Changing Death

Part 16: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

School, blah blah. Life issues, blah blah. Other stuff, blah blah. The long and short of it is that I offer my profound apologies for the hiatus of doom, and hope none of you are too irritated.

Just about half the chapter got written in a single night. That's right—a year of trying to get it done, and 5000 words hemorrhage from my brain between finals on a Thursday. This is not fair, but I guess I can't complain that it actually got done. Plot summary was scrapped again. What happens in this chapter was not at all planned. Please don't be mad at me for any of it—if it were going to happen any other way, it would not have taken me a year to write. Small references to Blossomwitch's 'Define Mercy' made in one scene.

Note: For those interested in following this fic's from-the-beginning rewrite-in-progress, it's now posted. And, yes, I changed my penname; Jesanae Tekani is now borderline-mary. Sorry for any confusion.

LAST NOTE: Posted without beta, due to said beta being temporarily MIA for life issues and a broken computer. All concrit is appreciated.

The door was locked to him, for the first time.

"Dammit, Dad," he muttered into the slightly nippy air, "do you have to make everything so formal? It's not like I'm on death row. Although I could use a last meal before you spank the living daylights out of me and send me to Earth."

Koenma had found that, here in his empty office, he was now unable to take his well-used teenaged form. Stuck as he was in his natural state, it was easy to think of the normal punishment for crossing his redoubtable father, despite the clear difference in circumstance; but Botan was usually with him when he got into trouble. He'd long since accepted that she never told his father anything that wasn't truth, but she always omitted just enough that he didn't sound like too much of a failure. He didn't intend to spare himself in any similar fashion—not anymore—but he missed her nasty temper and unfailing censure just now.

Shouldn't have soundproofed the walls, he regretted silently, wishing he could hear the incessant din of the "dead people stock exchange" so he'd have something on which to try to concentrate besides all the ways in which this impending punishment and even the wait before it was not the same as every other one in his lifetime. That door was never locked, curse it all—he didn't even have to press a button or touch a sensor beam. It reacted to his presence alone, and would open for him when it would not for anyone else. I guess it's just a reminder that I'm not really the one in charge here, he thought gloomily for a moment. I'll bet Botan and Jorge get demoted, too, for helping me, and Hiei's going to be worse off than we are. Not to mention that the odds are still not good for the rest of the team. Way to drag everyone down with me.

He tried to convince himself that he hadn't really gone back on his word by all but insisting that Hiei accompany him and Botan back to the Reikai—and he really hadn't, had he? It was in Hiei's best interest, after all. King Enma would not be likely to honor Koenma's promise to give the dead Jaganshi time, and allowing un-sentenced souls to wander about was a categorical anathema—the only ghosts permitted to remain loose were those pending ordeal, or those who had been sentenced to a term on one of the mortal planes. Hiei was neither of these. As much as he'd been predictably outraged at surrendering his freedom once again, Koenma had argued that running would only compound his existing problems, and Hiei had reluctantly seen reason.

Still, he knew how much of a hand he'd had in these circumstances; and Hiei was not likely to let him forget. He had made that quite clear on arrival.

"You know this isn't our fault."

"No? Your definition of 'fault' is creative, kami. In your own eyes, no doubt you're as innocent as the infant you impersonate, but I prefer to exist within the bounds of actual reality."

"We don't like this any more than you do. I'm sure that next time, if you get a next time, you'll keep in mind that killing yourself is likely to be inconvenient for you."

"Yes, I'll have to remember that killing you is much more rewarding."

Fubuki had detained Hiei at the gate. Koenma did not expect to see him again.

He extended a hand for his remote control and activated the view-screen. It fuzzed, blank of any image. He turned it off again.

How long have I been sitting here, waiting to be punished?

For the last six hundred years, maybe.

＊＊＊

Yuusuke hadn't decided to leave the park; he'd just started walking again, lacking a destination or a time frame, and had kept on walking until he encountered Keiko.

He was not in any familiar district nor on a well-lit street, so it was a surprise to find her here, wherever here was. He looked up from watching his shoes and saw her standing in front of and a ways from him, hands clasped nervously in her skirt. There was a hesitance in her expression that he couldn't remember having seen on her before.

He stopped.

Immediately she closed the distance with a more familiar, determined stride, one of those hands twitching and then beginning to lift for a good slap. As she reached him, it fell back to her side, and she just stared. "Yuusuke," she began.

"Hey, Keiko," said Yuusuke's voice, acting on its own and sounding remarkably normal. "Long time no see." His face followed suit by giving her a watered-down version of his usual greeting smile.

"I saw you two days ago," she returned automatically, brow furrowing, clearly not certain what to say next.

He saved her from that by speaking again. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I'm—not sure. I've been looking for about an hour." Uneasy pitches occasionally marred her tone, which was otherwise level enough, if quiet. She shuffled her brown shoes against the concrete.

Yuusuke reveled in how normal her voice made him feel. It felt like it had been years since he'd heard it instead of days. Had so much really happened in the last thirty-six hours? But that was the reason he was here, anyway. Still, he felt more like himself already. His head lifted; his shoulders squared, and he felt a flutter of confidence brush against his mind.

"You've got a pretty good record for finding where I am," he said, trying to project that confidence, along with his pleasure in her presence. "You got me tagged or something?" Gratitude threatened to spill over and overwhelm his casual manner.

He saw that gratitude reflected in her eyes, and she warmed to it. "Don't tease me," was her reply. "You're just predictable. I couldn't find you in any of the usual places, so I just kept walking until I did."

"Yeah, that's pretty close to how I got here, too." He made a show of looking around. "Nice trees in this district."

"No nicer than ours. Yuusuke—"

He looked back at her. "Yeah, what? Not happy to see me?"

