Echoes XIII



Dreamwalk



Keiko frowned unhappily. “Do you have to do it?” she asked softly, her brown 
eyes moving past him to watch the two tussling kits on the floor. “I don’t want 
to sound jealous or greedy or anything, but - Yuusuke, you just got back! When 
do I get time with you? You’ve been gone for a month - longer - and now you’re 
back, and just when I think everything’s okay, they call you away again.” She 
looked up, and he shifted uncomfortably, seeing the glimmer of tears in her 
eyes. “When do I get to occupy you full-time?” she whispered plaintively.
Yuusuke reached out, taking her chin and tilting her face up. “Come on,” he 
chided gently. “You know that Kurama is one of my closest friends. He’s saved my 
life more times than I’d care to count - I owe him this much. We owe him this 
much. Now he needs my help, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and let one of my 
best friends fight his battles entirely alone.”
“But - but -” she bit her lip, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling 
out. “Oh, damn,” she swore quietly. “I don’t want to seem all weepy and stuff, 
Yuusuke, but - can’t you sit this one out? Please?” She reached up, clasped his 
arms with her hands, staring at him pleadingly.
“Keiko.” He bent forward, kissed her forehead lightly. “I gotta do this. If I do 
nothing else for the rest of my life, I’ve gotta do this. Try to understand.”
She sighed, opened her eyes and looked at him sadly. “I do understand,” she said 
in a small, miserable voice. “I just wish ... oh, never mind.” She straightened, 
wiping her eyes. “I don’t want you to remember me crying,” she told him, with 
just the faintest hint of good humor in her voice. “You will forget I was 
crying, and you will forget I tried to make you stop. You wouldn’t be who you 
are if you let a friend struggle alone.” She pushed herself up on her toes and 
kissed his cheek, then moved past him to separate the kits before the wrestling 
match got too violent on the carpeting.
He smiled, briefly, nodding to her back. “Arigatou,” he said quietly. “I’ll be 
home as soon as possible, Keiko. I promise.” She heard his soft footsteps as he 
then turned and left, closing the front door quietly behind him. Keiko waited 
until he was gone, then bowed her head, taking a deep breath. Bara climbed into 
her lap, settling comfortably on her jean-covered legs, and looked up at her 
curiously, the tip of her index finger in her mouth.
“Kei-obachan?” she asked softly, her hazel eyes and little voice as childishly 
serious as only the very young could be. “Doushita no?”
Keiko blinked rapidly, then shook her head, smiling. She wanted to hug the 
child, but both Yuusuke and Toge had warned her against the girl’s emphatic 
powers. She settled for rubbing the kit’s back over the large white T-shirt she 
wore - a hand-me-down from Yuusuke, until they could buy proper clothing for the 
kits. “It’s nothing serious, Bara-chan,” she said softly, looking up at the 
wall. “Nothing at all. Don’t worry about it.”
The kit eyed her gravely, then suddenly reached out, her tiny fingers brushing 
Keiko’s cheek. Reflexively, the older girl drew back, too late to prevent 
physical contact with the little youko.
Bara gasped, her eyes widening and darkening, and she swayed, her brother 
leaping forward to catch and hold her up. As Keiko watched, unable to speak, 
Bara looked up, hazel eyes dark and mature beyond her short years. A weak smile 
creased her mouth as she reached out again, her small arm not even coming close 
to Keiko’s shoulder.
“Kei-obachan,” she said quietly, “don’t feel bad. Yuu-chan is strong. He’ll come 
back alive and healthy, and then everything will be all right, ne? Cheer up, and 
have faith in your Yuu-chan.” She smiled wanly, then turned, snuggling to her 
brother. “Oniichan, I want to take a nap,” she muttered, wrapping her arms 
around his neck. “Carry me,” she ordered, then closed her eyes.
Toge made a face at the top of her head, then tugged her from Keiko’s lap and 
looked questioningly at the young human woman that his surrogate father loved. 
She smiled brightly at him, and nodded. “I’m okay, Toge-chan,” she assured him. 
“You go ahead and put Bara-chan to bed. I just need a drink of water, and I’ll 
be fine.”
The small youko boy smiled brightly, then nodded, then half-dragged, 
half-carried his little twin from the room, stumbling at times, but otherwise 
balancing her quite well. Keiko smiled softly at the scene, then got to her 
feet, shivering a little, her eyes still stinging from the tears that had not 
been shed. The little girl was not a seer; she knew that. But her prediction was 
all that Keiko had to cling to, while waiting for him to return again from some 
dangerous mission that she could have no part in. She hated that feeling of 
helplessness; knew that Yukina and Shizuru both felt the same way about 
Kuwabara. At least Shiori-san had been spared that, she thought absently, even 
as she retrieved a cup and turned the tap. Water spilled into the cup, 
overflowed the curved rim, and splashed onto her hand, but she didn’t notice, 
engrossed in her own thoughts.
“I’ll be home soon as possible, Keiko. I promise.”
She started, shut off the water, and stared at her full cup. A single tear slid 
free, and she almost smiled, despite the situation.
“You’d better keep that promise, Urameshi-kun,” she said clearly, her tone 
warbling between laughter and tears. “I’ll be holding you to it.”






Kuwabara closed the door and hung his head, feeling like shit. Yukina had not 
argued with him, when he had told her about Yo-mawari’s request that he and 
Urameshi help with Kurama’s nightmares, but she had looked at him - that same 
sad, bittersweet look that had first claimed his heart when he saw her from 
Koenma’s video. She had bid him good luck, and sent her best wishes to Kurama 
and the others, but the unhappy acceptance in her gaze made him feel like the 
biggest bastard on the face of the earth.
“Oi! Kuwabara!” he heard Yuusuke call, and turned his head, glowering and 
nodding a greeting as the smaller man appeared, pushing his way easily through 
the crowds. He fell into easy step beside his longtime friend and teammate, 
unconsciously mirroring his movements and posture - shoulders slouched, hands in 
their pockets, head lowered in a position of projected toughness. They moved in 
silence, but when the tall, gray stone building of Kurama’s apartment loomed 
into view, Yuusuke stopped and looked seriously at Kuwabara. “You sure you wanna 
do this?”
Kuwabara frowned and snorted. “Course I do! K’rama’s m’friend!” he protested, 
glaring at him. “He needs my help, so I’ll give him my help! Why? You don’t 
wanna do this?”
Yuusuke rolled his eyes and shook his head. “That’s not it. I - I just had a 
disagreement with Keiko about it. She didn’t want me to go, and I almost 
agreed.” A slight shrug of his shoulders, and he sighed. “I felt really bad 
about overruling her on that one.”
“You too, eh?” Kuwabara asked dryly. Yuusuke raised a questioning eyebrow, and 
he elaborated as the smaller man opened the door and they both trooped inside. 
“Yukina-chan didn’t argue with me, but she has this way of looking at a man that 
turns him to jelly. She actually wished me good luck, but she looked so sad when 
she said it, that I felt like a heel.” The large man let out a tired huff of 
air. “It’s just so damn hard to say no to the woman you love, ne, Urameshi?” he 
asked as they trooped up the stairs. “Women just have a way of weakening your 
barriers without your realizing it until it’s too late.”
Yuusuke laughed and nodded, grinning at his friend. “Heh. Don’t I know it. 
They’ve got us wrapped around their fingers. But if you tell either of them 
that, I’ll deny it,” he warned, as they stopped in front of Kurama’s door and he 
raised his fist to knock.
Kuwabara grinned back. “You and me both, Urameshi.”
The door opened, and Yo-mawari’s dark eyes peered at them cautiously. He smiled 
thinly at the sight, then stepped back, allowing them to enter, nodding politely 
to them as they kicked their shoes off and entered the living room, before 
pausing in surprise.
Kurama lay on the couch, his hands folded and resting neatly on his stomach. His 
eyes were closed and his face was peaceful, despite the pale coloring and the 
blatantly visible bruise-like marks under his eyes. Hiei was seated on the floor 
by his head, legs and arms crossed, a scowl on his face as he nodded to them. 
And, seated on the couch at his feet, Kuraihana smiled wanly at them, nodding 
pleasantly.
“Ah - Kuraihana-san,” Kuwabara said hesitantly, “what are you doing here?”
“She’s going to guide us into the dreamwalk, moron,” Hiei snapped peevishly, his 
upper lip curling to reveal one small, sharp fang. Before Kuwabara could 
retaliate, Yuusuke smacked him on the back of the head, indicating the need for 
silence as they also sat on the floor, facing the couch and Kurama’s sleeping 
figure. Behind them, Yo-mawari closed the door and then took his place at 
Kuraihana’s feet, his face grim and set, gesturing to the female youkai that she 
could continue.
The healer took a deep breath, and started to force a smile, then gave up and 
regarded them all with solemn blue eyes. “Minna-san, I hope you know that what 
you’re about to do is very dangerous - both for you, the walkers, and for 
Kurama-ojisan, the dreamer. Do you all still wish to go through with this?” They 
all nodded, and she sighed, bringing one hand up to rub at her temples as she 
continued. “Fine. What you’re going to do is enter his sleeping mind - his 
dreams - and see if there is any way you can physically banish them. In a way, 
you’ll be erasing his memories. Along the way, you might learn things about him 
- or about what he thinks of you - that you might not like. Are you sure you 
still want to go through with this?”
There was no negative answer.
She sighed, got to her feet, and closed the blinds. “All right, then, 
minna-san,” she instructed, “close your eyes, and empty your mind. Hiei-san, you 
might have better practice at it than the others, due to your Jagan, but -” she 
shrugged. “Close your eyes, and empty your minds as much as possible, and then 
focus on Kurama. Think of nothing else but him.”
Her voice was low and soft, almost hypnotic; a low chant that rose and fell in 
rhythmic cadences. It wasn’t long, before all of them were entranced, light 
stages of sleep, and she trailed off for a few moments, rising to his feet and 
leaning over her uncle, measuring the pattern of his breathing. She nodded, 
satisfied, then spoke again.
The words were archaic, felt odd in her mouth as she spoke them. Several times, 
she stumbled, almost mispronounced a word - made a fatal error - mistakes that 
were barely caught in time. Her brow was beaded with the cold sweat of nervous 
tension as she finished, watching apprehensively at the five young men 
surrounding her.
First, there was no response; it was almost as if she had been babbling to 
herself. She frowned in defeat, mentally berating herself ...
