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Chapter Text

Shiba couldn’t help Chihiro anymore. The baby didn’t sense his dismay - he didn’t seem to sense anything outside of his current focus - and continued stacking red building blocks atop the yellow ones. And inevitably, because the former blocks were larger than the latter ones, his tower fell.
“Oh no.” Shiba voiced sympathetic dismay for the boy. This was the fifth time that this had occurred, and yet Chihiro did not falter. He instead grabbed the blue blocks and started his tower over once more. And so began the sixth round. Shiba hung his head; he was defeated.
“Bah.” The baby stated as he set the final blue block atop the stack.
“Yes, that worked again, huh?” Shiba prompted. Chihiro side-eyed him. Then turned his focus to the red blocks.

One would think - Shiba had certainly thought for a time - that Chihiro was entirely detached from the world beyond his chosen interest. But, as the blond very quickly found out, everything in the room had to be in its right place for the boy to be able to concentrate. When Shiba, about fifteen minutes earlier, stood to get himself a snack (babysitting was draining work), Chihiro had grabbed his trouser with a babble of betrayal. The blank-faced baby had never looked so furious, and even now it was as though Chihiro remained irritated withhim. Every now and then, he would pat Shiba on the leg, just to make sure he wasn’t thinking about making a move.

“Use this one next.” Shiba held out a yellow cube - the second largest coloured block. Chihiro looked at it, then at Shiba. He took it. And set it to the side. It was, at least, a polite dismissal for a twelve-month old to give. Chihiro took a red block instead and set it atop the blue one. Perhaps it was the lack of consequence that occurred when he started using the yellow blocks, and Chihiro had yet to harness the foresight to prevent the fall of his creation.
“Eehbah.” Chihiro made a grabby hand for the other yellow block. Shiba picked it up, alongside a red one. And considered his next move carefully.
“How about we try this? See?” Shiba set the red one atop the tower for him. Chihiro looked at him for a long moment. His lip quivered. “Oh no, was that wrong?” Shiba removed the block hurriedly - how inconsiderate of him to have put it there- and handed the yellow block back. “Here, don’t tell your father.” Chihiro sobbed.
“Aawah-!” The boy dropped the block, and planted his face into the floor.
“Oh no- there, there. I’m sorry, Chihi.” Something about Chihiro always made Shiba think he could reason with the boy. Perhaps it was his severity - the toddler’s actions appeared much more reasonable than they were due to his blank face.

But Chihiro was not to be reasoned with now. The boy wailed into the floor, inconsolable. Shiba considered his options: what fixes all children’s problems?
“Would you like a hug, Chihi?” The boy didn’t respond - maybe because he didn’t understand. So Shiba (very carefully) picked the boy up. There were times wherein Chihiro would refuse any contact at all when he was upset - and both Shiba and Kunishige had yet to figure out why. This was - fortunately - not one of those times.

Chihiro shoved his wet face into Shiba’s chest - gross - and continued to sob.
“Oh, I know Chihi, what a horrible thing I did. I’m sorry, really, I am.” Shiba cooed. The boy clung to him for dear life, so betrayed and yet so in need of comfort. Oh, how scary life must be for something as new to it as Chihiro.

Footsteps came from outside. And then:
“What’s wrong, Chihi?” Kunishige made an array of sympathetic sounds as he entered. Still wearing his work clothes, the man wiped sweat from his brow and knelt down next to the tower.
“Oh no, looks like dad’s going to have a go.” Shiba pat Chihiro’s back as his father loomed over the tower.
“What’s this then, a tower?” Chihiro looked up at him, with a vice grip on Shiba’s shirt. He looked as though he didn’t have time for his father’s questions - the situation was too dire for his dad to be wasting time. “Alright then, let’s put this up, and then we’ll have dinner, how about that?”
“Bamh…” Chihiro looked between them worriedly, his construction site now taken over.
“Let’s see… This block can’t go there, it’s too small!”
“Kuni-“ Shiba started too late (didn’t he always?). Kunishige took the sole yellow block from the tower. Chihiro wailed up at the ceiling, and threw himself against Shiba as if he’d just witnessed something violent. “Oh no, don’t look, little man!” Shiba patted his back, mouthing ‘red first’ to his friend. Kunishige gave him a wet-eyed look (looking a lot like his weeping son as he did), and hurried to make amends.

