Chapter Text

2008

There is a bloody handprint on his book.

The child's copy of Robin Hood has always been battered; the cheap cover peeling, the pages wrinkled and with slight tares. Despite all of that, Goro has treasured it for as long as he can remember. His first memory, distant and fuzzy, is his mother pressing the book into his hands. Was it a birthday gift? Maybe. He thought her eyes had been red and puffy, and there'd been a TV on in the background. That, more than anything, tells him it had happened ages ago. The Akechis hadn't been able to afford a TV since he was very, very young.

The house is quiet, so quiet, where’s Mother?

There is movement around him, the constant buzz of talking and keyboards and people living. Goro takes in none of it, stuck staring at the dried blood on his favorite book. He doesn't remember how it got there. Did he do that? He must have. He can't remember grabbing it. 

"You'll be better." His mother had said that, hadn't she? Was it when she gave him the book or later? "My little hero." Goro remembered that. She used to call him that, alongside my little bird . That was a long time ago though. Back before people paid her to be friends with them.

“I have a friend coming over, little bird. Head to the bathhouse--”

Someone nearby is talking on the phone. He hears his name, but it is distant, blocked by the buzzing in his ears. Goro should be paying attention, he knows he should. Mother always told him that paying attention would save his life one day. Observation she called it. That was the best way to know what someone wanted from you. "Everyone will want something from you, baby. You're too pretty."

Mother said that a lot. That he was too pretty, and if he wasn't careful, he'd grow up to be just like her.

"Masayoshi Shido? Don't be ridiculous. If you don't know the father, just say so."

Goro knows that name. He doesn't know why the policeman is saying it. He’s talking into the phone, face carved into deep, tired lines. He'd offered Goro water earlier, and nothing since. That’ss alright; Goro knows he isn't meant to eat more than once a day.

Shido is good for nothing. That's what Mother had said. A villain that had turned on them. On bad days, she would rant about him and how he'd ruined her. On good days, she would say that he'd only ever done one good thing; give her Goro.

Today was a bad day. Goro had left the house in a hurry when he woke up, knowing the signs. There had been fresh bottles opened, and the thick, heavy scent of cigarettes. Mother never bought those things--she didn't have money for it--but her friends would leave them at their house and she'd hide them away until the bad days. It was cold outside, but Goro is used to curling up in tree roots to stay warm until Mother falls asleep.

She'd been asleep when he got home. That had to be it. The police had taken him because she was sleeping and they needed to help her wake up--

The tub is red, the water red, the floor red red red--

Time passes strangely. Goro scratches at the blood on his book--Mother would be upset if she saw it. It flakes off each time he picks at it though, so he can probably fix it. He's gotten good at fixing things that break. He doesn't want to make things harder for Mother by making her have to buy new things.

Someone crouches in front of him. For a moment, all he sees is the pale brown hair and wide, maroon eyes. He blinks and realizes it isn't his mother he’s looking at. For one, her clothes are much nicer than anything his mother owns and covers more skin too. For another, her face is a little different--a little rounder, a little softer.

"Goro," the stranger with his mother's eyes whispers. "Goro, honey, do you remember me?"

His ears are still buzzing but he forces himself to focus. He'd learned early and often that adults wanted you to give them two things; respect and attention. They didn't care about anything else.

"No, ma'am. Are you one of Mother's friends?" It’s his only guess. Immediately, he knows this is the wrong thing to say. Her jaw goes tight, fresh tears falling down her face. Goro hunches into himself, knowing that a wrong answer usually means punishment.

"No, honey." She sniffs, rubbing at her face. "My name is Chisato Dojima. I'm your mother's big sister. Your aunt."

"Oh." Goro tries to remember if his mother has ever mentioned having a sister. Maybe back before they had to move? There had been something about Mother refusing to ask for help, maybe. "Are you here because of Mother?"

