Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Second Try
By : kle10
Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male
Views: 5939 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own YYH.
Chapter List
- 1-Love is Love
- 2-Missing
- 3-Past
- 4-Gift
- 5-Obsession
- 6-Journey
- 7-Night
- 8-Destiny
- 9-Memory
- 10-Intrusion
- 11-Omen
- 12-Threat
- 13-Concession
- 14-Heedless
- 15-Damaged
- 16-Artifice
- 17-Encounter
- 18-Consideration
- 19-Revelation
- 20-Boundaries
- 21-Schism
- 22-Visitant
- 23-Fraught
- 24-Epilogue: Third Try
- 22
- 23
- 24
Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuu Yuu Hakusho, or any of its characters. Those belong to Yoshihiro Togashi-sama, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.
Title: Second Try

Chapter Twenty-Three: Fraught

Word Count: 6,684
[Total Word Count: 162,666 ]
Anime: Yuu Yuu Hakusho

Pairing: KarasuxKurama

Warning: Suspense, violence, language, BL
Author: Kita Kitsune (this is my pre-2014 and YYH fandom name; I will be Kisnau from 2015 onward)

Date: Saturday, January 3, 2015
Miscellaneous Notes (Saturday, January 3, 2015): My lovelies, my darlings, my patient readers. I have not died. I have been very busy since posting Ch22 in October – preparing for a visit home from Germany for two weeks, getting ready for Christmas both with my family in the US and here, making Christmas springerle and not having alone time to write as children have off from school. In addition to this, I have been practicing my kanji every day, was in drawing (as opposed to writing) mode for the month of November, have edged into a new fandom (Avengers; specifically, the FrostIron pairing), expanded to A03, updated all my profiles, changed my handle name and also met my SO of the last five months in NYC at the beginning of December. I will be moving to live with them in May when my contract here in Germany ends. Now that things have settled after all the uproar, I truly hope this little story of mine will be finished by then – it’s been over six years! My goal was to finish it in December 2014, but as you well know, that just didn’t happen. I would apologize for the lateness, but as older fans of this story know (from before 2013), my inspiration is rather unreliable. As such, this past hiatus (short, for me, but it certainly must have felt long to newer readers of this story) was unfortunately unavoidable.
I’m re-reading the past few chapters and shall try to write more for you, today. <3 All is well.
(8:46 PM) Well, dear hearts, aren’t you lucky? I had about 1,000 words written from sometime in October, and finished this chapter out for you, today. :3 This one is perhaps a little shorter than my average for ST (as I usually try for over-7,000, for chapters), but the length suits it. A quick read-through for errors, picking a chapter name, and then it’s on to posting~! :D
(9:15 PM) I don’t have the patience right now to do a proper read-through, so I’m just going to post. Will get any errors when I read it over, later! Please excuse any mistakes – this is hot off the press! :3~
: : : : : : :
~One Month Ago~
            Meirin continued on towards the light, and the ceiling sloped downward until it hovered just a centimeter or two above her head. It stayed there, then, the doorway at the end glowing amidst the obscurity of the hallway. She glanced behind her, but the high-ceilinged room where she had turned from the Gate of Judgment into this lit path was obscured by shadows. It seemed she had come a long way in a curiously short amount of time, but then again she had been distracted. Thoughts of her brother had surfaced with startling clarity; times when she was young, and they had played together under the fond eyes of their parents.
            He had always been there for her; protecting her, encouraging her and ready to lend a helping hand. Being six years older than her, Takashi had always known just what to do, in every circumstance. Memories she had never recalled, in life, were vivid pictures in her mind.
            Takashi’s clear eyes and young face, peering over the edge of her crib at her.
            Him holding her hand as she toddled along, helping her balance and keeping her from falling.
            Ice skating, their hands tight in each other’s as they swung around, laughing.
            Lighting sparklers during Obon, their entire family dressed in yukata.
            A family photo; both their mother and herself seated in kimono, their father and Takashi standing behind them. Meirin had been held on her mother’s lap, ever the restless toddler.
            And then, there had come the day that changed everything.
            Their father had worked at the Kanisawa Corporation – earning a moderate income, despite their uncle’s place at the top of it. Mother had asked Aunt Kumi to help him out, and she had grudgingly passed along the word. Their uncle had given Father something in management, where he sat in a cubicle, and always came home with a stiff neck and shoulders from sitting in front of a computer all day. Father had gotten this job right after he and Mother had been married, and a few years before Takashi was born. Things were never easy, but Mother worked hard to make things the best she could.
            At work, their father had a heart attack. The doctors at the hospital had ascribed it to a hereditary disease. They could do nothing for him; he died in the operating room.
