Warnings: Perv!Muraki doing perv!things. Abuse of innocent characters who don't deserve it.

Chapter Fourteen

Kamui dreamt of blood. It was by far not the first time he had ever dreamt of such things, and he was alarmed because he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. He dreamed of blood and wings and wires cutting through his skin. He didn’t think it would be the last time he dreamed about any of that, either.

He woke with a cry, attempting to sit up, then leaning backwards as his entire body ached. Fuuma had really done a number on him this time, that was for sure. He started to clench his fists in frustration, and realized that someone was holding his hand. He looked over to see Subaru, one eye still covered with bandages, sitting thoughtfully beside him.

He looked over when he saw that Kamui was awake. “Ohayo,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Kamui looked at his hand in Subaru’s. “Awful,” he managed. “Have you been here all this time?”

Subaru smiled at him. “You did the same for me, remember?”

“Aa,” Kamui replied. It hurt to talk. And move. And think. And do just about anything at all. “But . . . you didn’t have to.”

Subaru just smiled. He had noted that Kamui tended to have bouts of low self-esteem every time that Fuuma beat up on him. Not that there was anything he could do about it, but still, he felt bad. “Hey, I’m only here because Keiichi went to school,” he replied.

Kamui brightened slightly, looking adorably hopeful. “Keiichi was here?”

“Yeah,” Subaru said. “He stayed all night. He only left because I told him to.”

Kamui wilted. “Oh God. What am I going to tell Keiichi? And why am I thinking about Keiichi when Daisuke just died?!”

Subaru blinked down at him, and his jaded side came to the rescue. “Because you can only worry about so many things at once, and you weren’t that close to Saiki-san, and there isn’t much you can do about it now.”

“But . . . Keiichi . . .”

“But Keiichi what? You’ll either tell him the truth, or you’ll tell him you were caught in the earthquake. Either one is fine with me, but he’s going to find out eventually.”

“I suppose I should tell him, shouldn’t I,” Kamui said miserably, again trying to sit up.

Subau gently pushed him back down. “Don’t try to move. You have serious injuries.”

Kamui looked at him questioningly.

“It’s mostly just cuts and abrasions like last time, plus some cracked ribs and a concussion,” Subaru said. “This is why you can’t get up, and shouldn’t try.”

“That would probably explain why it hurts to breathe,” Kamui mused. “And to think.”

“Yeah,” Subaru said. “You should probably try to get more sleep.”

“What if when I finally get together with Keiichi he thinks I look like a pincushion and doesn’t want me anymore?” Kamui asked suddenly.

Subaru gave him a look. “Even if you do look like a pincushion, I doubt he’ll mind. Keiichi doesn’t think like that.”

Kamui gave him a look. “Yeah, and you’ve met him all of what, three times? How do you know how he thinks?”

“Look,” Subaru said, “you’re an adorable kid, and that’s not going to change, so quit worrying. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kamui said meekly. “I’m tired. And my head feels funny.”

“You’re on a lot of painkillers,” Subaru explained.

“Do we own stock in those yet?”

“I know I do,” Subaru said dryly. “Now you should get some sleep. Keiichi will probably be back in a few hours, so you’ll be able to see him then.”

“That’s be nice,” Kamui said sleepily, and closed his eyes. “Will you stay?” he asked quietly.

“Aa,” Subaru replied. “I’ll stay.”

~~~~

Kakyou settled in a corner of the dream he was in and sat back to watch. Tsuzuki had a surprisingly convoluted mind for one who seemed so simple; his dreams shifted constantly, in and out of different settings and time periods. Kakyou was beginning to wonder just when Tsuzuki had actually lived. It wasn’t until after a very tender snippet with Hisoka that Tsuzuki looked up and straight into the corner where Kakyou was sitting.

Kakyou sat very still, hoping against hope that Tsuzuki was looking at something behind him. No such luck. Tsuzuki took a few steps forward, looking at him curiously. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Just watching for a little while,” Kakyou said, trying to sound innocent. He felt incredibly rude, and didn’t like it very much.

Tsuzuki just tilted his head to the side and looked at him curiously. “Why?”

“Because you could hurt Fuuma, and I wanted to be sure of your intentions,” Kakyou finally said, after a long pause to consider it.

Tsuzuki shrugged. “But you obviously don’t like the fact that I realized you were here, so why did you come?”

“I just told you,” Kakyou said.

“You thought I was going to hurt Fuuma?”

“I didn’t know. I wanted to be sure.” Kakyou paused. “How did you know I was here, anyway?”

Tsuzuki blinked at him, not understanding this question at all. “I saw you.”

“Most people can’t,” Kakyou said. “Actually, I think the only person who’s ever been able to do that to me has been Kamui. Fuuma probably could, but he hasn’t tried.”

“Ah, well.” Tsuzuki smiled and shrugged.

Kakyou bowed slightly. “Sorry to have intruded. I’ll be going on my way now.”

“Will you be watching again?” Tsuzuki asked curiously.

“Not watching. But I might poke my head in from time to time.”

“Okay. Jaa ne.”

Kakyou bowed again, and left the dream without another word.

