This story is meant to be slightly AU... I realize the events aren't quite by the storyline, but this is my take on things. Also, for the record, this is not going to be a romance story.

Pain ripped through his body and a sharp cry escaped his lips. The knee came into contact with his stomach in full force once more. He grunted and fell to the floor, clenching his eyes as tight as he possibly could to keep the tears from coming. He would not cry. That was his only rule.

"My God you're weak," the man said, kicking his son from his knees to the ground. "You really are pathetic, you know that?"

Misaki did not reply, though he doubted that he could have even if he had wanted to. The pain in his abdomen and head was too great. He knew that if he opened his mouth nothing but howls of pain would ensue. Without warning, the man's foot stomped down on his left shoulder, and a gut-wrenching crack accompanied the scream that pierced the air. He instinctively rolled to his left to protect the injured limb, but the beating did not stop. Misaki assumed the fetal position and waited for the kicks raining down on him to cease, doing everything he could to protect his head and his injured arm.

"What is going on here?" A woman's voice cried, entering the room.

"MISAKE!" His mother cried. But it would not the type of cry one might expect from a mother upon seeing her son beaten and bloodied on the floor.

As the blows came to a halt, Misaki bit his lower lip to keep from crying out.

"What are you doing now?! All you ever do is cause trouble!" She yelled. His father was speaking incoherently, but aggressively. Whether it was to himself or to his mother, he was unsure. It was plainly obvious that he was drunk. She was crying now. "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! I WISH YOU HAD NEVER BEEN BORN!" She bellowed.

This was not the first time she had said things like this, but it hit him all the same, causing much more damage than the barrage of beatings inflicted upon him by his father.

"GET UP!" She demanded, shoving him with her hands, and then kicking him when he didn't move fast enough.

He complied as quickly as possible despite the blinding pain coursing through his entire. "GET OUT!" She cried, forcing him towards the door of the living room, and then to the front door. "GET OUT, MISAKE! YOU ARE A WASTE OF SPACE AND ALL YOU DO IS CAUSE PROBLEMS! NEVER COME BACK! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

He grabbed his skateboard quickly as she pushed him out the door into the pouring rain. He stood on the second step just out of reach as his mother looked at him. They made eye for no more than a split second, but it felt like a lifetime. And that was when he saw it; there was no longer love in her eyes. She slammed the door in his face, leaving him standing there cold, shocked, and beyond all else, broken.

The adrenaline coursed through him long enough to get him downtown and into an alley where he took refuge under a pile of cardboard held up between a garbage can and a stairway railing. Only then did the reality of his situation come crashing down around him.

He had finally been kicked out of his home. He had contemplated leaving so many times before when his father had hurt him, but now the choice had been made for him. He could not go back. He had nowhere to go. He had no job, no money, and no education. His only skills lied in skateboarding and martial arts, and those were hardly talents that could get you anywhere in today's world. But he couldn't think about that right now. What ragged on his mind were his mother's words. She had said awful things to him before, but never quite like that. He'd always managed to look past the things she said and not take them to heart, but the look in her eyes when she slammed the door in his face said so much more than words could ever say.

I wish you had never been born!

The words echoed in his mind, and cut deep into his heart. What had he done that was so terrible to make his mother feel that way. How had he screwed up so badly? What could he have done differently? The hardest part was not knowing…

And with that, he hugged his skateboard tight to his chest with his uninjured arm and cried. The tears flowed freely down his face, and the emotional hurt overran all the physical pain. He sobbed uncontrollably, feeling his world coming to an end.

All the thoughts in his head start to muddle, and a numbing sensation overtook him. The pain returned to his head and to his left shoulder more horrendously than ever, and his stomach ached as he bit his lip to keep from screaming. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the street and never wake up.

As though the timing could not be any worse, Misaki heard a door almost above him open.

"Mikoto-san, where are you going?"

"Just to get some air," a man said, sounding very close by. Misaki figured that he must have been standing on the steps on which his cardboard shelter rested. His voice was deep and almost monotone, as though he were completely uninterested. There was a very strong smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke wafting from the door.

Misaki clamped his mouth shut and willed himself to keep quiet in order to remain hidden, but seconds later, three quick, not to mention very pathetic sounding, sobs escaped him, and he found himself absent mindedly shifting his body position, causing further cries.

As anticipated, he heard the footsteps as the man came down the stairs. He held his breath until finally a pair of black shoes came into view. The smell of tobacco overwhelmed him, and the man crouched down and dug his cigarette into the ground before bringing his face into Misaki's view.

