Echoes VII


Descent



Kuraihana closed her eyes, pressing her flat palms lightly against Kurama’s 
chest, shuddering at the feel of his icy skin under her hands. The slim chest 
was barely moving with the ragged motions of breathing; and that, coupled with 
the painfully weak heartbeat was the only thing that she could cling to, the 
only signs that he was still alive. Her healer’s sense sought out the worst of 
the damage in his body, and she shuddered at the wanton destruction she found of 
his system. The poison was swift and effective; already, in the course of an 
hour, it had burned it’s way into his bloodstream, circulating slowly around his 
body. His heart pumped harder, faster, in an attempt to speed the healing 
enzymes through his blood, but instead, it was slowly killing him. The bitter 
irony of it all made her chuckle without mirth as she sat back, shaking her head 
sadly. She wouldn’t cry, though; she couldn’t. As a healer, it was her job to be 
unemotional until later, when she was alone.
She left her uncle’s room, pausing briefly to brush her lips over his forehead 
and watching him sadly for a few minutes. It wasn’t fair - she had already lost 
her father to circumstances she couldn’t control. Now she was about to loose her 
uncle in the same manner - and for what reason? The question and answer rang 
bitterly in her mind.
What reason?
None whatsoever. None.
She stepped out into the foyer, where the four other memebers of the Urameshi 
Team waited nervously. She winced as they all reacted immediately to the sound 
of the door being opened, feeling worse as the minutes dragged on. They all 
looked like hell; dark rings had developed under Yo-mawari’s eyes, and Kuwabara 
and Yuusuke both looked like they had not slept for weeks. Hiei stood apart, but 
his gaze was the most intense of all - Kuraihana remembered Yo-mawari’s words to 
her, that night that seemed an eternity ago ...
“... he’s Kurama’s lover ...”
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Gomen nasai, minna-san,” she 
whispered, dropping her eyes, unable to look at them. “The only cure I could 
find for Ojisan’s sickness lies within the venom that caused it in the first 
place. If it were only a minor thing, I could draw some from the wounds 
themselves and use it to create an antidote, but this - this is something I have 
never seen before. It works so fast - it’s already immersed itself in his 
bloodstream. I need some more of that ... that thing’s poison, if I’m to make an 
antidote for Kurama-ojisan. And that,” she ended sadly, “will be next to 
impossible, without one of you being hurt as well.”
She looked up, flinching mentally, expecting hatred, anger, anything but the 
understand and sad gratitude she got back.
Yuusuke stood and walked over to her, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder. 
She stared at him in surprise, and his face softened at the real fear and 
unhappiness on her face and in her bright blue eyes. “Don’t feel bad, 
Kuraihana-san,” he told her softly. “You’ve done your best. Now it’s our turn.” 
He turned and cracked his knuckles, frowning. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” he 
stated flatly. “After lunch.” He looked back at her, nodding sharply. “Make sure 
he doesn’t die while we’re gone.”
She bit her lip, but nodded in reply. “Hai hai, Yuusuke-san,” she said quietly, 
then turned and went back into Kurama’s room. She stared at his face for a long 
moment, remembering the silver-haired laughing youko he had always been before - 
before now. Before that idiotic Spirit Hunter had shot him and forced him into 
this weak, beautiful body; a body that had not lasted for more than a few 
minutes against the Creature.
But then, a small voice whispered, there was no guarantee that the youko body 
would have fared any better. She bit her lip, sliding to her knees at Kurama’s 
bedside, and buried her face in the blankets, breathing hard, trying not to cry.
“Gomen - gomen nasai, ojisan,” she whispered. “I’ve - I’ve tried so hard, but I 
can’t find a cure for you - gomen nasai ...” the last word was choked on a sob 
as her shoulders began to shake, and her tears stained the blanket.
“Kuraihana-san?” she heard a soft voice behind her, and whirled, blinking the 
humiliating moisture from her eyes as she confronted Yo-mawari, his tall, black 
figure taking up most of the doorway. At his side, Hiei stood, a dark, unmovable 
presence. She glanced once at the both of them and rose, nodding to Hiei. “Don’t 
stay for too long, Hiei-san,” she murmured. “You will need sleep, too.” She 
brushed past him and into the hallway, Yo-mawari following.