Aunt Chisato hides her face for a moment, making herself small as she hugs her knees. She looks how he feels--raw and empty, like someone has dug out his chest and forgot to put something back in. When she draws a deep breath and lifts her head, she smiles. "Yes, Goro. Your mom--" she falters, face shuttering. "Misaki had an accident. She--she's--"

The buzzing was back, louder. Underneath the flaked off blood, there was a dark stain on his book. He remembers now--his hands had been covered in blood when he fell back into the living room, and he'd landed on the cover. His mother's blood, because when he'd gotten home, she'd been in the tub, her wrists--

"She's dead." It takes a second for Goro to realize the words come from him. His ears are roaring now, a heaving, echoing sound that he realizes must be his blood. Because he still has blood on the inside, not like Mother whose wrists--"Mother is dead ."

He pulls his legs up, burying his face in his knees like Aunt Chisato had. He has to keep the hole in his chest hidden, protect it from anyone else coming close. He's an empty, hollow jar, his mother dead and gone. Was it because he was such a burden? Didn't he help enough?

"Oh honey ." Someone touches him, and he flinches back. The arms don't pull away though, only tugs him off his chair. It takes him a while to realize he’s being hugged, held in his aunt's lap. He doesn't actually remember the last time this happened. No, wait--his birthday, when he turned seven. It had been a good day, the last one, honestly. His mother had gotten him a lolli and taken him to sit by the river. She'd wrapped her arms around his shoulders and whispered how much she loved him in his ear.

It was the last hug she'd ever given him.

He doesn't realize he's crying until breathing becomes difficult. His aunt doesn't lie to him; doesn't tell him it would be okay, or that things would get better. Only holds him close as he shakes apart in her arms.

Later in life, Goro would remember that night in snapshots. Finding his mother in the tub, wrists cut and water red. His aunt, holding him in her lap as he cried. His uncle, quietly introducing himself and saying Goro would come live with them. Nanako, the cousin he'd never met, asking loud, curious questions of her father as Chisato tucked Goro in the extra room.

Robin Hood , his favorite fairy tale, with a bloody, red handprint on the cover.

2008-2009

Chisato and Ryotaro Dojima lived in a tiny town called Inaba. Goro's uncle was a cop and his aunt was a journalist for the local newspaper. Goro and Nanako both had their own rooms upstairs, which was the first thing that truly shocked Goro. The first, but not the last.

Chisato and Ryotaro both worked often, which meant that Nanako was in a daycare and Goro was enrolled in the local primary school as soon as possible. This seemed normal to Goro--what was less so was...everything else. Chisato picked Nanako up from daycare, then they walked over to get Goro. She insisted they eat dinner as a family, even on nights Ryotaro worked late and didn't come home until Goro and Nanako were meant to be asleep. There was always enough food, even if sometimes the servings were a little small. Chisato and Ryotaro treated Goro like a member of their family, even though he was a cursed accident that led to his mother killing herself.

He just... Goro didn't get it . His mother had loved him, he remembered that. But even she had never done any of these things. He spends his first month staying quiet and doing exactly as he's told. His mother's funeral passes him by in a fugue, and he's stuck wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. His aunt and uncle haven't asked him to do anything weird yet; he was to clean up after himself and tell them if he was going to walk around town. That was it. Those were the rules.

Goro never saw either of them hit Nanako, but that sort of made sense. Even his mother had rarely scuffed him upside the head, and she hadn't started that until he was five. But him ? He wasn't their kid. The teachers at school had never been afraid of snapping the rod across his hands when they thought he'd started fights and his mother's friends tossed him around plenty when he didn't move fast enough.

Maybe this was because he hadn't broken any of the rules before. He doubted there were only two rules, but if he hadn't stumbled on one of the others yet, then that would explain why he hadn't been punished. Then what would happen if he did break one of the unspoken rules? There were so many of them that he was sure to do it sometime. Saying a word he shouldn't or having an opinion that disagreed with theirs. Something. Anything . One of his mother's friends had hit him for not making him eggs fast enough--they hadn't even had eggs in the house.

Nanako kept trying to spend time with him, would follow him around, but he dodged her each time; surely staying away from her was one of the unspoken rules. Staying away from other children had always been one of his rules, because someone was always mad about it. The problem was if he didn't know all the rules then he couldn't know if he was breaking them. And if he didn't know the punishments then he couldn't decide if breaking the rules was worth it. It put him on edge, made him second guess every word out of his mouth.

