Chapter 1
Summary:
Another tournament, another injured Kurama. But it's different, this time.
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Thursday, September 3, 2020
Everything aches.
Did he pass out? Awareness is slow to drag up from the muck that is his mind. He’s unused to that – his thoughts are always clear, precise. But right now they’re muddled, and there’s a pain throbbing out from his head.
What was he doing? Where is he?
There’s shouting around him; a muffled sort of grand riot, hard to distinguish. But there are other voices, too – closer, more dear. He doesn’t know how he knows this; it’s beyond him to ask, right now.
“Kurama! Kurama!” Harsh, hurried footsteps over what sounds like marble, hands grasping to his biceps, pulling him up. Brown eyes in his vision; expressive, worried. For some reason he expects to be shaken, and it feels poignant when the boy who’s looking at him, distraught, refrains. "Are you all right? You lost the match, you were down for ten and we couldn’t –”
Why does this sound familiar? Like a memory from a dream.
Red trickles into his right eye from somewhere above, and he blinks instinctively. The boy holding him curses, lifting a hand to shove the blood off his face carefully.
“Shit, Kurama…” Those worried eyes are back, and he glances over in the direction from whence the boy came. There are others, over there – spiky black hair and curly orange hair are the first things he notices; the first discerning features. Beyond the hair, their heights are almost comically extreme, standing next to each other. Their faces, too, are starkly different in reaction and for a moment he’s fascinated by the contrast.
The shorter one is tense from head to toe, red eyes a little wide and jaw clenched far back; visible even from here. The taller one has his hands on his head, utter terror lining every angle of his face and shrieking something at the boy leading him slowly from the center of the… square. It is a large flat square, made up of smaller flat squares. He knows there’s a word for it, but it won’t come.
“Urameshi! Kurama, you were out – ” Kurama; that must be his name. The boy beside him is Urameshi, then. A friend; friends. His friends? Kurama turns his head to the left to regard the person at his side. Urameshi is guiding them carefully along with one of Kurama's arms slung around his strong shoulders.
“Urameshi?”
The boy jolts, almost tripping, nearly sending them to the hard tile in his obvious shock. He avoids it just barely and gapes at Kurama once he recovers.
“What did you call me?”
Hesitating, Kurama realizes what he forgot, and tries an apologetic smile.
“Urameshi-san. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to recall what’s happened.” His eyes lifting, Kurama can see this is some kind of stage. There is an audience in an oval all around in rows of seats reaching ever higher into the sky, surrounding the flat surface Kurama had been lying on, when he awoke. Urameshi speaks, halting, as they descend the stairs from the raised platform to their other apparent friends.
“Kurama, you – ”
“Kurama!” The orange-haired one is quick to rush in, bending over a bit to meet his eyes. “Hey, your ki is sorta off, it’s felt weird since you woke up and – ”
“Back off, Kuwabara.” Urameshi threatens, and Kurama glances between the two of them as they bristle for a minute, before dropping his gaze to the short one. He’s standing off a few paces but roughly between the other two boys. Glancing at him just seems the thing to do, in this situation. Red eyes lock on Kurama’s own, and then they freeze, somewhere deep inside. Kurama tilts his head, his lips parting to ask for a name.
Expression darkening quickly, the short one rips the white headband off his forehead and Kurama is abruptly looking into a large purple Eye in the center of it. It glows, pulsing and Kurama is falling into it. There is an insistent pressure in his head, making him dizzy and he stumbles forward, losing his balance. Kuwabara catches him before he hits the ground, with a noise of shock.
“Hey, whoa, you – “
“What the hell was that?” Urameshi again, but Kurama is only dimly aware of his surroundings. He brings his hands to his head, threading through what feels like long hair as Kurama sags into Kuwabara’s arms. Those arms flex, supporting him without much effort.
“That’s not Kurama.” An unfamiliar voice states decisively, and as the pressure in his head lessens Kurama manages to glance up towards the source of it. There’s no one else immediately around, so he deduces who spoke a bare moment before the short three-eyed man speaks again. “There’s nothing in his head. He doesn’t know any of us, or where he is, or why he’s here.”
That voice is terrible; dark and deep and full of a complex, despairing rage. Kurama can see it in those eyes, too. Red. Red like the blood in his vision, red like the soft hair that frames his own face and trails in a feathery weight down his back. Kurama reaches out to him, but the man turns away, giving Kurama his back.
He walks away.
Some time later, his head bandaged neatly by a nurse of some sort, Kurama is in a small room with the other boys from earlier. Apparently, this is some kind of fighting contest, and Kurama is a member of their four-person team. From what he can tell, this is an atmosphere with which all of them are familiar. Well, all except Kurama.
“How many… contests have we fought in, together?” Kurama asks Urameshi, who is the only one not giving him a wide berth of awkwardness. Kuwabara keeps shooting Kurama guilty glances as he paces, while the stoic shorter one has tucked himself into the windowsill high up on the wall. It’s a curious place to perch; even more curious, he looks completely at home.
Well, except for the tension lining all of his muscles, and his stubborn refusal to look at Kurama since their first meeting, out by the arena. The word for the place he regained consciousness in comes to mind now, easier, and it’s a small relief.
“A while back, there was the Dark Tournament, then the first Makai Tournament, but Kuwabara wasn’t in that one and it was sort of a free-for-all. The three of us were in it, though.” Urameshi explains, big brown eyes watching Kurama’s every movement; protective, concern radiating from every inch of his being. Kurama glances back to him, trying to give him a reassuring smile. It seems the thing to do; Kurama can’t have his friends worrying too much about him, now can he?
“And now?”
Urameshi scratches under his chin, eyes not leaving Kurama’s.
“I mean now they do teams, like the Dark Tournament, since King Enki decided a cabinet was a better idea. People who can work together to rule Makai, y’know? Folks willing to put their lives on the line for better leadership, and not just someone who’s in it for their own power and ego.”
“If you’re talking about me, I only wanted to be king to avoid being sent on frivolous missions.”
Kurama’s gaze snaps up to the short man perched in his windowsill, but he’s still resolutely looking out the window. Urameshi laughs a little; comfortable, so obviously familiar with this sort of response he doesn’t bat an eye at the scathing tone in which it was delivered.
“Yeah, yeah, you say that, but we all know you really loved sneaking into Reikai and kicking some terrorist scum’s asses if only to prove them wrong.” Urameshi sounds amused, and Kurama blinks a few times, processing this as he glances back to the boy beside him.
“So this is… a Makai Tournament.” Kurama concludes, from the hints given in Urameshi’s speech. That earns him a big grin, and Kurama returns it with a half-hearted, slightly more genuine smile. “Which one?” Urameshi had mentioned a first, after all.
“Mmm…” Urameshi squints up at the ceiling, leafing through his memories. “I think it’s the… fourth? Or third?”
“It’s the third, idiot. Last time was Kuwabara’s first.”
Urameshi snaps his fingers, nodding.
“Oh, yeah! And in the first round he was up against that lizard lady who – ”
“Urameshi!” Kuwabara screeches, roughly going to grab Urameshi’s collar and shake him by it as the other boy snickers. “Of all the things to remind Kurama of, why start with that?”
Urameshi’s outright laughing now, and all Kurama can do is sit and watch in bemusement as the scene plays out before him.
“Well it was very memorable, y’know! If anything would jog Kurama’s memory I’d bet it’d be you getting your ass handed to you because she camouflaged in the middle of the fight and sneaked up behind you to knock you out!” Urameshi’s back to snickering, but soon he and Kuwabara start wrestling. Kurama peeks up at the man on the windowsill again, and is surprised to see him glancing back in their direction.
Their eyes meet for half a second that feels intense, before that red gaze jerks away.
From what he understands, the fight in which Kurama had sustained his head injury was the semi-finals. After having fought one match per fighter, the two sides were tied, and Kurama’s second match had been the tie-breaker. Kurama lost, passing out after a hard blow to the head from his opponent’s weapon, down for the ten-count. At least that explains the blood in his eye and the bandages wrapped securely around his head. Kurama wonders what happened, what miscalculation he must’ve made to be injured so badly. From what he’s heard of their other tournament stories, Kurama tends to get injured quite a lot, but usually to the stomach. Grim as that had sounded, Urameshi had almost said it like it was a running joke.
According to Urameshi, this isn’t the first time Kurama’s passed out near the end of a fight, but it is the first to be from a head injury. That at least explains the blank slate of his memory, of not knowing his comrades’ names or where they were. He knows, now; they’re in Makai, a region where all sorts of beings with power tend to live. It’s different from the Ningenkai, which Kurama understands is where he normally spends most of his time.
The four of them have known each other for years, since they were all in junior and senior high school. Urameshi had said he and Kuwabara were fourteen, Kurama fifteen, and after that it’d been about four years until the first Makai Tournament. Since Urameshi had explained it was only held every three years, and if this was the third one… Kurama was nineteen, at the first Makai Tournament. So that would make him twenty-five, now?
He feels older than that. It’s hard to explain, because there isn’t really a reason Kurama thinks so, just an enduring hunch. If he’s known these – men, not boys, despite Kurama’s initial impressions and how rambunctious Urameshi and Kuwabara are – for over ten years, that would explain the vague familiarity he has when he’s in their company.
But why is it whenever Kurama tries to remember, it’s just a blank?
The short man’s name, for instance. No one’s said it, and Kurama’s hoping it will simply drop out of the sky and back into his head so he doesn’t have to ask. It feels… wrong, to need to ask his name. Kurama at least knows that much. He should know it. The short man is obviously upset, in his own way, at Kurama’s lack of recollection. Kurama could quite easily imagine himself being just as upset, if their positions were reversed.
A friendship of over ten years, just gone? And they’d clearly been close, if the furtive glances the man sends Kurama – when he thinks Kurama doesn’t notice – mean anything. Since their team lost the tie-breaker, they’re free to go, and Urameshi and Kuwabara help Kurama pack up his things into his suitcase. The clothes and other necessities seem like the type he would use, but for the life of him Kurama wouldn’t have been able to pick them out as his own, without their help.
It’s unnerving; almost as unnerving as the short man making himself scarce. It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, because while Kurama knows and appreciates Urameshi and Kuwabara doing everything they can for him, to see the short man abandon him is… painful.
Weren’t they friends? Or is it just too excruciating for him, to see Kurama like this, not knowing him?
On the train back into Ningenkai, zooming through a portal out of Makai, Urameshi tries to explain Kurama’s normal life. They’ve called his work and made some excuses about an injury – not entirely a lie – and he’s going to recuperate at a temple on the top of a mountain, surrounded by acres of wild land. As they approach, Kurama realizes the setting is putting him at ease. He looks out the bullet train’s window, smiling reflexively to himself at all the trees.
“This is lovely.” Kurama finds himself saying, interrupting Urameshi’s rambling. He hadn’t been listening, but the woods almost… call to him. It’s hard to explain. Well, Kurama had some of the powers of people in Makai, didn’t he? Kuwabara had said something about that; Kurama was a mix, youkai and human. They hadn’t said much about his powers, likely not wanting to stress him out, but now Kurama has a suspicion they’re tied to nature.
When he glances back at his two friends, they’re exchanging a heated, shushed conversation.
“Do you think he knows?”
“Is it even safe for him to be here?!”
Urameshi makes an aggrieved noise, facepalming.
“Shit, I didn’t even think about…”
“You idiot, what if he can’t control –!” Kuwabara hisses at him.
“Something about me?” Kurama interjects lightly, making the both of them snap up to look at him; guilt all over their faces. He raises his eyebrows at them and Kuwabara heh-heh’s nervously while Urameshi sighs, dragging his hand away from his face. Urameshi points to the trees out the window.
“You can control plants, OK? Don’t ask me how, it’s just… what you do. Try not to, I dunno… let them get out of control?” Urameshi is starting to sweat, but he keeps his gaze steady on Kurama’s. “Your plants can be scary. Especially the Makai ones.” He winces, which makes Kurama immensely curious as to what, precisely, Urameshi is remembering, but Kuwabara breaks in, just then.
“I can! I’m good at sensing stuff! And I can also use a bendy-sword made of energy. And cut through dimensions.” Kuwabara grins, proudly, and Kurama finds the stubborn attempt at what must pass for ‘normal' conversation topics amongst them to be quite disarming. He relaxes a little with an appreciative smile, and nods, glancing to Urameshi.
“And yours?” Kurama holds his question back about the short man’s powers. He hasn’t seen him since they boarded the train. Urameshi laughs, and points his right index finger at Kurama playfully, lifting his thumb up in the air; miming a trigger.
“Bang.” Urameshi beams at him, charming, as he tips the ‘barrel’ of his finger casually up towards the ceiling of their car. “But with energy.” He chuckles. “And more boom.” Urameshi sounds equally proud of that, and Kurama rolls his eyes a little. Plants, by comparison, sound much… neater.
The train pulls into the stop at the base of the temple stairs, and speeds off back to the portal. Kurama watches it go.
“This is the only stop out of Makai; it’s sort of a landing-place for demons before they figure out what they want to do in Ningenkai.” Kuwabara explains helpfully, and Kurama glances up the long flight of stairs. He starts to climb, but pauses a few steps up when he notices his friends aren’t following him. Holding his suitcase, Kurama turns to blink down at them. Kuwabara’s looking away, and Urameshi’s scuffing his toe on the ground, not looking up. Both of their hands are in their pockets.
It dawns on him.
“You’re… not coming with me.” Kurama states. The words leave him cold, an icy grip of panic around his heart. These are the only people he knows in the world, and they’re leaving him here? Urameshi’s head jerks up, his eyes wide.
“It’s not that – ! We just… we gotta get back to things, y’know, Keiko can’t handle the kids on her own, and Kuwabara’s gotta get back to the hospital. I mean, Yukina’s here and Hiei said he’d – ”
“Well, he didn’t say, you know him…”
“Yeah, but what else is he gonna do with his time?” Urameshi dismisses Kuwabara’s interruption, unconcerned.
“I dunno, maybe Mukuro needs him for some super secret mission?” Kuwabara counters.
Kurama feels his grip tightening on the strap of his suitcase. These are all names and references to situations he doesn’t know; Kurama has no faces or shared histories to put to them. There’s something rising up from within him, coiling and reaching out instinctively to the plant life on either side of the stairs and –
“Kurama!” Urameshi shouts, drawing his attention.
“Oh shit!” Kuwabara exclaims, at exactly the same time.
Kurama blinks, and becomes aware that there are vines slithering down the stairs in the direction of Urameshi and Kuwabara, already plucking at their pant legs. The boys jump back, eyes wide as they bear up on him. Kurama stares down at the both of them. He's startled at the visceral effect his emotions are having on the local plant life, but refuses to show it. Kurama closes his eyes, and tries to calm the unsettled feeling in his chest. There’s a rustle, and when he opens his eyes again the vines are already crawling back in between the trees, returning to their prior forms.
Without a word, Kurama turns abruptly and stalks up the stairs, ignoring Urameshi and Kuwabara’s concerned calls from behind him.
Keiko. The kids. Kuwabara’s hospital. Yukina. Hiei. Mukuro.
These are people or places he should know; it’s that obvious. Supposedly someone will be around here, living here, to help him, and someone else will drop in to keep an eye on him. This is a place of healing, so logically if ‘Yukina is here’ – as in is usually here – then this person is likely a healer. Hiei… Kurama has no idea who that is. It’s even possible that he won’t show up, if Mukuro requires his presence.
Long as they've known each other, at this point in their lives Kurama is clearly not a priority. That doesn’t really matter, though, does it? Because right now, no one is a priority to him. Urameshi and Kuwabara had come the closest, but they have their own obligations. Kurama has to weather this on his own. And not even the short man – the grumpiest member of their little squad – stuck around long enough for Kurama to learn his name. Some friends he has.
Kurama’s alone in this.
Yukina is a short girl with familiar red eyes and eye-popping hair that at once seems natural on her and weirdly out-of-place. But then she explains she’s a youkai, too, and Kurama settles on that it’s ‘natural’. She’s sweet and polite, and immediately asks him to come sit to see if she can do anything.
Kuwabara gave her a call to let Yukina know Kurama’s condition, as she says.
She puts her hands on his cheeks, expression determined, and a blue glow emanates from her palms. It’s cool against his skin, this aura, but pleasantly so and Kurama closes his eyes as it gently wafts up to encompass his head. The cut and bruise over his right eye are tingling, the pain ebbing slowly away. When Yukina pulls away, Kurama lifts a hand briefly to his head, over the gauze, gazing at her in astonishment. She smiles, and reaches up to begin unwinding the bandage. Kurama moves his raised hand out of her way.
“I was able to heal the surface injury, but so far as I could tell there’s nothing wrong in your brain. No fractures in your skull, no blood where it shouldn’t be. Hopefully you’ll be able to remember on your own.” Kurama tries not to move, resisting the urge to nod as she unravels the cloth. When it’s off completely, he puts his fingers gingerly to his now-bared forehead. There’s no cut; it’s like magic. Kurama chuckles to himself, a little, and casts a sad glance her way.
“I don’t know if you’d be able to tell me a few things? Keiko and the kids? Hiei? Mukuro?” Kurama tries, wondering if she knows them all, too, and hoping she does, so he can learn something.
Yukina’s face falls briefly, but she recovers with a supportive, determined smile.
“Keiko-chan is Yuusuke-san’s love.” At Kurama’s blank expression, Yukina hesitates. “Ano… Urameshi Yuusuke? He was with you in the ring after – ”
Oh. Urameshi, yes. Kurama hadn’t known his first name. Kurama nods, and Yukina is clearly relieved.
“Ah, yes. Urameshi-san and Kuwabara-san.” Yukina’s smile goes a little dimmer, and Kurama blinks at her, tilting his head. “Is there something wrong?”
