Immortal: An Unfortunate Blunder, Conversations in

It was the tinny sound of unfamiliar music that woke him up this time, and a heavy numbness in his legs that was a bit more unsettling than the weird tune playing in his ears. Rolling underneath the music was the tail end of a splitting headache he was surprised to have slept through, but part of him was sure that the ache itself was just another memory, a shade of something from long, long ago.

He pushed it away; it irritated him. Instead, he focused on his ears, listening hard. The song was punctuated by people talking—not entirely unfamiliar voices, but not instantly recognizable.

What the hell am I hearing and what time is it?

Kurama tried to swing his legs off the couch and stretch, but they were firmly pinned to the cushions by something much heavier than his cat. He craned his head around, only able to catch a glimpse of the television as his neck screamed bloody protest. It was a game he had heard, some cut-scene in one of the more recent titles; damned if he knew which one. It was a clue, however, and perhaps more of a roundabout way than poking around at the aura of whoever was sitting on him, but there was only one person in the entirety of existence that would have the gall to sit on his legs and play video games while he was sleeping.

“Yuusuke, why don’t you ever call before you come over?” he mumbled trying to push himself into a more comfortable position. A perturbed meow told him that he was pinned in more places than just his legs; Misa had been sleeping on his hair.

“I dunno,” Yuusuke mumbled, Kurama guessed he was fixated on the game. He could hear the various noises of Epic Battle being acted out by the Intrepid Adventurers, and names being shouted. Yuna, Lulu… one of the Final Fantasy games? Did he even have those anymore?

“Is that my game, or yours?”

“Yours, dude. Did you like… buy it and not play it?”

“I think I got as far as the part where the two main people started making out in a lake, and I gave up.”

“Why? You missed all the cool shit that happened afterwards.”

“Too hetero for me. All those breeder freaks all over the place make me sick.”

There was a long silence, and the ominous sound of the game being paused. Kurama deduced that Yuusuke was giving him a look, but he couldn’t turn his head to see.

“You’re a fucking weirdo, Kurama,” he said finally, unpausing the game.

“I love you too. What time is it?”

“I dunno, like eleven or something.”

“Okay, get up.”

“No way, man. I’m in the middle of the final boss fight.”

“Geeze, when the hell did you get here?”

“Fuck, I dunno. Like eight or something.”

“And you call me the weirdo. Get off my legs, King Asshole.” Kurama wiggled his legs around, not really putting as much effort into it. It was weirdly comfortable; they’d hung out like this so much more often before college and careers and real life got in the way. He missed it, sometimes, even though the situation was usually downtime between life-threatening missions.

“Final Boss. Cannot lose.”

“Fine. What happened, anyway?”

“Tidus figgered out his dad was Sin.”

“His dad? That Jecht guy that he hated so much?”

“Yeah, and, like, when they beat Sin Tidus will die or something.”

Kurama snorted into the couch cushions. Thank the gods they never had to deal with something like that.

“God, I hate games like that.”

“What, where the main dude dies at the end?”

“Yeah, that’s why I hardly play anymore. I hate the fact that you go through the entire story keeping his bottle-blond butt alive and he just goes off and dies at the end.” Kurama tried again to pry his legs out, but they were still firmly ensconced between Yuusuke’s butt and the couch. “That, and we pretty much live in a fantasy world, so it’s not like I need the escapism.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Yuusuke moved like he was going to stand for a moment, and Kurama began to pull his legs back, only to have Yuusuke shift his weight and flop back down.

“…bastard,” Kurama grumbled into the cushions, wriggling his legs around. If he couldn’t be free, then he’d settle for making his ol’ buddy ol’ pal extremely uncomfortable.

“Man, I fucking hate this part of the game,” Yuusuke said, dropping the controller as the battle gave way to another video. “Like, I wasn’t that much of a pussy with Raizen.”

Kurama stopped kicking, instead settling for removing the very much perturbed Misa from her spot. “Liar, you cried like a baby. You were inconsolable for days.”

“I did no such thing, you dick,” Yuusuke grumbled, morosely tossing the controller from hand to hand.

“You go ahead and keep trying to convince me, Urameshi. You’re doing a great job. Anyway, why are you here?”

“I told you I was coming over yesterday, remember?”

“No, you didn’t say anything about visiting...” Kurama finally managed to drag his legs from underneath Yuusuke and stretched, popping all the kinks out of his back and shoulders. He loved his couch to death, but damn if it wasn’t a bitch to wake up on.

“Yeah, well, I was thinking it.”

“Yes, of course, since we all know that I’m a mind reader as well. Any other superpowers you want to unfairly foist off on me?”

“Let’s turn you into an angel-vampire-catboy-god and call it square.”

“I’m not wearing kitty ears for you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Kuwabara would shit himself.” Yuusuke laughed, tossing away the controller. He leaned back in his favorite ‘chilling out’ pose, hands behind his head and legs sprawled out in front of him. He grinned up at Kurama, the same look on his face he’d seen hundreds, thousands of times.

“There’s a reason you’re here, I know it. Tell me you at least had the decency to make breakfast.” Kurama sighed, popping his shoulder back into working order. Yuusuke jerked his thumb over his shoulder, to a brown bag sitting on the kitchen counter.

“I’m a good boy, I know when to bring bribes.”

Kurama rolled his eyes and moved to the kitchen, examining the bag and its contents. He was wary of the grease stains at the bottom, but when he opened it the aroma of still-warm bread and vegetables wafted by his nose, any misgivings he had dropped, and he dug in, grabbing two stuffed rolls for himself and another two for Yuusuke.

“Curry rolls? Yuusuke, you are a prince.” He took a good-sized bite out of one roll and vaulted himself onto the couch, handing Yuusuke his share.

“You must want something really big,” Kurama said around bites, “because you never spoil me like this.”

“Yeah well, I’m a prince.” Yuusuke set one of his rolls on his leg, tossing the other from hand to hand.

“A prince who makes ramen for the masses,” Kurama amended, finishing off his first roll. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be at the shop? Who’s covering? Keiko?”

“Nah, Keiko has day classes. Kido needed another part-time job, so I said he could work for me. Anyway, we’ve gotta talk.”

“What about?” Kurama broke off small bits of his remaining roll and offered them to Misa, who studiously ignored them until he looked away.

“Well, for one, I’m making sure that Kazuma hasn’t turned you into a crazy cat person…” at Kurama’s glare, Yuusuke leaned out of smacking range and raised his hands over his head. “Just kidding, man. Actually, Yomi’s been dropping off weird messages that you might possibly be planning on doing something stupid.”

“It’s a load of crap,” Kurama mumbled, suddenly losing his appetite. “I’m not planning on anything except paying my respect to Inari in the next couple of days.” He set the rest of the roll in front of the cat and pushed himself off the couch. “And no, that doesn’t involve any life-or-death situations, no terrible trials, no fights, challenges, and as far as I know, no demons involved.” He paced as he counted off the situations, agitated. It was stupid that Yomi worried, and insulting that he tried to use Yuusuke to intervene against a non-existent issue.

“As far as you know?”

“Yes, as far as I know. Maybe some other Kitsune are planning on visiting on the same day, and don’t give me that look, I’m not lying.”