One day, early in October when the weather was just starting to turn, he didn't go home after school. He'd done it once before, after telling his aunt he wanted to explore town, but this time he didn't tell anyone. Goro's hands were shaking as he turned away from the Flood Plains and headed instead to town proper. He was breaking one of the rules. One of the explicit rules. He'd definitely get punished now, the only question being how .

Trying not to think about it, Goro poked around town some. It was a small town, tiny really. A grocery store that handled basically all the local vegetables and fruit. A butcher. A weird metal shop that he didn't really understand but decided looked cool. Nothing super interesting but enough to keep him occupied for an hour, two. Eventually, enough time passed that someone had to have noticed he didn't come home. 

This, Goro decided, had been a terrible plan. He lingered down the street from the Dojima house, trying to make himself get closer. There was no point to this experiment if he didn't get the answer. Both cars were in the driveway, which meant they were probably eating dinner. Would interrupting be worse than waiting until they'd likely finished? Or maybe the food would put them in a good mood. Uncle Ryotaro always seemed happiest during dinner time.

Cursing his own cowardice, Goro sidled up, wincing when he caught the vague sound of raised voices through the door. Before he could lose his nerve, he slipped inside. Chisato and Ryotaro were both in the living room, his uncle's jacket half shrugged on. Did they already finish eating dinner?

"-in case he comes back."

Chisato nodded, tension tight along her body. Goro stepped closer, so he was more visible, catching her eye. Her whole body seemed to sag. "Goro!"

Ryotaro spun, and Goro watched him. He'd be the one to deal the punishment, probably. Aunt Chisato didn't seem the type. "Where have you been?!" His hand went up and Goro flinched away on instinct, vindication sharp in his chest. Only the hit didn't come.

When Goro looked back, his uncle's face was ashen, hand tangled in his short hair. His aunt was crying, which was hard to see because she looked exactly like his mother crying. 

When Goro got home, Mother was on the only bed, curled around her stomach and crying silently--

Goro decided he hated seeing the women in his life cry; it made him feel awful, worst still because this was, somehow, his fault. It always was.

"Nanako," Chisato said softly. "Please go upstairs. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

Goro didn't even see his cousin dart upstairs, too busy caught on what his aunt had said. "You haven't eaten?"

"Why would we? You weren't home."

It didn't make any sense. He'd been the one to break the rules. He'd been the one to stay out late. His uncle still hadn't said anything, frozen with his coat half on and staring through Goro like he wasn't even there. No hit came.

Goro was starting to think no hit would come.

For some reason, this made him burst into tears. His aunt made a strange cooing sound, pulling him inside and wrapping him in her arms. Behind him, the door opened and closed, but Goro couldn't see past his tears. He hadn't cried since his mother died, not even at her funeral. He didn't understand why he was doing it now.

Chisato picked him up and settled them on the couch together, gently humming as she ran a hand through his hair. It was strangely comforting, a solid weight that kept him grounded.

When he'd cried himself out, reduced to a sniveling mess, he finally noticed his uncle gone. That must have been the door closing. It was easier to focus on that then the wet patch he'd left on his aunt's shirt.

"Why'd Uncle leave?"

Running a hand through his hair, Chisato sighed. "Your uncle...Ryo sees a lot of bad men at his work. It made him sad to know that you thought he was one of those. So he took a walk." Goro squirmed guiltily in her lap. He thought all men were like that, though. They all acted like Mother's friends, didn't they? "Do you want to tell me why you thought we would hurt you?"

Not really. Though considering he'd already broken one rule tonight, refusing to answer wasn't an option. "I broke a rule."

"You did," Chisato agreed. "And it sounds like you did it on purpose, which makes it worse. There's going to be consequences for that." He tried to duck his head away, unable to stand the patient disappointment on her face. "Goro, look at me." She caught his chin and gently turned his face up, waiting until he forced himself to look at her eyes. They looked just like his. Just like Mother's. "Ryo and I have rules so you can be safe. If you break those rules, there's going to be consequences."

"Yes, Aunt."

"Those consequences will never, ever , be physical. Do you understand? No one in this home will ever raise a hand to you, and if anyone ever does, I want you to come tell me or your uncle. Okay?"