            Mother took up a part-time job to help pay the bills. She worked herself ragged; always doing housework when she was home, making their lunches, before falling asleep, exhausted, still in her apron. Meirin remembered Mother’s face growing pale, grey crescents scoured deep under her eyes. Still, she always smiled at them, never uttered a complaint, never blamed them.
           Coming home from work, she was walking along the shinkansen platform when someone accidentally shoved her and, exhausted, she lost her balance, falling onto the rail. People had helped her, had reached and grabbed her arms and hauled her up, but she had broken her leg in the fall. It didn’t heal right, although they rushed her to the hospital, and put a cast on. She was fired from her job as a nurse’s aide because she could no longer walk around. She got a job as a secretary, but the bills started to pile up as the money the corporation had given them due to Father’s untimely death ran out.
            Takashi suggested Mother ask her sister, Aunt Kumi, for help, but she had despaired and not wanted to ask for more when Aunt Kumi and her husband had already given Father his job, in the first place. So, Mother kept working. Takashi was old enough now that Mother left them alone, more and more. Meirin was left to Takashi’s care when he wasn’t in middle school.
            And then, one day, it was just too much. From the roof of the hospital, during one of her lunch breaks, Mother jumped.
            They were placed in foster care, Meirin far too young, still, to remember either of their parents.
            She paused in her walking. How could she remember any of this, now, actually?
            Perhaps since she was dead, memories became clearer before fading away.
            Botan-san had told her she should move on, Meirin knew, but still…
            I can’t just leave ‘niisan like this. He deserves better.
            She remembered the red eyes that had glinted at her, and her chest hurt. She put a hand to it, closing her eyes for a moment. It had never hurt like that, before.
            You’re right.
            Startled, at the voice, Meirin turned around, eyes wide behind her round glasses.
            “W-Who’s there?”
            There was no one. Just darkness. Inexplicably, Meirin felt a chill run up her spine. She glanced back the way she had come, and wondered if it had been a mistake to head down this hall. But the other side-hall had been dark and scary, whereas this one had been lit; promising freedom. Meirin couldn’t go back the way she came, and she couldn’t go forward to the Gate of Judgment. She wasn’t ready to move on, she couldn’t just leave ‘niisan to the thing that had possessed him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
            No, it wasn’t. You’re right.
            That voice echoed around her, again, but now it sounded closer.
            Your death was unfair. Meirin hesitated, but reached for the voice. It sounded warm.
            Who are you? The following answer curled around her, soft and smoky like a fireplace.
            I am Justice. Meirin almost hesitated, but the question felt too good to ask, hope swelling within her.
            Can you help me? The smoke obscured the hallway, and Meirin felt two fog-like hands cup one of her own. She closed her eyes, starting to smile as the voice breathed its response gently into her face.
My dear child, that is what I was born to do.
: : :
~Present Time~
            The little girl’s rage was pinning him to the ground of the alley. Karasu vaguely heard the drip-drip of water pooling somewhere. She was standing atop him, and Karasu knew the ghost was light as a feather, but her anger and the total blackness of her eyes made her weight seem     comparable to that of a sumo wrestler. He smiled up at her, crooked and patronizing, and found the breath in him to speak.
            “What are you waiting for? Didn’t you want your brother back?” He crooned. “Wasn’t that what this was all about? Haven’t you been nursing this grudge for over half a year, now?” Karasu huffed, already out of breath as the girl leaned in – he hadn’t even known her name. Her fingernails dragged across his face from where they still held it, and pressed in.
            There was no tearing of flesh. Karasu held in a gasp as he felt her grab himself – the core of his demonic soul. Her arm had disappeared into his mouth, and as she dragged it out, holding onto that shadow, he coughed, blood flying onto her pale, eerily delighted face – it was gruesome, with the way she looked, now. The shadow struggled in her palm, and the girl examined it, cocking her head like a bird, every which way. She kneeled on Karasu’s chest, then, insubstantial knees doubling the pressure on his lungs. He still couldn’t find the strength to sit up; not for lack of trying, but she was that oppressive a force atop him.
            “’niisan.” She said, softly, not looking at him anymore but lifting her other hand to comb her fingers through the shadow with spikes of electric green that she had pulled from his soul. For Karasu, it was like staring at his beating heart in someone’s hand. Her fingers were like serrated knives, dragging great deep welts through the fragile comet of energy and he writhed in agony. This was worse than a thousand deaths by exsanguination. She didn’t have it all; it was only a part of him that she’d pulled out, and Karasu thought he might survive this until her expression hooded in frustration and anger.