"No, I am—I just—Yuusuke, why are you here?"

The simplicity of that question brought him up short. "I just said, didn't I?" he stalled. "And since when do you ask me that?"

Her eyes dropped, and she looked away for an instant; Yuusuke could almost hear her flinch a little, but it wasn't hard to read her right now. She seemed upset, and a bit lost, and he wanted suddenly to make her feel better. He didn't; maybe it was his leaden limbs that prevented him from moving.

"I went to ask Genkai where you were," she said.

Guilt and resentment pricked Yuusuke viciously, and the frustration of his thwarted wish to comfort merged itself with them. Even so, he tried to keep his tone light. "So the old hag sent you to find me? What, did she not come herself 'case she threw out her hip?" What a lame joke. I can't even run at the mouth right now—dammit. And now Keiko's gonna be mad at me.

And she was, from the stiffening of her posture and the way she turned her head back to look him straight in the eye, but all she told him was, "She told me not to look for you, Yuusuke, because she said you needed the time alone."

"Well," the Tantei said flippantly, "I guess it's nice to know she cares, huh?" His eyes begged her to go back to the neutral conversation that had been making him feel so much better, but she didn't notice.

"Can't you even say one nice thing about her for once? She was trying to help you!"

Already, he'd managed to ruin the encounter, and there would be no getting it back. "Is that why you went looking for me anyway?" he shot back with a darker tone, not in the mood to be nagged. "Maybe Grandma's right, and I do need the time alone. Ever think of that?"

"Don't you talk to me that way!" Keiko demanded angrily. "I've been worried about you!"

"And I don't need to be worried about, so stop making a big production out of this! She's not here to get insulted, what does it matter?"

"She also told me where the others are, Yuusuke!"

He, too, stiffened, and what had been a petulant glaring off to one side became a very deliberate refusal to look at her. His thoughts bunched, constricted, and refused to tell him any of the implications he wanted from them. He couldn't even guess what this was going to mean.

No wonder she's mad at me. The old lady's already told her what I coward I am.

"So what?" he asked, unable to tell what inflection he was giving the words. "Doesn't that answer your question then?"

She didn't retort, surprising him into a glance; and she was back to seeming uncertain rather than angry, and back to shuffling, as though she'd never been upset. Still, he couldn't bring himself to turn and face her directly again, keeping his focus on the roadside trees. They were nice trees, although, as she had said, no nicer than the ones near his house, or the park.

Finally she spoke again. "Genkai said . . . she said the entire universe is in trouble, Yuusuke. The world where the demons live, and the Spirit World, and our world, too. I mean, this is the kind of thing you're supposed to fight for, isn't it? That's what you told me after the Tournament."

He had, hadn't he?

"Why did you have to go? What would have happened if you hadn't? Botan wouldn't tell me!"

"Look, I couldn't just let a jerk like Toguro go around kidnapping girls and killing people! That's my job—saving the world from creeps like him! So stop yelling at me, I didn't have a choice!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. What kind of question is that?"

"Did she really tell you what was going on? Everything?" Yuusuke asked her, finally turning his head to watch her eyes.

Keiko shook her head. "No, just that it was the biggest trouble we've ever been in. She said the others went to fight it. Why didn't you go?"

Yuusuke was unwilling to answer her; he was sure his reasons wouldn't sound right anywhere outside his own head. But he also didn't understand why she was asking, so he asked that instead. "You don't like it when I run off to fight monsters, Keiko. Why's it such a big deal if I'm here instead? I mean, I know I always make you mad, but sometimes you're glad to see me."

She looked stung by that answer. "It's a big deal because you said no one can do what you do! How can you let your friends go off and fight alone? They could get killed!"

He flinched, hard, and she saw it.

"Look, if you don't want me around right now, I'll go find some more trees to stare at, but I'm not going with the others. They don't need me, and I'm not gonna weigh them down." He sighed. "I don't think I'll be fighting anymore, Keiko. I'm just not any good at being useful, so what's the point?" His heart sped with a desperate ache, and he was trying his hardest not to let any of his turmoil get to the surface where she could see it.

This was still a stupid idea—but what else could he have done? He was no good right now, and if he could be rattled this badly, it wasn't safe for them to rely on him again. He'd thought, after the Tournament, that he'd be able to make up for his mistakes and try again, but he'd been proven wrong in ways he couldn't ignore. He'd miss fighting—hell, being a Tantei was the only thing he'd ever had going for him that made him worth something—but he wasn't going to put his friends on the line just to make himself feel better.

This was, really, his only option.

So when he looked back at her, ready to explain himself better and make her understand, he was shocked into silence by the heat of her gaze, and the fury fueling it.

＊＊＊

Touya was engaged in deliberately sending enemies Kurama's way.

This battle was the sort he favored least: out in the open, full of weak opponents whose only ghost of a hope for victory lay in their quantity. They made a poor distraction for someone who knew what it was, but they were very effective at getting in his way. There was an incredible amount of chaos; every pitch within hearing range, and some that were normally not, was to be heard in the cacophony; he ducked, rolled, and spat shards of ice against the seemingly never-ending morass of demons.

Kuwabara was audible, but not visible as more than a slash of orange ki, and Kurama capered nearby, making short work of many of the demons but just as hampered by their real targets' unexpected and seemingly random strikes as Touya himself was. They were none of them going to get much of anywhere while they could concentrate on neither the din of screaming low-levels nor the two powerful menaces.

That was, until Touya was finally able to maneuver himself into proper striking distance.

They could not afford to lose the element of surprise. These demons had far more experience in using the Orb than Touya did, and there were (as discussed earlier) also two of them. He had also remained unable to use his temperature sense to locate where they were keeping their parts of the artifact, mostly due to distraction and the general morass of tiny ki flashes disrupting his pinpoint. He knew the other fighters were waiting for his signal—a narrow, vertical column of bright blue ki—to advance their part of the plan, but while he was currently unable to complete his, he was not yet ready to give up. After all, their forty-five per cent odds were resting on him, and their morale didn't need the drop to thirty.