~~~~

Seimei was displeased. It wasn’t a very warm day, and he had to be outside anyway. He didn’t like cold. Cold was bad. Cold did not stop the fact that the Tree needed to be fed. Because the Tree was a hungry, griping maniac. Even if it was his favorite uncle. Uncle Tree.

Seimei shook his head. The cold was obviously getting to his brain. Seishirou had departed to feed the Tree. The target was supposedly a difficult one, and Seishirou didn’t want his son getting too close to the mark. He was to sit back and let his Shiki observe. Fun, fun, fun.

Thus, Seimei was fairly distracted when Muraki arrived.

“Hello, little one,” he said, from where he was leaning against a tree. “Little cold for you to be wandering around, isn’t it?”

Seimei whirled around and gave him a cold glance. “Uh,” he managed, wishing that he had a weapon on him. He had his ofuda, of course, but Seishirou might be annoyed if he wasted them on a random pervert.

Muraki glanced around. “Seems there aren’t many other people out tonight, because of it,” he commented casually. “That’s most convenient.”

Seimei backed away, putting a hand in his pocket to reach the ofuda. He was now at the perfect distance to kick Muraki if he got any ideas. “Get away from me, you pervert,” he said, wondering, not for the first time, exactly what he’d done to Hisoka.

“Or else you’ll do what?” Muraki asked, obviously amused.

“Most likely kick you in an unpleasant place,” Seimei said pleasantly.

“Will you, now.” Muraki took a step forward.

Seimei aimed a high kick at Muraki’s head, since the man was obviously going to think he’d be aiming quite a bit lower. Unfortunately, Muraki wasn’t phased by this. He grabbed Seimei by the ankle and twisted, knocking him off his feet and sending him to a heap on the ground.

Seimei was startled, but rolled quickly and decided to attempt to knock Muraki down with him. He swept his leg out to catch Muraki underneath the ankles, and was disconcerted to find that Muraki was suddenly behind him instead. He decided it was time to have his Shiki peck the man’s eyes out, and called it back to him.

Muraki took hold of the front of Seimei’s shirt and hauled him back to his feet. “You’re fun,” he said, with a smile. “The other one doesn’t fight anymore.”

Seimei drew back a fist and punched Muraki squarely in the jaw. Muraki let him go, though Seimei had the feeling that he’d done it on purpose. He wove an illusion around himself, hiding from Muraki’s view.

The man glanced around. There was a large smile on his face. “That’s very good,” he said. “Are you going to run now?”

Seimei wondered if it would do any good. He couldn’t count on any help from Seishirou, because he was probably still dealing with the target they’d come for. Likewise, the Tree wouldn’t be of great assisstance either. His Shiki appeared and dove at Muraki’s face, aiming for his eyes. Seimei bolted for a nearby tree, intending to climb up into it and hide.

Unfortunately, he glanced back in time to see Muraki dispel his Shiki with a slight wave of his hand, and then saw that hand aimed at him --

and couldn’t move.

He was frozen midstride, trapped in a glowing pentacle. He fought against the spell, managing to twitch his fingers, then move his hand an inch. Muraki strolled over casually, obviously considering the fight won. “I wouldn’t have caught you if you hadn’t run,” he informed Seimei. “I still couldn’t see you, but you made too much noise.”

Seimei choked indignantly and managed to get an ofuda out of his pocket. He twitched his fingers, causing it to go flying, and spoke one sharp syllable. The spell, not particularly stable since it had been so hastily created, crumbled enough for him to break free. He fished for another ofuda, but before he could reach one, Muraki had taken hold of both his wrists and pinned him to the tree he’d been intending to climb.

Muraki was too close for Seimei to get a knee up, but he thought he might be able to get his foot around Muraki’s ankle and knock him off balance enough to get free. There didn’t seem to be much else he could do, so he tried it. Muraki’s legs were too close together, though, and he would realize if he squirmed too much. Seimei tried to think, tried not to panic, and then was totally distracted by Muraki’s lips pressed against his own.

Seimei panicked and bit down hard on Muraki’s lips. He drew away, startled, a trickle of blood running down his chin. Seimei struggled harder, trying to take advantage of Muraki’s distraction.

“You know,” Muraki said, holding him steady despite Seimei’s best efforts, “there’s something truly beautiful about panic. Don’t you think?”

Seimei did not think. He couldn’t even think of a new way to get free. Muraki had him very well pinned. He settled for glaring.

“You’re not quite as beautiful as the other . . . certainly not as beautiful as Tsuzuki-san.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” Seimei snapped, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“You don’t have beautiful eyes like they do,” Muraki told him. “Though yours are nice. But not unique.”