Yuusuke watched him pace, drumming his fingers on the couch cushions. “Okay, I can believe that. What interests me is what spurred this sudden interest in making nice with a god.”

“Not a god, Yuusuke, my god. The god I’ve worshipped since before your demon granddaddy was born, bud.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you or nothin’, I’m just worried. Like, you’ve been really quiet the past couple months, and I—well, me and Kazuma and everybody—we were wondering if you were going to leave us or something.”

“I... what? What do you mean, leave?”

Yuusuke fiddled with the game controller some more, picking it up, looking at it, setting it down. He was gathering his thoughts, Kurama knew, and it was taking a long time to put them all in one place.

“You know, you’ve been really distant lately.” He began, finally looking up into Kurama’s eyes with an expression that could have been something like the one his human stepbrother gave him, only more intense. It was some kind of look he didn’t quite understand, nor could he rationalize. “You don’t visit anyone much, and when you do you leave only after a little bit. At first Kuwabara ‘n I thought it was because you were, uh, working for Yomi.” Kurama did not fail to notice how Yuusuke stumbled over the word “working,” or the slight shift in his gaze when he said it.

You’ve known for a while, haven’t you. But you don’t want to say it, why?

Yuusuke suddenly jumped to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets and scowling.

“Okay, you know what? I’m just gonna come out and say it. I think you’ve been letting Yomi take over your life, and not even noticing. Like, this apartment, and all the shit he gives you, he’s like your demon asshole sugar daddy and I hate it, okay? It’s like he’s trying to buy you away from us and it’s not fair.” Yuusuke began to pace, his strides wide and agitated. “I know he was there first, but he was an asshole to you back in the day and he’s even worse now because it’s like he’s got you as a goddamn pet and it irritates the hell out of me. Not to mention that he started this bullshit right after what happened with Yakumo, and you were already feeling bad about that shit that happened, he just slithered in and took over and you let him. We’re the ones who are supposed to be there for you, and we didn’t even get a chance to try because his selfish ass put you in a glass cage and we’ve gotta just sit back because he’s a paranoid fuck and thinks you hanging out with any of us is a conspiracy.” Yuusuke stopped then, his scowl deepening and his fists shove so far into his pockets that Kurama wondered if he wasn’t going to rip holes in his jeans. “You’re my friend too, and he’s a jerk,” he said, with an air of finality.

Kurama sat back, regarding him calmly, but his mind was wild. That Yuusuke was concerned was nothing new, but the intensity of his concern was more than what Kurama was used to, and he felt guilty. He couldn’t say that Yuusuke was wrong, his argument was far too rational for that.

“I suppose I’ve really dug a hole for myself, haven’t I,” he said finally, needing to break the silence that had suddenly invaded what had earlier been a peaceful atmosphere. The faces on the television were frozen in various states of shock, as if they too were concerned with the tiny drama unfolding in Kurama’s living room.

“You let him slither in.”

“Guilty. And because I felt guilty. I thought I could make up for what I did to him.”

“That’s a lie. You did it because he came back the way Kuronue didn’t,” Yuusuke blurted, and they could both feel the hot grab of a bad atmosphere of saying the wrong thing at the right time.

Kurama’s gaze, which had settled on the T.V. screen, snapped to Yuusuke’s face, black and angry.

“How dare you-“

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong,” Yuusuke interrupted, taking the opportunity where he saw it. He’d screwed up what was meant to be a pep talk, but there was no turning back now, and they both knew it.

“I can see it in your eyes, and it only started happening after Yakumo. You can’t use Yomi as a replacement for what you think were failures with someone else, because that’s going to get you hurt or killed.” Yuusuke stood, and switched off the game system. “This isn’t just me, here. We’ve all seen it and nobody’s said anything because we respect you, but you’re choking yourself and I’m sick of watching you suffocate.” He turned towards the door, pausing a moment to look over his shoulder. Kurama stared back at him, into his infuriatingly sincere eyes, half ready to pounce from the couch and tear him apart. He was close – very close – to ripping Yuusuke in half for that insinuation. That very true, embarrassing, and horrible insinuation that needed to be put out in the open. Gratitude warred with anger, but anger was strong and hot and reinforced by a dozen nights of bad dreams and sad memories.

He would have killed Yuusuke, given the chance, and he didn’t know if he’d regret it.

“Think on it, Kurama. I don’t want to see you get hurt more than you already have.” And, with that farewell, he left, the hollow echo of the door his parting shot.

Kurama stayed, staring at the door for a great while, and contemplating murderous torture.

Kurama delayed himself as long as he dared, stalking around the apartment and muttering about inconsistently insightful friends and Yuusuke’s special ability of being able to say just the right thing to get him angry at just the right time. He wondered how he’d manage to leave himself so unbearably open to attack, how Yuusuke had noticed, and just how accurate Yuusuke’s words had been.

Very accurate, he couldn’t deny it. He wanted to, certainly, but he absolutely couldn’t and it was driving him mad. It was infuriating, and he hated himself, hated Yomi, and right now – even though his intentions had been noble – especially hated Yuusuke for pointing out what should have been glaringly obvious. He stalled for a long time before he left, and by the time he had gotten to Miyagi, most of the morning had passed.

This time the trip wasn’t punctuated by amusing foreigner antics, though he wasn’t sure he would have been able to take the atmosphere with good grace. He was in no mood for tourists, and was thankful that the temple was weekday-quiet, and the few devotees that were immediately present ignored him almost completely. There was one other Kitsune that he noticed, an old one (by regular standards) who bowed low enough for his wide-brimmed hat to brush the ground when Kurama passed. The Kitsune wasn’t far past two or three hundred years, and usually the kind that was beneath notice, but Kurama was still reeling from that dried-up sensation of his faults being shoved in his face, so he bowed back, though not nearly as low. The old Kitsune noticed, though, and grinned bright and toothlessly at him as he passed. Kurama did not grin back; his humility was the biggest reward that old fox was ever going to get.

He prayed again, and this time was not surprised by the quiet reception.

At Fushimi Inari, after a long commute by train and another quick meal, he stood in understandable awe, staring at the multitudinous gates marching up the spine of the mountain. Just north and west of Inari was Kurama-dera, and he turned to let his gaze lay on the peaks he had called home for the better part of a thousand years. Even with his eyesight being what it was, he could only barely make out the outline of Mount Kurama from here, at the lower temple of Inari. Long ago his eyesight had been much sharper, and the air clearer, and he had watched the torii gates slowly begin to overtake the mountain. He remembered the western occupation, and when the temple had all but burned to the ground, and watched as it had been rebuilt again.

It had been a magnificent temple, once, and while he had not been born into the service of Inari, he often felt quite a swell of pride for the abode of his chosen God. Now it was less than remarkably grand, just another tourist trap for foreigners. The lower temple was situated in traditional fashion, and as he once more moved through the minor purification ritual he let his gaze wander over the courtyard.

There were kitsch stands situated cheek-by-jowl with the offering houses, with mass-produced fox masks grinning at him from every side. Just within the first massive gate there were two food stands, a slew of vending machines, and a jewelry stand that sold gold-plated necklaces shaped like the sacred keys to the temple. Cell-phone charms like the one he wore on his own mobile hung next to the fox masks and the key necklaces, their little bells twinkling in the damp wind. Keeping a grimace from his face, he passed the first offering temple and turned right, up the first path of torii gates and past the mouldering statues of his Kitsune cousins.

