Puppet Master
By Gaki (tooboe @ blue-prism.net)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Have edited the story a bit, so hopefully, it's a bit better.

This fic is a result of not sleeping early and too much coffee. That and listening to a hauntingly beautiful song hours on end and letting a certain sensei control my brain. Will involve things from the manga and not the anime, because the manga is better. Please keep in mind all this is before the Kyoto Arc so sensei is still happily jumping around ruining their afterlives.

And of course, Yami no Matsuei is not mine. If it were, I would have lots of money and all the time in the world to torture these guys. Beware of spoilers and suchness. If there is any OOC please forgive me. ^^

Hisoka torture, angst and 101 bad things Muraki-sensei could do by just talking. Well, maybe not just talking.

Pairings that might be in the fic are as follow:

Muraki+Hisoka, Tsuzuki+Hisoka, Muraki+Tsuzuki; not yet sure if any other characters will be involved in this fic as it does mostly only centers around Sensei and Hisoka.

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The relationship between the owner and the object of ownership is strong. One wouldn't want to see their favorite toy being touched by another. One wouldn't want to see that toy being slowly pulled apart when they spent so much time on it. When that happens, the owner becomes possessive and takes what is theirs back. They once again spend time to fix what was broken.

For a broken toy isn't as fun to play with.

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Sometimes he finds himself amazed at how strong the bonds between them were. Then of course he reminds himself that he made it so, so that he could find that one whenever he pleased. Sometimes he wonders if things would go so according to his plan if he'd never meant the blonde haired child underneath the cherry tree. His plans would never work out if it weren't for the green eyed boy.

It was amusing how they played out the master and puppet role out so well. He would pull the right strings, and the boy could do nothing but follow.

He could feel him, in the back of his mind. He could feel the boy just as the boy could feel him.

And what he felt, as he calmly picked up his glasses from the table, putting them back on and flicking a lock of hair from his eyes, was the slow but sure process of his puppet breaking apart.

And he couldn't just sit by and allow that, now could he?

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Mocha! I need some caffeine in my system!

I wonder if they have anymore of those center filled donuts...

Man, my feet. That's it, this is the last time I fall for her pleas.

Ohh, she's bending over. Heh. Heh. Heh.

I saw an alien. I know I did!

I wonder if he`ll leave if I stare at him long enough.

Pervert! Stop staring at me!

... Beer commercials are so depressing.

A sigh escaped his lips as he sat himself down on the chair. Tsuzuki had told him to wait for him at the coffee shop, and so here he was. A lone teenage boy sitting at the center of a coffee shop surrounded by adults. And as if that didn't make him stand out more, he was the only one in the place that was surely dead. Life can be so strange sometimes. Instantly ignoring all that was going around him, he lifted up the book he'd carried along and opened it to the last page he was on, intending to finish the book or at least get as far as he can before his ever late partner came.

It started out as an annoying itch at the back of his mind, a small voice that wouldn't shut up. Taking it as the thoughts of those people around him, he concentrated on blocking all the unwanted voices from his head. Not even half way down the page, the voice, the itch, came back, but now even stronger. Followed by a sudden sensation running itself up and down his arms and spine. He felt his breath pick up a hitch. He knew his feeling, it was in his worst nightmares whether he was awake or asleep.

And as he looked up from his book, he suddenly wished he really was having a nightmare.

He really would never get used to seeing this man, whether he expected him or not.

"Isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Was the amused sounding comment that came from the silver haired doctor standing in front of him.

"M-Muraki!" He glared, making a move to stand up.

Muraki raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want to make a scene if I were you, boy." Then a seemingly pleasant smile that held underlying threat crossed Muraki's features. "Unless you want to attract attention to yourself."

He looked around, then reluctantly sat back down, not without giving the older man before him a glare that would've scared anybody. Muraki calmly sat down before him, not the least bit afraid of his glare. Silence surrounded them as Muraki proceeded to ignore him as he ordered some tea from the waitress and took his glasses off. He clenched his hands together into fists, angry that Muraki never found him as a threat to his life, or anything else for that matter.

"What do you want?" Funny how that always seems to be the question he asked around him.

What do you want? Why are you here? What are you up to? Are you going to kill me? Are you?

Once again he was ignored as the waitress set down Muraki's tea. It continued as the silver haired man stirred the warm liquid around and brought the cup up to his lip to drink. A soft chuckle escaped those lips as Muraki set the cup back down. "I should be asking you that question, boy. You were the one who called me here."

What? "What are you talking about?" He glared. Glaring is good. Glaring keeps people away. Not him though, never him. He gets closer. Too close. Go away.

Cold hungry eyes looked into his own confused ones. "You want something from me." A smile. He hated when this man smiled. So cold. So hungry. So knowing. "Rather, you want me to do something. Ne, boy?"

"What I-" Now he really was confused. "What are you talking about, Muraki?! I don't want you to do anything!! What are you up to?!"

A raised eyebrow as people from other tables turned to look at them. "Temper, temper, boy." Muraki stood up. "Why don't we find a more.." Yet another smile. "Private place to discuss this?"

He twitched. "I'm going nowhere with you. Whatever you're up to-"

Muraki cut him off smoothly. "If I was up to something, boy, I would have done something more interesting than meeting you in a coffee house."

Even though he hated him, what he said was true. He blinked, confused. "What do you want?" He was repeating himself, yes, but he was confused. He didn't like being confused.

Picking up his glasses from the table and putting them back on, Muraki turned away from him and headed out the door. "The question isn't about what I want, boy." He smirked over his shoulder. "It's about what you want." With that, he walked out the door, knowing all too well that Hisoka would follow him to find out what he meant by that.

Unable to push down his need to know, Hisoka stood up and ran after him, keeping a safe distance from Muraki. He followed the man in white quietly all awhile glaring at his back. What are you up to, Muraki? What are you talking about? What do I want? What I want is none of your business!! He kept his eyes trained on the white covered back as he followed Muraki, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He stopped, surprised, when he found out that Muraki had taken him to a sakura field. He felt his blood rushing through his body as the memory of that night so long ago flash behind his eyes.

Swallowing, he pushed the sudden panic down and glared. "Well?"

There was a slight pause before Muraki started to speak. "When a gardener plants a seed into the soil, he takes care of that seedling until it starts to sprout. As it starts to grow he spends his time to nurture it. Protecting it against bugs, weeds and animals. The gardener becomes the seedling's caretaker."

He blinked. "What are you trying to say?" He always hated it when Muraki started talking like this.

Leaning down to pick up a slender stick, Muraki turned back around, twisting the slender bark in his fingers. "It's the same thing for puppet masters. They spend their time picking out just the right piece of wood before they start to carve into it. They pick out the right tools so they can bring out the best of that piece of wood." As he spoke, Muraki started to walk closer to him ever so slowly, still twisting that stick. "Inch by inch, they cut and sand it into perfection until that piece of wood becomes their masterpiece. Whether that piece of wood has turned into a toy solider or a doll, they dress it up carefully, lovingly. They give it a name and leave their mark on that puppet." He looked up from the stick and right into Hisoka's emerald eyes. "That puppet is then branded as theirs."

He was visibly shaking, he could tell. Taking another step back he yelped when he felt the hardness of a sakura tree against his back. Realizing then that he's backed himself up against the tree, Hisoka looked back up at Muraki and glared. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Muraki smiled as he let the stick fall to the ground in a soft thud. "Puppet masters take good care of their puppets, boy."

He must've still looked confused because Muraki let the smile drop and planted both of his hands on either side of his head, keeping him trapped between his arms. He flinched and turned his face to the side when the older man leaned forward. His breath tickled Hisoka's cheek as he spoke in a low tone.

"Puppet masters, " he repeated slowly. "take good care of their puppets. If they happen to sell that doll off, that doll is still branded as theirs. If that doll happens to get broken while in the hands of it's new masters, that puppet is then returned to the maker to fix it."

He flinched, trying to press himself into the tree and away from the man in front of him. "Wha... I... I'm not your puppet!"

A soft chuckle sent chills down his spine. He could feel his skin burning underneath his clothes. Too close. He's too close. Just like him. He didn't like it when people got too close to him.

"I beg to differ." A hand reached up and pulled his face back, forest green meeting cool silver. "You're broken, boy. It's about time I fix what he has broken."

Before he could say anything, he was engulfed in darkness.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hisoka torture. More nonsense. Ya know, the typical stuff. ^^

[1] = Manga, Muraki has a favorite Victorian doll that he loved to play with. As seeing how I have no clue what her hair and eye color are, I made them like Hisoka's. Also, his mother calls him by his first name, Kazutaka-san.

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If you ask a person if they can remember anything from their early years, say when they were nothing but a baby, you'd get a blink and a shrug. Ask them about their childhood and you'd get broken answers. Faded memories trying to turn into vivid technique colors again. No one remembers their childhood clearly. Broken pieces of memories that, without the help of family members, will forever remain broken. As like painful memories. The mind of a child who has seen far too many things will repress things such as that from his mind.

He will forget the pain and the suffering.

He will only remember the joy and the love.

Only if there were any to began with.

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-- [1]There was a puppet that he loved to play with. A Victorian doll his mother kept in her room along with the others. She had beautiful long blonde hair and eyes that seemed to be made from pure emerald. He would spend hours upon hours playing with her. Brushing her hair from her eyes and straightening her dress. She would in turn keep him company while his father was away. He didn't mind being alone. He didn't mind that his parents never paid him any attention.

He had her and that was all that mattered.

Until one day his mother took her away. Took his favorite doll from his trembling hands and told him he was a perfect doll. Her perfect 'doll'.

"Mother... where's Veronica?"

"You don't need her anymore, Kazutaka-san... you are a doll yourself. The perfect doll in my 'collection'." --

Emotionless cold silver eyes looked away from it's own reflection on the window as the figure chained to the wall slowly woke up to the real world.

Where nightmare and reality mix together in an endless cycle.

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His head hurt. A dull aching pain at the back of his head, as if he'd fallen to the ground. Letting out a confused moan, he opened his eyes and found himself in semi-darkness. His vision still slightly blurred, he couldn't make out most of the room. He could tell there was a window for bright sunlight was flowing through it. His eyes widened and a small gasp escaped his lips when he noticed the person standing right in the light of the sun. Muraki's silver hair gleamed slightly in the dim light as he continued to look out the window of his current prison hold.

Trying to move, he found himself chained to the cold wall behind him by his wrist and ankle. He was defenseless against his worst nightmare. Standing perfectly still, he kept his eyes on the silver haired doctor as he slowly made his way towards him from across the room.

"Saa... you've finally decided to wake up." A soft chuckle. "You had quite a nightmare while you were out."

He glared, although he didn't know why. None of his glares worked on him. "YOU."

A cruel amused smile still played on Muraki's lips. "Woke up from one nightmare only to find you are still in another one, ne, puppet?"

His throat was dry, his heart was pounding and he felt light headed. He wanted to get away, but that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon. Swallowing his saliva, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice dripping with hate. "I am not your puppet, Muraki."

"Oh? Is that so, boy?" Slender pale hands reached up and started to unbutton his shirt in a lazy manner.

He started. "Wh-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Struggling against his chains, he tried to move away from those hands as one button after another fell open.

The fake eye looked into his own wide emerald ones and held his gaze. A smile played at pale lips as a hand gently stroked his chest, mocking a lover's caress. "You are my puppet."

Jade eyes became wide and dull, staring at everything and nothing all at once. The chains became lifeless as the body it held back became lifeless itself. He didn't flinch when pale hands continued it's mocking caress on his chest. He didn't respond when that same hand trailed up and stroked his cheek.

"You will remember only what I let you remember, boy."

 

 

The cold night air bit at his skin as he walked down the stone trailed path. Legs moving on their own accord. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to get there.

 

 

White porcelain hands reached up and brushed his hair from his eyes. The body moved closer and hot breath tickled his ear, moving down his neck.

"What do you remember, puppet?"

 

 

Red. The moon was blood red. He heard a rustle and looked to his right. Red blood stained on pure white. Two people sharing a lover's embrace seemed innocent enough. If you ignored the blood. He jumped a bit when the man turned and looked at him straight in the eyes.

The moon traded places that night. It left the sky and shone back at him in a stranger's eyes.

 

 

Muraki raised the boy's chin with his hand, looking into dull green eyes. Leaning down, he whispered against soft pink lips. "... what do you remember?"

