Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Into the Gray	By : Dementian Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male > Kurama/Kuwabara Views: 2206 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho and make zero money off of it.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
   The weather grew steadily colder as October leaned on the edge of November. With it, a strange snowy gale began to rap at the windows and doors of Sariashiki. Kurama had never known such a snow, blindingly white during bright days and laying like pearls upon the street during moonlit nights. There was no blemish upon the skin of the world, no blade of grass out of place. He supposed that it was love he felt, that the world was just as bizarre and ugly as before but now he had someone to hold at night and so it became bearable. The world ‘bearable’ did not suffice, though. Nothing truly covered his emotion, in any vocabulary he had ever mastered. All he knew was calm, contentment covering him like a well-worn comforter. The sky was blanketed as well, soothing and gray, rocking him away into a world without color as gloves and scarves became a necessity.
   Kurama’s new house was so big, and even with his possessions now unboxed inside it felt empty. It felt like something was missing, or rather simply not there yet. The house was waiting, its barren womb longing for a new life within it.
   Kurama knew what he wanted, and what that meant he had to do, but he did not know if he possessed the abandon to pursue it. He supposed this was how Kazuma had felt last December, afraid to pursue what he wanted but longing for it every day and night. When Kazuma came over to his house and lay with him through the night, Kurama would dream with his eyes open. He would imagine the house around him as their house, as a place where they would never have to part. He imagined a life where he no longer had to hide, a life where he could be as he intended free to fling his arms open to the world. It was a foolish thought, and one that often sent him into a melancholy spiral as he remembered the reality of the world about him. That this house was his, and that it was empty even with him in it.
   He supposed there was only thing to do, in all reality.
   He had asked Kazuma to dinner, the pair of them dining at Yusuke’s simply to revel in Kazuma’s architecture and to watch with delight as Yusuke held ‘court’ behind the bar. As they ate, Kurama pondered how to best broach the subject so heavy on his mind... but it was impossible to do with food before him. He needed to be calm and centered when he spoke. He needed to understand the weight of each of his words. Like a fighter scoping out an arena floor, he wanted to leave nothing to chance. In a game where his very life hung in the balance, Kurama would not be the unprepared player.
   After dinner, they walked. It was getting to that point in the year where nighttime walks were beginning thin and far between, simply because it was so cold and the wind somehow managed to rip at people through their thick coats and wooly accessories. Kurama’s feet took them far beyond Yusuke’s, through the paths of Sariashiki that lead down to the shore side. Some coastal towns had beautiful beaches with shining sands and wild vegetation; Sariashiki merely had a cold gray harbor where fleets of fishermen’s boats clung tight to the shores. Winter brought a harsher edge to the water, and though little rows of white lights lit the board walk and bridges, no one was upon him. Here in this moment, there was only Kazuma and Kurama. Only the quiet between them as they walked through the gray.
   “I can’t believe it’s nearly been a year,” Kurama said aloud. “To think this time last year you were stuck with theoretical physics and unable to tell me you loved me.”
   “That sure was a fun semester,” Kazuma joked. “God, am I glad that’s over.”
   So was Kurama.
   “I saw your designs the other night,” Kurama said, his cheeks burning from the cold wind as it rushed past. “The ones of the temple in Sapporo... they’re beautiful.”
   Kazuma had taken on a new project, a massive temple in the wilderness of Hokkaido. When he’d come over, he’d worked briefly on his plans but had abandoned his quest when Kurama had beckoned him softly to the couch. They had lain together then, their weights comforting to one another, their combined heat a blanket to wrap them tight.
   “Think so?”
   “I do.”
   “I hope my client likes them,” Kazuma said with a slight smile. “I’m getting paid a good chunk of money, which is nice because frankly I have plans for it.”
   “You do?”
   “Well…” Kazuma broke off for a minute as they stepped upon a bridge overlooking the harbor. His tone changed from light to serious, “This is only if you want me to, but I’d be more than happy to design the interior of your shop.”

   Kurama smiled at the thought.
   “It’s got gorgeous wood, and a great layout, but it needs renovations badly... the upstairs could do with some polishing as well. That kitchen in particular needs a face lift.”

   Every time Kazuma said was quite true, and Kurama agreed with him whole heartedly. A light snow began to fall, christening the water in a pearly froth as the wind buffeted waves against the concrete pier. Below them, a small fleet of ducks were heading swiftly for land. They looked eager to be out of the water, which was no doubt freezing.
   “Well I... I suppose that I’m glad you’re insisting as such, because I wanted to speak to you about my place.”
   Kazuma smiled at him, that charming grin taking away Kurama’s breath; how had he ever been able to work as a teammate alongside Kazuma when he had such a beautiful smile? Such a face would distract him easily in the heat of the battle... such a face would distract him anywhere.
   Unable to stop himself, Kurama reached up and allowed his gloved fingers to curve gently down Kazuma’s chiseled jaw. He wanted so badly to touch Kazuma with his bare hands, but knew that to reveal naked skin in this weather would be unwise. Kazuma flushed a little at Kurama’s touch.
   “Thinking of enlisting my services?” Kazuma murmured.
   “In a way,” Kurama whispered. He looked back out over the water, wondering how to word his question. How could he best explain the wide array of emotion inside him when he looked upon his empty apartment and slept with his eyes open alongside Kazuma?