“Look, Chihi! This is how it’s done, isn’t it?” Kunishige set the red blocks atop the blue ones. And then followed with the yellow ones. Under an adult’s coordination, the blocks balanced atop one another.
“That’s a swordsmith for you.” Shiba rocked Chihiro a bit. “Come on, you can look.”
“Ammnh!!” The boy refused to turn, and instead wiped his face over Shiba’s shirt.
“Oh, you’ve really done it now, Rokuhira.”
“Oh, Chihi, you know I didn’t mean to!” His father whined. “It’s fixed, I promise!” Shiba tried to guide the boy into turning around - but Chihiro was not having it. Kunishige sighed. “I’ll go get his food.”
“You hear that?” Shiba tried. “Aren’t you hungry, hm?”

In the minute it took Kunishige to retrieve the bottle, Chihiro started to yawn. His sobs diminished, and - exhausted from all the strife - he laid against Shiba with a sigh.
“Oh, you’re sleepy now, huh?” Kunishige asked as he entered. Chihiro, forgetting the source of his anguish, turned to look at his father. And his eyes caught the tower. “What do you think? It’s all in its right place now, isn’t it?” The boy pushed Shiba’s arms off of him - as if the man had trapped him there - and crawled over to the tower. Shiba braced.
“Is he making the crying face-“ Chihiro put his hand to the tower, and pushed it over. Shiba motioned at nothing, with no idea on whether to congratulate or sympathise with him. Chihiro’s mission was clearly beyond his understanding.
“Ohn- ohnho.” He declared.

Shiba and Kunishige’s eyes shot towards one another. Then returned to the boy.
“Di-did you just say ‘oh no’?”
“Oh nho.” Chihiro affirmed. Shiba’s face broke out into a grin.
“Tha-those are his first words?” Kunishige set a hand to his head, laughing. “Well, that’s not very positive!”
“Uhhbuh…”
“Hold on, maybe it was a fluke. Can you say ‘oh no’ again?” Shiba prompted.
“Ohnho.” The blond grinned, and went to speak. But Kunishige got there first.
“You’re such a smart boy! Aw, you’re such a perfect baby, Chihi-” Kunishige crooned. Shiba handed the boy to his father, who held up the bottle. Chihiro made grabby hands. “Yeah, you eat up, you’ve got to to grow nice and strong, don’t you little man-“ Kunishige continued on with a stream of praise. He alone had more than enough love to give.

With the opportunity before him, Shiba snatched up the blocks. If he could get them to the toy box fast enough, then Chihiro would forget his architectural mission. And maybe then, Shiba would be spared as his assistant.

—

“After all I say to him, he learns ‘oh no’ from you!” Kunishige grumbled, popping open a beer. Shiba sat next to him on the porch, only just sheltered from the night rain.
“Maybe you just talk too much, and he couldn’t focus on any of your words.” The blond preened. “Azami’s going to be so jealous.” He lit his second cigarette of the past five minutes.
“Alright, don’t get too full of yourself. You will forever be the uncle who knocked Chihiro’s head on the kitchen counter.” Kunishige chuckled. The incident had not been funny at the time.
“That's alright, it built character.”

Silence fell over them - the type that often did nowadays. Shiba took a long drag of his cigarette. And held it in his lungs.
“You-“ Kunishige started as Shiba began to cough.
“-yeah, go on-?” The swordsmith chuckled - almost awkwardly. Shiba’s skin crawled at the sound.
“Nah, forget it.” Kunishige sipped his drink, something in his eyes departing. They trailed off into the darkness, and remained at the tree line.
“Wait- don’t let me interrupt you-“ Shiba cleared his throat.
“Really, it’s nothing.” Kunishige said, and drowned the thought in his beer.

Chapter Text

“Who’s ready for their dinner, Chihiro? I think you are! Open wide, say ‘aaah’!” Chihiro stared at the spoon of rice his father was threatening him with. He then looked up to his assailant, who crooned as he waved the spoon in circles.