One thing he had forgotten in the years since he last visited the temple was that the place had been neatly overrun by a legion of feral cats. A few of them, he noticed, carried a little bit of the divine spark, there in lieu of actual foxes to bless travelers to the temple. The place was crawling with them, much in the way it was crawling with vending machines. He didn’t mind the cats so much, it would be rather hypocritical of him to begrudge them their home when he had a fat happy cat of his own keeping a lazy eye on his apartment, but the vending machines he could have done without. The afternoon was getting on into evening, and the dull hum from the machines broke the reverent silence that blanketed the temple once the daylight hours faded into dusk. He couldn’t hear the hum of the earth and the trees over the hum of human technology, a ticking drone that beat into his head, a metronome for thought.

You did it because he came back the way Kuronue didn’t.

He came back.

Kuronue didn’t.

Damn Yuusuke, damn his insights and his persistent, irritating voice! Kurama stalked up the mountainside, underneath the red gates and past the few worshippers, his eyes as dark as his thoughts. No one bothered him, and he liked that just fine.

He isn’t wrong. I’m a fool, and damn him for calling me on it. Damn Yomi, damn Yuusuke. Damn Kuronue. Damn you the most, you stupid bird.

Yomi came back from the dead. Kuronue didn’t.

Kurama continued up the mountain, no longer thinking about prayers or cats.

Dusk was different at the Upper Temple, and the last of the torii gates he left behind with a final fleeting thought as to how horribly he was going to murder Yuusuke, and how long he was going to torture him beforehand. His pride was beaten to an ember, now, and his legs were actually sore from the climb, also possibly Yuusuke’s fault. He didn’t mind it, though. The dull aching in his legs beat a different time than the hum of machines along the mountain trail, punctuated by the odd yowl from a feral cat. He relished the pain, no matter how minor, and let it fuel him onward to his final little task for whoever the hell Setsumaru was and get on with his life.

Maybe start by moving out of that bedamned apartment, nice as it was. No more noisy neighbors, that would be his reason, and Yomi would accept it or he could go to hell. He might not even tell Hiei where he was moving to, but little good that would do. Maybe he would just start by kicking the shit out of Yuusuke. God, he was so mad at him! Of all the days that irritating prick could have picked to bring that up… no, leave it at the gate. Think of Inari, think good thoughts. Good thoughts end with setting Yuusuke on fire.

He kept on that way for a few moments as he ambled along the flat walkway to the Upper Temple’s offering house. The heavy bellpulls swayed in a breeze that was still thick with the scent of storm, and he didn’t need to check the skies to imagine that by the time he made his way back home he would most likely be fully drenched. He sighed and rang the bells twice, clapped, rang, clapped and prayed, feeling once again that gentle wash of divine love fall over him and then…

Nothing.

Oh, for Inari’s sake, I came all the way up here, I came all this way, give me something back.

He investigated the offering shrine thoroughly, walking around it and around the walkway, up to the main temple house. Nothing. Maybe it was some cute prank being played by some Kitsune who figured he was being lax in his devotion? He couldn’t tell. Perhaps “Setsumaru” was just some elaborate joke.

“I was betting with myself; I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

A familiar voice, but only vaguely. Kurama turned and noticed a figure detached only slightly from the deepening shadows inside the Temple house. The figure – male, tall, and disturbingly familiar, though not enough for Kurama to quite put a finger on him – stepped down from the shadows and bowed politely to Kurama. His face was pleasant, and his aura, what little there was, reminded him almost of… Tengu? But why a Tengu in Inari’s temple, of all places?

“Are you Setsumaru?” Kurama asked, taking a cautionary step back. The man smiled and nodded his head ever so slightly, before turning and motioning to the magnificent view.

“I am called that now. Like you, I have found it quite profitable to attain an alias for use here in the human’s world.” He paused, the barely noticeably aura keying up to something far more powerful and familiar, though unthreatening. “You knew me before, as Tadashi, elder brother of Kuronue.” He smiled, an almost sad look on his face. Kurama blanked, something like panic and intuition gripping his gut for a split second before he pushed it away.

“I remember you.” Kurama answered him, standing firmly with his back to Kyoto and his eyes reaching into the deepening darkness. “He… always spoke highly of you.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

They stared at each other in silence for a long while, the sun leaving them. He could hear the monks who still lived in the lower temple beginning their evening prayers, though up here all was silent. Even the cats had stopped their calling, and the birds had finished their evening song moments before. Kurama stared at Tadashi, now Setsumaru, and memorized the face that looked so much like, and yet so different from, his departed brother.

“You want to know why I called you here, and to the other temples.”

“Yes.”

“I have something to show you.”

Tadashi turned, and Kurama thought for a moment he would re-enter the temple, but he moved away and around it, following a monk’s path to behind the building. Kurama did not hesitate to follow.

What are you doing, Kurama? You’re looking down a road you don’t want to travel.

The rational part of his mind told him this, but he continued to follow Tadashi down the little-used path through the heavy mists of nightfall and into what his gut was telling him was probably a murder trap. He could think of any number of scenarios – that Tadashi wanted to avenge his brother, or his father or whatever else – and any one of them made sense.

And yet, he continued to follow.

Hello, self-preservation, would you like to kick in anytime soon?

“I have been searching for you for quite some time,” Tadashi said, keeping steady pace along the path that was taking them far deeper into the mountain than Kurama himself ever remembered going. Kurama-dera was his territory, not Fushimi, and he kept it that way all this time. He’d never gotten along with the Fushimi foxes (or any other Japanese foxes, for that matter) so he hadn’t touched the mountain beyond visiting the temple.

“Have you? I haven’t exactly been keeping a low profile.”

Tadashi chuckled, the sound almost supernatural in the darkness. “I noticed. I was hoping to wait for the right time to approach you, but the times have been difficult for the both of us, you especially. I hear you’re working for your former protégé now?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Please let’s not talk about that. I’ve had that on my mind enough today.

“That’s very noble of you. I remember distinctly that at one time you tried to have him killed.” His tone did not change, it was still light and conversational, but Kurama nonetheless felt a chill trace up his spine.

“Unlike your brother, he was beyond my ability to teach aside from drastic measures.”

“Kuronue was always a fast learner.”

They continued in silence, then, until Tadashi stopped in front of a structure that looked – strangely enough – quite new compared to the temple. Kurama stood a respectful distance behind Tadashi, glancing from him to the small building, hands in his pockets and trying to feel as casual as he looked. Tadashi strode forward and slid open the door, and Kurama could hear the rustling of paper from within.

“Follow me, please,” Tadashi said, before entering. Kurama hesitated a moment, and then followed, running one hand through his hair and against the nape of his neck, securing a rose seed between his fingers.

The rustling he heard came from Ofuda charms; thousands of them. They lined the walls, ranging in age from tattered beyond repair to brand new. Not a bit of the wall was visible underneath what looked like several decades worth of the charms, and he noticed that while most of them were damaged from simple aging, many were damaged from some kind of surge of power.