   “This house... when I bought it, I did so with a plan in mind,” Kurama admitted. “I didn’t want to live there with the intention of moving. I wanted to build something, something firm and good that could reflect in all parts of my life.”
   He looked at Kazuma, and found that he was listening intently. His eyes, so warm and yet so serious, held Kurama captive. His soul was bound to those dark eyes, to all that they promised amid the gray.
   “But to do something of that nature, I will need help,” continued Kurama, his tone suddenly breathless as he gazed into those eyes. “I have become dependent upon your... connection. Your support has lead me to see a life where there was none before. Such a life would be difficult to lead alone. Impossible, I daresay.”
   Kurama looked out once more over the water, his cheeks burning again. This time, it was not from cold.
   “What are your plans, now that you’re earning such a remarkable income? Do you plan to say in your apartment?”
   For a minute there was silence.
   “No,” Kazuma whispered. His arms were around Kurama now, their embrace about his waist very tight as the cold wind attempted to pry them apart. “I want to... find a place to settle down.”
   That voice called to him, sweet and low; it spoke of the gray and all that Kurama so longed for. He turned one more time, and his nose accidentally brushed against Kazuma’s. His breath was warm and sweet upon Kurama’s brow, and Kurama reached up again to hold Kazuma’s face as the wind started to stir up again.
   “Perhaps,” Kurama began, and his voice might have been drowned by the wind had Kazuma not been listening so intently, “we might settle together, then, if you find the location of my shop agreeable.”
   Kazuma swallowed thickly. “... I find it very agreeable.”
   Kurama’s heart leapt as Kazuma brushed his nose against Kurama’s cheek.
   “If you’ll have me,” he whispered into Kurama’s ear.
   It should not have been possible for such simple words to rob Kurama of his ability to speak, of his ability to even breathe. Yet they did, and Kurama could find no strength but in Kazuma’s lips, which he sought desperately.

   There in that ugly, cold, wet, harbor, he kissed Kazuma as passionately as if they were alone in their bedroom. He allowed his imagination to explode, to create a world where the house Kurama had bought was their house. To where that quiet loneliness was no more, and each night could be a night of warmth and gray.
   They pressed their faces together, arms tight about one another. Kurama swam in the smell of Kazuma’s aftershave; Kazuma inhaled the smell of flowers from Kurama’s hair. Kurama’s eyes began to close in spite of themselves, his body relaxing entirely. He realized now that as a fighter, his endeavor to know every inch of the battlefield could be set aside if he had a partner like Kazuma at his side. He could trust, and be calm; could understand that even in the most dangerous and deadly of moments he had a hope in his corner – hope, in this strong man.
~*~
   Kazuma had packed his apartment the day after Kurama had asked him to move in, and the week following was full of activity as Kazuma boxed his possessions and moved them into their new home. Eikichi was the only one not happy about the affair, scowling for several days after her transition as she began to sniff out the territory of her new home. While Kazuma took over the process of unpacking and renovating their newly bought house, Kurama focused on gathering the supplies needed to open up a medicinal herb store, and fumed.
   Fumed for having been lied to.
   After Matsuri telling him that he was a pediatrician, Kurama had done a small bit of digging using contacts he’d developed over the years of Shiori being in and out of hospitals. Shiori was good friends with many doctors, a few of whom traveled abroad, and none of them had ever heard of Matsuri’s practice. A simple online search revealed nothing in regards to medicine, but everything on a criminal record. Matsuri was a convicted felon, one who had been in and out of prison for gang related activity several times in his life. A few of his charges included drug trafficking, and suddenly the bags underneath his eyes took on a new meaning to Kurama. It seemed ridiculously simple now, to him: Matsuri had come looking for money. Perhaps he had been as disgusting and low as to imagine that Shiori was already dead and Kurama the inheritor of her estate. This ugly manifestation was Kurama’s shame alone for having been swept in under the guise of familial care... but he knew that Matsuri would be back. Matsuri knew where his shop was, and if he ever fell into a bind for money he would no doubt press Kurama for funds. Kurama had given him cash once, and that was all the proof Masturi needed to know he could get money from Kurama again.
   But Kurama was not a sap, and just because Matsuri was biologically related to him did not mean that Kurama was going to be a doormat.
   Gathering supplies was almost ridiculously easy since Kurama could grow everything that he needed with a few seeds and his own energy. By using Yusuke as a contact, Kurama was able to spread awareness of his services into the demon community of human world, and suddenly he had customers requesting all sorts of drugs. Kurama was more than happy to oblige; before he knew what was really occurring, he had a business. It was small but profitable, and he was happy.
   It was around three in the afternoon on a Friday, and Yusuke was roaming about Kurama’s newly opened shop looking at all the stock piles of herbs Kurama had put together. Some were jars on shelves, some were in boxes and heavily sealed for freshness. A few were even in glass cases, and it was these that caught Yusuke's attention the most for they were demonic in nature and the most deadly. He peered into the boxes like a child, his nose pressed flat against the glass, and from the counter Kurama watched with hidden glee using a mortar and pestle to crush a few compounded herbs for a client.
   “What does this one do?” Yusuke asked, pointing to a white and purple flower encased in glass.
   “That is Clematis,” Kurama explained, “and it is extremely toxic. I can use it to create oils to diffuse nervous disorders. Consider it like a demon form of Xanax.”
   “Great!” Yusuke joked, looking over his shoulder, “I’ll take six of them to go. Whip that up in a bag for me?” He winked.
   “Yusuke…" Kurama chuckled. “If you took six of those, the only bag I’d be whipping up would be a coroner’s bag."
   Yusuke just shrugged, moving onto the next case where a stock pile of lightly colored grass sat.