Chihiro had been suspicious of Kunishige for well over a week now, and he would not allow himself to be swayed by the man’s cheerful facade. It all started when his father added (*sneaked) nori flakes into his plain rice. Whatever ulterior motive his father was pursuing could not be trusted, Chihiro decided, and he would not be eating anything new that the man tried to give him.

“Say ‘aaah’, Chihi!” Kunishige had only wanted to inoculate his son’s picky taste-buds. Alas, for his efforts, he only gained a new anxiety about losing his son’s trust. His wife would have known better - he’d think every time it came to feeding Chihiro. “It’s really good, I promise! None of that poisonous nori, don’t you worry. It’s safe for growing boys like you!”

Chihiro’s eyes dipped to his plate, and his mind already made up. He took a handful of shredded carrot - the only solid food he tolerated - and set it in his mouth. Well, some of the carrot; the rest stuck to his face.
“Careful chewing, okay?” Kunishige kept smiling, even as defeat weighed heavy in his gut. It was a compromise, he told himself.

All six of Chihiro’s teeth made quick work of the vegetable.
“Ohl dah.” ‘All done’. Chihiro craned his neck around, now in search of his bottle. Kunishige was beginning to think that he’d be drinking from it for the rest of his life.
“One bite of rice first, Chihi! Then you can have all the milk you want!” Chihiro didn’t even heed him, for he’d spotted his bottle upon the counter. “Just a single grain..?” Kunishige rounded around the table to stand in front of his son, and held the spoon up like a beggar. Chihiro looked at the rice. Picked it off of the spoon. And politely dropped it onto the floor.
“Ohl dah.” Kunishige missed his wife.

“Chihi…” he bent down to pick the rice up, and carried it to the trash. By the time he looked back, Chihiro was straining out of his seat for his bottle. “Oh, alright… You’re just too cute to say ‘no’ to. But when you start to turn orange from all that carrot, you’re gonna lose your cuteness privileges-“
“Oohb.” Chihiro responded - telling him to stop talking and feed him properly.

—

“You’ll have an easier time standing if you eat your dinner, you know? You need your muscles nice and strong!” Kunishige was being used as a crutch. He held his son’s hands - the baby gripped back at his fingers tightly - and got up from his knees and onto one foot. “That’s a good job! Now, your other foot! Soon, you can walk around like dada does.”
“Adah.” Chihiro responded agreeably.
“What have you been feeding the poor boy?” Came a familiar voice. “I think we ate better meals than this during the war.” Kunishige sighed.
“All he eats is raw carrot!”
“Ahm!” Chihiro got back onto his hands and knees, and crawled towards Azami.
“Where’s the other one, then?” Kunishige asked.

Azami was still in his work clothes. He stood over the kitchen table, examining Chihiro’s unfinished plate. His means of transport was missing from his side.
“This isn’t a very good diet to culminate.” Azami told the baby, as he knelt down before him.
“Zzzh.” Chihiro commanded, and raised his pointer finger up to the soldier.
“Zzzh.” Azami responded agreeably. He set his own pointer finger to Chihiro’s, and delivered to him a small static shock. Chihiro flinched, scrunched up his face a bit, then raised his middle finger. “Don’t be rude, Chihiro.” Azami smiled. He gave the next an identical static shock. “Now, will you say ‘A-za-mi’?” Chihiro held up his ring finger.
“Zzzh.”
“You strike a hard bargain.”

“Stop talking to him like he’s an adult.” Shiba appeared - scowling and soaked from the rain.
“Ohnho.”
“Don’t mind your uncle Shiba, he’s in a bad mood.” Azami informed the baby, shooting a look at Kunishige.
“Aw, is uncle Shiba hangry, Chihi? Maybe he’ll eat his dinner here so he can feel better!”
“No thanks, I just had a smoke.” The blond eyed the much-scorned plate of carrot. “That looks like something Uruha would have made you.” Kunishige shuddered. All the good intention in the world could not make Uruha’s ‘meals’ taste good.