“I’ve just never heard you call them that. It’s always ‘Yuusuke’ and ‘Kuwabara-kun’. It’s like you’re someone else, Kurama-san. But…” Yukina gazes up at him, her eyes bright with hope. “…I know you’ll come back to us. ‘niisan misses you, too.” She adds, quietly. Kurama watches her, hating to ask, but knowing he must.
“’niisan? Does he live here with you?” Kurama inquires, and Yukina’s eyes lock up on him, startled. Her hand rises to her mouth.
“Oh, Kurama-san… You don’t?” Yukina starts, stopping mid-sentence. Kurama can only gaze helplessly at her until she recovers. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you’ve known ‘niisan the longest out of everyone.” Yukina reveals, gently. Her eyes flick off to the side, somewhere behind Kurama, and he’s aware of a dark flicker of energy in that direction – around the treeline, he can sense the plants’ energies – that he hadn’t noticed before. Yukina looks back to him, their gazes meeting again.
“And the short man? The one with the third eye on his forehead?” Kurama presses, moving on.
Yukina’s eyes are indescribably sorrowful, now.
“That’s ‘niisan.” She says, not looking away. “But not to you, you don’t… he’s just Hiei, to you, Kurama-san.” She moves forward then, clasping one of his hands in both of her own, entreating him with a pleading look. “Please don’t call him anything else, even if you don’t remember. It would…”
“Yukina.” A low, curt voice, not devoid of kindness.
“’niisan.” Yukina glances around Kurama again; she’s not threatened, a smile lighting on her face. She merely gives Kurama’s hand a squeeze as she finally drops it before standing, and walking past Kurama. Kurama, still kneeling on the tile of the temple next to his suitcase, looks over his shoulder at the pair of them.
It only confirms for him that Hiei is the short man from the tournament – the one who Kurama hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask his name. Hiei is the one Urameshi and Kuwabara said might stop by to help him. Perhaps ‘Mukuro’ hadn’t needed him, after all?
Hiei is also Yukina’s older brother, by the way he’s allowing her to hug him. He looks a bit stiff, and it’d almost be funny if the general situation weren’t so tragic. Kurama finds himself giving Hiei a half-smile, anyway, when those red eyes lock back on him.
They don’t linger, glancing away quickly.
“He should remember soon, ‘niisan; there wasn’t any physical damage inside. You just have to be patient.” Kurama’s ears seem oddly talented for eavesdropping, as he has a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He stands, wanting to give them privacy, glancing off towards the buildings and grabbing the top handle of his suitcase.
“I should go drop this off.” Kurama begins, quietly, trying not to intrude as he begins to move away. But a dainty hand on his wrist stops him, and Yukina beams up at him when he glances down at her.
“I can put this away, Kurama-san. Your room is at the end, closest to the trees, as always. I’ll make dinner in a little bit, so why don’t you and ‘niisan go enjoy a walk?” She leaves no room for argument, bustling away with a single-minded purpose, rolling Kurama’s suitcase along beside her.
Of course, this now means Kurama is alone with Hiei, and given their earlier interactions Kurama doesn’t have much hope for anything. Nonetheless, Hiei is a friend, and he is here, when Urameshi and Kuwabara left. So Kurama turns to give him a smile, but it almost seems that Hiei knows it’s not a real one, and looks off right away.
There’s not much Kurama can do about that discomfort, without his memory, but he can try.
“Hiei.” Kurama calls, going for honesty. Those red eyes slant back to him, out of the corners of Hiei’s eyes. He lets his smile go a little gentler. “Thank you, for being here. I’m glad not to be alone.” Not that Yukina isn’t good company, but she’s simply not as soothing as the other three boys. Even when Kurama didn’t know them, he knew them; there was an ease to their interactions that was comforting.
Hiei is the only scrap of that familiarity that Kurama has, right now, and he stares at Kurama for a little longer than usual, after that statement. Kurama calmly holds his gaze, not entirely sure what Hiei’s looking for within it. After a moment, Hiei shakes his head with sigh and begins to stride off.
“We should work on your control. You’re in the middle of a forest, can’t afford to run amok.” Hiei grumbles, and Kurama naturally falls into step beside him, voice companionable.
“You saw what happened?” Kurama hums, curious.
“Yes.”
Kurama glances at Hiei out of the corner of his eye.
“And you’re not worried?” Urameshi and Kuwabara had seemed… rather concerned, after all.
There’s a sliver of a smirk lifting up a corner of Hiei’s mouth; not directed at Kurama, per se, just in amusement at his question.
“No. Your plants don’t scare me.” Hiei lifts his hand, palm up, and a ball of black fire flickers to life within it. He glances back to Kurama briefly, visibly smirking now. “I can just burn them up.”
Kurama lofts a brow, at that, and takes his response as a cue from the plants’ reactions around him: their fear, at that flicker of flame dancing in Hiei’s fingers.
“I don’t think they’d like that very much.”
Hiei angles a flat look up towards him, as Hiei turns his face to regard Kurama fully.
“Then don’t let your pets misbehave.” Hiei retorts, dryly, and Kurama can’t help but quirk a small grin at the easy banter. It feels better, them talking like this; more natural. Like an old pattern Kurama once knew inside-and-out, which he’s tracing over to relearn.
He really is glad that Hiei’s here for him.
The walk is just a walk. Kurama had half-expected Hiei to jump right into training him, but the sun is low in the sky when they set out. It had taken most of the day for the train to wend between the worlds; for which Kurama is grateful. The brightness of early morning and midday gives him headaches that persist, nothing to say of Urameshi and Kuwabara’s loud arguments and the maddening, constant low ringing in his ears.
The quiet serenity of Yukina’s temple is welcome, and Kurama is almost glad this isn’t his home. A home would provide many hints as to who he is – was? – and no doubt bring some measure of comfort, but it could also be overwhelming.
When Kurama returns further into the evening, Hiei still by his side, he separates from him in the temple plaza, goes to his room, slides the door shut and opens his suitcase. The old circular light in the center of the ceiling overhead buzzes softly after he pulls the steel-beaded cord to turn it on. Kurama takes everything out of the suitcase and sets it neatly before him on the tatami.
The clothes are simple in design, following a pattern: loose, breathable fabrics closest to the skin, and a few long tunics with tied sashes to add grace and mystery to his movements. Well, Kurama is a fighter, isn’t he? He hadn’t observed anyone else’s battles, so he has no idea how the others fight, besides their abilities. He wonders what his own tactics are, and why so much effort into choosing outfits that portray both elegance and simplicity.
Kurama is grateful he only has to parse this much: a suitcase full of identity, instead of an entire house, or apartment, or life. His friends have given him the space he needs to start slow. He’s a demon, as well, and Kurama supposes that is the first thing he needs to accept about himself to move forward. His demonic abilities are tied to nature, after all, and learning to control them should be his top priority; even above regaining his memories. Kurama wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he inadvertently put sweet Yukina, or even Hiei – despite his boasts about his fire talents – into any danger because of his own foolishness.
The next morning comes, and Kurama dresses in one of his past-self’s available outfits. It’s early, dawn just starting, birds chirping. He goes to the temple’s main room; large and wide, with an altar in the far center of the room. Kurama seats himself before it and meditates. This, at least, is familiar. His memory of how to function in life isn’t gone, at least, but anything besides that seems to have disappeared into the void of his mind.
He recalls Hiei had said there was nothing in his head, before. Kurama hopes that’s not entirely true; that it’d been an exaggeration, of sorts. It’s far more comforting to think his memories are there, not gone – just buried somewhere Kurama can’t quite access, yet. There are sounds in the back of his mind as Yukina moves about, her soft shuffling slippers unobtrusive. But the peace is nice.
Kurama moves when the sun is high in the sky for a walk out on the engawa, keeping under the shade of the temple eaves. The polished wooden veranda is smooth under his socked feet, and he finds Yukina in the kitchen making breakfast.
“Is there anything with which I might assist?” Kurama asks, politely. She turns to regard him with a smile.
“It’s no trouble at all, Kurama-san. I can handle the chores.”
He gazes at her, feeling helpless, and tries to press.
“I would prefer… something to do. Nothing strenuous.” Kurama amends, figuring her healer’s instincts are demanding he rest. Perhaps he can appeal to her kindness, instead. “Please?”
Yukina’s expression softens, and she nods. She gives him a few easy chores to attend to, and comes to find him for lunch. They are seated on the part of the engawa facing the garden, and the beginning of the grand forest.
“Hiei won’t be joining us?” Kurama finds himself asking, as he sits down in seiza, glancing over to Yukina. There are only two small tables with filled dishes set out, but Kurama supposes Hiei is around here somewhere. Kurama can’t sense that dark flicker of energy he’d felt, last night, and figures Hiei is hiding it so as not to give away his location. Hiei is staying here, isn’t he?
In the present, Yukina casts him a knowing smile.
“’niisan will catch his own, in the forest, when we’re finished. He prefers to keep an eye out while others are eating.” Ah, the paranoid type. Kurama supposes it makes sense, especially given his own recent injury. He drifts his gaze towards the treeline, wondering if Hiei’s been keeping watch over the both of them, all day. There’s a hint of movement on a tree branch some distance from the ground – a shadow within a shadow – and Kurama’s eyes narrow as he frowns, squinting, trying to see it better.
Yukina lifts a hand to hide a demure giggle behind it.
“You always seem to find him, Kurama-san.” She reveals, warmly, and Kurama turns to blink at her a moment before glancing back to the trees. The shadow is gone. He sighs.
It would be nice, he thinks, to have another conversation with Hiei. A few words is better than nothing, and certainly better than constantly hounding Yukina when she has duties she must attend, for the upkeep of the shrine.
The rest of the day passes, and Kurama thinks he will take another walk in the forest, tonight. It had been relaxing, last night; the sounds of the plants and animals scuttling around. Yukina warns him that only the north side of the temple is safe, and the south side of the forest is teeming with low-level youkai. She doesn’t doubt his muscle memory for battle, of course, she placates, but Kurama is injured and it would be better not to press his luck with such things until he’s more in control of his faculties.
It’s just as well; Kurama’s barely three steps into the forest when Hiei appears before him, looking irate.
“What are you doing.” Hiei states, flatly. Kurama blinks at him.
“Going for a walk?” Hiei glares. Kurama raises an eyebrow. “…is there a problem?”
“You’re hurt.” Hiei reminds, tactlessly. “You shouldn’t go out on your own.”
The statement itches something inside; Kurama wonders if it’s pride. He smiles sweetly at Hiei, in return.
“Thank you for your concern.” He hops around Hiei’s obstinate presence in the middle of the path, avoiding contact with him easily. “I won’t go to the south, I promise.”
Kurama stops. There’s a hand clenched around his elbow, preventing him from passing by Hiei completely. He glances down, from the corner of his eye. Hiei’s face is a mask of anger, frustration and strictly-coiled sorrow. It’s all there to see, obvious even in the dim light.
“It’s not just the south. None of the forest is safe for you. Not until you’re yourself again.” Hiei grinds out, his fingers constricting emphatically on the crook of Kurama’s arm even though he still doesn’t look up.
“You’re concerned?” Kurama seeks, voice careful, and only now does Hiei turn his heated gaze up at him, clearly incensed at the question.
“Of course I am! What good am I, if you come to harm I could prevent?” Hiei challenges, fierce and annoyed.
Kurama blinks, tips his head, and gives Hiei a very small smile.
“If you wish to accompany me, why don’t you ask? Instead of playing this game?”
Hiei jerks away from him as though – ironically – burned, red eyes wide as they bear up on him. Kurama bends his elbow, rubbing at it with his other hand where Hiei had gripped it so tightly. He observes Hiei’s face until Hiei stuffs his emotions back inside, looking off abruptly. Kurama puts his hands in his pockets, still watching him.
“…Fine.” Hiei concedes at last, beginning to walk down the path between the trees in the opposite direction of the temple, and Kurama follows until they’re side-by-side. They go on in silence like this, until the sky is dark overhead and they have begun their return journey.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Learning to cope, and how not to cope.
Notes:
kaiamira made a great observation that this kind of topic might be rather cathartic for all of us living through the current COVID-19 moment! And I am absolutely down for that, but my motivation behind starting this was pretty selfish, ahaaa.
To wit: I've had about 6 concussions while at different jobs over the past 5 years, so I am very familiar with what being afflicted with post-concussive syndrome means to me, so this will be heavily based on my own experiences. Personally, I think it's good I'm able to finally approach it in writing, and hopefully in the process it'll actually come out as a passable fic, but... we shall see. 8'D
Enough of my ramblings! I think the chapter starts out a little rusty but hope you enjoy it anyway! :3
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Sunday, October 25, 2020
The next day – the second morning after his injury – Kurama feels worse. He can’t bring himself to leave the safety of his little room; the sun outside is too bright. He didn’t find any sunglasses in his perusal of his past-self’s suitcase, but they seem too far from town for him to get any for himself. Wait, does he even have money?
Kurama shakes his head. These are useless, circular thoughts and still, it’s hard to get his mind off them. Yukina checks in with him periodically, worried about him, and Kurama relays his symptoms to her; constant headache, constant nausea, dizziness, tinnitus are at the top of the list. The symptoms mostly don’t change, or (preferably) go away, although the intensity wobbles around some.
Notably, his headache gets worse if he goes out in the sunlight, so Kurama communicates that to Yukina. She not-quite-frowns at him thoughtfully, before nodding. She leaves breakfast; something bland, almost as though she had predicted his nausea. Well, she is a healer, after all.
The rest of the day is spent in a daze; Kurama keeping to the shadows beneath the eaves as he navigates the engawa to attend to some bodily necessities. When he exits the bathroom – modern, one of the few luxuries installed sneakily into this old temple, without destroying the aesthetic – Hiei is there.
It’s late afternoon, and the worst of the sun has passed. Still, Kurama’s been in his pajamas all day, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to engage right now. So he gives Hiei a tired smile, and moves to walk around him. Half-expecting to be stopped, like last time, Kurama’s a little surprised when Hiei simply turns and falls into step beside him. It’s worth noting that Hiei’s walking on the side closer to the garden. Ah, had he noticed Kurama’s wobbliness on the way over?
“Ohayou, Hiei.” Kurama says simply, not quite curt.
“It’s not morning anymore.” Hiei scoffs. His voice is one of those that’s naturally quiet, thankfully.
Kurama manages to smile a little, mostly focused on getting back to his room without tripping. His right hand steadies him lightly on the paper-screen sliding panels that face the garden. Hiei is on his left.
“Technically, you can say it whenever you see someone for the first time, in a day.” Kurama glances down towards Hiei a bit, finding himself lecturing without having expected it. He doesn’t bother to hide his smile. “So. Ohayou, Hiei.”
Hiei gives Kurama a flat look to which his only response is a beam. Visibly disgusted, Hiei makes an unamused sound and jerks his eyes over to the garden. Finally reaching the end of the long veranda, Kurama sighs as he steps inside; grateful for the dimness of his borrowed room.
“Did you…” Hiei’s voice, halting, echoes from behind him and Kurama turns a little, preparing to slide the shoji shut. Hiei’s not looking at him, even scowling a bit off into the trees that border Kurama’s bedroom. “…want a walk, today.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Kurama feels fatigue and loss pull at him as he deflates at the reminder of what he can’t do, shaking his head.
“No. Not today. I’m going to… go back to sleep.” Kurama hesitates, then mumbles something else as he slides the screen shut before him. “Thank you, Hiei.”
Kurama crawls back under his futon on the floor, gets comfortable, then finds himself listening for Hiei’s retreating footsteps, but they don’t happen. Instead, there’s a long, silent pause that makes Kurama wonder if Hiei’s left without him realizing it. And then, a soft rustling of fabric that tells him Hiei’s decided to sit, right there, outside his room.
Rolling over so he’s facing away from the garden-side, Kurama is inexplicably eased by the idea of Hiei guarding his back while he’s asleep. He allows himself a relieved, fragile smile that’s hidden by the comforter pulled up to his chin. His brain is tired enough, though, and even though it’s afternoon and he’s spent the whole day doing nothing in bed, Kurama falls into oblivion easily.
There are many days like that. More in the beginning, and Kurama falls into a habit of only going outside when it is very early morning – before the sun finds its strength – or after it’s set. More often than not, he’s incapable of helping with chores. There’s guilt around that, but Yukina assures him it’s to be expected, since he was injured. It doesn’t sit well with Kurama, though, lying around all day like this.
Even reading – a few books tucked away in his suitcase give nonsensical hints as to his past-self’s literary tastes – is difficult. If he does it for too long, his headache worsens. Equally annoying is being unable to use his cell phone for more than fifteen minutes before needing to put it down. Kurama suspects the screen’s blue glow isn’t doing his frazzled mind any favors. The old computer in an office-like room on the other end of the temple complex fares the same. The meager time in which he can use it, Kurama boots the woefully terrible internet connection up to read various online articles about his condition.
Kurama’s mostly focused on mitigating his symptoms. The memory loss, he can’t do much about. But it’s slow going, since he can only use the boxy device for fifteen minutes at a time. After a few days of this – using the computer for fifteen minutes at a time, never more — Kurama notices he’s squinting and wonders if there’s something with his vision that’s related to the headaches.
Perhaps Yukina could arrange for an eye doctor to come by, since she would’ve undoubtedly healed this if she could have.
Days pass into a full week, and then halfway through a second one. Everything he’s read says Kurama should fully recover within a few weeks to a few months, but it’s hard to wait. It feels like there are things he should be doing, instead of living in suspension like this. Further, in his darker moments Kurama wonders if it’ll ever get any better. What if he has to live like this the rest of his life?
Less obvious, too, are small things that chip away at any small kernel of serenity he finds. He undoubtedly had a good memory – or at least average – before, but Kurama’s finding he has trouble holding things in his mind. Even if he repeats them constantly to himself, as a mental exercise, if he gets distracted it’s like the words just poof into thin air.