Seimei was beginning to think that Muraki wanted them in a jar, but didn’t say so. He resorted to his last ditch effort of stomping on Muraki’s foot. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. Seimei began to wonder if he should scream like a little girl, and did the next best thing.

::HELP!!::

The Tree jerked, startled out of what it had been concentrating on. It took the situation in quickly, then said, ::I’ll get Seishirou. Just hang on a minute.::

::Oh, I’m hanging all right!::

Seimei was startled back to what was actually happening as one of Muraki’s hands slid up his shirt. He let out an undignified shriek and tried to jerk his hands free, given that only one of Muraki’s was now keeping them pinned. He forced himself to go limp, hoping that his weight would be too much for Muraki.

It was, but it didn’t work out quite the way Seimei had planned. Muraki let him drop to the ground, but before he could move, pinned him there. He shrieked again, louder and higher-pitched, this time actively trying to get someone’s attention and trying his best to ignore what Muraki’s hands were doing.

“Excuse me,” Seishirou said. “But I do believe I’m going to have to kill you now.”

Muraki glanced over his shoulder. Seimei immediately began to squirm, and Muraki let him squirm his way free.

“And who might you be?” Muraki asked, standing up and facing Seishirou.

“Sakurazukamori,” Seishirou said casually.

“I wasn’t aware there was a contract out on me,” Muraki replied with a raised eyebrow.

“There isn’t,” Seishirou said with a smile. “You just pissed me off.”

Muraki just looked at him. The family resemblance was enough that the truth was starting to dawn on him. He just smiled. “Ah, I should have realized, given how powerful he is. Not powerful enough, of course . . .”

At that point, Seishirou went from being just plain angry to absolutely infuriated. He couldn’t even see straight. “That’s it,” he announced. “I’m now going to rip your heart out and feed it to the Tree. Just so you know.”

Muraki just smiled, waiting.

“Sei-kun,” Seishirou said calmly. “Go to the Tree and wait. I’ll come pick you up soon.”

Seimei managed an affirmative whimper and bolted.

“You’re very confident,” Muraki observed. “How do you know you’ll win?”

“I’ve never met a man I couldn’t kill yet,” Seishirou said calmly. He was understating the truth slightly. He was willing to bet he wouldn’t be able to kill either Kamui, but Muraki didn’t need to know that. He took off his sunglasses and hooked them on his coat pocket, smiling as the world around them melted into a mabaroshi.

“That’s very good,” Muraki said, still smiling. “Your son’s wasn’t nearly as impressive.”

“He doesn’t have the benefit of experience,” Seishirou said, weaving power between his fingers. “Or the fury of a thousand suns, either.”

“If you were so close, why didn’t he call for your help?” Muraki asked. “He obviously didn’t expect you to come save him.”

Seishirou managed to not flinch. “He has ways of calling to me that you can’t hear,” he said, which was true, if not entirely accurate to the situation. He tossed out an ofuda and waved his hand, causing flame to erupt from it and engulf Muraki.

Muraki dispelled it with a wave of his hand and a few muttered words. “You didn’t think that I had no magic, did you?”

“Of course not,” Seishirou said, “or else Sei-kun would have killed you rather than let you touch him.” He took out another batch of ofuda and tossed them, seemingly haphazard, but they landed in a pentagram around Muraki, then erupted in sakura petals. The petals wrapped around Muraki’s body, their razor-sharp edges cutting his skin and attempting to suffocate him.

With great effort, Muraki managed to battle off the cloud. A few cuts on his cheek dripped blood, and a pentacle of his own started to burn on the ground. Seishirou looked at it and determined that Muraki was going to summon up something very nasty. Seishirou didn’t want to fight a big nasty. He wanted to fight Muraki.

The mabaroshi changed, rippling the ground and distorting the pentagram. Without the proper shape being held, the flame guttered out.

“We’re on my territory now,” Seishirou snarled, marching over and catching Muraki under the chin, knocking him backwards and off his feet. “You don’t get to summon up any friends to help you.”

Muraki stumbled, but regained his feet and found himself leaning against a large Sakura tree. He didn’t have to be a genius to realize that it wasn’t just any tree. Vines and branches started to snap out from every direction, binding him and pressing him closer against the trunk, which opened up to swallow him.

“That’s what you get for touching my son, you bastard,” Seishirou said, a satisfied smile on his face.

Muraki waited until he was halfway inside the Tree, and then broke free with a crack.

Seishirou let out a startled cry and went to his knees, the pain from the Tree translating into pain for him. It was the only bad thing about being connected so deeply to it; any pain that it felt became his own. He realized dimly that Muraki had to know a hell of a lot about it, or he wouldn’t have known to fight that way. These thoughts were cut abruptly short by Muraki’s foot in his face.