In silence they walked, until they reached a large window that overlooked the 
forest glade that she had first met the silent presence that her uncle loved. 
They looked silently outside, both uncomfortable with the silence, but unknowing 
how to break it.
“Kuraihana-san ...” she heard him say softly, in a hoarse voice, full of tears, 
close to breaking. Alarmed, she turned to look at him, and blinked in surprise 
as he fisted one hand and slammed it violently against the windowsill.
“Yo-mawari-san ...” she whispered in reply, surprised to see the pain in his 
face; the reaction that nearly matched her own. “What’s wrong?” She touched his 
shoulder lightly, and was startled when he jerked away; was startled at the 
sparkle of tears that glimmered in the black eyes. The healer in her judged him 
sharply, noting the hollows under his eyes, the dejected slump of his shoulders. 
“So much pain ...” she murmured, studying his face. “You love Kurama-ojisan too, 
ne?”
Yo-mawari gulped, but was unable to lie in the face of her gentle observation. 
He nodded sharply, once, then turned away. “Hai,” he muttered, his voice thick. 
“Kurama is the only thing I have left in this world ... he and Meijin are the 
only ones I have left ...”
He felt her warm presence behind him, turned to see her shining blue eyes 
smiling sadly at him. “Not quite,” she told him gently, laying a small hand on 
his shoulder. “Not quite. You have me.”
Her words, soft and truthful, seemed to break the emotional dam that had been 
building up inside him ever since that fateful night. He stared hard into the 
blue eyes, but found no semblance of a lie; only the simple truth. His knees 
buckled, and he slid to the ground, wrapping his arms around her slim waist, 
burying his face into her stomach and wept as she stroked his hair and made 
soft, soothing noises. She was crying too, he noted dimly, when he risked a 
quick glance up at her, and she knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around his 
shoulders and drawing him in, rocking him like a little boy as he laid his head 
on her breast and sobbed.
“You’re not alone; you’re never alone,” she whispered, over and over, like a 
prayer. “You have Kurama-ojisan; you have your meijin ... you have me. You will 
always have me.”






Hiei stroked a finger lightly down Kurama’s cheek, frowning at the icy feeling 
of the skin under his touch. Kurama’s face was coldly composed, as if he were 
already dead, and only the faintest whisper of cold air from between parted lips 
told him his lover was still alive. He seemed ready-laid out for his funeral, 
eyes closed, hands crossed over his breast, his long red hair artfully arranged 
around his face. Hiei rubbed some of the silky stuff between his fingers and 
stroked Kurama’s cheek again, willing for his lover to react, to stir, open his 
eyes - anything besides this calm nothingness.
If he reached out to his lover’s mind, there was nothing but the vaguest sense 
of you-ki, flashing in and out of exsistence, barely felt. He bit his lip; 
uncomfortably reminded of a similar scene, nearly ten years ago, when the same 
fox had lain in the hospital, just like now - unmoving, quiet, still - though 
the reasons for his illness now were wildly different from the last time.
Then, Hiei could have blamed an idiotic and frightened ningen woman’s spirit for 
hurting his beloved Kurama.
Now he had no one but himself to blame.
His fault. All of it. Hiei jerked away from Kurama’s bedside, rubbing his 
fingers as if burned, staring wide-eyed at the silent sleeper. Wake up, he urged 
angrily, sadly, frustrated. 
Wake up and smile at me - damn it; tease me, make fun of me, make me mad at you 
- but not this way! Don’t just lie there like a corpse ... wake up, damn it. 
Don’t leave me ...
He slipped his hand to his throat, under the dark cloth of his shirt, clutching 
the ring around his neck like a lifeline. It seemed to burn into his skin, like 
a living brand, a comforting reminder of Kurama’s promise to him. He closed his 
fingers over it, closing his eyes, remembering - for a lonely instant, it seemed 
the only link to a time when his lover was not hurt, not dying, not anything - 
just alive and well and happy. Hiei had been happy, then, one of the few times 
when he could innocently say that he was content for no reason other than the 
presence of his silver-red fox.
