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And Now So Desperately Wishing for My Home

1. Lost

I was lost and cast aside,
and called for a friend
Surely, I thought, in all this world
One person will see me as I am
And care for me --

"You're a monster." The words beat into him, and he curled into himself, fighting to protect

"Don't cringe like that. Remember your family. Remember that we raised you better than this.
We didn't have to. We should have drowned you like a mongrel dog when you were born. That's
all you are. A dog. A pig. Filthy little thing." The words, the words kept coming, beating down his defenses.

He'd much rather have been beaten.

"You're disgusting. Who shrinks away just because someone brushes by him? You should be

But the man was a murderer, and lingered over it in his thoughts. He'd leaped aside even
before conscious thought had kicked in, his mind and body reacting instinctively to shield him
from the cesspit that was that person's mind.

"I can't believe you came from my body. Did I really carry you for nine months? You make me

Not even the comfort of tears, because they did beat him then. Just the dull constant ache
of rejection. He couldn't even lie to himself that perhaps in some small part of his parents'
minds they cared for him, that maybe they were cruel out of some misguided idea of making him
strong. Their indifference came out with every touch. He couldn't even cry out to the gods
to help him. Wasn't it they who had cursed him with this? Wasn't it their fault?

Or was it his? Maybe he was a monster after all.

"You unnatural thing. You horrible little beast. You demon. You monster. Go down to the
ground where things like you belong."

And then only the dark, and the cold dank stone, and the sound of his own helpless tears to
keep him company.

2. Despair

But only sorrow and sickness came
And despair like a killing knife
And all I knew was pain and pain and pain again
Until at last I wanted nothing more
Than to die, and seek oblivion forever --

Somehow he managed to claw himself out of the bed, and stood for perhaps a second as the room spun sickly around him. And then he fell.

{the row of cherry trees, white in their blossoms. He in yukata, tired but restless. He thought a walk among those cool white trees, with their petals falling down like slow tears, would make him sleepy. Anything but staring blankly up at the dark timbers of the ceiling --}

He lay panting for a moment, pain arcing through him in great, sickening heaves. He coughed, and blood dripped from his mouth to the mats of the floor. The dark red soaking slowly into the cream was almsot beautiful, like a red camillia spilled over snow.

{--and it takes him a second, surprised and staring blankly at what his eyes see but his brain refuses to believe, the thing lying like a crumpled doll on the ground, as its blood soaks into the ground and dyes the cherry petals as red as the fruit it died to bear --}

He sucked in a rattling breath, and heaved himself to his hands and knees, only to wobble and collapse. Something stung at his eyes and he gritted his teeth fiercely. He wasn't a baby, to cry with fustration.

Very well, he would crawl then, if he must, until he got to the door and could claw his way up with that as his support.

Only until he got to the doorframe.

The tatami mats bit into his fingernails, and he knew he would leave a trail of bloody fingerprints across the floor.

{-- and there is one second to think how very broken the thing is, how absurd, like it was a doll some petulant child ripped apart and tossed away, and another to panic and think of going for help, and then --}

He staggered to his feet and fell against the doorframe. Grey swam in front of him, and even the pain of his body wasn't enough to push it back.

No. He took a deep breath and, leaning against the wall of the corridor, made his way to the bathroom.

{-- he stares into silver eyes, and again his eyes tells him something his brain refuses to believe, even as the blood drips from the stranger's long, elegant hands.

And the primitive part of his brain, the part that believes his eyes without question, takes over his body and he bolts like a frightened deer. But not fast enough.

Never fast enough.}

He slumped over the bathroom threshhold, and one part of his mind instinctively reached for the slippers. He caught himself -- how silly, to worry about bathroom slippers. He panted, trying to recover from the impossibly long journey, until at last his breathing slowed. One more deep breath, and then he half-crawled to by the bathtub.

(and now there is only pain, and more pain, and pain beyond pain, until all he can do is lie staring up at the cherry trees and the indifferent stars above. That silver-haired fallen angel's hands move over him in a parody of tenderness, even as they dip in his own blood and trace words that burn like icy fire on his body, and he knows there is no escape, never any escape...)

He'd hidden it here, when he was less ill, against this day.

(-- and he says, You're too beautiful to kill quickly, and laughs softly. Hisoka knows that he will never let him go, even eventually he allows him death, and that even if he is allowed the memory of this night, his mind will block it from him, doing the work for his killer. And he knows...)

The first cut made dark blood swell against his arm. He was a little surprised at the sharp, clear pain, not like the sick pain he'd lived in for so long. A second slash opened the rest of his wrist. He put his arm into the warm water of the bath. It stung, only for a second, and then he watched his blood make red blossoms in the water.

(... he knows he is already dead.)

He was already dead.

3. You

But you came, and chased the dark away
and all I think now is that
It was you, you, you, oh, you, oh you,
That made my demons flee


He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't look at his hands. His hands were covered with blood. He'd killed her, it was his fault, even if she'd asked him. Even if Muraki had begun it, he had finished it.


Someone was calling for him...


The sounds of a helicopter. He forced his eyes open and saw Tsuzuki, half out of the copter, yelling as loud as he could. "Hisoka! Come on!"

He was calling for him, and reaching out. Hisoka stared for another second, and then his feet moved without his mind's order, and he was fleeing toward Tsuzuki, running faster than the demons that surrounded him, and he flung himself toward Tsuzuki before he could ask himself if he'd be caught.

And Tsuzuki's arms closed around him, hard, and he was so very warm. He could feel Tsuzuki's relief, anger, fear, thankfulness, and a dark thread of hatred. To Muraki, who had caused Hisoka's suffering, he realised. Not at him.

The tears were pouring out now, even as Tsuzuki lifted him bodily into the copter, and all he could do was cling to him and sob against the warm wall of Tsuzuki's chest.

You have someone you love, don't you, she'd said.

Someone you love most of all.

And I think... I think that person loves you, too.

Go home, Hisoka-kun.


And now so desperately wishing for my home
I fly to your arms, and there I find my rest.


Friday, 4/13/01

Bit of an unlucky day to finish a fic. O_o; This one is for Thea. _ Her Hisoka voices are damn contagious.