It’s upsetting only because Kurama knows this isn’t normal. Or maybe it is, for someone with his condition, but he knows someone’s memory isn’t supposed to work like this. What’s worse is the look on Hiei or Yukina’s face when he fails to remember something ranging from only a few seconds ago, to hours, to days or weeks. They start telling him when he repeats himself.
It’s terrifying, honestly. And it doesn’t help with his outlook. Not always visible but apparently always there, Hiei usually only shows himself in the afternoon. Kurama figures he’s just hanging around to see when they can begin training. Because certainly, Kurama can’t train like this. He needs to improve some, first. And the longer it goes on without any improvement, the more worried he becomes that this is just it; that this is how he’ll have to navigate his life for the remaining duration of it. It’s a real threat, and even the prism reading glasses prescribed by the eye doctor that made a house-call aren’t doing much. They’re actually making him more tired and his headaches worse. He called the doctor to check in about that after three days of wearing them. She reassured Kurama that sometimes it can take up to two weeks to adjust, and to give himself time. The prescription sunglasses she recommended will take a bit of time to ship, as well. Apparently Kurama’s distance vision isn’t perfect, either; but at least it’s not doubled, like his close-up vision is.
Time. All the time in the world, and he can’t use any of it, to do anything. What a tragic irony.
Kurama still makes an effort to go on evening walks with Hiei, when the harsh brightness of the sun won’t plague him. The dark freshness of the forest helps; surrounded by living things, feeling the plants breathing in and around him. Maybe it’s because his ki is aligned that way, but Kurama will take whatever small comfort he can. It’s not easy, of course. He’d clearly been in good shape before, and Kurama’s thankful for that. At least he has this. And on some afternoons, he can even bear enough of the sunlight assaulting his eyes from under the eaves over the engawa, so he can stare out at the garden.
It’s not exactly unkempt, but obviously not tended to, since Yukina has other things on her mind. To entertain himself throughout the day, Kurama stares out at the garden from the spot on the veranda outside his bedroom, and rearranges everything in his mind. He envisions cleaning up those weeds over there, clearing the algae off the pond’s surface over here, and maybe polishing the scuffed, overgrown stones in the path, or revitalizing the zen garden with its sand and stones.
This, at least, doesn’t result in his headache being worse. It’s been over a week since the new glasses. The doctor had suggested something else, too, when Kurama told her about how his headaches seemed to be worse after looking at screens. Something about blue-blocking lenses, which – at his request – she agreed to add to his prescription. Kurama is about ready to try anything, at this point.
Living with constant headaches every day is incredibly draining, and he can’t imagine his life was like this, before. Maybe that’s just foolish hope, but Kurama clings to the idea things can get better. The alternative is to fall into despair, and that’s not something to which he’s ready to resign himself, just yet.
Hiei becomes less and less invisible as time drags on, even lounging in plain sight in odd corners of the temple. It’s a little amusing, turning a corner and finding Hiei sitting on the engawa staring out at the garden. Or to go into a room and have an urge to look up, locating Hiei perched in the rafters like some large raven.
Two weeks with his new glasses crawl by incredibly slowly. It tries Kurama’s patience, which he’s finding runs out quickly. Maybe that’s always been him, maybe it’s just the situation.
The fifteenth day, Kurama is ridiculously, pleasantly surprised and relieved to realize a headache doesn’t assault him the moment he wakes. He doesn’t move, in case it’s a fluke. But the minutes pass and his head isn’t pounding, isn’t driving metaphorical knives into his forehead. The tinnitus is still there, low and buzzing in his ears as always, but the headache remains, magically, gone.
For the first time in what feels like forever, Kurama feels his energy for the day swell. He doesn’t cry, but he further tests his theory by grabbing a book, then his prism reading glasses. He checks his phone for the time, and reads. Still, no headache. Kurama checks his phone when he finishes a chapter and is overjoyed to find it’s been more than fifteen minutes.
Determined to make today a good day – after such a long string of horrible ones – Kurama dresses himself and stalks out of his room to the ancient computer. He checks the time when he starts, and doggedly looks up more information on concussions and post-concussive syndrome. Daringly, as though on a self-timer of sorts, Kurama glances at his phone some time later. It’s been twenty minutes, and no headache.
Kurama laughs, happy and alone in the room, to himself. Finally. Finally, some improvement. The future already seems brighter.
It’s a few days after that, the sunglasses arrive, and Kurama can finally brave the daylight. He does what he can, but mostly it’s nice to just be able to go out when the sun is out, again. It feels warm and rejuvenating on his skin, only now with none of the light sensitivity-induced headaches from being out in it unprotected. Almost a week after waking up with no headache, Kurama’s energy is very obviously improved with the alleviation of his vision problems.
Hiei declares that night will be their first training session, instead of a walk. Kurama’s a little disappointed because those walks have become familiar and a spot of companionable calm to look forward to, in his day. Still, he’s excited to see of what he’s capable. Other than a few kind, trailing leaves or vines – as though instinctively, to give him comfort – on their walks, Kurama has tried to keep his more negative emotions under tight control. He doesn’t want a repeat of the Stairs Incident, after all.
Evening comes – dim enough that Kurama leaves his sunglasses in his room – and he meets Hiei in a secluded area of the temple that looks as though it’s made for training. The forest borders it on one side, the building on the other, with a wide swath of open space in the middle of which they stand, facing each other.
Hiei has brought a potted plant, and sets it in front of Kurama expectantly. Kurama stares down at it, then back up at Hiei; a hint hopeful.
“So… how do I… do it?”
Hiei gives him an unimpressed look, his hands in the mysterious pockets of his favored black cloak.
“I don't know how you do it – you just do. Figure it out.” Hiei says, flatly, and Kurama raises an eyebrow at him. It’s not much to go on…
“But can't you give me a hint? Surely in ten years you have some idea how—“
“I don't!” Hiei snaps at him, already irate. “What about... On the stairs. What did you do then.”
Kurama thinks back, although he doesn’t like remembering that white-hot moment of panic, of not being in control –
“I didn't do anything, I just felt—”
Hiei interrupts him, blandly.
“Then it's probably your emotions; use those.”
“—but I don't think I was controlling them or anything, it almost felt like they acted on their own to protect me?” Kurama ventures, eyes trailing back towards Hiei with an uncertain lilt to his voice.
Hiei just stares impassively at him, not saying anything.
Kurama stares back.
Hiei’s eyebrows flatten in irritation as he at last offers a response.
“Well that's annoying.”
Kurama gives a huff of exasperation; he’d been hoping for a reply more along the lines of useful.
“Hiei, what about you?” Kurama tries, taking another tack. “How do you control your fire?”
Hiei makes a condescending noise, glancing off with a dismissive sniff.
“Fire and plants aren't the same thing.”
Oh, come now, surely there’s some similarity. They’re both demons, of sorts, aren’t they?
“Well, certainly, but—”
Hiei interrupts him again, and Kurama’s beginning to find it aggravating, just right now.
“No. I don't know. I create it, you don't. You... have seeds.”
What? Despite his growing annoyance, Kurama’s curiosity immediately hones in on this nugget of information.
“Seeds?”
“In your hair. For safekeeping.” Hiei mutters, then, but Kurama still catches it. “Don't ask me how, it's some youko trick I bet—”
“Youko?”
“...”
“What's... A Youko?”
Hiei sighs deeply, closing his eyes as though for strength; or maybe patience.
“That's you. A fox.”
“So I have a tail and ears?” Kurama asks awkwardly, a little wondering. His mental image is a bit comical.
“Yes. But. No, not anymore. But sometimes.”
Kurama imagines they’d match his hair; red, to go with red, right? And then he imagines himself as a full red fox, running around in some prehistoric forests that are probably part of Makai. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Foxes can’t talk, right? Although there are old myths, to what he can recall of them.
The silence has stretched without Kurama quite taking notice of it; that’s another thing passing oddly for him. Time starts and stops, it seems, or drags on for a while with Kurama thinking it’s only been a few seconds. Probably something else to do with his injured brain, he thinks bitterly, and takes some of that bitterness out on Hiei.
“You're not making any sense. How can I be a fox but not? Isn't it one or the other?”
Hiei’s eyebrows descend in ire, and he bites out a sharp retort.
“Kuwabara told you already! You're half of each, human and fox. I don't know how the fuck it works, so don't ask me. But your mother doesn't know.”
Kurama feels his expression go slack in shock. He hadn’t… no one had told him about this. He has a family? He’s not alone in this world, but for his friends and Yukina?
“I have a mother?”
Hiei makes a face like he’s let slip something unintentionally, and he looks away. Kurama’s eyes narrow and he presses, taking a step forward, a hand lifting, palm-up towards Hiei, as though to help elicit more information.
“Hiei, shouldn't I be staying with my family then? Instead of out here in the middle of nowhere? Won't they be worried?” Kurama persists; a harder cant to his questions, now.
Hiei’s expression sours further, and he tucks his chin to his chest with a defeated sigh, eyes closing again. Did he expect this reaction from Kurama? Is that why no one told him? The rage he’s kept a firm hold on simmers quietly in Kurama’s chest.
“No, it's... More complicated than that. She doesn't know you're a fox. Or about any of... This.” Hiei makes a quick, aborted motion with one hand to indicate their surroundings. He likely means it more generally, Kurama deduces: Kurama’s powers, maybe even the tournaments, probably Urameshi and Kuwabara and Hiei’s real roles in his life. The secrecy and isolation start to make sense.
His family doesn’t know him, not really. It’s a painful stab of reality into the hope that Kurama could rely on someone’s unconditional love to get him through this; a shortcut, maybe even support.
“Why not?”
Hiei’s reticent answer is incredibly unsatisfying.
“I can't answer that for you.” Hiei even shrugs, still not looking at Kurama. “You just... Didn't want to tell her, I guess.”
What kind of life had Kurama had, then? Was he just miserable? An edge sharpens his next words.
“So you're saying my own mother doesn't know who or what I really am?” What if Kurama’s old self would’ve wanted to be around his family, instead of exiled here? Did anyone even stop to think of that? His wishes?
Hiei’s response only incenses him further.
“I don't think you're in any position to judge Kurama's life choices.” A bitter stone drops into Kurama’s stomach as he realizes something, even as Hiei barrels onward. Hiei’s seemingly unrepentant as to the effect his words are having. “You don't remember, so it's none of your business. You're just a stand-in until he comes back.”
Kurama draws back his extended hand, straightening as cold flushes through his veins.
“... So that's why you never call me by his name.” Kurama murmurs, half to himself.
“You're not him.” Hiei confirms mercilessly, painfully, and Kurama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
There’s another bout of uncomfortable silence, and Kurama finds his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“Then who am I, really? No family, no friends to count on—”
“I'm here, aren't I?!”
Kurama ignores Hiei’s interjection, dismissing it just like Hiei had his question, much earlier.
“And no one that really cares about me. You all care about him.” The anger in Kurama’s chest jumps from simmering to boiling, after weeks of pushing it down, his voice growing louder. “Well I'm not him, and what if I don't want to live here on top of a mountain, isolated until my memory returns or until you finally think I'm a person again?! Instead of an invalid!”
Liquid emotion pulses down Kurama’s extremities, aching and betrayed and finely excruciating as Hiei looks at him, aghast.
“That's not—”
“Isn't it?! Urameshi and Kuwabara dumped me here, foisted me off on Yukina-san's kindness and you can barely look at me, can't even address me by my supposed name, can't even let me out of your sight for a minute because you don't trust me to take care of myself!”
The horror on Hiei’s face fades into mirroring rage, and soon they’re both shouting.
“You're injured! You're being unreasonable, if you would just—”
“Just what, Hiei?” Kurama cuts back, almost shaking with indignation, now, words coming faster with less forethought. “Pretend everything's fine? Pretend I have all my memories back so you'll start to respect my independence again? It's more than just that, you've been wanting to hide me away for a long time, isn't that it, isn't that the reason—”
“Reason for what? Do tell, since you seem to have all the answers now.” Hiei asks dryly, and Kurama glares at him, his irritation spiking enough to break past the carefully-constructed barrier in his mind.
Simultaneously, the ignored potted plant suddenly explodes towards Hiei with an impossible amount of new growth, shattering the terracotta ceramic and leaves straining towards Hiei like spears. Hiei retreats immediately by flitting back several feet in the space of a breath, stopping in a crouch with one hand on the ground and out of range, eying Kurama warily.
Kurama’s arms are still shaking, his hands fisted tightly by his sides, insides roiling. His breathing is fast, his blood is pounding, his head hurts again and he’s dizzy. Something’s blurring his vision. It’s tears: probably ones borne of frustration, and likely channeling everything he’s been pushing down since arriving here. He’s too worked up to stop now, but he doesn’t really want to hurt Hiei so even as he talks Kurama makes an effort to shove down his emotions again, trying to will them away from the forefront of his thoughts as well as the plant from its agitated state.
“I don’t have all the answers! How can you even say that?! Do you know what it’s like, not to know anyone, to be thrown into a place and people I should know and to have you all act like – like I’m some kind of pariah, some kind of burdensome toddler instead of the friend you’re insisting I am! Urameshi and Kuwabara aren’t even here, Hiei! I’m not even allowed to see my actual family! All I have is you and Yukina-san and every day I’m reminded how much trouble I am for you two and –”
The tears sneak out, now, dropping down off his cheeks embarrassingly, but Kurama plunges on, trying to ignore the way his body is starting to crumple from the stress. His headache is a full-blown migraine now, so he clenches his eyes shut and sinks to his knees in the dirt of the training area, shoulders slumping and knuckles still white from how taut his fists are.
His head throbs and Kurama is so frustrated that he hangs his chin in defeat and releases a pent-up jolt of distraught air from his lungs. He uncurls his fingers only to sink them into the ground like claws sifting through sand as he grabs uselessly at the tiny grains of soil. There are other seeds, buried here, long dormant and far down but Kurama ignores their concerned calls. He tries to regulate his breath, attempts to pull back the formerly-potted plant which is dragging itself still towards Hiei: the threat, the source of Kurama’s agitation.
Kurama understands a little more, now, what his power is. It’s inexorably tied to his emotions, and how many years must he have honed his control? How much time did past-Kurama spend just learning to control himself, his thoughts and reactions so as not to have everything spiral so wildly out of control like this?
Hiei was right; even though it hurts. He’s not Kurama. And how can he even try to be, when the gap between who he was and who he is, is so vast?
Maybe he doesn’t want to be Kurama, then. Maybe he just wants to meet his mother and fall into a warm embrace that accepts him for all he is and all he isn’t. Some of the anxiety calms, with that thought, and so Kurama clings to it. He pulls at the plant’s presence in his mind like it’s connected to him by a strong rope, and amazingly it responds. With his eyes closed, he can feel it move back towards him and shrink, away from the monstrous creature it’d become, from feeding off the wild undulations of his ki.
Hadn’t someone called it youki? His demonic energy? Well, who the fuck cares what it’s called.
A soft tendril curls over the back of his hand and instead of flinching away from it, Kurama loosens his fist and allows the reclaimed plant to slither up to his wrist. It settles there like a living bracelet, a reminder of his need for absolute control at all times and the consequences of being without it.
Apart from all that, the soft hum of life that’s not his own is comforting.
Eyes still closed, Kurama hears Hiei’s footsteps over the newly-disturbed soil as he navigates the mess Kurama’s little stunt had caused. Kurama breathes out, slow, and speaks lowly.
“I want to see my family. My mother.”
Hiei, for once, finds some tact and doesn’t immediately scoff at him. His tone is neutral.
“You can’t. You saw what you just did. The way you are now, you’ll put them in danger.”
Kurama feels another wave of frustration, and then words are spilling out of him before he knows what he’s saying.
“You can… ward me, can’t you? Make it so I can’t use my powers?” Why hadn’t anyone done that from the start? And how did Kurama even know that was an option, anyway? Hiei’s answer cuts through his racing thoughts.
“Koenma said it might stall your healing if we ward you.”
Kurama lets out a sarcastic bark of a laugh, finally looking up at Hiei with wide, disbelieving eyes. His hands are still in the dirt.
“Might?! If it hasn’t helped me heal by now, I doubt it’s going to have an effect!” Kurama argues past the headache still throbbing stubbornly behind his eyes, refusing to be cowed by it. Hiei frowns down at him, but it seems contemplative, this time. Kurama ploughs on, trying to press any advantage he can find. “Tell me, which would you choose, if you were severely injured: fraught isolation or loving companionship? Living on top of a mountain with two other people who aren’t even my family, imposing on you and Yukina-san like this –”
“You being here is not an imposition.” Hiei cuts him off, succinctly, but there’s a cloud of uncertainty in his gaze that matches his frown, now. Kurama doesn’t give up, not conceding their staring contest.
“Regardless. I want to see my family, Hiei. My mother.” Kurama insists, clinging to the hope she’s kind, and wonderful, and—all the things a mother should be, really. Is that too much to hope? “I don’t care what it costs. It’s been weeks like this, with only minor changes. Shouldn’t it be time to try something different? The definition of insanity –”
Hiei makes an unhappy noise, and turns away, shoulders bristling.
“I don’t need you to quote that white-haired, fuzzy-looking dead human at me again, fox!”
The nickname is a surprise. Did it slip out? Hiei seems to freeze after saying it, so perhaps. Kurama doesn’t let the moment go, when another realization creeps up on him.
“It feels like you’re my jailer, Hiei.” Kurama admits, softly. Hiei jerks, and looks back at him too quickly, his eyes a bit wide. Kurama steadfastly meets his gaze through the pain he refuses to show. “You’re not, right? You just want me to be safe? Can’t you give me a choice in it—my own recovery? I want to see my mother, Hiei. I need to see her. Whatever you need to do to ensure that, I don’t care. You can come with me, if it’ll make you feel better to keep an eye on me. But I need to… leave here. I need to go home. I’ve done all I can here, and it’s not helping anymore; I’ve plateaued.”