There was a sudden, glowing flash, and she threw up one arm to shield her eyes 
as it burned painfully into her skull. Her head throbbed from the sudden bright 
intensity, the light penetrating her closed lids and manifesting in a dull 
red-black glow. She fancied she could hear voices, swirling around her, the 
voices of her companions - but when she shook her head gingerly, they died down, 
leaving her in a silence that was eerie in its utter completeness. Nothing 
seemed to move in the apartment, and she cautiously opened her eyes, peering 
around.
Nothing was noticeably out of place; Kurama was still sleeping quietly, his face 
quiet and composed, breathing even. The other four had not moved from their 
positions, cross-legged and unmoving. She sank back into a seated position on 
the couch, rubbing her temples slowly with her fingertips. There wasn’t much 
else she could do now, but wait ...






Yuusuke opened one eye slowly, and resisted the urge to complain - and loudly. 
It hadn’t worked! They were still in Kurama’s apartment!
He sighed heavily, opening both eyes and resting his chin on his draw-up knees, 
then blinked in shock. Never mind, he amended to himself. It *had* worked. 
Maybe. Kami knew where they were, but it sure as hell wasn’t the Ningenkai, and 
it sure as hell wasn’t any apartment like he’d ever seen.
There was a low groan to his right, and he shifted in place, turning his head 
and watching as Kuwabara swung his large body up into a seated position, rubbing 
the back of his head and grumbling to himself. It was almost amusing, watching 
the same confusion he had felt play over the latter’s homely features, and then 
Kuwabara scratched his head, turning to look at Yuusuke. “Oi, Urameshi! Did it 
work?”
“How the hell would I know?” he replied testily, stretching a little, wincing as 
a small jab of pain made itself known in his shoulder, the muscle complaining 
from a sudden, unexpected movement. He rubbed it absently, looking around, a 
frown darkening his features. “Where are we?” he repeated the question.
“The outer parts of kyoudai-kun’s mind,” Yo-mawari’s soft reply ghosted from 
behind them. Yuusuke tilted his head back, blinking at the dark-haired youko 
from his sort-of upside-down position. Kurama’s twin was standing on his feet, 
arms crossed over his chest, looking down upon them impassively as he spoke 
again. “From here, we enter the part of the mind that dreams, and that is where 
we have to be extremely careful - if not, we could easily be separated, which 
would leave us vulnerable and make it harder for Hana-san to recall us back to 
our physical bodies.”
Kuwabara blinked. “I didn’t understand a word you just said,” he admitted, 
slowly, scrambling to his feet, still rubbing the back of his neck. “But you 
don’t have to explain again. I’ll just stick close and hope I do it right.”
“Idiot,” Hiei’s soft, dark voice pronounced, with a fierce sort of veiled anger. 
“One wrong move could very well be Kurama’s death, and you’re just going to wing 
it?” There was the clear, ringing sound of metal sliding over metal, and 
suddenly, the point of Hiei’s katana was resting lightly at the jugular notch of 
Kuwabara’s throat, the small, red-eyed youkai scowling dangerously. “Let ’Wari 
explain it again. He’ll go slowly, so that you can understand. But I don’t want 
you or anyone else -” he paused in his lecture, looking around with a 
threatening glower on his face - “to screw up. I’m not letting anyone hurt 
Kurama. Understand?”
Cowed, nervously eyeing the sword at his throat, Kuwabara swallowed, winced when 
the movement made vulnerable flesh ripple under sharp steel, and squeaked his 
reply. “Hai,” he said uncertainly, then sighed in relief when Hiei stepped back, 
sheathing the katana in a swift, graceful movement. Yo-mawari chuckled, a dry, 
humorless sound, bereft of his usual good-natured teasing.
“Kuwabara-kun, all we’re doing is going from this place, here -” he gestured - 
“which is, basically, kyoudai’s conscious mind - and entering the world of his 
dreaming self. Hana-san wasn’t kidding when she said we would be entered 
Kurama’s dreams. And we have to stick together, with this. If we get separated, 
it’ll be more dangerous for all those involved - us, the walkers; Kurama, the 
dreamer, and Hana-san, the recaller. Watch your step.”
Yuusuke got to his feet slowly, stretching and crossing his arms behind his 
head, looking around. “Say ... just how do we enter Kurama’s dreaming mind, 
anyway?” he asked, curiously. “I don’t see no portals or anything, here.”
Yo-mawari laughed, softly. “You leave that to me,” he instructed, then closed 
his eyes. His lips moved, though neither human could quite understand his words. 
His entire slender form began to glow, first in the muted silver-gray of his 
aura, then flaring brilliant emerald green as a miniature explosion set off 
around him, causing his long hair to flare around his face and shoulders, like a 
dark cloud. It swirled around him like climbing vines, twirling around his body 
gracefully as his form grew and expanded, shoulders broadening and hair 
bleaching until the pure youko self stood before them, his eyes still closed, 
still chanting softly.
Abruptly, the lights around him died, along with the phantom winds that stirred 
his hair, and a thin, shimmering emerald slit appeared in the air directly 
before him, slowly expanding both horizontally and vertically until it formed a 
large, round portal of shimmering green light, one of a non-constant hue that 
shifted and moved back from pale spring to dark olive and all the varying shades 
between. One thin golden eye looked at them, and Yo-mawari’s lips moved again, 
in the soundless command - “Now.”
Yuusuke swallowed nervously, took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and walked 
resolutely forward. He entered the portal, felt a small shiver run down his 
spine, his skin writhing from the odd feeling of the portal - he was surrounded 
by Kurama’s aura, the strength and depth of the youko’s ki engulfing him, 
leaving him feeling bewildered, helpless, and very small, in the face of 
everything his companion had been, and had done.
There was a sudden, hideously loud cracking sound, and his eyes flew open just 
in time to see the tunnel of light shatter, breaking into dozens of pieces like 
the shards of a broken mirror. He winced, felt a jagged lightening-stab of pain 
slice into his mind, and let out a cry as he blacked out entirely.






Kuraihana frowned as Yuusuke’s body jerked violently, but when she rose to her 
feet to go to his side, he fell silent again. She sank back into her seat, 
pulling her knees up to her chest and sighing worriedly. This didn’t look good 
...






Yuusuke opened his eyes, slowly, painfully. His head complained fiercely, and 
every movement sent a bolt of pure fiery agony through his body. He hissed 
involuntarily, squinting, and slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. 
It seemed to take forever for that small movement, and once he was in position, 
he lifted his head ... and stared.
He knelt on the edge of a huge framework of silver lines, all woven together in 
a nexus that resembled a spider web, yet was infinitely more organized and 
graceful. Some were thicker than others, and shone with a different underlying 
hue, but overall, he could only see the net, so beautiful that it caused a small 
lump to form in the back of his throat. The lines all swerved around a common 
center, where two slender, ghostly figures seemed to hover, their outlines pale 
and their forms translucent. He squinted at the picture, then his eyes widened 
as he recognized it.
Youko Kurama was the taller of the two figures - there was no mistaking the 
long, silver hair and the slender fox ears that pricked forward in eager 
attention. And the other - the other was also one he could never forget; no 
other he knew had that kind of long, thick red hair or those kind of expressive 
wide eyes. He could only gape for a few moments, jaw hanging like an utter fool, 
before he snapped to attention.
Was this what Yo-mawari meant, he wondered, by saying they had to enter Kurama’s 
dream-world? He pondered that as he stood, wincing as aches reminded him of 
their presence with jabbing pain. He swayed, put a palm to his forehead, then 
leaned forward, unconsciously reaching out to touch one of the thicker silver 
strands, one that glittered blue-white under its dominating silver sheen, 
intending to use it for support in standing. 
At that contact, he cried out, frozen in place, eyes opening wide as his mind 
was assaulted by a barrage of images. He could not move, could not pull his hand 
away, or close out those scenes, thoughts, sights, or memories.
He saw himself, as Kurama always saw him - the cocky, caring, self-assured 
friend that Kurama viewed with such warm affection that he felt unworthy. All 
his masks and pretenses were stripped away in a blinding moment of clarity, as 
he literally saw himself through another’s eyes. Kurama understood the uncaring 
facade he always put on; understood and saw through it entirely. He was no 
longer just Urameshi Yuusuke, the uncaring, boorish, rebellious delinquent who 
had gained the fear and respect of nearly all his classmates; he was just 
Yuusuke. Comrade-in-arms. Teammate. Friend.
Brother.
There were a variety of shared memories, from a different perspective; familiar 
scenes that seemed so different, once he experienced them as Kurama had.
He saw the Mirror of UtterDark, with its malevolent and the double-edged gift it 
granted; saw Kurama’s grim face staring resolutely back from the round, polished 
dark surface. He remembered their rooftop conversation, and Kurama’s surprising 
openness as he opened up and told a near-complete stranger a secret that none 
other knew, other than himself.
The link went deeper, and he found himself enshrouded in Kurama’s mind, the 
youko’s thoughts and feelings echoing in his ears as their conversation 
progressed. When the nurse burst in on them, he felt the sickening lurch of fear 
and worry that knotted in Kurama’s heart and stomach; felt the grim, unwavering 
determination to save her life, and the sad acceptance for what he had truly 
believed was going to be the end of his life. 
The Mirror’s words boomed hollow in their combined hearing, like the very crack 
of doom, as it spoke, inquiring the depth of Kurama’s desire for Shiori’s life. 
And he felt the sadness, regret as Kurama whispered his consent, closing his 
eyes against the brightness of the full moon, and the Mirror’s power surged to 
life.
“Sayonara, ’Kaasan,” he heard Kurama’s voice whisper sadly, even as he felt the 
slender body jerk spastically when the mirror’s energy sent out hungry tendrils, 
enveloping his outstretched arm and crouched form, draining his energy with a 
swift, merciless efficiency.
Once again, he saw himself do the same stupid thing he had done at the time; his 
interference with the Mirror’s slow murder of a five-hundred-year-old youko. At 
the time, he had only thought of his own funeral; his mother’s weeping as people 
prayed before his memorial; knew that the same sort of grief that had driven his 
mother into an alcoholic rage would have easily destroyed the fragile, gentle 
woman whose life teetered dangerously close to ending.
He had never realized how truly awed Kurama had been by that unselfish movement; 
how a simple, thoughtless action could be the basis of everything the redhead 
saw about him. Those times when he had been silly, or juvenile, or simply 
bullheaded, it had been the memory of that one event that kept Kurama from 
lashing out, from creating a rift in their slowly-growing friendship.
Other times, other memories - the Ankoku Bujuutsukai; the Makai Bujuutsukai; 
everything in their long acquaintance spiraled together into a blinding, 
confusing jumble that left him feeling helpless and very small, as if he didn’t 
deserve knowing this fox, or his warmly accepting friendship.