With trembling fingers, he pulled the ring from under his shirt, slipping it 
over his head and staring blankly at it. The delicate petals of the crystalline 
rose shone like a tiny fire, and the emeralds glowed deep green, like deep 
beautiful eyes. He touched it lightly, feeling the skin-warmed hardness of 
crystal, watching as it swung on it’s fine chain, then gathered it into his palm 
and pressed his fingers to his mouth.
Hiei knelt beside Kurama’s bedside, unwrapping his fingers and holding them out 
to his lover, the ring sliding from his palm to dangle from his hand. “Kurama, 
if you can hear me,” he said softly, swinging the chain over his lover’s still 
body, “I want you to remember your promise to me. You promised me you would 
never leave me alone. You said you’d always be there for me, no matter what.” He 
swung the ring again, watching as it sparkled. “You gave me this ring as a 
materialistic symbol of that promise.”
For a few minutes, he continued to watch his lover’s still face, noting no 
change. He sighed, then bent down, pressing his lips to cold flesh. “I’m going 
to hold you to that promise, you stupid fox,” he growled against soft skin. “You 
also said that promises made concerning the ones you love were promises you take 
very seriously. So I’m promising you this -” he straightened, slipping the 
necklace back around his neck, back in it’s hiding place.
“- I’m not letting you go. Even if you die, I’ll follow you.” He pressed 
Kurama’s hand tightly for a few seconds, then released it and left the bedroom, 
closing the door behind him.






Swirls of darkness moved all around him, like thick tendrils of black fog. He 
wandered through them, lost in his own thoughts, pondering. There was a dull 
throb in his leg, as if though he had pulled a muscle, but that faint pain 
didn’t seem like anything of importance, so he ignored it, trudging on.
Something brushed past his arm, like the ghostly feeling of cobwebs brushing 
skin, and he startled in reaction, shivering and looking around. He saw nothing. 
Frowning, he pressed on, shivering a little as a previously unfelt chill seeped 
into his bones. The clothing he wore was soft and white, like a series of filmy 
robes wrapped around his slim body, several sizes too large, hanging off his 
lean frame and exposing skin to the damp, cold air.
Voices rose in a hissing crescendo around him, and he shuddered again, wrapping 
his arms tightly around himself, looking around. He saw no faces to go with the 
sounds, tried to convince himself it was only the wind’s absent murmuring he 
heard.
Then, the mist ahead cleared, the blackness moving away like the cloak of night 
swept back by the oncoming of the day. Unconsciously, he sped up towards that 
welcoming light, tugging the loose white robe around him more tightly, slowing 
as an unexplainable chill ran down his spine. Every step closer to the beckoning 
will-o’-the-wisp before him sent another wave of icy dread through him, a 
feeling of wrongness, of danger ahead. He slowed, cautious, peering into the 
parting mist ahead.
He stood at the edge of a bamboo forest, eeriely familiar, though it took him a 
few moments to place everything. He had known this place before, had wandered 
through this same labyrinth of thick yellow-green shoots and stalks. There was a 
sour smell in the air, reminiscent of death and the many battles he knew he had 
fought in his life; the sickening scent of a rotting body. He shuddered, pulled 
back, yet, for some reason, couldn’t look away - something familiar compelled 
him to watch, to wait for whatever was coming.
He heard the footsteps pounding from somewhere in the distance, and, despite 
himself, leaned forward, trying to see. It was only one, a lone creature fleeing 
from something. He cocked his head to one side and continued to watch, with 
dawning horror as the tall, slim figure stumbled into his glade. An involuntary 
exclamation of surprise hissed out from between his teeth as he stepped back, 
watching, mute, a complex series of emotions running through his brain.
The newcomer fell to his knees on the forest floor, hands shooting out to 
support the upper half of his body, though those limbs were trembling and weak 
from exhaustion. Clumps of long, sweat-matted silver hair fell around the 
figure’s face, obscuring it, and the delicate, pointed fox ears twitched 
absently. A long, bushy tail curled around the figure’s knees, and the other man 
in the glade began to weep, his sobs wracking his body, making his entire frame 
shudder, raw grief in his voice as he tried to speak.
