Human magic was a tricky and mysterious thing.  Kurama had had little experience with it beyond warding spells and good luck charms, weak folk magic.

The air shimmered around him as if distorted by heat.  He could feel power being pulled from the ground, the stone walls, the weeds, the wood of the shrine.  Definitely not weak folk magic.

The living shadows were easy enough to deal with and surprisingly simple to defeat—one just had to slice through them; they were only slightly studier tissue paper.  Which made him think they were nothing more than a distraction.  What he could feel building in the night around him made him cold to his bones.  The leaves whispered, terrified murmurs building around him as a chill wind cut through the courtyard and circled like a wary dog.

Then it stopped.  The shadows pulled back as if even they were afraid to stay, leaving Kurama feeling exposed in the too quiet courtyard.  He pushed his hair back from his eyes and looked around.  The only other person he saw was Kuronue crouched low, and the dead body at his feet.  The winged demon straightened slowly, wide eyes darting back and forth.

“Kuronue?” he questioned, sliding a wary step forward.  Kuronue looked well and truly spooked, and that was unnerving.

Kuronue made two quick gestures with one hand. Stay.  And then, listen.

Kurama cocked his head, ears flicking.  He thought maybe they were trying to find the sorcerer, Fujimi, so listened for human sounds: breathing, a heartbeat.  Instead, he heard sounds of pain, low but jarring.  He turned, trying to pinpoint where it came from, feeling the hair on his arms rise up.  It seemed to emanate from the earth, drift up from cracked cobblestones.  Kurama looked at Kuronue for an answer, but the other demon was backing toward him hastily, looking around as if he expected an attack.

“Kuronue, what is it?”

“The dead,” Kuronue answered, grabbing his arm and pulling Kurama behind him. “It’s the dead.”

“What?”  He turned to look Kuronue in the face and flinched back as a ghostly arm materialized to the elbow, fingers stretching toward his face.  Kuronue slashed at it with a wing.  Kurama heard a girl scream faintly, breath against his neck, and the arm disappeared.  “I can’t see them!  Can you?”

“They’re below your spectrum,” Kuronue said, eyes darting and fixing on definite points that held nothing but emptiness for Kurama.  “Careful, don’t let them touch you.  They can do the damage that caused their deaths, and some of these things look like they died pretty nastily.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.  This would be easier if you could fly.”

“Great.  Thanks.  I’ll keep that in mind.”  He couldn’t see anything, but he could feel them, closing in.  Moans, gasps, faint screaming, and sometimes, mad laughter filtered through the silence, always louder.  “What are they?”

“Tormented souls.  The angry dead.  Souls that have suffered so much they would rather live in void, in nothingness, than face the world any longer.  Our target opened a gate into the void and exposed them to suffering again.”  Kuronue looked at the kitsune over his shoulder. “They’re kinda pissed off.”

Kurama looked around the empty courtyard and listened to the ghosts get closer. “Fly.”

“What?”

“Fly!”

Kuronue gave him an incredulous look. “They’ll kill you!”

“It doesn’t matter, remember?  It won’t be anything permanent.  It’s you who’s in trouble.  Fly, dammit!” He gave Kuronue a little push. “Find Fujimi.  We have to end this.”

The winged demon gave him a deliberating look, lips thinning.  Then he sighed, pushed away from Kurama, took a step and opened his wings.  Kurama felt youkai intelligence slough away as the demon launched and became a crow, beating its wings determinedly against the air as it climbed into the sky.

Kurama didn’t spare it a long look, or much thought.  The link was opened between them so he knew the crow was hunting.  He had other problems.  There would be no easy way out.  The temple gate seemed long yards away, and he wasn’t certain the ghosts were contained within temple boundaries, anyway.

His sight was making him jump at imaged movement, straining to see what he could hear around him.  He shut his eyes and concentrated on keeping his ears forward and alert, though instinct told him to flatten them back and run.  He didn’t know if the laws of sound applied to ghosts—if he could really predict their movements by listening to them, but it was the only option he had at the moment.

A dry leaf scraped across cobblestones, as if moved by the long hem of a dress.  There were soft, gritty footfalls on the dusty ground.  He flinched back and felt air shift in front of him, as if someone had taken a swipe at where his face would’ve been.

Smaller.  Must be smaller.

Shifting to his fox form was tricky.  It had been a very long time.  But eventually bones resettled, animal instinct took over thought.  He opened his eyes to a black and white world where grotesque shapes once human were closing in.  Animals could see spirits.

He nipped at the nearest one to make it back off, and then yelped as his ankle shattered.  The ghost turned its head around without moving its body, blood and saliva and bits of teeth leaking out of its mouth to look at him with empty, bleeding eye sockets.  It looked as if it had been beaten to death several times and then crucified.  Kurama scrambled back.  Putting weight on his injury sent white-hot pain up his leg.  He could feel edges of bone grinding against each other. 