He remembered everything, saw it played out from behind Kurama’s eyes; 
remembered shared events that had drawn them closer, tightened the bonds of 
their friendship into something rare and precious. His anger when that bastard 
from the Ankoku had beaten Kurama’s senseless body; his quick defense for his 
friend; his concern when he had realized Kurama was awake. Small things, little 
things he had not thought twice of were magnified, transformed into something 
beyond mere gratitude.
Kurama’s grief when Sensui killed him for the second time.
He didn’t like remembering that; the first time had been bad enough, but now, 
seeing it as Kurama had, he felt a sharp, grieving pain ravage his mind and 
heart, horror and disbelief mingling as realization set in that he, Yuusuke, was 
dead. And Kurama had felt guilt, as if the redhead alone were responsible; as if 
the death could have been prevented by him alone.
Kurama’s grief at his death, then eclipsed by his joy at his resurrection.
As the world stopped spinning and cleared, leaving Yuusuke alone and gasping for 
breath in the world of silver threads, his knees sagged. He sank to the ground, 
releasing the thread and hugging himself as his mind spun, trying to process 
everything he had learned. Talk about information overload, he thought dazedly, 
as he shook himself, feeling a twinge of nausea as he did. He felt drained, 
physically and emotionally, the roller coaster of Kurama’s mind leaving him 
bewildered and lost.
Long minutes dragged slowly by, and he fought his way to his feet once more, 
wincing and rubbing his temple as pain shot from his brain down his body, ending 
in a dull tingling ache at his feet. There was no set path among the silver 
vines, but he moved on, avoiding the thicker strands, twitching when a smaller 
one brushed his arm, and he was treated to a brief flash; a single memory that 
had never crystallized into something important.
Blind, confused, and alone, he wandered the labyrinth of Kurama’s mind and 
prayed he was going in the right direction.






Kuwabara knew better than to move.
He was in a very uncomfortable position, those damned silver threads coming 
dangerously close to him, like the slender tendrils of a climbing plant. The 
analogy almost made him smile; he was thinking of plants while wandering in the 
mind of a creature who could easily grow any sort of plant he desired, given the 
correct seed and time. That was almost amusing.
What wasn’t amusing was the pounding in his skull; the dull throb that was 
heightened by his psychic senses to a keening shriek that was nearly 
intolerable. He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes tightly closed, feeling 
tears seep from the corners of his tightly-closed eyes, trickling down his face 
and falling free. That same sixth sense that made his head ache to fiercely 
warned him against making the same mistake Yuusuke had, not seconds before; 
warned him against touching any of the beautiful lines that surrounded him in a 
network of fiery silver.
“Anou ... Kuwabara-kun!” he heard a voice shout, and opened his eye a crack, 
enough to see a tall, dark form wading its way through the wires towards him. 
Too tall to be Hiei, and to polite to be Urameshi, so that left ... he 
straightened, then winced as pain rose in a dizzying wave to crash against the 
back of his eyes. “Oi, Kuwabara-kun! Daijoubu ka?”
He wanted to say something; got as far as opening his mouth, when he swayed, 
unconsciously. A thick, round tendril brushed his back through the cloth, and he 
stiffened as images and sounds entered his mind, clear, yet somehow distant, as 
if filtering past a mute, or working around a block. All that could be easily 
made out was Kurama, in youko form, running along a cliff side, closely pursued 
by an angry mob, flanked by a tall, dark figure ... he shook his head to clear 
it of that disturbing scene, then closed his eyes.
“Kuwabara-kun?” Yo-mawari’s voice asked gently. “Kuwabara-kun, daijoubu ka?”
He opened his eyes a little bit and scowled from the pain. “Ehhh ... I think so. 
Where are we?” He looked around, squinting at the lines, unconsciously reaching 
out, then drawing back as his defenses kicked in. The youko twin’s soft laughter 
echoed in the eerily still air, and he watched as a dark figure slipped easily 
through the trailing lines, swiftly brushing them out of the way, seemingly 
unaffected by the memory-flashes they brought about. Yo-mawari sat down across 
from him, hands resting lightly on his knees, eyes concerned under their dark 
fringe of black hair. 
“How come you don’t feel anything when you touch those vines?” Kuwabara 
complained, rubbing the base of his skull lightly. “My head hurts like hell, and 
if I touch them, I get all these visions that don’t make sense, and to top it 
all off, I’m still not sure what we’re supposed to be doing, and ... and ... oh, 
never mind,” he finished crossly, sighing peevishly. “I’m just not feeling 
good.”
Yo-mawari bowed his head slightly, studying his hands, then looked up again, a 
small spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, to answer your first 
question,” he said smoothly, rising to his feet, “I already have shared most of 
my brother’s memories. Many of the things that the vines show you are things you 
didn’t know already.” He tapped his temple lightly with one finger, his face 
cheerful, though his tone was almost conspiratorial. “Our mental link lets me 
see parts of Kurama’s mind and memories when he chooses to allow it or his guard 
is down; we can also feel the same things as the other, like when kyoudai and 
Meijin are -” he cut off, abruptly, coughing delicately, a blush staining his 
cheeks. “Ah, never mind.” He grinned sheepishly, then reached out, offering a 
hand to help Kuwabara to his feet. “Be careful; mind the vines. Your psychic 
sense only makes it worse for you.”
“Like you think I didn’t notice?” Kuwabara snapped, a tad peevish, shaking his 
head a little, half-expecting to hear his skull rattling. “Where do we go from 
here? Straight? Or left? Maybe right?” He looked in each direction as he spoke, 
craning his head, trying to see as far as he could in each way.
Yo-mawari shrugged carelessly. “We go whatever direction we decide. We’re trying 
to meet up with Yuusuke-kun and Meijin-san, though, so we’ll be looking for 
them. It’ll be harder to find their ki in this mess; we’re utterly surrounded by 
Kurama’s presence, so we’ll have to work through that before we can find them.” 
He turned and began walking, absently pushing a large strand out of his way as 
he walked. The psychic stared at it nervously, shifting back and forth - there 
was no graceful away to avoid it; it lay waist-level in the only clear path that 
led him out of this little cocoon. He sighed, then ducked, trying to crawl under 
it, closing his eyes tightly.
He felt something cool and soft brush his forehead, before his mind exploded 
into a riot of bright lights that raked his mind with a fiery, exquisite sort of 
pain. He might have screamed, and he might not have, and the world vanished from 
around him, leaving him floating alone in a sea of blackness, the only light 
coming from the silver thread that hovered before him, so pale it was glowing. 
Underneath its metallic gleam, he could have sworn he saw the spark of gold, but 
that observation became a moot point as pictures began swirling around him; 
pictures and voices.
He saw Kurama’s smiling face, his long red hair teased by a wild wind that sent 
the delicate, heart-shaped pink petals of sakura blossoms dancing around him, 
getting caught in the long red strands, brushing like a tiny caress. Kurama 
stood on a bridge, overlooking the water with a happy smile on his face, dressed 
casually in a faded blue shirt and white jeans; he seemed to turn towards 
Kuwabara, and smile invitingly. “Ohyaou,” the redhead called, even as the image 
faded, to be replaced by another.
He saw Toguro Ani, trapped forever in a plant that Kurama had summoned in anger 
and cold calculation, caught in his own private living hell. He saw his own 
shameful capture by Sensui through Toguro Ani’s tentacle-like fingers, and 
Kurama’s worry and anger at the kidnapping sang through his mind like a fierce 
battle cry. Ani had signed his death warrant with that act, that simple taunting 
as he snatched Kuwabara from directly under their noses, only to later mock them 
for it.
He remembered seeing Kurama in the park that day, lost in the haunting melody he 
played; the sweet, breathy whisper of pipes rising and falling in shimmering 
cadences of pure silver and mist. Warm, gentle amusement enwrapped him as the 
musician paused to look up, and saw his own ungainly form standing there, 
uncertain and embarrassed by the simple beauty of the song.
Their conversation, under the wide, spreading branches of the empty tree; 
Kurama’s slight surprise and laughing acceptance of his fumbling request to be 
discreet about his relationship with Hiei in his presence; Kurama’s brotherly 
affection as he began to play again, filling the air with that same shivering 
pattern of notes.
“Kuwabara-kun,” he heard Kurama say, as if trying to attempt his attention. 
Unconsciously, he swung his head in the direction of that spoken voice, and met 
a pair of serious, wide green eyes that stared at him, unblinking. He could see 
his own large figure reflected back at him, familiar, yet somehow changed, in a 
way he could not quite identify. He still had the same intimidating stance of 
his body and threatening scowl that could so easily dissolve into a wide grin or 
a laugh, and his own narrow eyes frowned at him from his reflection, almost as 
if he were the picture, and the other Kuwabara was real.
Then, like a shattering mirror, the world around him exploded into shards of 
light and color, broken pieces of the images that had battered him dissolving 
like nightmares in the light of day, leaving him dazed and bewildered, and once 
more, the sea of tangled silver vines filled his vision. He was standing, 
somehow, both hands fisted tightly around the thick silver-gold band, as if 
using it for support, though he did not lean on it, out of the unconscious fear 
of tearing it free and permanently damaging the youko’s mind.
“Kuwabara-kun!” he heard Yo-mawari’s voice call anxiously, from a distance. 
“Kuwabara-kun!”
He opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - and blinked dazedly into 
Yo-mawari’s face, hovering inches from his own, a frown hovering on his lips and 
in his dark eyes. The youko stepped back, giving him room, resting on his 
haunches and watching him with a shadowed expression.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I didn’t know you weren’t following me 
until I heard you screaming. What happened?” 
Kuwabara blinked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, 
supporting his forehead with his palms, staring at his feet. “I - I - I don’t 
know ... something odd ...” he shook his head, angrily, unable to find the words 
to describe what he had seen. “I just saw a bunch of images. Lots of jumbled 
stuff, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And right when I thought I was 
going to understand everything, I woke up.” He paused, considering his words, 
then sighed and shook his head vehemently again. “No, I didn’t wake up; I just 
sorta ... sorta ‘came back to myself’, as it were. It’s hard to explain.”
Yo-mawari nodded, black eyes thoughtful as he frowned. “You probably touched one 
of the stronger memory-threads,” he guessed. “Judging from the way you were 
holding one when I found you again, that’s a pretty safe bet.” He cracked a 
small smile, shaking his head. “Kurama has had over five hundred years to create 
his memories, and his mind has always been exceptionally sharp at this sort of 
recollection. It’s one of the reasons why I was so surprised he didn’t recognize 
me, at first.” His smile turned slightly bitter from memory, as he pushed 
himself to his feet. “It must have been pretty intense,” he said, softly. “You 
were out for almost fifteen minutes after you stopped screaming.”