So, given the wide-range carnage generated by Kurama's insidious little plant whip, Touya was more than content to throw him handfuls of enemies in order to free himself up for what he was supposed to be doing.

Twist, slash, yank, shove, leap, shards. Battle reduced to mechanical operation, and planning more solid than any matter; that was how Shinobi fought when on assignment. Systematic steering towards his targets; systematic clearing of obstacles; systematic scanning of his allies for any sign of death, incapacitation, or deviation from their strategy. He had everything as much under control as it could possibly be.

That was the case for only a short time.

＊＊＊

At first Hiei had suspected that the ferry-girl's appearance was a joke, or a bureaucratic idiocy of some sort, and he had held this suspicion mostly because it tied in with the assumption that she had been sent to keep an eye on him now that he'd returned to the Reikai. That was all she'd done for the first few minutes, after all, as Koenma and his pet assistant had continued on inside. She was the one who had shepherded him to Kurama's failed battle: red-haired, obviously not of the same regional descent as most of the humans Hiei had encountered, young, and wet behind the ears. It was obvious—the self-conscious way she clutched her oar handle gave away her excruciating inexperience, and she was more nervous than even the neurotic Botan on a bad day.

All these things, Hiei defended to himself, made it perfectly reasonable that her actual purpose in appearing had not so much as crossed his mind until it was much later than he would have liked. It was only when two other creatures had faded into existence at her sides that he'd realized the bureaucratic rules had clearly undergone a shift.

Hiei was currently in the process of finding out just how humiliating it was to be brought to his trial bound hand and foot.

It was just like the Reikai. Like a sword that had always been off-balance, the Spirit World administration had never yet failed, in Hiei's experience, to do the absolute worst thing at the absolute worst time. Apparently, someone had felt that it would be a shame to break such an impressive record on his account, no matter that he had been promised a reprieve from this incessant, infuriating show of force. This was verging on disgusting and ridiculous. He was here of his own will, albeit having been backed into an unpleasant circumstantial corner, and still they felt the need to strong-arm him—when he wasn't being outright incarcerated.

It had driven him to react with more aggression than he'd planned. Capture-servants died silently, as it turned out, curling like burning paper, hoops melting in their fingerless hands and black spreading from their not-eyes like blood through snow. They probably had no actual vocal cords. The ferry-girl had screamed, piercing and high, though none of the devastating black flames had been directed at her. Then the capture-servants had multiplied, materializing immediately in response to Hiei's attacks, and while he'd been able to toast a few more, they had subdued him within an embarrassingly short time.

Now as he half-lay, half-sat on a stiff chair in an unfamiliar room, with his limbs bound and his fire firmly warded by some unknown spiritual charm, he could only take solace in the fact that wherever Koenma was, it was likely to be even less pleasant than here. That unfortunately didn't make him wish any less that he'd never agreed to come.

However, whereas he had little to no real interest in the fate of the toddler, or his over-cheery assistant, there was one thing to which Hiei could safely attribute his choice to follow them out of the temple: self-preservation.

It was just short of entirely intolerable to have to agree with that blazing idiot of a kami, but Hiei was anything but a fool, no matter what he'd been acting like recently. It would be exactly like the Reikai (yet again) to revoke his agreement, and Koenma had hinted that it might not be beneficial for the living members of the team if it happened near the battle—some of them might well notice it, and be terminally distracted. To avoid that, Hiei was willing to sit through another ridiculous lecture given by another ridiculous god, and while it was unlikely that he would be let go again, he would at least not interfere with the others.

Inwardly, he bristled and snarled, forced once again to be useless. He hated being useless. He'd had a plan that could have helped at least some; he'd had a chance to help make certain that Kurama didn't get his fool self killed again, Yuusuke didn't have a meltdown in the middle of battle, the oaf didn't ruin everything with his stupidity, his sister stayed safe, and the enemy demons didn't smirch his home-world by taking it over and making it into some kind of entirely unpalatable empire. But no—as he would have predicted, had anyone asked him, his newly-formed plan had been knocked askew in the most inconvenient way possible, and now he was trapped in an empty Reikai courtroom and an undignified (and uncomfortable) position.

He knew absolutely nothing about what had been going on since his departure, or how much time had passed, or how long he'd been here, although he guessed it to be some span of hours. He'd spent much of the amorphous period sifting through the events leading up to it, as he was doing again now, and each time he imagined a nastier fate for the arrogant princeling whose actions had gotten him here.

But he was quite painfully aware that this was his own fault as well.

He very much hated having this much time to think.

Presently, there was a booming creak as the doors to his new prison opened, and the kami that stepped through them was not the one Hiei had come to know and ridicule: this was the King, and that meant an end to Hiei's uncertainty and faulty decisions. He would leave the mortal world for good, having died the same way he'd lived and the same way he'd been born: in disgrace, and deserving of damnation.

After all of his failures, foolishness and shame, he was looking forward to oblivion now more than ever.

＊＊＊

The entirety of the last few weeks seemed to Kurama to be a succession of wicked ironies, and this capped the list.

He had always been agile, able to dodge and twist in ways that would make most contortionists jealous; he made full use of it now, and in his mind he cursed and cursed and cursed. His intelligence had been faulty, and he'd badly miscalculated the difficulty of this skirmish. He smarted with cuts and bruises, ached with new abrasions and badly-healed wounds, and he was rather glad for it all, as a reminder that not only was he still alive, but he didn't deserve to be.

