Title: Get Scared

Author: Ri-Ryn

Genre: Angst/Drama

Word Count: 2014

Rating: M* (Content suitable for Mature Teens) / +T

Disclaimer: Kuroko no Basket belongs to Tadatoshi Fujimaki.

Summary: In Teikō Junior High, Kuroko dreamed. And in Teikō Junior High Kuroko ran. He wouldn't be involved. He wouldn't get attached. He wouldn't be hurt and he would not allow himself to be replaced like a worn away toy. In Teikō Junior High, Kuroko made his decision. They wouldn't misuse him. (Slight AU differences than original story)

Warnings: Language; off-hand mention of suicide without death; depression.

A/N: This was titled after the band 'Get Scared' and the bolded phrases are from the song 'Afraid' by The Neighborhood.

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You suck anyway.

Give it up.

You'll always lose.

You're not improving. In fact, you're getting worse.

Tetsuya grit his teeth, his normally blank face full of emotion. Anger, disappointment, anxiety.

It was rare for the small, easily missed boy to become so enthralled with something that he'd devote his entire being to it. And they thought he would give up? That he would stop because of that?

The boy dug his nails into his hand guiltily. He had thought of giving up. He wasn't making any progress, no matter how hard he tried: no matter how much he adored basketball.

It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

It would never be enough.

He knew that.

Tetsuya punched the floor of the third gym's floor, feeling the stinging tingle traverse his arm, and oddly enough…? It really didn't feel like anything. It was supposed to hurt, release his frustrations, distract him! And it was just another useless endeavor.

The deterred athlete stood, dribbling. Up, down, up, down to a center point into the opposite awaiting hand and back again: he loved this and yet…

"Gah, g-gh-ghost! Don't eat me."

Tetsuya turned, seeing the tall athletic boy from the first string regulars shaking and scared. How rude.

"Excuse me?" The tanned teen stiffened. "Aomine-san?"

Slowly, young, frightened eyes turned, hazing the gym until they finally found the boy with sky blue hair. "Wh-who're you?"

"I'm Kuroko Tetsuya, Aomine-san."

The boy made a strangled noise. "How do you now my name!?"

"You're in the first string. Everyone knows the names of the regulars, Aomine-san," Kuroko deadpanned.

"Are you human?" Aomine asked suspiciously.

Ah, Kuroko had heard Aomine wasn't good for much else but basketball.

"Yes." Kuroko looked at the halfway open door to the outside, seeing evening light. "What are you doing here Aomine-san? The first string practices in the first gym and still there after normal club hours."

"It's too crowded." This boy really was simple and one tracked.

The corners of Kuroko's mouth lifted ever so slightly and the blue haired boy caught it. "Do you like basketball?"

Did he? So much it was painful. "I do like basketball; and you, Aomine-san?"

"I love it! It's the best."

Aomine understood him: Aomine actually liked and paid him attention. Aomine acknowledged his effort, because someone who stayed behind so late and worked so hard had to be a good person. There was no such thing as a useless player, everyone must work together as a team, and basketball was fun.

Kuroko believed him. He believed in the quirky Midorima (he had never meet someone as serious as he), who at the very least respected his dedication, to Kise who found his will fascinating (he had never put in 'effort'), Murasakibara who found his quiet temper and refusal to stay down unusual (he had watched stronger players fall), and to Akashi (he had never seen such blatant refusal to accept one's fate, perhaps Tetsuya could change his disposition). Then Akashi came to him with not sweet nothings, but promises of a future.

It was too good and Akashi simply gave him an analytical stare, an expectant one. "I expect you'll have an answer by tomorrow? After a night to think it over, of course, Tetsuya."

The pale boy could only nod, stunned.

That night he dreamed.

He dreamed bitterly.

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Bitter Dream

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All my friends always lie to me.

"You're weak Kuroko, having to rely on others." Midorima grabbed another ball, preparing to shoot and making another perfect three-pointer. "If it wasn't for the rest of us, you wouldn't have any place here."

Kise smiled, fake and admonishingly. "Kurokocchi." The boy paused, thinking it over. "Kuroko, I can compete with Aomine. It wouldn't mean anything if you were to help."

Murasakibara glared. "Haa? You're still here, Kuro-chin? I thought we'd crushed you."

Aomine had cried terribly when he became too good for him. "I don't even remember how to receive your passes anymore. Basketball is supposed to be fun! And, honestly," Aomine bit his lips as the strangled dismissal passed through his lips, "I will never need them or you again." That was right; they weren't friends or sharing hobbies outside of basketball. If one basketball idiot left, you were left with not a pair of morons but a single fool unable to learn.

And he was playing the fool, truly, if Akashi was any standard.

"Hm," Akashi evaluated him in disappointment one last time. "I've never been wrong. You did have potential, but I overestimated the amount. Really," Akashi smiled placating, "you were a side project, a prototype. Now that I know what to look for, I can make someone better." Akashi turned to walk away before turning back, genuinely curious. "Did you have fun, Kuroko Tetsuya?"

I know they're thinking.

They're opponents had been crushed. Their effort, even if it bore no fruit against impossible odds, wasn't eaten or torn apart. It wasn't worth a second glance in the face of its cultivation.

Effort, time, sweat, teammates: they, it was all worthless. It was all a joke the miracles scoffed at.

I don't like you, fuck you anyway.

They left. He was alone again. He remembered that no matter what he did it wasn't ever enough and he couldn't imagine how it was feasible to forget that. Sure, they accepted him initially, but something so fragile only shattered to cut you in the end.