 

 

The feel of the cold hard ground under his body. The icy cold night air kissing his skin as his clothes were torn from him. Large greedy hands touching, grabbing and demanding things from him he never knew he could give, or was willing to give. The steely feel of the sharp blade against his soft skin. The pain as it cut through and ran a trail of red down and around his body.

Red like the ground. Red like the sakura petals. Red like the moon.

 

 

He looked down at Hisoka's chest as the bright red curse glowed against his soft colored skin. A pleased smile formed on his lips as he used a finger to trace the delicate markings from one to another. "... tell me what you remember, puppet."

 

 

Pain. So much pain. Pain in his head, in his throat, on his body and down his legs. Hot pain as the man above him did things he didn't want to remember. Pain in his body. On his body. Pain everywhere when he tried to move.

 

 

The hand trailed from his chest down to his stomach, finger tracing along the edge of his jeans.

 

 

Over and over again. In an endless cycle that he'll never be able to escape. Struggling against him will only make it worst. There was nothing he could do... nothing. Nothing but...

 

 

Muraki leaned down, his lips brushing against Hisoka's ear as he whispered softly. "Tell me..."

And Hisoka told him. He screamed.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Picking on Hisoka too much, but the boy screams angst and hurt me! And how am I to deny him all that? *coughs* Right, Tsuzuki makes the scene! Only to be confused.

[1] = A poem by William Blake. I thought it was fitting. ^^

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The dictionary defines sane as 'mentally sound and healthy'. It defines insane as 'exhibiting serious and debilitating mental disorder'. Who are we to say who is sane and insane? How does one become insane? Does hearing voices in your head not belonging to yours mean you're insane?

Maybe those who we called insane are actually sane. Maybe they see something no one else can see, or rather, refuses to see. Maybe they see the truth in everything. The human mind cannot handle truth. Truth is like the sun. One cannot look at it straight in the eye without blinking or being blinded.

So does that mean it is truth itself that drives one to insanity?

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A tired, strained voice spoke out into the darkened room. "What are you doing to me?" He pulled at his chains again and winced when the sharp edges bit into his skin, making him bleed. The cold still air of the room chilled his chest. His shirt hung open and he closed his eyes, refusing to see the red markings on his body.

Muraki was standing near the window again, looking out at the sky. "The question isn't what I'm doing to you but what you are doing to yourself, boy." He turned his head and looked at Hisoka, the glaring of the sun's light gleaming off of his glasses.

"W... what?"

"A man once said, 'The liar's punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else'."

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Later that day...

Tsuzuki smiled down at the full bag of sweets in his arms. Hisoka would be mad, he knew, but how did he expected him to walk by a bakery and not buy at least something from it? He smiled again, wider. Besides, a few sweets might be just the thing Hisoka needs to make him not so sour! He grinned to himself as he turned the corner towards the appointed meeting spot. Letting out a small sigh of disappointment he continued on his way, letting his amethyst colored eyes scan the area around him. Maybe I can convince Hisoka to relax today. We both need it, well, he needs it more. After what happened to Tsubaki-hime...

He let his thoughts trail off on the subject. A frown appearing on his face as he thought about the girl who finally made his partner break down into tears. Of course, when they had first become partners, he'd always wonder what would cause tears to form in those eyes. Him, being an overly emotional person, could cry about anything and here was his partner, a seemingly standoffish boy, who didn't feel the least bit sad when Mitani-sensei had fallen down in front of them or when Kazusa gave up her life to save Hijiri.

Hijiri.

He suddenly remembered the other boy's smile. He would look like that. If he'd smile. That in itself was impossible. Nothing could make Hisoka smile, but that didn't stop him of course. He had a mission in life, well, his after life that is, to cause a smile no matter how tiny to bloom on Hisoka's face. Besides, even Tatsumi smiled at him every now and then. No one was safe from the Tsuzuki charm. Of course, neither was he. Shuddering at the thought of Hakushaku ogling him during the arching tournament, he finally reached his destination.

Only to stare open mouth when he found someone he never thought he'd see in place of Hisoka smiling pleasantly up at him from where he sat.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't expecting to see you, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki smiled.

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He didn't know how long he'd spent just staring blankly at the ground. The distant sound of a water drop hitting the cold floor could be clearly heard from where he hung against the wall. His shit was still open, his chest still burning from the marks across his body. He didn't pay much attention to any of that though. No, his mind was elsewhere. Lost in his own thoughts and Muraki's words, he paid no heed to his dark and dreary surroundings.

 

 

"Wha.. what are you saying? I'm a liar?"

"Aa. You are a liar. You refuse to see what is clearly put out before you." Muraki turned then, facing him.

He glared at Muraki, tired of the game he was playing. "I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Muraki took off his glasses, looking at the slim frames. "You refuse to see the truth." He placed it back into his pocket and looked back at Hisoka. "Your parents. They were insane, weren't they?"

 

 

He spoke out into the darkness. "No."

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Here was a person who was completely insane.

He continued to glare at the doctor, willing the hate in his eyes to burn twin holes through Muraki's silver head. That only made the man more amused. "Where is he?" He all but demanded.

"Hn? The boy?" Another smile as he reached for his tea. "The boy is fine, Tsuzuki-san. There is no need to worry about him."

Tsuzuki continued to glare at Muraki as he fisted his hands. "What are you doing to him?"

Muraki looked at him straight in the eyes, cool silver meeting raging violet. "I'm showing him the truth."

He blinked, confused. The truth? Muraki showing Hisoka the truth? How could a person like Muraki know the truth about anything? "What? What are you talking about?"

Muraki casually sipped his tea, then placed it back on the table. "I'm showing him the truth." He repeated, as if talking to a child. Tracing his finger along the rim of the cup he continued. "And the truth is, Tsuzuki-san." He paused, meeting Tsuzuki's eyes with a malice smile. "You don't care about him."

Purple eyes stopped glaring and turned wide. "What?!"

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"Your father, didn't he take you somewhere once? Where did he take you, boy?"

"I..." He closed his eyes. "Shut up! Shut up, Muraki!"

 

 

Short legs tried to keep up as he held on tightly onto his father's hand. Wide innocent green eyes looked up at the man who was leading him off into thick forest.

"Father?? Where are we going?"

 

 

His breathing picked up. He could feel it. He could feel the cold air of that night long ago touching his skin. The crisp clean air of the forest around him. The darkness and the feel of eyes watching him from a place his young mind would never know. He didn't like it.

He didn't like the dark.

 

 

An amused chuckle. "The more you refuse to see it the more it will come. Where did your father take you?"

"... No. He didn't take me anywhere!"

 

 

"Father?? Where are you taking me?"

His father refused to answer him.

 

 

"Where, boy?"

 

 

His body shivered in the cold room. "Stop it. I... I don't want..."

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"The truth, Tsuzuki-san, is that you are afraid to be alone. Therefore you use the boy to keep you company. You don't care what happens to him. You only care about yourself." The finger continued on its lazy adventure around the rim. "You want to open him up so he could take you in. So that he'll never leave your side." Muraki stopped his finger and looked at him. "And that, Tsuzuki-san, is the truth."

"N.. no. You're wrong!" He had to be wrong. He didn't use Hisoka to keep him company. Sure, he got lonely sometimes when no one was around and he didn't like that. No one liked being lonely, right? So it was natural that he would want Hisoka around to keep him company. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing.

Muraki glanced at Tsuzuki's clenched fists which were shaking on the table. Chuckling a bit, he lifted the cup up and took a sip. Placing it down, he looked into Tsuzuki's eyes. "Am I really, Tsuzuki-san? You are no better than I am." He continued with a slight smile.

"We both use him for something."

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His breathing became labored as he struggled to keep the unwanted memories from flooding back. Cold sweat trailed down his brow and neck as his chest moved up and down. He clenched his teeth, face red with anger, hurt and pain. He will not let Muraki do this to him. He will not let that man succeed in whatever he was trying to do. But then, as he stood there alone in the darkened room, it was easy to believe he was elsewhere.

"Father? I want to go see the fireflies. May I go?" He waited quietly as the tall figure of his father stood there in the shadows, his back to him. He really did want to go see the fireflies. He'd heard the maids talk about them. About how beautiful they were. "Father?"

The figure shifted slightly, his father's head turned to the side, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. "... You want to see fireflies?"

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"No." It was nothing but a whisper at first, but then he said it again. This time, stronger. As if he was trying not to convince Muraki, but himself. "No, Muraki. I am not like you. I am nothing like you." Tsuzuki growled lowly, his eyes burning. "I would never use Hisoka. Whatever you're planning to do to him-"

He was determined not to be sidetracked by that comment. He tightened his fists, willing himself not to lunge forward and grab Muraki by the front of his shirt. That was what the other man wanted. He wanted him to lose his cool and he wasn't about to let himself fall into his trap.

"I won't let you hurt him, Muraki. If it's me you want-"

"It is always you that I want, Tsuzuki-san. You don't have to worry about that." Muraki all but leered at him from across the table.

"Then let Hisoka go! I'll come with you! Just let him go!"

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[1] He vaguely remembered a poem he had read from one of the books in the library at Meifu. He faintly heard it again in the back of his head as he let himself fall back into the haunting memory.

 

 

"Father, father, where are you going? Oh, do not walk so fast!"

His father all but dragged him behind his tall form. He tried to keep up as fast as he could, but he was only a child after all.

Why wouldn't his father slow down?

"Speak, father, speak to your little boy, Or else I shall be lost."

"Father? Are we going to see the fireflies?" Why didn't his father answer him? Was he excited? Was that why he didn't answer?

Why didn't his father look down at him? It was getting darker and darker as his father lead him to someplace he didn't know. He didn't like the dark. It made him think of strange creatures, horrible serpents looking at him from behind a veil of nothingness.

"Father?"

The night was dark, no father was there.

His father finally stopped, standing silently in one place as he looked towards a large stone in front of them. He looked at it from behind the safety of his father's taller form. Why were they here? What was his place? He didn't like, he didn't like it one bit.

"Hisoka." His father spoke finally, his voice deep. "There's something I want to show you."

He looked up at his father, his eyes wide with trust in them. Trust that his father would protect him if anything would happen to him now or ever. Trust that he was safe as long as he was around. "Yes?"

The child was wet with dew;

"I want to show you." His father step forward, his hand at the small of his back.

His green eyes widened suddenly when he noticed that his father was pushing him toward the large rock. "Father?"

"I want to show you. Your grave!"

A hard shove and he was suddenly face down on the ground. His breath quickened as pulled himself quickly, dirt sticking itself on his cheek and hands, soiling his clean clothes. He whimpered as he heard a hissing from all around him. Standing up quickly, he turned around to find that his father was no longer there. His one and only means of safety had left him alone in the dark.

He shrieked as a snake coiled itself around his small body.

"FATHER!!"

The mire was deep, and the child did weep,

From where he laid motionless on the ground, he noticed many things. He noticed that the ground was actually quite wet in the dry air. He could see a beetle making it's long and tumbling way across the rocky ground from where he once stood. It was cold out, he could feel the air breathing against his legs, causing goose bumps to form on them.

He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

He didn't like the fact that he couldn't move. Didn't like how the snakes all had surrounded him, causing him to choke and cry non-stop. Didn't like the horrible sounds coming from the forest around him.

He didn't like the fact that as the fog drifted away, his father was still nowhere to be seen.

And away the vapour flew.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: More picking on Hisoka.

I do not know how one is born with empathic abilities, so in this story, Hisoka's powers grow slowly day by day. As a result, in the beginning he could only hear bits and pieces of a person's thought. So he didn't 'hear' another's persons thoughts since he was young because that wouldn't work in this story

Also, hopefully the reason why Muraki says Hisoka is 'broken'. We're actually getting somewhere! ... Or perhaps maybe not. Oh, right. This part was also written while listening to Evanescence - Fields of Innocence over and over again obsessively because it is so hauntingly beautiful.

I want to go back to believing in everything and knowing nothing at all
-- Evanescence - Fields of Innocence

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Every one knows the bond between infant and parent is a strong and unbreakable bond.

The trust the infant, the child, puts in its mother and father is the most heavy and innocent of its kind. The child believes in its caretaker. The child believes that its caretaker, its beloved parent, shall and will always protect it.

That they will always love him. They will provide him with everything he will ever need. They shall teach him things he needed to know; they will be his teachers in life.

And he will give them unconditional love.

The trust a child has for his parents is what keeps him believing in everything.

If for some reason that trust is broken, then everything the child believes in will be shattered.