Misaki could feel his entire body shaking as adrenaline pumped through his veins with a heavy heart rate. He looked up at the man before him, and was surprised to see that he looked quite young; not a day over twenty-five. He had flaming red hair, not unlike his own, and relaxed but harsh looking amber eyes. He wore a white v neck t-shirt and a black jacket with fur lining the hood. He looked rather bored as he stared at Misaki, but his attention was quickly drawn to the boy's shoulder, which was obviously disfigured, and his expression turned to one of mild concern.

"What are you doing here?" Mikoto asked in the same apathetic sounding voice.

Misaki said nothing; he opened his mouth to speak, but simply sobbed instead. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his right arm rested on his knees. He knew how terrible he looked; he was certain there was blood on his face, and his eye was nearly swollen shut. He wore only his shorts and long sleeved white shirt that clung to his skin in its drenched state and obviously didn't hide much. He was willing to bet there was significant bruising on the rest of his body by now as well.

"What happened to you?" He spoke again.

Misaki felt more pathetic than ever. He couldn't even speak to explain his situation; all he could do was cry like a baby. He had broken his one rule; never let them see you cry.

"Hey Suoh, everything alright?" A second man's voice came from above. Mikoto looked up at the man, then back at Misaki.

Misaki heard footsteps, and no sooner was he faced with a second man crouching over him. This man was blonde, pale, and looked more anxious than the red head.

"Hey, kid, are you ok? What happened here?" He looked at Mikoto who didn't take his eyes off of Misaki. The second man seemed to be reading Mikoto, then moved closer to Misaki. "Come on, kid, let's get you inside," he said, taking Misaki's hand, which earned him a squeal of pain as Misaki shrunk away and hugged his left arm protectively.

"His shoulder is dislocated," Mikoto said, "and his arm might also be broken."

Misaki turned his head away from the men in front of him and sniffled, wiping his eyes and his nose on his sleeve.

"What is your name?" The blonde man asked.

His sniffled once again, and tried to draw enough air through his nose to allow him to speak. "Yata Misaki," his voice was extremely shaky as he spoke.

"Yata-san, I can't pull you out of here without hurting you, so you're going to have to get up on your own," the blonde man said again.

He looked terrified as he stared up at the man who was once more standing in front of him. These men were very intimidating to Misaki, though it was not because they looked scary. The only way Misaki could think to describe them was, well… cool. And he felt so terribly pathetic, huddled into a corner and crying in the rain. His father was right; he was weak. He felt the lump replace itself in his throat, and hid his face in the inside of his right arm once again.

Seconds later, Misaki felt a hand on his arm, and opened his eyes to find the blonde man kneeling in front of him once more. "Yata-san, it's going to fine. Whatever happened to you is over now. You're safe with us. Now come inside," he urged, offering his hand to the young teen. Misaki stared back at him for a few more seconds, then finally took his hand and allowed him to help him up. Shortly after he stood up however, the spinning in his head renewed, and he lost his balance, falling into the blonde man's arms.

"Whoa there," he said, stabilizing Misaki, finally lifting him off the ground as though he were a small child.

Misaki barely maintained his consciousness as the man carried him into the warmth of the bar, his head lulling against the man's chest. He was taken upstairs and into a bedroom where he was set down on a soft bed. "I'll be right back, Yata-san, I just have to go find some first aid supplies. Mikoto-san will stay here with you."

"Keep him awake," the blonde said to Mikoto before leaving the room.

Misaki heard the scraping sound of a chair on wood, and opened his eyes to see Mikoto sitting in a chair next to him.

"You need to stay awake," Mikoto said, his voice sounding slightly less bored than it had previously. "Izumo is going to fix that shoulder for you and patch you up, so just keep your eyes open."

Misaki did as he was told, forcing his eyes open and setting them on the ceiling above him. The tears had stopped, but the pain remained, both physically and emotionally.

"Do you know who did this to you?" Mikoto asked, crossing his right ankle over his left knee.

Misaki glanced briefly at the man beside him, but did not respond; he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Was it your parents?" Mikoto asked.

This caught Misaki completely off guard, and he jolted his head back to the side, and looked straight into Mikoto's eyes. How did he know?

There was no denying it now; Mikoto had already seen the distress in his eyes when he'd mentioned it. "My father," he admitted quietly.

"My father hit me when I was a kid too," Mikoto said. This time it was his turn to avert his gaze. "It doesn't mean that you're weak."

Once again, his words shocked Misaki, and he stared at him questioningly.

Mikoto did not make eye contact, but continued, "Even the strongest person alive feels pain. But upon healing, we grow stronger. It isn't the events that befall us or the people who hurt us that define who we are; it's how we survive. Remember that."