Kuroko ran, away from the first gym, away from the hold they possessed as he attended Seiren, as he beat Kaijo, Shutoku, Too, Yosen, and Rakuzen. When, at the end, accomplished and victorious he was still so irreversibly broken and trapped by that wondrous title: The Generation of Miracles: The Generation of Monsters.

It hurts but I won't fight you.

Kuroko stared at the wall in front of him. Graffiti covered it, names written in bold, colorful letters with scores intertwined and the outlines of basketball players and games he would never play the same way again. It was tempting as he reached out his hand before withdrawing it to his chest, feeling fire and acid burn him in chastisement.

What was he doing?

Looking to rebel, to raise arms?

No, he was weak in the beginning. Sure, he would be strong personally, but overall he must be weak because that was safe and uninvolved.

Kuroko backed away. He wasn't a toy, a tool, or a project nor was he a phantom. He did exist and had feelings, sensations, even if expressing them had its own difficulties.

He was human, too.

You make me wanna' scream at the top of my lungs.

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End: Bitter Dream

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And he did with a start, the strained wailing bursting from softly used vocal cords and tongue. Open, wild, and in pain because something so fun should never be so devious.

When I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place.

And he was for the loss that wouldn't be coming, anymore, and the different sort of emptiness it would fill him with as his nails raked down the sides of his arms. His jaw gaped and strained and sobbed noiselessly now. And he kept his eyes unseeingly towards his ceiling.

You make me wanna' die.

Kuroko's bloodied, torn nails founds wrists as he ruined the soft flesh and skin with desperate horizontal strokes. He had been a part of those monsters. He was one and yet he tried to save them.

Blood welled as his pallor paled further and he stained the sky blue sheets of his bed.

Being me can only mean feeling scared to breathe.

The next morning, Kuroko hid his dirtied sheets in the bottom recesses of his hamper, scurrying to the bathroom with both guilt and conviction. The warm water burned on his wounds as he scraped the haphazard scabs, letting new scarlet the color of Akashi's hair bleed and properly scab this time. Fresh and tender, like him.

His blazer hid the wounds but it didn't matter to Kuroko. They could see them, the third and second string could, but in the end it was pointless. He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to live so early on in life with a ball and chain weaved through the bone of his very leg.

He found them at early morning practice, something he was skipping this one time for the third string, a gentle smile on his face as he stared Akashi in the eyes, the other regular's eyes on him. Aomine happily swung an arm around his shoulders that he gingerly but firmly removed, letting his sleeve jacket slide down and show the inflamed, self-inflicted wilts to his arms. Aomine gaped, roughly grabbing Kuroko's wrist, making the boy wince.

"Who did this to you, Tetsu?" The tanned player grit through his teeth.

Kuroko smiled bitterly, seeing just what, originally, he was giving up. "I did after a nightmare I had last night. It was not intentional."

Midorima was about to suggest getting help to clean the wounds before Kuroko cut him off. "Akashi-san, although the offer is tempting." Kuroko clenched his hand absently. "It will never be worth it."

Akashi stared, for once bewildered at the small boy. Aomine voiced his opinion.

"But Tetsu-!"

If you leave me then I'll be afraid of everything.

"What?" Akashi asked stiffly, never having been refused. This was unheard of. "Do you know what you're denying?" Akashi demanded, feeling the barest slip of control. "What do you have to offer to this team without my assistance?"

Kuroko stared back, fighting the feeling of conceding that threatened to overwhelm him. "I have everything to offer, actually."

When I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might end up being me.

"Besides," Kuroko murmured softly. His clear, old blue eyes hardened. "I'm nothing but a muse, yes? I'm easily replaced, no doubt, by any new, better candidate you're sure to meet. I'm not a passing thought, Akashi-san."

The redhead's jaw tightened. "How dare-"

"That right, Akashi-san." The phantom muttered. "I dare. And I defy. I already know what I must do, and this team that you're building to fall apart?" The third stringer looked the shocked regulars in the eyes individually, one at a time, before looking into crimson iris. "It is inconsequential in the end."

Kuroko turned, away from this jaded future line to the third strings practice, ready to implement misdirection, ignite passes, invisible drives, and phantom shots in hopes of lifting Seiren to victory.

When asked to join second string, he agreed. However, he refused the demand to move up to first string, causing his expulsion from the basketball club a quarter of the way through his last year. His old teammates were already ruined by their own innate talent and arrogance, and Seiren found him that spring ready to tear them down.

That makes me anxious, keeps me patient, calms me down.

It was surreal, each and every time. Watching their faces fall at his intimate knowledge of their skills, their strengths, and their weaknesses. This time, there were no rumors of a phantom sixth man. There was no prior reputation although his coach refused to believe he had absolutely nothing to do with them.

And then, the night before his fight with Rakuzan and the former captain of the Generation of Miracles?

His head blissfully hit the pillow without worry and ease with his hopes resting on all of Seiren and his one, true light: Kagami.

Lets me face this, let me sleep, and when I wake up?

Mayuzumi Chihiro? He was nothing. A side project of Akashi-san who drew him in with seductive whispers of use and purpose.

"So, you're the one who defied Akashi and the rest of them?" The third year was unimpressed. "Let me show you the differences in our skill."

Kuroko tilted his head to the side. "You're very astute, senpai. I will show you what it means to be a human phantom. You're not devoted, you're easily overwritten, and I will win with the heart of this team backing me."

"Prepare yourselves for defeat."

Let me breathe.

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FIN

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