The larger human blinked up at his companion in surprise, accepting the 
proffered hand that hauled him easily to his feet. He shrugged, stretching and 
crossing his arms behind his head, looking around. “I guess. I don’t remember 
all that much,” he lied. “Just a lot of vague things that kind of mashed 
together. So, where to now?”
Yo-mawari shook his head, looking around, a pensive expression on his face. “We 
try to find Meijin-san and Yuusuke-kun,” he said simply. “No other way around 
it; if we’re to help Kurama at all, we’ll need to do it as a team, and that 
means meeting up again. Come on; we’ll try this way. Give a yell if you fall 
behind, this time. We don’t need you conking out on us again.” He flashed a 
teasing grin, before heading off, his dark form soon blending into the shadows 
created by the silver web.
Kuwabara sputtered, scowled, crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his 
tongue out at the retreating youko’s back. Then he looked around and winced, 
then began to pick his way gingerly through the mass, avoiding crushing any of 
the delicate things under his large feet as he followed his friend through the 
maze of Kurama’s awareness.






In this new, strange, familiar landscape, Hiei stood, unmoving and unafraid.
He was fascinated by this fantasy fairy-world, his small form surrounded by 
silver and mist and shadows. There was an enveloping serenity that filled him; 
one of the rare moments in his life where he was completely unthreatened, 
unchallenged; where there was no danger to himself or his beloved; one of the 
first times he had nothing to look out for, other than getting lost in the 
dazzling brightness. The vines swirled around him like welcoming arms, parting 
gently for him when he stepped forward, and phantom lights danced along the 
silver lines, setting off sparks of an intensity of color and light he had never 
seen before.
The whole thing was simply beautiful.
But he had expected no less.
Around him, voices whispered, soft and sweet, almost unheard, but, unlike the 
harsh, jeering words that even now continued to haunt his lonely and vulnerable 
moments, these were gentle, warm; a single voice repeating words of love over 
and over, wrapping around him like a verbal embrace. He had to fight the smile 
trying to spread across his face as he looked around, to fight the urge to laugh 
aloud as a ticklish sensation drifted past his ear, like the feathery brush of 
lips, quickly gone when he turned his head.
Inside Kurama’s mind like this, he could feel his lover’s presence with a 
strength and clarity that was absent from everyday life. It was like a song, 
like the music the fox would sometimes play, but infinitely more complex, and a 
thousand times more enchanting. He pushed forward, careful not to trod on the 
delicate lines, then found his precaution unnecessary - the mass parted swiftly 
for him, like water gave way to a thrown rock, but with more precision and care, 
slowly settling back into their former positions once he had passed. He could 
almost hear Kurama’s amused laughter echoing delicately around him, and it felt 
as if though the fox’s eyes were trained on him, watching his every move with 
silent delight.
After a few moments of seemingly pointless wandering, there were no obscuring 
vines - he had reached a clearing of sorts, in the middle of this labyrinth - he 
stopped, staring.
He had reached the nexus of this silvery world; the heart of Kurama’s mind. It 
was the same image that had captivated Yuusuke earlier, but Hiei stood much 
closer, barely a few paces from being able to reach out and touch the two 
back-to-back figures that were both his lover. The image of the youko was 
slightly faded, less opaque than Minamino Shuuichi’s slender form, but 
nonetheless, every minor detail and line was vivid and perfectly defined, as if 
the real, living, breathing creature was standing there, waiting for him to step 
forward into the waiting arms.
As he stared, Hiei found his body moving out of its own violation, stepping 
closer to the two figures, surrounded in a strange mist-like substance, which 
crackled with visible sparks of lightening-like power, almost frightening. He 
ignored it, heading towards them, almost in a dreamlike state as he reached out 
slowly, his hand shaking slightly as he lowered it to alight on the phantom 
Shuuichi’s arm -
Unlike with the others, his descent into Kurama’s memories was slow and gentle, 
like an enveloping blanket that draped itself over his consciousness until 
everything was blotted out but the darkness before the images came boiling in.
He saw himself, a mere twelve years ago; his first meeting with the redheaded 
human-youko who would come to dominate his life. Their first fight together, 
against the eight-handed youkai that had kidnapped Kurama’s human female friend; 
the youkai who had nearly killed Hiei after double-crossing a deal they had 
struck. He saw Kurama’s memories of that first fight, the surprise that had left 
the youko immobile when he had grudgingly given out his name, before leaping out 
into the silence of the night.
Later, as the next three years went by, and their contact dimmed to a mere 
whisper, then to nothing, and the loss had not been thought much of - until the 
day that he and Gouki had approached the now fifteen-year-old Minamino Shuuichi, 
with their delusions of stealing the three Great Artifacts from the Reikai’s 
Treasurehouse, while Enma Diaoh was away on one of his many vacations. He could 
feel Kurama’s surprise now, in a way he had never noticed in the past; a kind of 
shocked pleasure that Hiei, who had held himself so aloof from anyone else, had 
remembered him - much less thought he was a good enough thief to help with such 
a heist.
He now saw Kurama’s indecision, as well - Shiori had already been ill at that 
point; the same long, devastating illness that had begun a year after his first 
meeting with his now-lover. And the knowledge of the Mirror’s powers had fueled 
his lover with a desperate sort of hope - Shiori could be saved, and he could 
redeem at least part of soul from the crimes he had committed in the past in the 
Makai. He could now see how hard it had been for Kurama to break the partnership 
up; how the youko’s feelings had started, even that far back, loving and 
wistful, mere daydreams that were shoved aside in the face of reality.
Past that, to Hiei’s fight at the Ankoku Bujuutuskai, against Bui. He could feel 
Kurama’s fear as he stepped onto the stage, casting away his black cloak to 
reveal the tightly wrapped ward-bandages of the Ijutaihou, the wards that barely 
held the Kokuryuuha’s power in check, the taste sour and metallic in the back of 
his throat as his heart began to beat erratically, matching the pace of his 
lover’s. The fear rose to a fever-pitch as he unwrapped his wards, revealed the 
snarling black tattoo that burned with black fire.
Kurama’s horror, his grief, when he had been seemingly destroyed by the 
Kokuryuuha’s awesome power, when Bui had unexpectedly deflected it back towards 
him.
And his doubt-tinged joy when he had reappeared, surrounded by the glowing aura 
of his power, which surrounded him, protecting him like no kekkai ever could. He 
could feel Kurama’s uncertainty increase as the fight drew on, then finally 
ended, Hiei’s cold-hearted denial of Bui’s weak request for death shaking some 
point in the fox’s complex moral structure.
Even further, to the end, when Kurama had stood and watched Hiei fight Mukuro, 
and all the darker emotions that had plagued the youko during the Ankoku 
Bujuutsukai were tripled as he watched the fire youkai who had only been his 
best friend, back then, fight against an S-Class she-youkai of immense refined 
power. When Mukuro literally split the Kokuryuuha in two, Hiei winced at his own 
memory of the physical pain that had followed; and that was made worse by 
Kurama’s terror when the ki-blast struck Hiei, sent him hurtling back.
And then, when Mukuro had caught him when he fell - had embraced him almost like 
a lover would, he could feel Kurama’s heart break.
Kurama’s mind shied away from the painful memories like a wounded animal, and 
Hiei swallowed against the lump that developed in the back of his throat from 
the thoughts, and he closed his eyes, trying to block it out. Yet, despite his 
unspoken protest, they paraded on, merciless in their clarity, cutting as any 
knife wound, spectral blades that sliced into his flesh and laid it open to the 
bone.
His decision to stay in the Makai, and serve Mukuro, and the sadness that 
flashed in and out Kurama’s eyes too fast for him to see was intensified; the 
quiet whisper that had shown in his eyes raised to a grinding shriek, piercingly 
loud. Hiei grabbed his temples at the sound, gritted his teeth and closed his 
eyes tightly, trying to block it out - didn’t work; he was still hit, bombarded 
by the silent accusation as if Kurama had actually lifted a hand against him, 
struck out with fists and feet.
Maybe it would have been easier, if he had, Hiei thought dully, as the scenes 
melted to be replaced by another place ... he looked around, and groaned, 
mentally, to himself.
Dear gods, not here ... not here, of all places ...
Of all the memories that Kurama could have thrown at him, this was the one that 
hurt the most.
His supposed death at Yomatsu, when he had followed Yo-mawari into that odd, 
separate dimension, without a care of what it would do to his lover. He had been 
so focused on that damn fight that he’d not seen the tears that traced the fox’s 
face; nor heard the screams of denial as he allowed himself to slip away from 
the plain where his companions existed, and into the next one, where the 
Watchman awaited him.
The return to the Ningenkai, and that small apartment was not glamorous; and he 
watched with dulled eyes as the others crowded around the unconscious redhead, 
trying to lend him the strength and the will that had slipped away from him with 
Hiei’s seeming death. He watched the weeks that passed solemnly, until every 
slow, listless movement slid the knife a bit deeper; every dull flash of 
once-bright green eyes became another bruise on his battered soul.
He had known Kurama had been grieving, but he hadn’t known how horrible it had 
been; how very close he had been to loosing his lover forever.
Just like Kurama had thought he had been lost.
Hiei wanted to speak, to say something in denial for his thoughtlessness, but 
there was nothing he could do to erase his deeds: they were displayed before 
him, a mockery of what he had thought to be strength. He scarcely noticed the 
sudden joy that flooded his lover’s mind, at his return, too lost in his own 
self-doubt and misery to care.
Was he really that selfish? he wondered, as he rubbed his face, slowly. Was he 
really that callous, that uncaring of someone who deserved so much?
He had always known he was unworthy of Kurama. But never as much as he had just 
learned ...
“Hiei, ai shiteru yo ...” he heard his lover’s voice whisper, like a caress in 
his mind. “Don’t cry, little one, please don’t cry ...”
He looked up, and, for a brief moment, saw Kurama’s smiling green eyes watching 
him, superimposed over the fading clarity of the image collage that formed the 
memory. “It’s not your fault,” the voice insisted, calmly, booking no room for 
argument. “It never was. You thought you were doing what you could to protect 
me. I never blamed you ... never ...”