   “What's this one?” he asked.
   Kurama was rather enjoying answering his questions. It felt good to be able to show Yusuke all he knew, “Ryu-no-hige,” Kurama answered. “Dragon’s Beard. Excellent for internal fever and establishing a balance of yin.”
   Yusuke pulled away, off put. “No, thanks. I don’t need any more of that. I’ve got enough yin over there." Yusuke gestured behind him to where his restaurant lay across the street. Keiko was taking the day shift while Yusuke would be working the night, having a lull between court cases and wanting some more mundane work. She also was coming over to Kurama’s house later that very night to help him paint the living room. Kazuma had managed to pick up a few colors from the local supply store, and Kurama was eager to give their home a fresh face.
   “I’ll tell Keiko you said that," Kurama joked, and Yusuke made a noise of distaste. Their conversation might have gone on had it not been the sound of the door opening. Kurama looked up, expecting to see a customer (in particular the one who had placed an order earlier that day) but instead found himself looking at Matsuri. A feeling of disgust crept up inside of him, and Kurama let out a terse bitter sigh. Yusuke turned around, but when he saw Matsuri he grew wane and pale once more.
   Matsuri looked from Yusuke, who was almost afraid, to Kurama who was far from thrilled and tried for a hesitant smile. It would not work today. Kurama let out a small breath, nearly silent upon the wind, forcing himself into a state of resumed calm as he ground herbs once more.
   “I thought you might be coming back," Kurama said coldly.
   “Did you?” Matsuri was still trying to keep the conversation light and easy, taking a step forward and then another into the room, but the tension just kept building. Yusuke had not moved from the glass cases on the wall, his complexion becoming grayer by the minute. “I guess I don’t strike people as the kind of guy to leave loose ends.”
   “No,” Kurama growled. “You do not."
Matsuri had most certainly come for money. Kurama looked at Yusuke, still slightly worried about his complexion, and found that Yusuke was looking at Matsuri with a terrible expression: one of fear and confusion.
   Kurama didn’t understand. Why was Yusuke so afraid of his biological father?
   “Yusuke?” Kurama called out his name, but Yusuke did not answer Kurama. He was fixated on Matsuri.
   “... Look, who the fuck are you?” Yusuke demanded, finding his voice again and using it to his full advantage. He tried to bolster himself up, to stand at his tallest with his chest puffed out. Kurama had seen Yusuke take this stance before, particularly when facing Toguro outside of the ring. “I swear to God I know you, but I don’t know where I know you from and it’s pissing me off!” Yusuke snarled. “So who are you?!”
   Matsuri’s answer unnerved Kurama, “I’m just a guy.”
   He said it so easily, so calmly... as if Yusuke were not yelling at him.

