A DARK DREAMING
by: Skywatch and Huskyman

Disclaimer: The Nerima Wrecking Crew belong entirely to Rumiko Takahashi. We
just passed by and thought, now what if?

Words in [ ] are thoughts

PART ONE: A LOOK BACK

100 KILOMETERS FROM NERIMA

Morning dawned slowly, bathing the world in a muted yellow light. A
rooster crowed to herald a new day. In a small town a hundred kilometers from
the city of Tokyo, people began to stir.

A gray-haired old man opened his door. "It's going to be a hot day," he
murmured to no one in particular. He sipped his tea as he stood, noting that
most of his neighbors were still indoors, probably asleep or preparing
breakfast. The faint scent of bread floated past him - the Kanedas would
probably open their small bakery soon, but from long experience he knew he still
had time.

Putting the cup of tea aside, the old man grabbed a long-handled broom.
Since his wife's death five years ago, his days always began the same way. The
ritual was familiar and, probably for that reason, rather comforting: a bit of a
wash, some strong hot tea, a general cleaning along the front of the house up to
the sidewalk, and then a short walk to the bakery to chat with the Kanedas and
to buy some of their freshly baked bread. Somehow, going through the same
motions gave him a measure of peace and set him up for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, today was going to be different.

The old man froze in mid-sweep. The hairs on his nape were suddenly
standing on end. Goosebumps crawled along his forearms and a prickly sensation
inched along the back of his head. His grip on the broom handle tightened.
Moving faster than he had in years, he whirled around.

"O-ohayou." A young man - a boy, really - of 17 or 18 years stood a
meter away. An uncertain expression was on his tanned, earnest face. A yellow
bandanna tied around his forehead kept a shock of thick black hair away from his
dark eyes, matching a sleeveless yellow shirt and dusty black pants. A backpack
and a traditional bamboo umbrella were slung across his shoulders. "Is this the
way to Nerima prefecture?"

The old man shook his head, taking note of other things quickly and as
covertly as possible. The boy was tall, and his stance, the muscles corded
along his bare arms and the easy breaths he took despite what must've been a
long trip on foot (the nearest village was a good 3 hours away) proclaimed him
to be a formidable -- what, exactly? A fighter with some kind of training, the
old man guessed, but something more. Surely that in itself couldn't have
elicited the reaction he had just had? "Ohayou. No, Tokyo is 2 to 3 hours
away if you take the bus. A couple of days if you plan to walk."

The boy muttered an expletive under his breath, clearly irritated at the
state of things. In that moment, everything became clear for the old man. "Can
you give me directions?" the youth demanded.

The elder swallowed. "Hai, of course. You take this road and you
follow it until ..." he droned automatically, his mind working furiously, his
eyes darting in different directions to plot some means of escape.

[Fangs!] his mind thundered, averting his gaze from the stranger's
mouth. [Kami-sama! To meet another one in my lifetime is the worst luck!]

The boy was looking at him, eyes squinting in concentration. Then, with
a curt "Domo!" the youth broke into a run.

And promptly turned in the wrong direction before he was even out of
sight, but the old man wouldn't have corrected him for all the world.

65 KILOMETERS FROM NERIMA

Ryouga snapped a dead branch off a tree, crushed it into smaller pieces
with one hand, and flung the pieces into the campfire. When the flames leapt
high enough to satisfy him, he sat down and took a few cooking implements from
his backpack. He grinned; it was a good thing he'd bought bread earlier from
that bakery, otherwise it would've just been instant noodles tonight. There
hadn't been any time to go hunting. He boiled more than enough water for the
noodles - no telling when rain might make hot water a necessity.

During and after his meal, he scanned the sky periodically for the
slightest sign of cloud cover. He wished, for the umpteenth time in his life,
that he had a tent that fit into his backpack.

[At least it looks like a clear night.] Sighing, Ryouga laid back, his
hands serving as a pillow for his head. He gazed up at the myriad number of
stars.