And still the watcher said nothing, waiting uneasily. The silver figure raised 
his face towards the sky, blindly staring at the gray clouds that were barely 
visible through the thick canopy of leaves. “Why ...” it was an almost childish 
question, though the anger and grief that raged through the thin golden eyes 
from behind their veil of tears was definetely not a child’s emotion. “He didn’t 
deserve it ...”
Shaking, pale white fingers fumbled in the folds of the white robe, and the 
silver youko lifted a pendant from his clothing, lifting it to the sky, watching 
the gray sky strike it with the faintest of illumination, making the small Makai 
bloodstone glitter like a burning eye of red. “It should have been me, 
Inari-sama. Why didn’t you take me, instead?” the youko whispered again, 
watching the glittering stone. The watcher bit his lip, remembering, knowing 
what would come next.
The youko threw his head back and howled a name, a name that had eventually been 
forgotten, despite constant swearing that it would never happen. Anger, grief, 
loneliness, guilt - they all echoed inside the deep voice as it cried out to the 
sky, and the watcher’s lips involuntarily formed the same name, speaking along 
with his counterpart ...
“Kuronue ...”






Kuraihana leapt to her feet as Kurama began to thrash on the bed beside her, 
moving to hold his shoulders down on the bed, noting his reaction with wide, 
worried eyes as he continued to jerk, the convulsions making his body jump and 
tremble, almost jumping off the bed. She pushed harder, as much as she dared 
against the frail body, and bit her lip.
From behind her, she could hear the door bang open, and a broad shaft of 
red-orange firelight spilled into the room. “Kuraihana-san? What’s wrong?” she 
heard Yo-mawari ask, then heard his sharp, indrawn breath. “Kyoudai!”
She turned a little, her mind barely registering the word used. “Yo-mawari-san,” 
she whispered in relief. “He’s ... I’m not sure what started the seizures ... 
help ...” She turned back to her uncle, watching his pale face as his eyes 
rolled under their lids, darting back and forth, like a trapped animal. She 
wanted to weep at the sight; her proud, beautiful uncle was reduced to something 
base, animal and mindless, and she wanted to scream with the unfairness of it 
all.
Being a healer means that sometimes, you have to watch loved ones suffer - and 
even die, she thought to herself, as Kurama’s struggles increased, shoving her 
back slightly as he bounced on the mattress. We’re trained for that. But all the 
preparation in the world can never make that watch easier.
Hands closed over hers, so much larger, and she glanced up, startled, into 
Yo-mawari’s grim face. His black eyes were infinitely sad as he added his 
strength to hers and helped her restrain the delirious youko. Kuraihana eyed him 
for a few moments, about to open her mouth, reask him what he had called her 
uncle, when she felt another’s ki, dark and icy and hot all at once, coldly 
familiar, and almost sighed in relief. Yo-mawari felt it too, his dark eyes 
brightening somewhat as he turned his head. “Meijin?”
Hiei said nothing, pushing past the two taller youkai to stand at Kurama’s 
bedside. They watched, silent, Yo-mawari gripping Kuraihana’s thin shoulders, 
holding her back when she moved, blue eyes concerned. She paused, looking back 
at him, reading his face, then nodded once, relaxing in his grip and turning to 
watch her uncle and his lover.
At the loss of the physhical restraints of their hands, Kurama’s body thrashed, 
back arching, and his lips were spotted with blood and spittle. Red eyes 
sparkled, as if with tears, though they were quickly hidden as the fire youkai 
reached out to touch one hand, tangling their fingers together and watching 
Kurama’s face. He pressed his lips to the back of the pale fingers enwrapped 
with his own, silent, heedless of the two who stood behind them.
Kurama’s body jerked lightly at that touch, then relaxed, the pale face 
smoothing out slightly, his breathing easing out slightly. Hiei’s touch seemed 
to spark some deep reaction within the sleeper; even in the depths of this 
poison-induced coma, the youko seemed to recognize the touch of his lover above 
all other things, allowing that one touch to soothe him like none of the others 
had. Hiei continued to hold the fox’s limp hand for a few moments, then released 
it, settling it back over Kurama’s chest and patting it softly. He turned to 
look at Yo-mawari and Kuraihana, his ruby eyes dark and unreadable.