Touya hadn't even been able to get close to Gendou or Donari, rendering his search for the Orb fragments null, and meanwhile the demon partners were firing into the melee from a safe distance, not allowing Kurama's or Kuwabara's attention to settle fully on either the pack of demons or their temporary masters. Injured as he was, it was straining Kurama's reflexes to their utmost—especially since he was certain that Donari was aiming for him, and only him.

While he never got near her, deliberately keeping an extensive distance, it was hard to ignore the way she pursued him. She bore down on him and seemed to see nothing else, and in flashes he recognized the hunger in her expression with a visceral constricting of his lungs, forcing each breath out before his body could make full use of it. He held down the fear and kept it even from his scent; but the small stutter of his chest had already betrayed him, if she were watching closely enough. He felt that she had to be.

He hadn't been so afraid last time—but he knew why he was now. Fully, he was aware of what she intended for him, and it still wasn't death. He'd been foolish to misinterpret before. She wanted a very specific thing: not to kill him, but to reclaim him, and to punish him. And that, among other things, was on his list of occurrences over which he preferred a messy, painful end.

Which I very nearly earned last time. I must be certain to avoid it now, or Yuusuke and Hiei will never forgive—providing that is not already the case.

Wading through the demon morass was like wading through dead thorns that would not respond to his commands, and it was no kind thing to require constant movement as he did, just to avoid Donari. There weren't really that many of them left, objectively—but given the hundred and fifty or so involved, the scramble was unbelievable, although it could be controlled to a point. Kuwabara would never know how carefully Kurama was steering him. A strike taken in order to divert a group, a snick of his rose whip across two demons' ankles to make them fall and cause a momentary pileup, and Kuwabara was kept on the edge of the battle at large. Close-quarters combat was inadvisable, but the human fighter knew little else, and Kurama would not let anyone be hurt due to the his own ineptitude at calculating the odds.

Since they'd arrived, and the fight had commenced, forty-five per cent had become closer to twenty.

A blow came from his left; he blocked it with an elbow. A slash of claws nicked his heel; he kicked backward and was rewarded with a howl barely audible above the din. Donari was currently off to his right, and Gendou somewhere ahead from the sound of the bellowing. But where was Touya? Kurama tried to take a look around for his shorter ally—and immediately paid for the temerity.

A pocket of demons near him exploded, obliterated completely by a sizable blast of purple youki, and he was bowled completely over, head over tail and straight into another three enemies. His head slammed into the ground and one arm was caught by something exceedingly sharp, rending the skin open as his vision blanked into stars of disorientation. Demons tripped and fell over him in their haste to kill, leaving minor bruises and abrasions in patterns across his exposed skin. In the full thirty seconds before his eyes cleared, he was bitten nastily on both legs, and something was slavering after his bloody arm.

When he could finally see the exceptionally hideous thing, he decapitated it.

Kuwabara yelled from far away, and from the scattered words he could make out, Kurama gathered that his friend hadn't been able to tell whether he'd escaped the blast (due to the dust, no doubt). He made the whip-crack that freed him more flamboyant than necessary to reassure the boy that he was still alive, and spat dirt, flinging every demon in proximity outward with a circular snap of the weapon.

Still alive. Still alive.

Damn it all.

Back on his feet, blood whipping in arcs even as his weapon, he resumed his internal cursing. Donari had gotten off a shot when he wasn't looking, and he'd nearly been hit, saved only by his random twists of movement. And that wound on his forearm was deep; he wasn't sure whether it had been a weapon or a natural anatomical advantage, but one of the enemies into which he'd been thrown had possessed a very sharp piece of work, and he was going to lose blood until he did something about it. His eyes darted with manic speed, vying to keep track of the major players in this battle even better than before.

Ah, there was Touya, making his way towards Gendou on the western side of the field—

And then he caught a glimpse of orange, and he looked so quickly his neck yanked. Kuwabara had gotten further in, heading straight for him, and in his travail of recovering equilibrium he hadn't had the presence of mind to halt it. Of course the obvious proof of his survival hadn't been enough—the boy had to come help him, just in case he was injured (which he was, and which was not the point), and damn Yuusuke for saving him last time and making everyone worry so much.

"Kuwabara, stay back!" he yelled. "I'm all right!"

"You sure?" returned Kuwabara. He sounded skeptical.

"Yes, I'm sure! Pay attention to your surroundings!" He let the words be unnecessarily curt, and punctuated them with the unsightly crunching of a demon's skull against his whip.

"Rei ken!" was his only reply, as the boy was distracted by those surroundings, and momentarily driven back towards his original position. A moment later, however, he surfaced again—just as Kurama (also distracted by keeping an eye on him) took a hit straight to the face. It didn't damage him, being a weak punch anyway; but it did undo his hopes to keep Kuwabara safely far away.

Another inarticulate yell, and the other Tantei surged forward through the melee, with enemies hanging off of him almost comically. "Kurama!" he shouted loudly.

"Stay back, Kuwabara! I do not need help!"

Still, still, Kuwabara was coming closer. The kitsune shot a glare full of angry warning at him, almost snarling, and was about to say something rather cruel to keep the boy from advancing—and saw, quite clearly, the diminutive demon who was heading straight for the orange-haired sensitive, darting with speed over the shoulders of the others, tiny but glinting claws outstretched and not at all blocked by the rest of the fray.

Kuwabara, intent on bulling his way through to Kurama, clearly did not see it coming.

Two demons hit Kurama, drawing blood across his shoulder. He paid no attention. Scrabbling up on top of the one in front of him, he made a flying leap across the battlefield, hearing Kuwabara protest incredulously and not caring even a little. If he could get in between, he might be able to deflect it, and even in this state he could take damage better than a fighter who was not braced for it. There had been no time for warning; Kuwabara's reflexes were just not that good. Kurama's were.