   “You’re not a pediatrician,” Kurama warned. Matsuri cast his a glance, but nothing more. It was as if Kurama wasn’t even in the room to Matsuri; his attention was now focused on Yusuke. Kurama did not like it. There was something in his gaze that, while it was calm, was not without threat.
   “Hell no!” Yusuke snapped. “I wouldn’t want you around my kids!”
   “You spun a very interesting tale for me the other day, but unfortunately for you I have many contacts in the medical field and was able to quickly deduce that your story was false,” Kurama said, setting his mortar and pestle aside momentarily to glare at Matsuri. Even now, with the admission in the open, Matsuri did not seem uneasy.
   Kurama did not like it, this enemy who seemed to have no rattling points.
   “Oh, so you’re a liar to boot!” Yusuke sneered, still using a bravado front, “This keeps getting better by the minute! You’re almost as bad as my old man, but at least you’re not in with the mob!”
   Matsuri smiled, and something about the way his lips curved and his eyes shone cold and hard sent goosebumps up Kurama’s arms. Yusuke likewise did not look happy, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he glared wide eyed at Matsuri.
   Matsuri regarded Yusuke for a moment in silence, rubbing his unshaven jaw and narrowing his dark green eyes.
   “...Urameshi.” Matsuri finally said, and Kurama was certain that Yusuke was beginning to sweat from panic. “Yusuke Urameshi. I knew you when you were a kid; the last time I saw you, you were-“
   “Thirteen.”
   Yusuke’s tone frightened Kurama. It was not strong, it was not certain; it did not boast of impending victory. It spoke of memories, dark and black beneath the surface of Yusuke’s mind, and terrible things that might haunt a man in his sleep. It made Yusuke sound like a child again, instead of a man, and Kurama had heard enough. He strode out from behind the counter and put himself physically in front of Yusuke so that Matsuri could not look at him anymore.
   “If you’re here for money, you won’t be getting it,” Kurama growled. “I don’t donate to liars or drug addicts.”
   Kurama could hear Yusuke’s breathing from behind him, shallow and thin.
   “Whatever business you have with Yusuke, you’ll likewise make no progress today,” Kurama said for good measure, determined to not let Yusuke be harassed. He still didn’t understand why Yusuke was so afraid, but he didn’t need to for the moment. If Yusuke was afraid, Kurama was going to defend him. It was as simple as that. “Now get out of my shop, before I throw you out.”
   “You sure you can do that?” Matsuri asked in loping grace, an easy smile upon his sallow face as he shucked his hands into his pockets. “You look as weak as a girl.”
   “I know how to defend myself.”
Kurama suddenly found himself contemplating several demonic and poisonous plants he could use on this man. His wicked imagination could run laps around Matsuri’s bloating corpse.
   “That’s a fine fucking attitude to take with your father.”
   Kurama would not be swayed by emotional sabotage. “My father is at home with my mother right now; I do not have any connection to you, and I will be notifying the police about your visit."
   Matsuri raised his eyebrows, regarding Kurama in a new light at the mention of police.
   “So that’s the way it’s going to be?”
   “That’s the way it must be,” Kurama replied, voice hard and calm.
   Matsuri turned, walking back to the door as serenely as if everything had gone according to plan and he was not being kicked out of an establishment. Yet as he reached the door and opened it with a hand, he looked back over his shoulder at Yusuke and said, “You’re still as handsome as you were when you were thirteen, Yusuke.”
   And with that, he left.
   Kurama took no chances. As soon as Masturi was over the threshold and gone, he moved swiftly to the door and locked it. If another customer came by, so be it. For the moment, Kurama needed to recover and assess the damage on his friend.
   “Yusuke...” Kurama whispered. He could barely recognize this person against the wall as a leader, as a brave and eccentric youth. “Yusuke, what was that about?”
   Yusuke had no explanation to give Kurama, and shook his head in defeat as he sank down the wall to sit upon the steps that lead to the second floor. For a minute, Kurama watched as Yusuke tried to gather a reply, tried to explain or say anything in character that might diffuse the tension. But nothing was coming, and so Kurama sat beside him to bring him whatever comfort he could. Yusuke was not like Kazuma, he did not have that same internal need to be comforted. Or did he? Did he have that exact same need and simply not show it? Kurama was unsure. This was a role betted suited for Keiko. But would Yusuke even allow Keiko to see him in such a state?
   “It’s been a long time since I had a run in with a guy like that,” Yusuke whispered, looking down at the floor. His eyes, which were usually so bright and charming, were now full of grief though he did not weep and his tone remained level. “Maybe I forgot what it was like... to be afraid of someone.”
   “Yusuke, you are so much stronger than him.” Kurama was fiercely angry for Yusuke’s sake, a hand upon his back as he rubbed calming circles. “What on earth could you possibly be afraid of?”
   Yusuke was silent once more, his eyes so terribly haunted.
   A sudden sick fear was beginning to grow inside of Kurama.
   “Did he do something to you when you were thirteen?” Kurama asked. Yusuke bit the inside of his cheek, sighing as he looked out across the shop.
   “... He ran in the same circles as my dad,” Yusuke explained, his tone soft to avoid being overhead by anyone else. “That guy is connected, Kurama. He’s a part of the Yamaguchi. He runs under Masaru Takumi.”
   Kurama did not understand the weight of Yusuke’s words. He knew that the Yamaguchi was a powerful criminal gang in Japan, but these men’s names did not scare him as they scared Yusuke. Perhaps it was because he had not grown up around them, but he doubted it. There was something about Yusuke that demanded total control. Kurama wondered if in his youth Yusuke had not been in control, had been abused or neglected in such a way that control became synonymous with safety in his eyes.
   “You would be real scared if you knew about those guys-“ Yusuke said, but Kurama shook his head.
   “I’m more afraid for the fear I see now in you,” Kurama murmured gently. “Your uncertainty scares me far more than any mob.”
   Yusuke gave him a bitter smile. “When I was a kid, I didn’t understand what danger I was in. I thought I was invincible.”
   “To be fair,” Kurama said, “That streak didn’t change much even after your car accident.”
   Yusuke’s eyes were so dark now, full of a strange and ugly memory that Kurama was not privy to.
   “Your biological dad is a bad guy,” Yusuke said.

   “I’m gathering,” Kurama agreed.
   “I can’t believe Shiori would sleep with him!” Yusuke’s eyes were wide for one second. Wide like a deer’s would be in the headlights of a car. Kurama just kept rubbing his back, unsure where this was going.
   “She probably didn’t know who he really was,” Kurama said. “From what I understand, he lies to a great deal of people.”
   “Kurama, you gotta... you gotta get a gun or something- oh fuck!” Yusuke cried out, clapping a hand over his mouth.
   It was as if Yusuke had never been a spirit detective, as if the years between them had never happened. In an instant it had been back to guns and gangs, to street wars and turf fights. To hiding, and to fearing...
Yusuke let out a hysterical sound, his shoulders shaking feverishly.
   In an instant, Yusuke had forgotten who he was, and what he could do. Kurama did not know how to possibly console his friend.
   “I’m sorry!” Yusuke blurted out between his fingers. “I’m so sorry!”
   Kurama wished to god there was something he could say to make Yusuke feel in control again, to bring him some calm or relief, but Yusuke’s shoulder’s just kept shaking.
   “I don’t- I don’t know why I said... that.” Yusuke hiccupped.
   But Kurama knew why, and it hurt his heart all the more.
   “It’s... fine,” Kurama tried to say; his voice was weak and unsure. Yusuke hunched over, burrowing into his knees.
   In a strange move of protective instinct, Kurama lay himself upon Yusuke’s back, letting his head nuzzle into Yusuke’s spine as he rubbed his muscles repetitively.
   He wished it were enough, but he knew it wasn’t.
   “Everything’s fine,” Kurama whispered. He wrapped an arm around Yusuke’s back and held him tight. It was a poor way to hold someone who was crying, but Yusuke would not want to be held any other way by Kurama. Kurama did what he could; he felt eyes upon him and looked up the stairs to see Kazuma at the top.
   Kazuma looked from Yusuke, sobbing into his knees, to Kurama who had his head upon his back. His expressions were so honest, so open, and they spoke easily of fear and confusion. Kurama just shook his head, determined to explain to Kazuma what had happened as soon as Yusuke was safely home and back with Keiko.
   He had a feeling that he knew what had happened to Yusuke when he was thirteen.
   But he prayed he was wrong.

