Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

All's Well	By : Artemick Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3625 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho or its characters and make nothing off this story.

Chapter List
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“Traitorous kit…”

Kurama laughed. "I didn't think you'd attack him so soon. I wasn't scheduled to betray you until next week."

"Once I knew about the girl," Hiei shrugged. "I had to move. That kid is…"

"Weird," Kurama insisted, picturing the detective's attack bouncing off the mirror.

"Unpredictable. Yes."

"Your fiasco interrupted pizza night at my house."

"Is that the stuff on the bread? I like that. I want pizza. Invite me."

Hiei’s insults had simmered to a sulk. He’d gotten an easy settlement from Spirit World, the same work-release contract as Kurama. Of course, Hiei did not want to stay in the human world, so the clause keeping them there was an irritant to him. Kurama was secretly pleased. He hoped he'd see more of his friend, now that they were in the same dimension.

Kurama and he strolled through town after the arraignment. They hunted, killing rats and crows and other unfortunates that got their scent on the menu, all of which were cut down to meat. They suspended the cut flesh on a single metal wire and strung their picnic over a small fire in Kurama’s mother's back yard.

“The captain will retain my seeds and plants over the mission,” Kurama mused. “But I won’t even be collared.”

"Really. Foolish of them. Is there a limit to the physical distance you can send your energy?"

"That's it exactly; plant energy is like energy in an ecological system. I can't reach that blade, for example, but I can ask you to get it. So of my own power, I get the blade. With request, distance is not a problem."

Hiei looked up from the hide he was trimming. His wild childhood hadn’t taught him to hide emotions like awe, even for the sake of his pride.

“Spirit World expects the SDF to ‘manage’ me.” Kurama shrugged, his face mild with pleasure. “What do you think, brother? Am I manageable?"

“It’s a joke,” Hiei said softly. He turned his head, watching the fox.

“They’re proud,” Kurama growled. He stretched his arms high and flopped backward, legs on either side of the fire. The fox in him was mad, snarling at the blood scent and hunt. Kurama knew Hiei could sense it and it made him nervous; rightly, for Yoko gave him a madcap ferocity, roused and rowdy. “They think they have me like a prisoner of war, naked in a camp with guards armed with automatics and cattle prods.”

Hiei perforated the edge of the feathered crow skin with a broken rib bone. He said, “Don’t they?”

“Any weapon in their hand is as good as in mine,” Kurama said, reaching toward the rising smoke, where the sun lay. He pulled his hand into a fist.

“I’m going to kill mine too,” Hiei contributed amiably.

Kurama sat up, pulling his knees together. “What? Kill who?”

Hiei pulled a long piece of sinew out and began threading it through the hide. The heat of the demon’s hands had already treated it, turned the skin to tough leather. “The team I'm embedded in.”

Kurama combed the leaves and grass from his hair with his fingers. “This isn’t a competition.”

Hiei looked at him and pushed his lower lip up, saying nothing.

“I meant I’m not killing anyone.”

Hiei evaluated that and nodded.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you changed your mind just now. So you could make a point.”

“If I do these milk runs and nothing goes wrong, I’ll be innocent. Completely, forever.” Kurama sat up on his heels, putting his hands on his knees. “That’s worth behaving.”

Hiei drummed his fingers. “I hadn’t intended on meeting the new team. I'm not collared either.”

“You want Urameshi after you again?”

Hiei curled his lip. He tied off the sinew thread with a snap and pulled on a sort of eerie, glimmering gauntlet of black feathers.

Kurama drew his fingers along it. The feathers slithered, soft under his hands. "Well-made."

“I’m not going. I don't feel like it.”

“Hiei - ”

“As far as I’m concerned - ” Hiei mused, turning his arm – he drew his sword out and sheathed it again in a moment, snicking off a piece of the roasting meat. He tore into it, still raw, burning it with his tongue, cooked with the very heat of his nature. "They just turned me out on the street."

Kurama clicked his tongue, brow furrowing. “You are incorrigible.”

“What makes our situation any different from four days ago, fox? They want me to pay for acts that I don’t want to pay for. I’m gone. I’ve got things to do.”

“Please, I want company. You’re posted east. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

The sword flashed; the feathers rippled like black water.

Half the meat fell, sliced off. But it was caught. A large leaf, fat and thick as a lily, unfurled and smothered the fire, catching the remainder of the meat as it fell.

“You’re fast,” Hiei remarked.

Kurama sighed. “You’re predictable.”