"I'm sorry, Akane. I was hoping I'd see you today, but my sense of
direction ... Please wait for me. I have something important to tell you." He
cleared his throat. "The truth is, I - I've loved you from the moment I met
you! Can you, uh, l-l-" he shook his head and tried again, "can we go out on a
d-da-" Immediately he felt the blood suffuse his face. [Oh great, I can't even
get this straight, and she's nowhere near me yet!]

"Oh Akane," he sighed, "if you only knew how I feel." [How can I explain
it? Whenever I'm with you, I'm complete. When you hold me in your arms, even
when I'm a pig, it's as if the whole world slows down.] A bit guiltily, he
remembered Akari. As dense as Ryouga was, he had no doubts about Akari's
affection for him [okay, maybe it's more than that] and although his feelings
for her were getting stronger, he couldn't return it with the same fervor. At
least, not while there was still a chance with Akane.

He thought back to the haunted cave, to the one time Akane had run to
him and not to Ranma, and he had been allowed by the fates to hold her in his
arms. His man's heart had, for once, been full. He couldn't have done a shi
shi hokoudan then if his life had depended on it. When she had turned to him for
protection -- He would do almost anything for another chance at that!

The ironic thing was, if he had met Akari before Akane, she would've
meant everything to him. He would've thanked his lucky stars, heck, the entire
pantheon of kamis, for such a blessing. Finally, he would've thought, someone
who really loves me, won't push me away, and I'll never be alone again ...

THE HIBIKI HOME: YEARS AND YEARS AGO

Seven-year old Ryouga sprinted along the sidewalk, then stopped
abruptly. Hey, wow, he was home already! This must be some sort of record. He
turned to Okaachan, grinning triumphantly.

"Careful, Ryo," his mother admonished gently, "no need to run so fast."

The door to the house opened, and there was Otousan, holding the newest
addition to the family in his huge, brawny arms. "Back so soon from the
dentist?" he asked in a sarcastic but soft tone. "You let him lead again,
didn't you? You should know better - you could've ended up in Mt. Fuji," he
teased. "So how is little Ryo?"

Ryouga knew, without looking, that his father's gaze had taken on that
peculiar mix of concern and anxiety again. He couldn't remember when he first
became aware of it, it seemed as if it had been there forever. He heard his
mother say, "He definitely has a better sense of direction than you, neh,
Ryo-chan?" She ruffled his thick black hair. "He took us most of the way, and
he only got lost twice."

"I did, didn't I?" Ryouga threw his head back and whooped a short
self-conscious laugh, his fingertips briefly brushing against his mother's as
his hand went reflexively to tug at his hair. Basking in his mother's praise, he
missed the strange look that passed between his parents. But he didn't miss the
abrupt way his mother's hand froze momentarily beneath his. Whatever joy he
felt was gone in an instant. [What have I done now?] He glanced at his mother.

She looked back at him, her dark eyes sorry and sad. She kissed him
gently on the cheek in a wordless apology. "Why don't you go and play? Don't
eat anything for another hour, though. Remember what the dentist said."

"Yes, Ryouga, why not practice that kata I taught you? I'll check on you
later," his father said.

The thought of another martial arts lesson cheered the boy up
immediately. "Alright!" He bowed to his father-sensei, and ran off.

His parents watched him until he actually entered the enclosed yard
(he had veered off once when he was six and ended up three blocks away).
Then they turned to each other.

"How was Yo-chan while I was gone?" Mrs. Hibiki held out her arms for
the baby.

"Oh she was very well-behaved. You should've seen her - she grabbed my
finger and wouldn't let go." Ryouga's father laughed, a carefree sound that his
son wouldn't have recognized. "But what did the dentist say?"

"His baby teeth will all be gone in the next two years. As for the
permanent ones," she continued reluctantly, "the x-rays show a possible overbite
and well-developed canine teeth."

Immediately, Hibiki-san was somber. "I hoped I was wrong." He laid a
hand on her arm. "You know what this means."

"Iie!" the mother protested. "We can't abandon him. At his age --"

Her husband shook his head. "We've discussed this before. We're not
abandoning him. I've been training him. He's already good enough to defend
himself from most things. Ryouga will ... most likely surpass me one day," he
said, pride in his voice. "He learns so fast and his strength - one day he will
be formidable!"