            “Not here.” She pulled, more, then, and Karasu felt his face growing grey as he grew lightheaded. The wispiest tail of something brushed past his lips and his head lolled to the side, vision clanging.
            The girl took no notice of this. She continued to comb through the soul, seeking a spark of red-orange amidst the black and lime green. She was searching for her brother. The youkai who had eaten him had hidden Takashi’s soul deep within himself, but she knew she could find it.
            The sharp crack of a whip sounded and the ghost hissed, dropping part of the soul. It began to slither back towards the prone demon’s mouth, but she pressed her hand into it to keep it from going anywhere. Back curled like a predator over its kill, she glanced behind her. Her furious eyes landed on a spark of pink. It was glaringly obvious in the void of her anger that surrounded the three of them and hid the alley from the eyes of ordinary humans.
            The creature with a whip that strode into her vision was no human; no demon, either. Snarling, the ghost hunched further over her prize, both sets of fingernails clenching in the soul. She had to find ‘niisan. It was the most important thing she had to do. It was more important than her own name, which she couldn’t even remember.
           This creature had silver ears and a silver tail, easily visible to her ghostly eyes. What she had thought was pink, at first, was pink with foggy swirls of silver curling lazily throughout it. His gaze was green as grass and twice as calm, hair fanning out like fiery silver around him.
            “Go away.” She demanded bluntly, pressing some of her force towards him to bear him away.
            He was pushed back by the force of her anger, but to her great ire he regained his footing.
            “Release this soul.” A voice like glass, simple and clean, stated. She snarled, again, bearing broken teeth.
            “He killed us! I must find ‘niisan.”
“You would tear them both apart!” She smiled at the creature, with all the assurance of the avenging damned. She dragged her fingernails across the demon’s chest beneath her.
“I will find ‘niisan.” She pressed down, harder, and the body beneath her contracted in agony as both the soul and the physical body bore the damage. Three thick, red slashes, augmented by her rage, cut through the front of the demon, staining it red with blood.
            The creature’s eyes widened, and he raced forward. She just rebuffed him, again, sending him to sprawl against the side of the alley. Green eyes burned at her, silver flicking through his pink aura as though in irritation. But she knew she would win. Strange as he was, this creature could not beat her.
            He was not angry enough.
            Given that the demon beneath her had been too easily felled, she rose to stand on him, once again, and allowed the soul to trickle back into the demon’s mouth. He took a deep gasp as life flooded back into him, but she did not look down at him. Her gaze was on the green-eyed one.
            She would vent her anger on this creature. Her entire being called for more blood than had already been spilt. This creature would make a suitable target.
: : :
            Kurama felt himself pushed to the ground, yet again, and curled his bloodied fingers in the gravel in frustration. This onryou was strong, but at least it was distracted enough to have returned the soul to the poor human and was now focusing on him. Kurama only had to buy time. He had informed Botan that it was an onryou he faced, and that if Reikai had any means of subjugating them, to send it down to Earth, post-haste. Botan had nodded and taken off, presumably to find Koenma.
            He only had to last. Kurama cast another glance at the injured human lying, ravaged, beneath the onryou’s feet. He was breathing, but Kurama smelled blood. Not enough for him to bleed out, but enough to know he was injured. What was worrying, was that Kurama could not sense any reiki. Had the onryou already eaten it out of him?
            The onryou shot another blast of anger at him and Kurama rolled out of the way, cursing himself. His kitsune core pulsed with an ache he did not recognize, and Kurama assumed it was his Hoshi-no-Tama trying to manifest, to protect him with a tangible representation of his power, instead of keeping it locked inside. But Kurama was wary for it to be injured; he had already seen the onryou tear into that poor human’s soul. Kurama did not wish that on himself, if he should drop his Tama and the onryou gain control of it, putting him under her power. Kurama much preferred that it remained inside of him, able to provide a small thread of life and independent thought he could cling to, should the onryou’s attacks wear his youki down.
: : :
            Every part of Karasu ached. His chest – and deeper than his chest, somewhere inside – felt as though it had been torn apart. His shirt was soaked and worryingly numb. His vision was going in and out, and the lightheadedness had never really gone away. He wasn’t really aware of the battle going on around him, just heard a sound, now and then, of something making an impact against something else; as though it was being thrown around.
            His eyes long closed, Karasu just waited for it all to stop. This fragile human form couldn’t handle the stress of body damage and soul damage for long. He found it made him oddly peaceful.
            He would have liked to see Kurama, one last time.
            The thought made his blood-flecked lips curl in a last-ditch attempt at happiness, and he laughed softly.