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It was cold; that much he knew but for some reason he didn't care. The room in which he was held captive was cast in a warm light from the sun shining through that single window; yet it was still cold. His skin tingled as the marks, the disgusting red marks, on his body slowly started to fade. He was glad it was fading. It meant he wasn't near him at the moment. It meant he was alone; that he wouldn't have to listen to the nonsense the man loved to talk about.

It was slightly amusing, really. He probably would've smirked, not laughed - he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed- but smirk, if he wasn't in so much mental agony.

He was exactly in the same state he'd been before he'd died.

Alone and cold in a room. Locked away from the outside world.

He closed his tired eyes, shallow breaths making his chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm. If he concentrated enough on it, really think back on that time and date, he could remember when the two most important people in his living world had loved him.

He could almost remember...

--------------------------

"You honestly think this is all about you, don't you?" Muraki mused as he absentmindedly stirred the copper liquid in his cup. "That when it all comes down to it, I'm doing this so I could have you, right?"

Tsuzuki remained silent, seemingly ignoring the questions but in truth, he was thinking them over. Did he even need to ask him that? Of course it's what he thought! Why else would Muraki, who after the first incident in Nagasaki, had over looked Hisoka as nothing but an annoying boy he had once raped and killed? To get to me. Because you know, Muraki, you know I can't stand the thought of someone close to me in pain. So you used him. You used him like you're going to use anyone else I come across to get to me.

Another moment passed as Muraki set the spoon down and smirked a bit.

"Correct." He said, and for an insane moment, Tsuzuki wondered if Muraki had heard what he had been thinking. "When it all comes down to it, it's all because of you. That's what I adore about you, Tsuzuki-san. How you can take it if it is you alone who suffers but if someone else so much as bleeds before you, you break down and curse yourself. It is your self-sacrificing nature that draws me to you." He smiled a bit, full of nothing but want. "You are a masochist if I'd ever seen one."

Despite himself, Tsuzuki felt his face burn as the rushing blood reached his cheeks.

Muraki chuckled, his eyes closing for a moment before they opened up until his cool eyes were no more than slits. "But this time, Tsuzuki-san. It isn't all about you."

He glared, not wanting to know what Muraki would say next. Let it be him who Muraki wanted to touch. Let it be him who would suffer through the night as this mad man before him did whatever he pleased with his body. Let it be him that it was all about. Him, him, him and nobody else.

Because he knew he couldn't take it if it were anyone else but him who would bleed.

"This time, it's all about the boy."

--------------------------

There was a beautiful kimono that was given to him by his mother once. He didn't know if she had made it by hand, or bought it. Nor did he care at the time. All he knew was that she had a gift for him. A gift, she'd said, that would make his father very proud if he'd wear it when his father's older brother came to visit.

He loved it when she would spend time with him.

 

 

Beautiful.

That was the only word for it. The only word he could think of, that is. He was in awe as he stared at it. The wonderful patterns, bright colors blending in, big white borders keeping others from mixing it. The golden yellow bordered by the white making it seem like the rising sun. The soft feel of the fabric as he ran his hand down it. A dragon! A dragon's face was at the front of it. It was truly, really very beautiful. And he felt inside of him a love and adoration for the person who had given him, made him this gift that he could almost burst.

Instead he decided to smile brightly at his mother and hug her as tightly as he could muster.

She gave him a soft smile, not so big and not so small, a nice womanly smile with no whites of her teeth shown. He smiled back, joy singing in his eyes as she hand her ran through his blonde locks before turning him around and ushering the maids around them to help her put on the lovely little kimono.

He giggled, then looked over his shoulder at her before turning around and holding out his arms to let her see him in the kimono she had given him.

And she smiled that same smile that held nothing but adoration.

 

 

Perhaps, if he had kept his thoughts to himself, if hadn't said what he wanted to know, none of the hurt would have happened. But he was a child then, and as children are, he was curious and needed an answer to his question.

And who else would he turn to for answers than to his parents?

 

 

There was something about his father's older brother that he didn't understand. An aura around him that didn't greet others with warmth. A lining around him that silently warned those he did not want to see to stay at bay.

So he stayed close to his mother, standing behind her taller figure, seeking protection. But it seems that even his mother couldn't protect him from that unnerving feeling that came from his uncle.

--curse you, little brother. Curse you. He tugged on his mother's hand, frowning. His uncle had spoken, but he didn't move his mouth! How was that possible? --ch me. He blinked. It had been his mother's voice this time. He looked up at her to find her smiling down at him.

But some how, her smile seemed forced this time.

"Mother?" He'd asked when they were finally alone in his room. "Mother?"

--not yours. Don't call me that. She smiled again, this time it wasn't forced. But it seemed fake. "Yes?"

He frowned at that. "Why did Iwao-ojisan say those things to Father?"

He watched as she blinked, other thoughts from her head coming to a stop as she took in what he had said. Looking back down at him, she whispered softly. "What do you mean?"

"He cursed, Father. Iwao-ojisan cursed Father."

 

 

That, in reality, had been the last time he had truly been happy. Gone were the days where he could run into his mother's arms. Gone were the times where he could believe that when his mother smiled, she didn't secretly think about how much she hated him. Those days were gone, replaced by the new and horrible fact that his powers, his damned empathic powers, were starting to grow inside him. But he didn't know that then. He didn't know, and so he asked.

He asked why the maid boosted in her thoughts every time she saw his mother that she didn't know that it was her who stole her favorite jewelry. He went to his mother time and time again to ask why his uncle, his father's older brother, would always curse his father whenever he came to visit. But the question he asked her the most, the one thought that troubled and hurt him the most, was why did she always say--

 

 

Don't touch me. There it was. That same fake smile. Or maybe it was her old smile, the one he had thought was the womanly smile. Pursed lips, no whites of her teeth showing. "Yes?"

It hurt to ask. But what hurt more than the question he wanted answered was the fact that his mother, the one woman who his whole childhood revolved around, was growing more and more distant. She would no longer spend time with him. Oh yes, he could spend time with his father, but his father was busy. It wasn't as if his father never did spend time with him, because he did. His father loved him, he knew that. If his father didn't love him so much, then why had his father slapped his mother's face when she called him a demon?

"He is not my child! I will care for him no longer!"

"He is my child, which means he is yours as well! How dare you say such things about Hisoka!"

"He is no child! He is a demon!"

--nom! He must've gasped, for she inclined her head to one side and asked once again. "Yes?"

He wanted to cry. He wanted to wish it all away. He didn't like her thoughts. He didn't like the thoughts from his uncle, the curses his uncle would throw at his father who knew nothing of them. He didn't want to think, to think that this woman before him, that his mother, would... that she could...

"Do you hate me?"

 

 

He'd wish so many nights after that night that he had not asked her that question. He'd prayed to whatever God that existed, if there were any, to make the voices in his head stop. To give the loving mother back to him.

He wanted back that wonderful rose colored view of the world that so many children had.

--------------------------

"Why? Why is it now that it is about Hisoka? What are you doing to him? Haven't you done enough?!" He was shaking, he knew. His fists, which were hidden underneath the table on his lap, shook in his anger. How could someone be so cruel? How can a person find so much joy in hurting others? In causing pain? He would never know, nor did he want to. "Why?!"

Muraki had his hands clasp together on the table. His features ever calm and polite to the point of driving one to anger. Does nothing ruffle this man? Was he always so cool, calm and collected? Tsuzuki felt his eye twitch as he waited for Muraki to answer him. Then suddenly it hit him. The more time Muraki spent with him, the less he would have to spend on Hisoka. The less Hisoka would suffer. Anything but that. He couldn't take it if Hisoka was once again laid out for this man to cut, to bleed. He'd seen him cry in sorrow at the death of Tsubaki-hime; he did not long to see tears nor cries of pain coming from his young partner.

"What is it that you want from him?"

Muraki chuckled then, his eyes still closed. "He asked me the same question before he followed me."

A loud gasp from the darker haired man was heard. Pale lips moved to form a slight smirk. "Yes, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki muttered quietly, answering a question he knew Tsuzuki had spoken out in his mind. "The boy willingly followed me. I did not force him. I did not need to. His own curiosity drove him to follow me; to find the answer to his question."

He had heard it with his own ears, but he did not want to believe. Hisoka had willingly followed Muraki, knowing full well that that man could cause him harm. Hisoka, a mere boy compared to his age who had countless times before called him an idiot, a fool, had followed the man who had killed him. Raped him.

He suddenly wondered who the bigger fool was. Him, for sitting here and talking to the man he hated and loathed more than anything in both worlds and not trying to find his partner. Or his partner, his young, quick witted and smart partner who had willingly went along with a man he hated and loathed. A man who now held him captive.

There was nothing amusing in the words that slipped past Muraki's smiling lips.

"And as you know, Tsuzuki-san. Curiosity killed the cat."

--------------------------

Trust. It was his trust in his mother and his father that made him believe that they would never stop loving him. It was his trust, his need for them, that made the days after the night he had asked his mother if she hated him or not, bearable. Because his mother had loved him, perhaps even still does, doesn't she? His father, his dear father who he looked so much like, loved him. Not because he was his only heir, but because he was his son. Didn't they? They both loved him, how could they not?

He was their child. They were his parents. It is only natural that they would have unconditional love for him.

His chest heaved up suddenly as he almost laughed at his own stupidity. His eyes were heavy lidded as he looked down at the ground. Was he stupid for believing that his mother still loved him even after she had called him a demon?

 

 

"He's not my child, Nagare! I cannot love a child that is not mine!"

"I will not repeat myself to you."

"But I will. And I say that he is a demon! He is a hell spawn!"

--------------------------

"You said you wouldn't-"

"Aa, I did. And I mean it. I'm not causing him harm." Muraki butted in neatly.

"Then wha-!"

"I told you. I am showing him the truth."

"What do you mean the truth?! How could you know any truth to show him?!"

"Temper, temper, Tsuzuki-san. You wouldn't want to attract unwanted attention to yourself now." Muraki warned lightly, a smile on his lips.

He wanted to rip it off. To tear it slowly from that man's smug expression. He slowly relaxed himself. "Tell me." He demanded. "What do you mean?"

Muraki was silent for awhile, as if wondering if he should tell Tsuzuki or not. Quietly, he shifted himself in his chair, hands clasp before him on the table and raised his eyes till silver meant with violet.

"The truth, Tsuzuki-san." He repeated. "I'm letting him remember."

Tsuzuki blinked, completely confused. "Remember?"

The pale man stood up, picking up his coat and looked down at him, a silent warning to Tsuzuki in his eyes. A warning that told him not to follow, not to try to find out where Hisoka is unless he really wanted Muraki to kill him. Tsuzuki glared in return, and he smiled. Turning his back on Tsuzuki, he nodded.

"Aa." He began to walk away as he spoke. "I'm letting him remember when his trust was broken."

--------------------------

Hisoka closed his eyes.

He didn't want to remember it. He only wanted to remember the good times. But the good times were so short and few before his empathic powers began to grow.

He didn't like remembering the pain...

 

 

He looked up at her hopefully, his eyes crying out loud to her as he reached for her hand. Please don't turn away from me, Mother. I love you. I need you, Mother. Say it's alright. Say you didn't mean it. Make it all right again. Make it okay again, Mother. I'm not a demon child. Say it's all a joke. Tell me you lov--

A loud slap was heard in the quiet tea room.

He had fallen back on his back on the ground, eyes wide. The side of his face where his mother's hand connected with was burning in hot pain. His vision blurred, his eyes stung as did his flushed skin. His breathing picked up, faster and faster as he gaped up at his mother who, for the first time in his life, had slapped him. He felt hot water slipping pass his eyes and down his cheek as he made quick sobbing noises.

The look in his mother's eyes was that of resentment and utter hatred.

"I hate you," she said, almost hissing at him. "You ruined everything. -I hate you!- Ruined my life! You demon! -I hate you!- You evil child!" I hate you!

You don't mean it. Please, say you don't mean it. I love you. I love you. Please say it. Say you love me. Don't call me a demon. It hurts, Mother. Make it stop hurting. Crying quietly on the floor, he reached out a hand towards her. Hoping with all his heart that she didn't mean any of the things she had just said. Wishing against everything that yes, she still loved him. That she was going to get him a new kimono tomorrow so he could wear for his uncle's next visit.

Don't look at me! "Don't touch me! I never want you to touch me again!" His mother roughly pushed his small hand away as she stormed out of the room and closed the doors behind her.

He cried out loud then, screaming for her to come back. Weeping loudly for his mother to hold him.