Hiei choked; tried to force the words past the growing lump in his throat. :You 
don’t know that! I never thought of you when I followed ’Wari!: he snarled in 
his mind, trying to push that soft voice away, sickened by his own roughness. :I 
only thought of myself, and the fact that someone had beaten me! I wasn’t 
thinking of you or the others; I was only thinking that he had defeated me, and 
that I had to challenge him again, so that I could be the best ...:
“And why is being the best so important to you, beloved?” the soft voice 
whispered in his ear.
He faltered, frowned. :Because ... because then I couldn’t ...: he blinked, 
shocked at the train of thought, unable to continue.
“Because if you weren’t the best, you wouldn’t be able to protect those who 
meant the most to you, ne?” his lover’s voice chuckled. “Are you going to tell 
me I don’t mean anything to you?”
“NO!” the word burst out, breaking bast the verbal block. “No, never! You mean 
... you mean ...” 
Damn, the block was back.
There was another soft chuckle, and he felt soft, cool fingers trail down his 
cheek. “Don’t worry,” Kurama whispered, gentle as a spring breeze. “You don’t 
have to say anything. I already know.”
The words echoed around him, like a booming peal of thunder. The tone was still 
gentle, a soft murmur that moved around him, playful and understanding. “I 
know.”






Hiei regained consciousness with a rough jerk. There were hands on his 
shoulders, gripping tightly and shaking. He could hear a low voice, 
semi-familiar, calling - not his name, but a title -
“Meijin-san? Meijin-san? Daijoubu desu ka?”
He opened one eye, found himself peering directly into black eyes that were wide 
with concern. Behind the youko’s dark head, he could see Yuusuke and Kuwabara 
hovering, looking down at him; concern and impatience warring in their features. 
And, for once, Hiei felt no returning anger at their edginess; they cared for 
their loved ones in a way he had never done with Kurama ... he felt, he realized 
with an uneasy start, almost unworthy in the presence of those who were unafraid 
to say three words that he still had trouble with, even now ...
“Come on, Meijin-san,” Yo-mawari interrupted his dark thoughts gently. “We need 
to get going, now.”
Hiei nodded, dazedly, and pushed himself to his feet, absently shrugging off 
Yo-mawari’s attempts to help him. He stumbled, almost fell, and caught himself 
at the last moment, closing his eyes as momentary disorientation washed over 
him, like crashing waves of a beach.
When he opened his eyes again, his balance was steady, and though he felt 
somewhat lightheaded, there were no more physical aftershocks of his experience. 
Dimly, a small part of his own mind noticed that he was longer standing at edge 
of the glowing pair of figures that personified both sides of his lover; he was 
once more adrift in a sea of tangled lines of silver. He meet the gazes of his 
companions evenly, then set his chin, jerking his head in some random direction 
behind him.
“Iku zo,” he said, hands clenching into fists.
Yuusuke grinned; Kuwabara smirked, and Yo-mawari only smiled encouragingly. 
“Hai!”






Yo-mawari trailed a few feet behind his friends, his hands deep in his pockets 
and his face thoughtful as they walked, keeping his eyes trained on the ground 
before him, judging where his foot would step next. There was no conversation 
between them; Yuusuke and Kuwabara were still rather awestruck by the sheer 
force of this internal place, while Hiei was too shaken from his encounter with 
Kurama’s memories that, even if he had been more of a conversationalist, he 
would have been reduced to that same contemplative silence.
He hated to admit it, especially to himself, but Yo-mawari was rather worried. 
Three times memories had taken his friends; first Yuusuke, then Kuwabara, 
finally his master; when would his brother’s mind see fit to swamp him with what 
few shared recollections they had? He could hardly remember anything from his 
childhood; just his mother’s face, pale, pretty, and smiling strangely, and a 
tiny, silver-haired figure that had stood on the road and waved frantically 
after him, as the carriage he rode in set off, taking him away from his 
blood-family and to the large, silent home of his aunt. He remembered a soft, 
sweetly feminine voice calling him, giving him a name that was not the one he 
bore now, the one he thought of himself as.
His obasan had never told him anything about his real family; only that, should 
they ever come visit, he was her son, Yo-mawari, the cousin of the little child 
that his parents would bring; the child that was actually his brother, younger 
by a few precious seconds. She had explained the reason why he had been sent 
away - the black splashes on his silver fur had cursed him from the first moment 
of his birth, black that had marred the bright coloring, cast doubt upon the 
fact that he was truly the son of two pure Silvers - and that his twin was not 
to blame, but still, he had been bitter; he had been angry, and when he had been 
alone, playing by himself, he would imagine talking with his twin, telling the 
innocent exactly what kind of grief he had been through, in his short life, and 
he would dream of being accepted by his family as the unknown twin, the younger 
kit who remained nameless in his mind, was sent to live with Obasan, while he 
could finally go home to his real parents.
As the years passed, he found that his obasan’s home felt more comfortable; 
whenever he would think back on the childish dream, the home of his parents 
would resemble the large place he had become so comfortable in, until finally 
they died away.
When he had taken the job as Watchman of Yomatsu’s borders, he had expected 
never to hear from one of his own race ever again, and especially not one of his 
unique coloring; he knew how very rare Silvers were in the Makai; because of the 
unlucky coloring, most Silver kits were killed directly after birth. So he had 
been painfully shocked when he had met the redheaded human-youko, the 
silver-haired golden-eyed one that he vaguely remembered from his childhood; the 
lonely little figure that had stood on the path and waved good-bye as he was 
taken away.
After that incident, the reintroduction to a twin he had forgotten he’d had; 
after his disastrous challenge of the youkai he now served, and Hiei’s 
miraculous return to his lover’s arms and home, Yo-mawari had found himself 
wishing more and more for companionship with his brother; for the sort of bond 
and closeness that he had seen between the members of the Urameshi Team. He had 
been alone nearly all his life, and except for Obasan’s fleeting presence, and 
the little shuriken-youkai that served him, he had remained apart, distant. 
There were no children in his aunt’s wide home to keep him company.
He had never expected his brother to accept him; not really, and especially not 
after considering the fact that it had been his challenge that had been 
responsible for Hiei’s “death”, and the consequent grief it caused his 
now-beloved twin.
And now, in his brother’s mind, he walked uneasily, half-expecting old ghosts to 
leap out, to follow him, moaning their secrets aloud for his ears alone. He 
shivered, involuntarily, then looked up again. Hiei was leading them somewhere, 
seemingly without direction, ducking through the silver maze, the light-dappled 
shadows dancing over the three before him like faerie lights. “Oi, Meijin-san,” 
he called, though his voice was hushed, “where are we going?”
Hiei didn’t pause, nor did he turn to look back at the youko, and his voice was 
curt as he replied. “To the nexus,” he said firmly. “The place where the dreams 
begin.”
“Anou - and where’s this ‘nexus’, anyway?” Kuwabara demanded, sounding slightly 
irritated, ducking once more to prevent any of the drooping vines to loop around 
his throat by accident. He had been doing that a lot, Yo-mawari noticed now, his 
tall height making it uncomfortable to travel in a place full of ducks and turns 
and dodges. He almost found it amusing, but he felt too apprehensive to smile; 
he kept looking around, waiting for Kurama’s memories to entangle him in their 
silken web, and leave him helpless until his friends could call him out of it.
Hiei snorted; the same disgusted sound he gave whenever he felt anyone - 
especially Kuwabara - was acting stupid. “The center of everything, baka,” he 
snarled, never faltering in his stride or turning to face the man he insulted. 
“The midpoint. The place where I saw Kurama’s memories.” As he walked, he closed 
his eyes, briefly, remembering the picture - it had been so exquisitely 
rendered; such a perfect likeness of both halves of his precious lover, that he 
found it hard to remind himself that those images were just that - phantoms; 
paintings that could not speak to him, hold him, tell him that it loved him.
They had been just images. The ghostly outline of the Youko, standing 
back-to-back with Shuuichi, fox ears alert and an arrogant smile on his handsome 
face; the more delicate human, also smiling, though much more gently, his 
elegant hands clasped behind his back, his green eyes wide and the hint of a 
mischievous sparkle within. All images; the real thing was - he was inside the 
mind of the real thing; once they found the cause, he could return and be with 
the actual creature, not some flimsy shadow of him.
He lifted his head and quickened his pace; some instinct within him stirred; he 
could feel them drawing closer to the nexus - the sense of his lover’s absolute 
presence washed over him comfortingly, like water over the smooth rocks of a 
stream bed, whispering sweetly that what he sought was near. He risked a quick 
glance over his shoulder, so swiftly that none of the others noticed, to make 
sure all three still followed. He nodded, mentally, squaring his shoulders 
unconsciously as they moved forward.
There it was - the nexus, swirling in the dark void created by its power alone; 
green and gold tendrils of energy snaking across the blackness that surrounded 
the two figures like jabs of colorful lightening, crackling and vivid, almost 
alive. The four of them stopped, briefly, to simply stare; an old friend was 
suddenly given new life, for Yuusuke and Kuwabara; they could see him now as 
something beyond a brother/friend/teammate; see him now as a fey creature of 
pure beauty. Hiei only allowed himself with a smile; as before, the sheer 
overwhelming aura of everything did not surprise him; he had never expected 
anything less from his fox.
Yo-mawari smiled back at the two images that seemed to look at him, and beyond 
him. Though some of his doubts still whispered in his mind, they were silenced, 
briefly, by simple happiness at his brother’s perfection.
Minamino Shuuichi seemed to smile, and nod welcome - Youko Kurama seemed vaguely 
amused by everything, holding himself aloof, though his feelings shone through 
narrow golden eyes. And they seemed to waver together, like heat-created 
mirages, or beckoning fingers. Hiei took a step forward, hesitantly, then turned 
slightly to look at his companions before flickering from sight, only to 
reappear directly before the mirror images.
Hiei hesitated again, and took a deep breath, lifting his palm and reaching out, 
closing his eyes tightly. He touched the figure of Shuuichi’s chest, then 
blinked his eyes open in surprise; he had been expecting some sort of reaction, 
obviously, and it was hard to tell whether he was disappointed or not that there 
had been none. He turned and gestured sharply, a commanding gesture ordering 
them to hurry up, and soon all four stood before the life-sized images that 
seemed to look everywhere and see everything at once.
Yuusuke scratched his head. “We’re here,” he said in a hushed voice, his eyes 
never leaving Youko Kurama’s arrogant face. “Now what?”
Hiei paused, then looked at them, shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. “I 
don’t know,” he admitted. “I just - I just knew we had to get here, in order to 
start the healing process ...”