            Kurama would have laughed at him, like this. The fox would have shook his head and said Karasu deserved it. Maybe he did. It was certainly painful enough. Karasu lifted a hand to drag over his chest, towards his face. It didn’t hurt, but as he drew the hand away, he felt the slickness of blood between his fingertips, and smiled quietly to himself, eyes still shut.
            Begin in blood, die in blood. How horribly poetic.
            Karasu winced as something bright burned against his closed eyelids, and didn’t dare open them. He heard a shriek of terrible rage above him, an authoritative female chanting voice, and lastly, a vacuum of air. Imagined claws sank into him as though they were trying to drag him away and then –
            Silence.
: : :
            Botan had arrived, with a device to contain the onryou. Kurama had never been more grateful for her presence in his entire life, as it disappeared into the locket. The void of darkness, pierced by Botan’s holy white light as a sanctioned reaper, cracked around them and crumbled to nothing, granting them the view of the dank alley, once more. Really, he wasn’t so badly injured as the human looked, so Kurama quickly ran over to him, kneeling beside. His face went grim as he noted his chest, and his eyes froze on the man’s face.
            His hand started to reach out for that face, but froze when Botan’s voice piped up from behind him.
            “Well, it’s all sorted, over here. How is he? Kurama?” He heard her footsteps, and swallowed past the lump in his throat. The life he had just saved – was there anything more ironic?
            “I believe he requires your healing powers, Botan.” Kurama managed in a normal-sounding tone of voice, but Botan’s hand on his shoulder as she leaned over him to inspect let Kurama know he hadn’t been nearly convincing enough. She gave a sharp intake of breath, and the hand disappeared from Kurama’s shoulder as she backed up. He just remained staring.
            Karasu looked dead. Bloody, and dead.
Yuusuke had said, that Karasu wanted to talk to him.
Genkai-shihan had said to look into things.
            And now, Karasu was dead.
            Kurama didn’t know what to think. It shouldn’t have bothered him like this. It wasn’t the first time he had seen death. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the death of someone he knew. He had seen Karasu die, too – or, at least, the vampire plant lying sprouted over him, as Kurama had passed out briefly after launching the attack. He’d never seen the actual moment of impact, or the way it had killed Karasu, although he had certainly had a good idea.
            But now his mind was wandering.
            The face he knew, was dead and pale. Botan moved behind him, to Karasu’s other side, and lifted her hands over his chest. Kurama’s face jerked up to her as her hands started to glow with a healing light, but Botan was watching Karasu’s face, her own oddly solemn.
            “He’s a human, Kurama.” She said quietly, as the slashes wove together under her hands. “He’s not dead, yet, and Reikai knows him as a human.” Kurama was torn as he felt at once relieved and horrified and amused, at this information. The length of his silence must have alerted her, for then Botan sighed and closed her eyes, before glancing up at him with a smile. “He’s not who he was, is he?”
            At that, the spell broke and Kurama sat back, a hand rising to his own face with a shaky exhale as he shook his head gently, as though undecided over how he should react. He didn’t know, really – but he did know, secretly, just hadn’t believed it. It was too preposterous. He hadn’t given Karasu an answer, had purposefully neglected clearing up the situation. Kurama had figured he’d always have time, and that Karasu would move on from him.
            It chilled Kurama to realize he had been doing what Hiei did.
            Not from boredom, no, but – disappearing, without a word. Kurama knew where Karasu lived. Kurama knew Karasu would avoid him, not press for any unwanted contact. Or, well, Kurama hadn’t known that, but that was what had happened. And Kurama had ignored the facts glaring him in the face; that humanity had changed Karasu. That was all there was to it. It wasn’t really an unfamiliar concept, considering.
            And still, Kurama had done what Hiei had done.
            He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner, and clenched a fist against his thigh. He waited until Botan drew her hands back, the blood and wounds if not the stains and torn shirt gone, and knelt to pull one of Karasu’s arms over his shoulders. The weight against his back felt dead, and Kurama tried a pained smile towards Botan as she stared steadily up at him, from where she still kneeled.
            “Can you help me get him home?” She blinked at him, and her eyes went back and forth between them a few times before lighting up. She stood hurriedly, her pink kimono fluttering around her knees, a half-confused, half-understanding smile perking up her face.
            “Kurama?” He just smiled tiredly at her.
            “I don’t think he’d want to go home in this condition, and besides…” He hesitated. “Shiori knows him.” And had been asking about him, actually. Botan nodded, blessedly not asking questions, and summoned her oar. They managed to get Karasu between them, still unconscious, and Kurama held onto Botan with Karasu’s front pressed against his back. Before they took off, he murmured something quietly to her, over Karasu’s slumped shoulder.