Something was trapped in here, something old and strong, and every instinct he had was screaming at him to turn around and walk right the hell out the door. But part of him, the tiny, stupid, deep down in the molten core of him part, knew that if he walked out, he would lose the chance of grasping on to something he’d never again have the opportunity to take. For that, he followed Tadashi, down into the depths of the building. Their footsteps echoed on tile, not dirt or wood, and the whole structure seemed to be made of metal. No organics, but for the paper in the ofuda, and Kurama was uneasy.

It was scant moments before Tadashi stopped again, and this time Kurama stood shoulder to shoulder with him. At the end of the charm-lined hallway was a charm-lined chamber. Here the ofuda were burned away in many places, and the walls were scarred with deep gouges. Some of them looked like claw marks, others seemed to be the marks of pure demon energy. The chamber itself was a walkway, centered in which was a pit. Not a profound pit, really, only about two stories deep, and dark but for a single figure lying in the middle on the cold tile floor. It was completely involuntary, but Kurama stepped forward, simply to see the figure better.

“Oh, Inari…”

Tadashi’s hands slammed down on his shoulders, digging into his skin, and Kurama found he was having a very hard time moving or breathing.

“He’s been waiting for you for quite some time, Kurama Youko,” Tadashi said, his voice never losing that dreamy, gentle tone. His hands were growing hot, and the heat buried into his chest, burning the air out of his lungs.

“Kuronue…” Kurama managed to gasp out, through the tense heat in his chest “How?”

“I put him here.” Tadashi leaned forward over Kurama’s shoulders to look down into the pit, down at his brother who slept in uneasy pain at the bottom of a sealed well. “It took me years to separate the two of you long enough to capture him, and I nearly had to kill him in the process, but it did work out so nicely. I’ve been keeping him here to siphon off his power for decades. Look…” He held out a hand, reaching towards Kuronue. Power like lightning arced from fingertips to form, and Kurama could barely hear a muffled scream above the crack of energy, and without thinking he pushed everything he could into that tiny seed in his fingers, thorns like knives piercing the air up and around him with reckless abandon.

He turned, swinging his free arm out to knock Tadashi away, or off-balance, or something, the rose plant bursting forth into spastic, uncontrollable bloom. His power was out of his hands, and he caught Tadashi’s hand, pulling him towards the edge of the pit. One foot slipped over the edge of the floor and he lost his balance, digging his hand into the Tengu’s arm. They hung that way for a moment, Kurama suspended over the drop – this is nothing, if he drops me the worst I’ll get is a mean bruise – and Tadashi staring at him in a very creepy, very meaningful way.

“I have plans, Kurama Youko, to finish what my father started.” He pushed forward the hand Kurama had not latched on to, and pressed it onto and into Kurama’s chest, his fingers glowing with white-hot light, and that burning, unable to breathe sensation came back with a vengeance, and Kurama lost his grip, pulled backwards by treacherous gravity. Tadashi grabbed him, fingers digging into his hair, pressing his hand farther in and then pulling, ripping away.

White-hot hands. A brilliant flash of scarlet light, and down Kurama went, into the dark, charm-lined chamber.

When Youko awoke there were two things on his mind. The first, a splitting headache, and the second, a burning desire for roast crow. There was a Tengu he was about to kill, and he would enjoy every single moment of it.

Now, if only he could move.

He noticed at once that, when he opened his eyes, he was met with several unsettling sights. The first being that he was in his own home and he was in no condition to have gotten there by himself, and the second was the selfsame Tengu that had nearly murdered them both sitting with his back to the wall, chin resting on his hand, and staring at him.

“I’m going to kill you,” Youko said coolly, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. It was… less than successful and he managed to land with a soft thud on his side, and he silently commanded the room to stop spinning.

“Probably, but not with a concussion,” the Tengu answered mildly, watching as Youko struggled into a more-or-less upright position.

“Why did you bring me here?” Youko growled. He noticed that the Tengu had gone through great lengths to make him comfortable, from dragging down an extra futon to banking the fire so the light wasn’t unbearable. He would have been grateful, too, if it wasn’t for the throbbing ouch in his skull.

“Well, I couldn’t very well bring you back to my place, seeing as you’re not exactly the most welcome of guests, and here was closer anyway.”

“You shouldn’t even be in here. My plants would have killed you on sight.”

“Well, you were with me, and injured, so your loyal watch ferns decided to let me in.”

“…I’m going to kill you,” Youko said again. And, every god damn him, the Tengu had the nerve to laugh at him.

“My leg is broken?” Youko asked later. After a hot meal (prepared courtesy of the Tengu, who had a cook’s hands, he noticed) and a good draught of tea laced with enough pain-killing herbs to douse an elephant, he was in a far better mood to talk, and the Tengu was in a far nicer mood to indulge him.

“Oh yes. One of my wings just about snapped off, but that’s easily taken care of. You really saved us both by moving the trees out of the way.”

“Huh. It doesn’t feel broken.”

“Painkillers will do that, I’d imagine.”

“Ah. Oh, give me my jewel back,” Youko said. It wasn’t even worded as an order or a demand. Like he was just suggesting it. He felt very strange, and the dullness in his mind was multiplied by a heavy exhaustion that threatened to have him fall off into oblivion any second now, if only the Tengu would stop shaking him awake when he started nodding off.

“I was planning to, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was hoping to make a nice occasion out of it, but you seemed to take it the wrong way.”

“Did I.”

“Yeah. And here I went through all the trouble of making it pretty for you.” The Tengu reached into one of the pouches at his waist, pulling out the warded cloth and unfolding it to show Youko. The shattered bit of gem glittered in a silver setting, and Youko ignored the shooting pain in his left leg to clamor over to the Tengu, landing almost squarely in his lap to look at the jewel in its beautiful new home. The Tengu stifled a laugh and moved enough so that they could both sit comfortably and admire the gem, it’s radiant light bathing them in scarlet glory.

“It’s beautiful,” Youko remarked, carefully running a finger over the pendant’s design. “Did you make this?”

“No, I have no talent for crafting as fine as this, but I have a friend who does, and went to her. Only the best for a Legend.”

“I see.” He stared at the jewel, his jewel, for another moment before realizing he’d just made himself at home in the lap of a person whose name he didn’t even know. “Tell me your name.”

“Kuronue,” came the answer, and he could feel himself fading again from that strange numbness.

“You’re quite mad, Kuronue. I might have killed you on sight, if I’d been in a worse mood.”

“I’ll be sure to catch you in the morning if I ever have any bad news, then.”

“Indicating future correspondence. You’re absolutely insane.”

“You don’t seem uninterested in keeping me around. I take this as a good sign.”

“I’ll let you stay if you’ll let me sleep,” Youko said with an air of finality. He’d wonder later if the hit to his head had caused temporary insanity, but then it wasn’t the worst thing he had done in his life so he could live with it. He could always kill the Tengu… Kill Kuronue later if he got irritating.

“I’d call that a bargain.”

“Right here.”

“In my lap?”

“I don’t feel much like moving at the moment, and you’re comfortable.”

