Steel

This is my first YYH songfic, so be kind about it. I also haven’t seen all of YYH, which means this is probably going to be riddled with errors. The song I used is Dante’s Prayer, by Loreena McKennitt, and it does not belong to me. All standard disclaimers apply.

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........Hiei brought the katana to eye level, examining the blade with interest. As well as he he had polished it, it threw back a clear image, though distorted, of his features. He saw his own vermilion eyes narrow a trifle as reflected light snapped in his vision, and he bent over a little to shadow the steel from the harsh ningen sun.

........A slight breeze mussed his hair; he straightened it with mild annoyance, not really even registering the motion. He saw nothing but the blade, reacted to nothing that was not connected to it. His awareness had narrowed to only the bluish curve of the metal—it held a fascination for him that surpassed all other things. Something stirred in him whenever he gazed at it, something that both frightened and enthralled him, something he could not explain. It was as if, somewhere in that gray sheen, there lay the answers to everything.

........His reflected gaze wavered, and he blinked in surprise; perhaps the light had been too bright.


/When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone/


........That blink broke the spell, and he felt a peculiar wash of sadness, tinged with self-contempt, as he sheathed the katana and got smoothly to his feet.

........He had chosen the only patch of sun to be found in the tree-shaded park. He had regarded those trees, but they seemed universally spindly and not at all good for sitting. In point of fact, the tree outside Kurama’s window was the only ningen tree he visited with any frequency, preferring to otherwise make do with the ground.

........Now, however, the late summer heat was making him a touch drowsy, and he elected to relocate rather than give in to lethargy. The grass might be decent for sitting, but nothing save a good tree would do as a place to sleep.

........~Except . . .~

........Hiei cursed fluently at his own stupidity and at the wave of choking emotion that accompanied that thought. He had come here to escape from certain thoughts, that one principal among them.

........~I won’t think of that stupid fox! I won’t!~


/I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars/


........He was seized with a violent urge to kill something, anything, to quell the feelings that were bringing a lump to his throat and a sting to his eyes. Snatching his sword from its sheath, he hacked a low-hanging limb from the nearest tree, snarling wordlessly in rage and pain like a wounded animal. He carved at the branch mercilessly until it was nothing more than slivers of pale wood, and still he was fighting back tears he had sworn he’d never shed.

........Only when he had exhausted every curse he knew in every ningen language and all the languages of the Makai did he jam his katana back into its holder and slump against the tree he had mutilated, breathing hard and refusing to open his eyes for fear that they’d fill again.

........ “That—baka kitsune—”

........He heard his voice catch and nearly screamed aloud in fury. ~What am I even doing in filthy Ningenkai? Why don’t I just stay in Makai?~

........~Why don’t I leave?~


/Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me . . ./


........He leaned his head back against the tree-trunk, sorrow and weariness replacing his earlier languor. The rage drained away against his will, though he tried to hold onto it. He made a desperate attempt to concentrate on the rough bark at his back, but it only brought back memories of his favorite watching-tree, and the countless hours he had used that vantage to observe a certain red-haired kitsune . . .

........Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the Jaganshi again reached for his katana—the only thing, even for a small while, that could make him forget.

“I don’t think you quite understand, Yusuke,” Kurama said patiently. “I’m going back to Makai at Koenma’s direct request.”

........ “But what for?” the detective said for the third time, his temper rising. The heated questions and Kurama’s explanations had already gone in a circular pattern several times, a cycle Yusuke was reluctant to break. The fox was clearly unhappy about keeping this from him, and he suspected it was both difficult and perilous. Koenma wouldn’t have ordered Kurama to keep quiet otherwise, and Yusuke didn’t trust that toddler in the least.

........ “I’m not at liberty to say,” the kitsune told him yet again, as unruffled as if he had not just repeated himself four times. He did, however, add, “This isn’t going to get you anywhere, my friend. I have to leave, and soon, and I cannot tell you why.”

........There didn’t seem to be much one could say to that, so Yusuke merely assumed his sourest expression and replied, “All right, but I don’t have to like it.”

........Kurama accepted Yusuke’s surrender with a simple nod. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

........ “Sure.”

........ “I want you to take care of my kaasan for me, and—” He hesitated. “And tell Hiei where I’ve gone.” His eyes became imploring, and he gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Watch over him, Yusuke. He will not understand.”

........Yusuke looked at the hand on his sleeve with some surprise; then Kurama withdrew it, and walked slowly away . . .

