Chapter Text
Age 20
He hasn't been to a playground since he was seven. Back when Mom wasn't as lost, when Fuyumi was barely five and Natsuo had practically just been born, when they left the house at all to have fun. That had stopped when Shoto was born though, not that Ryou had blamed him. It was just how things ended up going. He's not sure what he's doing here on this playground for the first time in thirteen years but he's here. With it being well past midnight and the fact that there isn't anybody in sight, he sees no reason to leave either.
Climbing to sit on top of the jungle gym is a surreal experience. It's so much smaller now than it used to be; he was only a kid the last time he was here, just a kid. But despite the sinking, painful nostalgia, Ryou feels oddly at peace and it's just as comforting as it is painful.
His mind has been in such disarray the past few weeks, months, years even. He doesn't recognize the person he's becoming and it's strange, even if he doesn't particularly mind. He's been feeling so angry, so violent and simultaneously so awfully detached. The polarizing effect is a bit mind-numbing, if you ask him.
Here on this playground though, sitting atop a much too small jungle gym, he feels so calm.
Crickets chirp, a light breeze blows, and there is a serenity that only comes at this particular time of night when nobody else is awake. It's always been Ryou's favorite time for a reason, and it's the same reason why it's his safe place. Here in the dark of night, nobody is around to see him, nobody's even awake to see him. There's no being strong, no looking tough, no intimidation act to keep him safe. He can just bask in the feeling of cool air on his skin, a relief to a naturally high body temperature and a soothing balm to all of his scarred, broken edges.
Something spurs him into action, making him hop off the jungle gym with sudden purpose and, after a moment of deliberation, he's jogging off to the monkey bars.
He remembers that he was always the best at swinging all the way across, even when Fuyumi would try to startle him into falling.
Of course, he's almost too tall for this particular set of playground equipment by now. He grabs onto the first bar and only manages to keep from brushing the ground by bending his knees and holding his feet in the air. His weight tugs a bit painfully at the surgical staples in his hands, but he decides he doesn't care and he swings to the next bar.
He makes it barely a quarter of the way across before he feels something rip and then he's lying face first in the gravel, tiny pebbles digging into every inch of his skin.
He doesn't groan as he rolls over, but he is grimacing. With a twitch of a finger, he casts bright, blue light on his hands with a flaming fingertip. There's blood starting to run down his wrist from a staple torn almost completely loose and he winces, knowing full well how unpleasant it'll be to replace it and have the skin heal back over. He extinguishes the fire and brushes all the gravel from his skin as he sits up, opting to stay sitting on the ground for a little bit as he presses his jacket sleeve to the torn skin to try and stem the bleeding.
It's but a few minutes later that a crunching sound reaches his ears and he freezes.
Gravel. It's the sound of gravel crunching under hesitant footsteps, coming from halfway across the playground. Ryou tenses and starts to move as quietly as he can, hoping to clear out before this person gets anywhere near him.
The footsteps come straight toward him though and he panics, getting up on both feet to run. There's a startled noise, a phone flashlight pointing right at him.
He throws a fireball before he can even think, elliciting a frightened shreik from the person in front of him.
He pauses for only half a second at the sound, taking in the sight in front of him.
It's a fucking kid.
Gangly, scared looking, expression stricken and white hair frazzled-
The phone clatters, dropped out of fear. The fire goes out, there's no light left, only the sound of rapid, shaky breathing facing bated breath.
Unruly white hair and wide aqua eyes.
Cautiously, and with a care he rarely has for anything these days, he holds his uninjured hand up and slowly spawns a fireball that gradually grows bright enough to illuminate everything within a ten foot radius. At his feet, looking like he's seen something unspeakable, is Natsuo. His face is pale and washed out in the blue glow of the flames, but Ryou would recognize his brother anywhere. His heart twists a bit because he knows he is scarred and almost unrecognizable, his own mother never would have been able to tell it was him and that was before the hair-dye.
But Natsuo isn't moving, isn't running away. He's just sitting there, staring up at him with a mixture of awe and horror.
"Ryou." The name comes out on a breath, whispered like a desperate prayer for hope.
"Where have you been?" it asks.
"Come home." it pleads.
What is home anymore though?
Before he can say anything, Natsuo is clambering to his feet, stumbling once or twice either from poor footing or from shock, Ryou's not sure. And then his little brother throws himself at him, arms wrapping around his midsection like an anaconda vice.
In a moment of panic, he extinguishes the flame again and he's left in complete darkness, the only thing left to focus on being Natsuo gripping him like a life-line.
He realizes that he has no idea what to do.
Natsuo is trembling and it's only after almost a minute that Ryou realizes that it's because he's crying.
He doesn't know what to do.
His first instinct is to hold Natsuo tight and calm him down, reassure him until he's smiling again. He doesn't feel like he can do that though, because he doesn't know how anymore or because it's not his place now.
He left them, after all.
And even if he doesn't regret it, it's still unforgivable.
Ryou can feel him tensing up, can visualize the confusion forming on Natsuo's face when he doesn't move to do anything at all. Slowly, hesitantly, Natsuo pulls back and Ryou feels safe enough to conjure another fireball.
Just like he thought, Natsuo's eyebrows are scrunched together in confusion. Ryou doesn't give him time to speak, because he doesn't know how he'd answer any of the questions his little brother could ask him right now.