He not only landed in time, but was able to deliver a nasty toe-kick to the attacker's chin on his way down. Kuwabara, realizing his peril only now, made a squawk-like noise of shock behind him. The cat-like thing tumbled backwards, yowling, and was lost beneath the stampeding pack, who rushed to engage Kurama before he could get his balance. That, however, wasn't what captured his immediate attention—it was what followed in the thwarted demon's wake, timed just right to catch him as he stopped the threat.

A trap, and he had walked right into it.

He dove to the right, barely in time.

Two ruby-red energy bursts slivered through his peripheral, flash-blinding him and knocking him once more to the ground. A blow came out of the dazzle, forcing him to duck and roll, and grazing his temple. He felt the skin break, and even the minute impact reeled him a little as it sent a jolt of pain through his fatigued brain. He lashed back with the whip in a guess as to the attacker's position, hearing several snorting wails as he sliced apart all the demons within range along that line. Regaining his senses almost instantly this time, he was scrambling back to his feet in preparation for another onslaught.

And then, as the beams of energy had been shockingly bright, Kuwabara's yell of pain was shockingly loud, even over the snarling, snapping masses between them.

Kurama spun in time to see the orange hair sink from sight, with demons howling triumph around the fallen boy and obscuring him so that the kitsune could no longer even make out the white of his uniform. With a snap of his rose whip, disregarding his slight dizziness from the unlucky blow to his head, he sprang over the scant yards of distance between him and his friend—The demons will tear him apart if he cannot defend himself! "Kuwabara!" he shouted. "Don't move!"

He received no answer; but he wouldn't have been able to hear one, anyway.

I should not have dodged—I knew he was behind me!

Like plucking seeds from a pod, one by one but with blurring speed, Kurama yanked demons into the air with his weapon, flinging them in wide arcs and digging out his comrade from their gleeful, bloodthirsty pile. His heart pounded in his mouth, nerves shrilling on the edge of panic, not knowing how bad this was, and if Kuwabara had even survived it—he couldn't tell by ki, there were too many around them—

Gendou bellowed, shockingly nearby, and at the first hint of Kuwabara's uniform Kurama gave a desperate yank, freeing the now-unconscious boy entirely in one motion.

He saw right away where those energy spikes had hit. The white fabric showed two large, ragged blotches—one over Kuwabara's right shoulder, and another low on his midsection just inward of his left side. Neither of them would be killing strokes as long as the bleeding was stopped, which clogged his throat with relief, but they were more than enough to put him out of commission.

But there was no time for any relief, really, or even for first aid; the fox first had to get him to the sidelines.

He would have to rethink those odds a second time. Then again, maybe he wouldn't.

＊＊＊

The King of Reikai carried an incongruously small file folder in his meaty hands as he approached the high-seated bench at the front of the courtroom. He was alone, unaccompanied by clerks or other spirit denizens, imposingly silent for one of his size, which Hiei suspected was only that small due to the size of the room itself. From everything he'd heard, Enma was supposed to be a giant—especially given the way his craven son spoke of him. Hiei was studiously not impressed.

Once seated, the kami wasted no time in preliminary words. The file opened; the great eyes, behind their equally great spectacles, scanned its contents.

"Hiei of the Jagan," Enma boomed.

Statements of the obvious. Wonderful. Hiei glared.

"You are not entitled to a trial. I am here to decide your sentencing. What do you have to present for yourself?"

Hiei glared some more. "Nothing, you fool," he snapped. "I don't care what you do, and I'm glad to be spared your insipid trial."

King Enma blinked, and gave over a moment to regarding the captured soul before him. His son apparently had a habit of acquiring acquaintances and employees with no respect for authority—another thing he should take into account. "This is your only opportunity for self-defense," he stated with finality.

"So?"

"Are you content to waive this privilege?"

"I don't repeat myself," said Hiei, "for anyone." And especially not for anyone associated with Reikai. He was quite certain that he would harbor his hatred for this administration far into the afterlife, presuming he was sent anywhere permitting him conscious thought.

Finally, that answer seemed to be good enough; the Jaganshi openly sneered at the fact that it had taken this long already. He wondered how many pitiable creatures begged for reprieve as a matter of course. His own pride would allow him no such thing, and he'd rather be destroyed entirely than abase himself like a common lowlife.

"Do you know why you are here?" asked King Enma.

"Because I'm dead. Why else?"

He might have imagined it, but the god almost looked irritated. "Do you know what your crimes are?"

The half-koorime shrugged indifferently. "I could list them for you, but it would be a waste of my nonexistent breath. You know what they are already. I understand that's part of your purpose in existing." Hm. Maybe while he was here, and this was taking a ridiculous length of time to be resolved, he would see how many different ways in which he could insult his captor's entire race. That was a favorite game of his, from a long time ago, and the notion almost cheered him.

"It seems," Enma rumbled, "as though you have been misfiled."

"Misfiled? Are your people so incompetent that they can't keep track of anything?"

"The manner of your death was recorded wrongly. This must be accounted for."

Hiei's insubordinate tone was quite deliberate, mirroring the expression he'd adopted, as he replied shortly, "I know exactly what the manner of my death was. According to that fool Koenma, suicide is a crime."

"Yes," said the King, "but you did not commit it."

A moment of panic-laced anger bolted up from his badly-stitched control and had to be throttled down, leaving a bad taste in the back of his throat. Someday, someone had to lodge a complaint at the range of senses a ghost possessed—he'd have rather done without his ability to taste entirely. "Of course I did. My blade, in my hand, ended my meaningless life. Or are you going to waste time on technicalities like your inept son seems so fond of doing?"

"You are judged by your actions and your intent equally," the kami intoned.