Yo-mawari raised a dark eyebrow at Hiei, recieving a brief affirmative nod, then 
released his light grip on Kuraihana’s shoulders. The girl twisted at the waist, 
turning to look at him, questions dancing in her bright blue eyes, and he nodded 
solemnly, telling her without words that he would speak with her later. He 
looked back up at his meijin, just in time to see the corner of Hiei’s mouth 
quirk, as if the little youkai had seen something to be amused about. He glanced 
around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary in the large bedroom - just himself 
standing behind and dangerously close to the young healer.
He blinked, realizing his proximity to the girl, then flushed slightly, pulling 
back, putting more distance between them. She eyed him curiously, not 
understanding, then shrugged and turned back to Hiei, a speculative gleam in her 
eyes. He only stared at her, calm, unspeaking, then raised an eyebrow as she 
frowned. The silence dragged on, pitching the tension to an uncomfortable hum, 
and Yo-mawari shifted slightly, clearing his throat. “I suppose you don’t need 
us any more, Kuraihana-san,” he said quietly, and she turned to look at him, 
tilting her head to one side. “So we’ll leave you now ...”
Hiei said nothing, but within an instant, he had blinked from sight, as fast as 
he had appeared in the room. Yo-mawari started to follow his meijin’s lead ... 
when he felt a small hand grab his arm. Surprised, he turned to look back at the 
healer, frowning in an unvoiced question. “Hai, Kuraihana-san?”
She studied him for a few moments, a small frown appearing on her lips, creasing 
her brow. “You ... you called Ojisan ‘brother,’ ne?” she asked hesitantly, 
pursing her lips at his affirmative nod. “Do you mean brother of his human form, 
or of his true youko self?”
He studied her carefully. There was very little light in the room; all that was 
left was the smoldering redness of dying coals. The dim lights threw odd, 
red-black shadows across her pale face, changing her eyes to a deep, 
almost-violet in color and sparked faint golden highlights in her hair. He felt 
a sudden, brief, unexplainable tightness in his throat, coughing once before 
answering. “Youko self.”
Her eyes widened in confusion, her frown deepening. “Demo ... Ojisan never spoke 
of you before - he always called Otousan ‘the brother I never had.’ If he was so 
estranged from you back then, how come you two seem so close now? Fueds between 
brothers cannot be healed when one is badly wounded - I should know, and I do.” 
For a moment, there was some past rememberance in her face, a dull spark of 
painful memories, and he had to look away, uncomfortable with the emotions that 
sounded in her voice. “Why didn’t Ojisan never tell us about you before?”
Yo-mawari shifted a little, taking a deep breath, staring at the ground. 
“Because he didn’t know I was still alive,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone. 
The past was a dangerous place to tread; something he rarely discussed, even 
with his beloved brother. Why he was speaking so openly with a girl he barely 
knew, he couldn’t quite tell - but he had started, and he was bound to finish. 
“The two of us were born as twins, completely identical, except that my kitsune 
form had streaks of black in my fur. Otousan only wanted one child, and Okaasan 
thought he would be angry if he learned that there had been two. She sent me 
away, to live with our aunt, who lived very far away, planning to tote me as a 
cousin, should the two families ever meet. How she would have explained the fact 
that Kurama and I were identical, I don’t know. I doubt I shall ever know ... 
Kurama once told me that our mother had convinced herself I was dead, and that 
was how he never knew I was still around.
“About a year ago, my brother and his friends stumbled into the area where I had 
staked as my home and territory - the lands of Yomatsu. They were being persued 
by the yosei, and I, as the Watch-Man of the borders, was honorbound to help. I 
ended up challenging Meijin, and loosing to him ... he recognized the 
similarities between me and kyodai, and checked the records. And they came true 
- I really am Kurama’s brother, one he never knew had survived our birth.” He 
smiled, somewhat bitterly, then eyed her closely. “He never knew I was alive - 
he had always believed that Okaasan had told him about me to frighten him, warn 
him that, at any day, I would appear and steal our father’s love from him.” His 
laugh was harsh, bitter with memories. “Okaasan was more than slightly insane. 
Kurama was raised more by our father’s mistress, Megumi, than either of our 
parents.”
Kuraihana was silent as he finished, her blue eyes dark and thoughtful and sad. 