They ate, one chewing from his sword as a skewer, the other picking off the spread of his leaf.

"I'll go," Hiei announced. He looked sideways.

Kurama reached out and snapped a fresh rose from his mother’s garden. “Let’s meet our new teams.”

*

The human night was the Makai’s morning.

Kurama traveled to the brat prince’s office, where he would meet with Shun-jun and hand his weapons over on neutral ground.

“Coffee?” Koenma indulged in a steaming cup.

“Thank you.” Kurama smiled. “I left before the tea boiled.”

“Tea then?” Koenma lifted his empty hand. As it rose, a second cup appeared; as it leveled, the cup filled.

Kurama reached out and took the hot ceramic between his hands. The leaves were, of course, a heavenly quality.

“I wanted to say again how sorry I was,” Koenma turned, hiding his face.

Kurama burned his tongue.

The prince saw him wince and snapped his fingers. The tea cooled.

“Thank…you. It’s nothing.”

“It was something I said in the heat of the moment… ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find that fox – and when we do, you’ll be the first to know.’ I promised him that.” Koenma forced a laugh, moving some papers around his desk. "Five minutes."

Kurama sat, slipping his bags to the floor beside the chair. “It’s nothing, sir.”

“No, it’s not. I apologize.”

Kurama looked up, searching his face. The spirit prince seemed serious, so he added carefully, “I forgive you, Koenma. It's alright.”

Koenma sighed. “Thank you.”

Kurama smiled over his cup, thinking that the spirit was a suitable monarch; too righteous, too sensitive. Better than the alternative. “I understand you situation. Please remember, I am older than I look. I’ve been in politics before. I’ve managed warriors. Things happen, things that aren’t fair, aren’t even desirable. Leadership isn’t about perfection.”

Koenma drummed his fingers.

“I had dinner with my mother last night. Curry rice.” Kurama said. “For what it’s worth, I’m grateful to you.”

The prince stared. “No hard feelings, then.”

Kurama shook his head.

“What a thing. You’ve changed.”

Shun-jun hit the door open with his palm. His hair was wet; he held his jacket over his arm. “Alright. Bright and early. Where’s the bitch?”

“Captain, stand down and shut up,” Koenma snapped.

Kurama stood and put the cup back on the prince’s desk, catching his eye. “Thank you - for the tea.”

“Right.” Shun-jun clapped his hands. “Shake that tail, fox. We got to move.”

“Quiet. Children.” The prince held out his hand in a faux blessing. “Fight with the other kids, win, don’t get caught. Shun-jun, keep you mouth shut. Kurama?”

The fox handed over a large ziplock baggie, filled with other small plastic bags of seeds.

Koenma took it, flipped it over with a cursory glance, and put it in Shun-jun’s hand.

The soldier rolled his eyes and shook the bag. “You pack your birth control, your Mitol?”

Kurama put a hand on his stomach, considering. “PMS might explain my sudden desire to do horrific violence.”

“And we’re off! And out of my office,” Koenma said, waving his hands. “Go.”

*

They fell out of the portal at the rendezvous point, the peak of the lavender-grassed cliff. It was marked by a massive red tree and commanded a good view of the country.

“Another pound to carry,” Shun-jun sneered, jamming the plants carelessly in his pack, as if he could crush them.

“Just lead,” Kurama snarled.

Shun-jun gestured up the cliff. They hiked to the red tree, feet levering off the hummocks of grass. The leaves of the red trees snapped like whips, high over their heads, the alien leaves long and slender as ribbons.

While they waited for the rest of the team to show, Kurama sat between the roots, resting with his shoulders against the rough bark. He watched the clouds, marking and arranging his plans, depending on what the plants along the road were likely to be. This tundra land had mosses and small things that could grow prodigiously when inspired to do so. Small forbs and grasses were less likely weapons. Still, Kurama knew ways to use them. It required a different strategy, but was good for armies, times when the enemy were many and spread.

“This contract of yours is a hell of a library fine.”

Kurama smiled, genuinely and briefly. “Yes.”

“Who’d you pin the brunt of the charge on, for the mirror you stole.”

Kurama answered Shun-jun’s questions while he planned, in order to lessen the man’s suspicions. “Borrowed. Not stole. I returned it when I finished using it.”

Shun-jun paced. “Who had the sword, and the idea?”

“Hiei. Of the firebred.” This was all in my file, Kurama nearly said. But he was quiet. There was a chance that Shun-jun knew less about the upcoming terrain, tribes, and ecology of the region ahead than Kurama, who’d read extensively.