The wound was knitting itself back together, fast enough that Kurama’s next step was painless.  The kitsune caught himself, leapt over another ghost—pigtails, holding a bloody teddy bear, skin hanging in strips—and made a break for the gate.  The dead screamed, enough despair and malicious anger to make his steps falter, but he flattened his ears, dropped his head and kept running.

He dodged an attack from the right, had to skid to a quick stop to avoid tripping over an armless ghost bleeding from the mouth.  He twisted out of the path of two creatures that might have been women at some point, the gate a reachable goal, now.  

The decimated hand that shot out of the ground and caught his ankle was a shock.  He yelped—or tried to, as he went down, but his throat was slit.  Then blinding light and pain as if someone had clubbed him over the head. 

Then, a voice, cracking clear across the oppressive weight of rage and grief.  “Fuckers!  Get away from him!”

He flailed, still trying to move forward, pain fading, eyesight slowly returning.  He heard the dead shriek and then go silent, as if pausing for breath.

“Get down, Kuwabara.  SHOT GUN!!”

White blue light, and he was blind again.  Deaf, too—ears full of keening despair as ghosts became visible in the bright light just before they disintegrated.

“Shit, Urameshi!  Think you could cut that any closer?”

“Yeah.  Duck.  REI…GUN!”

“Dammit, cut that out!  Let me have a turn.”

“Be my guest.”

He flinched and rolled instinctively away from a bright sword made of yellow-gold light slicing through incorporeal forms hovering over his head.  Feet moved into his line of vision and halted his momentum, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the arms that swept him up and cradled him.

“Kurama—Kurama!  Knock it off.  I’ve got ya.”

—ping ping

He looked up from his homework toward his window.

ping

Small stones off the windowpanes.  He stood and walked to the window, curious, but not overly cautious.  He doubted an enemy would have given warning.  But who was it?  Hiei never bothered knocking and besides, the snow was thick on the ground; it was far too cold for the fire demon to make a surprise visit.

He opened the window and looked down, flinching just in time to avoid a stone between the eyes.  “Hey!”

“Oops.  Sorry!”

Yuusuke, standing under the maple tree, grinning up toward the window, teeth a white slash in the dark.—

Warm brown eyes, crinkling at the corners, smiled down at him. “Hey there, stranger.”

Yuusuke, Kurama thought, wanting to smile back. Hello.  A sharp tug from his link with the crow yanked him from the moment.  He animal instinct took over, and he scrambled as Yuusuke cursed, up Yuusuke’s jacket to launch off his shoulder.  I’m sorry, he thought as Yuusuke called his name.  I’m sorry.   He ran into the night.

Kurama kept pace under the crow’s shadow, hiding the slick silver shimmer of his fur as he sprinted down busy streets and through abandoned alleyways.  In his head, Fujimi was running, too, and the man disappeared when he met with shadow, to reappear when there was light, far too quickly for him to have traveled that distance by conventional means.  Somewhere inside, Kurama knew it was magic, a variation of a teleportation spell, one he’d never seen before.  He knew he should be wary, but the fox in him was hunting, happy and voracious, teeth aching for flesh and blood.

Somewhere inside, he also ached for company, unused to hunting without a pack, tired of finding friends only to lose them again.  Underneath the bloodlust, he could feel exhaustion chipping steadily away at his nerves.  He knew his body no longer needed rest, so he could only assume it was his soul that wanted to sleep.

But rage was still there, too.  Burning bright in his mind, keeping his belly low to the ground, his teeth bared.  For now, there was no rest.  Only revenge.

Fujimi vanished into a shadow and didn’t emerge again.

Kurama slowed to a stop and looked around the empty street, demon eyes searching details in darkness where mortals wouldn’t have been able to see anything, yet still he saw nothing.  The crow landed on a lamppost, ink-drop eyes scanning the area, bewildered in the way of a wild creature that’d lost its prey while it was in plain sight.

Kurama shifted into human form, needing intelligence above instinct to test this trap.  He knew a little of magic, could even perform a few rudimentary spells, or had been able to, before his death.  He wasn’t sure if he could call on anything now but that sharp, dark magic of hate and vengeance.  Still, human magic left the same taste in the back of his mouth as Crow magic did.  It was of the deep earth, hard as iron, ancient as blood.  He crouched and touched his fingers to the ground, straining to feel the shift of magic.

He tucked has hand into his hair, then made an arcing gesture, scattering seeds out across the ground.  Brushing his hands together, he stood and stepped out into the street, right into a pool of light. 

Shadows struck out immediately, but blasted apart as soon as they hit the light, which Kurama had anticipated.

The gunshot and hot spray of shrapnel that hit his chest was a surprise.  He hit the lamppost, pain jarring enough to startle him.  Fujimi walked out of the dark carrying a shotgun and wearing a smirk.

“I know you won’t die,” he said, approaching. “But I can make you suffer.”