There was a moment of silence before Kuronue shrugged and reached over to pull one of the blankets off the futon. No sooner had he managed to situate it around them than Youko fell asleep, face pressed to Kuronue’s shoulder and hand still resting on his wrist, right next to the jewel.

“Well, I guess we’re off to a good start, then,” Kuronue said to the plants, before leaning back and making himself comfortable for what was sure to be a very long, very strange night.

 

It was quite some time before Kurama could regain active consciousness. For a while, it was a long gray tunnel of being awake, but incoherent and confused. Once that left him, he took inventory of his injuries.

His back ached terribly, and his right arm had gone almost completely numb. If he didn't try to move it, there was no real feeling, but the second he flexed his fingers there was a sudden, shooting pain that went all the way up to his skull. Broken, maybe, or just sprained? He couldn't quite tell. He tried to look to assess the damage, and had a moment of pure panic where he was sure he had gone blind. Not the case, just the near-pitch darkness of the pit, and as his eyes adjusted the only thing he could really see was the dull (almost nonexistant) glow of light from the ofuda charms.

With the adjustment came another lovely revelation: his eyes were weak. Human weak, and his other senses had fared no better. No longer could he see well in the not-light, or distinguish separate sounds and smells with the clarity he had before. All was dull, as if he'd been covered with a blanket, or a cocoon, not completely cut off but still removed. As he lay, staring up at the ofuda and the ceiling of the pit, he raised his hand, resting it on his chest, where a human heart now beat, uninhibited by the tidal flow of his youki. The space where his kitsune-bi had once rested, fractured but still mostly intact, his power. Arguably, his life.

All that lost, now in Tadashi's hands. The Tengu had effectively crippled him as much as he had done to poor Kuronue, only instantaneously instead of over so long a time. And Kuronue... was he dead, now? He hadn't moved at all after that last pull of power, and Kurama could hear no breathing over the fluttering of the ofuda charms.

He rolled over onto his uninjured side, using that arm to support him, and pushed up from the cold metal floor. His feet faced the mouth of the pit and the exit out to Fushimi Inari, and if he rolled to his right there was a wall. To his left was the open floor of the pit and - he prayed - Kuronue, and not just a fresh corpse. He crawled forward, injured arm held tight to his body, supporting himself with his knees and one good hand.

Kurama crawled through half a century's worth of dust, feeling out ahead of him. It seemed ages before his hands touched something what was metal. His fingers brushed fabric and he felt a terrible chill of horror when he felt the deathly stillness of Kuronue's skin. He waited in silence, finding Kuronue's chest and resting his hand there, waiting for a sign, something to tell him Kuronue was still alive.

He didn't wait long, there was a breath. Slow, exhausted and weak, but it was there, and Kurama let out his own breath; he didn't realize he had been holding it. Kuronue scarcely moved underneath his hand, but he was there, alive.

"Am I dreaming you?" he murmured, reaching out blindly to rest a hand on Kuronue's cheek. No tricks, no imposter, he knew the feel of Kuronue's skin like he knew his own face in the mirror. Not a dream; he even dared hope that they might escape this pit alive, somehow. He leaned back against the wall of the pit, hand still resting on Kuronue's skin, no sound but for their breathing and the ghostly orchestra of the ofuda paper.

“You’ve reached Minamino, please leave a brief me-“

Yuusuke snapped his phone closed and rubbed his eyes, exasperated and tired. Kuwabara was standing opposite him, arms crossed and eyes closed and a look of intense concentration on his face.

"No answer on his cell or at his apartment, nothing from his mom," he muttered, shoving the phone into his pocket. "Anything?"

"I can't find him. Not a trace," Kuwabara sighed. It was late now, long past sunset and climbing towards midnight. They had both felt the sudden and disturbing silence from Kurama; even though they rarely spoke anymore, there was always that knowing where he was. But, since sunset... silence.

"Where did you say he was going?"

"He didn't say exactly, just that he was going to pay his respects to Inari. There are tons of places he could have gone. He could be in Aichi for all I know." How many times had he cursed himself so far for not asking exactly where? Damn. He was quiet a long time, thinking.

“It’s fuckin’ pouring out there. I hope he’s indoors, wherever he is,” Kuwabara muttered, hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched. Few unlucky pedestrians were on the street at this time of night; for all this was a particularly popular part of town, rain wasn’t weather for outside socializing. The few that passed them left a wide berth – whether it was from the rather savagely irritated look on Yuusuke’s face or the dark, slouching figure that Kuwabara cut was anyone’s guess. Neither of them cared; it was late, they were tired, and what had been a simple if irritating situation earlier in the day was slipping downhill with the street garbage in the dense rain.

“You shouldn’t ’ve pissed him off, Urameshi,” Kuwabara muttered after a while. Silence made him uneasy, and nights like this were the nights where silence invited angry mutterings from the city spirits, as if he didn’t have enough on his mind already. “I shoulda been the one to talk to him.”

“Don’t turn this into my fault,” Yuusuke warned. He tugged a battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up, blowing the first lungful of smoke deliberately at his friend.

“It isn’t your fault, but you sure as hell tossed a big wrench in the wheel, I’m willing to bet.”

“I was trying-“ a peal of thunder cut him off briefly, and he grimaced up at the sky. “… to be helpful. He would have talked you out of whatever you were going to say. I know him.”

“Fuck you, I know him too,” Kuwabara hunched his shoulders further and snorted unhappily.

Another long silence, punctuated by more thunder, brief flashes of lightning, and a few drunken shoults from further down the street that faded into nothing.

“We could call Hiei,” Yuusuke suggested after a while. He looked sideways at Kuwabara, wondering if he would fight that particular idea. He caught a sigh and a brief roll of the eyes, then Kuwabara sighed and nodded.

“He’d find him. I mean, unless there was something fucking with his eye.”

“Why do you always have to be such a fucking downer?” Yuusuke shrugged his jacket up over his shoulders and turned down the street. “Come on, grumpy. Let’s see if Botan knows anything, first.”

This is what triumph feels like.

Funny how Tadashi had to tell himself these things. He stood facing the tall windows of his penthouse – a beautiful place in the center of the city, the whole building was his, bought on blood and cunning – and stared over the Tokyo cityscape, blurred with heavy rain and lit every so often by the sweet and fickle arcs of lightning dancing between the clouds. All the lights were down here; even the digital readouts on the appliances in his obscenely large kitchen and on the enormous entertainment system had been cut off. The only illumination came from the sky, the city, and the glowing red sphere in his hand.

He had examined it carefully on his way home from the acquisition. He had been surprised by the purity of the light, the brightness of it. When he had first pulled it from Kurama it had nearly blinded him, and even now his eyes ached to behold it. Even sheltered in his hands the light was enough to light the entire room, swallowing whatever light happened to be near it and reflecting that light tenfold.

Initially, he had been surprised. He hadn’t expected the sphere to be so bright or nearly so powerful, not after being trapped in that human shell for two decades. And considering that so much of the fox’s energy surely had been expended to keep him from death and find a new body… well. Youko had been stronger than he had anticipated.

He cupped the jewel in his hands, turning it so the flawed part of the surface was visible in the gap between his thumbs. That light, white as fire, shot between his fingers like a beacon, flooding the ceiling, lighting the room as if it were day. He turned his hands so the beam of light would spill out the windows, shooting out over the city as a lighthouse beam. He covered the light seconds later, pulling the gem close to his heart, a smile finally pulling at his lips. All that light, his. All that power, his.