"Ryouga is a child, he needs more than self-defense and martial arts!
The way he looks up to you, don't you see how much he admires his father, and
just now, how hurt he was when I -" she broke off abruptly. "This isn't fair,
it's not his fault!"

She felt his arms encircling her and the baby. "You're right," he
admitted, 'the fault is ours. But what were we supposed to do, not get married,
not have a child? The day I saw the two of you together, you cradling him, so
pale as he slumbered peacefully -" he shuddered. "How can I endure for that to
happen again?"

"He didn't know what he was doing!" she protested again.

"Yes, but he did it anyway. And now, his teeth will grow - it's the
sign, and we can't ignore it." He sighed. "If it were just the two of us, I'd
take the chance. He's my son, too. I'd watch him like a hawk and hope for the
best. But now that we have Yoiko ..."

"His teeth haven't grown yet," Ryouga's mother said stubbornly.

"But when it does? What happens when he wants to play with his little
sister?"

She bit her lip, glancing at the face of baby Yoiko. Herself she could,
and would, gladly risk for her son's sake, but her daughter was another matter.
"Then we will see. But I will agree only to what is necessary."

===============

Ryouga couldn't pinpoint the exact time it began, but he learned early
to fend for himself. Was he eight or nine when his parents began to get lost
regularly and for extended periods at a time? He remembered how his heart
hammered in fright the first time he came home to a dark and empty house. There
was only one light, a note and some food. His parents had decided to take Yoiko
out on a picnic, and, being utterly familiar with his father's lack of
directional sense, had left things "in case they didn't get back in time."

That first night alone was a memory that never left Ryouga. He was no
more than a child and he had spent the night curled up in a ball by his parents'
neat and empty bed.

His mother found him like that the next morning, and it almost broke her
heart. She picked him up and hugged him tightly. "Oh Ryo, I'm so sorry."

He was so happy, so relieved, that he clung to her as fiercely as he
could. Immediately, he began to feel better. "Okaachan, why did you leave me?"
he cried.

He never got an answer, because the next thing he knew he was being
hauled to his feet. "Ryouga!" his father barked at him. "Get away from her!"

The boy staggered away with a hurt and confused expression on his face.
Never had his father handled him so roughly, not even during training.

His mother rose angrily. "He wasn't doing anything!" she shouted. She
looked like she was about to slap her husband. "Leave him alone!"

"Are you blind, woman?!" his father shot back. "I let you out of my
sight for one minute, and now you're as pale as a ghost!"

Ryouga couldn't stand it anymore. Nearly blind with tears, he ran as far
away from the room as he could.

Which, with his sense of direction, turned out to be the empty lot next
door. Not caring about the fact that he was still in pajamas, he sat down
cross-legged on the grass and tried in vain to assume a meditative pose. [Find
my wa ... shut everything else out.]

His father found him at noontime. He sat down beside the boy. "Ryo, I'm
sorry."

[This is a strange day, both my parents apologizing to me.] It also
amazed him that his father had found him so soon, and without getting lost himself.
Still, Ryouga refused to meet his father's eyes and stared straight ahead.

"I overreacted, neh? It's been a difficult day, and it's not ... not
manly to carry on like that." Even to Ryouga's young ears, the excuse sounded
lame. "Hey, I wanted to show you something, a new move I think you're ready
for. You'll need this, though." Otousan held out a yellow strip of cloth with
black spots.

Despite himself, the boy looked curiously at the cloth. "What does it
do?" he asked.

His father grinned. "Oh it doesn't do anything, but as to what you can
make it do - that's different!" With a quick flick of his fingers the strip
seemed to stand on its own, as rigid as a piece of wood. "And then
once you've gotten that, you can do this." Standing, his father threw it towards
a nearby tree, where it promptly embedded itself in a flash of yellow.

Ryouga ran to the tree. "It's soft again!" he exclaimed in wonder,
touching the cloth that was now wedged into the trunk. The gaze he turned to his
father was admiring, almost worshipful.