“You soon,” Kurama gasped, trying to find enough breath to speak, “will run out of bullets.”

“Yes,” the sorcerer agreed, leveled the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

Kurama jerked with the impact, thinking perhaps that bits of his spine were now permanently lodged in the pole.  Fujimi opened the shotgun, ejecting two shells and reached into his pocket for two more.  Kurama leapt for him, put stopped short as a shadow lashed out and forced him to jump back out of harm’s reach.

“As soon as you step outside the light, my shadows will have you.” Fujimi snapped his gun shut and took aim.  “There are three hours until sunrise.  Let’s see which one of us gives out first.”

Kurama’s eyes narrowed as he pushed himself straight on the lamppost, defiant.  The next shot knocked him sideways.  He stumbled a bit, and his arm fell into shadow, where the creatures immediately grabbed on, wrapping around his bicep like wide swaths of cloth.  He clutched the pole and pulled back.  Shrapnel ripped through his arm, scattering across his collarbone, punching through his ribs into his heart.  He let go.

The shadows wrapped him up, tore him from under the light and slammed him up against a brick wall, holding him a foot above the ground, secured by his wrists and ankles.  Bound as if to a cross, arms out, ankles crossed, Kurama grimaced and strained to get away, but found no yield at all.

“Now,” Fujimi said, flicking one hand up in a graceful gesture that pulled power from Kurama’s bones and cast it into the bricks.

The kitsune gasped as he went cold and weak and the bricks behind him lit up as if they were on fire.  But instead of a circle or the traditional pentagram, what seared into the brick was the Crow, fiery wings spread from Kurama’s fingertips, tail fanning open at his feet.  It glowed softly, and drew power from its captive like a steady stream of blood.

Fujimi made a motion to bring his hand down, and Kurama felt it would be the axe falling, a death, and he felt fear.

Then the crow flew out of darkness and clipped the sorcerer in the head, interrupting his spell.  Fujimi cursed and sent the shadows in pursuit.  They overwhelmed the bird like a wave, pulling it under, grounding it.  A moment of distraction, but it was enough.  Kurama’s feet hit the ground, arms still out, and he summoned the seeds under Fujimi’s feet to grow.

Seeds from the long grass that grew soft in Makai fields.  Not very deadly under normal circumstances, and probably the least offensive plant Kurama carried, but dark hate gave them edges and strength.  Sharp spires of obsidian crystal shot from the ground, stabbing though Fujimi’s feet into his legs.

The sorcerer screamed and fell.  The shadows turned on Kurama.  He closed his eyes and tried to dodge, but like water, they tried to seep under his eyelids, into his mouth and nose, suffocating.  He gritting his teeth and thought only grow grow until the shadows stopped moving, shuddered once like a dying thing, and fell away to dissipate into nothing.

Fujimi lay on the ground, wide eyes open to the dark sky, mouth gaping in surprise, with thirty thin spikes of crystallized grass puncturing his lungs.

Kurama approached the body cautiously.  Magic lingered in the air; the faint smell of ozone and earth, but though he stayed crouched and ready when he nudged the body, nothing dramatic happened.  The wind blew cold and like smoke the last of the magic faded away, leaving Kurama staring at a corpse and wondering where all feeling had gone. His long coat flicked forward in the breeze to brush questioningly against Fujimi’s cooling cheek.

Kuronue, back to demon form, stepped up to him and gave him a sharp smack on the back of the head.  It so startled Kurama that his melancholy vanished in an instant and he turned indignantly.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Kuronue demanded before Kurama could speak. “Tuxedo Mask?” His face pinched in a disapproving frown as he made a sharp gesture toward the dead sorcerer.    “You know, most Crows use guns.”

“I’m not most Crows.”  Kurama caught the belling edges of his coat and pulled them in close to his sides. “Besides, guns are far too conspicuous.”

“The opposition is certainly free with them,” Kuronue grumbled, kicking Fujimi’s shotgun.

“They knew I was coming.  How?”

“Someone must have warned them.”

Kurama reviewed his nights—only three, though it seemed so much longer, and searched for an answer.

Totemo.  The cell phone.  He had punched a number: “He’s here!”   Then someone had called back.  Kurama had memorized the number, taken it to Kuwabara, asked him to find out who it belonged to.

Kuronue, who was in his thoughts always, said, “Maybe we should go ask him about that.”

Kurama gave him a slanted look.  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to involve the living.”

Kuronue shrugged. “They’re changing the rules.”

~*~

Yuusuke had his arms full of unconscious Kuwabara when he reached the door of the taller man’s apartment. “I can’t believe I had to carry your heavy ass up here,” he groused, having already assessed Kuwabara’s condition as non-critical and now past the point of openly worrying about him. “Goddamn broken elevator.”  He kicked the door three solid times and waited.

Shizuru answered his knocking and glanced at her brother.  Concern was brief but intense in her expression, but then she looked at Yuusuke and relaxed. “What happened?”