Finally, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him 
fiercely. He startled, trying to pull away, but she persisted, resting her cheek 
against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Kurama-ojisan always said 
that his early life had been ... unpleasant ... but compared to what must have 
happened to you, it wasn’t very much, ne?”
Yo-mawari swallowed; the girl had struck painfully close to the heart of the 
matter with one soft statement. His obasan’s death, and the burning of his first 
home were still things painfully etched into his memory, returning to haunt him 
in dreams that left him a quivering, nervous wreck. So many things had happened 
to him, so many things he wanted to push into a dark corner of his mind, lock 
away, and never think of again ...
He hadn’t believed anyone would understand. But Kuraihana did. She was a good 
century younger than him, but she had seen nearly as much, witnessed nearly as 
much pain - her beloved father had been killed while she was still barely more 
than a child, he reminded himself. She was a healer, working during wars to help 
those in pain, forced to watch helplessly as those beyond her reach slipped 
away, into the numb grayness that would eventually lead to Judgement.
Hesitantly, as if she were as fragile as the flower she had been named, he slid 
his arms around her and hugged back. She tilted her face upwards to look at him, 
her gaze deep and probing, searching for something in his face, his eyes.
Then, she smiled, a bright, wonderful smile that lit up her entire face, and 
Yo-mawari found himself smiling back. For a brief moment, thoughts and worries 
over his brother’s condition faded away as he basked in the warm glow of that 
gentle expression.
Inside, something clicked, and the world was suddenly a better, happier place.






Yuusuke tossed uncomfortably in the bed, opening his eyes and staring at the 
wall in frustration. He had grown accustomed to feeling another warm, slender 
body next to his as he slept, and now that it was gone, he couldn’t sleep. The 
only consolation was that Kuwabara and Hiei were feeling the same way.
Hiei ... he sobered, berating himself for the train of his thoughts. He had been 
slightly jealous, at first, that morning when he had awoken and saw Hiei and 
Kurama entwined like two halves of a whole. But now ... he shuddered, pulling 
the covers more tightly around him, wrapping himself in a cocoon of sheets, 
trying to blot out the memory of the Tamashii-Satsujinhan’nin’s screams; the 
sight of Kurama flying to hit the ground, blood oozing from the ragged gashes in 
his legs; blood dripping from the Creature’s claws as it approached the helpless 
redhead. If that ever happened to Keiko ...
Damn. This wasn’t working, he thought irritably, rolling out of bed and landing 
on the ground in a low crouch. He got to his feet and left the room, leaving the 
door slightly ajar so he would know which one to come back to. His feet led him 
on a pointless wandering through the rabbit-warren of Kuraihana’s home, and he 
briefly wondered how a single girl could live in such a large house and not 
loose herself at times.
He heard footsteps behind him, then Kuwabara’s low voice piped up. “Urameshi? 
You too?”
He paused, turning back, frowning. “What do you mean like that?”
Kuwabara hurried to catch up, the larger man’s face unusally grim as he stared 
at the floor. “You couldn’t sleep either, could you? I kept dozing off, but then 
I’d wake up and wonder where Yukina-chan was - then I’d remember where I was, 
and why we’re here.” His face darkened. “And then I’d remember what happened to 
Kurama.”
Yuusuke nodded silently, and the larger man slammed a fist into his palm. 
“K’so!” he hissed between clenched teeth, staring blankly into space. “I ain’t 
saying I’ve suddenly developed a concern for the shrimp, but Kurama’s my friend. 
And, as much as I hate to admit it, Yukina-chan is his twin. It’s like a vicious 
cycle - Kurama dies, Hiei dies, then Yukina follows.” Kuwabara’s face went 
completely solemn. “And I wouldn’t be far behind.”
Yuusuke stopped completely, staring at his friend, chilled by the words. “What 
do you mean by that?” he demanded. “You’re saying that you’re going to kill 
yourself?”
Kuwabara held up a quieting hand. “I didn’t say that - not quite. However, if 
Kurama dies, it just might end with my death, as well.” There was a haunted look 
in his eyes. “Oneechan and I have both seen the link between Hiei and Kurama. 