Hibiki-san swallowed. He wished, for the umpteenth time, that he could
take his son into his arms and damn the consequences. "I'll teach it to you
before -" he broke off.

"You're going again, aren't you?" Ryouga asked. Although a bit slow
about some things, he was very sensitive and astute about others. [Like martial
arts, feelings, useless stuff like that.]

His father nodded, and chose his next words carefully. "It's not that we
actually want to, but you understand. This is giri, neh? It is our duty as
martial artists to keep up our training, and of course we can't take you with
us. After all, there's school. For the same reason, we can't leave Yoiko behind.
We don't mean to stay away, son, but you know the Hibiki curse - it keeps us
away longer than we mean to." He breathed deeply. [I must tell my son
something of the truth.] "We're also looking for something. It's a quest for a
cure, and it would benefit many people if we found it." [Like you.]

Ryouga's eyes shined as his fears were explained away. "A quest? Can't I
... go with you sometimes?" he asked shyly.

"Maybe when you're ready," Otousan smiled, holding up another piece of
yellow cloth. His son grinned back at him, delighted.

=============

Within the next five years, Hibiki Ryouga learned most of his father's
special techniques, although mastering them took much longer. Each one was
taught to him during the brief periods his family stayed at home between
training trips.

He was in junior high before he stopped believing his father's lies.
For Otousan to get lost was entirely plausible - a skewed sense of direction
plagued the Hibiki bloodline - but Okaachan had a perfectly normal sense of
direction. As for Yoiko, she grew up barely knowing her big brother, although
she seemed fond of him anyway.

The next years were not kind to Ryouga. He endured the merciless teasing
of his classmates. They found many reasons - his missing parents, his
misguided sense of direction, the extended canine teeth that became more
prominent as he grew, his shy and solitary ways and yes, his martial arts.

Although no one dared do more than tease, it was enough. By the time he
was fourteen, Ryouga was effectively alone.

He had also become extremely touchy about people making fun of him. This
trait did not exactly help him to deal with arrival of one motormouth, Saotome
Ranma. To make things worse, Saotome was an excellent martial artist.

Ryouga heard the satisfied snickers and the not-quite-whispered snide
comments that greeted his every "loss" to Ranma with glee. Although the latter
was a new boy, Ryouga's temper and his skills had made him many envious enemies
who loved to see him taken down a notch. The fact that Ranma often beat him to
what was sometimes his only decent meal for the day didn't help his mood,
either.

Ranma was the bane of his junior high existence, and yet ... there was
something that happened when they fought. Ryouga always felt so charged,
brimming with energy, even up to the end when he was panting for breath. He was
always at the top of his form when he was sparring with Ranma, somehow faster,
stronger and more focused than at any other time.

The boy began to look forward to his daily bouts with Ranma. It was,
after all, one of the few constant things in Ryouga's harried life. Whether the
stranger knew it or not, he was easily the closest thing to a friend Ryouga had
had in over three years.

[A friend.] Ryouga was startled at the eagerness that rose up in him.
[That's right, I could make him my friend! But how do I do that? He has to
respect me first.] Almost as clueless at social niceties as Ranma was, Ryouga
fell back on the one thing he did know, martial arts. [If we have a serious
duel, not like this stuff over the stupid bread, and I can beat him, he'll take
me seriously then - yeah, that's it!]

The next day, Hibiki Ryouga formally challenged Saotome Ranma to a duel
of martial skills. Unfortunately, he got lost on the way to the empty lot behind
his house and never made it. Worse, it appeared as if he had thrown the fight,
not shown up at his own challenge. The snickers behind his back grew in number.

Then there was the indefinable feeling of emptiness in him when
Saotome failed to show up for school.

That was the last straw. On his fifteenth birthday, Ryouga tied a bunch
of the special yellow bandannas to his head, packed his backpack for the first
time and set off on his own journey. Little did he know that he had set the
pattern of his life for the coming years. Having no real idea as to where
Saotome had headed off to, he turned towards the distant figure of Mt. Fuji and
trudged westward.

The umbrella came later.