But she never did. She never looked at him again.

 

 

His chest was shaking as he took quick short breaths. He had tightly closed his eyes against the painful memory. His hands above his head were fisted tightly and his short nails bit into his skin, causing him to bleed. He hiccupped, the noise sounding like a muffled sob in the empty room. He tasted blood, and suddenly realized that he had been biting down on his lips. The air around him was still cold despite the sunlight. It used to be warm, but it wasn't any longer.

The room was so cold. He didn't like the cold.

The light dimmed, letting the room he was in fall into complete darkness as the clouds blocked the sun's rays from coming in.

He didn't like the dark either.

The dark made him think about the room he was thrown into days after his mother left him. It made him remember the night his father lead him to his grave. The darkness didn't bring anything good in it. There was nothing but hate, despair, loneliness and betrayal in the darkness.

Betrayal.

That was what he felt. On both nights. The unbearable pain when his father was no where to be found. The confusion and hurt when his mother refuse to ever lay eyes on him again. Betrayal to his trust in them. His love. They were supposed to love him and yet they didn't. He felt himself becoming numb to everything around him. He felt himself no longer caring about anything. The only thing he heard now were the words his mother so harshly hissed at him.

I hate you.

He blinked slowly. He heard footsteps coming his way. There was a sudden spark of hope in him. Tsuzuki... It had to be him. Tsuzuki had found Muraki and had found out where Muraki was holding him. Who else could it be? Muraki was using him to get to Tsuzuki, that's the only reason why he bothered to capture him in the first place. Tsuzuki.

"Why?! It was me he was hurting and yet you acted as if it was you! Why?! I'm just! I'm... I..." demon.

"Because you're my partner."

It had to be Tsuzuki. Tsuzuki had helped him out countless times before. Before Tsuzuki, no one cared about him. Before he was a shinigami, no one came close. No one would look at him in the eye.

Before Tsuzuki there was only pain.

Pain and betrayal.

But now, now he had hope. Tsuzuki was his hope. He would never admit such a thing but it was true. In Tsuzuki, he had his hope. Hope that people do care for him. Hope that he would find someone who wouldn't leave him behind. Tsuzuki would never look down at him in hate and disgust. Tsuzuki would help him up, would offer his hand when he reached out for him.

But what was more important was that he trusted Tsuzuki. He believed in him.

Tsuzuki...

Muraki smiled as he came into the room, walking right up to where Hisoka hung and lifted his chin up with his index finger.

"And that, boy, is why you are broken."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: More talking, Tsuzuki still confused. Boring stuff written by a tired mind. Yadda yadda. Muraki being... Muraki. Bits of the Devil's Thrill Arc and the Kings of Swords Arc.

Song being played over and over obsessively while writing: Yami no Matsuei - Garasu no Kanbase 'Conversation of Glass' (the bgm playing at Tsubaki-hime's death.) Find it. Get it. Listen to it.

--------------------------

Fear and denial are closely associated with one another. The fear could be a fear of anything. In most cases, it is the fear of the truth. When a person truly believes in one idea, it is hard for them to accept another's.

When they are faced with another idea, they first refuse and deny it in every way. Glaring at the offending proof and spouting words of displeasure to remove the thing from their eyes.

If fear becomes too strong, the mind kicks in and builds up lies to cover the truth.

That is called denial.

Denial.

The fear of the truth.

--------------------------

The sun was setting; beautiful colors of red, orange and yellow filled the skies above as the sun made its way down to hide behind tall buildings and trees. There weren't many people before he'd gotten here and still there were very little now as it was time for the coffee shop to close. He hadn't touched the apple pie Muraki had ordered for him when he'd found him in place of Hisoka. The warm smell of the delicious treat was now lost, blown away by the wind that picked up as the night time came closer.

"Sir? Is there anything else you'd like to order?"

"You don't care about him."

Tsuzuki shook his head, eyes dull as he stared at the napkin in front of him. He didn't know how long he'd sat there in the same chair after Muraki had left. And quite frankly, he didn't really care. What he did care about, however, was what Muraki meant before he left. I care about Hisoka. Of course I do. He's my partner after all; it's my job to care about him. He frowned a bit as his thoughts sunk in. Job? No, I care about him and it's not because it's my job, it's because...

"...you are afraid to be alone."

No! He clenched his hands into tight fists, glaring at the same napkin as if it were Muraki he was looking at. It's not because of that! I care about him because I just do! I don't need a reason to! I care about him just like how I care about Tatsumi, Watari and the others! It's not because I'm afraid of being alone! It's not because I'm afraid of losing another partner!

Letting out a shuddery breath, Tsuzuki rested his elbows on the table as he leaned forward, closing his eyes. "No. You're wrong."

"We both use him for something."

--------------------------

Pulling his chin sharply away from the face of his tormentor, Hisoka threw a glare at him before looking away. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was hoarse, throat dry from the lost of saliva. He didn't clear his throat, however, not wanting the doctor to think that he was scared or nervous now that he was back.

Muraki only gave him a small amused smile before pulling his hand back and stuffing it into the pocket of his white slacks. "You've grown to trust him."

His lips were chapped. He tasted the blood that had dried on his bottom lip as he turned his gaze towards the window. It was almost like the same window in his old room. Of course he knew it couldn't be exactly the same, but his mind right now was telling him that it was that exact window. Only it didn't have any of the iron bars. He pictured it raining outside, maybe a thunderstorm. There would be bright flashes of light and a sudden loud bang following it. He'd be huddled in one corner of the room, arms around his knees as he hugged his legs to his chest. His eyes would be wide open, because it was dark and he didn't like closing his eyes when he was alone in the dark. He'd shudder and flinch as each bolt of energy struck the ground or tree. He'd learn to not run up and bang on the door, demanding that his parents or anyone to let him out because he was afraid of the storm.

He was cold. He was cold and alone in a dark room.

But he never really was alone. There'd be voices; thoughts in his head he knew weren't his own. There were many of them and he suspected that they were from the people in his household. He didn't like those thoughts either because they were always centered on him. Hated thoughts from people he thought he knew trusted and loved. He'd spend hours sitting in his corner and listening to those thoughts. And with each hurtful voice that passed through his mind, he'd learn far beyond his years that the world is a cruel and cold place.

He'd learn that just because a person smiled nicely at you, doesn't mean they cared.

"Tell me, boy." Muraki said, taking him out of his daze with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"I'm not going to tell you anything, Muraki."

Muraki smiled as he replied. "Hn, is that so?"

He ignored the man. He hated his smiles.

"Tell me. Do you think he'll come for you this time?"

--------------------------

He'd left the coffee shop quite awhile ago and now he was back in Meifu. He was currently walking down a street he'd been down countless times before. Only during those times, he was either smiling or talking with another person by his side. It seemed empty and cold, walking down the lighted street at night.

"...you use the boy to keep you company."

He sucked in a breath and clenched his fists together. That wasn't true. He'd never dream of using Hisoka, or anyone for that matter, for his own needs. He'd never do such a thing. Only people who didn't care for another's feelings would do such a thing. Only Muraki would. Liar.

"Am I really, Tsuzuki-san?"

Turning the corner, he hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground. He felt helpless. He wanted to find Hisoka and yet he couldn't. Muraki made it well known that he would do something to harm the boy if he'd followed him. What could he do? If he had followed the other man, he would've risked Hisoka getting hurt, probably more than he already was. He couldn't risk that.

He suddenly thought of the time back in Nagasaki, their first case together. He'd summon a messenger bird to find Hisoka. He could do that now, but he was sure Muraki was more careful this time around. He knew it. Someone like Muraki would never make the same mistake again.

He really was helpless. A sudden anger in not being able to do anything about the situation surged inside of him as he lashed out and slammed his fist against the cemented wall. Bastard... Muraki. Why... why are you doing this? His normally cheerful face was twisted up in anger as he stared at the trail of red coming from his fist.

He was suddenly transfixed with the dark red liquid pooling around his knuckles and dripping steadily to the ground. It was warm, nicely so. Pulling his hand away from the hard wall, he turned his palm over to look at the blood on his knuckles. His skin was torn on all four fingers and he could see the ugly pinkish flesh beneath the well of blood. Something flashed in the back of his mind and he gasped, violet eyes widening. He shook as he continued to stare at his hand. At the blood.

The blood that was no longer his own.

A lump formed at the base of his throat as the blood slide down his palm and soaked his cuff of his white button down shirt. The white fabric sagged as the red color spread through the cloth, dripping down his finger tips and falling to the ground.

Moving his frightened eyes from his hand and towards the ground, a cry escaped his mouth when he noticed a large pool of blood just beyond the tip of his shoes. Backing away from the offending red pool, he raised his eyes and couldn't help but cry in horror at what he saw. NO!

Hisoka's body sat right where he'd strike the wall. His left arm hacked almost all of the way off his body and his once beautiful green eye torn from its sockets.

"You are no better than I am."

--------------------------

Muraki was waiting for him to answer the question, he knew yet it wasn't as if he cared. The man could stand there and wait until the day he died and he still wouldn't answer him. It'd gotten darker, the clouds moving slowly to cover the bright moonlight and the room was cast in a thick black blanket. He shivered slightly, his skin growing goose bumps from the chilly air. His muscles were sore from being strained and he painfully shifted on his legs, wincing a bit. Swallowing, he struggled to keep his eyes open as fatigue sneaked in on him. He couldn't see where Muraki was standing anymore, and that knowledge didn't put him at ease. He should've kept an eye on the man, to watch his every move and prepare himself for whatever the sick doctor had in store for him.

Raising his head, he couldn't stop himself from gasping out loud as he was chest to chest with said doctor. Muraki only looked slightly amused by his reaction. No, he thought. Not amused. Pleased.

The white haired mad man raised his right hand and placed it on his chest. The action caused his ugly red curse marks to burn and he hissed. Muraki chuckled as he spoke in a calm voice. "Did you know that you are my best work yet?"

He didn't care. Closing his eyes at the burning sensation on his body, he turned his head to the side as Muraki continued touching his curse.

Muraki smiled, trailing a finger along the red marks up towards Hisoka's right arm. He fingered the dried blood, breaking the skin once again and causing fresh red liquid to flow. He smirked when he heard a soft gasp of pain from the shinigami pinned between him and the wall.

Easily unclenching Hisoka's fist, Muraki intertwined their fingers together, placing his left hand beside Hisoka's head as he leaned forward.

"I'll tell you a secret, boy." He whispered into Hisoka's ear, nipping the lobe slightly just to get a reaction from him.

Hisoka only squeezed his eyes tighter, ignoring him as best as he can.

He chuckled and licked Hisoka's neck before whispering lowly once again. "I fashioned you after me."

His eyes shot opened, seeing past the pale hand near his head. He saw himself with blood on his hands, blood still warm from a body he'd held against his own. He could feel the blood dripping down his arm, his fingers. The blood of his victim.

"... Tsubaki's blood... it won't come off..."

"So tell me, boy," Muraki continued, looking at his face with a smile but he barely paid him any attention. He was lost in his own thoughts. The thoughts that kept running over and over again in his mind the day he'd killed Tsubaki-hime.

I'm a copy. I'm Muraki's copy.

"Do you think Tsuzuki-san'll come and rescue a killer?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The first part of this fic, um, I guess I could call it the introduction or whatnot, is taken from another YnM fic of mines. So yes, I'm 'stealing' the idea from that fic in a way.

Muraki-sensei still talking (Muraki: The truth is out there. *X-Files theme plays*), Tsuzuki is in here somewhere, Hisoka is still hanging around and oh! Oriya and his beautiful long hair is here too! Um, only to get a small part in this chapter and then disappear in a swirl of sakura petals o/~ Oh wait, that's Seishirou.

Dreams are no different from nightmares.

Or perhaps they are. Dreams are pleasant, are they not? They're full of lovely green fields and yellow daises. Clear blue skies with lovely kites of every shape and size flying about. Dreams are wonderful. Dreams are wishes the heart makes. Dreams are longings from a lonely soul. Dreams makes your desires come true. While you sleep.

Nightmares are your fears and your doubts. They are not made of lovely blue skies and green fields. They're dark and gloomy. Filled with horrible sounds and unwanted creatures. Nightmares brings your worst fears to life. While you sleep.

What happens when the line between dreams and nightmares fades? What if the dream turns into a nightmare? Would it still be called a dream, or would it now be called a nightmare?

Dreams leaves you wanting and longing for it to come back. Nightmares leave you wishing you'd never had it in the first place.