   It took Yusuke about half an hour to calm down. Kurama ended up making him some tea using the same demonic herb that Yusuke had so jovially joked about earlier before Matsuri’s visit. It had calmed Yusuke greatly and had allowed him to regain a state of semi control, but Kurama was still not convinced that Yusuke was stable. Kazuma seemed to sense something was off with Yusuke as well, and he offered to walk Yusuke back across the street to stay with him for a while at the restaurant. The pair of them left around five, and Kurama watched them go with care through the shaded front window of his shop. Kurama had only given Yusuke a small amount of Clematis, but it was still a powerful drug, and he hoped that Yusuke would be able to stay awake through work.
   Around six, Keiko and Yukina came over. Both were wearing jeans and old t-shirts, in common sense that they would soon have paint all over them, and both were excited to see how Kurama’s shop was coming along as they poked around before making their way up the steps.
   It was quite fun to paint with them, simply because Kurama enjoyed watching Yukina learn the ins and outs of being a human. She’d never painted a wall before in her life, but she loved filling up a roller with soft brown-gray paint. It was almost the color of stone, and it gave the room a very natural light. Yukina painted without rhythm or skill at first, but Keiko was eager to help and show her how it was done. Kurama focused on the trim, every so often looking around and laughing at them. He wondered what Hiei would think if he could see his sister so happy and so at ease. Hiei would probably sneer and say he didn’t care, and then go off into a corner to have another ‘soap’ episode (as Kurama was now prone to calling Hiei’s miniature breakdowns).
   “I love this color,” Yukina said, wiping a few drops from her cheek and smearing her hands upon her jeans. “What’s it called?”
   Kurama looked at the can, unsure himself, and laughed when he saw his answer.
   “Thunder.” He chuckled. “That’s a silly name; this looks nothing like thunder.”
   “I still like it,” Yukina said, painting in merry time. “It’s so organic.”
   Kurama was in a good mood, but as he rocked back on his heels to wipe some paint off his hands onto a dirty rag, he felt something... odd. Years of being a fighter and on stance at all hours of the day made him wary of moments where his guard was dropped. His senses were screaming at him that though Yukina was having a good time and Keiko was smiling, something wasn’t right.
   Something was not... right...
   Kurama’s hand shot out, stilling Yukina’s own upon her brush. She looked at him, unsure of what he was trying to do, and when she saw the stony look upon his face she was quite surprised.
   “Huh?” Her voice was small and confused.
   Keiko was across the room, she was in danger-! Kurama flung his other hand out and grabbed Keiko by the belt loop of her jeans. She shrieked, shocked when he yanked her hand into the corner with Yukina.
   “Kurama!” she yelled angry as they fell into each other, but her indignation ended the minute that the door to the downstairs burst open and ten men came in the in the room.
   Keiko gasped, her hand flying to her throat. Kurama could not hold back the growl that issued low and deep in his throat. He should have been expecting such a visit after waving Matsuri off and mentioning a threat of the police, but he’d been lulled into a sense of security after living in human world for so long. Yoko Kurama would never have made such a mistake.
   Kurama tried to ignore the familiar snapping voice in the back of his head that berated him for every moment he stood stock still, hands out to hide Keiko and Yukina behind him.
   “Stay behind me,” Kurama warned, eyes trailing over the faces of each man. They were all older, well-muscled and built from years of living on the streets. Each was armed with a knife, though some still had their knife clipped to the belt of their jeans while others had them open and ready. The tattoos on their skin and the glasses obscuring their eyes left little to the imagination as to who they were.
   “Who they hell are they?” Keiko demanded, the fear palpable in her voice.
   “Yamaguchi,” Kurama said, and one of the men at the front who was clearly the leader from his open and aggressive stance spoke up.
   “So you were expecting us,” he said, and Kurama gritted his teeth.
   “In a way,” Kurama lied, for he hadn’t even been thinking about the threat of a gang attack and now felt very foolish for it. He should have heeded Yusuke’s warning and stayed on guard. “A friend certainly was.”
   “Yeah we’re plannin’ on payin’ him a visit next.”
   “You would find him a poor host,” Kurama said coldly.
   “What do you want?!” Keiko demanded. A few of the men who had not yet pulled out their knives were starting to arm themselves. Kurama counted the weapons... ten in all, no guns. He could handle this. It would take a bit of maneuvering in a tight quartered living room with furniture in the way... but he could do this. He could not however, use his spirit energy and that damned him.
   He could not reveal himself to be Kurama before men who knew him as Shuichi, mere humans who would stand no chance against his spiritual assault. He could not kill humans, even those who attacked him.
   “We’ve got some loose ends to tie up,” the man snarled, pointing his knife openly at Keiko who shrank into the corner of the room with Yukina, “And we’re not picky about how we do them!”
   Kurama grimaced, holding his ground.
   “I cannot use my spirit energy, Keiko,” Kurama warned under his breath, “You do realize this, right?”
   “...Kurama...” She whispered his name like a child at prayer. He knew that both Keiko and Yukina were far from fighters; it would be up to him to hold these men off until help could arrive or one of them could break away to find help and bring it back. The only way out was through the balcony window or down the stairs, and he didn’t feel eager to tell Yukina or Keiko to jump out a second story window.
   “Fortunately...” Kurama took a fighting stance, cracking his neck a little as he loosened his muscles up; the calmer he was, the easier this would go, “that is not the only weapon I have in my arsenal.”
   But the men were laughing at Kurama, no doubt tickled that he was going to use his fists against weapons.
   “You gotta be kidding me!” one of the men goaded him. “You’re gonna fight us empty handed?”
   “I am not afraid of a knife.”
   He’d been hurt worse for a friend. He could handle this situation.
   In the blink of an eye, Kurama charged forward.
   A powerful front kick knocked two of the forward most men back. One of them lost a grip on their knife. Kurama rebounded from the kick, turning and jumping with the wall for leverage as he knocked two other men down who attempted to grab him into submission. A fourth man was coming for Kurama from behind, but Kurama caught his arm under the armpit of his own and jerked the man painfully from his feet. Twisting his wrist till it snapped and the man howled in pain, Kurama shoved him off and managed to grab his knife from mid-air as it fell. Suddenly Kurama found himself in pain, and he realized that amid this chaos he’d gotten stabbed several times but had not noticed it from the adrenaline rush. Now as he held the knife in his hands, he felt it, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to focus through the pain. Blood was gushing down his arms, soaking through the fabric of his shirt at his stomach, and from his thighs. Eight times in all, he’d been stabbed. Shoddy work that Yoko Kurama would have spit upon.
   A scream brought him back to present, and Kurama realized that one of the men was now holding a gun. It must have been hidden all this time, in the waist band of his pants or under his shirt. He was pointing the gun at Yukina, and suddenly the image of Hiei doubled over in utmost agony, screaming and crying at the death of sister filled Kurama’s mind.
   He could not let it happen.
   Kurama dove for Yukina, blocking her just in time as the gun went off with a powerful blast. The bullet entered through Kurama’s lower lung, and he gasped in pain. But as the men attempted to regroup, injured and shaken from Kurama’s assault, Kurama saw a way out. The door was clear, if only for a second. If he could get either Yukina or Keiko down the stairs, help could be reached.
   Kurama took no chances, whirling on the spot and grabbing Yukina hard around the waist. In a wild move, he charged them both forward, all but throwing Yukina for the door and bracing himself against it so that other men could not follow her out. He prayed that no one was downstairs waiting for her, but he did not hear her scream as she ran; he kicked out and knocked two of the men backward that tried to pursue her.
   The man who had shot Kurama had his gun up again, ready to fire once more, and Kurama let out a shout of anger as he threw his knife and imbedded it deep in the man’s eye socket. His glasses cracked, and blood spurted everywhere as the man howled in agony, dropping to the floor like a stone and leaving his gun open for the taking. He thrashed once or twice, only to still as his gurgling breaths grew softer.
   One down, nine to go, and suddenly the thugs were looking at Kurama with newfound fear. They had not taken him for a threat at first, but they would now.
   The men were going for Keiko, Kurama threw himself from the door and back in front of her, his arms up and ready for a fight-!
   “Fuck the other girl!” barked the man in front. He was trying to regain control, trying to take the lead. “We’ve got this!”
   “Shit man, he took down Kimuro!” One of the others said from the back. They sounded panicked, clearly having not thought one man could kill when a group of ten were surrounding him.
   “Well, now it’s personal ain’t it?” the first man seethed. He tossed his knife aside, and pulled out a gun from his waist band. Following his lead, four other men pulled out guns as well. Some were shaky in their grip and didn’t look eager to shoot. Others were steady, and gleeful for the opportunity. Ten assailants with knives, Kurama could take.