"Hn!" Hiei put as much contempt behind that as the syllable could hold. "What does my intent matter to you? Your rules are as pointless as my existence. Wherever you're going to send me, do it now."

There was a pause as the King studied him, and seemed to consider his words. Then his spectacles flashed opaque (and why did a god need those, anyway?), and he closed the file folder. "Very well. I have reviewed your case, and come to a decision."

Hiei said pointedly, "It's about time."

There was an overly dramatic pause before Enma began to speak again. "No place in the Reikai was prepared for you—no projected scenario predicted your death," were his first words. "Your presence in this world is unplanned, and your absence from your assigned duties is inopportune. These events have caused unnecessary complication and endangered the order enforced by this world. If you had intentionally caused your death, you would be punished with severity. However, you did not."

What in the Meikai was this? Hiei let his eyes narrow, calculating. This couldn't be leading up to anything good, no matter what it sounded like. He waited for the reversal to be voiced—but it never was.

"You were given parole and employment as a condition of your freedom from incarceration. You violated its terms, knowingly and deliberately. My son's actions, however, violated these terms as well, by imprisoning you, thereby granting you a reprieve from the usual sentencing for that transgression.

"It is my judgment," the kami rumbled ominously, "that your parole be reinstated, and that you return to the duties assigned at your previous sentencing. All actions you have taken as a result of your death are to be without any consequence; your parole, and the parole of your patron, will be extended ten years as punishment for your deliberate disobedience. Will you comply willingly with the terms of your sentencing?"

＊＊＊

There was tea on the table and incense burning nearby, and for an evening so heavy, it was pleasantly cool. The past handful of hotter afternoon hours were as forgettable as the rest of present reality, for as long as silence was permitted to linger, and it was surely a tempting notion to let it reign indefinitely. Practicality declined all three of the temple's uninjured occupants that luxury; but it was Shizuru who broke the illusion.

She offered Genkai a cigarette. The old woman turned it down, but accepted a light for her own favorite brand. Sakyo's lighter flashed against the room's dimly traditional background. "Do you think I'd make a decent replacement?"

"Oh, probably," said Genkai. "You're most certainly strong enough. You're not the type to run about with the boys and leave your household unmanaged, though. Oh, I know you made it work through the week you spent at the Tournament, but you're not made of money, and neither am I."

"I could help train him if I were there."

"You do that already, as I hear. Trust me—you walking into a fight alongside your brother would be damaging to his concentration, not in the least because you're a woman. The only reason they didn't hassle me at the Tournament was because they didn't know at first, and they needed me to continue. You're doing a good enough job as it is, although I can't say I'd advise against some training just in case."

The brunette shrugged. "I thought I'd offer. They're going to need someone, you know."

"Maybe. If they get out of this mess. But I think Keiko will do some of the work for them."

"You think she'll go looking for Yuusuke anyway?"

"Of course she will." Genkai snorted. "When that girl gets worried about him, she'll find him no matter where he is, and she was definitely worried."

"I'll say. Puu was suddenly frantic a couple of days ago, and then fell down in the middle of flying and didn't move again for an entire night. She was already badly freaked before that, too." Shizuru puffed thoughtfully on her cigarette and looked at Genkai in a way that said she knew the old woman had answers. "I had a nightmare around the same time. What happened?"

Genkai sipped her tea. "Kurama almost died, and then Yuusuke almost died. But they're both fine now—or still alive, at least."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense." She didn't seem perturbed by the matter-of-fact response.

"That brings you up to knowing most of what I know," said her hostess, "and Yukina can give you a few more details later—she's resting right now. So what are you going to do? Not tear off after them, I hope."

Shizuru's recline on the cushion was slow and studied, as she balanced her teacup and smoke in the same hand while running the other through her hair. It answered the question before she did. "That wasn't really my plan, no. One Tournament's enough; I don't really want to get killed. But you'll train me, right?"

"Not right now, I won't." A vitriolic glare. "And I wasn't aware that recommending that you take training was the same as offering it to you myself. That's what I have the dimwit for, and I've already given him my powers."

"Who else would you suggest?"

"No one in this crummy town, that's for sure."

A deliberate, measured pause. "So you'll train me, right?"

Despite herself, Genkai let a smirk catch her mouth, and she, likewise, leaned back a little on her cushion. Shizuru's eyes were as amused as her own. "I'll think about it. I might just have a disenfranchised kami to look after instead, and you're far too stubborn for my liking. One pig-headed student is quite enough for any woman's lifetime."

Another of her slow, tranquil shrugs, and Shizuru quietly finished her tea. "Lucky you."

"I know."

＊＊＊

What occurred then was beyond Touya's control.

He still had not yet completed his search—Kurama's signal, a tall, flowering vine of an indescribable and virulent hue, came too early, unexpectedly, leaving him at a sudden loose end. Was he to play his own hand now? He cursed; they had not planned for this. Touya's own signal was to have come first no matter what.

He had time to calm himself. This was likely minor compared to their other present handicaps. Once the plants appeared, now that he was finished tending Kuwabara he would be able to test their effectiveness fairly quickly—and if all went well, the enemy was about to get a very rude surprise.

That, of course, was before he got one himself.

＊＊＊

Yuusuke had only a moment to digest the fact that Keiko was angry again before she closed the small gap between them, and slapped him. Hard. He was reminded of the way he'd seen her take out Mr. Iwamoto during the assault of the Makai insects.

Had it been something he deserved for having playfully riled her, as it usually was, he'd have done a pratfall and then laughed at her ire, but she had meant that slap—so all he did was let his head snap back for a moment, and his eyes glaze with momentary shock. The subsequent step back was involuntary, part and parcel of his complete confusion as to why she had just done that.

"What—what the hell, Keiko?" he finally managed to ask, checking with his fingers for a welt across his cheek. "I didn't even look up your skirt!"