“Naniiiii?!” Kuwabara demanded, his voice harsh and startlingly loud. Hiei shot 
him a venomous glare as the human waved his arms angrily, scowling at the little 
youkai. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re Kurama’s ... uh ... boyfriend; 
if you don’t know, who does?”
There was a soft laugh, and they turned to look at Yo-mawari, who had his arms 
crossed over his chest and his head slightly bent, a small smile playing on his 
lips as he looked up at them from under his black bangs. His position nearly 
mirrored that of the Shuuichi image, bringing out the similarities in their 
appearances vividly. “I know, Kuwabara-kun,” he assured the distressed human 
gently. “I know.”
“So then how?” Kuwabara asked, shifting impatiently; though he was as worried 
about his friend as the rest of them, half his concentration was shot, the 
single memory of Yukina’s sad violet-red eyes granting him permission to go on 
this dangerous trip tearing at him. He really wanted to go home and wrap her in 
his arms and tell her that he loved her ... several hundred times. That sounded 
good. He shifted again, resumed staring at the two figures before him.
Yo-mawari stepped forward confidently, gently pushing his friends aside so that 
he could stand face-to-face with his twin’s human form. He took a deep breath, 
and held up both hands, palms facing Shuuichi, and reached out, placing them on 
the figure’s shoulders.
There was a bright flash of light, and they heard him cry out, and moved forward 
as one, instinctively, before it faded and Yo-mawari stepped back, looking 
dazed. He shook himself, then gave them a dark, unreadable glance, before 
beckoning. “This way,” he said in a soft, hoarse voice, pointing to a small 
pinpoint of light that grew behind the two figures. “This is the way to the 
end.”
Wordless, they filed after him, through the pinpoint, and into a portal, and 
into blackness.






Yo-mawari fought to retain his calm as he walked, though inside he felt shaken, 
close to collapse. That simple touch had triggered the memory flash he had 
half-feared, half-hoped for, and now he felt far too tired to deal with the 
emotions that flooded through him. Kurama’s memories were as clear as his own; 
and it cast a light upon their parents, and Kurama’s early life, that he wasn’t 
sure he wanted to face.
He saw their mother; their beautiful, insane mother, with her smiling golden 
eyes and shining white hair and fur; he saw her continuous mistreatment of the 
young kit Kurama had been, and her simpering fear of their father, a tall, 
intimidating, broad-shouldered silver figure that Kurama scarcely remembered, 
but thought of with more affection than he did their mother. He saw the blood 
that suddenly stained their mother’s clothing, as she fought the same tall 
figure of their father, and a young, pretty, black youko woman urging him to 
flee, to escape from this vicious circle his family life had become.
He watched, horrified, as his brother, scarcely more than fifty years old - old 
for humans, but painfully young, for a youkai - run, his little form bleeding 
and bruised, his thick silver hair matted and dirty from neglect. His envy of 
his brother’s seemingly better life was turned to dust in the face of the truth, 
as Kurama-ko fled from his home, and the first meeting with the winged, 
elven-eared youkai who would later become Kurama’s best friend, and the favorite 
of all this thieving partners.
Later times, now - he saw his own first meeting with his brother, and the wrong 
impressions it created; and he felt Kurama’s anger and grief over Hiei’s seeming 
death directed towards him, and swallowed the guilt that accompanied it 
silently, like a bitter pill. Dai-Warugi’s leering, hideous face passed in and 
out of vision, followed by another one - infinitely more attractive, but one 
that made him shudder even more violently than the first; the same face that had 
brought him from sleep, screaming, for nights afterwards.
Yomi’s blind face.
He could feel Kurama’s rage, now; the fierce anger that had nearly overpowered 
his brother as Kurama struggled to come to grips with Yomi’s request; and the 
true horror that his twin had felt when he had unknowingly accepted the offer, 
not understand, not realizing, just exactly what the blind wizard’s request for 
his company had meant ... he shuddered, inwardly. He still bore the scars on his 
back, from the vicious beating Yomi had given him afterwards; though they were 
faded now, nearly invisible, he could still feel them, from time to time, and he 
felt ill, recalling that night.
The images changed, and he saw Kuraihana’s smiling, blue-eyed face instead. 
Almost instantly, the feeling of nausea faded and vanished; both he and Kurama 
welcomed the memory of the healer in place of the wizard that had raped and 
beaten him. He could feel Kurama’s affection for the girl, strong as any bond 
between father and daughter, as memories flashed by. He saw her as a little 
child, just learning to walk, to fly, and his pride in her when she accomplished 
things; little things, in the eye of the world, but major events in the heart of 
a parent.
Almost without warning, he saw himself, again, but this time with the young 
healer; she was cradling his head in her lap and scolding him through her tears, 
even as she rested her hands against the deep gash in his chest, calling her own 
ki to heal him. He shivered, remembering that - the stone creatures that the 
gatekeeper had summoned, when he and Kurama had tried to infiltrate the fortress 
where Mukuro had taken Kuraihana as a hostage. And he felt a certain smugness in 
his brother’s awareness, as it surrounded him; a sort of “you can fight it, but 
it’s still the truth” that he couldn’t quite understand, and found rather 
annoying.
“Oi. ’Wari. We’re here,” he heard Hiei’s voice say in short, clipped tones, and 
he shook himself, looking around silently. It was different than the world of 
silver they had left behind; this place was a forest, full of thick foliage and 
lush plant life, that reminded him oddly of the little forest glade that he and 
his brother had set aside for quiet moments, times when the bond of twins was 
strengthened by quiet conversations and shared memories. He turned, and looked 
at Hiei, noting the almost wistful look in the youkai’s bright red eyes; a look 
that was absent from the rest of his face. He looked back at Yo-mawari with an 
even glare, then looked straight a head, a frown curving his lips. He pointed, 
taking a step forward. “Ahead. It’s there - I can feel it.”
Yuusuke rubbed the back of his neck, looking around uncertainly. “This place 
gives me the creeps,” he admitted. “It reminds me of that forest that Baasan 
made us race through when she was trying to decide who to take on as a student.”
Kuwabara looked around, and shivered visibly, rubbing at his arms. “You know, 
Urameshi, that’s exactly what I thought,” he said in a low voice. “Are you sure 
this is where we have to work?” the last came out in an almost plaintive whine, 
and Hiei cast him a contemptuous look, before pressing deeper. Grumbling, 
Kuwabara followed him, closely trailed by Yuusuke. Yo-mawari paused, before 
following, looking around him with a small smile.
:It might frighten Kuwabara and Yuusuke, kyoudai-kun,: he thought to his brother 
fondly, hoping that Kurama would somehow catch the mental compliment, :but I 
think it’s beautiful.:
Then he pushed through the forest’s foliage and after his friends.






Hiei was staring at a large gray rock that glowed bright green, and the sickly 
light shone off his face, making his childish features eerie, almost as demonic 
as his true nature. His hand was resting lightly on the hilt of his katana, and 
a deep scowl creased his face, wrinkling his brow. Yuusuke and Kuwabara stood to 
either side of him, eyeing it uncertainly, and when Yo-mawari came to stand 
behind them, Yuusuke shot him a single, unreadable glance before they all 
returned to staring at the rock.
“Ko ... kore wa ...” Yo-mawari asked softly, surprised.
Hiei nodded. “I don’t know exactly what it is,” he clarified. “But I know this 
is the source of the nightmares. Destroy it,” he nodded at the glowing 
gray-green rock, “and you end his nightmares. But we have to do it right, or 
...” he stopped, his scowl deepening, some of his worry visible in his face.
Yo-mawari finished for him. “Or kyoudai will suffer the consequences,” he said 
flatly.
A solemn silence fell, as the four of them stared at the pulsing nightmare-stone 
silently, its malevolent green glow almost mocking, like a silent voice daring 
them to try something, anything, at the expense of Kurama’s sanity, and perhaps 
his very life. Both of Hiei’s fists were clenched in silent anger, his 
expression dark, anger and anxiety, and perhaps even a little fear - for Kurama, 
not for himself - warring for domination in the reflective depths of his eyes. 
Yo-mawari was biting his lip, looking back and forth between his three 
companions, and the stone.
Hesitantly, afraid that he would be yelled at any moment for what he was about 
to attempt, Kuwabara shouldered his way forward, until he stood slightly before 
his friends, apart from their huddled group formation. He took a deep breath, 
lifting his hands and holding them out over the rock, so that his callused palms 
were bathed in the sickly glow and closed his eyes, steeling himself and drawing 
through his memories.
He thought of the good times; those quiet moments when he and his friends had 
gathered together, not because of some crisis that demanded their services, but 
just for the simple enjoyment of the company of friends and teammates, the 
presence of brothers-in-soul. In those happy times, he tried to pick out Kurama, 
picturing the redhead as he usually was - smiling and serene, dressed casually 
in a white shirt and jeans, sometimes a mild participator in the teasing and 
jokes that flew back and forth, sometimes as peacemaker, when the arguments grew 
heated.
Kuwabara thought of his own memories of Kurama, almost in reply to the flood 
that had entered his mind, a lifetime ago - or so it seemed, now. He thought 
back to nearly ten years ago, when he had first stumbled across Kurama in the 
park, and sat next to his friend, listening to the spiraling melody that the 
redhead could call so easily from those crude pipes. And he recalled the 
soothing atmosphere that the half-youko projected around him, warm and 
comforting, easily drawing friends into its comforting embrace; a peace that 
scarcely faltered, and, like the foundations of a strong building, that presence 
was always there, always encouraging, uniquely Kurama.
With that thought in mind, Kuwabara lowered his hands until they rested on the 
rock’s glowing surface.
Instantly, the nerves reacted with pain; he could feel fiery jabs of agony 
slicing up his arm, as if the muscle there was being sliced in half by a knife 
that was both razor-sharp, and stone-dull. He bit his lip, feeling the blood 
trickle down from the small puncture his teeth created, and allowed nothing more 
than a pained whimper to escape. Instead of thinking about his pain, he focused 
on those memories, solid and comforting, hoping that he was counteracting the 
negative memories that the rock stored with the little moments he cherished as 
his best memories.
It hurt -
- but it seemed to be working -
- and his friends seemed to be catching on; dimly, through the haze of pain and 
concentration, he could feel their presence; and, abruptly, he felt Yuusuke’s 
strength joining his, could distantly feel hands settling over his own, pushing 
his palms into the glowing rock, and he saw Yuusuke’s own memories joining his 
to swirl in a confusing cloud of emotions and scenes that moved together, 
synchronized, but without a true direction. He only bit his lip harder, and 
concentrated harder.