            “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet?” Botan laughed, cheerily playful, kicking off into the air with a lurch, her blue ponytail flying into his face as the wind whipped it.
            “I think it’ll get out soon enough, Kurama~!”
: : :
            Shiori is surprised and concerned when Kurama enters lugging his passed out ‘boyfriend’ – he hadn’t bothered to clear up anything, after all – with a very pretty blue-haired girl helping support his other shoulder. They manage to convince Shiori that the hospital isn’t needed, and instead bring Karasu up to Kurama’s room and lie him down in bed. Shiori sets to cooking something downstairs, and Kurama asks Botan how Karasu’s soul looked.
Kurama still doesn’t know why he’s so concerned about Karasu’s welfare.
(Except for the fact Kurama does have his suspicions.)
Botan’s expression falls, and she glances towards Karasu on the bed.
“The onryou tore it up. There are slashes all over it. I don’t think it’ll ever fully heal. There are… There are holes in his youki, Kurama. In his reiki, too. Even if he wakes up, parts of him are just missing.” Kurama’s jaw sets, and he glances to the floor, one of his hands fisting at his side, out of range of Botan’s vision.
“Is there nothing I can do?” It’s a quiet comment, but still painful; as though to admit he wants to help is like physically ripping the confession out of him. Botan hesitates.
“You can’t heal the holes in his soul, Kurama. It’s too dangerous.” Her voice is firm, too firm, and Kurama glances up at her, eyes over-bright with sudden hope.
“What can I do?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as such a desperate whisper, and he’s taken a step towards Botan in his urgency without realizing it. Her gaze is steady.
“The wounds are meiki-inflicted.” That’s all she gives him, her voice implying nothing, but comprehension dawns on Kurama’s quick mind like a sunrise.
“Meiki can heal them?” Botan’s eyes slide over towards Karasu, unsure.
“I don’t know. But reiki can’t heal wounds in the soul, and youki isn’t made for healing. That’s the only option left. Theoretically, the meiki could soothe the anger festering around the holes. Part of the onryou’s rage is still eating away at him. But since she’s contained, the residual meiki shouldn’t be as powerful.” Kurama’s already moving to sit on the edge of the bed, a hand moving to his chest, where he felt the pulse in his core, earlier.
“How do I call out my Hoshi-no-Tama?” He asks the room, not expecting an answer, and practically hears Botan’s shoulders slump.
“I don’t know, Kurama.” He nods, at that.
“All right.” He can hear her hesitating.
“You’re not… going to do anything too risky, are you?” Kurama smiles bitterly to himself, but makes it reassuring when he turns his head to regard her.
“Of course not.” He nods towards the locket holding the onryou, hanging from around her neck. “You’d better take that back to Reikai.” Botan’s gaze is conflicted, and Kurama ups the charm on his smile, a little. Eventually, she sighs, and nods. At a gentle reminder Shiori saw her enter, Botan leaves through the front door, Kurama escorting her out. She waves at him as she disappears behind the corner of a building, still in human street clothes, and then he feels the spike as she changes back to her Reikai form and summons her oar. He can’t see her fly away, but he soon knows she is gone.
He goes back up to his room, and pulls his desk chair over beside the bed.
A few hours later, he’s reminded of when he caught Kanisawa-Karasu in this very room – staring at Kurama, asleep – and has to fight the urge to smile fondly.
It’s at that point that Kurama knows there’s no more running from this.
: : :
But this realization is pointless; Kurama still can’t remember how to summon his Hoshi-no-Tama. It might be the only chance he has to heal the wounds gouged into Karasu’s soul, but he can’t access it. Kurama’s not accustomed to feeling so powerless, and as the night stretches on he begins to wonder if Karasu will ever wake up. Why it would both fix and ruin everything if he didn’t.
Why it would matter if he did.
Kurama’s not a masochist. People just like to hurt him. In that, Karasu was no different.
… Was.
Kurama reaches out a hand, and rests it on Karasu’s shoulder. The body is still breathing, physical injuries healed but Kurama has no idea if the damage to the soul was bad enough to keep him sleeping, forever.
“Come back.” Kurama says it in a whisper; like a secret. It’s the first thing he’s said, since beginning his solitary vigil after Botan left. Shiori had come and gone, and told him there was soup downstairs for when ‘Kanisawa’ woke up. She still knows him as Kanisawa.
Kurama’s hand on Karasu’s shoulder curls into a fist.
After a moment, Kurama pulls it back to himself.
All he can do is wait.