"But how ?!" Goro burst. "I don't understand . What are all the rules and the--the punishments? I don't get how you're just like this." He scrubbed angrily at his face, trying to stem the fresh wave of tears. His chest hurt but he couldn't figure out why .

Chisato rubbed a hand down his back. "Oh honey. Why don't you help me make dinner tonight? After we eat we can talk with your uncle and decide what your punishment will be."

It didn't seem like he had much choice. "Yes, Aunt."

Goro wasn't very big, and unlike his mother, his aunt didn't want him close to the stove, but he proved he could chop the vegetables and hand her ingredients. He didn't know how long they were in the kitchen, but it did help him get control of himself. By the time dinner was ready, his uncle was walking in the door. He exchanged quiet words with Chisato while Goro set the table, and then it was dinner time. Nanako had seemingly forgotten about the arguing already, chattering away about a book she'd heard and how she wanted cake and ice cream for her birthday on Saturday. Her father insisted she'd get one, not both, and after a long debate and deep consideration, she landed on ice cream cake. This was apparently a good compromise.

After cleaning up and Nanako was put to bed, Goro sat on the couch, his aunt next to him and his uncle sitting on the coffee table. He'd heard him get yelled at about it before, but Chisato stayed quiet this time.

"Goro," Ryotaro started, then seemed to lose steam. He rubbed a hand down his face. "Goro," he started again, softer. "Chisato told me you--you didn't understand all the rules and punishments. Is that why you stayed out without telling us today?"

He picked at his pants, nodding silently.

"When you have questions," Chisato chided gently. " Ask . You won't get in trouble for asking."

That...was new. Mother used to get sad or angry when he asked for things. And her friends hated questions.

“What you looking at brat?!”

"We'll try to be clearer," Ryotaro added. "About consequences, I mean. I realize this is...uh, new and probably hard. Just--we'll figure it out. Okay?"

That seemed alright. If Goro knew the punishments, then he wouldn't have to worry if it was something he could handle or not. "Yes, Uncle."

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of his shoulders. "Right. So. Right now, I think grounding seems like a fair punishment system. One week the first time you break a rule, an extra week for each time afterwards."

Goro bit his lip, but managed to ask, "What's involved in grounding?"

"Good question," Chisato praised. It made him flush. "It means you'll wait at school for me to come get you and you won't be allowed to go around on your own. You'll help me with dinner in the evenings, and no TV. At all."

He fidgeted, but she had seemed to like him asking a question. Goro said, "Books?"

"Books are okay," Ryotaro decided. "But no new books until after the grounding ends. Fair?"

The only new books Goro had ever gotten had been when they bought his school books for this semester, so that seemed more than fair. "Fair."

"Ryo and I will talk about what other rules we think are reasonable," Chisato added. "We'll tell you when we've decided. For now, go to bed."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. It was such a strange feeling that he went cross eyed watching her pull away, only stumbling up after he shook it off. He paused at the bottom of the stairs.

If they were trying to keep all the rules set then... "What about Nanako?"

"What about her?"

"Am I allowed to talk to her?"

"Are you--of course!" Chisato frowned. "She's your cousin, Goro. Spend as much time with her as you want. Is this why you've been avoiding her?"

He flushed, but didn't answer. Hurrying upstairs, he barely caught a long string of curses from his uncle, ending in a colorful threat towards Misaki's friends. For some reason, this made Goro smile.

Things got a little easier after that. Not less strange though. Avoiding fights, only playing outside, and completing all of his homework on time (and not skipping school) were all added to the list of rules. These were all so reasonable that Goro didn't really trust them, but didn't try to push boundaries again. He...settled, for lack of a better word. Managed to find a strange little pattern in this house that had accepted him for no reason. Nanako followed him around still, and while he didn't often entertain her, sometimes he gave in. She was so bright . Like sunshine, she never stopped, never dimmed. Always smiling, always chasing him. It felt nearly painful, how different the two of them were.

Her parents loved her, and she'd never doubted it for a second. He was the cursed child that his father didn't want and ruined his mother's life.