"I found some stuff," the blonde man, that Misaki now knew to be Izumo, returned to the room and stared at the scene in front of him. "Wow, you look much more alive," he said.

"I'll let you take over," Mikoto said, vacating the seat beside the bed. "Take care of him."

Misaki watched through the door long after Mikoto left, his words still ringing through his head.

It isn't the events that befall us or the people who hurt us that define who we are; it's how we survive.

Misaki's injuries totaled a dislocated shoulder, at least two broken ribs, a large gash above his blackened right eye, a deep cut in the back of his right hand, and a moderate head injury. When he awoke the next morning, the pain returned to him tenfold compared to what it had been last night. As he sat up, a sharp pain ripped through his left arm, and a quick intake of breath through clenched teeth elicited a loud hiss from the redhead.

"Are you alright?"

Misaki glanced up quickly, having not realized that he was not alone. A boy who looked about his own age sat in a chair about ten feet from his bed, looking up from his tablet. Misaki nervously grasped his blankets tighter, but upon further investigation of the boy, he saw that the brunette looked about as nervous as he felt. Letting his guard down slightly, he examined the boy to find that he was very lanky and had a small build, dark brown hair and blue eyes framed with black, square rimmed glasses. He wore dark blue jeans and a black long sleeved sweater. He did not portray the same impression of poise and assurance that the two men he'd met last night did.

He glanced down at his bandaged hand and his left arm held in a sling momentarily before the realization of last night hit him once more. His mind began to spiral downward, but he forcefully stopped it. He'd already fallen apart in front of two people here; he was not about to let it happen a third time. He wrapped his good arm around his left tricep and looked up at the brunette once more.

"You okay?" He repeated.

"I'm fine. Who are you?" Misaki asked, perhaps a little more rudely than intended.

"Fushimi Saruhiko," he replied, sounding rather anxious. "You're Yata Misaki, or so I was told."

"Mm," Misaki nodded in agreement. "What happened to those other guys from last night?"

"You mean Kusanagi-san and Mikoto-san? They're downstairs working. As the newest member of this clan, I've been given the responsibility of keeping an eye on you."

"With all due respect, Fushimi-san, I don't need to be babysat," Misaki said crudely.

"You misunderstand me," Saruhiko smiled as though he'd regained his confidence, "while its true, I'm to make sure you're ok, the main reason I'm here is to ensure that you don't leave this room. You don't know where you are, do you?"

Misaki didn't respond; he simply stared at Saruhiko. It was true; he didn't have a clue. He vaguely remembered being taken through a bar last night, but that was all he knew.

"HOMRA, also known as the Red Clan is an infamous organization and the most feared 'gang' in Shizume City. We are lead by none other than the Red King, Mikoto Suoh. Mikoto-san found you outside last night and took pity on you, but this our headquarters and he's not about to let a non-member, furthermore a kid, go running around on his own."

Misaki listened quietly, taking in Saruhiko's words. Come to think of it, he had heard of HOMRA before, though he'd never thought much of them. There was one thing that didn't make sense to him though.

"So if this is a gang, why did Mikoto-san bother with me at all? And why didn't he just dump me off at a hospital or something?"

Saruhiko looked puzzled, but another voice answered for him.

"Because Mikoto is a man with a big heart," Izumo said, entering the room with a tray in his hands. "He sympathized with your situation. He's going to offer you a place with us. Besides, Fushimi-kun here needs a partner." Izumo smiled and winked at Saruhiko.

Saruhiko looked up at Izumo with a surprised expression at this.

He placed the tray down on Misaki's night table. It held a bowl of soup and a large glass of water. "How are you feeling, Yata-kun?"

"Why are you guys taking care of me like I'm your patient if you're a gang?" Misaki demanded.

"The king has his reasons," Izumo said, brushing off Misaki's abrupt manner. "Good, your hand finally stopped bleeding. It continued to bleed last night even after I stitched it up," he said, picking up Misaki's right hand, only to have it snatched out of his grasp. "At any rate," he smiled, "you seem more lively today. You should try to eat."

Misaki studied him carefully, as though his suspicion, which had been completely absent last night, had finally kicked in.

Izumo smiled at him, "we're not going to hurt you, Yata-kun. If we had planned on harming you we would have done it last night when you were most vulnerable. Did Fushimi-kun tell you about us?"

Misaki glanced over at Saruhiko, then back to Izumo and nodded. While he was nervous at the idea of the HOMRA 'gang', the three people he'd actually spoken to seemed kind and sincere. But still, he was aware of the reputation they carried.