“Does he protect you when you’re in this form, helpless?”

“Hiei? Hardly. We’ve known each other only briefly.”

“Short and dirty, eh?”

“He washes often enough.” Kurama answered absently, checking the horizon. Tiny white dots rose up from the forest. Kurama lifted the lenses he’d brought from home, wishing he could add this unknown taxonomy to his birding life-list. "That's something."

“What are you watching?” Shun-jun asked. His request had an edge.

Kurama tilted his head, lowering the binoculars and pointing. “Flock of kurons. Beautiful species.”

“Such a geek.”

Kurama laughed; it was such a human word to choose.

“Anything to note?”

Briars for whips, fruiting trees and thickets to eat from, grasses of a kaleidoscope of colors and textures for spears and pitfalls. In terms of other life, allies rather than weapons, there were small tribes of demons, analogue to the deer and badgers and rabbits of the human world.

Kurama manipulated the tree he lay against slowly, so that the chemicals in the top most leaves began to release a compound that smelled like blood and carbon, guts and fire. It would be enough warning. After a few minutes, the nearest groups were already fleeing the ominous stench.

“Well?”

“Hm? Sorry. Nothing yet. Sir.”

Shun-jun looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Well. Here comes trouble.”

The new team collected, coming up onto the high hill to join them. They were all human and each a titan.

Kurama couldn't see the extent of their auras: a drowning man could not measure the ocean around him. Unlike Shun-jun, they did not bother to conceal their strength. They met Kurama with their power open, naked, their collective auras as playful and ferocious as elephants, tackling and tossing each other as they conversed.

Kurama listened intently to their conversation as they come up the hill. He identified them quickly by what they called one another. Two were female, two male.

Zel was dark skinned, tall as a man, and proportioned like the more buxom sort of hourglass.

Cerene was an albino cat of a thing, disturbingly quick and light.

Of the two men, the one nicknamed Wolf looked more like a stray that chewed patches of itself raw; he was gamey and sad eyed, always shying away, though his team obviously cared for him.

The last man went by Harker. He was a gentle giant, a mulatto chai-colored man with freckles the size of marbles.

And their powers, Kurama thought, reaching out to look, focusing his inner eye. Harker was a simple fighter. Kurama could see his ki ball up in his muscles and running out in strokes, exploring objects that could be thrown. Zel smelled of ozone and carried spools of wire. Her aura was stoppered up, polarized as a magnet. It couldn’t be easy on her health, but her power seemed formidable.

The other two, he could not read as clearly, but they wore carefully sheathed blades and hammered sheaths on their forearms.

The group collected at the top and their chatter died down, through their grins stayed. They eyed Kurama.

“Stand, boy.” Shun-jun said, hauling Kurama up by the sleeve. “Meet your new team.”

“Why doesn’t he have to wear this shitty uniform?” Cerene complained. Her posture was spineless, loopy, her voice scratchy, and a paper white grin pasted on her face. She frightened Kurama a little. He couldn’t put his finger on why.

“He’s weak,” Zel said.

Kurama smiled and rejoined, “Compared to this group, anyone would be.”

Zel nodded, acknowledging the compliment.

Kurama licked his lips, feeling hope. Of all the team, he suspected she was the most ordered, the most reasonable. She was probably younger, still socialized to humans.

“I love live rations,” Wolf said, prompting Kurama to check him again. He was human, but he did not seem to be even joking. His skin smelled strange, ill and oily.

Surely they haven’t killed demons for food, Kurama thought. But it must be true: no one was carrying food. They would hunt.

Kurama realized he was holding his breath. He let it out and stood, smiling.

“I’ve read the brief for this mission,” Kurama began to introduce himself. “I’m here to translate – “

“Right,” Shun-jun interrupted. He pointed out at his team, leering. “You said I was lying about cornering that fox!”

Wolf howled. “You boring the civ’ with that story?”

“I saw it,” Zel testified. “Fox was real."

"Shut up about it already. No one’s listening.”

“We don’t think you’re lying, cah-pi-tahn,” Cerene threw a flamboyant bow, giggled manically, her voice like a tape being fast forwarded. “We just don’t care.”

That was it, Kurama thought. Cerene was a nihilist; she didn’t care, to the point of psychopathy. That was what disturbed Kurama so. Wolf was similar, but a tight knot of ego. He cared too much, to the exclusion of all others but himself. He looked bruised.