He went sprawling backwards, but got quickly to his feet. The world blurred, and he wiped blood off his face, wondering where it had come from. Ah, yes . . . his nose. Possibly broken. Seishirou reached to the Tree for more energy, but it was still recovering from whatever Muraki had done to it, and could offer him no help.

Seishirou had always wondered why he carried a gun. And now he knew.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to load it.

He couldn’t really be blamed for that. He hadn’t fired it in nearly five years.

Fortunately, he realized that he hadn’t loaded it before he pulled it out of his pocket, and thus was saved from the embarrassment of having Muraki laugh in his face. His throwing knives, however, never ran out of bullets, and he was good enough with them to pin Muraki to the Tree by his arm. Muraki looked down at it, startled, as blood began to seep through his white coat.

Seishirou started forward, weaving dizzily, when Muraki muttered a few words and Seishirou found himself trapped by the same freezing spell that Muraki had used on Seimei. He struggled against it, but Muraki had taken a bit more care with this one, and he found himself totally unable to move.

Muraki pulled the knife out of his arm and tossed it to the ground, watching in interest as the Tree sucked up the blood he’d shed. It seemed interesting that the Tree could move in and out of the mabaroshi the same way Seishirou could, because Muraki knew the Tree wasn’t actually there; they were near Ueno Park, but not that near.

“Can’t get loose?” he asked, amused by watching Seishirou struggle. “I pinned your son with this, you know. He put up a good fight. You should be proud of him. But now I’ll kill you . . . and then he’ll be mine anyway. Ne?”

Seishirou struggled harder, but still couldn’t manage to get free. He glanced above and below him to see he was pinned in a glowing purple pentagram.

“Or maybe I should go get him now?” Muraki asked, with a smirk. “Make you watch before I kill you? That might be fun. What do you think?”

“I think,” Seishirou said quietly, “that if you say one more word, I’ll rip your throat out.”

“You can’t even move.”

Seishirou reached out a hand and grabbed Muraki by the throat. “Guess again.” He lifted Muraki off his feet and smiled.

“Hey, not to interrupt, but let me interrupt,” a familiar voice said, and Seishirou spun, still holding Muraki, to see Fuuma lounging against the Tree. “Sorry, Seishirou, but you can’t kill him. I need him.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you need him or not,” Seishirou said pleasantly. “He hurt my son, and I’m going to kill him.”

Unfortunately for him, Muraki’s hands were free, and he drew back and punched Seishirou in the stomach. Seishirou dropped him and wheezed slightly, but didn’t lose his balance.

“Boys, boys,” Fuuma said with a sigh. He walked over and stood between them, pushing them both back slightly. “Seishirou, I need Muraki to take care of Nataku. Muraki, Seishirou is one of my Angels. The two of you are simply not allowed to hurt each other. Sorry.”

Muraki shrugged and took a step back.

Seishirou growled and pushed forward, but Fuuma stopped him. “I mean it, Seishirou.” There was a slightly dangerous look in his eyes.

Seishirou subsided. “Fine,” he said coldly. “But if he comes near my son again, I will gut him and string him up in the center of Ueno Park to stand as a warning. And I won’t make an exception.”

Fuuma gave him a long look, then nodded. “You catch that, Muraki-sensei?”

“I heard,” Muraki said, with a slight smile.

“Then don’t go near Seishirou’s son again, or you’ll find yourself buried beneath a Tree.”

“All right.” Muraki walked out of the mabaroshi without another word.

Fuuma turned to Seishirou. “Sorry. I need him.”

“You could’ve found somebody else,” Seishirou said flatly.

“I could’ve, probably,” Fuuma said, with a nod. “But you should be thanking me. You were losing.”

He walked away before Seishirou could reply.

Seishirou let out a low curse and dropped the mabaroshi, walking back to the Tree. His stomach ached and his nose was bleeding everywhere. He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to stop that before he got to Seimei. It would probably heal crooked. Just what he needed. He’d do his best to straighten it once he got home. Seishirou had never been much on aesthetics anyway. At least, not in regards to himself.

Seimei was sitting underneath the Tree, curled into a ball, when he got there. He looked up as Seishirou approached. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” Seishirou asked, extending a hand to help him up.

“For losing. For not helping you. For . . .” Seimei’s voice trailed off into a whimper.

Seishirou shook his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Only a little.” Seimei accepted Seishirou’s hand and let himself be hauled up. “You?”

“I’ve had worse. Let’s go home so I can get some ice.”

“Okay.”

~~~~

Before anyone yells at us for that, I'm reminding everyone that Muraki really is a powerful magician. And, well, Seishirou wasn't really thinking straight. But I think he would have won (he=Seishirou) if Fuuma hadn't interrupted.

Go on and huggle Seimei. You know you want to.

Chapter Fifteen
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