“Ohno.” Chihiro reiterated, and used Azami’s legs as a new crutch. Now on his knees, the baby held up his thumb. “Zzzh.”
“Well, look at that, you’re on your way to standing!” Azami rewarded the boy with a static shock. Kunishige sighed, and hung his head.
“You want a drink, Shiba?”
“That’s more like it.” Tougo ‘Oh No’ Shiba took a seat at the table. “A drink’s the real shortcut to happiness, you know, Chihiro.”
“Now who’s talking to him like an adult?” Azami caught the baby’s attention with a wave of his hand. “Come on, up on your feet now.”
“Behh.” Chihiro gripped the man’s fingers, and used them to pull himself up onto one foot.
“Good job!”
“Hey, Chihi, come over here.” Shiba leaned down in his chair, and held his arms out. Chihiro looked him up and down. And all at once turned to sink his face into Azami’s knee. “Eh? That’s rude. It’s rude to have favourites, Chihi!”
“It’s because you’re acting grumpy.” Kunishige set a can down in front of his friend.
“But Chihiro always acts grumpy.”

Azami - the bigger, more mature man - did not allow his smugness to get the best of him.
“Chihiro, you should give your uncles equal attention.” The baby rubbed his cheek against his trouser leg - not a single care for the callousness of his decision. “Your uncle Shiba gets jealous easily.” He tried to usher the boy around. Chihiro - mercilessly - made a noise of protest. And so Azami turned to Shiba. “Maybe you smell bad.” He could only be the big-and-mature-man for so long.
“One smoke, and he won’t even come near me? After all I do for you, Chihi!”
“Zzzh.”
“I bet those shocks of yours are frying his brain! Why else would he hate me?”
“Maybe he just likes me more.” Azami assured himself that he was still the bigger and more mature (and the most collected) man of the three as he spoke.
“This is why he calls me ‘oh no’. Because he doesn’t like when I’m around...” Shiba - like a kicked dog - hunched over his beer.
“He doesn’t mean it.” Azami set his hand to the boy’s head, and drew his wispy hair up with static. “Now, how about you try saying Azami, Chihi? ‘A-za-mi’.”
“Zzsha.”
“That’s it, you’re getting close! A-za-mi.” Chihiro held his fingers up expectantly. Upon getting his static shock, he sat down, and yawned. “Tough day, huh?”
“It only gets worse from here, Chihi.” Shiba grumbled.
“A-za-mi.”
“Zzha.”

“That’s it, I need a smoke.” The blond climbed to his feet. “And when someone remembers to appreciate me, maybe I’ll forgive them.”
“Ohno!” Chihiro declared at the scraping of the chair. He turned to Shiba, and, with sudden desperation, raised his hands above his head.
“Eh? That worked? Now you want my attention?”
“He just wants a cigarette too, don’t you Chihi?”
“What, one of these?” Smiling, Shiba knelt down. Azami laughed as his friend held out a cigarette, and Chihiro reached out for it.
“Hey!” Kunishige yanked his friend away from his son. “He teeths on everything, you know!”
“Everything except food, huh? This is probably better for him than Azami’s shocks.”
“Ohno.” Chihiro told Azami.
“Whatever, I’ll be right back.” Shiba told the baby like a man leaving for war. Chihiro looked in his general direction, sniffed, and then turned back to Azami. “You’ll miss me.”
“Ohnhno.” Chihiro’s tugged on his uncle’s trouser leg.
“Shall we follow him?”
“You’re not putting his lungs through the secondhand smoke!” Kunishige picked up his son. His baby tucked against him as he was hugged, teething on his fingers.
“I guess we’ll both have to leave him all alone, then-“
“Fine, I’ll just stick with my drink.” Shiba threw his hands up. With that difficult choice out of the way, he sat back in his seat. “The things I do for you…” Chihiro didn’t heed him, too busy getting comfortable in his father’s arms.

Chapter Text

Chihiro - like every other toddler at his favourite park - was a crawling, babbling biohazard of illness. Shiba had long grown (figuratively) sick of toddler slime: wiping up piss and shit and spit and snot and tears and whatever else the disgusting little baby in his care would excrete. And now, having Chihiro spend time in the petri-dish that was the local playground, the pains of cleaning him up were worse.