: : :
            So wait he does. The night stretches on, and memories play over Kurama’s mind as he gazes absently at the bed. Reflections he’d gone over, a month ago. Some buried truths unearthing themselves. Unwelcome emotions. Conflicting desires. Yeses and noes. Do’s and don’ts. Give or keep. Reach or take.
            He wonders if Karasu struggled with his humanity like Kurama did, at first.
            He wonders what they would talk about.
            He wonders what was the same, and what was different.
: : :
            Karasu still doesn’t wake up. Shiori pokes her head in, in the morning on the way to work, but Kurama waves her off. She smiles at him because she knows a day off from school won’t hurt his grades, and will be made up, later, and leaves. It’s Tuesday. Kurama hopes he doesn’t miss the whole week just because Karasu won’t wake up.
            He does. Kurama makes his excuses at school, does the work brought home to him by a classmate, and doesn’t leave his house. Shiori offers to take care of Karasu, instead, but Kurama can’t risk her being alone around Karasu if he does wake up – possibly disoriented and violent. He says she needs to go to her job and assures her he’s getting his schoolwork done during the day. Kurama’s smart enough that he never really needed the teachers, anyway, but the books were always informative.
            Intermittently, Kurama tries various methods to bring out his Hoshi-no-Tama. They all fail. He keeps trying.
            It’s Saturday morning, and Karasu has been asleep since Monday night when the attack happened. Shiori has gone out with some friends for the day, and Kurama is playing Goblin City when the blankets are thrown off the bed. He pauses the game and spins quickly from his seated position on the floor to an elegant crouch on socked feet, one leg thrust out to the side for balance, eyes wide.
            Karasu is trying to get out of bed, and Kurama rushes forward to grab onto his upper arms so Karasu doesn’t fall. Wide purple eyes lock on him for an instant before narrowing and Kurama’s shoved away. He backs off slightly to watch Karasu warily. It seems Karasu is more focused on standing, but his eyes never leave Kurama, either.
            No trust.
            Kurama allows his face to soften, moving forward slowly, extending a hand, palm up, voice low and quiet, as though he were talking to a spooked animal.
            “It’s all right. The onryou’s gone.” Karasu eyes him balefully, but seems at least to be considering Kurama’s words. Starting to feel uneasy at the lack of returned conversation, Kurama forces himself to smile and slides a little closer. “How do you feel? Can you tell me?” Karasu stares at him, hard, and Kurama believes the intensity of that look would be enough to curdle milk.
            “Who are you.” It’s a statement, but Karasu’s eyes are flicking from side to side, as though already mapping escape routes. Kurama’s hope, kept like a tiny flame in the middle of his chest, starts to flicker.
            “I’m Kurama.” Kurama says easily, praying this isn’t what he thinks it is. Karasu eyeballs him, again, and then his vision slides slowly to the side. Kurama guesses he’s staring at his hair. Karasu visibly hesitates, then lifts a hand to touch the end of one forelock. He’s watching Kurama as he does this. Kurama stays still.
            “I did this, before.” Kurama smiles, a little, and Karasu’s expression grows stormy; confused. “You weren’t smiling.”
            “No.” Kurama concedes to the memory, lifting a hand to gently hold the wrist of the one that’s moved into his hair. Karasu mutely takes this in, and then lifts his other hand to bury fingers into the hair on the other side of Kurama’s head, fingers pressing into his scalp. It tingles, and Kurama closes his eyes with a sigh.
            It’s ironic; so ironic. After all that happened, it seems the holes in Karasu’s soul amount to holes in his memory. Kurama doesn’t know if they’ll heal, and he finds the thought upsets him. He doesn’t know if Karasu now is the same Karasu he realized he… didn’t mind being around. He doesn’t know if it’s the Karasu from before the Tournament, or during the Tournament, or if Karasu even remembers any of that. Because even though it might not have been pleasant, even if Kurama had hated him with every inch of his being, it was still theirs. They couldn’t have begun any other way, and Kurama tastes bile in the back of his throat. Bitterness, at the irony. Just when he comes to realize how much he doesn’t want Karasu to be gone – he is. Kurama winces to himself, and starts when he feels warmth on his cheek, eyes popping open.
            They are too close for Kurama to see Karasu’s expression. The kiss is brief, anyway, soon giving way to a question.
            “Why are you upset?” The hands in his hair have moved, Kurama realizes, gently massaging his scalp and Kurama could almost scream from frustration. He settles for a wet chuckle, shaking his head. He’s low enough that he doesn’t want to move away; he wants this, even if every reason for it is gone.