Even as he speaks, Kurama feels everything settle in his heart. This is the only way forward. He needs to pack his bag, and return to his past-self’s life. At this point, maybe, familiar surroundings might be what he needs. A thought occurs.
“Do I live with her?”
Hiei immediately shakes his head, and turns around fully to face Kurama, striding slowly towards him.
“No. You have an apartment. Not too far, not too close; the same city.” Hiei shares, quietly. Kurama offers him a tentative, hopeful smile. Hiei simply stares down at him, withdrawn but pensive.
“Can we talk to Yukina-san about the right wards to use?”
Hiei sighs, and Kurama half-dreads another scolding. But instead, Hiei reaches out his hand; an obvious gesture, to help Kurama up.
“I’ll ask her. If this is what you want, I know better than to get in your way.” Hiei mutters. Kurama beams up at him, and moves to clasp his hand, grateful for the support. He’s dizzier once he’s standing again, but Kurama doesn’t utter a word about it. Hiei seems to sense it anyway and steps close, putting an arm around behind Kurama’s waist to bolster him as they head back to the temple buildings.
“Thank you, Hiei.” Kurama admits, letting himself curl an arm over Hiei’s shoulders for additional steadiness. Hiei doesn’t react, simply nods, watching where they’re going.
“Hn.”
After that, there’s silence between them as Hiei guides Kurama through the temple, along the correct meandering route back to Kurama’s futon. Yukina doesn’t cross paths with them, and Kurama wonders if she’s out, this evening. Then he wonders if Hiei planned their training precisely enough, so as to put Yukina out of harm’s way in case Kurama lost control. It’s a sweet thought that makes him smile a little, to himself.
“I’m coming with you.” Hiei finally adds once they make it to the engawa that borders Kurama’s bedroom, voice dark and leaving no room for argument. Kurama feels his smile grow, just slightly. He squeezes Hiei’s shoulder with muted gratitude as they continue slowly along. Further than that, Kurama allows himself to lean a little more on the fire demon pressed up against his side like an unwavering, living crutch. It’s a boon to know he’ll be able to lie down in quiet darkness, soon, to try to coax this migraine into submission through some rest.
“Oh, I know.”
Chapter 3
Summary:
Back to the city, and Kurama finally realizes what Hiei won't say.
Notes:
not dead i swear! /although i found out i'm allergic to the mRNA covid vaccine, fuck, that wasn't fun
stay safe everyone! hope you enjoy this chapter! :3
Edit 10/23/2021: This fic's first fanart by Mary (leaveamessageafterthescream) from Tumblr! :DDD!!
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Sunday, June 13, 2021
They take the train back.
Well, more accurately: it takes multiple legs to get ‘back’ to the city that Kurama doesn’t recall. He and Hiei and Kurama’s single small roll-on descend the stairs from the mountain compound at which Yukina lives. Next, they wait for the bus at the bottom of the hill. Third, they take a local train to get to the main station out here, where (fourth) they transfer to a city-bound train heading to the stop they need to reach.
Well, according to Hiei, anyway. The two of them are currently smushed together on a bench that runs partially along the length of the car, windows to their backs. It’s lucky they’re together, although in the next moment Kurama has an abrupt, sneaking suspicion that Hiei wouldn’t become unglued from his side without an altercation.
It’d be quietly adorable if Hiei weren’t glaring daggers at anyone who approaches looking as though they’re about to ask for one of their seats. Kurama bears the dark cloud of ill will next to him with mild amusement, gazing down at Hiei fondly. Hiei finally catches on after a while of this, and their eyes meet.
What falls out of Kurama’s mouth in an unexpected undertone is –
“I’m a little impressed. You really know your way around.” He doesn’t know why, but for some reason he’d thought Hiei would be bad at this. It’s quite the opposite; Hiei knows which modes of transportation to take, and which transfers, with the decisiveness and laid-back attitude of one who has done this many times. He doesn’t even need a map, or to take notes; in-between his glowering at the other passengers, Hiei’s been obviously attentive to which stop they’re on, and clearly counting in his head how many until the one that’s theirs.
Well, it’s good at least one of them knows where they’re going, Kurama will admit.
Hiei scowls, and scoffs, then turns away so his back is resting against Kurama’s left shoulder. The shift means Hiei’s now turned awkwardly in the seat, left knee bent up to his chest; right foot on the floor of the traincar. It unavoidably jostles the person next to him – who, oddly, doesn’t seem to care – as Hiei folds his left arm over his bent knee and rests his chin atop it.
“We’ve done this before.” It’s a guarded answer, but nonetheless an informative one. Kurama doesn’t remember, but Hiei’s explanation makes sense.
“Ah.” Kurama says.
A single red eye – Hiei’s left one – appears, regarding Kurama from the side under a stabbing of black hair.
“To visit Yukina.” Hiei clarifies.
Kurama smiles a bit, at that, tilting his head.
“Oh? Did we visit often?” He asks, politely interested. It’s a little spot of warmth in his chest, to know he and Hiei were close… before. Well, ten years, yes? Perhaps Kurama had misread him, in those early days when Hiei couldn’t stand to be around him at all.
Hiei regards Kurama silently, as though deliberating just as much as Kurama is reflecting, but does finally land on a response.
“Weekends.” Is all Hiei says, and then resumes staring out the window.
Beautiful Fanart by leaveamessageafterthescream on Tumblr
Kurama glances out it over his own left shoulder, as well. It’s not the rural scenery they’d had on the local train, but not quite the city yet. He doesn’t push Hiei for any more information; it’s a long ride, and they’ll both be tired by the end of it. Kurama suspects he’ll be especially fatigued, even with his sunglasses warding off the worst of the daylight from his sensitive brain. The low hum of noise from the other riders and the machine itself is loud, to him, and the movement of the car makes him nauseous. Of course, they have to get where they’re going, so it would be foolish to ask for a break. At least looking out the window helps. Well, that, or closing his eyes.
It’s easier to just bear with it and suffer the consequences of his symptoms later.
Or so Kurama thinks. By the time they arrive in Tokyo, near dusk, there’s a full-blown migraine brimming behind his eyes and when they finally stand he’s stumbling a bit amidst the rush to get out the doors. Hiei’s at his elbow – never leaves – and guides him out with a discreet hand clamped upon it, and Kurama heads for the smell of fresher air as soon as they clear the worst of the crowd. The handle of his roll-on is firmly gripped in Kurama’s other hand; he’s determined not to lose it. The echoes of thousands of feet off the station’s tiled walls, so many conflicting smells pushed together, and the clamor of half-heard conversations – plus announcements over the intercoms! – are too much for his battered brain.
Outside is much louder; he hadn’t realized how quiet the temple was until he’s assaulted with a cacophony of sound and scents; nothing to say of the visual overload, with all the ads and flashing lights. People talking, cars and buses going, the trains, the whirr of machines and air conditioners from surrounding buildings, vendors calling out their sales or specials. Should his hearing and sense of smell be this acute? Certainly, on some level he’s a fox spirit, and canids always did have it better for those, but this seems similar to his light sensitivity. Hiei’s noticed, undoubtedly, but instead of asking a stupid question like ‘are you all right’ Hiei just sighs softly to himself, and tugs Kurama down a sidewalk.
“This way. We’re almost there.”
Kurama manages not to stumble as he follows, but he does slide his hand up so he’s holding Hiei’s hand, instead of Hiei holding his elbow. That earns him a squinty, assessing glance back, to which Kurama can only smile wanly from behind his sunglasses and hope his gratitude is conveyed.
Afterwards, Kurama won’t recall much of the winding paths, turns and which streets they cross to get to his apartment. Further, it’s not until he’s standing before the door with his hand on the knob and Hiei at his side, that he flushes. Kurama turns to Hiei, opening his mouth to admit he couldn’t even begin to guess where his key is. Hiei just rolls his eyes, then closes them and lifts up the white bandage over his forehead.
There’s… there’s an eye opening there!
Kurama yips – no other word fits – with sudden surprise, and Hiei, startled, blinks up at him.
The large purple eye in Hiei’s forehead is emitting a purplish, devilish glow and it’s so disconcerting Kurama can only gape, for a long moment. Hiei’s expression seems to darken with realization, but before Kurama can apologize Hiei’s closed his two red eyes with an annoyed ‘tch’, and the purple glow intensifies – the lock clicks.
Intrigued, Kurama tries the handle, and it goes easily; the door opening. He huffs a laugh to himself, but a single side-glance at Hiei’s stormy expression keeps it quiet. Shaking his head, Kurama enters; slipping off his shoes in the small genkan, then leaving his bag and sunglasses in the hallway after ascending the small step leading to it. He trails his fingers on the hallway walls, seeking a tactile memory even as his eyes wander over the photographs framed and hung, here.
He recognizes himself in a few – thank goodness for the mirror Yukina had let him borrow at the temple – and Urameshi, and Kuwabara, and Yukina. There is also a girl with blue hair up in a ponytail, and two with long brown hair, one older than the other. Hiei is a rare sight. At the end of the hall, everyone is gathered together with a short, elderly, pink-haired old woman in the center, the blue-haired girl’s hands on her shoulders.
“After the Dark Tournament.” Hiei comments as he passes Kurama, voice curt. “That was the first one.” He clarifies a beat later over his shoulder as he leaves the hall, still sounding irritated. Kurama stares after him, then back to the picture.
Urameshi and Kuwabara, especially, look very young to have gone through such an ordeal. Yukina, Hiei and himself didn’t seem to have changed much. Kurama smiles, seeing Hiei right up against his side in this picture, too. Actually… Kurama backtracks and scans the other photos more closely for a spiky patch of black hair, this time. In every photo that Hiei's in, he's at Kurama's side. Hm.
There’s a sound of rummaging coming from what might be the kitchen, but by the time Kurama enters Hiei’s by the glass balcony door, staring out at the railing. He takes in this room; covered in plants at every available surface, with several hanging. It must get a lot of light during the day. Said plants all look slightly yellowed, and abruptly Kurama worries that no one’s been taking care of them, in his absence.
“Shiori watered them while you were away. She left meals for you this morning.” Hiei offers without turning back around. “Yuusuke and Kuwabara wanted to visit today, but I told them to fuck off. You’re tired, right? Go sleep.”
Kurama blinks, at the no-nonsense command. He smiles a little, remembering his migraine – the pictures had distracted him – and his weariness. But Shiori…
“Who is Shiori?”
Hiei actually flinches, then pins a glare on him.
“Your mother.” Hiei hisses, eyes narrowing before they dart away; back outside. “I’ll let you decide when you want to see her.”
Oh he will, will he?
“How magnanimous of you.” Kurama replies dryly, abandoning his thought to inspect the meals in the fridge in order to wander back over towards Hiei. He slides an arm around behind Hiei’s shoulders and leans against him a bit: a pocket of familiarity in a strange place.
Hiei is still and unmoving, in response, and pulls away after a moment, heading off down a second hallway, that presumably leads to their bedrooms. Hiei lives here, too, doesn’t he? The thought pops into Kurama’s head unexpectedly, and he blushes a bit to himself. Shaking his head, Kurama goes to check the meals his mother had left.
There are a few baozi – store-bought – easy enough to steam in the microwave, so he snags two and by trial-and-error finds the plates amongst the cabinets. Kurama’s still nauseous from the train ride, although it’s better now that he’s not in a moving vehicle. Fortunately, these are the vegetable kind and the fluffy bread is kind to his stomach. By the time Hiei returns, Kurama has just started in on his steamed bun at the tiny kitchen table, and there’s a second waiting on a second plate in front of the unoccupied chair.
He gives Hiei a little smile – close-mouthed, of course – and Hiei pauses for a long time in the kitchen doorway. It’s long enough that Kurama has finished his own bun and gotten up to put the plate in the sink. When he looks back, Hiei’s approached the food, but instead of eating it he looks up at Kurama.
“The bath’s ready. You should rest.” Hiei says, but it’s not quite unkind and Kurama raises his eyebrows at the thoughtfulness. Yukina had taken care of most of the household things, and Kurama never saw Hiei around, so he had assumed she prepared their nightly baths. Had he been wrong?
Perhaps he stares a little too long, because Hiei scowls and looks away, the edges of his cheekbones faintly pink.
…What?
“Yukina dislikes heat.” Hiei mutters under his breath. “Who do you think did that? She doesn’t take baths.”
“Oh… Well, thank you.” Kurama says, feeling a little awkward to be thanking Hiei, but unable to think of anything else to say. Hiei glares at the floor, then sighs explosively and snags the bun off the plate, heading off towards the balcony.
“Do what you want, but if you’re not in there by the time I finish this, I’m taking a bath.” Hiei grumbles, crossly, but somehow Kurama can’t help but smile at his retreating back. There’re a few footsteps, then the sound of the sliding door to the balcony rolling open and shut. Kurama chuckles softly, to himself. Hiei hadn’t been this talkative around Yukina; or back at the temple, in general, really.
Taking the invitation for what it is, Kurama peers into the bathroom and spies a towel and pajamas already waiting for him. Stepping inside, he touches them; a bit confused.
City-Hiei is a far cry from Temple-Hiei. It’s… strangely comforting, Kurama will admit, but also unsettling. Well, it’s likely they’ve just lived together for long enough that sharing some domestic chores became inevitable. Right? That is what would make the most sense. And since Hiei’s a demon, he can’t exactly go out and get a human job, or –
Showering off on a plastic stool before entering the bath, now, Kurama’s hands pause as he reflects on this. He has a job, doesn’t he: Kurama. But Mukuro… the person mentioned before. Could that be Hiei’s boss? What if Hiei had a job before all this, and him sticking around to take care of Kurama is messing up his life? It’s a panic he hadn’t expected; being too selfish to want someone all to himself, to help him through this.
But why Hiei? Yukina would have happily filled that role, he didn’t seem to be in her way at the temple, but…
Kurama finds his thoughts circling as he settles carefully into the one-person bath. The steam curls towards the ceiling as he stares at it, trying to make sense of everything. The living room had been full of baubles and books and plants, but Kurama hadn’t had the energy to investigate. Perhaps tomorrow? And then…
He’s suddenly, abruptly curious what Hiei’s bedroom looks like. There’s a reason for that – someone’s bedroom tells a lot about them: how much time they spend there, their interests and such. If it’s sparse, Kurama will have his answer; Hiei isn’t here a lot. If it’s not, then… Hiei’s a demon, living in Ningenkai? But why? He doesn’t seem the type to prefer crowded cities over a wilderness like the temple grounds. It’s just a hunch, Kurama can’t explain where it comes from.
He frowns, up at the ceiling. Truth be told, he wouldn’t expect that of himself, either. The plants’ energies here are sweet, and calming, but nothing like the vast expanse he’s been living within, for the past few months. Their voices are smaller; he misses the old trees and ancient, sentient flora hidden within the temple’s grounds. Kurama hadn’t realized he’d miss them until they were gone.
Why, then? Why live here, in the midst of a city, if he’s a wild thing?
…His mother? Shoko, or something?
There’s more to his life than what he’s been told. Kurama sighs, closing his eyes and trying to will away the growing headache from all this ruminating. He tries to simply enjoy the bath; and does, to an extent. But eventually he’s had enough, and carefully extricates himself from the water, drying off and being sure not to slip. The pajamas he slips on are comfortably soft, but not yet frayed or full of holes.
Barefoot, Kurama opens the bathroom door and peeks out into the hallway; first, the way he’d come, then towards the other end. Curiosity getting the better of him, Kurama pads quietly down the unexplored side of this hall, and opens each door; there are only three; two on the right and one on the left. The first on the right leads to what looks like a study, with a desk and computer chair and all the normal trappings of a home office. The second on the right seems to be a laboratory, when Kurama flicks on the light to get a better look.
There is a lab table with a black granite surface, upon which are a number of test tubes, beakers, a centrifuge, a microscope, other scientific equipment, a mortar and pestle, and – when he looks up – dried plants or bagged seeds hanging from the ceiling, tied securely to long ropes that run the length of the room, in a few rows. Flicking the light back off, Kurama withdraws from this room as well; it’s something else to ponder, another piece of the puzzle that is his past self, for another day.
The third must lead to his bedroom – perhaps Hiei doesn’t live here, after all – and Kurama simply stares at the large, king-size bed in the middle of the room. Going over to inspect it, Kurama finds what looks at first glance to be a western-style mattress is actually two shikifutons atop two raised tatami, the tatami each fitted into a wooden, twin-sized bedframe; quite traditional.
“I didn’t see the point in hiding it; you’d find out sooner or later.” Comes a voice from behind him, which can only be Hiei’s, and Kurama closes his eyes quietly, gathering himself before he turns around. He knows his gaze is sad on Hiei in the doorway; Hiei, with his arms folded defensively over his front, eyes anywhere but Kurama, glowering silently at the wall.
“Hiei… why didn’t you tell me?”
There’s a barked laugh; smothered pain that makes Kurama’s heart wrench.
“What would be the point? It wouldn’t make you remember, and you’d only feel guilty.” Hiei sneers, cutting and ruthless and Kurama sighs, glancing back at the made bedding.
“It would have helped, to know. Then I – ”
“Would have kept your distance?” Hiei cuts in, scathing. “Pitied me? Looked at me the way you are, now?” He scoffs. “Keep it, I don’t need it.”
Kurama shuts his eyes, tight, hands curling into fists at his sides.
“It’s not pity. I… I should remember you, I know that, and all the others, but – ”
“Save it.” Hiei snarls, whirling around; clearly to leave. “I’ll sleep on the balcony, don’t think about it for another minute. You may not be Kurama, but you’re the fucking closest thing left in the world that is, so don’t you dare try to tell me what’s good for me and that we should give each other space when you’re in no state to be by yourself. Your mother can’t see you like this, remember? She doesn’t know. It’s the least I can do, if he never comes back, to make sure his secret doesn’t get revealed while he’s gone.”
