his lap. Reaching around his body, he picked the chopsticks up from the table and took a scoop of meat and rice.

“Nii-san, say ahh,” Hiiro said, bringing it to Rinne’s face.

Having learned that there was nothing gained from refusing to eat, Rinne reluctantly opened his mouth and let the food sit on his tongue. The meat was stringy, chewy, and tough. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to eat, and Rinne found it somewhat gamey.

“Hiiro,” Rinne muttered, his words empty and cold.

“Yes, Nii-san?” Hiiro asked back, a wide smile. Rinne hadn’t said anything in days, Hiiro was beyond excited.

“What kind of meat is this?” Rinne asked, his voice weak and weary.

“Hmm,” Hiiro said, somewhat deep in thought. “I’m not sure, I will have to ask Oki.”

Rinne stared at the bowl, already knowing the answer to his question. Already knowing that Hiiro was lying to him, that Hiiro had cleaned the animal himself, that he couldn’t help but lie to him, because it was for his sake. It was always for Rinne’s sake.

Once Rinne finished his food, Hiiro was to bring him to the central hut for the morning ritual. As chief, Rinne was to oversee. What a pitiful role. What a pitiful, thankless, worthless role. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t say anything. He bled for them and all that he got in return was tears.

Rinne’s chin fell over Hiiro’s shoulder as he was carried outside and into the sun. People he knew since birth looked at him. They looked at him differently now. They were scared, they were frightened people, who believed that their god was right to enact this punishment upon him. That this was divine retribution and that it was simply his fate.

Hiiro pushed a soft curtain aside as he entered the central hut. There a throne stood, carved in wood, from an oak tree older than their grandparents, older than their grandparents' grandparents. It was fate, Rinne knew that much. The bottom of his thighs felt so unbalanced as he sat up straight, resting his stump against the armrest. It never felt right. This chair would never feel right.

“Ah, that’s right, Nii-san, we made you a crown,” Hiiro said, placing a crown of woven flowers and thorns atop a fluffy red bush. Sinking into his head, Rinne could feel his scalp bleed.

His throat was scarred sore when he felt his vocal chords reverberating in neck. When he heard melodies sounding through the back of his mind. When his body started to move like he wanted to dance. Like his hands and feet were moving in harmony with three others, with those he cared about, free from this cage, free from this prison.

But he didn’t move, he couldn’t move. Not anymore.

A fox’s meat had never tasted so bitter on his tongue.