As it should be.

The sound of hydraulic machinery – the elevator that served as entrance and exit to his home – and he was brought quickly and violently back to reality. He turned, gripping the gem in one hand so that only the faintest glow could be seen though his skin. He knew who his visitor was, and knew that this was the real reason he had killed all the lights in the building.

He knew, also, that the power in his hand now, what he had coveted most of his life, was not entirely his anymore.

The elevator door to his penthouse opened, flooding the place for a brief moment with stark, fluorescent light. There was only one figure in the elevator tonight, which bothered him. Though it had been many years since he had seen this particular guest, he had never been alone.

“He” was a term used loosely. Tadashi had never seen his guest’s face, and “he” never spoke above a smooth whisper. Though the body was tall and lean, shoulders broad as a man’s, the grace with which the body moved was all woman, a way no man could ever have reproduced. Always in shadow or silhouette came his visitor, quietly instructing him over the years since they had met.

“I am surprised to see you alone this time,” Tadashi said, bowing slightly at the waist. “Is our business partner indisposed?”

“Sakyo is dead. I thought you knew,” his visitor replied. “Several years ago, in fact. Though, it was before then that we last met. I don’t expect you to keep an eye on everything.” Was that a veiled insult? Kindness? Humor? Tadashi did not know. Though, the loss of Sakyo pained him. The gambling man had been an invaluable business partner, and infinitely better company than their whispering friend.

“An unfortunate passing,” he acknowledged. He turned and reached for the warded cloth he had made especially for the gem, transferring it from hand to ward smoothly so that no light reached his visitor. This rule he had never broken, though if it was out of fear for seeing his friend’s true form or simple honor he didn’t quite know.

“He chose his passing. I see you have succeeded in your task,” the visitor said, effectively dropping the subject of Sakyo. Of course, Sakyo was of no concern to either of them anymore. He had done his job, and as far as the visitor was concerned, done it well. Tadashi would mourn his friend later, by himself.

“I have. It was simpler than I had expected.”

“I told you the fox would come along readily. Poor thing, he doesn’t understand how easy he is to manipulate.”

Poor thing? Those weren’t exactly the words Tadashi would have chosen. After all, if it had not been for Kurama, he wouldn’t have had to torture his brother all these decades, wouldn’t have to deal with his mysterious visitor, wouldn’t have lost the affection of dear Akira, who had vanished in a rage after Kuronue’s capture.

No, certainly not ‘poor thing’ at all.

“It was as you said, and the task is finished. What would you ask of me now?”

Silence for a moment, the visitor was still and silent. Tadashi imagined he could see a glitter of reflected light where eyes would be, but brushed that away as nonsense. He longed for a brief, destructive moment to see the visitor’s face, to know what he was, and longed at that same moment of a flash of lightning, for the penthouse lights to suddenly go up of their own volition. These traitorous thoughts left him between one breath and the next as he waited impatiently for his next mission.

“We will wait, for now. Once your brother awakens and the fox divines some way to escape that charming dungeon of yours, we will divine our next step.”

“You want them to escape?”

“I dare not prevent it.”

“But-“
“Wait. Relax. Enjoy your star as you have it now. We have time now for leisure. I will visit you again tomorrow evening. I have a gift for you.” With that, the visitor’s shadow turned, again silhouetted by the light from the elevator, and he left, leaving Tadashi in the cold, lonely darkness of his home.

“Haven’t we been here before?” Kuwabara grumbled, hunched under his jacket, hands fisted in the pockets but arms stretched out enough that he could shield Botan from the rain where she was sitting on the ground with her ‘detective kit’ spread out before them. Yuusuke was crouched next to her, picking up and examining the tools within, only half listening to Botan’s explanations as she sorted through the items he hadn’t played with yet.

“Well, I wasn’t here, at least. What’s this one for?” Yuusuke said, picking up something that looked like an eyelash curler.

“That’s for clairvoyance, but only girls can use it,” Botan explained. “We’ve been experimenting with new things now that there’s enough free time without maintaining the barrier. Think we should try the whistle again?”

“No,” Kuwabara answered. While he hadn’t been subject to the thing the first time, the way Kurama had described the sound and the way Hiei had dropped out of the tree was enough testimony that he didn’t want to have to hear it. “Besides, I’ll bet you money he’s in Makai somewhere. Why don’t you just go there and get him?”

“Why don’t you?” Yuusuke shot back, making a face at him. “Fuck if I’m going to haul my ass back over there. You know what’ll happen? Here, here’s my impression of Hokushin: My lord! You have to do ten billion things now and ten billion other things at the same time and live up to Raizen blah blah demon heritage blah bladity blah. No, thank you, I’d rather not.”

“You two do know it’s one in the morning, raining, and I don’t have to be here, right?” Botan shot them both a cold glare. Though she didn’t technically “sleep,” it was still a hassle leaving the nice and comfortable Reikai palace to sit around two grouchy young men for what would probably end up being a really stupid reason.”Maybe Kurama doesn’t want to be found. I mean, if I had to hang around you two more than I already do, I’d probably not want to be found either.”

“You’re the sweetest, Botan,” Yuusuke snatched another item from the kit, turning it over in his hands before setting it down again. “Don’t you have, like, an inter-dimensional phone or something?”

“Well, yeah, but it doesn’t work if he’s not around another one to pick up the call. There are like… three in Makai.”

“Figures. Shit…” Yuusuke stood, running a hand through his soaked hair and looking around irritably. “And we don’t have anything we can track him with unless we break into his house or something, and I’m not dumb enough to do it while he isn’t there to keep the attack plants away.”

“Damn, I was hoping you would anyway,” Kuwabara joked, stepping back far enough to avoid a swing from Yuusuke. “What else can we do for now?”

They all looked at each other for some time, no one willing to go out and say that the best course, at least for now, would be to wait.

“I’ll go back and put out a low-level alert for operatives to keep an eye out for him,” Botan sighed, closing up the kit and hoisting it over her shoulder. “I really think we should try the whistle, though. I mean, we got lucky last time, but you never know…”

“No way is Hiei just hanging around here in this weather,” Yuusuke snorted. “I can go home and print out lost dog posters with Kurama’s picture on ‘em.”

“He’ll kill you twice,” Kuwabara said, “and I won’t stop him. I’ll keep thinking Kurama-like thoughts and see if I get anything,” he nodded to them both and turned back towards his part of town. Botan summoned her oar and shrugged at Yuusuke, a half smile on her face.

“I bet he’s fine, really. You know Kurama, always ten steps ahead.” She was gone before Yuusuke could comment back, and he was left to make his own way home, grumbling all the way.

Hiei, perched quietly high in the branches of a nearby tree, watched his former companions part ways and vanished, only the barest rustling of a branch to mark his passage.

Hiei was not sure why he was here. Ningenkai held little interest for him now. He knew Yukina was well taken care of, even if he didn’t entirely trust Kuwabara’s bias that, while most demons were awful, Yukina was number one in his book. The light of adolescent love would surely die down eventually, and human instinct would take over. It was the way of things: love never lasted. He’d tasted that fruit before himself, and the initial sweetness had turned bitter over time.