Still, things were...better. Goro ate three meals a day, got new clothes when he needed them. He could go to the library whenever he wanted to find new books to read. His aunt called him honey and asked him about his day; his uncle found the time one weekend to teach him how to ride a bike. This, Goro thought, was what a family was meant to be like. Maybe his mother had known that, maybe that was why she'd killed herself, so that he could be taken care of. It hurt to think of that, but it didn't hollow him out.

And then, on September 10th, 2009, his aunt wasn't there when he got out of school. It was a cold Thursday, and he'd been told that she'd use the car to get him after picking up Nanako so they could go to Okina for some winter clothes. It had been over a year since Goro had come to the Dojima household--almost thirteen months exactly--and Chisato had never failed to carry through on a promise.

Worry twisted in his gut, but he set off for home, thinking that maybe something had come up. A new story she needed to follow a lead on, or the car wouldn't start. Those seemed like reasonable possibilities. Or maybe she had even forgotten him. His mother had done that a few times, and maybe Goro was finally starting to wear his welcome thin.

There was no car in the driveway when he got to the house. Maybe Chisato had dropped Nanako off before coming to get him; maybe they weren't going to Okina after all.

The house was empty, his voice bouncing back hollowly. If Chisato was working, she definitely would've gotten Nanako first. 

The house was so quiet. Where was Mother?

Goro was breathing heavily, a memory he'd hidden away pushing to the front. It was nonsense of course; Chisato would never leave Nanako and the bathroom door was wide open, revealing the empty interior. He didn't take off his shoes as he searched the rest of the house in a hurry, half expecting his uncle to show up and scold him about it. He didn't though.

No one was home. Nanako wasn't home. If something had happened, had she been with Chisato?

Goro raced out of the house, dropping his backpack in the doorway to lighten his weight. The daycare was downtown, a little informal space that one of the town's women ran out of her home. Normally, it was a ten minute walk; Goro made it in three, by some grace of luck. He took alleys and avoided the main streets where cars might be, not wanting to be slowed down even a little. Sweat dripped from his face when he got there, stumbling to a clumsy halt as he caught sight of Inaka, the lady who ran it, standing outside with Nanako at her side.

Nanako's face lit up brightly and she flung herself at him. Only his recent growth spurt stopped him from stumbling over. "Goro-kun!" Nanako clung tightly. "Where's Mom?"

Caught between relief at Nanako's clear safety and the tangled root of worry in his chest, Goro clung back. He didn't give a lot of hugs--Chisato gave him one every day, and he still wasn't certain how to do it back. He was probably squeezing too hard, but Nanako didn't complain.

"I don't know." He looked up, Inaka's face a washed out gray mask of poorly concealed worry. "I-- I don't know ."

"Why don't you kids come inside?" Inaka offered. "I'll try calling your father."

Goro didn't even correct her about Ryo being his uncle. If she was calling him then that meant she had already tried and failed to reach his aunt.

That was the first night he saw Nanako cry. Not throw a fit, or get upset at a small tumble, but truly break down and sob. He knew the feeling, understood how empty someone could be after finding out their mother was dead. Goro had to be the one to explain it to her--when Ryo finally came and got them, he was a shell, clinging to them both but not saying a word. Goro didn't need him to.

Ryo left almost as soon as they got home. Muttered something about an investigation and took off, leaving the two children to figure themselves out in the wake of the loss.

Goro didn't bother with dinner, or their homework, or even try and get Nanako to go to sleep on her own. He tugged her into her parents' room, pulled off their socks, and crawled under the covers in the big bed. He didn't know how much she really understood of what was happening, but she was a smart kid and knew her mom wouldn't be coming home. That was enough.

It wasn't like when he'd lost his mother. There were no snapshots, no freezing. Just Nanako shaking apart in his arms, their tears staining the white, crisp sheets until they fell into a fitful, cold sleep.

(When Ryotaro Dojima came home near dawn, it was with the cold, heavy knowledge that his wife was dead and there would be no investigation into who killed her. An accident, the report said. Closed, his captain had announced. He wanted a drink. He wanted his gun. He wanted his wife, at home and smiling at him, teasing him about forgetting to shave.