Chihiro himself barely blinked in the face of sickness - he defeated every one he caught as if it were nothing. When he’d first started showing symptoms, Shiba had hunkered down at the house overnight, all in preparation for the worst. However, after only a few days of a cough and grunts of discomfort, Chihiro came out of his first cold victorious. The second and third illness went much the same.

But then Kunishige caught his son’s supposed ‘cold’. And when he did, Shiba witnessed disease unlike anything he’d seen during the war. The man was reduced to a bedridden mess, in a state more severe than any soldier he’d seen incapacitated in their barracks. It made sense why Azami (the deadbeat) avoided visiting lately.

—

Chihiro - the unknowing perpetrator of his father’s suffering - was not happy about Kunishige being bedridden. In fact, he was furious. Ever the determined young man, the boy had to persevere against the sheer injustice he was subjected to: being babysat by Shiba.

His motives made him fast: so fast that Shiba was wondering if Chihiro had somehow inherited his teleportation powers. It took as little as one trip to another room to lose the baby - and in one such case, returned to an empty living room. Preparing dinner was going to be hard today, he thought.

He caught Chihiro red-handed: crawling the length of the corridor outside. In the direction of Kunishige’s room. Throwing his dishcloth over his shoulder, Shiba leaned in the doorway. Crossed his arms. And cleared his throat.
“And where do you think you’re going?”

Chihiro went still in his tracks. And pushed himself around to look at Shiba. The baby knew- the man could see the guilt on his face - that he was not supposed to be bothering his father. And yet there was not an ounce of shame in his eyes. No, instead there was only annoyance.
“Rrgno…” Chihiro made a break for it. He crawled with all his might, and Shiba let him get a ways closer. Moving too fast would make Chihiro cry - he hated even the idea of Shiba teleporting.

“You need to let your dad rest.” The blond lifted Chihiro up under the arms, and the baby squirmed like an agitated cat. Before all at once going limp. Completely defeated.
“Ohhno…”

—

Caught and confined to his highchair, Chihiro refused to look at his captor. He actively craned his neck away from Shiba, and towards the door he’d been carried through. In an effort to regain favour, Shiba stopped cutting up vegetables to entertain the boy.

“Here, Chihi, look at this.” Shiba - setting a folded, blank card down in front of Chihiro - prompted. The toddler looked despondently at it. Then at the marker Shiba held out. “How about you make your dad a get well soon card? That will help him feel better.” Chihiro had no idea what Shiba was rambling about. He also didn’t care.

With only a side-eyed glance, Chihiro was silent.
“Look, little man. You can draw on it, like this.” Shiba drew a circle. Then another circle. And he just had to finish drawing a penis on the paper. There was not an ounce of joy on Chihiro’s face; Shiba wondered if the baby was sentient with how disappointed in him he looked. “Here you go!”

Chihiro took the pen in his fist. Examined it. And brought the nib up to his mouth.
“No, no! No, you gotta use the paper.” Shiba guided the boy’s hand gently to the card. Drew a line. When he had the decency to release Chihiro’s fist, the baby pulled it away from his handsy captor. And drew his own line.

He drew until he reached the edge of the paper, and continued on to the table. This impressed him: it could draw on multiple surfaces. He tried it on his hand.
“What are you doing that for?” Chihiro ignored him. “Are you really giving me the silent treatment?” A pause. “Not a single ‘oh no’ for your uncle?” The boy raised the nib back up to his mouth. “Hey, now, what did I tell you-“

In a flurry of agitation, Chihiro turned the pen on Shiba, and stabbed out.
“Hey!” The blond caught Chihiro’s wrist before the pen could stain his button down. “I know my shirt’s white, but you can’t draw on it, okay?” Chihiro’s lip quivered. He’d suffered too many injustices today.

Even Shiba - who could miss the signs of a meltdown - caught on this time. He had to act fast.
“Uh- come on now, Chihi, it’s alright!” He hoisted the boy straight out of his seat. “I’m not mad.” Although Shiba could perform the classic Chihiro-calming techniques, he was always a pale impersonation of Kunishige.