He didn’t mourn the loss of it. What he did mourn was the hours of lost time he had spent this night following Yuusuke and Kuwabara around, listening to their circular conversations – Kuwabara asking just what had gone wrong in whatever conversation Yuusuke had engaged with Kurama, Yuusuke deliberately skirting the question, and continuing like that ad nauseum – and getting rained on. The last irritated him the most; he’d learned to accept that both his former companions were almost complete idiots and had learned to deal with it.

He stopped, both his thoughts and his movement, perching near the chimney stack of some department store or another. He kept his hands inside his cloak, jagan already exposed and searching over the city. It was difficult with the rain and the lightning – now losing its fire but still more storm than anything else – but he could track the motion of Kurama’s energy through the city easily. After all, he’d spent years learning it as well as he knew his own, by now he could pick Kurama out of a crowd of millions, even if he didn’t want to be seen.

He used the trains several times, most recently towards Kyoto.

Towards the direction the storm was taking. Lovely. He braced himself a moment and then dropped off the building, catching himself on another, hopscotching over streetlamps and towards the shinkansen station. He wouldn’t be able to catch a train at this hour, and even if they ran this late he’d have to resort to clinging to the top of it for the duration of the trip for lack of human money. But that was where the trail led, and he could be sure that whatever temple Kurama had taken himself to was near a train station.

It took him bare moments to cross the city, and he wasn’t near tiring. He followed the trail of energy along to the limits of his vision, due west to Kyoto.

If he’s in Kyoto, he’ll probably be at Fushimi Inari. Not too far. He would be shocked if it took him longer than an hour at a run. Destination firmly in his mind, Hiei set off again, speed rivaling that of the still trains in the station below.

Two A.M. and all’s well, Kurama thought to himself. More exploring the pit had allowed him to find his cell phone – devoid of any reception, of course – the dead bits of rose vine he’d tried to attack Tadashi with, and many fistfuls of Kuronue’s molted feathers. Kuronue himself was still out, probably comatose, and hadn’t stirred more than a breath since Kurama awoke. Kurama sat near him now, resting his uninjured hand on Kuronue’s shoulder, eyes facing the mouth of the pit. A sick part of him half expected Tadashi to come back with a bucket and a small yippy dog, making comments about lotion and a hose. He shook that from his head; the humor seemed just a little too inappropriate.

If he’d have been conscious enough to better break his fall (or at least keep his arm from breaking, as he was sure it must be, by now) he might have been able to climb the walls, using the deep gouges in the walls as hand and foot holds. That must have tormented Kuronue, to have easy ladders to freedom, but unable to even touch the walls for the charms. It tormented Kurama now, plaguing him with thoughts of ‘if only’ and ‘why didn’t I.’

Blame is useless, he reminded himself. Even if it is accurate. He’d cursed himself for the first hour, silently raging at his own ineptitude, how he had so easily allowed himself to be lead by the ear into a trap. And even beyond that… what the hell was he going to do when Kuronue finally woke up? What could he say? ‘Good morning, Kuronue, sorry it took me fifty years to find you?’ And even then that was assuming that Kuronue would know it was him, without his youki, Kurama was just a human, just Shuuichi.

The same thoughts had looped for the last few hours, stuck on endless repeat. There was nothing he could do now but sit and wait for something to happen, whether it be Kuronue waking up or Tadashi returning to kill them both. It was on this thought that he heard footsteps, and an icy dread crawled its way up his spine, freezing him to the spot. He stared at the mouth of the pit, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see Tadashi, but wanting to at least give some impression of expectance. It took an agonizing long while for those paces to stop, and another moment of silence before words reached him.

“What have you done now, stupid fox?”

Hiei. Hiei, thank every god for that ornery bastard, of all the people who would find him…

“Just had a little fall, is it,” Kurama answered casually, forcing away tears of relief. “I don’t suppose you brought a ladder?”

Hiei hadn’t brought a ladder, of course, but it took little effort for him to pull both Kurama and Kuronue out of the pit and to freedom. After all, the wards weren’t made to hold him.

Relieved, in pain, and now feeling the slow claws of exhaustion sinking into him, Kurama leaned against the door of the metal building, noticing that, unless he was touching it, he couldn’t see the structure with his human eyes. That explains why none of the priests or visitors ever found the place. How had he not noticed that earlier? Why did he even care at this point?

“What’s the prognosis, Hiei?” he asked, to distract himself from more uncomfortable thoughts. Hiei was crouched next to Kuronue, examining him carefully with the jagan, one hand on Kuronue’s forehead.

“He’s alive, but he won’t wake up for some time. Having that much energy pulled from him in the way you described was enough to put him in mild shock. We can take him to Yukina, see about healing him. And you, for that matter. Your arm looks like a gaki got to it.”

“I don’t expect that you’re offering to carry us both back to Tokyo,” Kurama sighed, bushing away from the metal dungeon. Why here? Why at a temple of Inari, of all places? Why not trap him in Makai?

“I think I can call a cab if we get farther down the mountain, if you’re willing.”

“I can carry him, if you can walk,” Hiei demonstrated by hoisting Kuronue over one shoulder. It was a funny sight; Hiei looked like a child carrying an overlarge stuffed animal.

“Think a cab driver would buy the ‘we got smashed and beaten at a costume party’ story?” Kurama asked, starting down the small path to the temple, using the screen of his cell phone as a makeshift flashlight. He’d have trouble explaining away Kuronue’s clothing; while not the outfit he had worn when Kurama had last seen him, the tattered, dusty clothes were in demon fashion, which to humans meant ‘old, and not in the cool traditional way.’

“Pay him enough up front and you won’t have to explain anything,” Hiei muttered, easily keeping in Kurama’s stride.

“Good point.”

They were silent a time, wandering down the mountain through rain that was filtered by the heavy canopy. Thunder continued to rumble overhead, but there was no lightning close enough to pierce through the gloom. Here it was damp, misty, and mysterious, a scene right out of a movie. More thoughts ran panic-circles through Kurama’s mind, the most prominent of which being how Had found him, how he had even known to look.

“Hiei,” he began, the question intent in his mind.

“Don’t ask,” short, sharp, just like Hiei always was. Of course Hiei wouldn’t tell him why. Of course it was stupid to ask. Of course it would be stupid to say the words that were coming out of his mouth right now,

“And here I thought you didn’t like me,” his tone was far too bright and airy, too mocking. Maybe he had cracked his skull a bit harder than he’d initially thought; otherwise he might never have blurted out something so… unkind.

Hiei, however, did not respond. They continued again in silence, through the soft patter of rain, until they reached the bottom of the temple steps and Kurama rang for a cab. Then they waited, still covered by that silence, Kurama periodically glancing though the gloom to Hiei, still holding up Kuronue—god, it was so surreal he couldn’t even react properly. Ideally, he would be jumping for joy at seeing that Kuronue was alive and arguably well… alive, at least. He would have been happy. Where was that? Happiness? Shouldn’t it be filling him up the way people always described, ‘unbridled joy’ and all that? Shouldn’t he at least be smiling instead of finding ways not only to cut down himself, but Hiei, who was nothing less than both their savior?

