Origins: Consequences

Morning trickled through the only window in the room. Remnants of last night’s raindrops bent the sun beams into rainbows that speckled the cluttered walls. Silence and stillness captured the space, apart from the deep rhythmic breaths of a sleeping boy. He lay on his stomach, tangled in a mess of tussled sheets and dangling halfway off the bed in a motionless slumber.

THUD THUD!

“Get the fuck up, lazy ass! Breakfast! Now!”

Raiko rapped his fists heavily against the other side of Hisoka’s door before shouting into it, effectively shattering the peace. Abruptly torn from his much-needed slumber, Hisoka gasped and his eyes shot open as his whole body tensed. Realizing that the noise was in fact not armageddon but his hellish excuse for an “older brother,” the boy buried his face into the bed and released a groan more suitable for a dying animal.

THUD! “Let’s go, shit stain!”

“Shut the fuck up, dick munch or I’ll rip your fucking tongue out!” He somehow managed to retort before smashing his face back into the bed. He could hear Raiko chuckle as he headed downstairs. Hisoka would have been angrier. He would have leapt out of bed and punched the turd-stick in the face. But his body couldn’t respond. It felt as through he had been hit by a train and then stabbed in the temples. His head spun in a blur of emotion and pain as he struggled to gain control over his consciousness. He quickly learned that closing his eyes only made the spinning worse. That, and he needed to breathe. So he tilted his head and rested on its side, squinting through puffy eyes. The room was comfortingly messy: clothing spilling out of the closet and draped over the chair; various components, tools, wrappings, cans, and bottles were scattered across and under every surfaces. But everything was right where he left it and that’s exactly where he wanted it to be. He took in a heavy sigh and closed his eyes again, trying to breath through the knot in his stomach and the swelling pain in his head.

…What the hell happened—

Before he could finish his thought, his eyes suddenly shot open once more. They were locked on an object beneath the desk that ran parallel to his bed. It was a very large, very empty bottle that was once very much filled with alcohol. It was not uncommon to see such a thing in among the rest of the junk on the teenage boy’s floor. The problem was not that it was there but rather how it got there and why it was empty…

Jaw hanging open, eyes wide, brow furrowed, his expression painted disbelief as the fog of swollen fatigue that clouded his memories began to clear. He slid his hand up to his side and pressed it into the bed to aid in lifting up his torso. To his surprise, lifting his head felt more like lifting a ten ton block. He moved slowly, not once taking his eyes from the bottle as if it were a coiled snake ready to strike if he did. Then, a terrifying possibility dawned on him: he could still be here. He snapped his head to look at the other side of the bed, lungs tight with anticipation. He was alone. Beyond relieved, the boy let out a long sigh and let his head fall back onto the soft surface and close his eyes.

Wrong move. All the movement coming to an abrupt stop sent his head into a violently nauseating whirl. His stomach churned uncomfortably and his throat lurched. He shot out of bed and stumbled in a frantic mess of movement. He collapsed beside the nearest waste basket and proceeded to unload the remnants of last night’s dinner and half a bottle of booze. Gasping between gags, he tried to recover whatever composure he could muster. Finally, he leaned back and let his head fall against the wall behind him. He had no choice but to relax into the overwhelming fatigue, despite his extreme discomfort.

This… sucks…


Hisoka dragged himself downstairs and into the poor excuse for a dining room looking like he had crawled out of the grave. He had managed to slip on some pants but decided to leave the shirt for later. One hand pressed on his lower back for balance as he struggled not to limp. It wasn’t until he attempted to walk that he realized how sore he was.  Dark bags hung like weights beneath his squinted eyes and his already pale complexion took on an inhuman tone.

Please don’t ask… please don’t ask…

“Hah! Well, well. Look who decided to drag his sore ass down here. Damn. Don’t you look fucked.” The slimy, conceded voice made Hisoka’s sensitive stomach turn. Raiko was already sitting down, arm casted, face swollen and bruised. His bright blue hair, usually styled high to make him appear taller, was tussled and drooping. A platter of food and an empty tea cup sat in front of him. His smirk, his infliction, the way he was looking at him - it made Hisoka’s return glare more suspicious than angry. But Raiko was probably just fucking with him, as usual. The gangster wanna-be usually didn’t come home until well into the night, if he came home at all. Besides, it looked like he had gotten into one hell of a scrap last night - probably another bar brawl. Much to Hisoka’s pleasure, this time it looked like he got his ass handed to him. There was no way he could’ve known what happened… right? Hisoka thought many things but said nothing, for fear that he might vomit on the table, and carefully sat down. Unsatisfied with the lack of response, Raiko frowned.