   Nine with guns... he could not. Not without room to run, or the ability to use his spirit energy. Yukina was out the door, and down the street by now hopefully. That was the only hope he had left. If he could hold off the men for as long as it took for Yusuke or Kazuma to arrive, he would be fine.
   But he’d already been shot once, and his stab wounds were throbbing with hot horrific pain.
   “Shoot me,” Kurama seethed. “It’ll be the last time you have the chance.”
   Two men shot, and both bullets hit Kurama in the chest.
   Kurama shouted in pain, the agony taking him by surprise. He hadn’t imagine getting shot could hurt so much as he fell to his knees as clutched at his wounds. The world was spinning around him, growing dark, but he could hear Keiko screaming; her weight was upon him, as if she were shielding his body with her own.
   “I won’t let you kill him!” Keiko was sobbing. A true friend indeed, so brave in such a situation. Kurama couldn’t help but smile. The sound of a trigger being pulled jerked Kurama out of his fog; he rolled, forcing Keiko underneath him and taking the fourth bullet in the back. On the floor with her hair falling into Kurama’s blood, Keiko’s scared brown eyes looked straight up into Kurama’s face. He was pale and sweaty, shaking from the strain of remaining conscious... he would not last long at this rate. He could feel his body beginning to seize, the bullets embedded deep in his lungs.
   “You think that I will allow you... to get shot?” Kurama managed to get out, blood dribbling from his mouth onto Keiko’s neck.
   Suddenly her arms were around him, and in that black heavy bliss of strangely forced slumber Kurama could feel her warm body pressed against him. She was defending him, in whatever way she could, but her options were very few and the men were laughing. They probably already thought Kurama dead.
   “Give it up princess,” one of the men sneered, “You’re out of time.”
   “Maybe.” Keiko’s voice was shaky. “But I won’t let you kill my friend.”
   Kurama heard the metallic click of a trigger about to be pulled. He found his thoughts on Kazuma, of his strong arms wrapped around Kurama... holding him tightly.
   He could imagine this weird blissful blackness was him, that this moment was not one of pain but of agonizing pleasure...
   The sound of a door bursting open barely caught Kurama’s attention in that murky darkness.
   “YUSUKE!” he heard Keiko wail, relieved. Help had arrived.
   “Impeccable timing,” Kurama mumbled into Keiko’s lap.
   He could hear things being thrown, men cursing and punches hailing. The ground shook wildly beneath him as a stampede occurred. The men could not escape, there was nowhere for them to run- Kurama could hear not one but two fighters railing on their attackers, and knew that Kazuma was there as well.
   Kurama allowed himself to relax in Keiko’s lap, his blood collecting upon her jeans as it slipped from his mouth.
   He really needed to stop ruining her clothes with his blood. It was tactless and rude.
   There were strong, familiar hands tugging upon him, urging him to sit up. He was being pulled into someone else’s lap, and the crisp scent of aftershave suddenly filled his nose. Even with his eyes closed, Kurama knew that Kazuma now held him.
   “Baby, say something to me!” Kazuma cried out, he ran his hands over Kurama’s bloodied face, and Kurama’s eyes fluttered open; there above him, hazy and dark, a handsome face he’d often kissed.
   “...I’ve been shot four times,” Kurama managed to say. “Three of the bullets… are in my lungs. I’ll need surgery.” He had to stop talking in as a sudden violent cough seized him.
   “Which one shot you?!” he heard Kazuma demand.
   Kurama gestured aimlessly towards the thug on the ground with a knife through his eye.
   “He the only one?”
   “Well...” Kurama could not help but smile. “You threw the other one out the window.”
   Kazuma’s hands were now sticky with his blood, wrapping him up tight in a comforting blanket of darkness. Even though he was shot and probably dying from internal bleeding, Kurama thought that he could stay here forever this way.
   He could hear Yusuke screaming violent tirades over the sound of hammering blows.
   “You wanna piece of this?! And this?! And this?!”
   Poor Yusuke. Only hours ago he’d had a nervous breakdown on the stairs; now he had to be the hero all over again... but perhaps that was the best therapy for Yusuke. Being in control and wielding power over those who brought pain to the innocent was just as good a medicine as any Clematis.
   “Did you come in my house?! Did you point a gun at my wife?! Did you shoot my friend?! No!” Yusuke railed; to be fair the thugs had come in Kurama’s house, not Yusuke’s... but perhaps he’d let that detail slide in light of the circumstances. “Every man has to make a choice about what he’ll put up with each day, and I’m puttin’ my foot down at this! Cause I aint-!” A horrible crunching sound... broken bones, “Putting up-!” More thudding, more howls of pain, “With this!”
   And suddenly, the room fell still. Kurama could not open his eyes and see anymore, but he knew that the men were either dead, or knocked out... Yusuke was king of the mountain once again.
   “Easy,” Yusuke said, relaxed and calm.
   But Kurama could hear more footsteps, more yelling, and suddenly his mind flashed to the thought of new thugs and guns- death around the corner- but he could hear the sound of sirens outside his house. The police had arrived.
   Kurama tried to stay awake, tried to stay conscious to explain the situation, but he couldn’t. He was being pulled down by a heavy weight upon his chest.