The arrival of the cab, punctuated by a small tidal wave of muddy water, cut off these thoughts for now, and he gestured for Hiei to get in first so they could maneuver Kuronue in together.

The cabbie, as was his duty, said nothing, merely waiting for his directions. But Kurama could feel his eyes, certainly, and didn’t these newer cabs come with video cameras? He couldn’t pay with credit then, if he didn’t want some overly curious security supervisor tracking his information and asking questions about he and his ragged friends.

For the second time that night, much to Kurama’s horror, Hiei saved him. He caught the brief violet glow from beneath Hiei’s headband and the muttered “drive” just as he was about to buckle in, and the cab pulled away from the curb smooth as anything and onto the street.

And again, a lapse into silence. Kuronue was propped between them, his head leaning on Kurama’s uninjured shoulder, with Hiei supporting him from the other side so he didn’t move around too much.

The lights of the city were watery and dead, and grew fewer as they moved out of Kyoto and into faux-countryside. The land was all developed, either family- or business-owned farmland; rice and vegetables and some livestock farms. Old-growth forest still had a foothold here, tall bamboo and maple only a few shades darker than the gray-black of the stormy sky shuffled in the wind, and even with his weak ears and over the sound of the car he could hear them moaning under the weight of the wind. The rain and thunder was weaker here, but the wind was a relentless master, and it bent nature here to its will.

It would be a very long time before they reached Tokyo, and even then, it was still a very long time before Kurama got up the courage to rest his hand in Kuronue’s unresponsive but warm palm, trying to take that little comfort for the wait that lay ahead.

It was nearly dawn when they arrived in Tokyo, and only a little longer after they were in Roppongi and outside Kurama’s apartment building. The air was still and damp; it hadn’t cooled off even a tiny bit after the storm. The cabby, still under the influence of the Jagan, said nothing when they exited his cab, but a cursory glance to the tab counter dropped another sick brick of guilt into Kurama’s stomach and he ended up paying the enormous price anyway, reminding himself to come up with a plausible explanation to the late-night cross-country trip if anyone did ask. Then, with Hiei on one side and himself on the other, they hoisted Kuronue up and half-carried, half-dragged him into the building, thankfully bypassing the weekend morning greeter, Mai (if Kurama remembered correctly) who was probably flirting with one of the parking security guys.

Still silent. Still letting Kurama have his mind run into walls, run in circles, chase its tail. Hiei had said nothing during the entire drive, and Kuronue was of course still comatose. So he had been left to think.

It had not been good to him.

He began to remember as he thought. Remember things about Kuronue that he hadn’t taken much stock in when they had been together. Like his general dislike for humans, for one. Or his traditional bent to eat human flesh on occasion.

He could kill you, you know. It wasn’t his own voice he heard in his head now, but the voice of Tadashi, soothing and mocking all at once. If you fall asleep, if you drop your guard, he’ll kill you.

Even if you don’t, he’ll never believe you are who you say you are.

Youko Kurama, taking the form of a human child? It is to laugh!

No, it had certainly not been a good silence.

The elevator hummed as they were raised up to his floor, soothing muzak playing over the intercom, some jazzy version of an old Misora Hibari song. Something something as the river flows, time passes through the ages, I’m going to stop listening to this song, now…

The song was only halfway through when they reached the fourteenth floor, and the walk to his door was blessedly short. The last difficulty was digging his keys out of his pocket – the right pocket, which happened to be his injured side. He might have asked Hiei for help, but some damnable sense of pride kept him from it, and he gritted his teeth through the pain, even going so far as turning the key in the lock and opening the door before his knees began to shake from the pain.

Hiei took over then, knowing perhaps more than Kurama would have wanted to give him credit for, pointing Kurama to a chair in the kitchen and rolling Kuronue off his shoulder and onto the couch. Kurama sat gratefully, moving only when Misa jumped on the table to greet him, sniffing at the blood, dampness, and general unruly presentation of her pet person before butting her head against his shoulder and settling in his lap.

Hiei turned from the couch, setting a lazy glance between Kurama and Kuronue before taking a chair for himself, propping his feet up on a third chair. He crossed his arms, hunched down until he was comfortable, and leveled Kurama with a long, piercing gaze.

Kurama, embarrassed, prideful, and still unsure how to react to Hiei after they had been apart so long, did not look back.

It was another long while before the silence was finally broken.

“Tell me everything,” Hiei said. Simple, unadorned, and open. Kurama hated him for it, as evenly as he used to love it.

But, just like that, Kurama told.

There was a feeling of motion.

Kuronue had not felt such a thing – at least, not to this degree – in many years. Decades. For all that time, all he had felt was the subtle movement of the earth, echoed and magnified by the metal cage that had held him. It had been, he guessed, an unwitting addition to his prison, and as such was his only way of telling time but for cold and heat, his only companion during that long time.

The great mother, and only her distant voice for so, so long.

And now motion. Warmth. A hand on his own, and – for the sake of all the gods – he could not wake himself up to see, but he could feel, and the touch he felt was alien and unfamiliar. But quiet, tentative, good… it was not Tadashi’s hand, though his brother’s words may have been kind at every visit, and his proclaimed intentions somehow for the betterment of whoever, but this was…

Was…

Sleep again, the movement rocked him like a mother’s cradle.

Oh, music. God, when was the last time he had heard music? Where was he going? This motion, being carried? Out of the prison?

The movement stopped again, and he was laid down, and the world emptied itself into dreamless sleep once more.

Voices. Two of them. Unfamiliar, cold, one felt…

I am in danger.

“And how long were you down there?” The first voice, black and dark and unkind.

“Three or four hours. It was sundown when he led me in.” The second, softer, but even colder than the first. Kuronue could smell blood.

“What about him, then? Surely you can’t keep him on your couch until Tadashi-“

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that? What was I supposed to do, leave him there? Here is as good a place as any, and we can find out exactly what happened from him once he wakes.”

I am awake, now, and you…

Kuronue moved. He did not need to listen more, and his hands were faster than his mind now. Onto his feet, at that second voice, reaching. He had not stayed idle in those years of solitude.

Kurama turned in time to feel hands closing around his throat and lifting him off the ground. He scrabbled at the grip, trying to gasp for air, get away, anything. He saw out of his eye Hiei jumping from his chair, grabbing one of the knives from the counter in lieu of his katana.

Where is that, anyway? He’s never without it. I can’t breathe.

"You..." Kuronue ground out. His voice was rough and cold from disuse. Kurama could see the point of the bread-knife in Hiei’s hand press dangerously into the flesh of Kuronue’s throat. "Who are you? Who sent you? Where am I?"

Kuronue was rambling, grip tight, eyes wild and intensely focused. Kurama tried to gasp out a response, mouth working, no sound escaping. Hiei pressed the tip of the knife further into Kuronue’s skin, drawing blood, and after a moment Kuronue dropped him, between them as Kurama gasped for air, putting up a hand to ward him off.

"Who?" Kuronue asked again, voice like ice.

"K... Yuh... Youko," he began, then a sick creeping feeling surged up his back, and the words poured out unbidden.

"Youko sent me to find you."