"Ryo-chan?! Ryouga!"

Ryouga froze as his mother came panting up to him.

"What are you doing so far away from the house?" she asked, before she
noticed the heavy backpack.

The boy glanced around. "Where's Otousan and Yoiko?" [Maybe I can say
goodbye to imouto before I go.]

His mother, still staring at the backpack, answered unthinkingly, "I
left them in a glade. We ran out of milk for Yoiko." She gasped and covered her
mouth. "Oh no, Ryo, it's not what you think."

Ryouga stared at her. The pain of having his suspicions confirmed, on
top of his other problems, nearly brought him to tears. [No, that's it, I've
had enough!]

"Isn't it?" he asked coldly. Without taking his eyes off of her, he
bowed stiffly and with as much pseudo-formality as he could muster. "Okaasan,
you may all go home now. I'm leaving and I probably won't be back." Every word
he spoke dripped with bitterness.

His mother flinched, as if from a blow. Then she composed herself and
returned his bow in an equally formal manner, but dropping her gaze. It was a
bow that spoke volumes, denoting respect and apology, so unlike Ryouga's own
insolent motion. "Honto ni gomen, Ryouga," she whispered softly. [I'm really
sorry. We should have found another way. I failed you, my son.]

The boy closed his eyes. His mother had repaid his insolence with a
formal apology, sacrificing propriety to do it, addressing him as if they were
equals. Sometimes he forgot why he loved her so much, and then she did something
unthinkable like this. [That's it. I lose.] He bowed again, this time deeply.
He held it as he said, "No, I'm the one who's sorry ... Mom."

He felt her smile, and then her hand was brushing the hair out of his
face. Startled at the contact, Ryouga nearly lost it. When he looked at her, his
eyes were brimming with tears.

"Will you come home?" she asked.

"Will you?" he shot back.

"Hai," she answered firmly, "but I cannot speak for your father, nor for
Yoiko."

It was the answer he was expecting. "Then, gomen, Okaachan, but I have
to go. It's a matter of honor. Besides," he looked down, "it's better this way.
All of you should be at home. It's my turn to go off on a 'training trip.'"

She seemed about to protest. Then - "Since it's a matter of honor. But
you should not leave without all of your weapons, my son."

"Huh?"

"I believe your father already taught you how to use this." Moving
slowly, she held out a familiar old-fashioned red bamboo umbrella and presented
it to him with both hands.

"Oh. Domo ar - wha?!" Ryouga yelped as he nearly dropped the heavy
umbrella. He examined it closely. The rod seemed to be made of pure iron or
steel, and the wooden slats were reinforced by sturdy bands of burnished metal.
Now he understood why his mother, a strong woman, always carried it with both
hands. "Nani?"

Was that a grin on her face? "What your father taught you with was
merely a prop. It was to prepare you for this." She touched the folded red
eaves. "This has been in the Hibiki family for generations. Every now and then
it must stay by our door and rest upon our hearth. Will you take up this little
duty, my son?" she asked with contrived lightness.

Ryouga considered, understanding exactly what she wanted. "H-hai. But I
can't promise when, Okaachan. My sense of direction ..."

The woman nodded, her eyes glinting suspiciously as they caught the
sunlight.

The boy knew that it was time to leave, else his resolve would break and
he'd end up following her home. Suddenly he hugged her. "I'll be back, Okaachan.
Say goodbye to imouto for me." The omission of any mention of his father was
deliberate. Then he gazed at her for one last time, trying to commit every
feature to memory, for who knew when he would see her again?

At her eyes, like pools of deep water, darker than his. At the shining
blue-black hair she had cut short when the "training trips" began. When did
Okaachan start looking so sad?

He ached to comfort her. Instead, he turned and walked away.

==============

Thank you for reading! This story is a collaboration. Some chapters will be
done by Skywatch and some by Huskyman. Please review. :)

Some Japanese words used in this fic:

imouto - younger sister
gomen - by itself, a casual "sorry"; Honto ni gomen is more formal
Okaasan - respectful / formal, roughly "mother"; Okaachan - more affectionate,
roughly "mom"