   When he came to consciousness again, he did not know how much time had passed, but he was lying flat on his back and was strapped to a bed. Someone was touching his face, wiping off the blood. He could swear a vibration was running through the mattress beneath him; was he in an ambulance?

   He faded out again, unable to hold adequate breath. He could feel the warm wet ooze of blood sliding out of the corner of his mouth, and knew that he was in trouble.

   He came to once again, and the cool air caressing his skin informed him that he was nude. He could sense people around him, could feel hands upon him. A bright light was above his body, warming him with its fluorescent rays. Something was being put over his mouth and nose, something plastic that made the air smell sweet.

   He trembled, unable to keep his body still in the frigid cold. As he clenched his fists, he felt straps around his wrists holding him down to the table.
   Kurama slowly opened his aching eyes and saw surgeons above him; their white masks concealed their faces. One in particular turned a nozzle atop a metal tube near Kurama’s head, and he was sucked back under into that darkness again before he could question how or why.
   For what felt like an age, there was no thought. There was no pain. There was only quiet, and gray. The place between places he had now come to associate with Kazuma’s embrace, and the nighttime swell of their new home.

   When the gray pulled back and the curtain between worlds lifted, Kurama found much had changed.
   He was clothed, and warm. He was on a much softer bed, and someone was holding his hand. Another hand (perhaps belonging to the same person) was rhythmically stroking his forehead, brushing his dark bangs back and forth. It was quiet and dark, there was no warm light above him and no hushed murmur of doctors around him.
   The pain in his chest was gone, and he no longer felt blood upon his lips and cheeks.