Both leave you feeling empty and lost.

"Do you think Tsuzuki-san'll come and rescue a killer?"

"With Muraki's gun..."

"Your hands are covered in blood."

"... it won't come off..."

"Just like mine."

"Like Muraki... happily killing..."

He closed his eyes painfully. He was a killer, as Muraki had said. A copy of the one man he hated more than anything in both worlds. Would Tsuzuki come and save someone so much like Muraki? His chest felt heavy for some odd reason as he refused to even let his mind answer the question.

Demon. Hell spawn. Killer. Shinigami.

It was funny that no matter how much he hated and tried to avoid the darkness, he was also known as something that belonged to it.

Letting out a muffled moan, he closed his eyes and covered his ears from the disgusting sound of blood dripping loudly from Hisoka's mangled body.

Not real. Not real.

He gasped out loud when something took hold of his leg and his eyes shot open. Oh my G-

"Tsu... zu... ki..." 'Hisoka' had moved from his place against the wall and was now on the ground before him. His left arm being dragged disgustingly behind him as he held onto Tsuzuki's leg with his right. 'Hisoka' pulled on the cloth of his pants harder, trying to pull himself up as he looked up at Tsuzuki with his one good eye. "Tsu... ki..."

He wanted to shake the boy's grip off. Covering his mouth again as the smell of blood reached his nose, a muffled sob escaped his throat as he finally pushed his partner's grip from his pants.

'Hisoka', losing his balance, fell to the ground in a sickening loud crunch. Tsuzuki took a step back, his breathing became faster and harder as he felt a wetness on his leg where 'Hisoka' had grabbed him. Not real. No...

'Hisoka' slowly raised himself up on one arm and stared up at him, his left eye socket flowing over with blood that trailed down his face like tears. His one good eye rolled back into his head, leaving the boy staring at him with the disgusting whiteness of the eyeball.

'Hisoka' slurped as he spoke brokenly. "Tsuzu... ki. Why?"

We trusted you. Why?

He choked, a sob forming at the base of his throat as he continued to gaze at his partner's body. He shook his head as his eyes filled with tears. "I..."

Why? How could you? Asato...

'Hisoka' tried to crawl closer with his own good arm, leaving a trail of blood on his way. He stopped and looked up at Tsuzuki again, tears streaming down his face as well as blood. "Why?" He gurgled, choking as blood surged up his throat and out of his mouth.

--trusted you. How could you? How could you? HOW COULD YOU?!

He choked, tears clogging his throat, as he stared down at 'Hisoka'. "I-I... Hisoka..."

"Tsuzukii..." 'Hisoka' choked out as he raised himself up on his one arm. His partner's face suddenly twisted itself into an ugly snarl.

"HOW COULD YOU?!"

In the pool of blood behind 'Hisoka', a large hand formed and rose over and above his partner's head as it reached out for him. He gasped in fear as he stumbled back, thousands of voices slamming into him as he whimpered in his defense.

howcouldyoutrustedyouAsatobetrayedushowcouldyouhowcouldyouAsato!

He screamed, and did the only thing he knew he could do at that moment. He ran.

When he opened his eyes again, he noticed that Muraki was no where to be seen. He found that he didn't really care if Muraki was there or not anymore. He didn't care if Muraki was off killing another person while he was held captive. Didn't care that his wrists were still bleeding from the newly broken wound. Didn't expect to see Tsuzuki charging to his rescue. He smirked ruefully. Charging to his rescue. If he were anyone else but himself, he was sure he'd be laughing insanely right now by the thought. Hanging his head, he mused that he was probably nothing but a burden for his partner. He had no where near the skills Tsuzuki had, he couldn't summon a shikigami or properly use a ofuda.

He was nothing but a pest.

Demon. Hell spawn. Killer. Shinigami. Pest.

"Do you think he'll come for you this time?"

He hadn't expected the knowledge of knowing Tsuzuki wasn't coming for him to hurt as much as it did. Perhaps Muraki was right after all. He'd grown to trust in Tsuzuki far too much. Expecting the older man to actually care for someone like him when no one before him had even bothered. He was so foolish to actually hoped, believed, that Tsuzuki was different from the people he knew when he was still alive.

"Because you're my partner."

And that's all that he was, wasn't he? Just a partner, not a friend of Tsuzuki. He didn't smile and laugh with Tsuzuki like Watari. He wasn't a former partner who still worried over him like Tatsumi did. He wasn't his boss who loved sweets as much as he did like Kachou. He was just a boy who was unlucky enough to be killed when the moon was beautifully red and was curse to forever be bonded with a man who wanted nothing more than to have control over Tsuzuki's body. A boy who was a tool, a link, for Muraki to find Tsuzuki whenever he pleased.

The back of his eyes stung as he realize what he truly was. "I'm just a puppet."

"Do you honestly think that, Hisoka?"

He gasped out loud as he raised his head, eyes wide. "Tsuzuki."

He straighten back up and stared at the moth as it made its way across the dirt.

A moth, how fitting. Sometimes he wondered which one of them was the moth and which the flame.

 

 

Oriya sighed, running his hand through his hair as he gazed at the person before him. "Do you realize what time it is?"

Muraki chuckled. "I thought you would be pleased that I've come to visit, Oriya."

"Hmph. Visit, or to tell me of your most recent plans? Sometimes I think that's all you think about, Muraki." He lowered his voice, looking into his tea as the moon shone into the room.

Muraki smiled from behind his cup. "Your tea really is exceptional, Oriya."

He snorted, repressing a yawn. "What are you doing here, Muraki?"

Placing his cup down, Muraki gazed out room and at the moon. "I'm not here to tell you my plans." He smiled, and looked at his long haired companion from the corner of his eyes.

Crossing his arms, Oriya looked back. Not before repressing a shiver running down his spine. No matter how long he'd known Muraki, his knowing gaze would always have that effect on him. It was as if the man could see through him. "So I have the honor of having you visiting me in the middle of the night for no reason whatsoever?"

The doctor chuckled. "Not without a reason."

He knew it. Muraki was always planning something in his head. "What is it then?"

The smile was all too pleasant as Muraki answered him. "I'm on my way to fix my puppet."

"Tsuzuki."

His partner was gasping for breath, as if he'd run all the way here to where Muraki held him captive. Despite his grogginess, he kept his eyes open as Tsuzuki quickly made his way to where he was chained. Tsuzuki... you came. You came after all. I... I knew you would. He kept his gaze on Tsuzuki's face, afraid that if he looked away for just a moment, the older shinigami would disappear and it would all have been a dream. He probably looked giddy to Tsuzuki who had reached up above his head to try and unlock the chains around his bleeding wrists.

That's when he saw the sudden change in expression on his partner's face. Tsuzuki's eyes became slightly glazed over as he stared at the blood sliding down Hisoka's pale wrists. His lips parted slightly as he watched a red drop make it's way slowly down the arm and disappear beneath Hisoka's ever present blue jean jacket. He licked his lips as Hisoka's fingers flexed before his eyes, causing the veins to show up more.

"Tsu," He cleared his throat. "Tsuzuki?"

He couldn't help but stared wide eyed at Tsuzuki when the man finally looked down at him. The expression on his face, he'd seen it before.

Tsuzuki smiled, lifting his hand up and brushing it against Hisoka's cheek. He pressed the flesh down slightly so that Hisoka's lower left eyelid was pulled away to let the air move against his eyeball. "Hisoka..."

"Hijiri..."

His brows drew together as his lower lip trembled. No, his mind whimpered. No.

"... Your soft white skin is well matched with blood's red..."

"... you're so lovely covered in blood."

He leaned his head back as the wind blew across his face, letting his thoughts drift back to that day Muraki had paid him a visit...

 

 

"Puppet?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. He then glared, crossing his arms. "Is that what you call your victims now?"

Muraki only smiled.

"Stop this, Muraki." Oriya pleaded with the doctor. "Stop it all now, stop this... this... all these senseless killings! You can't keep doing this!"

"You know I can't." Was the soft reply as Muraki gazed into his tea. "You know I can't stop this. We're all puppets, Oriya. Each and every one of us." He stopped, the look in his eyes becoming distant as if he were remembering a time in his life where he'd heard the same thing spoken to him. A moment passed before he finally looked up and smiled once again.

"The only difference is that I am a puppet that controls another."

 

 

Puppet.

Letting his head fall forward, his hair falling into his face, Oriya mused quietly to himself as he looked at the dirt beneath his feet. Is that what you see all humans as, Muraki?

"Puppets in the doll house known as Life..."

He struggled, turning his face sharply to the side so that Tsuzuki's hand was no longer touching his skin. No. Not Tsuzuki. He clenched his eyes shut, willing the person before him to disappear and never come back. This wasn't Tsuzuki. Wasn't the cheerful man who loved sweets and could summon up a waterfall from his eyes in a matter of seconds. This person wasn't his partner who would beg Hakushaku to let a soul finish it's business in the world of the living before moving on and letting go. Wasn't him, couldn't be him.

Never because Tsuzuki would never do this to him again. Tsuzuki would never press up against him like this because it wasn't him. It wasn't Tsuzuki who'd sliced his arm halfway off his body. Wasn't Tsuzuki who tore his eye from it's sockets then lick his blood from his fingertips. It wasn't Tsuzuki because it wasn't and yet it was him because it was.

"Hisoka..." Tsuzuki murmured as he brushed the boy's blonde hair from his face. "It's not fair."

He flinched, biting down on his lower lip as he willed the horrible nightmare that was before him to leave him alone. It was too much for him. To see Tsuzuki and yet know it wasn't, couldn't, be him that was actually there. Tsuzuki wouldn't be touching him like this. Tsuzuki wouldn't lick the wound on his wrist nor would he say...

"It's not fair. I want to make you my puppet too."

No. He was in a nightmare, he was positive.

None of this could really be happening. He would wake up screaming any minute and everything that had happened, wouldn't be real. None of this could be real. Wasn't possible. He wasn't stupid enough to follow someone like Muraki, was he? He'd know better than that. None of this is happening, he'd probably fallen asleep waiting for Tsuzuki to come. This wasn't Tsuzuki, this wasn't real. He won't let it be real. Because if he did he knew he'd start crying any minute and he didn't like that. He didn't like to cry. Didn't like the cold air touching his skin as his shirt was pulled away from his chest. Didn't like the darkness even when he had his eyes closed. He didn't want to feel the tongue trailing up his torso or sudden shock when a knife sliced up his chest.

He didn't like it either when he screamed in pain.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't like this chapter. RWAR. Right, no Muraki, Tatsumi (yay~ o/~ Tatsumi... damn you for being so hard to write)makes the scene and we still have Tsuzuki and Hisoka being angsty.

... Wait, did I say no Muraki in this chapter? I was kidding, he's at the end.

Pain \pan\ n. 1: usually localized physical suffering associated with bodily disorder (as a disease or an injury); also : a basic bodily sensation induced by a noxious stimulus, received by naked nerve endings, characterized by physical discomfort (as pricking, throbbing, or aching), and typically leading to evasive action b : acute mental or emotional distress or suffering : GRIEF

Groaning, he felt his knees buckle below him. He hissed as the cuts on his wrists once again met with the hard metal of the chains. His body shook with the force of his cough as blood made its way up his throat. Shaking his head, he gasped for air. This couldn't be happening. It can't, he wanted to cry it out loud but he stopped himself. ... no.

The blade was slender, reflecting the moonlight as it slowly sliced down his chest again, crisscrossing other cuts along the way. Tears made their way down his flushed cheeks as he cried in pain. The look on Tsuzuki's face was one of intense concentration, his hand holding the knife steady as he readied it once again for another cut. Pressing the tip of the blade into the soft pale skin, he watched in fascination as blood instantly welled up and slid down the slender torso. The boy whimpered and struggled as he pulled the knife away from his skin, looking at the blood on the sharp blade. Bringing the tip of the knife into his mouth, Tsuzuki licked at the blood as if it were the juices of a fruit.

Hisoka choked and closed his eyes as he saw that, not wanting to see Tsuzuki actually enjoying the indescribable pain that was causing him.

A silky smooth voice made a shiver run down his spine.

"Hisoka, does it hurt?" Tsuzuki let the knife fall from his hand as he caressed his partners' cheek. "Does it hurt, Hisoka?"

He flinched away, trying to cover his face from hands that he once thought would never be the cause of any pain. Tsuzuki chuckled and licked his lips. "Hisoka...? Did you know?"