He couldn't have the last one. He might've gone for the first two, on a different day, in a different world. In this one, he stumbled into his dark, cold house, then into the open door of his room, and found a bundle of limbs in what should've been his cold bed. Chisato's pillow was coated in a wave of brown hair, Goro's red, puffy face barely visible under the poof of Nanako's pigtail. She hated sleeping with her hair up. Her face was tucked against Goro, her little fists clutching his shirt in a fierce grip.

They were so young . Ryo had known that, of course. Goro had turned eight in June and Nanako would turn five in less than a month. Both without mothers, and left only with Ryo to take care of them. He didn't know how he was going to do it--money was already tight with two kids, without Chisato--

Ryo didn't know how to exist without Chisato.

Goro shifted a little, skinny arms tightening around Nanako's tiny frame.

Ryo blew out a long, hard breath, and wiped the fresh tears from his face. Getting ready in the dark was an old skill of his, as was sliding into the bed without waking its occupants. Goro grumbled a little, but settled when Ryo wrapped an arm around the both of them. They were so small.

Ryo would have to organize the funeral and tell Chisato's work and handle the paperwork and--

Tomorrow. He'd worry about that tomorrow. For now, he let himself fall asleep holding his children.)

Goro had been hollowed out when he lost his mother. A cold emptiness opened up and swallowed him whole for days and weeks, until Chisato had made room in there for herself, had packed her little family inside his heart and nested there, unwilling to leave.

Except she did leave. A car accident had gotten her. Something as simple and mundane as a crash had killed his aunt and dimmed Nanako's sunshine. She didn't smile as brightly anymore, and sat listlessly in the house as if she didn't know what to do with herself. The garden that Chisato worked so hard to keep withered up with no one to keep up with it. Ryo started leaving money on the table so that Goro could get food, except he and Nanako didn't know how to cook so it was usually pre-made meals. It took a week for Goro to realize that the house hadn't been vacuumed because there was no one to do it anymore.

Goro had been hollowed out when he lost his mother. Losing his aunt just made him mad .

Where Chisato Dojima had once lived in his heart was now just a writhing, angry nest of vipers. How dare the world take a truly good person away? How dare that idiot driver steal Nanako's mother from her? A million tiny ways Goro noticed Chisato gone and with each he just got angrier and angrier. Nanako cried more often than not, and each time made him snap at her, harsher than ever. The sunshine he had known so well, that he'd tried to stay away from to keep it from absorbing his own shadows, was gone. It made him furious.

Nanako's fifth birthday passed them by without even being noticed.

It wasn't until November that things really came to a head.

Goro was supposed to be walking Nanako home from daycare every day, since Ryo was never home until late into the night those days. He never did, and Nanako kept the secret just as well as he did. He couldn't stand the empty glaze to her eyes, or the hollow way she answered questions. It was so wrong, compared to the bright sunshine he expected from her. Besides, she'd be starting at the preschool in April, which was attached to the elementary, so they'd be going to school together then. What difference did a few months make?

A light layer of snow had settled over the Flood Plains, and Goro took the opportunity to kick the small flurries around, getting out some aggression. His teachers had seemed to drone on for decades today, leaving him antsy and annoyed. He'd done the reading which meant he knew exactly what they were lecturing on, which meant there was no reason for it. A thorough waste of time.

Someone squealed nearby, and Goro cursed them out in his head for their happiness . Shooting a glare, he saw a bunch of kids clustered around the gazebo. He vaguely recognized some of the figures as first grade boys from his school. Not that he knew any of their names--Goro didn't know anyone's names, considering he didn't care to make friends or hang around with idiots.

"No! Stop it!"

Freezing, one foot in the air, Goro became suddenly riveted on the scene. That was Nanako's voice.

"Ha! Look at her cry," one of the boys taunted. "Do you think her mom left her because she's such a cry--" His voice cut out sharply when Goro buried his fist in his face. It wasn't the first time Goro had gotten into a fight, but it certainly was the first time he initiated .

The boy fell back, crashing onto the ground with a half strangled cry. The others shrieked, scattering. "It's the Dojima punk!"

Goro spit on the ground, just to the side of the fallen first grader. "Next time you think about bothering Nanako--" He pinned the kid's hand under his heel. " Don't ."