"You're such an immature brat, Yuusuke!" she yelled at him, her hand still hovering to one side as though it were ready to deliver another strike. "Don't lie to me!"

"What? I didn't!"

That earned him slap number two. He felt that perhaps she'd been practicing, and upping her strength to match his new endurance, because he didn't remember them hurting this much before.

Her volume rose even more. "You know what I meant! Don't lie to me and tell me you're not fighting anymore, and that your friends don't need you! They've needed you this whole time, that's what you promised me, so how can they not need you now?" Her voice, as it often did when she was upset, cracked on the highest pitches and made her sound hysterical and wild; reacting in tandem to the outraged edge it also held, it was hard for Yuusuke not to back up again. He'd so rarely been treated to a fully furious Keiko, instead of the lightly antagonized Keiko he'd been friends with all his life, and it was actually frightening.

He couldn't fight it physically, that was for sure.

He threw up the only verbal defense he could, letting his rationalizations out into the open as he'd wanted to avoid. "I've got no energy right now, Keiko—I didn't get to help plan, I didn't get any sleep, and I'm kind of messed up right now! I'm not walking into a fight like that, I'll get them all killed!"

"That's not any worse than the Tournament!" she countered.

"Yes, it is!"

"You didn't even have a plan then, and you still got through a whole day of fights without any rest!"

"That was different!"

"It was not!"

"It was, too! It's not like I had a choice then!"

She didn't back down, not fazed by the childish denial. "Honestly, Yuusuke, you can be so selfish sometimes!"

"Hey, at least I'm trying to do the right thing this time!" he shot back with heat. A pebble crunched under his foot as he stepped forward to bring himself level. "Do you think I wanna be here instead of helping them? They're my friends!"

"And you're doing a great job of letting them down!" she returned. Her eyes, fixed on his, were an angry red-brown—reminding him uncomfortably of Hiei for bare instant—and were in the process of filling up with tears.

That stopped him, and he recoiled, losing the step he'd just taken. What the heck is she crying about? "Hey—Keiko," he said uncertainly, because she was still glaring at him, and he suddenly didn't know what to say next. He let his mouth form the first words that came to it: "What's wrong?"

That question was among the things she hadn't wanted to hear, and he knew it before she reacted. He tried to qualify it hastily as he saw her tears begin to intensify. "I mean I know what's wrong, I'm a jerk, and I knew I was selfish before you said it, but what're you crying for? I didn't mean to—I thought you'd be happy with me for once 'cause I'm not off fighting—"

She ran over his last few words and killed the ones that would have followed, and the waning sun made a contradictory mask of her face where bright tear-trails halfway overlapped with rosy shadows. "If you care more about yourself than them, then you probably don't care about me at all!" And with that, she made a stumbling turn on her heel and was running away down the street.

Yuusuke lost awareness of his surroundings for a moment—all he saw was Keiko's retreating form, and couldn't hear anything but that insane accusation in his ears.

By the time the rest of the world returned, he had already caught up to her, forgetting to rein in his speed as he always did in the Ningenkai and simply blurring to her side to grab her wrist. She tripped, and he caught her before she fell, pulling her into his arms. He tried to speak but stalled just after her name. "Keiko . . ."

"Let me go!" She pulled away, and he let her, head still twirling in disbelief. She couldn't have really meant that—that was just dumb. Of course he cared about her—now if he could only get past the block in his throat to tell her so—

But she rounded on him, her hair wild and angry behind her shoulders. "It's true, isn't it!" she flared, making him step back. "Your demon-fighting is the most important thing to you, and if you don't care about it you don't care about anything! You never tell me about it, either—I have to ask Kuwabara if I want to know how you are!"

"Well you never ask me!" he defended automatically, without actually intending to speak, danger-sense blaring as the words left his mouth.

She practically shrieked in his face, "I shouldn't have to! You shouldn't keep me out of the loop like this when you know I care about you! You're always off saving people and getting into Tournaments and I don't even know what else, and it's not fair to just leave me behind and let me wonder whether you're okay! You made me wait an entire week before you let me know where you were, much less that you were leaving in the first place, and then you just left again right after you got back like I hadn't been waiting at all!" She hiccuped, losing some of her momentum but pushing on through her angry tears. "I looked for you for hours today, and you're here, and you didn't even come to see me! You were going to let me wonder again, I know you were!"

She had run herself out of breath, and Yuusuke scrambled to say something less incriminating before she got any further. "Whoa, Keiko, you've got it all wrong!" he protested, still not quite believing he was having to defend himself like this. "I just wanna protect you! If I always told you everything you'd just worry a lot, and—"

"I always worry!" she yelled at him. "How can I not worry when I never know if you'll come back alive tomorrow? Instead you'd rather I not know next time you die, and just find out the way I always find out everything? I at least want to be there if you're going to fight anymore!"

"I thought you wanted me to stop fighting!" He was really, truly, actually confused, and beginning to be angry about it. "Do you want me to let you get involved in something I know you hate? You'd just be a target for demons to get at me through you!"

"I'm already a target!"

"Which is why I don't want you to be more of one! At least this way demons have to go out of their way to find you instead of you standing right there and making it hard for me to concentrate!"

"Like you concentrate at all when anyone else is in trouble! Why am I different from them?"

"Because you're not a fighter! They can protect themselves!"

"And that's what it's always about, isn't it!"

That, spit like a mouthful of bitter venom, sounded so much unlike her that Yuusuke reeled. He wasn't quite struck dumb, but he might as well have been—that half-second's loss of momentum was all she needed.

Every other word halfway broke on her tears. "Just because I can't beat up demons, you treat me like I don't matter, and I'm sick of you leaving me behind all the time!"