There’s a break in Hiei’s voice near the end of that ('if he never comes back'), and Kurama steps forward, reaching out a hand – but the doorway’s already empty, the sound of the balcony door rolling harshly open and shut loud in the surrounding silence. Stepping back, Kurama’s knees hit the bed and he sits in the darkness, fighting back the urge to cry.
It isn’t unfamiliar, this frustration. But knowing now… how long had they been together? These past ten years? Before that? And Urameshi hadn’t said anything, or Kuwabara – Yukina, Kurama sees now, how a thousand small glances from her towards Hiei make sudden sense, and…
Oh. There is a picture frame at the head of the mattress, on a bedside table on the side upon which he’s sitting. Kurama shifts to pluck it up, and holds it reverently in both hands; not wanting to drop it.
It’s Hiei’s face, but looking up at the camera, open-eyed and soft with a small smirk tugging at a corner of his mouth. It hurts to look at, knowing Hiei’s not looking at him, not really, but this other Kurama who exists in memories Kurama doesn’t have, but Hiei does. He replaces the photograph, but puts it face-down, unable to bear the implications of that unfamiliar, admiring face.
Kurama glances towards the other bedside table, but there’s no picture there. He looks a little closer, and sees marks where there had been one, only recently moved, based on the scuffs in the gathered dust. Kurama can only smile mournfully to himself at that. Hiei likely took it, and Kurama can’t blame him, really. Just as the bedside Hiei photo is private for his past-self, this missing picture is probably the same for Hiei.
Why Hiei had left the one of himself, Kurama can’t answer. Perhaps he’d been in a rush, to get the bath prepared, and hadn’t had a lot of time to grab both of them. Or, perhaps Hiei had hoped it would jog Kurama’s memory.
Sadly, it doesn’t; just makes a well of guilt open up in Kurama’s chest.
He puts his face in his hands, and feels a few tears slip out; long-held, and bitter.
This is Kurama’s life; but he’s not Kurama, not really. Kurama would feel something other than discomfort, at the sight of Hiei’s face so soft. Kurama would know exactly what to say, and do, to lessen Hiei’s suffering in all this. Kurama knows Hiei. And right now, this Kurama that he is – clueless, and useless, afflicted with an array of post-concussive symptoms and utterly ignorant of the extent of his own powers – doesn’t.
No wonder Hiei gave him such a wide berth, at first. No wonder Hiei stubbornly stuck by him; Hiei’s in love with Kurama. Not who he is, no. But that who he was would inspire such mulish devotion, such furtive care-taking, even despite how much it must hurt Hiei, to see him like this…
Kurama’s trickling tears escalate into a soft sob, muffled by his palms.
It’s so frustratingly tragic, and it’s all his own damn fault.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Someone's memories are intact.
Notes:
ahaaa thanks mary for the reawakened inspiration! hope you like this chapter! :3
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Sunday, October 24, 2021
It’s been a month since they defeated Yatsude. Hiei has been shadowing Kurama’s steps, learning his habits, and observing him. For the most part, he plays the role of a dutiful middle-schooler quite well. Hiei has to commend him on his acting, for he certainly wouldn’t have the patience to deal with the constant company of human children. How Kurama hasn’t gone insane in all these years, pretending, is a question Hiei will have to ask him, one day.
He tells himself that he lingers in order to watch out for any new threats moving in to take control of Yatsude’s vacated territory. But then, Kurama has earned more of a name for himself, after defeating such a powerful demon. Hiei doesn’t take the credit for the big kill—his presence a mere shadow in the rumors—but he does have to dispatch a few weak demons that try to ambush Kurama while he’s trapped at school. They’re barely blips of youki, and with the easy-living Ningenkai grants, Hiei’s had plenty of time to recover by now.
Food, water and shelter are plentiful, and Hiei keeps his skills sharp by watching out for Kurama.
That’s what he tells himself, until the day Kurama catches him skulking around.
“So, you decided to stay?”
Hiei glances over his shoulder at him, not saying a word as he sheathes his sword. They’re behind the school, after-hours, where Kurama had been staying to complete some project. The smell of demon blood is unmistakable, even as the ghoul itself has vanished by now and the spots are invisible against Hiei’s black cloak. The pool of blood the body had collapsed into remains; not yet evaporated.
Kurama’s mouth quirks in humor, and Hiei tenses out of instinct.
“Is there a reason you’ve been following me?” Kurama asks nicely, but there’s a threat beneath it.
Hiei narrows his eyes, and tilts his head slightly to indicate the cooling steam as the blood finally starts to vanish.
“Opportunists.” He says. “They’re following you. Trying to get up the pecking order by taking you out.”
Kurama hums, crossing one arm over his front and lifting the other to hold his own chin, thoughtfully. His eyes are green, and calculating.
“But not you?”
“Ch’.” Hiei jerks his head away, and starts to storm off towards the trees bordering the school’s property. “I don’t need a territory.” He never stays in one place for too long, anyway. Hiei gets a few steps away before—
“We could share it.” Kurama calls, and it’s enough to get Hiei to squint back at him, seeking deception. Demons don’t share. Kurama gifts him with a disarming smile, trying to convince him. “You’re doing most of the work, anyway. And I don’t think you have any intention of targeting the local populace, yes?” He adds, sweetly, and Hiei rolls his eyes.
“I’m not staying long.” He has a mission to complete, after all. Kurama almost seems to sense this, for he interrupts, brightly.
“Still looking for Yukina, the koorime?”
Hiei scowls, at the correct deduction. First his stupid sleep-talking, and then asking about the koorime during their fight with Yatsude… Kurama had clearly put things together himself. Feh.
“What business is it of yours.” Hiei counters, irate at being figured out so easily.
Kurama ups the charm on his smile, a bit, gesturing between them with the hand that’d been on his chin.
“We could work together to find her. I have forged a few connections, living here. I could help.”
Hiei grinds his back teeth together, unimpressed with the bait.
“What, so you can stab me in the back?”
Instead of being offended at the insinuation, Kurama grins amicably at him.
“If I were going to do that, I’d have done it after we defeated Yatsude.” Well, Hiei can’t refute that. “Besides, I like you.”
That is entirely unexpected, and Hiei blinks, then stares at Kurama for a long time. No one’s ever liked him; whether it was opponents, would-be robbers, the bandits he grew up with or the stone-hearted koorime. Tolerated, yes—with the bandits, for most of his blood-soaked childhood—but not liked.
Kurama is striding closer to him now, and Hiei hops back a step as he extends his right hand.
“It’s a Western tradition.” Kurama explains, somehow without seeming like he’s looking down on Hiei, for not knowing. Hiei eyes Kurama’s hand, suspiciously. There’s a soft chuckle from the navy-clad demon before him: a demon, in a human child’s uniform. A walking contradiction.
“For what.” Hiei eventually ventures, gazing up at Kurama, still not entirely convinced.
“Forging a pact. A promise to have each other’s backs. And not stab them.” Kurama adds, almost joking. Hiei snorts, rolling his eyes again. “So, what do you say?”
“I’d say you’re too naïve. Demons don’t do alliances.” Surely Kurama recalled what Makai was like, now? Three factions, at war with each other over ideology. Struck with a sudden thought, then— “Who would you choose.”
Kurama blinks at him, obviously not expecting that question.
“Of whom?”
“The Three Kings.” Raizen, refusing to eat humans. Mukuro, wanting to eat some humans. Yomi, wanting to eat humans without restraint. To his credit, Kurama doesn’t need this clarification spoken aloud, only lifts his eyes in thought as he considers it.
“Raizen, I suppose." His eyes drop back to Hiei then; still inexplicably smiling. "But then, I know too many humans now, so that might be my bias. Who would you choose?”
Hiei squints up at Kurama, for that turn-around on the question. He hadn’t really thought about it, but most humans seemed harmless enough. Kurama didn’t count, and Hiei had no connection to the humans around him. Still… He’d never liked demons of Yomi’s ilk. They planned everything too much, needed to control too much. Raizen was no better, being too impulsive and starving himself over a single fling. That only left—
“Mukuro. He’s the least idiotic.”
Kurama nods along with that, but keeps his hand suspended in the air; like an offering.
After another beat, Hiei takes it, and they shake.
Kurama seems to have the misguided idea that they’re friends, after that. Or, at least comrades.
Their first conversations are thrown back and forth, to and from, between the tree bordering Kurama’s window and his desk chair. Eventually, Hiei sits on the sill, and then the floor beneath it. Kurama chats as he goes through his human homework and studies, seeming to glide effortlessly from one task to another. Compared to how he works alone, Hiei would almost say Kurama works faster with someone around to hear his ramblings.
And Kurama certainly does like to talk a lot.
Snap.
Hiei turns to peer down from his perch in the tree, pausing when he sees Kurama’s face hiding behind a large, black lens. It’s the first time he’s seen such a thing, and he frowns, dropping down from his tree and scowling up at the appendage covering Kurama’s face. He senses no ki from it, so it’s not a threat, but…
“What is that.”
Only Kurama’s eyes crest over the top of the device, but Hiei can tell by the crinkles at the corners of them, that he’s smiling.
“A camera.”
Hiei scowls. The word is familiar, even if the machine itself is less-so.
Snap. Snapsnap.
His left eye twitches. The pupil in the center of the lens has contracted three times, now. Hiei reaches his palm up to block out the sight of the mechanical eye, and Kurama chuckles.
“Do you believe what Yukina-chan does?” Kurama asks, lightly, and Hiei recognizes a loaded question when he hears one. Still, he decides to humor him.
“Which is?”
“That it steals your soul.” Kurama responds; matter-of-fact. Hiei rolls his eyes.
“If that were true, your ki would have changed.”
Kurama hums, finally lowering the device and unearthing a black cap from somewhere, to screw over the eye of the device. Hiei’s glad to see it go, but won’t say so, and only watches.
“Oh?”
“Your mother’s house had—" a lot of “—pictures.” Hiei states, somewhat sourly, and Kurama gives him one of those strangely pleased smiles, in return.
“You noticed?”
“T’ch.” Hiei looks off, annoyed at having to divulge that bit. “Surveillance.” He defends.
“Naturally.” Kurama agrees easily, and Hiei regards him out of the corner of one eye. The device is attached to a strip of leather around Kurama’s torso, and Kurama tucks it out of the way, before slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. “Are you staying long?”
“Why.”
“Perhaps you could accompany me on a walk.”
“You can’t walk yourself?”
“I can, but the experience would be infinitely better with you around to improve it.”
“…Fine.”
“Hiei! Hiei!”
Consciousness is slow to leak back in from the sides—was there always a purple fog clouding in around his vision? Hiei feels himself sway forward on his knees, and a large familiar hand presses into his shoulder to keep him from toppling.
“You shouldn’t move. Stay still. You’re poisoned.”
That’s Kurama’s voice, low and urgent; are they in the midst of battle? Hiei turns his head, trying to gauge the battlefield, but it swims and he shakes it to clear it. He ends up doubling over for that one, dry-retching as Kurama hovers over him; one cool hand pressing along his spine.
“Hiei! I told you not to move!” There’re sounds and flashes of light signaling fighting nearby; the zing of Kuwabara’s sword and the whooshes of Yuusuke’s blasts. Hiei grabs his sheath at his left side and tries to use the end of it to push himself up to stand. Kurama hisses in his ear, in displeasure, and soon both of Kurama’s hands are keeping Hiei on his knees, and a pair of very green eyes are boring into his own.
“Listen to me. You were hit with a poison ki attack, if I don’t cleanse your system of it immediately your entire aura will become tainted and kill you within minutes. Yuusuke and Kuwabara-kun have it handled!”
“Like hell…” Hiei manages, struggling to rise again and Kurama huffs in his face as he doesn’t allow him to get up. Hiei could fight him off, but what good would it do? Kurama’d just use a more underhanded trick to keep him down, which would be more embarrassing than the poison itself.
“They’re fine. Yuusuke has his reiki to draw on, and Kuwabara-kun’s immune as he’s all reiki.”
Wait. But then—
Hiei shoves his sheathed sword between them, flat, so he can push Kurama away. From what he can see of his face, Kurama’s stunned.
“Hiei, what—”
“Stupid.” Hiei growls, backing further away but careful to stay close to the ground. “You’ve got youki, too. Stay away.” He threatens.
Kurama’s lips flatten to a thin line, and Hiei makes a noise when his wrist is grabbed. His sword is angled painfully away, and Kurama glides in real close, breaths just puffs of air on Hiei’s face.
“Who’ll treat you, then?” Hiei’s sleeve is torn off his right upper arm as Kurama talks, a vine slithering up to hold said arm in place as Kurama continues. “Certainly neither of them.” There’s a prick of cold from something like a porcupine quill, then a rush of heat into Hiei’s body from that point. It makes him want to retch again. “And you’re grossly underestimating me—a fact I’ll graciously give up to the poison—if you’d think for one second that I’d let my aura-guard down long enough for the poison to transfer from yours to mine. Besides, I’ve worked with more salves, concoctions, antidotes and poisons than you’re ever likely to even know about, lucky for you.” Kurama’s fingers press into his skin, massaging the heated injection into the inner stream of aura in Hiei’s body, and Hiei’s head feels light. He doesn’t know what Kurama’s doing, not really, but it doesn’t seem to matter as the purple edges of his vision swallow him up, once more.
When Hiei wakes, his right arm is sore, there are stars overhead, and the sound of a campfire. His sword has been tucked back into his belt, at its place on his left hip. He sits up, and glances to his left—across the fire. Eerily, he’s reminded of both a fox hiding in the darkness, and that first time he’d ever woken up in Kurama’s presence.
Of course, it’s just Kurama sitting across the fire from him. But he’s sitting and staring, eyes dark and intense and unreadably sharp in a way Hiei knows exists, but isn’t used to seeing. He glances around them; Kuwabara’s snoring on the side of the fire near Hiei’s feet, and Yuusuke’s asleep, on the side near Hiei’s head.
Kurama speaks, then; unnecessarily.
“You’re awake.”
Hiei glances at him, then down at his right arm. The flesh is bruised and purple; raised welts from what looks like criss-crossed ropes: Kurama’s vines. He examines it; the dragon is small and pitiful-looking, just a slender snake. Kurama answers the question before Hiei asks it.
“I had to neutralize your aura. It was the only way to stop it from spreading. Then I isolated it and took it out.” Kurama explains softly, and Hiei runs his left palm down his right arm; to test. There’s no hint of power beneath it, so it makes sense why Kurama wouldn’t have warded it. It’s just a withered old tattoo right now; a landing spot for when he has enough aura to call the entity back and make the black dragon etched into his skin swell to its usual size.
Hiei looks back at Kurama openly, now: no games.
“What happened to the sniper?”
A corner of Kurama’s mouth twitches upward, but unlike with Kuwabara or Yuusuke, he doesn’t bother to hide it with his hand. No, Hiei sees the vicious satisfaction in full view as it paints Kurama’s face.
“Dead.”
“Hm.” As expected. Hiei returns to assessing himself, seeking any other injuries he’d missed. He ignores the sounds of Kurama standing and approaching him, until Kurama’s squatting at his side, seeking his attention. Hiei gives it; keeping his gaze even.
“Are you angry with me?”
Hiei rolls his eyes.
“My aura will come back.”
Kurama hesitates, but nods.
“Yes. It should regenerate normally on its own, with no traces of the poison.”
“Then why would I be angry.”
Kurama’s fingers twitch, Hiei notices, before reaching out for his left hand. Hiei resists the urge to glance down as cool fingertips brush his knuckles.
“I had to restrain you.”
“To treat me.” Hiei reminds.
“Without your consent.”
“Could I have given it?”
Kurama sighs, at that; relenting.
“No.”
Hiei snorts, at that.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
Kurama doesn’t respond right away.
“…I thought you might die, Hiei. I thought I wouldn’t be fast enough.”
“I didn’t, and you were.”
“But what about next time?”
“What, you expect there to be a next time with a once-in-a-millennium aura-poisoner?” Hiei sneers, countering.
“It could be something else!” Kurama whispers furiously at him, fingers jabbing into Hiei’s hand as he holds it tight, eyes ablaze with the fire silhouetting him from behind. The light twinkling off—and giving away—the tears in his eyes makes Hiei pause, though.
Hiei turns his left hand—just slightly—in Kurama’s firm grip, and squeezes back.
“I wouldn’t leave you behind.” Hiei states, his voice a little scratchy.
Kurama only blinks at him, so Hiei tries again.
“If you’re not fast enough. And I wouldn’t die unless you’re dead.” Hiei persists, stubborn to the end, even if Kurama’s decided to be dense right now.
Kurama’s face crumples after a long moment, when he realizes. Then he slumps forward to hide his face in Hiei’s left shoulder.
Hiei pretends not to the hear or feel the tears, so, they didn’t happen.
For Kurama’s sake.
The memories finally release him, and Hiei wakes up. He stares out past the balcony railing at his and Kurama’s apartment. Since getting the Jagan, he doesn’t dream anymore—he remembers. Not even battle exhaustion keeps it at bay. When he was going through Mukuro’s trial, it was memories of Hyouga, all his friends, and Yukina.
Now, it’s Kurama, and their life before all this. It’s not unsurprising, really; his subconscious probably craves that normalcy, on some level. Because Hiei’s waking Kurama isn’t Kurama, anymore—not quite. He looks and talks and carries himself like Kurama, for the most part. But something’s missing; his head is still empty. It’s as though all of Kurama’s memories had been torn from his head by force, with that accident in the ring.
Hiei had initially been suspicious that it was an ability, of some sort—but a scan with the Jagan hadn’t revealed anything. That’s why Yuusuke had been the first to Kurama’s side; well, that and he could actually support Kurama. They were closer in height, it just made more sense.
If This Kurama hadn’t shown that his plant abilities remained intact, Hiei almost would’ve thought they were gone, too. Yesterday had been bad, as Hiei had snapped. The last thing Kurama needed to worry about was him, but he’d cried for a long time in the bedroom after discovering the truth of their relationship.