When Kunishige rambled, Chihiro would be mesmerised. When Shiba tried to imitate the same lulling talk, Chihiro would give him a blank stare. He had even, at one point, put his tiny hand over Shiba’s mouth. The baby’s expression had said it all: ‘shut up, you’re annoying’.

Walking and rocking was the next best technique to calm Chihiro. He mumbled in Shiba’s ear, noises somewhere between discomfort and upset.
“You’ll be okay, you can go see Kunishige soon. How about some milk? I won’t let you eat any of those disgusting solids, okay?” Chihiro sniffed. “I’ll start making funny faces at you.” Chihiro never liked that. At all. “I really will start to do it if you cry.” Deciding that threatening Chihiro probably wouldn’t work, Shiba pivoted. “If I let you chew on the marker and see how bad it tastes, will you be happy?”

Chihiro’s muttering went quiet. Huh. Maybe practical experience was the best teacher- Shiba felt something graze over his back. He frowned - felt it again. Craning his neck around, he found Chihiro drawing lines over the back of his shirt. Realising he was being watched, Chihiro turned. His eyes went wide.
“Ohno.” He tried to reason, patting his hand over where he’d drawn on the shirt. And Shiba’s shoulders sunk.

—

“Oh? What’s this?” Kunishige’s voice came out with a hint of the death rattle.
“Adaah. Adeh!” Suddenly very talkative, Chihiro propped himself up against Kunishige. The man wrapped his shaking arm around his son, and took his card in the other. He squinted.
“Is this some abstract art? For me?”
“It’s a get well soon card.” Shiba told him as if it were obvious. Chihiro, for once, seemed to agree with him.
“I see. And why’s there a penis on my get well soon card?” Kunishige smiled at Chihiro conspiratorially. “Was it you, Chihi? You little rascal…” Chihiro - snuggled completely against his father - had no reason to even suspect that he was being misrepresented. “And what are you supposed to be?” He stared blearily at Shiba.
“I was the practice canvas.” The blond did a spin to show off his ink-covered shirt.
“Ah, you’re such a little artist, Chihi! You’ll be a creative, like me, won’t you?”
“Ahbah…” Chihiro responded sleepily.

***

Shiba felt like death. He was going to die on this bed, he decided. And it might just have been a mercy.
“Knock knock!” Kunishige announced himself. He stood in the doorway, carrying Chihiro by the scruff like a sack of potatoes. Chihiro loved being held like that. “Delivery for you, Togo! From one Azami Soshiro.” In his other hand, he carried a pack of painkillers.
“Oh, thank god.” He’d not been able to teleport, and had been waiting out the day in agony.
“Oohbah.” Chihiro was landed next to him so that his father could wrestle with the tablets. Shiba could have cried.
“He’s been trying to break in all day, you know.”
“What, are you here to finish the job?” Shiba peaked an eye open at the boy. Chihiro took his front strand of hair in hand.
“Ohno.” He stated severely.
“That’s what I thought- argh-“ Chihiro climbed atop his chest, and lay there.
“Ohno.” He reiterated. Shiba’s heart melted a bit.
“He’s strangling me, Kunishige.”
“Serves you right. He’s got a gift for you later, when you’re feeling better.” Kunishige winked, glancing at his get well soon card on the nightstand. It was then that Shiba caught sight of pen markings on his friend's face.
“Is that so?” Chihiro nuzzled against him when he spoke - enjoying the vibrations in his chest. “I’m looking forward to that, Chihi.”

Chapter Text

Several passengers had offered Azami their seat since he’d gotten onto the bus. Each time he declined, all the while wondering why Shiba had such a problem with taking Chihiro out in public. He’d thought that his friend would have liked all the special treatment.

Azami stood near the exit, wearing civilian clothes, surrounded by civilians, all with a civilian baby in his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played this role - some unmemorable time before the war, maybe? Perhaps Shiba was right: this was a good opportunity to ‘get in touch’ with everyday civilian life.

Chihiro - wrapped in a baby blanket, and balanced on Azami’s hip - craned his neck to look around. Speaking of those who needed to ‘get in touch with civilian life’. The boy was unusually curious. So much so, that he was looking at other people. Maybe he would grow to learn how to make eye contact beyond the side-stares he’d use to express unhappiness.