It’s unbreakable; not even death will part them. If one goes, the other will 
follow - and if Hiei dies, he’ll take a good deal of Yukina with him. There’s a 
link between twins that, in some ways, is even deeper than a love-bond. Kurama 
dies, and he takes Hiei and Yukina with him by default. And Oneechan says she 
seriously believes I’m love-bonded with Yukina-chan. I will die if she does.”
Yuusuke frowned, trying to shrug off the dark tone of the words. “You make no 
sense,” he scowled, then held up a hand as Kuwabara opened his mouth to explain 
again. “But I think I understand. I’m not sure if I’d want to go on ... if ... 
if Keiko ...” he stopped, unable to complete the thought; it was totally 
unbearable, his mind rejecting it before it was fully formed. He sighed heavily, 
running a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “This is one deep 
shitload of trouble we’ve gotten ourselves into,” he said dryly, staring into 
the space before him. “When we get back, I’m going to sock Koenma a good one. 
He’s not going to forget giving us this stupid mission for a long time.”
Kuwabara nodded. “Well, you’ll have to stand in line. Hiei probably has first 
dibs on Koenma’s hide. He’s not going to let Koenma get off easily on sending us 
on a mission where Kurama’s nearly killed. Sure, everything else we undertake 
has a risk of death, but nothing’s ever happened until now - and it was admitted 
to be a dangerous job ...” he trailed off, and Yuusuke nodded.
When he spoke again, his voice was still dry, with only the slightest hints of 
humor. “You know, I think I’m going crazy.”
The larger man nodded solemnly. “You’re not the only one, Urameshi. You’re not 
the only one.”






Hiei stood on the branch of the tree that grew next to Kurama’s bedroom, 
scowling helplessly at the window. His heart felt like a small, dying animal in 
his chest, each ragged beat tearing fresh wounds inside, a gaping, screaming 
ache that he could not silence. The image of his lover thrashing, not from 
pleasure but from some obscure, unstoppable pain, as the poisons ravaged his 
fragile body; the vacant feeling where his lover’s mind should have been ...
He let out a short, deep sigh, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The 
salty, metallic taste filled his mouth, bitter and unpleasant, a memory of the 
life he’d led before being drawn into the soft sensuality of Kurama’s world. A 
life of battles; of fighting without a cause; of never knowing when the opponent 
would prove to be the stronger; of bloodshed and death and cold painful 
loneliness. That was the way life had once been for him without letup; that was 
how it threatened to return to, now that he was faced with the possibility of 
loosing his precious one.
“Hiei ... I promise you that I’ll never leave you. No matter what, we’ll always 
be together.”
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block the memories that flooded him, 
threatening to drown him. It was no use; they continued, in an endless parade, 
and in every one, Kurama’s face was bright and happy, his green eyes glittering 
with a crystalline purity, an angelic happiness shining from his perfect face. 
That same, beloved soft voice continued to whisper a continuous litany, promises 
that he held close to his heart, unforgettable.
“Hiei ... would you ... do you love me enough to stay with me forever?” he heard 
Kurama whisper again, and he thought he saw the phatom image of emerald eyes, 
impossibly bright and dark and hauntingly beautiful. There couldn’t be anything 
more perfect than his lover’s face and eyes; in either form, Kurama was 
stunning, a jewel that could never be thoughtlessly tossed away. Despite his 
cynical description of his youko life and self - bitter, heartless, cunning, 
merciless - Hiei knew that the gentling of Youko Kurama was not all Minamino 
Shiori’s doing. There had to be at least a small spark of love, of gentleness in 
what was a self-claimed ruthless thief - how else could Kurama care so much for 
the healer girl, or inspire such a twisted depth of devoted love from his own 
kind?
He shuddered, remembering the hateful, insane black eyes of the first and only 
female youko he had ever known - Kurama’s former lover, another healer, Ayame. 
He could still hear her shrill voice in the misty air; her insidious whisperings 
as she tried to convince him that his lover would betray and leave him. And 
Kurama’s speech during that fight, burned forever into heart and memory, 
painfully sweet:
“He is worth everything to me. Aside from Hiei, there is no one else I would 
sacrifice my soul for. My other friends, my teammates, they own my life, yes, 
but only he has my soul. He’s the only one who drives me to do crazy things; 
he’s the only one who could get me all dewy-eyed and happy, like any stupid girl 
child in her first love.”