Hiei hadn’t wanted him to know. Yuusuke, Kuwabara and even Yukina had gone along with it, but it was impossible to hide, here. All the knowledge would do is stress Kurama out and make him divert energy away from healing. Hiei hadn’t meant for that to happen. He hadn’t meant for the shouting match to happen, either, but.
But.
He couldn’t let this one get too close. Hiei couldn’t start all over with one Kurama just to lose him again when he recovered. He would recover, wouldn’t he? Kurama—his Kurama—hadn’t gone and left him behind, had he?
Hiei knew, if he had a choice, Kurama would never. But what if the choice had been taken away from them? What then?
He had to be patient. That’s what everyone had told him. What they didn’t understand was it wasn’t hard to be patient: it was hard seeing Kurama look at him like they were strangers. Hiei looked at Kurama and saw everything he knew about him, but Kurama no longer saw the same. Hiei could only imagine Kurama only saw things he didn’t like, as Hiei hadn’t been particularly nice or accommodating since the beginning of his convalescence.
And Kurama not liking him… Hiei didn’t know what that looked like.
Sitting up a little more, Hiei rummaged behind one of the thicker plants, looking for something. When he found it, he sat back, holding the frame in his lap and staring down at it.
Far from stealing souls, pictures were more like stopping time.
The Kurama that stared back at him from this photo was his Kurama; the one who knew him, inside-and-out, who knew just what to do in any given moment. Hiei hadn’t realized how much he relied on Kurama knowing him, until all that knowledge was gone.
He didn’t love Kurama any less. But Hiei didn’t love who he was, right now. Genkai had said it was only temporary, and Hiei wouldn’t leave Kurama to fend on his own. He was the only one who could take Kurama down, if he got out of control. Koenma had been especially worried about them moving from Genkai’s old estate. That location was remote and away from prying eyes; this one wasn’t.
It had taken Hiei’s solemn promise and Yuusuke backing him up, for Koenma to allow it. One wrong move, one lost instant of control, and Kurama would be brought back to the temple. This time, as a prisoner. Reikai couldn’t allow a youko with as much power as Kurama to wander around freely, unchecked. The old Kurama, Koenma had trusted, but there was no reason to trust this new Kurama who barely had a basic grasp of his abilities.
Hiei had had to argue for Kurama’s choice; he wouldn’t be anyone’s jailer. He just had to try to get Kurama to remember what he could do, and how to control it. But was it even possible?
Hiei’d put the wards on Kurama when they left, but Yukina had made them secretly: they were just paper and ink, no ki. Hiei had a few real ones on hand—tailored to Kurama’s aura—just in case of an emergency. But if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, Hiei wouldn’t shut that aspect off to Kurama unless he had no other option.
Besides, Hiei could always burn anything away. It would be fine. Kurama would be fine.
Hiei just had to remind himself that this Kurama wasn’t his confidante. It had been over a decade of slowly learning to rely on him, and now Hiei had been thrown back in time. Telling Kurama everything would only hinder his recovery; Hiei couldn’t make last night’s mistake again.
The stakes were too high.
Chapter 5
Summary:
There's more than one mess to untangle.
Notes:
holy fuck it's been a while and sooo much has happened, aha. feels good to update, hope this chapter is ok! wrote half in october and half today (also on some antibiotics so a bit fuzzy mentally, hopefully there aren't too many mistakes x.x;; )
finally got nb gender-confirming top surgery on 11/1/2021!!! fareweeeeeeell chest dysphoria ahaaahaaha... wooo! \o/
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Tuesday, January 18, 2022
Breakfast with Hiei is awkward. Well, it’s not so much breakfast with Hiei as it is in Hiei’s very general vicinity. He’s out on the balcony, mostly hidden by plants except for the tip-top of his black hair. Kurama gives him space, acutely aware that Hiei likely heard his crying last night. Hiei doesn’t return from the balcony, a stoic, remote presence once more. Kurama finds himself missing the companionship, but he doesn’t have the heart to press Hiei for more than he’s willing to give. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, finally knowing the enormity of what Hiei’s lost.
So Kurama spends breakfast essentially in his own company, poking around the apartment for hints of himself. He finds a pile of old and new mail—neatly organized from most recent to oldest—addressed to ‘Minamino Shuuichi’ and wonders if that’s part of the secret Hiei had mentioned, last night. For not the first time, Kurama wonders if choosing a different name to go by would be the best solution. He doesn’t feel like Kurama, and using the same name must be hard for Hiei. Hiei doesn’t have a last name, unlike Urameshi and Kuwabara. Is Kurama the same? Has he posed as a human boy for most of his existence here?
A hard knot drops into Kurama’s stomach. Is that the secret? There’s an inkling in the back of his mind, something inexplicable that whispers to him that it’s correct. Kurama follows it, tugging on the gossamer-like thread ever so gently, not wanting to break it. An image of a woman appears in his mind: a pained smile and worried eyes bearing up on him. Her arms are covered in bloody gashes, a broken plate lying nearby.
His mother: it must be. Kurama doesn’t recognize her, but everything points to this.
Pulling himself from the vision, Kurama heads to the entry hallway, seeking the same woman in his mind. Her photo is there, of course: three. There is one with her seated—older—and what must be himself in high school, with his hands on her shoulders. The uniform is a dead giveaway, although bright fuschia is an interesting choice for a school’s color scheme. There is a second picture, this time with a taller man and younger boy—and Hiei, strangely enough, stuck per usual to Kurama’s side. The third picture is of his mother awfully young, with a man who is likely his father and a swaddled baby with a shock of bright red hair.
Hiei has not mentioned him, so he must be dead – or otherwise gone, out of Kurama’s life.
Struck by sudden inspiration, Kurama strides to the kitchen and picks up the phone. Beside it, labeled numbers are scrawled in neat, slanted handwriting; likely his own. He dials in the number he’s sought out, puts the device to his ear and waits for it to ring. It does, and again, and goes to voicemail after the third ring. Kurama’s fingers tighten on the phone as the warm voice of an older woman reaches his ear. Something in his shoulders relaxes at the sound of it; like an instinctual reaction.
The beep startles him into speech; he hadn’t even been listening to what she said.
“Ah. Hello. Mother? This is…” He casts around for the name on the mail, and miraculously finds it. “Shuuichi. I’m sure—” Hiei. Hiei is probably safe, right? He’d been in the picture, so— “Hiei has told you about my accident. I’m still having some trouble with my memory, but I’m back in the city now. Sorry for worrying you.” He tacks on, instinctively. “If you’d like to set up a time to come by, or meet, please feel free to call the apartment. …Thank you. I hope you’re well.” Kurama hangs up before he can make any more of a fool of himself, turns and jumps nearly a foot in the air.
Hiei has appeared in the doorway to the kitchen: clothes still moving, hair askew, eyes wide and shoulders stiff.
Kurama tries a smile, but it feels weak even from the inside.
“I remembered her face.” He says, by way of explanation. “And… an event. I wanted to capitalize on the moment.”
Hiei’s shoulders relax minutely; visible even from this distance, as he only has a tank top on. He likely heard all of the message, so he knows Kurama kept Hiei’s Kurama’s secret intact. He can be trusted, dammit! After all Hiei’s done for him, looked out for him, taken care of him these past few months—Kurama can at least show some gratitude, can’t he?
Hiei’s eying him warily now, but with less panic than a few moments before.
“What event.” He prompts, and Kurama lifts and points to one of his own forearms.
“An… accident, of sorts? A bloody plate, and gashes?” Kurama supplies, and Hiei relaxes further, huffing out a breath as he crosses his arms over his front and levels Kurama with an even stare, leaning back against the kitchen wall beside the doorway.
“The accident that made you decide to stay. She was protecting you from a fall as you tried to reach a dish on a high shelf, as a child.”
“Stay?” Kurama seeks, curious. Hiei’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“Here. Instead of returning to Makai.”
“Ah.” Well, at least that explains why Kurama chose Ningenkai, despite being a wild thing. He wishes he could remember what Makai is like, but it’s only a blurred, general knowledge of what it is. He turns back towards the kitchen, rooting through the refrigerator for something to eat.
Hiei steps up behind him; his aura a warm flare only a slight distance from Kurama’s back.
“Last night.”
Kurama glances over his shoulder behind him, but Hiei’s not meeting his eyes now; just frowning off to the side, at the floor.
There’s a long pause, where Hiei doesn’t take the initiative to continue.
“…I overstepped.” Kurama concludes, gently. The words make Hiei’s eyes snap back to him, instantly. He tries a kinder smile than before; more genuine, if a bit wan. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t realize…” Kurama trails off, at a flicker of anger in Hiei’s face, but there’s no explosion. No, instead those red eyes burn, but not with hatred of Kurama, no.
It’s something far worse; self-loathing.
Hiei’s eyes dart away again, and he growls something out.
“You didn’t. I lost my temper.”
For a beat, Kurama is surprised. Then he recovers.
“It’s understandable.” He is quick to supply, trying a smile as he leans down a bit–more towards Hiei’s eye level. Hiei’s eyes flick back to him, narrowing. “After all, you–”
“It doesn’t matter.” Hiei cuts him off, turning to leave the kitchen. There’s another thread, tugging at his mind, but Kurama can’t quite place it. Almost déjà vu. Before Kurama realizes it, he’s placed a hand on Hiei’s shoulder, to stop him. Hiei glances back, up, at him.
“You’ve said that before.” Kurama blurts. Hiei’s eyes widen a fraction, but the rest of his face doesn’t change. Kurama keeps staring down at him, trying to catch the moment in his mind. “We’ve… argued about something, before. Not this.” He insists, and Hiei’s expression darkens. He ducks out from under Kurama’s hand and strides quickly into the living room to escape, his hands in his pockets.
“That’s private.” Hiei says; clipped and unyielding. “Not an argument with you. Leave it.”
Frustrated, Kurama fists his hands at his sides, and follows after him. Why won’t Hiei tell him? Yes, it might be private, but it’s also a kernel of who he was. They both want Kurama to go back to being who he was, right? How is he supposed to do that if Hiei won’t give him more details! The plants in the room ripple as though feeling the waves of his aura, then stretch towards Hiei entreatingly. Hiei takes immediate note of the shift in the room’s—plentiful—flora, then pins Kurama with an unreadable look.
“We need to work on your plant control.”
Kurama inhales a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. That is not what he wants to talk about, right now.
“Don’t change the subject.” He opens his eyes again, glaring at Hiei. “I want to know what it was about, Hiei. It’s just like the memory of my mother, before. How am I to learn about my past if you won’t put it in context for me? We both want my memories to come back.” Hiei looks away, face twisting slightly. Kurama falters, a tendril of doubt curling in his chest. “…don’t we?” He finishes in a whisper, some of the steam out of his tirade now. The plants rustle at the edges of the room; concerned about his emotional shift, no doubt, but not sure how to help.
Hiei spares them a warning look—not that they can see it, as they don’t have eyes.
“It was just an argument.” Hiei says, seemingly to the plants, and obviously trying to deflect. “We argue sometimes. They’re not important memories.” He dismisses, and Kurama exhales a quick, disbelieving huff as he takes a step closer.
“It tells me about myself.” Kurama tries; gentler. “And…” He goes out on a limb, here. “…it may not be important to you—” Hiei flinches, almost imperceptibly, and Kurama takes another step closer. They’re just an arm’s length apart, now. “—but every little grain of information means something to me. It’s more than I had, the minute before. I understand if it’s a difficult memory for you, especially when there’s so much that’s changed since that memory, but…” Kurama lifts a hand, thinking of setting it on Hiei’s shoulder again. He reconsiders, drawing it back when it’s only gotten halfway, and plasters on what he hopes is a brave smile. “It might jog something else.” He finishes wistfully.
The silent moments lengthen. Hiei still hasn’t looked back at him; head turned completely away, staring at the plants. Kurama can’t even guess what Hiei's face looks like, now. Kurama exhales softer; just a little puff of air with no force behind it.
“It’s all right.” Kurama tries; giving up. He’ll just have to fight his way out of this alone, then. Hiei’s clearly been affected far too much by his own emotions around this situation, even if he won’t confront them. And Kurama can’t do that for him. He heads back into the kitchen, to clean up from his solitary breakfast.
“Come over here.”
“What? Why? What happened? I thought you had it handled?”
“No, not that. He’s… asking more questions.”
“Well, I mean… that’s good, right? That’s Kurama.”
“No, it’s not—t’ch—look. He’s asking questions I can’t answer.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“…”
“C’mon, Hiei, don’t be like that. You called me, remember?”
“…they’re questions I don’t feel comfortable answering.”
“Ugh, you’re so stubborn. Fine. But what do you want me to do once I’m there?”
“Talk about… things. Old things. Old times. It might jog his memory.”
“And you can’t do that because… ?”
“…”
“You really need to work through some of your shit, man.”
“If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”
“Well you want my help, so maybe be nice about it for once.”
“…”
“I could just hang up this phone and pretend this call never happened, y’know.”
“…ch’. Just get over here. I need… space.”
“To chill on top of phone poles being a creeper, or actually sit with your feelings for once?”
“That’s none of your damn business!”
“Kinda is if you’re wanting me to babysit your amnesiatic husband, buddy.”
“…I hate you.”
“Yeah, love you too. So when are you wanting to arrange this little play-date? Should I bring Kuwabara?”
“…if he’s available.”
“Well, isn’t that uncharacteristically considerate of you.”
“Shut up.”
“So we’re done? Because if you tell someone to shut up on a phone call, that doesn’t leave a lot of options for continuing the phone call.”
Beep.
“Oh. Guess I was right. Hey, Keiko? We've gotta work out which day I can head over to Kurama and Hiei’s, for a visit—”
Chapter 6
Summary:
Hiei's not going to like this.
Notes:
yooo, sorry it's been so long(THREE POINT FIVE YEARS WHAAATT??? NO!) but inspiration for this story came back with a VENGEANCE, so i'll do my best. (wrote this all today, yeeeaaah!! \o/ )
hope you enjoy the new chapter! :3 reviews forever and always brighten my day <3
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Wednesday, July 16, 2025
“He said he needed… space.” Kurama intoned flatly, staring across his coffee table at Urameshi and Kuwabara. The former had a shit-eating grin on his face – covering discomfort, Kurama surmised – and the latter was slouched slightly forward, rubbing the back of his head with his palm, looking cowed.
“Uh, yeah. Look, it’s nothing personal – “ Urameshi started.
“Yeah! Hiei’s just like that.” Kuwabara confirmed.
“Like what?” Kurama probed.
“Anti-social.” Kuwabara supplied, with the most serious of all the faces. Urameshi rolled his eyes.
“Or some cousin of it. Listen,” Urameshi continued, changing tactics. “You’re our friend, too, and we’re more able to pull our weight here in the city. Less of a commute, yeah?”
Kurama gave them both a scathing smile.
“Nothing like the feeling of being babysat as a full-grown adult.” The boys cringed. Kurama continued, blithely. “But I suppose I see your point.”
“Yeah, and Koenma isn’t – fhfhgn!” Urameshi slapped a hand over Kuwabara’s mouth, and Kurama rose an eyebrow at that. Kuwabara broke out in a pale sweat, but Urameshi leaned into the con-man reaction: that is, breezing past it like it hadn’t even happened.
“Glad we agree. Now – You had questions?”
Oh, dear. Urameshi really stepped into that one. Kurama beamed benignly at them both, but there was a razor’s edge to it.
“Who is Koenma?”
Hiei stared up at the dark, dark Makai sky, contemplating the storming clouds overhead. Since Kurama… leaving them, Hiei hadn’t been back, the past few months. Mukuro had been at the tournament, of course. She always entered, mostly to get some good fighting in. Hiei thought she secretly just wanted to go up against Yuusuke herself; or even Yomi. That would certainly be something to see.
Mukuro had never really lusted after power, anyway. She just forged her own path and demons followed her, because they agreed with it. They’d been the ones to lift her up. Mukuro just went along with it. At least, until Hiei accepted her invitation.
But that was all years in the past, now, and Mukuro hadn’t made it to the finals of the tournament, either. She wasn’t a team player, and the rules had changed. Some of Raizen’s old buddies had ganged up and knocked her out of the ring, was what Hiei remembered hearing. Kurama had been sleeping then, but in the company of Kuwabara, so Hiei had left him to it. Yuusuke had been the one to join Hiei in seeking out the results.
It hadn’t felt real, then; Kurama’s impairment. Hiei’d thought it would be gone in a few days, so he’d kept his distance; waiting for Kurama to heal. To resume his place, from where they’d left off.
When Kurama hadn’t immediately bounced back to himself, it had been a hard blow. It still was, if Hiei was honest with himself. The timing had worked out, with Genkai out traveling when they’d dropped out of the tournament’s brackets. She’d been officiating a round of martial arts competitions in another country, somewhere. Hiei hadn’t kept track. He didn’t know if her presence during Kurama’s initial recuperation would have helped anything, but it just hadn’t been an option.
She was back now, and he knew Yukina was glad of the company, especially since his and… not-Kurama’s weekend visits had been put on hold, for the foreseeable future. It was unavoidable, given how sensitive and strung-out not-Kurama had been, after just the one trip. Even the sunglasses hadn’t seemed to help; if they did anything at all.
Kurama wearing sunglasses, looking at him with those too-earnest eyes, turning or glancing to Hiei automatically, like his body just oriented towards him.
It hurt. It hurt in all the ways This Kurama wasn’t. Just familiar enough to make it hurt more.
Hiei rolled over on the branch, and stubbornly closed his eyes; trying for a nap. He might as well get one in, for the afternoon. Yuusuke and Kuwabara had it covered.
Yuusuke and Kuwabara were shaking their heads; stunned. Take Kurama to Reikai? Was he serious? Koenma was the one keeping tabs on them all. He was the one that’d warned them that an unpredictable, S-class Youko in Ningenkai was a security risk. Not Kurama as himself, no; but a Kurama without his full working memory, or control of his abilities? He was a risk to everyone around him.