"What are you doing out this late Natsuo?" he's struck suddenly by how off his voice must sound now. Low and deep, scratchy from lack of use and burn damage. How can his brother even recognize him anymore?
The pensive confusion doesn't leave Natsuo's face, but a bit of hesitation starts to trickle into the mix. He narrows his eyes slightly. Natsuo starts to look outright sheepish.
"Eheh, well..." the younger boy starts to rub the back of his neck nervously. "I'm just, heh, getting out of the house for a little bit is all." Natsuo's speech is faltering, like it always does when he tries to avoid something.
He's never been good at beating around the brush though.
Ryou watches his expression crumple a bit, those aqua eyes-his eyes- looking up at him, afraid and lost. He wonders for a moment if he's ever made that face himself.
"Ryou... where," he clears his throat and his eye shine in the firelight, tears unshed, "where have you been?"
He wants to ignore how his heart starts to ache, seeing Natsuo look like the same scared little kid he's always known. But this isn't like Fuyumi; she was unreachable on the other end of that phone call, and Natsuo is right here in front of him. He can't brush this off, he knows it.
"Hey punk, come on. Let's find your phone and sit down for a little bit, yea?" He doesn't answer the question, doesn't want to. He figures that he can at least give his brother some time though.
They find the phone in short order and Natsuo is releived to see it's undamaged. The flashlight is still on and Ryou lets his fire flicker out in favor of the safer lighting, treading after his brother as he leads them over to the swing set. The two settle themselves side by side on low hanging swings and sit in silence for several long minutes.
"What are you doing out here, really?" Ryou quirks an eyebrow at Natsuo inquisitively, noting how his hands immediately start to thread through his billowy white hair.
"Uh well, you know how it is.... in there. Uncomfortable, even when he's not home." Natsuo, for once in his life, is speaking hardly above a whisper. Ryou hates it, hates how his beaming fireball of a brother could ever be reduced to this nervous, quite mess. It's like Mom all over again, he thinks.
Natsuo looks at him, a resigned expression settling on his features, making him look even older than Ryou.
"You're not coming home are you." It's not a question. Ryou isn't surprised though; between Fuyumi and Natsuo, it's his brother that could always read him the best. He feels like Natsuo looked at the last five years, Ryou's attitude right now, and probably managed to figure out how he feels within minutes.
"No." Ryou's voice comes out short and sharp, though not exactly harsh.
He doesn't like the way Natsuo's brow furrows at that, or how his brother's expression is starting to turn sour.
"I- I know what happened and all," Natsuo starts, speaking lowly as if to try and get a point across. Ryou's head snaps toward him, eyes burning and face contorting into a twisted approximation of a snarl.
"No." he can see Natsuo flinch as he growls out his resonse again. He continues, a spark lit on a pile of smoldering ashes. "I'm not going back. That flaming fuck can rot and so can that shitty house of his."
Natsuo's eyes narrow dangerously.
"So you're just gonna leave us then?! Leave us all on our own, without anybody to-"
Ryou cuts him off again, absolutely furious.
"I'm not going back! I am never fucking going back, no matter what you say! That house is a death-trap and I would sooner fucking die than go anywhere near it again!" His mouth is running hot and he realizes he's so angry he's literally spitting fire.
He shuts his mouth so hard his teeth ache and he gets up from the swing, stepping out of range of Natsuo's phone light. He can hear Natsuo scrambling to get up and follow him.
"It's not that I don't care," Ryou says over his shoulder, voice low, "because I do. But he almost killed me. He came so close to killing all of us in one way or another." The crunch of Natsuo's footsteps pauses. Good. He shouldn't come closer, Ryou is still angry and apparently, he's just like Endeavor when he gets angry.
He hates himself a little more at the thought.
"I'm not coming back. I can't protect you anymore. You gotta do it yourself, or leave like I did." he can feel his throat closing up and he pushes the feeling away, willing his voice to go smooth as a sheet of ice.
"That's the problem! We can't leave, Yumi is barely eighteen, I'm not even out of highschool, and Shoto is only eleven! You left us with him and there's nothing we can do!" He can hear the tears; Natsuo's always been an angry crier.
"Leaving is the best thing I ever did for myself. It's the only thing, actually." And Ryou's always lied to look stronger than he is. He takes a steadying breath. "Do me a favor Natsu. Don't tell anybody you saw me. Far as I'm concernced, I'm dead to the world and to the family."
With that, he stalks off into the night and leaves Natsuo in the dust yet again.
His little brother tries to chase him, but Ryou has been living in the dark too long and Natsuo couldn't find him unless Ryou let him. He makes his way back to the crumbling, half-finished building he calls home after he's sure Natsuo is long gone, practically steaming with pent up rage and regret.
Once inside, he lets loose. The fire burns hot and high enough to scorch almost all of the support beams above, the sound of burning oxygen almost enough to drown out his livid screaming. He screams at himself for being afraid and selfish, he screams at himself for leaving, for not going back. For once, the hatred he feels isn't at Endeavor, it's at himself for abandoning his siblings, for getting angry at Natsuo like Endeavor would have, for feeling too much.
By the time he finally quiets down and collapses, his throat is raw and his heart is a lump of burning numbness in his chest. He's not even tired, despite the sun already filtering into the building.
He's just empty.