He had his eyes shut, trying to block away all the unwanted feelings inside of him. He wouldn't let himself believe it was Tsuzuki who was actually hurting him. Because Tsuzuki would never do such a thing, would he?

Tsuzuki held Hisoka's chin gently in his hand as he leaned down to nibble along his partner's jaw line.

"Did you know that I enjoyed hurting you back then?"

There was a time where he could hide from the unwanted attention he received from the children and adults. He could turn tail and call out a name and that person would wrap loving arms around him and everything would be okay again. He held back a sob, wishing that that person was once again alive. He could still hear them, those thousands of voices chasing after him as he ran like a coward. Voices cursing him, accusing him, asking him why.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

He'd heard that once, while walking by a playground with Hisoka. It had made him stop and stare at the child who had said it. The child was sitting alone on a bench, nursing a wound on his knee as he struggled not to cry as a few children snickered at him. He kept repeating the same thing over and over again as if he was trying to convince himself that, yes, words could never hurt him.

He couldn't be like that boy. He couldn't hold back his tears and say those words and believe that it was true. Everything he heard tore at his soul. He was the reason why the old man's son's rabbit had died. It was his fault that the crops didn't provide enough food for the people. It was because of him that his beloved sister couldn't live the way she wanted to, without having to worry over her little brother that would always come home crying. His fault that he was ever born.

"How could you?!"

He held back a sob as he covered his ears, tears falling from his face as he continued to run. "I'm sorry..."

"You're not Tsuzuki." His voice didn't sound like his own even to his ears. "You're not..."

'Tsuzuki' frowned and looked at him. The picture would've convinced him that it was indeed his partner before him, but the blood stains, his blood stains, on the clothing ruined any chance of that. "But I am Tsuzuki. Can't you tell, Hisoka?"

He shook his head slowly, swallowing. "No..." He was staring in a daze at the ground that was littered with his drops of blood. Struggling to keep his eyelids open, he winced as a cut on his chest was opened up more as he moved. This was a nightmare, he was sure of it. But nightmares would never let you actually feel pain, did they? No, nightmares end the split second you almost hit the ground. So why wasn't he waking up from this nightmare? He wanted it to end, he wanted it to stop hurting.

'Tsuzuki' then smiled at him. A pleasant smile. "I am, you only think that because you don't know me well enough. You do want to know me better, don't you, Hisoka?"

He refused to answer the person before him because 'Tsuzuki' wasn't real. 'Tsuzuki' wasn't here because he wouldn't come.

'Tsuzuki' kept smiling at him, leaning down and picking up the knife again. "I want to get to know you better, Hisoka. Will you let me?"

He raised his head and stared at his partner as 'Tsuzuki' raised the blade over him.

"Will you let me, Hisoka?"

Perhaps it was pure instinct that brought him here. Whatever the reason was, he didn't care. He only wanted to find a safe place to where he could hide from all the voices. He practically threw himself against the door, pounding his fists against the hard wood with all his might. His hands were still covered in blood, leaving streaks of red all over the dark brown of the door. Please, please, be there. I.. I can't...

He leaned his forehead against the door, holding back his sobs as tears continued to trail down his face. The voices, the faces, the countless people he'd come across and had things done unto them that were all because of him. He saw them. He saw them all. The little boy and his rabbit. The angry townspeople and their rocks and sticks. His own beloved sister's face. But the one that made him choke, the one that caused him to cry and snap his eyes wide open was the blooded face of his young partner.

"You will kill all the ones you love with your own hands!!!"

The butcher knife coming down over and over again, hacking away at that slender body. Blood, so much blood. Blood on the carpet, blood on the curtains. Blood on his hands. His own partner's blood.

His hands. The blood. So much blood. He couldn't wash it off. He'd never be able to wash it all off. His fists pounded against the door, and in his minds eyes he saw himself holding the butcher knife once again. Hacking Hisoka's body in half. Hisoka who was disguised as Hijiri.

"You won't. You won't become like Muraki."

A low groan of misery made its way out of his throat, his fists pounding, his mind screaming in grief. Hisoka could never be like Muraki, would never be. His young partner's hands weren't soaked with blood. His own were. I'm... I'm just like Muraki.

"You are no better than I am."

The door finally opened, but he didn't lean back fast enough, and soon found himself falling forward. Tatsumi's blue eyes widened in surprised as he caught Tsuzuki's form in his arms as the brown haired man continued to weep.

"Tsuzuki-san!"

The room was silent. The ticking of the silver clock on the wall was the only thing causing any noise. The sofa was extremely comfortable but then again, it didn't really matter if it was or wasn't. What did matter, at the moment, was the other form sitting across from him. Hair falling forward, covering the strong face in shadows as red stained hands gripped the tea cup as if it were the only real thing at the moment. He leaned his head to the right and mused quietly to himself that it probably was true. The tea cup, the clock, the wine bottles, the table and the sofa. They were all true to their form. Not like himself and the person before him. They weren't really real. They were already dead, no longer part of the cycle of life.

Yet there they were. Sitting across from each other as if they were actually human beings. Sometimes things can seem pretty funny at the wrong moment.

Tatsumi cleared his throat softly, sitting back up as he tried to make eye contact with the other shinigami. Willing the brown mop of head to look up. "Tsuzuki-san." His voice was soft, gentle. He'd learned to be gentle with his former partner whenever Tsuzuki was in this state. He'd learned never to use harsh words against the other man when his eyes were haunted. But then again, it wasn't as if he enjoyed using harsh words or scolding Tsuzuki. He only did so because he hated seeing that look in those violet orbs.

Pain and suffering should never look back at him in those eyes. Only joy. Only happiness. Because Tsuzuki reminded him so much of another person that it drove a steak through his soul to see the beginning of tears to fall from his eyes. He'd promise himself that he'd protect that other person and he had failed. He'd made the same promise to Tsuzuki and he'd be damned if he didn't protect him from whatever was making him look so haunted, lost.

"Tsuzuki-san," he said softly again.

Blood stained hands twitched, rotating the cup as a cracked voice muttered quietly. "He was there..."

He willed those eyes to look up at him. "Who?"

A sniff, he saw Tsuzuki's shadowed face twist up in pain. "He... Muraki. He... He was there. He was there and Hisoka wasn't. I-"

Tatsumi's eyes narrowed slightly, as he adjusted his glasses. Muraki... He'd heard of that name, that man before, from the Nagasaki case and the incident with the Queen Camellia. That Muraki was the same person who had brought the young shinigami, Hisoka, to Meifu. His eyes narrowed more. He was never one to bother with any one's business, but in this case, it involved his co-workers. Not only that but it involved Tsuzuki. He would have to see Muraki in person one day but for now, he turned his attention back to Tsuzuki.

"Tsuzuki-san...?"

"A-chan? What's wrong?"

Tsuzuki finally looked up at him, his purple eyes full of tears. He found himself at a lost for words. Those eyes, those eyes that were usually so happy and full of laughter were no longer filled with that light. He couldn't muster the will to ask the question he knew would cause Tsuzuki to shed even more tears.

There was a loud thud as the cup in Tsuzuki's hand fell to the ground, it's contents spilling all over Tatsumi's carpet, but at the moment he didn't care. He was too busy staring at Tsuzuki as he buried his face into his hands and cried. He stood up and moved over towards Tsuzuki, kneeling down before him, his hands gripping Tsuzuki's wrists as he gently pulled them from his face.

Violet eyes were tightly shut as a sob shook Tsuzuki's shoulders. "---wasn't there. I... I shouldn't have bought... Now he's gone and it's my fault. Muraki could be killing him and I... I can't..."

"Don't say that." Tatsumi muttered softly, letting go of one of Tsuzuki's wrist to wipe away his tears with his thumb. "Never say it's your fault."

"But---"

Tatsumi shook his head, still wiping the tears that wouldn't stop. You cried. After every mission we've ever had in those three months, you cried. You died each time we finished a mission. Whenever I looked into your eyes, I could see you blaming yourself. I couldn't stand seeing that. "Don't." His voice was nothing but a soft whisper now, one hand still holding Tsuzuki's wrist as the other now touched his tear streaked cheek. "Don't say it. Don't cry."

Tsuzuki gazed down at him, his eyes tired and red, brows drawn together as he let out a shaky breath.

"Don't cry, A-chan. It's alright. Everything will be alright. Promise."

He fell to his knees in front of Tatsumi as he threw his arms around the older man, burying his face into his chest as if he wanted to hide from everything. He wanted everything to be alright. He wanted it to be alright so badly. Arms slowly wrapped around him in a comforting embrace as a hand rubbed his back soothingly, just the way she used to.

Tatsumi's voice was still gentle as he spoke again. "Everything will be alright."

He bit his lower lip. He wished he could really believe that was true.

He realized that a person really couldn't keep on screaming. His throat was terribly sore and dry, his lips were chapped and probably even bleeding. All he could muster at this point were pathetic whimpers and moans of pain. His chest raised and lowered with his every labored breath, the cuts on his front burning. Blinking, he found that he still had tears falling down his face. Funny, he thought he'd run out of tears and now he'd just proven himself wrong. He hated crying. It showed weakness. It showed emotions. Hadn't he learned long ago never to show any emotions? Whether it be joy, happiness or pain and suffering. Pain and suffering. He was experiencing that right now, wasn't he? Only it was intensified by the fact that his pain was caused by the last person he thought would ever willingly hurt him. But it's not... I know it's not. It can't. I won't let it be.

Nightmares and dreams. They were both the same to him. His dreams were always of something he could never have. His nightmares were the same thing. And the one thing he wanted the most, the one thing he secretly yearned for was for someone to actually care about him. To just care. It was as simple as that. To care and to not curse him for being who he was. But the world was a cruel and lonely place. People are never what they put out for others to see. Every one wore masks. He'd learn to do the same. To let someone get close too him was something he didn't want to risk. Didn't want to experience because in the end, he'd always get hurt. The two people who were the most important beings in his life showed no compassion for him. So then why would anyone else be any different?

Muraki was right. He had grown to believe in Tsuzuki far too much. Believed, trusted, that Tsuzuki could actually care or worry over a person like him. A single tear slipped from his eyes and with it, all his emotions ran down his cheek. He had hoped, longed and wished, that Tsuzuki was different. He had wanted to believe that Tsuzuki actually did care about him. Was it so foolish of him to still have that small hope within himself that there was some person out there who wouldn't hate him? Was he so stupid as to dream that he would no longer have to hide behind his glares; that he would no longer have to stand alone? He was.

Another tear slipped down his face as he realized another thing. Nightmares don't end until you finally face your fears. They don't end until you stop running and turn around to face the monster chasing you right in the eye. The 'Tsuzuki' in front of him wasn't real because...

He shook his head fiercely, only to throw it back and cry out in pain as another cut was made on his arm. 'Tsuzuki' lowered the blade, and touched his cheek tenderly.

"I'm sorry, Hisoka. I'm almost done. Just a bit more..."

He refocused his eyes and looked at the person before him. It was Tsuzuki and yet, and yet it wasn't because... "You're not Tsuzuki..."

'Tsuzuki' sighed, then smiled a bit at him. "Why do you say that?"

He never knew that admitting to something would hurt so much. Hisoka swallowed, not wanting to say what he knew was true to end the nightmare and yet not wanting to believe it.

"Because... because Tsuzuki, " Another tear slipped, his vision blurring. He really hated crying. "Tsuzu... Tsuzuki would never.. Tsuzuki isn't." He closed his eyes, not wanting to look into those fake violets.

"Do you think Tsuzuki-san'll come and rescue a killer?"

"No."

Muraki's pleased chuckle was the only thing he truly expected to hear.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out, Kingdom Hearts has taken over my brain (Cloud! Sephiroth! Rikuu! EEE) Not to mention Fruits Basket. Momi- *cough* Right. Really don't like this chapter much, but it works. Filled with the usual stuffing. Also, this chapter starts out early in the morning, like around 5 AM and flows into the day as it goes on. ^^; I hope it's not confusing.

Tatsumi talks about food, Tsuzuki ponders about cookies and Hisoka falls into a much needed sleep. Muraki gets touchy feely.