“He talked shit about a train and it decided to run him over,” Yuusuke said with a grin.  Shizuru smirked and stood aside to let him in.

“Nothing debilitating?” she asked.

“Nah.  Yukina took care of it.  He’s just sleeping off a psychic attack.”

“From what?”

“Ghosts.”

Shizuru nodded as she followed him into the living room where Jiro sat on the floor, wrapped loosely in a sheet over his borrowed pajamas.  He was in front of the coffee table, which had been cleared a bit so cards and money could be laid out. “Was that what gave me the migraine of a lifetime a few hours ago?”

“Yeah, it’s a safe bet.  Would you grab his feet?”

“Need help?” Jiro asked, half rising.

“Nah,” Shizuru said, picking up her brother’s legs and helping Yuusuke lay Kuwabara on the couch. 

They made sure he was comfortable and not about to roll off, then Yuusuke turned and considered Jiro. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Not yet, but feel free to at any time,” the boy said, grinning. “I’m Jiro.  Are you Kuwabara’s gangster friend?”

“I’m Yuusuke.” Yuusuke grabbed a blanket Shizuru tossed to him and threw it open, and laid it on top of Kuwabara until he looked comfortable, before turning back to the boy, hands on hips. He tilted his head. “Kuwabara’s ‘gangster friend,’ huh?” He grinned back. “Cool.”

Jiro nodded, his expression a caricature of wisdom. “Saved from a tragic life on the streets by Kuwabara’s virtuous teaching and honorable example.”

Yuusuke laughed, and made a mental note to give Kuwabara’s “virtuous” ass a swift “gangster” kick as soon as he was conscious.  He took off his shoes and sat down tangent to Jiro on another side of the table, picking up Shizuru’s cards.  “Hm.  Nice hand.”

“Hey!” Shizuru snatched the cards away and smacked him on the head with them. “What’s the big idea?”

“Just trying to keep your corruption of innocent youth down to a minimum.  Gambling is illegal, you know.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Yeah.  Right.  And I’m sure you’re just a model citizen.”

Jiro grinned at him. “Thanks.  I think I’ll fold.” He dropped his cards on the table and organized his remaining money into a stack. “Peanut butter?”  He offered a spoonful of it.

Yuusuke wrinkled his nose as Shizuru stepped over and around them, grumbling and clearing off her side of the table. “Nah…it’d stick to the roof of my mouth.  I hate that.  Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No.  Well, I suppose it would, if it did stick, but it doesn’t.” He licked the spoon.

“Weirdness.”

“Talent,” Jiro countered. “My mouth is very talented.” And he leered.

Yuusuke tossed a grin at Shizuru. “I take it back.  He’s already well and truly corrupted.”

“I told you,” Shizuru said, then picked up her keys and jangled them at the two. “I’m going out to get some supplies—medicine, milk.  Anything you want me to get for you?”

“Medicine?” Yuusuke queried.

Shizuru lost her sarcasm and became serious.  “For Shuichi.  He’s…not doing too well.  Fever.  It isn’t bad, yet, so I was waiting to ask Kazuma if it would be all right to bring him to a hospital.  What with all the weirdness going on, I didn’t know if it would be safe.  Which reminds me—call Yukina,” she said to Yuusuke. “I don’t know if she can really help with symptoms of withdrawal, but it couldn’t hurt.”

“Wait—What Shuichi?  What withdrawal?  What’s going on?”

“Oh, that’s right.  You weren’t here.  I have to go.  Jiro will explain it to you.”  She turned toward the door. “And don’t forget to call Yukina.” She left.

Yuusuke looked at Jiro. “So.  Talk.”

Twenty minutes later, when they’d finally sorted out how Shuichi the Younger was related to Shuichi the Actually-a-Yoko-in-a-Human-Body, and how everyone had come to meet everyone else, Jiro got around to exactly how bad the situation was.

“He’s going into withdrawal.”

“The drugs?” Yuusuke asked.

Jiro nodded, his face solemn.  “Yeah.  It weakens them, keeps them from fighting back.  And, besides, when they’re finally hooked, they don’t run away.  They have to get their daily fix.”

“Damn,” Yuusuke growled, clenching his fists.  “What about you?  Are you addicted?”

“Nah, I’m not a regular.  I’m not actually contracted.  And I have a high tolerance to that sort of thing, anyway.  But the others…aren’t that lucky.  And the contracts?  Pretty much non-negotiable and valid until they die.”

“Fuck.”  Yuusuke stood because he had to or he would hit something.  Now I remember why I left the Reikai Tanei.  What’s the fucking point of saving the world, Koenma, if I can’t save people from the monsters that already live in it? 

He grabbed the phone off the wall and dialed a number.  Fortunately, Genkai had yielded to technology far enough to allow for a line into the temple.  But then, there was only a small chance that anyone would answer.  After ten rings, he was about to give up, when there was a click and a soft, sweet voice on the other end.