Scrambling to his feet, he took off without ever saying anything, face painted in terror. Goro felt a vindictive sense of satisfaction.

Something clung to his side, fierce and tight. Nanako buried her face in his side, not seeming to care when he just stood there awkwardly.

"Thanks, Goro-nii."

Face feeling suddenly hot, Goro squirmed in her grip. She didn't let go. "Have they been doing this since September?"

She shrugged, face still hidden. "I didn't want to bother anyone. Dad's always working and you don't like me."

"Idiot," Goro grumbled. Gently, he put a hand on her head, trying to remember how Chisato did it. "If someone is bothering you, tell me . I'll deal with them." He managed to untangle himself finally, finding her face grinning up at him, cheeks and eyes red from the cold and her dried tears.

A little bit of his anger drained out.

"Come on. We should get home." He tugged her along, ignoring the way she clung to his hand. He didn't look at her. "And I like you fine."

He could practically feel her beaming, a little bit of warmth in the cold month.

"Then why haven't you been walking me home?"

"Because you're a brat," Goro grumbled, but he kept hold of her hand on the walk home.

They were sitting in front of the TV, store bought sushi picked almost completely clean, when Ryo walked in the door. This was so surprising that Goro was frozen as Nanako squealed with glee and threw herself at him.

He couldn't actually remember the last time Ryo had been in the house before they went to bed.

His surprise kept him still as Ryo came in, a tense line in his jaw even as he placed a comforting hand on Goro's shoulder, before throwing himself onto the couch.

"So." He raised a brow. Goro thought it seemed more gray then the last time he'd seen his uncle. "Would you like to tell me why I got a call today saying you punched a neighbor's kid?"

Shit. Goro...probably should've considered that.

"Dad--"

"I got mad," Goro said, cutting Nanako off. Her eyebrows scrunched up, lip jutting out, but he ignored her. Ryo's lips pressed thin, displeasure written in every inch of his face. There was no reason for Nanako to get involved with this. "They were saying shit-"

"Language."

"-about Aunt Chisato so I told Nanako to go ahead and then punched them."

Ryo glanced towards Nanako, clearly asking for confirmation. Goro silently willed her into going with the lie.

Keeping her mouth closed, she gave a single nod.

Groaning, Ryo ran a hand through his hair. "You're grounded." Worth it. "And you'll be apologizing to the kid for solving your problems with violence." This seemed wholly unfair.

"You're a cop," Goro muttered under his breath. "You solve your problems with violence."

" Goro ." He flinched away at the harsh tone, though he didn't take it back. It was the truth, after all. "If you think that's what detectives do, then you haven't been paying enough attention."

He should keep his mouth shut. With his aunt gone, there was no reason for Ryotaro to keep him around, nothing tying him to this family. He should keep his mouth shut . Showing anger would only get him punished. He needed to keep his mouth --

"That's bullshit!" Oh shit . Well, in for a yen and all that. "How should I know when you're never home ?! I haven't even seen you in weeks and the only reason I know you're alive is when you leave cash for dinner." Now that Goro had started, he couldn't seem to stop. He hadn't even realized he'd been thinking half the things he started spouting, but it felt good to yell, to stop pretending to be okay. " Nanako has been helping me with the chores. She's five ! When was the last time we cooked something? Or even saw you? You only came home early today because I started a fight."

"I have to work , Goro! I can't be here all the time now that I'm--"

"Just because Aunt Chisato is dead doesn't mean we are!"

The silence was achingly hollow. Ryo's face had gone ashen, lips parted in surprise. His eyes were a dark, empty gray. Nanako had started crying again, hands clutched over her mouth.

Goro could hear the ticking of the clock.

He didn't know why he said it. Didn't know why he said anything that night. Only that every word of it was true. Only that--

"I don't want to be orphaned again."

Rubbing a hand angrily over his face, he stormed upstairs before Ryo could stop him, slamming the door shut. His room was nicer than the old rundown house he used to live in, and he tried to keep it neat. It made it easy to find a small corner--between his shelf and the TV he never used--and shove himself into it. It reminded him of all the times he would stay in the roots of the big trees when he was avoiding his mother.