[1] = Book #1, Two on Opposites of the River. Kimura Masaki (Asuka), Tsuzuki's other partner in the manga, before Hisoka of course. He is around 17 and kind of looks like Hisoka. More friendly too until Tsuzuki tried to do away with his cousin. ^^;
[2] = Book #6 Okinawa Arc (Neko punch and, in Tsuzuki's case, Neko Kick too... hey! Hisoka hits girls! Well, he looks like one any ways, so I guess that doesn't matter much.). Tsuzuki basically freaks the poor boy out when he says, 'Ore Hisoka no koto sukidashiii!!' ^_^v
[3] = Book #2, Last Waltz. Hisae, a girl whose brother passed away (He also kind of looks like Tsuzuki) and who Tsuzuki seemed to have fallen in love with, kept her will to live because she wanted to fulfill her brother's wish/dream.
[4] = Muraki said this in Chapter 4.

Want and need is the same thing. When a person wants something, they would do anything to get it or to have it done with. People have a vast list of needs and wants. Some need love and affection. Some want food and shelter. Sometimes people would have the urge to want, to have, something very simple.

A warm blanket during the winter. A cup of water on a hot summer's day. Something that is easily acquired.

Sometimes the object being desired doesn't have a physical form at all. During a tiring day of work or school, it wouldn't be uncommon to hear someone mutter to themselves...

"I just want it over with already."

Having calmed down the crying man, Tatsumi was seated back in his chair, legs crossed and hands clasped on his lap. Tsuzuki was back on the couch with a soft blanket draped over him. His eyes were closed as he took slow long gasps of air. Tatsumi wasn't looking at Tsuzuki, however. He was paying attention to the small rack of wine bottles he kept on the kitchen counter. Without taking his eyes off of the bottles of wine, he pushed his glasses up and asked his former partner a simple question.

"Do you know why Kachou picked Kurosaki-kun as your partner, Tsuzuki-san?"

Violet eyes opened slightly, gazing at the carpet underneath his black socks. "... I needed a partner and no one else wanted to be it."

Tatsumi shook his head slowly, then spoke up again. "Do you know why he picked you as Kurosaki-kun's partner?"

Tsuzuki frowned slightly, raising his head a bit to look over at Tatsumi. "Because he needed a seasoned shinigami to train him?"

Once again, Tatsumi shook his head. "The process of selecting a partner for any shinigami isn't a point and show deal, Tsuzuki-san. Both shinigami have to be compatible to each other in order for them to be a good pair. If it were a first come first serve basis, none of the cases in Meifu would be solved." Tatsumi shook his head, turning to look at Tsuzuki before going on. "Picking out a partner for a shinigami is a long and slow process." He smiled. "Why do you think it took us so long to find you a compatible partner?"

"But... what about Masaki?" [1]

Tatsumi took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Kimura-kun was only a temporary partner until we could find someone who could work well with you. Much like all your other partners before him." Kurosaki-kun can do the one thing we, your former partners, can't, Tsuzuki-san.

Tsuzuki turned away, shoulders hunched up as he muttered under his breath. "... what does this have to do with anything? It doesn't make the fact that I should've been there for him and wasn't any less painful. I... I failed him."

"What do people usually eat with red wine?"

Tsuzuki blinked, forced out of his depression by the sudden question. "What?"

Tatsumi smiled gently at him. "What do people usually eat with red wine?" He repeated. He can do the one thing I can't.

Utterly confused as to why the blue eyed man was asking him about red wine, Tsuzuki answered him. "Red meat or pasta..."

"Right. The heavy taste of the red wine compliments the equally heavy flavored taste of meat. They complete each other. If you have one without the other, you are missing an important part of it. You are only having red meat that tastes like any other meat unless you drink a sip of red wine with it. With the red wine, the tastes explode within your mouth. The flavor of the grape in the wine and the beefy taste of the meat melt together."

"I..."

Tatsumi smiled once again. "Why do you drink milk with cookies?"

A slight pause. "It goes down easier and... it tastes better."

"My happiness is Tatsumi's happiness. Was it all a lie?"

He nodded, his eyes gentle as he gazed into Tsuzuki's violet ones. Your happiness is my happiness. Your pain is my pain. But, I am a coward. I can't stand to see your pain, so I turn away. I left you because I couldn't stop the hurt in your eyes. "Yes. Think of it like that, Tsuzuki-san. Cookies and milk."

Tsuzuki looked away, a frown on his face as he tried to understand what Tatsumi was trying to tell him. Tatsumi placed his glasses back on, the lights above caused a glare to cover his blue eyes as he watched Tsuzuki run his words over and over again in his head. Even after all these years, there was something within Tsuzuki that he could not reach through. No matter how many times he had reassured his co-worker, no matter how many times he had soothe tears from those eyes, Tsuzuki never truly believed his words.

That was because even when he tried his hardest, he could only barely touch what went on inside Tsuzuki's head. However, the boy, Kurosaki Hisoka, and his power, he could...

Kurosaki-kun could see right through you. He could understand you where I, we, can't.

His chuckle seemed to bounce off the walls of the cold room.

The deep sound was the only thing Hisoka could hear. He couldn't see where Muraki was standing because once again the clouds had blocked out the moon's light, leaving the room in complete darkness. Everything bad that has ever happened to him occurred in the dark. In the dark he couldn't do anything. His eyes can't pick up any sudden movements from anything in the dark. All he could do was hear, listen to the strange sounds the night, the dark, caused. It made him feel uneasy. It reminded him of that night.

Bad things always occur in the dark.

The night when he visited his own grave. The night he finally met his death. He hated, feared, the dark.

"What's wrong, Hisoka?"

The 'Tsuzuki' that wasn't real was gone; the only thing left of him to remind Hisoka that his scars were real was the knife on the ground. His eyes were heavy lidded as he gazed at the blood covered blade. As the clouds slowly cleared, he could see the soft glow of the dawn being reflected off of it's surface. It was funny how life would always go on even when he was in pain. No one beyond these walls knew what was happening within them.

People are so blissfully ignorant of their surroundings.

A shuddery breath passed his chapped lips as he winced in slight pain from one of his many cuts. The bleeding had long stopped; scabs forming to block the blood flow were scattered about on his pale chest. His hands were cold, the shaking causing the shackles to occasionally hit against the wall. Closing his eyes, he swallowed thickly, letting out a soft moan of pain as his saliva made it's way down his dry throat.

* My puppet...

There was a sudden movement in front of him and he tried to raise his head. He was out of strength, however. His screams and struggling finally taking it's toll on him as he let his head fall limply back down, his chin touching his chest. His sight was blurred from fatigue, but he could still make out the white tip of a shoe as it reached his line of vision. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open as darkness began to seep into his mind.

He dimly saw, then felt, a hand reaching out to take hold of his face. Long slim fingers caressing his cheek, neck, mouth and eyelids. Slender hands that now held him captive. Pale hands, not slightly tanned ones...

"Hold it."

* Come boy...

It always hurt so much when he touched his skin. As if he was slowly being burned from the inside out. He wanted to turn his face away, so those hands wouldn't be touching him anymore. He couldn't. His eyes finally closed, and try as he might, he couldn't make them open again.

I can't see. Don't know what's in front of me... Becoming uneasy, unsure... Afraid.

His chin was lifted up, two hands were now touching him. One trailing down his neck as the other supported his head. He felt lifeless, weak and vulnerable to these strong hands. A part of him wanted to scream or struggle, anything to get away from them. Another part just wanted to give up. To just let those slender fingers do what they wanted to him. He was in the dark, the one place he was most afraid of. The one place where he couldn't do anything. He couldn't do anything but wait and let whatever creature lived in the dark take control of his body.

* Into my hand...

He couldn't fight back. You can't fight what you can't see.

"I can see in the dark."

"Do you still believe...?" A deep voice muttered against his cheek. A shiver of fear and helplessness ran down his body.

Believe. He didn't know what he believed anymore. He had lost his will to believe in anything. There was nothing to believe in. Nothing...

"I'll ask you once again, boy."

Questions... He had so many questions that were still left unanswered.

Like why? Why did his mother stopped loving him? Why did she stop looking at him with affectionate eyes? Why did his father show him that grave? His grave? Why did he say he was dead?

Why... why?

And how? How could they? How could they lock him away? How could they ignore his cries for help? How could they stop caring about him?

How could they... how could they...?

"What do you want?"

Want. He wanted so many things. Wanted someone to care. Wanted someone to love him. Wanted help. Wanted protection. Wanted to stop crying. Wanting it all to stop hurting. Wanting the lies to go away. Wanting to be left alone. Wanting him to stop pushing. Wanting him to just go go go go away. Wanting him to stop pretending like he cared. Wanting to stop thinking that he did.

Wanting him to just... He wanted...

Later that day...

Tsuzuki frowned as he tried to understand what Tatsumi had been trying to tell him earlier in the morning.

Cookies and milk...

The cookie, whether it be his favorite chocolate chip or the tasty cookies 'n cream, can be too sweet when eaten by itself. The milk, kept in the fridge without any other use for he was never one to drink anything healthy, tasted cold and unflavored when tried alone. However, when you put the two together, they taste wonderful. The clean cool feeling of the milk washing down the chunks of chewed up sweets was heaven. What was even better than that was to dunk the cookies into the milk, to let the sweet soak up the cold liquid before tossing it into ones mouth. Was that how it's like? Partners? A shinigami working alone can't accomplish what two can do together. Once more, if a pair of shinigami can work compatibly together, they can finish things ahead of time. Two heads are better than one, and two heads that can mesh together are even better than that.

Were they like that? Were they like the cookies and the milk? Sure, there were plenty of times were he slacked off and Hisoka would call him an idiot for not working, but that only happened when there weren't any real cases. It wasn't as if Hisoka himself was a hard worker. With nothing to do, the younger shinigami would be found hiding away in the library, trying to finish the latest book he'd borrowed. Once they were together though, once they actually worked on a case, they focused all of their attention on it.

Hisoka was always there to scold him for trying to do something neither of them could control. Hisoka reminded him to be serious, to not let himself get carried away with the case. To not get emotionally attached.

"... when the time comes when you can't protect him, who is the one that is going to feel pain? Kindness can also be a fruitless thing."

He, on the other hand, reminded Hisoka to lighten up. That the day shouldn't be spent scowling and glaring at everything in sight. That not all people were out to hurt him. That some even cared about him even if he thought they didn't.

"It's natural to be worried about your partner's health!! I LIKE you!!!" [2]

Cookies and milk...

Two sides of the same coin, wasn't that what people say? He let out a big sigh, shaking his head. There will be time to ponder over that later, he had more important things to worry about. Like finding out where Muraki had taken his partner. A frown made it's way on his features as he looked around, having no idea where to look. A day, Hisoka had suffered in Muraki's hands for one whole day. As he turned the corner, deciding that heading back to the coffee shop where it all started was a good idea, Tsuzuki prayed silently that his partner was still alive.

"W-what?" He asked, blinking widely in surprise.

The young woman before him smiled patiently and asked once again, a piece of note in her hands. "Are you Tsuzuki Asato-san?"

"I... Yes."

She held out the note, a polite smile upon her face. "A man wanted me to give this to you."

"A- Thank you." He smiled back at her as she turned and walked back into the shop. Standing still, he looked around the area to see if anything strange was up and about. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he glanced down at the paper in his hand. Brows furrowing, he unfolded it and read the neatly printed kanji on the paper. His eyes widen in shock, hands shaking as he let the paper fall from his grasp as he turned quickly and ran.

Only he wasn't running away. No, he was running towards his goal, towards Muraki and... He clenched his fists, forcing his legs to go faster.

So close. So close and I didn't know. I didn't KNOW. Just sat there. And I ran. I ran away. He was so close and I ran away. His violet eyes didn't waver as he made another turn, ignoring the looks of the people he rushed by as he made his way towards an old closed down puppet store. Seeing the broken down door of the shop, he heard the warning Muraki gave him when they first met.

"You should be more careful, Tsuzuki-san. So that you won't lose someone important."

Someone important...

Faster and faster he ran, but the shop itself seemed to just move back more and more. Preventing him from ever reaching it. He bit his lip, determined to reach the door and his partner as fast as he could. In the back of his mind, he heard his own words, words he had told Hisae [3], repeating themselves as he ran.

"When I was alive... I had a very important person..."

Always hiding behind your glares because you didn't want anyone to get close to you. Still such a young boy, becoming a shinigami to get revenge. One so young shouldn't know what a word like that means...

"I couldn't do anything for that person."

I couldn't protect you when you were still alive. Couldn't stop that night from happening. But... I want to help. I want to be there when you wake up from a nightmare. Even if all you do is glare and scold me for treating you like a child. I still want to be there...

"I could only watch them die..."

I don't want anyone else to hurt because of me anymore.

"When it all comes down to it, it's all because of you." [4]

I don't...

"---- running away like a coward."