“You see?  I pick it up and it stops mewling.  Poor thing.  I think it only wants to be held.”

“Yukina!”

There was a startled pause.

“Yukina!” he called again. “Yukina, it’s the phone.  I’m…on…the…phone… Do you understand?”

“Yuusuke-san?”  Her voice was distant and tinny, as if she were holding the phone out to arm’s length. “Yuusuke-san, are you in there?”

“Yes, Yukina,” he said patiently, thumping his forehead on the wall.  So far, three people had attempted to explain the concept of a phone to Yukina, and though she had listened politely each time, it was evident she hadn’t really understood. 

“Oh my!  How did that happen?  Are you all right?” 

“I’m great.  Just… is Genkai there?”  Someone who knows how to use a phone?

“Um… no I don’t believe so.  Oh!  But Keiko-san is!”

He straightened, brightening.  “Keiko?  Great.  Put her on, please?”

“On?  On what?”

“Give her the phone, I mean.”

“Oh, of course.”

In the background, there was shuffling.

“Okay,” Keiko said, her voice sharp and annoyed. “Where were you?”

“What?  Where was I when?”

There was a deadly silence. 

Then Yuusuke’s memory gave him a sharp kick in the pants. “Oh!  Oh shit.  The dinner.  Our date.  Keiko, I’m sorry.  Fuck.  I didn’t even think—” He managed to stop before he dug himself deeper. “Um.  I mean…Shit.”

“Stop swearing!” Keiko snapped. Then her voice softened slightly. “So what’s your excuse?  Are you actually a complete jackass, or did something happened?”

“Something happened,” he assured her hastily.

“Something with…Kurama?”

“Yeah.” His voice got quieter automatically.

“Oh.  Well, I suppose I could forgive you this once.  But fair warning—I’m going to smack you next time I see you.  Do you know how worried I’ve been?  You could have at least called!”

“Fair enough,” he said with a grin.

“So what do you need?”

“Actually, I need Yukina to get over to Kuwabara’s apartment as soon as she can.”

“Someone got hurt?” Worry was evident in her tone.

“Yeah, but not one of us.  And he’s not bleeding or anything.  Just sick.”

“Okay.  What happened?”

“Long story.  Really really long.”

“Tell me later, then.  I’ll send Yukina over.”

It suddenly occurred to him that Keiko might feel left out with just about the whole gang at Kuwabara’s without her. “Um, you can come too.  If you want.  I mean,” he amended hastily, “I want you here!  Please come over.”

“Yuusuke, stop.  You’re cute, but it’s a good thing I’m not marrying you for your tact.  I know you hate it when I get involved in these things.  Besides, my parents need me to help at the restaurant.  So call me so I don’t worry that you’re dead somewhere and I want to know the details of what exactly is going on before the end of the week, so work that into your schedule.”

Yuusuke felt his grin widen. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.  Which is a good thing because you’d be so dead if I didn’t.  Now, I’m hanging up before this gets any mushier.”

Yuusuke made messy-kissy noises into the phone.

“You are such a dork,” Keiko said, only half-joking and hung up.

“See ya.”  He said to the dial tone and replaced the phone in its cradle, feeling much better.  Then he turned back to Jiro.

“Who’s Yukina?” the boy asked.

“A healer,” Yuusuke answered, as he padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. 

“Like…a doctor?”

“Yeah, but better.” He stuck his head inside. “Whoa.  If I’d known this was all Kuwabara had I would’ve asked Shizuru to get some real food while she was out.”

Jiro started shuffling cards idly. “Bad?”

“Like a graveyard for Chinese takeout leftovers.”  Yuusuke picked up a white carton and opened the flap, taking an experimental sniff. “Ugh.” He made a face, closed it hastily and tossed it into the trashcan.

Jiro was making cards appear and disappear between his fingers.  “Speaking of Shizuru, shouldn’t she be home soon?”

“Don’t worry, she—” He stopped when someone knocked on the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Jiro grinned and hopped up to answer it. “But don’t tell her I said that.”

Yuusuke frowned. “Wait.  Didn’t Shizuru…take her keys?”

Jiro paused with one hand on the door, then stepped away warily as Yuusuke motioned him to one side.

“Funny,” Yuusuke murmured as he approached, stepping ready on the balls of his feet. “No ki signature.”  He flung the door open and took aim with the rei gun.

“Hi,” Kurama said from where he leaned against the doorframe.

Yuusuke was only startled for a moment.  Then he grinned, slung an arm around Kurama’s shoulders and dragged him inside. “Hi right back to ya!” He put Kurama in a loose headlock and ruffled his hair before releasing him.  “How have you been?  Where have you been?  How did you get here?  You realize that I will have to hurt you for all the worry you’ve caused.”

Kurama waited patiently through the barrage of questions and smiled slightly at the threat.  He wandered into the room toward Kuwabara, touching the back of the couch as he paused there. “What happened?”