"Keiko, I—"

"But I won't be a dead weight for you, and I won't let you shelter me like I'm a child!" She threw a hand up to point at him, dramatic and uncannily lovely in her fury. "If your friends don't need you now, they'll never need you again, and you can stay with me instead of throwing yourself into danger all the time—but if they do need you and you want to fight, you have to include me, and I don't care if it's dangerous! I need to be there with you! If you want me in your life, you have to want me in all of your life, Yuusuke!"

Silence, reverberating hollowly. Shock, flat and tinny. Cicadas in the grass, and fireflies beginning to light every so often behind her.

She means it.

At any other time he would have marveled at her courage, taken pride in her spirit. At any other time he would have felt good to know how much she cared. At any other time he might have agreed, might have thought he could really protect her from everything that he was. At any other time—

Speech stuttered from his throat and petered out before it was realized. He reached for her hand; she held it away, and looked no less determined for the moisture on her cheeks.

"Well?" she demanded. "Do they need you or not?"

"Keiko," he burst out, "don't make me do this right now!" He groped for words, blindly, trapped in an unexpected and unfair corner. His fists clenched, unclenched, and repeated that motion almost convulsively; he certainly had no real control over it. He nearly swayed on his feet as all this stacked on top of his total exhaustion, and the already messed-up feelings he still hadn't sorted out about this situation. That question—that ultimatum—he had never, never expected this from Keiko, not in a million years.

He'd always tried to understand Keiko—ever since they had been kids together, she'd always been smarter than he was, one step ahead, and he guessed at her feelings as much as he ever knew them. Maybe this was what he got for being too dense to really get her all the way, like she got him. He'd have seen this coming otherwise, and been able to do something about it.

He wanted to. He wanted to grow old with her like he'd told Toguro—and yes, he wanted her to be a part of his whole life. If she were really a fighter, he'd never have tried to shelter her. But if she followed him again, she could die; Toguro had threatened to kill her, and could have done it at any moment he wanted, and hell, any random demon in the stands of the Dark Tournament could have done the same. Yuusuke couldn't even protect his friends, and they weren't totally helpless in a demonic fight like she was. Against humans, she'd proven her abilities, but demons were as far above her strength as gods were above his.

And yet he couldn't tell her no, not when it meant this much; but he still didn't know if he wanted to fight anymore, either. In its own way, that had been a lie—he didn't know how to feel about it.

If my friends don't need me now, they'll never need me again . . . But—what if they do need me again? What if something even worse happens, and I'm strong enough to do something that time? What if I'm the only one who can? Or what if demons come after me because of all the fighting I've already done? I can't promise not to fight again, no matter what I want. But—does that mean—

What if the others really do need me, right now?

Nothing would resolve.

He didn't have any answer for her at all.

He was suddenly more ashamed than he could ever remember being in his entire life, and knew it showed in his face. He'd ruined things with Keiko, and now he'd let all of the other important people in his life down completely, and the scope of his failure had grown so much that for a moment, a clear and lucid span of perhaps six or seven full seconds, he wished he were dead and he meant it. He'd been dead, and it wasn't so bad—and he wouldn't be able to muck anything up anymore.

After a silence that was longer than he could fathom, he abruptly knew that she was about to run away again. Silence meant rejection to her—and he'd never be able to fix things if he let her go now. He had to stop her somehow—

And his mouth did it for him again, as his body helplessly refused to move. "Keiko, I love you."

＊＊＊

He struggled out of what must have been the most sluggish senselessness he'd ever experienced, wading out of bloody nightmare and into waking. He hurt all over—his eyes stung as light spiked through their lids, his lungs felt constricted and his throat thick—and if there were a worse place or a worse circumstance for returning to consciousness, he had no concept for it. The pounding in his ungrateful skull counterpointed the steady beat of pulse in both temples, keeping him from clear thought, or from being able to hear anything around him properly; there was someone next to him that was far too close for his comfort, and that person was speaking, but though it seemed to echo with volume, he could not tell what they were saying.

That was fine. He really didn't want to know.

But eventually, though he loathed the notion, he would need to move, and to open his smarting eyes, so he worked towards that goal, waiting for the hateful sensations to reach borderline-bearable levels and then twitching an experimental hand.

"Good," said the voice, suddenly clear: female, crisp, cool, detached. "The procedure was successful," it continued. "No complications in the transfer."

"Are you sure that was really necessary?" sighed a second, male, regretful with a trace of fear.

"The orders were clear. His compliance was not expected, nor required."

"News to me," was the muttered reply. "Is he awake?"

Yes. Yes, he was awake. Hiei growled through a throat so dry as to render it more a rattling cough than a threat. "I will kill you both in the next ten seconds," he rasped, forcing his eyes to open and to glare, and wishing it were as easily said as done.

Outlined in bright, dripping fluorescent light, Koenma sighed again, and the dark-haired ferry-girl to his left raised an eyebrow. "Welcome back," was all she said, and then she vanished.

I realize this is a rather over-the-top entrace for Keiko as a character, for which I very much apologize; I haven't given her enough backstory in this fic, and while her huge reaction to the situation is something I do consider in character under the circumstances, I haven't really shown you guys how she got here. That's one of the many things my ongoing rewrite is intended to include. For the time being, I'm just going to have to apologize, and promise that I thought out her characterization as best I could. I'll take questions if anyone wants the explanation.

So here's the time for me to explain that I really, truly don't have any idea what's going to happen next. Overall plot outline remains, but the particulars were just shot to hell by this chapter, and I don't have anything at all written for chapter 17 yet. Feedback is therefore somewhat important, providing anyone is still reading after so long a break between postings. I'm sure I'll muddle through without it—I couldn't stop writing this if you threatened to pull my fingernails off—but it would definitely be helpful.