            “Nothing.” Kurama says quietly, and he can feel Karasu frown against his cheek. A pair of arms encircle his shoulders, and half-unwillingly Kurama hides his face in the curve of one. He’s shaking, but better shaking than crying like some Ningenkai girl who’s just lost her boyfriend. He’s lived longer than that, been through worse, and it doesn’t matter what he feels.
            It shouldn’t matter, because the person holding him now isn’t Kuronue, isn’t Hiei, isn’t Karasu.
            He’s lost all of them.
            There’s a horrible ache in his chest and not-Karasu holds him tighter when the first small sound of weakness escapes Kurama. He doesn’t sob, though; the tears just come, spilling over and not-Karasu holds him patiently, grip tightening around him. There’s a rock in Kurama’s chest that physically hurts and he can’t make sense of it.
            He can steal anything he wants, except for people. People always elude him.
The pain in his chest is searing, now, and Kurama gasps as it feels like there’s fire burning along his arms. It hurts, and he’s not sure, now, if something’s really not wrong. But then it stops, and Karasu goes stiff against him. Kurama slivers his eyes open over Karasu’s shoulder, then draws back.
He stares.
There is a glass ball floating in the air between them. Kurama sets eyes on it and immediately knows what it is. There is fire swirling within; silver foxfire. He hasn’t seen it in millennia, but he knows what it is. Meiki is based on emotion, he remembers. Kurama could never tap into it, before, because he always tried to be so unemotional as a youko. It was still locked away when he started life as Minamino Suuichi, too. Slowly, Kurama looks up at Karasu. He feels helpless, again, because he doesn’t know what to do; he wants to use it, but he can’t remember how. Karasu is still staring at the ball, but then he looks up at Kurama. His hands slide off Kurama’s shoulders and cup around the Hoshi-no-Tama, taking it from where it had been floating in the air.
Immediately, Kurama feels cold and wrong. He lunges for the ball, expression twisted in pain.
“Give it back!” Karasu steps back, eyes watching him measuredly and for a stricken moment Kurama is terribly afraid. He can’t survive without it. “Give it back, I’ll do anything – ” The words spill past his lips like a million kitsune folktales, and he can’t help it. That Tama is his very life. Karasu is still watching him, but then he stretches out his arms, to offer the ball. He’s still holding it, but Kurama dare not reach for it. He’s trapped, just like he never wanted to be.
“You need to do something for me.” Karasu says carefully, eyes silver-purple in the reflected light of Kurama’s Hoshi-no-Tama. Kurama doesn’t think about his answer; it’s driven more by base instinct than cool calculation.
“Anything.” Karasu meets his eyes, again, nodding. Kurama stretches out his hands underneath the Tama.
“Fix me. Kurama.” Karasu says, softly, and Kurama feels his throat tighten up at that word, his name; kitsune magic from the oldest of stories willing his agreement.
“I will try.” The Hoshi-no-Tama drops back into Kurama’s hands, released and returned, and the room explodes in silver fire as it holds Kurama to his word. He doesn’t even need to know anything about how to call upon its power, the Tama just knows.
: : :
            Afterwards, Kurama comes to on the floor of his room, Karasu sprawled beside him. The Hoshi-no-Tama is nowhere in sight, and Kurama automatically puts a palm to his chest. A recently-awakened thrum answers his touch, he relaxes. He glances over at Karasu, and wonders how long they’ve been out.
            (He wonders if it worked.)
            Kurama goes to stand, but finds himself stopped when a hand grabs onto his arm. He looks down, and Karasu is watching him with lidded eyes. Kurama smiles a little; not sure if there are still holes in Karasu’s memory. But instead of saying anything giving away his confusion, Karasu just watches him.
            When the silence stretches too long, Kurama offers wordlessly to help him up, and Karasu releases him. Kurama stands, but Karasu leans against his bed. His eyes don’t stray from Kurama, and that’s a little uncomfortable but Kurama tries to play it off with a smile as he sits in the desk chair still at the side of the bed.
            “It’s rude to stare, you know.” He offers, half-playful, but Karasu still just stares at him.
            “Is this death?” Kurama blinks at him, unable to resist tilting his head a little, and Karasu’s glare intensifies. “Is this my punishment? Being in your presence for eternity and too weak to lift a finger to touch you?” Kurama smiles slyly, hiding his relief, and leans down to Karasu’s level, over his own knees.
            “That depends. Do you want to be dead?” Karasu looks away from him, at this. Kurama pulls back to sit up straight, sobering a little in his surprise.
            “Death is better than the alternative. Humanity is a curse.” That voice is flat, and for the first time Kurama feels the niggling edge of guilt chip away at his bravado. He reaches a hand out for Karasu’s shoulder.