“Nothing much.  He’s all right.  Don’t worry.  He should be waking up soon.”

“I need to speak with him.”

“So stick around.  Or wake him up.  But I’m warning you, he wakes up like an angry bear.  But if you need me to,” Yuusuke promised, smacking his fist into his open palm and winking, “I’ll hold him down for you.” Yuusuke tilted his head when there was no response to his teasing besides a distracted look and a wrinkle of worry that had formed between Kurama’s eyebrows. “What’s up?”

Kurama turned and looked at him, opened his mouth, shut it again, and then shook his head in denial. “I just…need to talk to Kuwabara.”

Yuusuke choked back a frustrated growl.  If this had been Kuwabara standing there, hemming and hawing and obviously in trouble, Yuusuke would have picked a fight and then demanded the truth after he’d locked the taller man into some sort of wrestling hold.  But this was Kurama, and a person just didn’t pick fights with Kurama.  The kitsune would likely not forgive a person for doing that, even if said person had only his best interests in mind.

“Kurama,” Yuusuke said, locking gazes. “What is it?”

“Shu-Shuichi?” a soft, scratchy voice interrupted softly.

All eyes turned to the pale, thin figure standing in the shadow of a hallway, using a wall for support, eyes sunken in above sharp cheekbones.

“Shuichi!” Jiro cried and hurried over to him, grabbing his sheet off the floor where he’d left it to wrap around the boy’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t be up.”

Shuichi made a vague effort to push Jiro away, or maybe to halt his motherly fussing, but didn’t actually have much energy to give. “I heard voices.  I heard…” He looked at Kurama. “You’re alive,” he said, quietly, something brighter and clearer than the fever fire lighting his eyes.

Kurama looked down, and then back up again. “Shuichi, what…what happened?  To you?  What happened to you father?”

It was Shuichi’s turn to look down, soft laugh ragged and deep in his throat, sounding more like swallowed sobbing. “My father.” Hateful spite that startled Yuusuke. “My father is perfectly fine.”

“I don’t understand…” Kurama frowned.

Yuusuke doubted that.  He hadn’t grown up sheltered and neither had Kurama—at least, not in his demon lifetime.  Already Yuusuke was getting a picture of what might have happened, and he didn’t have the years of experience with darkness as Kurama did.

Shuichi closed his eyes, fingers rubbing over his forehead. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.  I can’t think…I have to—the drugs.”

“We know,” Yuusuke reassured him, meeting Kurama’s questioning eyes and giving a quick shake of his head. Not now. “We’ve called someone to help you.”

“I’ll take you back to bed,” Jiro said gentle, making little herding motions with his hands. “You have to rest.”

“No.” Shuichi’s eyes were wide, suddenly, his voice on the edge of panic.  Everyone paused. “I…I have bad dreams.”

“You can come take my seat, then.”  Kuwabara, awake and only a little worse for ware, rubbing a hand over his hair and kicking the blanket off his legs.  He stood and moved to one side as Jiro helped Shuichi over.  He looked at Kurama and Yuusuke. “So, what’s going on?” He looked primarily at Kurama, who was trying to avoid eye contact without actually seeming to avoid eye contact.

“I need to know the origin of that number I gave to you earlier today.”

Kuwabara looked chagrined. “Oh, dammit.  You know, I completely forgot about that.  But, hey don’t worry.  I’ll run it over to the office first thing in the morning.  Now where did I put it…?” He began rooting through the papers scattered across the coffee table.  “Hey!  Who moved stuff?”

“Is this it?” Shuichi picked up a small piece of paper with ripped edges and looked at it.  Then he froze and went white.

Kuwabara plucked it out of his grip and flipped it so he could read the numbers.  “Yeah, this is it.  Thanks.”  He tucked it into his inner coat pocket.

“I don’t think,” Shuichi said, the strangeness in his tone stopping all other activity in the room. “I don’t think you’ll need to trace that number.”

“Why not?” Kuwabara ventured quietly.

“Because I know it.  It’s my father’s cell phone number.”  He focused on Kuwabara. “What…what does he have to do with this?  What has he done?”

Kuwabara looked at Kurama though he spoke to the boy. “Are you sure that’s what it is, Shuichi.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.  Very sure.”

Kurama stared back, then turned his eyes to Shuichi, and swept over Jiro and Yuusuke.  Then he turned on his heal, black coat swirling and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.  For a moment, no one moved.  Kuwabara and Yuusuke snapped out of it at the same time, both hurrying to follow.

“Stay,” Yuusuke said sharply, cutting ahead and blocking the taller boy.

Kuwabara bit down on something that would have been embarrassingly close to you’re not the boss of me, and glared back.

“I know.” Yuusuke’s aura was gentleness and demand all at once. “Just…” Brown eyes flicked back toward the bewildered faces of the boys on the couch. “Stay.”

