A/N: This came up sometime during the creation of Unto Derision's final chapter. I can't exactly recall where it came from, but I have the strange feeling it was inspired by some random song I chanced on. Huh. Also, this goes un-beta'd, because I don't want to overwork my supremely dedicated Asami-chann. (She has the patience of a saint, but I think she'll find a way to kill me if I force this on her even if we're in completely different countries. O.O )

This is a one-shot!

Warnings: General family unpleasantness, implied attempted child molestation

Summary: For Ryoma, his relationship to Ryoga was nothing more than an affiliation learned through family.

"There's an awful lot of blood around that water is thicker than."

-Mignon McLaughlin

Even at four, Echizen Ryoma recognizes when the family dynamic has been upset.

It has been nearly a month since his new brother was introduced to him; Ryoga has not yet changed from the insufferable, obstinate boy that christened Ryoma with yet another nickname. ("Chibisuke" somehow trumped "seishounen" in the 'Most Annoying' category, but sometimes the latter would shine through when his father sang it to him after another one-sided match.) In fact, very little has changed in Ryoma's short life. Every day his mother would go to work, his father would lounge around the house, Ryoga would alternate between pelting tennis balls at him or stealing assorted fruits from him, and Ryoma learned to perfect his child's glare.

The family of four would reconvene in the evening for dinner, hash out the details of their days that they felt like sharing, and life would go on. It was a mild sort of complacency, really, and outsiders would view them as a sort of ideal prototype. Ryoma, however, could feel it in the air, lurking in the background like a phantom waiting to make its move. It's hidden beneath the drawn-out stares, the silence that descends when the conversation detours for just a moment, imprinted into the structure of the subconscious, careless actions. What 'it' was, Ryoma had no clue; it was dark, though, sinister in an intangible sense the child could not place.

There were deeper glimpses at times. Like the moments, late into the night, when he could hear his mother's furious screams muffled by his bedroom's walls; when his father's eyes lingered on the pair of boys he called sons; when Ryoga would sneak into his bed, curl around him, and sniffle into his hair.

Ryoma doesn't ask questions because he can find no way to articulate what he wonders. His family takes his silence as the oblivious nature of a child.

And life goes on.

Ryoma starts third grade in New York, his first day as a new student to Johnson Sainte Elementary School. The kids are no different from the ones back in Florida; he finds himself grouped with a meek boy with allergies and a screechy redheaded girl who insists on calling him "Ryuuma." The teacher is an amiable middle-aged man called Mr. Reynolds, and he only has Ryoma introduce himself to the class before sending him to his aforementioned group members. The school day for elementary kids is longer than their high school counterparts, so when they are released late into the afternoon, Ryoga is there to pick him up.

At dinner that night, Ryoma cuts only to the bare minimum on giving out the details of his first day. Ryoga, on the other hand, wastes no time in his own spiel. Their mother and father give them cursory nods in understanding and the oppressive silence Ryoma has learned to get used to settles upon them yet again.

Ryoga has long since stopped crawling into bed with him and the fights between their parents have also diminished into the night. But things were always bound to change, for the good and the bad; Ryoga is absent more than he is not, and Ryoma grows accustomed to having only three people at the dinner table. The family of four, Ryoma begins to realize, is being reduced to a family of three.

The feelings crystallize when Ryoma is kept after school one day. Mr. Reynolds wanted to talk to him about his use of kanji in his homework - an act done purely out of spite, because Ryoma doesn't think it's fair that he's the only one that has to suffer through kanji practice - but the man's hands wander as his scolding softens into murmured adoration, breathy and far too close. The man is interrupted by the classroom door being shoved open, Ryoga framed in the doorway with a quickly drawn look of casual aloofness.

The door slams shut on Mr. Reynold's hasty and stuttered explanations, but neither of the boys who share the same last name is concerned with him, and at dinner that night, the event is not mentioned, fading just like Ryoga into the unsaid.