            “Karasu – ” Kurama is swatted away, for his trouble, and Karasu’s already glaring at him, again. He’s struggling to get up, using the edge of the bed as support. Karasu must still be weak from the onryou’s attack, despite having slept for so long. (Or was the sleep real sleep, now that the holes in his soul are healed? Because if Karasu remembers…)
            Once he’s seated on the edge of Kurama’s bed, breathing hard, Kurama gingerly goes to sit beside him. Karasu flinches away from him, shoulders hunching up as he leans over his knees, elbows propped on them.
            “Leave me alone. You’re just one of Reikai’s illusions. Are you listening, Koenma? I’d rather have a cell than this!” Karasu’s yelling at the ceiling, and Kurama suddenly tackles him from the side, catching Karasu off-guard. They flop onto the bed, Kurama’s face hidden in the side of Karasu’s shoulder.
“You’re not dead.” Kurama mumbles, muffled, in Karasu’s shirt – which is actually his own, after having lied to Shiori that the bloodstains and ripped clothes were from some zombie thing at school.
There is disbelieving silence. For his part, Kurama’s just trying not to laugh too audibly.
“Impossible.” Karasu’s voice is flat. “There was an – ”
“Onryou, yes.” For once, Kurama allows himself to simply feel content as he curls up into Karasu’s side. He’d missed this, the affection; he hadn’t allowed himself to see that he had. And right now it’s far-too-entertaining watching Karasu’s mind play catch-up. There is another moment of silence.
“Were you there?” Karasu’s voice is unexpectedly curt, and Kurama tilts his head away from Karasu’s shoulder to look up at him. Karasu is frowning slightly at the ceiling. Kurama’s fingers tighten a little, against the fabric over Karasu’s shoulder, they’re holding.
“…Yes.” Kurama answers after a measured beat. Karasu turns to look at him.
“And you didn’t help her?” The question is so straight-out accusing that Kurama has the grace to look a little abashed.
“I – ”
“Suddenly change your mind because I was dead, is that it?” Karasu presses, his eyes narrowing and Kurama’s eyes widen. That’s exactly what had happened, and Karasu smirks mirthlessly as he reads the answer in Kurama’s expression. Kurama can’t decide if he should be worried as Karasu leans closer to him. “You did, didn’t you. You were just avoiding me for the past month because you didn’t want to admit it.” Karasu’s tone is smug, and now it’s Kurama’s eyes that narrow.
“That onryou tore holes in your soul.” Kurama states, coldly, and Karasu seems to pause in his gloating, at that, to regard him.
“Did it, now?” Kurama glares at him; he can still see arrogance in the depths of Karasu’s gaze, and it’s annoying him.
“Yes. And I healed them.” Kurama sniffs, half-haughty, half-playing. Karasu’s starting to look amused, and Kurama doesn’t struggle when Karasu rolls them over, so he’s pinning the fox. Kurama lets him, gazing up at him calmly.
“And how’d you do that?” Kurama smiles up at him.
“Kitsune secret.” Karasu scoffs, at that, and leans down to kiss him; he stops just before it happens.
“You’re sure I’m not dead? Because this is about as close to a dream as I’d get.” The words are genuine, and Kurama turns a little hesitant as the mood sobers, eyes flicking up. He licks his lips before answering, throat feeling a touch tight; he’s almost nervous.
“You’re not dead.” Kurama affirms, nodding once but not losing the eye contact as Karasu watches him. “I’m not dead, either.” He adds, as an afterthought. Karasu’s eyes regain their confident glint, as he leans down.
“Not yet, anyway.” Karasu murmurs into the kiss, and Kurama has to chuckle at the dark humor in that, winding his arms around Karasu’s neck to pull him down so they can deepen it.
Because Kurama shouldn’t trust Karasu, shouldn’t think that those words are only a bad joke, a reference to their history, a playful jab at old fears. Kurama shouldn’t feel anything for someone who once tried to kill him, and would have relished it. But then again, in his long life – there are a lot of things Kurama shouldn’t have done. Maybe this is just one in a long line of mistakes; maybe this is the first time he’s being honest with himself. Kurama doesn’t need Karasu, not really, but the prospect of going on without him was enough for Kurama to put his literal life in Karasu’s hands, in the end. And Karasu didn’t smash it – he took it, but he gave it right back. Thus, considering what he’s seen of Karasu’s humanity, so far, and where his apparent feelings must lie...
Well.
Kurama can’t really bring himself to regret this one, either.
~*~MAIN STORY END~*~
~EPILOGUES & OMAKES TO EVENTUALLY FOLLOW~
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Second Try	By : kle10 Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5939 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own YYH.

Second Try