Kuwabara listened to the conflicting emotions inside and out until he was sure he was making the right choice, then nodded.  “How are we supposed to help him if he keeps running?”

“I’ll bring him back.”

“Dammit, we’re his friends.  We couldn’t save him before and now he won’t even give us a chance.”

Yuusuke’s eyes were a solid force, compelling.  “I’ll bring him back.”

“Do that.”

Yuusuke slammed open the door to the stairwell and hit the guide bars with enough force to almost throw himself over the edge.  He looked down.  Nothing.  He looked up, just out of reflex, and saw the flick of disappearing fingers on the railing, heard the soft slap of leather against a plaster wall.

He took the stairs two at a time, but knew that unless Kurama had figured out how to fly, he wasn’t really going anywhere.  Demon speed and demon stamina made the trip short and easy.  On the rooftop, gravel grated under his feet, and Kurama was a black figure cut out against a brightening sky.  Yuusuke kept his distance.  Kurama’s personal space was like a physical thing on normal days.  Now he wasn’t sure if he could make it across that invisible line without severe willpower.

“I failed her.”  His voice was like a knife’s edge, but Yuusuke knew the damage done was internal. “I let him in.  I let that killer in.  She asked and I told her I—approved.”

“You don’t know yet.  Not for sure.  We don’t even know if he’s got anything to do with…” He faded off when Kurama turned his head enough to present his profile and give Yuusuke a cool look out of a golden eye.

“Spare me compassion.”  Guttural growl in his undertone, one Yuusuke had never heard from Kurama’s human form. “It is uselessly human.  I am done with useless and human.”

Yuusuke’s visceral response was to lower his stance and get ready for battle, but he fought it and took a step forward instead. “Don’t do this.  Come back.  We’ll figure something out.”

Kurama turned to face him fully in a motion quick and fierce enough to set off warning bells. “You are such a stupid child.”  The redhead was practically snarling, teeth bared. “Don’t you understand that I would sooner slaughter all who wrong me than be wrapped up in your moral idiocy?”

“Kurama—” He grabbed the kitsune’s arm, fully prepared to hold him down and call for help, startled when his hand was flung off with little effort.

“Get.  Away.  From me.”

Then Kurama did something else unexpected.  While Yuusuke jumped back, ready to dodge killer vines or a deadly rose whip, Kurama pursued, first leading, and punched Yuusuke hard enough to send him reeling.  That’s when Yuusuke knew, with a sudden clarity, as his knees and palm skidded on the rough gravel, that Kurama wasn’t actually trying to kill him, hadn’t fallen so far into his demon that he didn’t know his allies any more.  Instead, Yuusuke found himself grinning, because he knew this game.  He stood up and wiped the blood off his lip.

“All right, asshole.  Let’s go.”

So they danced.  It was bloody and violent and sometimes so graceful it almost felt coordinated.  When neither used any powers beside demon speed and strength, they were nearly evenly matched.  Kurama fought like someone out of a Kung Fu movie, stylized poise and moves that flowed from one swift, deadly attack to another with no room for breathing between.  Yuusuke’s style was mostly street and a lot of times relied on some semi-dirty tricks to gain the advantage.

They worked like oil and water, edges meeting, sliding, pulling away again.  Kurama’s hair was fire-bright, his eyes even brighter.  Yuusuke didn’t have to be a sensitive to feel his rage.  He just took it, absorbed it and sent it back as something else, stronger.

Yuusuke knew what this kind of grieving fury and hate felt like, how it filled up all the cold places and made thoughts temper into a wire-thin focus.  He also knew that it was deceptive, feeling like strength and then dying so quickly into emptiness deeper than what it had filled.  Rage was a madness, but at least it was fleeting—as long as it had an outlet.  All he had to do was wait.

Until then, he reflected as his back hit gravel and he slid, he would admire Kurama's ability to dish out as good as he got and tried not to think of the stones he would be pulling out of his skin.  He rolled out of the way as Kurama pounced, noticing a change.  The redhead’s movements were becoming less and less refined as anger turned into something else, more feral.

Yuusuke growled softly in response, his demon reacting to Kurama’s golden eyes and silvering hair.  The next few minutes were fast and furious, full of clawed hands and sharp teeth and the two of them circling each other like warring wolves, until Yuusuke made a sliding attack for Kurama’s legs and the kitsune didn’t quite jump high enough.  They collided in a tangle, where Kurama’s fighting style was at a disadvantage and Yuusuke knew exactly what to do.  He rolled, trapping legs and capturing wrists, until he had Kurama pinned beneath him, teeth a hard warning on his exposed throat.

The reaction was instantaneous.  Kurama went passive, soft growling dying away, and they lay there together, breathing.  Yuusuke was trying to judge whether it was safe to let go when a tremor passed through the redhead, and he felt wetness that could have just been sweat but wasn’t, hit his cheek where it was pressed under Kurama’s chin .  He lifted his head.

Kurama’s eyes were clear green again.  Yuusuke saw that before they closed over tears.