Then Yo-mawari was there, as well, his presence like an arrow of control in the 
midst of their jumbled attempts, his glowing, green-laced red intertwining 
smoothly with Yuusuke’s blue, and Kuwabara’s gold. Calmly, in an almost detached 
manner, the youko’s presence took control of their raw power and focused it, 
turning it into something that could be used like a hammer against the 
nightmare-stone’s malevolent presence.
But Hiei - there was no sense of Hiei, anywhere, and Kuwabara felt a surge of 
irrational anger rise; didn’t that little bastard care; didn’t he realize how 
much his considerable strength could help? Kurama was his lover, after all; why 
didn’t he do anything?
Yo-mawari’s presence gave him the equivalent to a mental smack upside the head; 
he could hear, vaguely, the youko’s voice scolding him for loosing his focus. 
Kuwabara gathered himself and returned his attention to the rock, and the 
near-perfect meld that the three of them had created with their energies. He 
felt like he was being stretched taut, as if though he were clinging to one 
small pole, while an immeasurably strong force tried to pull him away.
It would be so easy, so easy, to just let go; to give up and withdraw -
- but what would happen to Kurama if he did? -
- it hurt so badly -
- damn it, where was Hiei?!
And then, suddenly, the pain stilled, gone so suddenly that he was left dazed 
and lightheaded in its aftermath. He gasped, shook his head, and tried to open 
his eyes. Hiei was somewhere nearby; now Kuwabara could sense the fire youkai’s 
black aura clearly, as well as the concern that radiated from it, concern and a 
wavering uncertainty, as if he were about to attempt something dangerous, 
something he had no idea how to do, and was hesitant to try.
:Matte,: Yo-mawari’s low voice whispered in his mind. :There’s still one thing 
left to do, Kuwabara-kun. Hold on, it’s almost over ...:
Kuwabara’s only response was a tired sigh, as he tried to gather himself one 
last time. But there was no need - because, suddenly, through his closed lids, 
he saw a brilliant flash of white, tinged red at the edges, and the solid, rough 
surface under his numb palms split, cracking like an egg, and he almost stumbled 
as it fell out from under his hands, leaving him no physical support.
For a few moments, he gasped, trying to regain his breath and bearings. He felt 
a soft touch on his shoulder, and shook it off, absently, just wanting to rest, 
to pull himself back together without another’s questions grating his mind.
“Kuwabara-kun, it’s over,” he heard Yo-mawari’s voice whisper, close by, 
sounding as completely exhausted as he felt. “We did it.”
That made him open his eyes; images blurred and spun dizzily, but he shook his 
head a few times, willing it back into focus. What he saw made him blink, then 
rub his eyes, ignoring the dull, pounding throb that surged through his abused 
flesh.
Hiei had his katana unsheathed, the sword’s bright edge glowing, though there 
was scarcely any light to reflect off its deadly length. His eyes were dark, and 
the mix of emotions that lurked within their depths were hard to read. Between 
them, the rock lay split in half, the evil sparkle gone; it was only a rock now, 
simple and unthreatening as any rock that could be found in the streets of the 
Ningenkai.
To Kuwabara’s left, Yuusuke heaved a deep sigh, bowing his head and rubbing at 
his face and the back of his neck slowly, trying to massage away some of the 
penetrating aches. His black hair was matted with sweat, both from nerves and 
tension, and his smile, though tired, was triumphant, and just a tad smug. He 
shook his head, briefly, then opened his eyes wider, smirking at his friend. 
“Yatta,” he announced quietly, looking first at Kuwabara, then Hiei, then the 
shattered rock.
“Hai,” Yo-mawari’s soft reply came from behind them; they both turned to see the 
youko with his arms crossed over his chest, pale, but otherwise seemingly 
unharmed. His smile was genuinely relieved as he regarded them, and there was 
amused affection in his black eyes. “We’ve really done it,” he repeated, 
reaching up a languid hand to brush long black locks from his eyes. “All of 
kyoudai’s most grievous memories - they’re not gone, but they’ve been subdued. 
He still has them, but they no longer have their poisonous hold on his mind.” 
His smile broadened, and now it seemed tired, as he stretched, arching his 
slender arms over his head for a few seconds, then relaxing. “I think that now 
this is all over, we can take a vacation,” he added, whimsically, as an 
afterthought. “Inari knows we deserve one.”
Yuusuke smiled, wanly, in reply. “Got that right,” he admitted, rubbing the back 
of his neck again. “Keiko’s ready to gut me for being gone so long, and the fact 
that I agreed to going along with this dreamwalk ain’t helping much. ’Sides, 
since you guys forced me into taking custody of the kits -” he scowled at them 
as he said the words, but his brown eyes were softer, already thinking back to 
his beloved Keiko, and the twins he had left in her care - “I should really get 
to know ’em better, ne?”
Kuwabara grinned, and clapped Yuusuke’s solidly on the shoulder, causing the 
slimmer man to stumble a bit. “Got that right, Urameshi,” he growled 
good-naturedly, his speech somewhat slurred with exhaustion. “An’ let me tell 
you, if I get even a single hint from Keiko-chan that you’ve been neglectin’ her 
an’ the twins, I’ll pound you so hard, you won’t be able t’ get up f’r a week.”
Yuusuke made a face back. “You can try,” he retorted, even as they began to file 
away from this silent, unfamiliar grove, leaving the broken rock and sealed 
memories behind them. Hiei was the last to leave, pausing at the edge to sheath 
his katana and look back at the remains. It all seemed somehow dull to him; he 
had almost hoped for some great confrontation; that maybe Kurama’s memories 
would retake the form of the Tamashii-Satsujinhan’nin, perhaps giving him 
another chance to extract his revenge on the Creature that had nearly destroyed 
his life.
But, such as it was, this would have to do. He sniffed in disgust, then turned 
and walked silently after his companions, the echoes of the bantering between 
Yuusuke and Kuwabara guiding him along.






Kuraihana sipped delicately at her tea, her eyes trained on the still figures 
lying sprawled around her, though her eyes mostly rested on the human form of 
her uncle, as well as the dark-haired mirror image that was his twin. It had 
been nearly six hours since she had first guided the four of them into her 
uncle’s dreaming mind; she was now beginning to worry that something had gone 
wrong, and that they were trapped, with no way of contacting her to lead them 
out.
The phone rang, and she started wildly, her heart beating a rapid staccato in 
her chest as she gulped, fumbling with her tea cup. The shrill sound reminded 
her of a wild bird, and she got to her feet hastily, remembering the coaching 
her uncle had given her about such devices - how and why they needed to be 
answered as soon as possible, the proper greeting to give the person on the 
other side, and so on. She set her tea cup down on the table next to the plastic 
contraption, and gingerly lifted the smooth plastic receiver and held it to her 
ear, inwardly shuddering at the odd procedure. “Moshi moshi?”
“Ah - ?” came the other person’s voice, tinny and mechanical, distorted by the 
... “phone” ... but undeniably female. “Gomen ne; is this the Minamino 
residence?”
“Hai,” she replied uncertainly. “And you are ... ?”
The other woman sounded just as nervous as she did. “Ah - Watashi wa Yukimura 
Keiko desu. Is - is Urameshi Yuusuke there? I’d like to speak with him -”
Kuraihana relaxed somewhat, after hearing Keiko introduce herself. “Hai, but you 
can’t really speak to him,” she told her, glancing back at Yuusuke’s inert form. 
“Atashi wa Kuraihana desu,” she told Keiko hurriedly, lest the girl think the 
wrong thing. “I’m - I’m a friend of Kurama’s, and -”
“You were the one that guided them into the dreamwalk.” Keiko’s voice took on a 
distinctly flat tone, one that was obvious, even through the distortion that the 
distance gave her. “Is he all right?” She tried to sound casual about it, but 
Kuraihana could hear the worry in the other girl’s tone as she spoke. She 
debated how to answer, first looking at Yuusuke, as if he would awaken and save 
her from this awkward situation.
“Uh - hai. They haven’t woken up yet,” she admitted. She heard Keiko’s sharp, 
worried intake of breath, and hastened to try and soothe the girl’s mind. “Umm 
... Keiko-san, maybe it would be better if you came here, and if you brought ... 
uh ... what’s her name ... the girl that Kazuma-san is fond of ... ?”
“Yukina-chan?” Keiko’s voice brightened at the suggestion, and Kuraihana could 
easily imagine the faint smile gracing the face of the girl she had never seen 
before. “That’s a good idea, Kuraihana-san; thank you for inviting us. We’ll be 
there in a few minutes.” There was a soft click, and Kuraihana took it as a 
signal that she could set the phone back on its receiver, and did so. She stared 
at the device for a few moments, then shook her head, picking her tea cup back 
up and making her way back to her spot on the couch, settling back down. Humans 
came up with the most oddest things for the sake of communication.
True to Keiko’s word, Kuraihana heard knocking a few minutes later. She rose to 
her feet and hurried to the door, peering through and seeing two young women on 
the other side. The taller girl had shoulder length brown hair that fell around 
her pretty face, framing it, bringing out her expressive brown eyes; the other 
girl was around the same height as Hiei, and her hair had the same spiky sort of 
look, though much more subtle than Hiei’s black hair. Her eyes were wide and 
innocent, violet-red in hue, and her hair, a muted sea-blue-green in color, was 
tied from her face in a bright red bow. Kuraihana stepped back from the door and 
undid the lock quickly, opening it enough for them to step in, but not wide 
enough so that anyone who passed by would see her wings by accident.
Keiko entered apprehensively, studying the dark-haired she-youkai who stood 
before her. Yuusuke and Kuwabara had explained to her and Yukina exactly who 
Kuraihana was, as far as they knew; they had also mentioned the fact that 
Kuraihana was the daughter of Kurama’s long-dead partner and friend, Kuronue. 
She had been rather uncharitable in her thoughts against this gentle-seeming 
youkai, knowing her actions were childish, but still resenting the fact that it 
was this winged, elven-eared woman with the intense blue eyes that had led her 
Yuusuke into danger; into yet another thing which she could easily lose him to.
Now that she saw her, Keiko felt even more unnerved. Kuraihana was not all that 
tall, really; she stood at the same height Kurama did, barely an inch or two 
taller than Keiko herself, but her eyes, though gentle, were highly intelligent; 
they sparkled with the lifetime of secrets and knowledge that only great age 
could bring. However, she suspected that what truly made her uncomfortable were 
the things that marked Kuraihana as a youkai - her folded, dark wings, and the 
long, pointed ears. She knew that both Yukina and Hiei were youkai, as well, but 
at least they looked enough like humans to pass easily in the Ningenkai; 
Kuraihana, on the other hand, was far too exotic; she actually looked like a 
demon.