........The chill play of moonlight through the window slid across Yusuke’s eyes, waking him. The image of his red-haired friend slithered away, and he was left uncertain for a few heartbeats, not sure if it had been a dream or a memory.

........Then reality intruded, and he remembered.


/When the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire/


........He closed his eyes when they began to burn. The dream had been so vivid; it had been just like the last time he had seen Kurama—the last time any of them had seen him. But in reality, there had been one difference: Kurama had said nothing to him of the Jaganshi. Hiei had been in Makai himself at the time, and had not known of the fox’s mission until he had returned to find his friends in mourning and the kitsune gone forever.

........It took more willpower to get himself back under control than the spirit detective would have liked to admit. Kurama had been a friend—a good one. And Hiei, who was equally as close whether the youkai liked it or not, was not taking this well.

........~Two weeks and he’s still not speaking to anyone. When he’s even in Ningenkai, which he usually isn’t. He hasn’t been to Reikai even once since then, either, and doesn’t care what Koenma threatens him with.~

........Yusuke’s unshed tears boiled in his eyes as a mental image of the baby ruler came forth unbidden from his memories. ~That bastard. He still won’t tell us what he sent Kurama away for, or what—happened to him, and he doesn’t seem to give a damn what we feel as long as we hop to when he barks orders.~

........At this late hour, however, not even anger could keep his fatigue from overtaking him. He felt his eyes closing under their own power, and spared a last, sad thought for Kurama before letting slumber accept his soul.

........~Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy there.~


/Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me . . ./

........Night came skulking over the trees before Hiei noticed that the afternoon had ended. He vaguely realized that he must have spent hours just contemplating his sword—he only became aware of the dusk because of the effect it had on his reflection in the steel.

........He stroked the katana, unwilling to put it away. For those precious hours, it had become his world, and he had no wish for another. There was nothing that he loved except the smoothness of its flat, and keenness of its edge—

........He had cut himself before realizing it. Just a shallow slice between thumb and forefinger, bleeding but little, with no accompanying pain.

........The blood trickled in a slow line down his wrist, and as he looked at it, it was as if his heart had burst.


/Though we share this humble path alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars/


........All of it, all of it came flooding out. The tears, the rage, the pain, the self-loathing, the guilt, the overwhelming despair—they all crashed down on him at once, and he threw his head back to utter a wordless animal howl into the glass-calm night. Then his throat closed of its own accord, choking off his air, and all he could do was stare at the tiny twine of red that was his and his alone.

........His mind filled with images of scarlet. A long, silky tumble of hair; a velvet-petaled flower—a thousand other specters of the same, all different, all evoking the same pain in him. And his own crimson blood, his own crimson eyes . . .

........How dare anything of his emulate that color which was Kurama’s alone?

........He had no right. His blood should be black, as was fitting, the same black as the tear gems that spilled down to collect in his lap. Black was his essence, his evil, his. Only Kurama deserved that beautiful, life-giving red.

........But Kurama was gone.


/Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We’ll rise above these earthly cares/


........As though a paralysis had been lifted, Hiei’s right hand raised his katana, his tear-clouded eyes seeing the stains of his blood upon it. He brought it again to his left hand, slashing a line across his palm, watching what he did not deserve draining away from him. He cut again, and again, until his hand was a bloody ruin, and still he engraved his own self-hate into his flesh.

........He wanted there to be pain, but there was none. Even when the razor edge of his blade cut open his wrist, spilling a steady stream out onto the moon-tipped grass, the pain refused to come. He wanted it, needed it, and still it was denied him. Only the pain of his body could make him forget that of his soul.

........~Maybe . . . I’m not worthy, even of pain . . .~


/Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me . . ./


........The silver of the moon darkened the blood on his skin, and he almost imagined that it was indeed black, as it should be. It was becoming distant, somehow equivocally unreal, and the stars flickered as he tilted his head to gaze at them.


/Please remember me . . ./


........Darkness was closing around him, embracing him, joining with the inky night of his soul. It blotted out the moon and the dancing stars, and it was as a comfort, and a love he had never known.

........The last thing before the dark was the glint of steel, shimmering in his eyes.


/Please remember me . . ./

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0_0 Attack of the evil angst muses! They all got together and jumped me en masse. I know it’s not very good, or even very original, but please e-mail me if you liked it. They might eat me if you don’t.