“Kurama…”

“Let me up.”

Yuusuke sat back, releasing his wrists.  Kurama put his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes.  “You left the Reikai Tantei.”

Yuusuke looked away. “Yeah.  It was time.”

Kurama’s silence said he was waiting for the truth.

“We couldn’t save you,” Yuusuke said, finally, voice low and rough. “Do you have any idea what a kick in the teeth that was?”

What’s the fucking point…

Kurama dropped his hands and looked up at him.

“I mean, gods,” Yuusuke continued, “it might have been easier, more forgivable, if it had been a mission, if it had been demons, but it wasn’t.  It was just people.” 

What’s the fucking point of saving the world, Koenma…

“No it wasn’t,” Kurama said softly.

“Yeah, but we didn’t know that, then.”

What’s the fucking point of saving the world, Koenma, if I can’t save people from the monsters that already live in it? 

Kurama sat up, careful hand on Yuusuke’s cheek to steady him, and touched their foreheads together.  Then he jerked as if struck, his other hand coming up to grab Yuusuke’s shoulder.  More tears.

“Stop that,” Yuusuke snapped, wiping them away.  It was really disconcerting to see the kitsune cry.  Kurama might look soft and somewhat girly, but Yuusuke knew underneath he was bright and cold and hard as diamond.

“It’s not my grief,” Kurama said softly, tilting his cheek into Yuusuke’s hand and opening his eyes. “It’s yours.”

Something hot fisted in Yuusuke’s throat, shutting off his protests.  Sorrow was a physical presence, pressing down on his shoulders like ghostly hands, and he bent just a little under the weight. “I would have died for you,” he said and his eyes ached but there were no tears, so he held Kurama and let the kitsune cry, silently, for both of them.

~*~

When it was over, and the raw emotions had been made into something gentler, more manageable, Yuusuke asked, “What will you do now?”

Kurama pulled away, trying to distance himself from the continuous feed of thoughts that flowed from Yuusuke into him.  “There is still one more I am allowed to kill.  It is not Hatanaka.  When the last one is dead, I will be returned to the Reikai.”

He ignored Yuusuke’s sharp, incredulous look and tugged at his trapped legs.  “So…you’ll just leave him get away with what he did?”

“No.  I’ll just have to find Hatanaka first.”

Yuusuke disentangled himself and stood up, stretching.  “Great.  We’ll come with.”

Brief terror, surprising in its intensity.  “No.”

Yuusuke’s eyes flashed. “Fuck you.”

“Yuusuke, the risk is too high…”

“Don’t.”

Kurama bit down on the rest of his sentence.

“Don’t you fucking patronize me,” Yuusuke continued. “You failed her.” Kurama flinched from the accusation. “But you get to make up for it.  Give us that chance. ”  Yuusuke crouched so he could meet Kurama’s gaze head-on. “Give us the chance to make it up to you.”

Kurama considered him intently for a moment, and then smiled like a fox, sly with sharp teeth. “All right.  But we’ve got to be quick.”

Yuusuke bounced up and punched the air above his head triumphantly. “Yeah!”

Kuwabara answered the door, relief palpable when he saw them.  “They’re back!” he called over his shoulder.

Shizuru appeared from the kitchen, followed by Jiro. “Both of them?”

Kuwabara grinned and let them inside. “Yeah.”

“Ha!” The woman held an expectant hand under Jiro’s nose. “Pay up, pal.”

“Man,” Jiro whined and slapped a thousand yen bill into her palm. “Cheater.  You had insider information.”

Shizuru just waved the bill at him unrepentantly. “I just know never to bet against Urameshi.”

Kurama noted a new arrival—Yukina, green hair shimmering like sea foam in the dawn light that framed her through a window.  She sat on the couch next to Shuichi, who looked to be asleep, slumped sideways.

“How is he?” he asked her.  She smiled serenely, and he took that as a good sign.

“Fine,” she said, and picked up the boy’s wrist to check his pulse. “He’s just fine.  It’ll take a few days to work the poison out of his system, but I don’t anticipate any complications.”

“That’s good.”

“So what’s going on?” Kuwabara looked at Yuusuke.

“We’re going hunting.  Where’s my jacket?”

“For who?” asked Shizuru, holding it out of Yuusuke’s reach as ransom for a straight answer.

“Hatanaka,” Kurama said, quiet as death.  The whole room paused to stare at him, and he looked at his feet.

“Right,” Kuwabara cleared his throat. “Any idea of where to start?”

“Mayaboshi company headquarters in Tokyo,” Kurama said.

Kuwabara nodded.  “I think I know where that is.”

Yuusuke grabbed his coat out of Shizuru’s hands and then snatched at the keys, but the woman had already anticipated him and tossed them to her brother instead, who caught them in the air and shrugged into his coat.  Yuusuke glared at both of them and they grinned back. 

“Let’s go.”

Part 4

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