“Can I touch him?” Harker asked. His voice was so low, it took them all a moment to register the rumble as conversation. The others quieted. Harker reached out with the sweetness of a child, but also the clumsy strength.

“No,” Kurama said firmly, standing. “You may not touch me. I am a consultant on this run, a civilian. I - ”

Shun-jun grabbed Kurama by the arm, using the same impossible speed he’d shown in the office, and shoved him into the center. “He’s Yoko.”

Kurama’s eyes darted around the startled group to Zel.

Zel looked at Shun-jun instead. “You’re shitting me.”

“No ears, no tail. Same conniving thief.”

“That’s not true,” Kurama protested. “I – I am human now.”

He felt like an ice climber, hanging on a cliff that was quickly melting, shattering away in quakes. He felt their abilities penning him in. These monsters were each far more massive in strength than he expected. Any one could crush him. And worse, each was more unstable than he’d expected. He could see why Shun-jun was captain. Even at his limits, he was comparably rational.

“Yeah, moron,” Cerene laughed. “Yoko was strong.”

Zel could not take her eyes off him. “Why’s he alive?”

“Yoko grabbed himself a hostage. He’s attached to an innocent soul.” Shun-jun shrugged. “We can’t punish or kill him alone, so we don’t. Spirit World says. From the prince himself.”

“I’m not a hostage,” Kurama insisted. “My souls are merged; Yoko is buried. I have his skills, but I am human. I am not Yoko. He sleeps.”

The circle closed around him.

“I am human,” Kurama repeated.

Zel put her hand out. There was a metallic winding, like a spring or a flexible thunder sheet for theatre.

Kurama felt a jerk; his hair drew tight to his neck, a line of pressure wrapping his throat like a garrote. The wires – Kurama reached to rip them from his skin with his nails, but his arms were caught in by the loops. They jerked hard and he lost his footing and was thrown face down.

“You miserable dog.” Zel bit out each word. She punctuated each one with a line of awful, stinging fire that lashed over his thighs. Kurama grabbed at the dirt, then at his throat. “This is for my people who died in your traps!”

A sharp shock to his neck killed his thoughts. He tried to run away, lunging stupidly against the noose and choking himself. He rolled over, but she struck him across the back and flank.

Kurama hollered, feet scraping for purchase against the blows. Zel dragged him back the center of the silent circle. Each one seemed a monolith to Kurama, a judging deity, strange and cold.

He tried to speak, to beg, but the fire and constriction made words impossible.

She drew her arm back and beat him. His body spasmed against the shocks, each surge throwing him a different way, leaving his limbs trembling. Kurama tried to shield himself, but the electricity numbed his limbs and he ended up laying open to her strikes. The pain dulled, one wave after another. Kurama did not strike back, though he smelled his blood being tasted by the grass under their very feet.

*

Finally Zel slipped back her wires. She knew her own strength and wouldn’t hold up the group for his injuries.

As she released him, Kurama’s head fell to the side.

Shun-jun crouched to watch Kurama’s face. Blood from his bitten tongue trickled out of the corner of his mouth a line of drool darkening the dust beneath him. The ningen jeans the boy wore were lacerated, showing ripe red flesh. The edges of the fabric still sizzled.

The wind picked up and carried the scent of singed flesh and cotton.

“Is he dead?” Harker asked.

Shun-jun reached out a snapped his finger against the boy’s forehead. Kurama jerked and began to cough spasmodically. His inhales were spare, honking gasps. Throwing his hands out flat, he heaved himself up, then stood, legs thrown out wide and unsteady. He held his arms up is a passive, useless guard. Dirt covered him in splotches.

“Yoko Kurama.” Shun-jun smiled, his head resting gently in his hand. “I think Zel speaks for all of us when she says: Welcome to the team.”

Kurama saw him through the veil of his tangled hair, but then curled, wracked with coughing.

The team moved out. Shun-jun waited to watch.

The fox saw the team abandoning him. He got his feet under him and stood. He kept his arms wrapped like a straight jacket, as if to hold his insides in. He made a break for his pack and fell hard on his knees. Still, he was close enough to grab it, so he pawed it near. He got his arm through the strap and pulled it on.

"You're strong," Shun-jun said.

He watched the fox's burned and shocked left leg shiver and bend. Kurama fell onto his knee. He waited, breathing, then stood again and edged after them. Slow steps.

"Did you hear me?"

"What is strength, really?" The fox asked. The fox who claimed he was not Yoko.

Shun-jun snorted. He was pleased to have quarry again.
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