   The smell of green tea and hand lotion tempted his nostrils. The fingers that were wrapped around his own were slim and small.
   Shiori.
   He focused on her breath, softly in and softly out, a quiet hum of white noise that tempted him back to sleep. He contemplated opening his eyes, explaining to Shiori all that had occurred and apologizing for not taking her sagely advice and staying away from fucking Matsuri... but he did not possess the strength. He could feel the golden hum of drugs in his veins, and knew that if he spoke now, he would say things that should never be said. His emotions made him weak, his longing for her love, vulnerable.
   An hour might have passed before noise interrupted their somber cocoon. A door opening and closing, the sound of feet upon the floor.
   “I came as soon as I heard,” said a man’s voice; it was relaxed and easy going but deeper and wiser than Yusuke’s...
Jiro Kuwabara.
   “I wondered if I might see you tonight,” Shiori said.
   A chair scraped lightly upon the tiled floor; Jiro sat down next to Kurama’s bed, no doubt on the opposite side as Shiori.
   Silence resumed, but it was not long.
   “I can’t believe he... would attack his own child.” Shiori’s voice shook with suppressed rage. Kurama had never heard her sound so angry before, and a flicker of guilt bubbled and popped within him. He had gone against her wishes and brought pain into her life. He had assumed control, where none had truly been. A rookie’s mistake, and one that he had made with arrogant precision.
   Once again, Yoko Kurama was laughing at him.
   “Well, he’s... not exactly his child,” Jiro contemplated. “He didn’t raise him and he doesn’t love him.”
   “This is true,” Shiori agreed. “Shuichi never knew him in his youth. I heard rumors after I left him that... he molested a child. I never let him around Shuichi after that.”
   Yusuke’s terrified face, so ashen and pale, flickered briefly in the back of Kurama’s mind. Kurama added the knowledge together, and he bitterly cursed himself for the strange smallness of their world. His own biological father, the terror of Yusuke’s nightmares in youth. Oh, if only Kurama had the strength he’d rise from this bed and track Matsuri down... he would bathe in the bastard’s blood and peel the flesh from his bones-.
   What would Kazuma say if he could hear Kurama’s thoughts?
   To be fair, Kazuma would probably be gung-ho for the entire concept... God only knows he adored Yusuke like a brother.
   “I understand,” Jiro was saying. “Growing up around... weird types, my kids always knew to come to me if they got too scared. Course, I blink and my kids are adults.”
   Shiori laughed. She could no doubt appreciate the joke. “And when they leave, you don’t know where to.”
   “Or who to.”
   “Or why.”
   “And you can’t even ask anymore,” Jiro added. “Isn’t it fun, being a parent?”
   “It is when you see them smile, at finding someone they love,” Shiori offered, and Jiro chortled, “at finding happiness.”
   “That’s true,” he agreed. “That’s a feeling beyond any other. That’s why I came tonight. I had to slip a couple of nurses to get back here but... I had to make sure Shuichi was alright.”
   Shiori made a sweet sound of appreciation.
   “Kazuma... if something were to happen to Shuichi...” Jiro broke off, “He’s at the police station right now, railing on his sister. He’s pressing charges; you won’t believe this, but when he got shot, Shuichi threw a knife at his attacker, and got him right in the eyeball.” Jiro was high impressed, his tone reflecting it.
   Shiori made another noise; Kurama wished he could leap up and clap a hand over Jiro’s mouth. Shiori shouldn’t have to hear such things.
   “It doesn’t surprise me,” Shiori said, which took Kurama by surprise. “Shuichi and I are much the same... in that we both know how to protect what we love. We both can be angry, and the world not know. I must confess, the idea of stabbing Saburo through the eye is.... appealing.” Her voice, so weak, shook for just a moment. “If my son were to have died, everything good would have died with him.”
   It shook some more.
   “When I received the call, I couldn’t.... breathe.” She had to stop. “I could only come, and stay... sit and wait. And pray. Because without him, I would cease.” She paused for a moment, “... In all forms.”
   Jiro shifted in his chair.
   “What did the doctor say when he came out of surgery?” Jiro asked, tense.
   Shiori swallowed. “That it was almost as if he... took the bullets on purpose, in perfect places where they wouldn’t kill him.”
   At this, Kurama thought wryly about how that had been precisely his intent until he had been foiled by three bullets to the lung.

   “So he’ll pull through?”
   “I’m so thankful. It’s a miracle,” Shiori said. “He will probably need physical therapy. I won’t press it upon him, I’ll let him decide but...” Shiori broke off, “I don’t know what I’m going to say to him when he wakes up, how am I going to ever apologize enough for this?”
   She was crying now.
   A terrible ache, worse than one hundred gun shots, suddenly seized Kurama’s chest. The sound of her tears rocked him, made him unable to stay calm or still. He suddenly tried to speak, to say anything that might sooth her and tell her that apologies were completely unnecessary, save for his. All that came out in his drugged state was a half grunt half moan. Shiori sucked in a breath, rubbed his arm a little higher up.
   “You don’t need to apologize for Saburo,” Jiro murmured. “And if Shuichi were awake, he’d say the same thing.”
   Shiori sniffed a few times.
   “All we need to know is that he’ll pull through. The rest will fall into place without our influence. Save your strength, save your emotion.” Jiro paused, “Shuichi is usually the one that is strong for you; when he wakes up he won’t want you to be crying over Saburo or worrying about rehab. Just focus.... on the good. On what you’ve got in front of you.”
   Shiori sniffed again, softer. Her hold on Kurama’s arm was soothing again, no longer gripping or frantic. It seemed she’d calmed.
   “If I ever see Saburo again, I’m going to rip his dick off,” Shiori announced.

   Another noise bubbled and died in Kurama’s throat; he had never heard his mother say the word ‘dick’ before.
   “Tell you what,” Jiro said, and Kurama could tell he was smiling, “Next time you see him, point him out. I’ll hold him down for you.”
   Shiori laughed.
   Kurama fell back to sleep.
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Into the Gray