The words rang, loud and clear, and for a brief eternity, he was back in that 
strange, misty world that Ayame had called the Dream World, and Kurama was 
saying those words again - both to him and that grief-ravaged Youko girl who had 
not been able to let go of what she had believed to be true love.
Hiei shuddered internally, opening his eyes and turning his fiery red gaze back 
to the darkened window of his lover’s bedroom. He could see Kuraihana’s dark, 
slender figure moving around, perhaps tending to the helpless fox, and had to 
bite back a snarl of anger and grief. He knew what he had with his lover was 
real; there was no way around it. He belonged with and to that silver fox, and 
wherever he went, Hiei would follow. Even if it meant into the cold lonely 
darkness of death ...
His hand went to his throat, and he reached slowly into his shirt, pulling the 
ring out by its delicate silver chain, closing his hand over it. The sharp 
perfect edges of the rose and its emerald leaves cut into his palm, leaving 
small, superficial gashes, but he ignored that slight sting. It was nothing 
compared to what raged in his mind, so it was of no consequence.
He opened his palm and stared down at the fragile trinket, noting absently that 
his own blood stained the ruby a darker shade than usual, dulling some of the 
inner red fires. 
This was the symbol of a promise, he thought distantly. Kurama gave it to me as 
proof; of something that I could hold on to, to show that, no matter what, he 
would never betray me; never leave me. He used this ring to bind the promise 
physically, even if I needed nothing but his words to assure me.
Once more, he closed his fingers over it, slipped it back under his shirt, to 
lie against his chest and staring, unblinking, at Kurama’s bedroom.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, fox, he whispered mentally. Because the 
consequences can be things you might have never expected.






Kuraihana opened one eye and sighed heavily, stretching a little, her body 
feeling like a leaden weight as she sat up, brushing stray strands of black hair 
from her face. She was lying on a crude little pallet on the floor next to 
Kurama’s bedside, which she had set up after that first night, when the two 
strangers had barged into her home, yelling for her to come outside; that her 
uncle was dying, that he needed help ... she shuddered, shaking off the memory 
and rolling to her feet.
She startled when she realized that the figure on the bed was not the fragile 
human redhead she had been tending to for the past two days. The youkai on the 
bed was taller by a good two inches, and his hair fanned around his face in a 
glory of bright silver. A pair of delicate, soft-furred ears perked from the top 
of his head, darker than the hair that framed his face, and his face had taken 
on a harder, more masculine appearence - one she recognized.
Her hands pressed to her mouth in both shock and a slowly growing horror. The 
human body had been near to death, the night before, when exhaustion had finally 
driven her to what she had thought would be only a short nap. Now ... she bit 
her lip, hard, feeling the sharp pain in her mouth and the bright, metallic 
taste of blood spread over her tongue.
She reached out, slowly, that one hand trembling violently as she touched his 
face, brushing the smooth skin of one cheek with her fingertips.
It was cold.
Her mind, already confused by the sudden appearence of the youko form, went 
totally blank in shock. The skin under her touch was cold, cold like ice, and 
she hadn’t even been able to do anything to help ... her knees buckled, and she 
slid to the floor, her head tilting up, morbidly fixed on his peaceful face. He 
looked like he was only sleeping, as if he would awaken, if she touched him 
again.
But his skin was cold.
She rubbed her fingers, trying to chafe away the icy rememberance, her gaze 
never wavering from its focused view on his face.
He was cold.






Yo-mawari bolted awake, a scream barely caught in the back of his throat, black 
eyes wild with blank terror. His hands grasped convulsively at the sheets, 
knuckles white with the intensity of his hold. Nearby, he could feel Hiei’s 
startled movement as the smaller youkai was also slammed into the waking world 
by the sudden unexpected pain that ripped through his heart and mind. Yo-mawari 
ignored it, unable to focus on anything else besides the sudden gaping loss that 
raged through his entire being.
:Kurama ... !:
No answer. Just a blank, hollow nothingness where his brother’s warm and loving 
presence had been.