Mae shuffled out of the kitchen with a bright smile and a chipped clay pot full of morning tea. The apron synched around her petite waist was much too clean considering all the work she had already done. The dress beneath it was a gift from Hisoka. He had told her he bought it with the money he’d earned from his mission. In reality, he’d lifted it from one of the huffy women’s garment stores in the business district. “Good morning, Hisoka,” her joyful greeting lifted the boy’s spirits, although he wasn’t able to show it. The longer she observed him, the faster her marry expression faded. “Are you feeling alright, dear?” She asked as she poured their tea.

Before he could respond, Raiko cut in. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s just a little hung over.” Now Hisoka’s eyes were not just suspicious, they were terrified. They’re sudden intensity pierced those of the injured man seated beside him. His heart skipped and his mind raced. How much did he know? And how did he know it? Mae sat down slowly, looking back and forth between them both confused and concerned. “Is that true, Hisoka?” Her tone was still soft but had dropped into a lower more serious octave. Hisoka’s eyes snapped to meet hers but only for a moment before he brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes.

“What? No, no. I just feel like shit. I think… I think I have the flue or something.” He struggled to be convincing but couldn’t help but appear nervous. Adrenaline began to pump life into his weakened state. He had to find a way to keep Raiko quiet and fast. If the slime ball did know what happened, he would make sure Hisoka was thoroughly humiliated for it. And he could NOT have that, no matter what. The potential fallout would not only ruin his family life but destroy his reputation entirely. And he could kiss whatever was left of his dignity goodbye. His nerves fired like gun shots and he could feel a thin layer of sweat tickling his forehead.

Could this morning get any fucking worse?

Raiko seemed to find amusement in Hisoka’s obvious cover and coughed “Bullshit!” into his tea cup after a drawn out sip. Mae flashed her son a scolding look and he covered his mouth, sarcastically apologetic. “S’cuse me,” he mused. Conceit oozed from his words. “Guess I just can’t help callin’ it how I see it.” Hisoka kept his gaze glued to the table. He couldn’t look at either of them. But he could feel those heinous eyes burning wholes in him. He could hear the slick sound of those thin lips peeling into that revolting grin. He wanted nothing more than to punch it clean off of that ugly face. “And I'm lookin at a lying, little, faggot.” Raiko paused after each last word and leaned closer and closer, allowing them to cut deep with a serrated blade.

Hisoka couldn’t even hear Mae’s interjection. He was too busy coping with the fact that his nightmare was becoming a reality right before his eyes and there was nothing he could do except hate it. There was nothing he could do except hate him. His blood boiled beneath his skin and his heart reverberated through his entire body. Color rushed back into his complexion due to the sudden onset of embarrassment, anxiety, and rage. Golden eyes, lit aflame, pierced the older boy beside him. “Shut the fuck up, dumb ass! I’m not fucking lying and I’m not hung over I… I was out training in the rain last night and I caught a damn cold or some shit. You’re just fucking butt hurt cause you lost your bar fight and got the shit kicked out of your hammered ass.” Desperately, he covered his tracks.

“Hisoka!-“ Once again, Mae tried to interject but to no avail.

Rearing his head back, Raiko snarled. “You’re so full of shit! I know you stole that sake from dad’s stash! And I heard you and your faggot ass boyfriend banging around last—“ Before the blue haired boy could finish, Hisoka sprang from his seat in a fit of rage, knocking the table over in the process, and tackled his older brother to the ground. “Shut up!” The blue haired coward cried out in pain as he his already beaten body hit the floor. Pinning him down, Hisoka’s fist connected with Raiko’s jaw and cut the cry short. One after another, the younger boy sent his fists crashing down. “You don't know shit about me you mother fucking asshole!” All the feeling that stirred inside him from the night before and the morning after burst into primal impulse. Cast over the gruesome scene in front of him was a red film of pure rage.

A small hand grabbed Hisoka’s forearm, trying to prevent his next strike. Reacting on impulse, he whirled around and struck the perpetrator across the face. It wasn’t until her body hit the floor had he realized what he had done. The woman who had taken Hisoka in as her own son and raised him as his mother was looking back at him with eyes filled with terror and betrayal. The pound of the door against the wall struck his ears and he whirled to see Sakata charge into the room. It would only took a moment to assess what had happened. And it would take half a moment for him to jump to the conclusion that it was all Hisoka’s fault, as it always was. Before anything could be said, Hisoka took off toward his room. “What the- hey! Come here, you little shit!” Swiftly following him up the stairs, bellowing up at him, was Sakata. As the door slammed behind the boy, a flurry of paper flew from his desk and layered around the nob. He added a little more chakra and the paper stuck the door to its frame just in time to prevent Sakata from bashing it open. “You open this goddamn door right now, Hisoka!” The man screamed at him from the other side while Hisoka snatched his vest and weapons halter from the chair and slid it on. He grabbed Hebi Sendo from its knelt position against the wall and clipped into place against his back. He hesitated, glancing back at his bedroom door once more, before leaping from his window and onto the street below. He took off down the ally and disappeared into the mist.