At least, in Reikai’s view: more specifically, the non-Koenma-aligned part of Reikai, which was still a sizeable amount. A lot of those people had worked under Enma for a long time, and some had been instilled with his values. Namely: demons were third-class citizens, and dangerous. Humans were first-class, Reikai people second. These were the same people who wanted to put the barrier back in place; people who just lived in the past, who wanted to remain one peg up the ladder so they could still shit on those beneath. They were the people who didn’t want demon rights under Reikai law to be reassessed. They were the people who wanted it to go back to the way it’d always been.
Yuusuke hated those people. It was all bullshit. Kurama was as smart, more often smarter, than anybody he’d ever met. Hiei was the most tenacious bastard in the Three Worlds; maybe only next to Jin. And they, and other demons like them, deserved a hell of a lot more than contempt from Reikai traditionalists who liked to preach how upstanding the Reikai was; in promoting ‘order’. These people said this, all while happily ignoring the very real category of human-on-demon crime, which was enabled and exacerbated by the old system.
Yuuuske hated backwards-ass politics like this. He stayed far away from it whenever possible, but when it came to his friends, he would always stand with them. Even if it was against Koenma. He knew Koenma was just trying to ensure Kurama’s continued freedom, in his own way. It wasn’t Koenma’s fault the crazy-ass part of Reikai would raise a mighty stink over amnesiac Kurama being allowed free reign in Ningenkai. Koenma was just trying to cover their asses, keep it on the downlow, and it was good luck that nobody from that side of Reikai had heard about Kurama’s condition, yet. It gave them time to deal with it. Time for Kurama to get his memory back, and render it all moot.
But that hadn’t happened yet. And what Kurama was proposing was –
“Is that a problem?” Kurama asked, cutting their joint stunned silence short. Yuusuke blinked at him.
“Well…” Yuusuke rubbed at the back of his neck, gazing around at the apartment. They’d all hoped Kurama’d get his memory back by being home, and from Hiei’s assessment it seemed like something was stirring in that brain of Kurama’s, but… It wasn’t fast enough. He shook his head. “Run that by me again?”
Kurama sighed.
“If Koenma is the head of Reikai, as you say… won’t he possess healing powers of his own? Wouldn’t it be worth a try?”
Yuusuke frowned, glancing back at Kurama.
“Koenma doesn’t really heal people… He brings them back from the dead.” Amanuma, too. And that revival had been during the Most Extenuating of circumstances. There wasn't centuries of energy-buildup in the Mafuukan anymore, now, anyway.
“Botan does, though!” Kuwabara piped up beside him, and both Yuusuke and Kurama stared at him. Kuwabara huffed, crossing his arms. “Well she does. Did you forget she used to be your ‘assistant’, hey?” Kuwabara nudged Yuusuke with his elbow, and Yuusuke shoved him off. Ignoring the ensuing squawk from Kuwabara, Yuusuke turned back to Kurama.
“Reikai healing would be different than Yukina-san’s?” Kurama put to him.
Yuusuke thought about that for a second.
“Well… I guess it could be…” They’d just never thought to try it out, before. Maybe Kuwabara had a point. Yuusuke slumped back into the couch, lolling his head on the backrest and staring up at the ceiling; thinking. “Guess we could ask. Worst she’d say is no, right?” He hazarded over to Kuwabara, who laughed.
“She’d say yes! She’d want Kurama better, too!”
Yuusuke nodded along with that. Yeah, that made sense… Why hadn’t they thought of Botan earlier? Too much going on? Wanted to let Yukina try? Wanted to find other solutions first? Although Yukina had said Kurama’s brain seemed physically fine, so…
There was a near-silent ‘pop’ of displaced air, and Yuusuke and Kuwabara looked to their right – Kurama across from them, to his left – in tandem.
There stood Koenma, squinting down at them from his taller adult-shaped form, arms crossed.
“Plotting to use Reikai agents for your own nefarious agendas, are we?” He accused dubiously, and Yuusuke grinned back up at him, giving a lazy wave of greeting.
“Yo, Pacifier-Breath.” Yuusuke pointed at Koenma, fixing his gaze on Kurama now. “This is Koenma. Don’t be fooled by the ‘cool’ look. He’s usually pint-size and wearing diapers.”
Koenma steamed up immediately, barking at him. So, the usual.
“That’s beside the point, Yuusuke!”
“Still needs changing after millennia, how’s that for slow goings?” Yuusuke continued on in the same tone; relentlessly teasing.
Koenma gave up with a melodramatic sigh of acute suffering, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. Soon after, he shot Kurama a quiet look; assessing, thoughtful.
“You’re no closer to a breakthrough? Even being – ” Koenma waved a hand, indicating the apartment. “ – back here?”
“No.” Kurama gazed up at him, steadily. “I don’t know if you or this ‘Botan-san’ have the power to heal this, but…”
“She could try, but I’m not sure it would have an effect… And then there’s the situation.” Koenma muttered under his breath, hiding his mouth behind a worried hand; gaze trailing off to the side. Yuusuke immediately picked up on it, sitting up in concern.
“Hey, is Botan OK?”
Koenma waved him off.
“It’s a… traditional time of sequestering, for her. Every ferrier goes through it, every few hundred years. A chance to reacquaint one’s self with Reikai teachings, a time of rest for all their hard work…”
“Sounds just like a shitty vacation plan, to me.” Yuusuke deadpanned.
Koenma rolled his eyes.
“This practice out-dates the more recently developed human concepts of ‘work’ and ‘leisure time’, I’ll have you know.”
“So what. If it’s shit, just call it shit.”
Koenma puffed up at him again, and Kurama speedily interjected; sensing this was a common occurrence.
“If not Botan-san, then yourself perhaps – ?” There was hope in his voice. Koenma sighed, crossing his arms over his front again. He looked to be thinking hard.
“I could try… but not here.” Koenma extended his right hand to Kurama. “We’ll have more facilities if we leave.” Kurama hesitated to get up, and Yuusuke raised his eyebrows, then looked over to Kuwabara.
“Hey, you free today? It might go better if a full-fledged human goes along. Y’know.” Yuusuke crooked a self-deprecating smile, thumbing at himself. “Instead of me. Raizen’s Big Bad Demonic Abomination of a Kid. Plus I promised Keiko I’d put the tots down tonight.”
Kuwabara glared at him, but just sighed, slapped his hands on his thighs and got up anyway.
“Well we can’t let Kurama go alone...” Kuwabara realized something then, and gloated down at Yuusuke. “And ‘sides, that means you get to deal with Hiei when he comes back.”
Yuusuke winced, flopping back onto the couch, arms spread atop the back of it.
“Shit. Trade?” Yuusuke wheedled, going for the puppy eyes. Kuwabara laughed in his face, already going around the coffee table to usher Kurama up. They headed for Koenma.
“No way, dude. You promised Keiko, remember? Your idea, you die by it.”
Yuusuke groaned, and Kurama shook his head, appearing slightly amused by it all. He cast a glance back at Yuusuke though, brow knitting slightly; not taking Koenma’s hand quite yet. Kuwabara had already grabbed onto Koenma’s free, left hand for the transfer.
“About Hiei… Tell him, I’ll be back?” The guilt over worrying Hiei showed clearly on Kurama’s face, and Yuusuke had to smile at that. Some things never changed, after all. Kurama didn’t even know how hard Hiei had fought to keep him from being imprisoned in Genkai’s temple, or picked up by Reikai’s goons. And here Kurama was, going to Reikai by his own volition.
Hiei was going to be pissed. But hey, Yuusuke figured, the guy had said he needed a break. And if Kurama came back cured, all memories intact, would that really be a bad thing?
No, Yuusuke thought. No, it wouldn’t. Even if Hiei had been playing the Overprotective card – at least, when it came to Kurama – a bit much, lately. And anyway, Koenma was on their side. He’d shown that more than enough times in the past, for Yuusuke to trust him with this. Koenma wouldn’t let Kurama be thrown in Reikai prison. And Kuwabara would back him up: as a human, his opinion held more weight in the convoluted clusterfuck of Reikai politics.
“I’ll tell ‘im.” Yuusuke shot them a half-assed salute. “Nice knowin’ ya.”
Kuwabara smirked at him, Kurama shook his head. Then Kurama took Koenma’s right hand, and… they were gone.
After a few seconds, Yuusuke started to wonder how best to tell Hiei.
Chapter 7
Summary:
Devotion has many faces.
Notes:
yesss, on a roll! \o/
/i don't know how long this inspiration will last, but let's all enjoy it while it does bwahaha
wrote this tonight, fresh off the presses, please excuse any typos/uncaught errors! :3
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: Sunday, July 20, 2025
After the first Makai Tournament, Hiei still finds himself tracing old paths in Ningenkai. He zigzags up the balconies on Kurama’s apartment building; it’s well after dark, so no one should see him. It’s been years since the mission that changed how he and Kurama saw each other; just slightly.
A little more change, every day since. Hiei doesn’t know what to call it. It makes him nervous and excited; like the feeling he gets before a promising fight.
The sliding door and interior curtains cloaking the view of Kurama’s lit living room from the balcony, and beyond, are pushed aside. The movement reveals Kurama reading at the matted floor-setup there, one elbow on the low table stationed in the middle of it. He lowers his book and looks over, a smile already brightening his face. Hiei turns away from it to bend down, unlace his boots and leave them outside. Then Hiei shuts the door, facing the room again. Kurama hasn’t moved, just watching him with something unnamably soft in his eyes.
Hiei doesn’t look directly at him, just pulls off his cloak as he walks and leaves it dragging on the floor. The sword gets placed with more care, just outside the matted area, as he sits next to Kurama and peers over at the human squiggles on the book.
“What is it this time.”
Kurama quirks a grin at him, slinging his left arm around Hiei’s shoulders to gather him close, and nose into his hair. Hiei, awkward but not enough to shove Kurama away, lets him. Hiei’s still staring at the book in Kurama’s right hand.
“Just some light reading. Not more important than you.” Kurama intimates this in his ear, and Hiei tilts his head, shifting his gaze up towards Kurama’s face, instead. Hiei can’t see it, of course: Kurama’s still busy smothering himself in Hiei’s hair.
“That’s stupid. I wasn’t even here.”
“Ah, but now you are, and that makes all the difference.” Kurama chuckles into him, closing the book decisively and flinging it off to land a little distance away; under the table. His other arm, now freed, comes around Hiei’s front to trap him from that angle.
Hiei feels disquiet creep in. He doesn’t like feeling confined.
Kurama seems to read the tension gathering in his shoulders and immediately pulls back. Hiei catches the barest hint of the mask rising to cover something, as Kurama smiles at him ruefully.
“Mm… Sorry. Sometimes I forget myself.”
Hiei stares up at him, scrutinizing. Kurama bears it patiently, still visibly brightened as compared to before he’d spotted Hiei on his balcony.
“You forget you’re not Youko?” Hiei asks, the question ruthless but his tone is not.
Kurama stills, and Hiei watches as that mask hitches a bit higher; secured a bit firmer over Kurama’s features. The sign of caution.
“I suppose.” Kurama answers carefully, his eyes shaded with analytical thoughts; wondering why Hiei’s chosen to ask this now.
Hiei doesn’t give him anything to go on. He doesn’t think about it.
Instead, Hiei lifts both his hands to firmly hold Kurama’s face; thumbs in front of Kurama’s ears, smushing the ever-wayward pair of red locks that like to dangle there.
Kurama pinkens slightly, lips parting, staring down at Hiei with palpable curiosity. Hiei can almost taste it in the air.
“What are you—”
“What would Youko do, with this.” Hiei puts to him, ignoring Kurama’s half-question.
Brow furrowing, Kurama stares down at him. He still hasn’t lifted his hands to try to pry Hiei’s off his face. It’s telling, Hiei thinks; it means something.
“Why are you asking me this.” Kurama attempts to deflect, lightly, and Hiei’s eyes narrow.
Predictably, Kurama’s narrow in response; but not for the same reason as Hiei’s, undoubtedly. Hiei doesn’t like Kurama evading the question. Kurama, probably, doesn’t like this line of questioning and so is seeking to weasel his way out of it, with misdirection.
“What would Youko do, if someone did this to him.” Hiei repeats in more detail; stubborn.
Kurama eyes him warily, and his fingertips touch the black fabric stretched taut over Hiei’s knees, where Hiei’s sitting cross-legged and facing Kurama. Kurama is kneeling; different but the same. He’s always a little taller. Hiei holding his face forces him to bend over slightly. It can’t be comfortable.
“Depends who did it.” Kurama half-answers, eyelids drooping a bit. He concedes to the questioning by leaning down towards Hiei so Kurama’s neck isn’t craned quite so unnaturally. He rests his palms – and weight – on Hiei’s clothed knees, more fully, now.
Hiei stares up at him, unyieldingly. Waiting for Kurama to elaborate. When he doesn’t, only waits, Hiei gets impatient. He gives Kurama a slight scowl of warning, for his uncooperativeness.
“Who would do it.” Hiei counters, continuing.
Kurama quirks a little smile at him, shifting his weight onto his hands, on Hiei’s knees, a bit. Hiei thinks it’s probably a comfort thing, with how far Kurama’s leaned over so he can still gaze at Hiei.
“Assassins.” Kurama says softly, like the word’s more than it is. “Admirers. Lovers.” Hiei scoffs, at those last two. He can guess: the assassin would die, the lover would not. But –
“What would Youko do to the admirers.” Hiei asks, starting to wonder what he’s really asking. It sounds like more when he says it, somehow.
Kurama laughs under his breath at him, but it’s gently fond and not mocking.
Is Kurama closer than a moment ago? Hiei tries to assess, but Kurama’s face is taking up all his attention. It definitely seems clos—
Oh. A kiss.
It’s not Hiei’s first, but it is rather light and pleasant. As kisses go. Dry. Uncomplicated.
A gift?
Kurama pulls away, and Hiei has to say it.
“You kiss your admirers, but not your lovers?”
Kurama blinks sharply at him, then bursts out laughing. Surprised, Hiei lets him go, grip popping off of Kurama’s face. In return, Kurama grabs him, crushes him into a hug. He’s giggling into Hiei’s hair, snuffling softly and Hiei thinks he’s trying to suffocate himself again.
“You asked what Youko would do, Hiei.” Kurama reminds at last, voice still warm with amusement. “And Youko would, well… he would encourage the admirers. In case they were lover material.”
Hiei frowns, at that. He’s not sure he likes how that sounds.
There’s a smirk in Kurama’s voice, as if sensing the line of Hiei’s thinking; even without seeing Hiei’s face.
“You’re none of those, Hiei. You’re more than them all.” And Kurama squeezes him, as if for emphasis.
Hiei reflects on this. After a moment, he cranes his neck back, studying Kurama’s face.
“Did the admirers get more than one kiss?”
Kurama shoots him a flat look, but his green eyes are almost shining beneath it.
“Depending how I answer, will you be mollified and stay, or be offended and leave?”
Hiei’s brows descend in annoyance; more evasion.
“Can’t you just answer the damn question?”
Kurama grins at him. Hiei is instantly suspicious. Kurama begins to lean in, again.
“Are you requesting one?”
Hiei bares his teeth at him; they’re demon-sharp.
“Don’t play games, Kurama.”
Kurama hums at that, and withdraws from his tease. He lifts a finger to trace Hiei’s temple, up to the line of the bandana, and then slowly follows the edge of the cloth across Hiei’s forehead. Hiei watches him the whole time, and Kurama watches his own hand traverse from one side of Hiei’s face to the other.
Finally, Hiei lifts a hand to grab Kurama’s wrist, and pull it away from his face.
“Kurama.”
“I’m not Youko anymore.” Kurama says abruptly, like he was already preparing himself to. So Hiei waits. Kurama’s eyes are quiet, and earnest, and almost—afraid? “So if it’s Youko you want, I’m… not the same. Ningenkai changed me, Hiei. I don’t kiss my admirers anymore; they’re all too young. It doesn’t feel right. Even if they think I’m one of them…”
“When did I say I wanted Youko.”
Kurama visibly startles out of his run-on thoughts, and stares down at Hiei in naked shock.
“What? But you—”
“I was asking what Youko did.” Hiei clarifies, watching him closely. “What did you think.”
“So then you don’t—”
“Kurama.” Hiei says, starting to feel exasperated. “I want to kiss you. I don’t want to be an admirer, and I don’t want to be one of those lovers I’ve heard rumors about. And I’m not going to assassinate you. So can you make a new category?”
Seeming shell-shocked, Kurama stares for a long time before he blinks; very slowly.
“A… new one?”
Hiei rolls his eyes. He lifts his free hand, and grabs one of Kurama’s forelocks; wrapping it around his hand, for a good grip. He yanks, lightly: just enough for Kurama to make a small noise of surprise and to get him closer. For fuck’s sake.
“Make a new one.” Hiei affirms, feeling his breath reflected back to him; off Kurama’s face. “One for us. So we get to define it.”
“All right—” Kurama breathes against Hiei’s mouth, as Hiei kisses him.
This stupid, ridiculous fox. Always over-thinking shit.
“Kurama is where?” Hiei bellowed from close-range, hand fisted in Yuusuke’s collar. First that dream during his nap, Hiei rushing back to check on Kurama and now this? Yuusuke was laughing, trying to pry him off. But Hiei was having none of it.
“R-Reikai.” Yuusuke wheezed, catching a breath just as Hiei tightened his grip. “I-It’ll be fine! Kuwabara’s with ‘im! Koenma’s gonna try somethin’! So just cool your jets and paws off! We’ll go bust down the gate if anything goes sideways.”
Gritting his teeth, Hiei tossed Yuusuke off to the side, and started to pace. Yuusuke sat up, rubbing his throat and watching him. Another thought occurred.
“Hey.”
Hiei didn’t stop pacing. Yuusuke rolled his eyes, but tried again.