"You don't need to worry. The reason we're so feared is because we band together like a family. If you mess with one of our members, you mess with all of us. Together we are stronger than any one person could ever be," Izumo explained. "Anyway, I need to get back down to the bar. I left Totsuka-kun in charge. Knowing Totsuka, he's probably giving away free liquor to anyone who asks!" And with that, the bartender left the room.

Misaki stared after him with a questioning glance, and then shifted it towards Saruhiko who openly laughed at the expression. He seemed much more at ease since Izumo's arrival.

Misaki sighed and leaned back against his pillows. "You guys are a strange bunch," he said quietly, but not particularly harshly. As he hit the pillows, the pain in his shoulder flared up once again, and he bit his lower lip to keep from crying out. Any sort of movement amplified the pain beyond reason. He took in deep breaths of air, which only renewed the pain in his ribs. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the pain to subside.

Saruhiko watched him with a concerned expression. "Should I get Kusanagi-san?" He asked.

"No," Misaki said through clenched teeth. He forced his body to relax, and despite the pain it caused, he took long, slow, deep breaths as the sharp pain was replaced with a dull ache. He hugged himself with his good arm and closed his eyes, knowing how pathetic he must look, and silently cursing himself for it. Why couldn't Saruhiko just leave him alone? He cracked one eye open to look at his caretaker, and seeing the sympathetic, pitiful look on his face made Misaki's stomach churn. Pity made him sick. He felt as though he was being looked down upon. What made it worse was that this boy was his own age, and if he did agree to join HOMRA, would potentially be his partner. He was off to a great start…

Misaki closed his eyes once more and did his best to hide the pain he was in. The sound of the chair sliding against the hardwood floor told him that it hadn't worked, and he opened his eyes to find Saruhiko moving his chair to the bedside. Misaki looked away grumpily.

"Here," Saruhiko said. Misaki found the glass of water held annoyingly close to his nose. He grabbed at it as quickly as possible without spilling it and took a large gulp from it. While it made his bruised stomach hurt, the cool water running down his throat was very soothing. Saruhiko held out his hand to take the glass from him. Misaki scowled, but handed him the glass.

"Are you okay?"

Misaki stared at Saruhiko momentarily before yelling, "I'm fine! Will you stop asking me that!?" But even the yelling caused his head to hurt, and Saruhiko saw it.

"Fine, relax," Saruhiko said, sounding annoyed.

"And quit looking at me like I'm dying," he said, a little more calmly.

Saruhiko looked away, slightly embarrassed. Mikoto also looked away, distracting himself with the bandage on his hand.

"Fine, but you have to quit getting so worked up," Saruhiko said, obviously trying to mask the concern in his words.

"Fine," Misaki agreed.

"And you have to eat something."

"Fine! If I could reach it I would have eaten it already," Misaki said stubbornly.

Saruhiko laughed a little, causing Misaki to flush with anger. He lifted the tray over Misaki's legs and settled it in his lap.

"So are you thinking of joining?" Saruhiko asked.

Misaki paused and nearly dumped his soup into his lap. "What?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Well you heard what Kusanagi-san said. Mikoto-san is going to ask you to join."

"Is it really that easy? Can anyone just join?" Misaki asked, unable to hide his curiosity any longer.

"Well Mikoto-san has to okay it first, and then you have to… pass a sort of test I guess you could say," Saruhiko said, looking as though he thought he'd said too much.

"What?!" Misaki demanded.

Saruhiko turned away, "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you."

As he turned, Misaki caught sight of what looked like a tattoo barely concealed by his black sweater. Saruhiko noticed this, and pulled the sweater aside to reveal a red and black tattoo just below his collarbone. "This is our insignia," he explained "all our members bear it somewhere on their body. Partners have it in the same spot," he added.

"And I would be your partner?" Misaki asked as casually as he could.

"I don't know. That's for Mikoto-san to decide. But Kusanagi-san is close with Mikoto-san, closer than anyone else, so if he says it then it's probably true."

"And what if I don't want to be your partner? What if I don't want a partner at all?" Misaki asked tactlessly.

Saruhiko smiled and looked away from Misaki. "You're hopeless, Yata-chan."

"Don't call me that!" Misaki demanded.

"How about… Misaki-chan?" He laughed.

"Don't ever call me by my first name," Misaki said seriously. Not only did he hate his first name, but his mother, who he would never speak to again, was the only person who ever called him by it.

Saruhiko realized he'd hit a nerve. "Sorry," he said. "Yata-kun, is that alright?"

"Fine," Misaki scoffed.

To be continued...