His parents' fights have started up again, as Ryoga has managed to scrounge up enough connections and money to get a license and a job. Ryoma learns that it's really his mother that does all the shrieking, her emotions a torrent whirlwind that spirals from depression to fury at the slightest prod. His father's voice filters through, a calm tone full of resignation, and the subject of their nightly disputes varies with each comment. Snippets crawl through the wood and concrete mixture of his walls and Ryoma knows he has heard them all before.

"Bastard child," seems the most prominent, and often the most vicious. His mother always made sure to deliver it in an agonized, accusing tone that didn't fit with the serene woman Ryoma would greet at breakfast the next morning. His mother has always been a strong woman, though, and the only time he had ever witnessed her losing her composure was when Ryoga had first called her "okaasan." Even then, it was nothing more than a poisonous glitter to her eyes, but the flicker was enough for everyone to recognize where the lines had been drawn.

Late into the summer, and just shy of ten, Ryoma passes by the door of Ryoga's room, and on whim, glances inside. The room is tidy, in contrast to the owner of it, but then again, Ryoga hardly sleeps there anymore. The desk is empty save a blue metallic lamp and a mug of writing utensils, the shelves filled with dust and manga that haven't been touched in years. The bed is made; the sheets and comforter a dulled navy blue that Ryoma knows haven't seen the washer in two years.

Ryoma doesn't dwell on the state of the room, or the fact that he hasn't seen his brother in a few months.

One day, Ryoma wakes up to find all of Ryoga's stuff gone, a scrawled note lying on the kitchen table reading "I'm out!" in his brother's handwriting. He shows it to his parents.

The next day, Ryoma's parents give him a Himalayan cat he names "Karupin."

Ryoma doesn't understand Fuji Yuuta. He can understand why the boy loathes the constant comparison to his prodigal older brother and he empathized well with the frustration that Yuuta would always be chasing the older Fuji. Ryoma could not, however, understand on any level the relationship between Fuji Syuusuke and Fuji Yuuta.

"In a way," Oishi had explained once, "Yuuta-kun is jealous of Fuji's skill in tennis. Or, at least, angry that people will always compare them."

"Fujiko-chan's little brother is just mad because he'll always be chasing after Fujiko-chan, nya!" Kikumaru supplied.

Ryoma knew what it was like to chase after someone of superior skill - his father did not know the concept of "going easy" on someone, after all - but the freshman could not understand how that would have caused a rift between anyone. While Fuji Yuuta may be chasing after his brother, at least the tensai had the compassion to turn around and stay to help.

Ryoga never had any such inclinations. Not that Ryoma needed it in the first place.

Ryoma ignored the quizzical expressions on the other Regulars' faces, because he could not bother to define the relationship between himself and the recently-introduced Echizen Ryoga. They only knew of the relationship of competing siblings as previously given by Fuji and Yuuta, and he wondered if perhaps they were drawing parallel conclusions from that set. Ryoma knows the relationship between him and Ryoga is nothing like the Fuji brothers' but correcting them is bothersome.

Ryoma wonders if Tezuka knows, because his Buchou's expression never wavers, even at the discovery. Even Fuji might understand, because he can see the expressions in both of the Echizens' eyes and not one held a glimmer of loathing or jealousy.

What he saw was nothing short of a winter, an indifference cultivated from years of learning to turn and look away.

"To be honest," Ryoga confessed, alone with his younger sibling the night before their staged matches were to commence, "I had forgotten about you."

Ryoma was fine with that.

He didn't need to be remembered by someone that would just disappear once again.

A/N: Again, unsure about what inspired this. Hmmm... I also seem to have some kind of issue with Echizen Ryoga. I don't particularly hate the character - he's stationed in my neutral zone - but I guess I can't help but destroy anything and everyone my favorite character (Ryoma) interacts with. (shrugs)

Shamelessly asking for reviews. Critiques welcome!