He stayed there, tucked away and listening to the movements of the house. Ryo said something to Nanako, then a few minutes later he heard them come upstairs, going into her room. Goro tried to imagine what being tucked in was like--Chisato had offered, once in the early days, and never again after he turned her down. He couldn't remember if his mother had ever done it; certainly his father had never seen him, much less tucked him in.

Eventually, Ryo stepped out of Nanako's room, knocking quietly on Goro's door. "Can I come in?"

For a minute, Goro didn't answer. When it was clear his uncle wasn't leaving, he rubbed his face clean. "It's your house."

The door swung open, then shut quietly. Ryo sat on the floor, leaning against it and peering into Goro's hiding spot. "I like to think of this as our house. And this is your room." Goro shrugged, having nothing to say to that. Ryo sighed. "Goro." He shook his head, and for a few minutes they stayed quiet together. Eventually, Ryo pulled out a folded set of papers. A thick document, by the looks of it. "Do you know why I came home early today?"

Dumb question, but okay. "'Cause I got into a fight."

"No. I wasn't happy to hear you got into a fight, but I know that kid's dad and he was a piece of work in school too. I'm not surprised you two don't get along."

That wasn't strictly true, as Goro still didn't even know the kid's name. That would reveal Nanako's part in all of this, though, and Goro didn't want her to get in trouble over keeping quiet about the bullying.

"Why'd you come home then?"

"Because a few weeks ago I got contacted by child services." In his chest, Goro felt his heart skip a beat, then speed up. He remembered that there had been a few visits, in the early months after his mother died, but no one had come to bother them for a while. "They were concerned that with--with your aunt gone, that they might need to move you."

"Oh." It was all Goro could think to stay, all he had room for in his head. It had been months since he worried about the Dojimas getting rid of him. Chisato had decided to take him in and Ryo had welcomed the decision. He should've known that with her gone now, he wouldn't be kept around anymore.

"I told them to fuck off." Goro choked out a half-hysterical laugh, staring at his uncle's wry smile. "'Course, that just meant I had to fill out some more paperwork. They gave me some options, and I had to get some permissions."

"Permissions for what ? To keep me?"

"Yeah." Ryo straightened out the papers, then offered them out. Slowly, Goro inched out of his hiding spot to take a look. He was sitting half a foot away, just reaching out to take the packet when Ryo finished. "That and to adopt you."

The word clanged through him, echoed by the forms he was suddenly holding. A lot of it was legal jargon he didn't really get, but he understood the important parts. Ryotaro wanted to adopt him. The only parts that hadn't been filled in were the final signature at the bottom and the box labeled Name after Adoption .

" Oh ."

"I wanted to ask if you wanted to keep the Akechi name or...be a Dojima. Technically, you’re meant to take mine but I ain’t going to force it so. Yeah. Choice is yours, kid."

Akechi was his mother's name. She hadn't had the choice to give him his father's name, and somewhere over the years Goro hadn't wanted it. Shido was just the name of some asshole who had ruined his mother's life and led to her suicide.

Dojima was...it was Chisato's name, and Ryotaro's. Goro had never considered what it might mean to carry a father's name. To have some semblance of inherited story, to carry on something that mattered. For all that he was furious at Ryo, he was still the closest thing to a dad Goro had ever had.

"Can I..." Goro sucked in a deep breath. "Can I be a Dojima?"

"Yeah kid." Ryo pulled out a pen, scribled Goro Dojima into the box, then signed it. As easy as that. "I'll file it tomorrow. For now though." Ryo clapped a hand onto Goro's shoulder. "You, Goro Dojima, are still grounded. Two weeks."

Goro didn't argue it.

(It felt a little strange, the first few weeks as all of his teachers started calling him Dojima. It felt good when Nanako started calling him Goro-nii all the time, as if he'd always been her brother. It felt right when, on New Years, he said goodnight dad for the first time.

Their dad still stayed at work late, still missed more parent teacher conferences then he made. Goro still buried his rage deep in his bones because he couldn't get rid of it. But they had Sunday dinners now and Goro walked Nanako to and from school. He even learned how to make very basic rice and eggs. And boil noodles. It was something, at least.

It was a family in a strange, made up way.)

Then, in 2011, everything changed.