Yukina, however, did not seem to have the same problem as she blinked red-violet 
eyes at the taller woman. “Kazuma-san,” she insisted in her gentle way, and 
Kuraihana smiled. Something unspoken passed between the two women; Keiko could 
sense it, but could not understand what it meant. She decided it must have had 
something to do with their both being youkai, and pushed silently past them and 
into the darkened living room. She could see Kurama’s slender form lying on the 
couch, still and silent, his hands crossed over his breast. For a moment, she 
had the irrational fear that he was dead - until she heard his soft sigh, and 
saw him shift slightly, the natural movements of someone in sleep.
Seated on the floor by his feet, Yo-mawari’s dark head lolled forward, one knee 
drawn up to his chest, and one arm wrapped around that knee, the free hand lying 
limply on the floor. Kuwabara was sprawled on the couch in an ungainly tangle of 
limbs, and he was even snoring, quietly. She giggled, to herself, then turned 
her attention to the one who concerned her the most - Yuusuke.
He was seated on the floor, as well, leaning his back against the 
leather-covered chair that Hiei slept in. His arms were tucked behind his head, 
a lazy gesture she recognized. His face was peaceful, and she smiled gently, 
going to kneel beside him, and reached out to brush some of the more wayward 
strands of his hair from his eyes. He stirred under her touch, but then 
subsided, not waking, but shifting closer to her, as if unconsciously 
registering her presence.
Kuraihana and Yukina entered the room as well, Yukina going to sit beside her 
fiancée, taking one of Kuwabara’s large hands in both of hers, smiling 
whimsically at his snores and holding his hand to her cheek, sighing quietly. 
The other youkai merely stood there, behind the couch, watching with sympathy in 
her bright blue eyes.
A few minutes passed in utter silence, and then Kuraihana stiffed, with a soft 
rustling of clothes and limbs that made both girls turn to look at her.
The healer’s eyes were closed, and her fists were clenched on the head of the 
couch as her lips moved, quietly chanting something in a language neither could 
understand; the low drone of her voice rose and fell in rhythmic cadences, but 
the actual gist of her words were lost. And then, suddenly, her eyes snapped 
open again, blank and unseeing, before she relaxed, sagging, using the couch for 
support as she bowed her head.
At first, the display seemed to mean nothing - but then, under her touch, Keiko 
could feel Yuusuke stir again, and heard his loud yawn, close to her ear. She 
winced, and turned to glare at him, and found herself looking back into his 
eyes, half-open and lazily content. There was a self-satisfied smirk on his 
lips, the same one that tempted her to both smack him and cuddle him at the same 
time. Behind her, she heard Yukina’s happy little exclamation, followed a few 
minutes later by Kuwabara’s energetic squeal.
“YUKINA-CHAN!! What are you doing here?” he asked sheepishly, sitting bolt 
upright and rubbing the back of his head, a blush rising on his cheeks. Yukina 
giggled softly at his antics, her reply soft and unheard by either Keiko or 
Yuusuke. Whatever she said, though, it made Kuwabara’s blush deepen, and he 
rubbed the back of his neck furiously as he stammered. “Uh ... Yu ... kina ... 
chan ... I ... uh ...” he cut off his own babbling and began to laugh foolishly, 
a laughter echoed by Yukina’s silver giggle.
Yuusuke draped a comfortable arm over Keiko’s shoulders. “Where are the twins?” 
he asked in a low voice, his mouth next to her ear. She glanced at him from the 
corner of her eye, then smiled, a little.
“I left them with Botan-san,” she admitted. “She suggested I call to see how 
everything was going, and when Kuraihana-san told me I could come, and that I 
should bring Yukina-chan ... well, I just bolted. I left poor Botan with Bara 
and Toge, and I’m afraid she’ll be more than a little upset at me for doing so.”
He chuckled. “Naaah. She won’t mind as much as you think,” he predicted. “Botan 
is the sort of person who strikes me as a kid-lover. They’ll get along 
famously.”
She smiled, leaning against him, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Hai,” she 
replied softly. “I think you’re right.”






Conscious returned in degrees, blackness slowly fading to pale gray. Hiei opened 
his eyes, his shields still only at half-strength, lulled into the security of 
his fox’s presence -
- but that peace was brought to a screeching halt as Kuwabara’s voice squealed 
his sister’s name at top volume, and Hiei winced internally, wishing, not for 
the first time, nor the last, that his sister could have found someone aside 
from the moronic human who couldn’t seem to control his volume. But, as always, 
his grumbling dissolved under the cheerful sound of his sister’s laughter; 
anything that made her so happy probably had more worth than he could see, he 
admitted grudgingly. Still didn’t mean he’d have to be nice to that big moron, 
though.
The next thought that sprang to mind had him on his feet and across the room in 
seconds.
Kurama.
He stood at Kurama’s side, looking down at the sleeping face, slightly 
apprehensive. He could still see some of the dark rings under his fox’s eyes, 
but the expression was serene, and Kurama’s chest rose and fell in silent, 
rhythmic breaths. Cautiously, half-afraid of the reaction he would receive, he 
reached out to touch Kurama’s cheek, knowing that both Yuusuke and Kuwabara were 
too occupied with the girls, and that Kuraihana was tending to Yo-mawari. No one 
would see this weakness, this brief public sign of his love for his youko.
The redhead sighed under his touch, and turned, so that he lay on his side, 
facing Hiei. His angelic expression never changed, even as long red lashes slid 
upwards slowly, revealing bright emerald eyes that were hazed from sleep. He 
smiled drowsily, and reached out for Hiei’s hand. The latter allowed him to take 
it, though he still felt somewhat uncomfortable with the procedure.
“It worked?” Kurama asked sleepily, half-questioning, half-stating. Hiei nodded, 
briefly, then squeezed Kurama’s hand, once, and released it, looking at his 
servant, who was now awake and fending off Kuraihana’s questions with a tolerant 
smile; briefly, his black eyes met Hiei’s, and he grinned cheerfully, before 
looking back at Kuraihana.
“What did you see?” she persisted. “How did you manage to break ojisan’s 
nightmare cycle? What happened? Tell me!”
Yo-mawari only laughed, indulgently, and reached out to chuck her lightly under 
the chin. She scowled and batted his hands away, pushing a thin braid from her 
eyes and glaring at him. “You tell me, or I’ll -” she hesitated, pondering.
He leaned forward, pretending to be raptly focused on her, a grin on his face. 
“Do what?” he drawled, his tone daring her to try.
Kuraihana only smiled, mysteriously, before she suddenly reached forward and 
slid her slender arms around his neck. As he tried to shake her off, flustered, 
he became aware that they were the center of attention; both Yuusuke and 
Kuwabara had stopped talking to stare at them, and judging from the evil grins 
on their faces, he knew he couldn’t rely on them to help him out. He gulped, 
nervously, then looked back at Kuraihana, who was now leaning very close, an 
unidentifiable look in her wide eyes.
“Uh - um - Ku - Ku - Kurai - Kuraihana-san,” he stammered, mortified to hear his 
voice actually squeak as he tried to get his brain working again. Something 
about her close proximity was wrecking havoc on his systems. “Whu - what are you 
-”
Before he could finish what he had intended to say, she leaned even closer, and 
kissed him soundly, in front of everyone. It lasted for several moments, and 
when she pulled away, there was a fiendish twinkle in her eyes. A loud cheer 
erupted from both Yuusuke and Kuwabara, as well as a soft, knowing chuckle from 
his brother. Yo-mawari could feel his face heating nicely, the blush spreading 
from his forehead down his neck as he gaped like a beached fish.
Kuraihana leaned closer, pulling one arm away from his neck and resting a 
slender finger against his open mouth, still pressed quite comfortably against 
him. “See, Yo-mawari-san?” she asked playfully, “you should have done what I 
asked.”
He continued to stare, blankly, and she smirked at him, one last time, before 
getting to her feet and nodding to her uncle. “If he doesn’t wake up in a few 
hours, splash him with cold water.” She winked at him, and Kurama laughed again, 
nodding agreement. Yuusuke got to his feet as well, pulling Keiko to his feet.
“You can make a Gate by yourself, ne?” he asked her, only half focused on her 
answer. When she replied she could, he grinned at her, then swept Keiko off her 
feet, cradling her easily. “Good. ’Cause I have to make up some long absences to 
a certain shrew I know ...” he laughed, ignoring Keiko’s protests, and as he 
swept past Kuraihana, he winked encouragingly at her. “Good one on ’Wari, over 
there,” he said, nodding at the still-dazed youko. The winged she-youkai winked 
back, and smiled pleasantly, even as he moved past her, into the hallway, still 
holding Keiko.
Kurama rose gracefully to his feet, even as Kuwabara and Yukina did the same. He 
nudged his brother with his foot a few times, then decided to try again later as 
he escorted the remaining couple from his apartment. After they were gone, he 
faced his niece, smiling warmly.
“Ojisan, I’m glad -” she began, when he cut her off.
“No, Chibi-Hana, I’m glad,” he said softly, putting a hand over his heart. “I 
made a promise to your father to protect you, but now that I’m here in the 
Ningenkai until Minamino Shuuichi’s death, I can’t always keep it. And I’ve 
always - ever since an incident last year, I’ve always wanted kyoudai-kun to ... 
to find someone, a person who can care for him with the same unconditional love 
he gets from me. And ... I want to thank you for that.” He smiled, warmly, then 
reached out, pulling her in for a hug. “You be careful, now,” he scolded, like a 
parent. “I don’t want any more messages about you getting trapped by another 
dangerous Creature, like the last.”
She hugged back, and when they pulled away, both sets of eyes were wet. She 
managed a small smile, looking past him at Yo-mawari. Her smile turned secret, 
knowing, and she nodded to her uncle as she headed for the door.
At the doorway, half-in, half-out of his apartment, she paused, and looked back 
at him speculatively. “Well, I don’t know ...” she mused, teasingly. “If it 
gives me a chance to get Yo-mawari-san to myself, I just might start looking for 
trouble, as it is ...”
He feigned horror. “Ye gods, girl! You’ll kill me before I’m thirty!” he 
declared, then made shooing motions with his hands. “I’ll see you later, my 
chibi-hana,” he said warmly, as she began to closer the door.
She stopped again, the door only barely cracked open, one blue eye glowing 
mischievously at him. “Oh, we will, ojisan,” she said warmly. “Count on it.”