“Hey. Sour-Face.”
Hiei glared at him, stopping short.
“What.”
“You wanna go throw down?” Yuusuke offered, slanting a grin at him. “Looks like you could blow off some steam.”
Hiei eyeballed him, but his shoulders began to relax.
“Beating your face in for your bad judgment would be satisfying right now.” Hiei sneered, challenging, and Yusuke shot him a sharpened, engaged look back.
“In your dreams, Big Guy. C’mon.” Yuusuke pried himself off the floor, and smacked the top of Hiei’s shoulder on his way to the genkan. “I know a place.”
Reikai was strange, Kurama decided. It seemed more chaos than order, with behorned beings running all over, stacks of paper, endless file cabinets and… cubicles.
And yet, it seemed appropriate that hell would resemble the inner workings of an office building. Kurama didn’t know why he thought that, it just… made sense. So he left it alone.
Following Koenma, Kuwabara walking beside him, Kurama noticed they gained more than a few stares. He wondered if his past self had frequented this place enough that he’d be recognized, or—
“K-Kurama-san!”
Kurama glanced over his shoulder, pausing. A blue female ogre with a thick swimsuit-like cloth covering her stood just to the side of the path they’d taken, clutching a stack of papers to her chest. Upon seeing she’d gotten his attention, she blushed and blurted:
“T-Thank you! For! For taking down the former Chief and his terrorists—!”
What? I did… The Chief—? Who? What?!
Kuwabara’s hand slapped down on Kurama’s shoulder and soon he’s leaning over it and grinning, nodding happily; his fingers pressing into Kurama protectively.
“Oh, sure sure! Just doin' what’s right, you know! Happy to help! But we gotta get a move on, gotta go—”
And just like that, Kuwabara shoved Kurama in front of him, and they continued on; Koenma shaking his head and muttering something to himself. They upped the pace to Koenma’s office, after that encounter. Kurama was wise enough not to utter a word about it until the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, and then he whirled on Kuwabara. Koenma headed for what was presumably his large desk, on the other end of the room.
“Reikai terrorists?” They had those here?
Kuwabara rubbed back of his head, looking uncomfortable; averting his gaze.
“Uh… yeah. There was a bit of a… thing. Don’t worry about it. It was a while ago. Just some grateful bystander, y’know how it is.”
Kurama shook his head. His past self certainly had been busy. Koenma was shuffling through the drawers in his desk, and Kurama took note; slowly approaching.
“So… the healing…”
Koenma made a frustrated noise—ignoring him—ducking under the chair, looking all around.
“I know it was here somewhere… ah!” The sound of a hidden button depressing, and then the left side of the room opened into a pink velvet-lined personal massage suite, complete with lace-lined table, candles and—were those body oils in jars, on that table in the corner? Kurama stared at the room, then stared back at Koenma. He wasn't sure how to feel about this…
“This is… ?”
Koenma straightened, crossing his arms over his front; looking defensive.
“The job is stressful! Don’t judge!”
“Mm, let’s see here… “ Kuwabara, meanwhile, had gotten hold of some remote and had merrily been pressing the buttons like he knew what they did. Kurama glanced over when he noticed movement; a—screen? Popping out from the wall? And then there was grey static on the screen, accompanied by loud matching audio, which Kuwabara immediately muted. Said screen flickered as Kuwabara messed with the channels, but then—images? Fuzzy, then clearer. “Ha, hah! I got it. Oh, looks like Yuusuke and Hiei are havin’ it out…”
Kurama stared at the video screen which showed—impossibly—Yuusuke and Hiei doing just that. Fighting each other, a few smudges of dirt and blood here and there. But they were both grinning. Yuusuke was wearing the clothes they’d just left him in. Was this… live? Had they really been gone that long? Or had Hiei come back early?
“Man, makes me think of the tournament matches…” Kuwabara said, tapping the remote on the side of his neck as he watched the soundless fight, and sounding wistful. Kurama turned his head to look at him, now paying no mind to the movement on the screen.
“The… older tournaments?”
“Yeah!” Kuwabara said cheerfully, meeting Kurama’s gaze with a crooked smile. “They sucked, don’t get me wrong, but it was entertainment for a lot of demons. And I can sorta see why, now that it’s not my ass gettin’ kicked.” Kuwabara chuckled. “But that first one… wooo. To-the-death and everything. Been a while since I seen it all.”
Kurama’s mind ground to a halt, and then picked up furiously; his eyes widening.
“’Seen it all’?”
“Yeah.” Kuwabara said, blinking at the abrupt change in Kurama’s voice. “…They were all taped. Koenma taped everything. Even the early cases.”
“The… early cases? Were these… before the first tournament?”
Kuwabara nodded.
“Yeah. I think he even has the ones where Yuusuke met you and Hiei—”
Kurama was gone, striding purposefully over to Koenma and grabbing his upper arm; unthinking as his brain piled everything together. Koenma winced at the grip, then looked over at Kurama; confused.
“What? I thought you wanted—” Koenma thumbed over his shoulder, at the massage chamber, but Kurama had suddenly something much more important to do here.
“You have tapes of everything? All that happened? From when Yuusuke—” Kurama didn’t know the context, but he knew something was there: just out of reach.
“—when Yuusuke first became a Spirit Detective?” Koenma finished for Kurama, his own eyes widening in realization.
“… Shit.” Kuwabara said; joining them in the revelation.
Kurama felt the roar of hunger for knowledge, stymied all this time, make his expression somewhat feral. He grabbed Koenma’s other arm. Finally! Finally, a ray of light into the darkness of the past he can’t remember. And if watching it all again does help him remember—
“Please, Koenma-san: I need to see those tapes. All of them.”
Chapter 8
Summary:
Kurama makes a choice for himself.
Notes:
djfkghd yesss i did it, still soldiering on over here! enjoy everybody <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Original Post Date: August 3, 2025
Hiei thrust his sword at Yuusuke, seeking a hit. Yuusuke dodged easily, swinging back around with his fist and knocking the blade out of Hiei’s hands. The next one connected, sending a blinding, satisfying thud of pain through Hiei’s cheek as he’s flung across the uninhabited stretch of beach they’d chosen.
Hiei flipped mid-flight, boots dragging furrows in the sand as it absorbed his momentum. He rubbed a bit of blood – cut cheek, a scratch, hardly relevant – away from the grin sprouting on his face. It’d been a long time since Yuusuke last punched him. Hiei’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
Lunging forward, Hiei sought to return the favor. The resulting buzz of stubble against his knuckles – close, but not close enough – burned mildly as Yuusuke blocked him and forced Hiei’s fist away.
Hiei’d forgotten. When Kurama was… himself, they sparred regularly. Now it’d been what – half a year? Hiei hadn’t realized he’d needed this. Trust stupid Yuusuke to solve the problem. Even now, years into what Hiei eventually had to grudgingly admit was a friendship, of sorts, Yuusuke could still surprise him.
It was nice to know some things hadn’t changed.
What was even nicer, was getting a good hit in. But Yuusuke was making him work for it, today. Bastard.
Another section of wall in Koenma’s office opened up; this one led to a long hallway.
“The Reikai Archives.” Koenma tossed at Kurama and Kuwabara over his shoulder; probably for Kurama’s benefit. The metal shelves went all the way to the ceiling, packed full of locked cabinets. Kurama craned his neck back as they walked, but was unable to actually see the ceiling he had initially assumed existed. It was a supernatural world, of course: perhaps logic only went so far.
Something in Kurama itched; an impulse hard-to-place, in the back of his mind.
Secrets. And all his for the taking, if he wished it.
The thought was unexpected and somewhat foreign: what? Koenma was helping him. It would be in poor taste to truss up the man—toddler?—knock Kuwabara out, and comb through this information for blackmail material. Why, even just a glimmer of the right information could—
Kurama took himself in hand with a firm upwelling of self-control, shaking his head at his own thoughts. They’re… a little criminal. A little terrifying. Or was that just part of his past-self, too? Hiei had said he had been – still was? – a Youko, after all.
It was something to mull over, as Koenma led them further back; a left, another left, then a right and around a concentric dias that popped up out of seemingly nowhere.
‘Reikai Tantei Classified Files’ was written on a placard above the otherwise-nondescript metal door to which Koenma had led them. Standing before it, he removed his pacifier and set it into a depressed sphere, which emitted a lock-like ‘click’ before swinging open to allow them entry.
This room had a lower ceiling than the cavernous filing system they’d left behind, and a small sitting area with table and couch. There was a TV with VCR hooked up on the far end, with the walls to the left and right filled with tapes. On the same wall as the TV, there was another door and a small refrigerator.
Kurama looked around, hope rising fast enough to choke him. Answers. This room meant answers. He looked back at Koenma and Kuwabara, lingering by the door. Upon seeing his attention’d shifted, Koenma tucked his hands behind his back and sighed; eyes closing.
“I take it, you understand. I’m far too busy to… monitor your observation.” Koenma’s eyes flicked to the tapes; Kurama nodded his agreement. There was far too much footage to get through, yes. Their eyes moved to Kuwabara, who was scratching his cheek and looking guilty.
“I, uh… I mean. Same goes for me. This’ll take more than an evening, an’ that’s all I got.”
Alone? Kurama could be alone?
He tamped down on the urge to show his elation at this possibility. To not be babysat? To not have to worry over Hiei’s and his complex… situation? To just be given a chance to sit with his own past, see his own self in silence and…
The hope faltered. Again: Hiei. Hiei, who Urameshi and Kuwabara had agreed wouldn’t want Kurama to go to Reikai alone. Hiei, who’d stuck to Kurama’s side like lichen. Hiei, who… couldn’t bear to be parted from Kurama, lest something happen to him?
It struck him then. Hiei’d been trying to protect him; not for Kurama’s sake, not entirely. But it’d really been for Hiei’s sake: for Hiei, since his once amply-prepared partner was now defenseless. Hiei’d been insulating Kurama from whatever he could. And that served its own purpose, in a way. But in another way, Hiei’d been trying to keep Kurama in a box. Only remember what’d be useful; only remember the good things.
Like that fight Hiei wouldn’t tell him about.
Here was a chance to see an objective view of their relationship. Without Hiei here to soften the blows. Without Hiei here to watch Kurama as he watches himself, and suffer for all the minute differences Kurama would be unable to notice; but Hiei could. Kurama felt his intuition was strong, concerning this.
“…Kurama?” Kuwabara’s voice brought him back. Kurama looked at him. Kuwabara’s face was still visibly drawn taut with worry. “We do have a way to communicate with Hiei, if you...” At this, Koenma pulled out what looked like an old, scuffed-but-still-pink women’s makeup compact. But Kurama will take it at hidden value, if these two say it was a communication device. He shook his head.
“No. I think… I need this time.” Another thought; Kurama blurted it at Koenma. “Do you have paper, and a pen?”
Kurama owed Hiei at least that much, for all he’d done these past several months.
The guilt-assuaging letter to Hiei is penned, and Koenma and Kuwabara are sent on their way. Kurama allowed himself to be locked in this room that only Koenma can open, with the tapes that are the keys to his past. Koenma told him, the refrigerator refilled the items within whenever it was closed, so Kurama will have food and water. And the other door in the room, led to a small, well-stocked bathroom for hygiene necessities.
It was perfect, really: a voluntary jail cell. Considering Kurama’s been imprisoned by the limits of his own ailing mind for all this time, he thinks the comparison is apt. At least this jail cell has an end date: once he’s finished watching. And Koenma will check on him every day. It was safe, because Koenma’s the only one who can open the room. Something about clearances and top-secret information.
Maybe that information has something to do with what Urameshi mentioned, earlier; about how he was someone’s child? Some sort of ‘demonic abomination’? Urameshi didn’t look like a demon. But then, neither did Hiei; unless that Third Eye was showing. And maybe something about Kuwabara being the one to come with Kurama, on this trip to Reikai…
Putting the intrigue to the back of his mind, Kurama centered himself and pushed the first tape into the VCR. It accepted the cassette, and he settled back on the small couch with the remote.
After a breath to steady his nerves, Kurama pressed ‘play’.
Kuwabara popped into existence off to the side of Yuusuke and Hiei’s scuffle; Hiei immediately noticed. He saw red, and flitted over to haul Kuwabara down by his collar, eyes blazing.
“You fuckin’ – ”
“I didn’t abandon him.” Kuwabara growled at him, trying to wrestle Hiei’s hands out of his shirt; without ripping it. There was a half-crumpled envelope in his hand. “He wanted to. Gonna stay and watch Koenma’s tapes of us. He wrote you a letter so can you not kill me just for deliverin’ it?!”
Hiei snatched the envelope and backed away a few paces, clutching it by his side; tense. His eyes were still slitted in anger.
“You went back on your word.”
“Kurama wanted to – "
“That’s not Kurama.” Hiei immediately refuted. By now, Yuusuke had jogged up and pulled off his shirt, to start wiping the sweat off his face. Yuusuke paused and raised his eyebrows, eyes darting between the two.
Kuwabara looked aggravated. He pointed down at Hiei’s scathing, disgusted, betrayed expression.
“Look, I know you’re goin’ through it, half-pint, but he is Kurama. I know he’s not the guy we’ve known, but he’s still in there. An’ jus’ ‘cause he’s different now doesn’t mean he’s not my friend. Or Urameshi’s friend. Or yours. So can you cut the crap? He wanted to stay. He wanted to watch those tapes, in case you di’n’t hear me the firs’time. So I decided to be his fucking friend and listen to what he wanted to do.”
Hiei punched him. It was so fast, it barely seemed like he’d moved. The only reaction was Yuusuke lunging forward to try to stop him, and Kuwabara staggering back a few steps from the blow. Shock and anger warred on Kuwabara’s face as he cupped his bruised jaw.
“Ass. Don’t know why I bother tryin’ t’talk to you.” Kuwabara said, turned, and left.
Hiei immediately rounded on Yuusuke, who looked momentarily unimpressed before he went back to mopping up sweat.
“You planned this.” Hiei seethed.
“I don’t plan shit.” Yuusuke retorted with the truth; flippant. He kept his visual attention off Hiei in a clear dismissal. Hiei started to stalk towards him aggressively, and it was only then that Yuusuke stopped him with a Look. “You gonn’ punch me too? You on an asshole streak t’day? Di’n’t get enough during the spar?”
Hiei visibly ground his back teeth, not seeming as confident when he knew Yuusuke would just punch him back. The minor cuts and bruises from their fight throbbed for his attention. Instead, Hiei jerked his gaze away.
The silence vibrated. Yuusuke finished, and pulled his soiled shirt back on over his head. Straightening it with a tug at the bottom, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and just… looked at his friend, for a minute.
It prickled at Hiei’s nerves, and his expression darkened, but he didn’t do anything.
Yuusuke sighed.
“It’s shitty.” Yuusuke started, then shook his head. “It sucks. You’ve been dealt the worst fuckin’ hand, Hiei. Losin’ him like that—” He snapped his fingers. “—sucks. But he’s still here.”
“He’s not—”
“You said it yourself. He’s the ‘closest fucking thing’, right?”
Hiei flinched.
“He told you about that?”
“Friends tell each other shit.”
“He’s not our—!”
“Maybe he’s not your friend ‘cause you been refusing to treat him that way. Friends talk to each other. They help each other. They’re there for each other. So he’s still mine. He’s still Kurama. And y’know, if he needs a break from you hovering over him like he’s incapable, I say listen to him. He said he’d be back. Kurama keeps his word, doesn’t he?”
“…he’s not Kurama…” Hiei repeated, in a lower voice, still not meeting Yuusuke’s eyes. Yuusuke sighed; again.
“Yeah. He’s not your Kurama. He’s not the person we’ve known. We all hear you. Can you hear us, for a quick second?”
Silence. A grudging nod. Yuusuke nodded back, even if Hiei couldn’t see him.
“All I’m saying, is this: you and Kurama didn’t spend 24/7 together even when he was himself, yeah? Did you ever think, for one minute, that maybe you sticking so close without talking to him about shit, was getting in his way?”
The air sobered, growing solemn; Yuusuke tried to fend off the downward-spiral. He could see it in the defeated slump of Hiei’s shoulders, and the way Hiei’s aura seemed to curl into itself.
“Not blamin’ you, man. It’s been hard for everybody. And I know you got hardest hit. But takin' some space… isn’t that just like Kurama? And if your way hasn’t worked, all this time, isn’t it maybe time to try his way? Have a little faith? He even wrote you that letter, so ‘s not like he didn’t think about you. So maybe think about him, and what he’d want. Have you given him anything he’s wanted, or just tried to tell him how to solve it your way?”
The silence was incriminating, now. All the antagonism had gone out of Hiei’s aura. So Yuusuke walked over to him, and squeezed the top of Hiei's left shoulder, with his left hand.
“He’ll be back, remember? He promised. And I think there’s enough Kurama in him to hold that. We just gotta wait for the rest. Let him find it on his own. He’ll be back. You got that?”
Hiei nodded, but still didn’t look at him. Yuusuke squeezed him a little harder, then let go and stepped back a pace.
“You good?”
Hiei grumbled something under his breath, so Yuusuke waited. Eventually—
“No.”
Yuusuke huffed a laugh, to that. He hooked an arm around Hiei’s neck and started to drag him off in the direction Kuwabara had gone.
“First honest thing you’ve said in months. Let’s go get Kuwabara, some showers, and take-out at my place. I'll put the tater tots down for bed and you can make it up to Kuwabara by payin'. Keiko won't mind.” Yuusuke paused, recalling something as he squinted up at the sky. "...She may have seen this comin', actually. Damn, wives are scary."
“But I don’t have—”
“Dude, that excuse died when Kurama got you that goddamn bank account. You’re. Buying.”
“…Fine.”
Notes:
/it's such a head trip writing Yuusuke with ~*~husband/father responsibilities~*~ asjdsfldhsklfgh x.x lmao
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