Pleased with himself and the baby, Azami leaned back against the bus window. If the day’s rain spells were over, then he may be able to dry off the swing set for Chihiro-

A bump. Some of the passengers jolted. And immediately righted themselves - it had only been a pothole. Azami, with his militaristic posture, remained stationary with the rocking motion. Chihiro, however, did not.

His head thumped against the bus window: muffled by the hood of his shark onesie. It was still enough to catch the attention of nearby passengers. Chihiro - as if pierced by the felt teeth lining his hood - looked mortified.

A long silence endured as he turned to Azami, eyes wide. His mouth fell open. An inhale. And then an air-raid siren of a cry rose out into the bus.
“Now, now, Chihiro…” Azami smiled, rocking him gently. “It’s okay, let me have a look.” Pulling the baby’s hood down, he searched for any sign of injury. It hadn’t seemed to be that bad of a smack, but Chihiro’s reaction had him expecting to find blood. There was nothing.

Chihiro screamed louder. And Azami kept his smile up, even as the woman who had most recently offered him a seat muttered to the another about ‘heavy handed, irresponsible young men’.
“We’re almost there, okay?” He missed his Kamunabi uniform, and wondered if this is how Shiba was seen when he took Chihiro out: a useless father. Maybe Azami could sympathise with his friend.

—

Azami kept his composure as he marched off the bus, even though every passerby stopped to look at what horrors must have been befalling such an anguished child. Chihiro slapped the offered pacifier away from his mouth once more, and pushed Azami in the chest.

“I didn’t mean to, you know?” Azami’s eye twitched. “Tougo will be here in a minute, how does that sound?”
“Ibaaah-!” Chihiro wailed as if he’d just been punched.

Sitting on a bench, Azami spent the next several minutes comforting Chihiro. He tried everything: small electric shocks, reasoning that it wasn’t that hard of a bump, and holding (*threatening) the pacifier near Chihiro’s mouth. It was only tiredness calmed the baby into a more subdued screaming fit.

“What did you do to him?” Shiba - half pretending not to be associated with the scene - asked. He flicked his cigarette butt into the street. And sat next to them. “Did he hurt you, Chihi?”
“He bumped his head, and surprised himself.” Azami sniffed.
“Ah. Well, now we’re even then. Don’t worry Chihi, I’ve trained you to take those kind of hits.” Azami made sure no passerby heard that comment. “Won’t you look at your uncle Shiba?” The blond patted the baby’s arm.

Chihiro looked at him for a moment. Before he shut his eyes, sobbed, and pressed his face against Azami’s chest.
“How about I make funny faces at you?”
“Don’t do that when he’s in my arms.” Shiba’s ‘funny faces’ were no joking matter. Shiba feigned going to do it, and so Azami handed the baby over.
“That’s rude! Don’t worry, Chihi, I’ll always want to hold you.” The blond’s theatrics were - somehow - relaxing Chihiro.

The boy whimpered, looking between them. He reached out for Azami.
“Sssuh… sssuh…!” Azami complied, and gave Chihiro a small shock to the finger. Red, swollen face relaxing a bit, the baby’s breathing evened out.
“What’s Kunishige gonna think?”
“He doesn’t need to know.” Azami’s smile didn’t fall, even as his friend gasped and made a scene about what he’d said. The boy frowned at his loud uncle - having the good sense to side with Azami.

—

“Zzzaom!” Chihiro loved riding in shopping carts. Whether he was trying to say Azami’s name, or imitate a car, neither of his uncles were sure. “Zzzaom!”
“I know, it’s fun, isn’t it?” Azami indulged. Even as Shiba was teleporting across the store to get the groceries faster, Azami drove Chihiro in circles. It was best to not instantly gratify him, he thought. Lest he end up like Shiba.

Just as he rounded another corner, Shiba’s raised voice met him.
“Ah, what a surprise!”
‘What a surprise, code for: ‘hide the baby’, registered too late. And Azami had to pull his cart to a stop before he walked it into Izaru’s ass. Shiba stood facing him, an ‘I’m not hiding anything’ smile on his face. Looking down at Chihiro’s disappointed expression (why had they stopped?), Azami had to stop himself from complaining about his colleagues to the baby right then and there. Chihiro was always a good listener.

“Colonel.” Izaru turned. His eyes darted to Chihiro, then to Azami. Then back to Chihiro. “…whose child is that.”
“Mr Izaru, what a surprise! This is our friend’s child, we’re just babysitting.” Unbelieving eyes narrowed.
“And which friend is that?” Uh.
“Su-Samura…” Shiba - in a surprising demonstration of quick thinking - said. “S-Seiichi. You’ve probably heard of him?”
“Yes, Shiba, I have.” Thankfully, Izaru took the oversell as a snarky comment.

“Zzzaom. Zzzaom.” Chihiro tried to rev up the cart’s engine.
“Well, we should get going-“
“You should follow Samura’s example, and not be seen so casually with a child.” As he spoke, Izaru got into his ‘lecture pose’. Crossed his arms. Jutted out his hip.
“Oh, come on, Mr Izaru! There’s not gonna be state terrorists in the supermarket!”
“And Samura really entrusted his daughter to you?” Doubt crossed Izaru’s face once more as he motioned to the cigarette in Shiba’s mouth.
“I’m just chewing, boss. Don’t you have work, anyhow?” Clearly not: Izaru was in an apron and slide-ons - he looked as though he’d popped out for a forgotten ingredient.
“No, Shiba, I don’t.”
“Anyhow, we’re perfectly capable of looking after- ah- Iori. Plus, I can teleport her away if we run into danger, you know?”
“Yes, Shiba, I do-“ Azami had to put a stop to this.
“We’re capable of looking after her, Mr Izaru, please don’t worry about it.”
“Overconfidence will be your downfall. All it takes is one wrong move-“

“You might be projecting, Mr Izaru.” Azami - anger flashing - responded. Silence. Shiba made a slicing motion over his throat, mouthing something along the lines of ‘he might have a kid you idiot say sorry and let’s go right now before he finds out everything’. Izaru opened his mouth.
“How dare-“
“You wanna hold him, chops?” Shiba asked.

With another stellar performance of quick thinking - minus the pronoun drop - Shiba picked Chihiro out of the cart.
“Don’t call me- ah-“ Izaru instinctively took the baby that Shiba handed him. And almost dropped Chihiro when he realised himself.
“Amhh.” Chihiro looked up at the stranger who had been blocking his cart. Then - very interested in Izaru’s pastel apron - began to mess with it in his hands.

“This is Izaru, uh- Iori-“ Kunishige was going to find this hilarious if they made it out alive. “-can you say Izaru?”
“Ihzzih.” Chihiro ‘Iori’ Kunishige raised his hand up to the roadblock now holding him. “Ihzzih!”
“He wants an electric shock.” Azami explained.
“I see.” Izaru - somehow - did not find that an offence to scold them for.

He held out his hand, offering his beads out to Chihiro. The baby’s mouth fell open when they started to float and swirl. First in awe, and then to try and catch them- “you can’t swallow those. You’ll die.” Chihiro frowned - Izaru was underestimating him. Who did this roadblock think he was?

“Well, we should really get going, Iori. Pops probably wants you back in time for lunch, hm?” Shiba reached out for the baby, but neither registered him at first. “She uh- usually shits herself around lunchtime too. Best give that responsibility to Samura, right?” Izaru handed Chihiro back like an active grenade.

Chihiro himself side-eyed Shiba disapprovingly - whether because he couldn’t watch the man’s sorcery anymore, or because he knew he was being framed again, Shiba couldn’t tell.
“Right, yes, well…” Izaru brushed his hands off on his apron. And straightened his back. “Good work, then.” And with that, he marched off, his basket swinging in one hand. Shiba and Azami looked at each other. The latter laughed as his friend immitated Izaru’s prance away.

“Zzzaom!” Chihiro hit at the blond’s chest impatiently.
“Alright, I get it!” Shiba set him back in the cart, and began co-piloting him towards the checkout. Man, was Kunishige ever going to enjoy the recount of this.