I won't run anymore. I won't let another bleed because of me. I'm not going to be a coward. So... Please...

Please... He bit down harder on his lip, tasting the blood from the cut as he forced his muscles to move faster.

Please be okay, Hisoka!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ugh. This chapter took awhile to write because I kept getting stuck on Tsuzuki. Muraki is easier to write than he is. *kick* Same warning applies. Angst, mind games, Muraki being himself.

[1] = The three levels of the waterfall represented Heaven, Earth and Man. Just thought it'd be fun for you all to know. ^^v
[2] = Book #4 Hokkaido Arc. Yep! Hi-chan is afraid of the dark. Wonder if he sleeps with a nightlight on. *vbg*
[3] = Book #1 Nagasaki Arc. Gushoushin telling Tsuzuki that he could break down the barrier of Hisoka�s heart. Aww.
[4] = Book #3 King of Swords Arc. The part where Hisoka falls into his dream, crying out for Tsuzuki to save him. ^_^ Come on, he screamed it out. Tsuzuki was sure of have heard it. Besides, he even lied about it.
[5] = Muraki said this in Chapter 3.
[6] = Book #1 Nagasaki Arc. Muraki talking to Hisoka about how he cursed him.
--------------------------

Life is like a long and twisting highway. And like any highway, it branches off into different directions and roads. Whether or not you choose to keep going straight or to head into a junction is purely up to you.

Your own choice.

If you are daring, you will take as many twist and turns as you like. Daring to live life on the edge. To follow in with the saying 'Only the Good die Young'. But there are those of us who have to think thoroughly before we dive in. Do we really want to go down this road? Will it get us to our destination quickly or will it lead us to a dead end?

Life has many choices that it throws in your direction. It is your duty on whether or not you want to pick one.

And whether or not your decision is a good one.
--------------------------

The sensation was a pleasant one. The complete abandonment of gravity was uplifting. It was like the feeling of being in a roller coaster as it makes its first dive; of course, he'd never been on a roller coaster before. So perhaps this is why so many people enjoyed going to a theme park. To once again experience the feeling of weightlessness if only for a couple of minutes. And the silence, never had he ever heard such complete silence. Perhaps there was a time, a time before his thoughts weren't his own, but he could hardly remember such a time. Like how he could hardly ever remember being happy. It was so pleasant. To not have a thought in his head as his body continued to fall down endlessly towards nothingness.

There was a wonderful nothing around him. An air, an aura that nothing could get into. Here, wherever this place was, no one could touch him. No one could look down at him and there were no unwanted feelings or thoughts. He was in a cocoon and he never wanted to leave it.

* Do you have a favorite toy, boy?

Perhaps, perhaps this was what it felt like to be in a womb. To be so close to the source of your life that nothing else could harm you or touch you. His brow twitched. Mother. To be so close to Mother that all he could feel was the warmth from her body and hear nothing but the beating of her heart. He wanted to curl into himself, to make himself smaller in size. But he couldn't move his body. All he could do was to just fall and feel this beautiful peacefulness around him.

He wondered slightly if this was what death felt like. Did dying felt like you were falling without ever stopping? He couldn't remember his own death; no one remembered their own death. The soul, after death, was required to drink a tonic that erases all memory of the life it had leaded while alive. If not, the soul would refuse to move on. Shinigami, however, were allowed to keep their memory so that they would be a bit more human than the souls they collected.

* What do you do with your toy?

Was he dying? Had he finally given up and passed over? Was he on his way to drink the tonic and forget everything? Forget ever becoming a shinigami and meeting those of the Shokan Division? Was he ready to forget? Did he want to? He didn't know. He felt too at peace with everything around him to even bother thinking about that. Dying and forgetting everything.

Forgetting and being forgotten. He found that he didn't want to be forgotten. He wanted to be remembered, whether it be in fondness or anything else. As long as they remembered him. Will they remember him? Will they sit down for a break, see something that reminded them of him and start to chat about him as if he were still there? Or will they ignore it as if nothing had happened? Will Tsuzuki just go and find another partner to replace him just as quickly?

Did he really mean nothing at all?

* I, too, have a favorite toy.

He was still falling. He wanted to keep falling. If he was going to be forgotten, then he'd rather not think over it. He wanted to become numb to it all again. Where was it? Where was the shield he had put up around himself? When and how did it break without his knowing? It bothered him that the thought of them not remembering him was making his chest tighten. It shouldn't matter. He should be used to it. He was used to it. Because he was nothing...

... nothing...

* I play with my favorite puppet...

His eyes shot open when he felt something take hold of his hand.


--------------------------

It wasn't surprising to find that the front door of the old broken down puppet store boarded in from the inside. Pressing the palm of his hands against it, Tsuzuki pushed and shoved with all of his might. Hisoka was on the other side. He was with Muraki on the other side of this door, this stubborn door that just wouldn't move. He bared his teeth, pushing harder. A boarded up door wasn't going to stand in his way of bringing Hisoka back to where he belonged.

He'd told Tatsumi earlier in the morning that he'd bring Hisoka back. He had declined the secretary's offer to go along. Hisoka was his partner. It was his fault Hisoka was missing; he'll be the one to make it better again. He shouldn't have told the younger shinigami to wait for him. He shouldn't have followed his stomach and not his head like Hisoka told him so many times before. But even so, wasn't it also Hisoka's own fault for following Muraki when he knew what the man was capable of doing? The boy was smart, very much so, so why did he follow the mad man?

"His own curiosity drove him to follow me; to find the answer to his question."

Becoming desperate, wanting the door to just move out of his way, Tsuzuki slammed his body against it with more force. He couldn't summon a shikigami in daylight no matter how much he wanted to. It would bring too much unwanted attention. Damn him. Damn Muraki and his sick ways. Wasn't one time enough for him?

No. Not once�

Twice. Twice he'd taken Hisoka from under his nose and twice he was caught off guard. What did he want? What else was there for Hisoka to give to him? Didn't he already brand the boy as his for all his lifetime? Even in death Hisoka could not escape from his hands. So what else was there that he wanted to take that he already didn't?

His life, his innocence. His youth, his soul. His body.

Muraki had forcefully taken everything Hisoka had to give. He gritted his teeth, feeling burning hatred boil within himself for that one person. He would never forgive him. He will never forgive someone who could hurt others so easily.

Driving his elbow into the old wooden boards, he heard a satisfactory crack as the boards finally gave in. Straightening up a bit and facing the door fully, he fisted his hands as he readied himself to knock down the boards with his bare hands. Pulling his fist back and slamming it into the door, the force of his punch sent little bits of bark flying into the air. Throwing in a few more punches to make a bigger gap, he pulled the boards from the nails as he forced his body into the small hole he'd made. Almost falling face first into the puppet store, he found himself immersed in complete darkness save for the stream of light from the hole behind him.

Hisoka� Be alright. Because if you're not� I�

Letting his violet eyes scan the area around him, he clenched his jaw.

I don't know what I'd do�

--------------------------

He was staring into his own eyes. It was shocking. It wasn't like looking into a mirror. A mirror only reflects what is before it. This wasn't a reflection. It was real. As real as real could get. From the facial expression to the strands of loose hair, everything was real. It was as if he had a twin. He looked down. And that twin was ten years his junior. He shook his head, raising a hand to rub his temple. This wasn't possible. How could he be staring at himself? His younger self to boot. Whatever Muraki was doing, he hoped it would stop soon. He had no wish to see his younger self. The young boy who trusted and loved freely. The little child who had yet to know the cruel reality of the world around him. Waiting to break his trust and faith in everything he thought was true.

Taking his eyes off of his younger self, he found that he was in the backyard of his household in Kanagawa. Everything was much the same. There was the koi pond he was so fond of; he would spend endless hours staring down at the koi fishes. Feeding the beautiful orange and white spotted kohaku while sitting on the miniature Moon Bridge his Father had hired people to make. Bushes of azaleas and rhododendrons surrounded the edges of the wall along the pond, creating a fence made of beautiful blooms as butterflies of every color fluttered about.

A young sakura tree was planted behind the cascading three leveled waterfall [1] of the pond. The wonderful soft pink colors of the petals littered the ground and some even fell into the water, creating a wonderful image for the eye to see. From where he was standing, he could see the old pathway to the arbor where he used to play hide and seek.

Of course, he played by himself. He frowned, turning a bit bitter as he remembered. His childhood was far from wonderful. Whenever he was allowed out of the house, he would find his way into the garden. It was a haven. A safe place where he could just sit and stare at the fishes without having people give him frightened looks.

"Hisoka-sama scares me."

"Shh. He might hear you."

"He'll hear us even if we don't say anything."

They never had a friendly smile for him. A sharp tug on his hand shook him out of his thoughts and he once again looked back into his own emerald eyes.

His younger self tilted his head to the side as he spoke in a childish voice.

"Who are you?"
--------------------------

The puppet store was in complete darkness save for the stream of light from the gap in the door that he�d made. He stayed where he stood, gazing around the old abandoned store to see if there was anything out of place. Anything that would lead him to where Hisoka was held captive. Age old boards, tables and dolls were the only thing in the room. There were puppets of every kind. From the old hand puppets to marionettes and Victorian dolls. Somewhere hanging from their strings while others were littered about along the table. Dead dark eyes stared back at him as he walked around the store. A shiver of uneasiness ran down his spine. Nothing was more unnerving than to look into the eyes of a doll. You can find no emotion in there. No sense of feeling or thought.

Completely lifeless.

Wandering deeper into the store, walking down the unlighted hallway, Tsuzuki was glad that he was able to see in the dark. It was an advantage. He could see anything that would jump out at him in surprise. A hidden foe that would try to bring him down. A frown crossed his face as he remembered that Hisoka didn�t have the same advantage. The boy didn�t like the dark; he�d told him so on their vacation in Hokkaido [2].

�I�m not good with darkness. Can�t see anything.�

It must�ve been hell for his younger partner. Being stuck in complete darkness with Muraki. The boy wasn�t at all weak, he knew. He had amazingly strong healing abilities but a shinigami can last for only so long until their strength gave out. Hisoka had yet to learn how to use an ofuda correctly, needed to learn spells to protect him against demons. If only he�d been there before Muraki had found his partner alone. If only he�d been there to stop it all from happening.

�Hold it. I can see in the dark.�

Kicking down a board from his path, he found himself in what seems to be the puppet store�s workshop. Unfinished puppets with missing limbs, eyes and hair were littered with dusts. Untouched for so long, they seemed like neglected children. Tossed aside from the hands that had worked so hard to crave them only to stay young forever and to be forgotten by everyone. Never knowing how it would feel to be cared for by a gleefully giggling child or the tender touch of a wrinkled hand as a brush would run through their fake hair.

He shook his head, chiding himself for thinking about puppets when he should be looking for Hisoka. Then he stopped, looking back at the forgotten dolls as he frowned. They reminded him of Hisoka. Left alone in the dark for so long, never knowing the kindness and unconditional love of a child. Trapped forever in a puppet store that no one even cared about anymore; they were more or less nothing. No one knew of them.

No one cared.

"But Tsuzuki-san! You don�t have to be so worried! You just have to break through the barrier of his heart!� [3]

Gushoushin�s words came back to him as he turned away from the neglected dolls. Truth be told, he didn�t know if he was doing a good job of that. The more he pushed the more the boy seemed to push right back. Shoving him away even as he tried to get closer, to understand the anti-social young man that was his partner. Sometimes he felt like giving up. But� there were those small moments, the tiny acts that kept him hanging on.

�TASUKETE!!! TSUZUKI!!!� [4]

Those pale hands clutching onto his arms. Hisoka still asleep, lost in his own nightmare. Hearing a cry from Hisoka for him to save him. It was worth it. Worth all those glares that made him feel as if the child actually DID hate him. Worth the times being called an idiot for not acting his age. The look on Hisoka�s face when he was shaken up, eyes wide and lost. Scared. His hands were still holding onto him so tightly. He never felt so needed before.

�Did I� say anything just now?�

�� No.�

He never told Hisoka. Never told the young man that he�d cry out for him. Cried out to be saved. Saved from whatever was still haunting him. And he would never tell him. To tell him was the risk being pushed away even further. He would keep that moment to himself. That one moment where Hisoka had pulled down his shields and fully needed him.

�You lied again. Such a slip of the tongue.�

�It�s alright. I�ve got two tongues.�

Hisoka needed him. He�d cried out for help from him and he would not turn away. Feeling a slight draft coming from behind a shelf, Tsuzuki made his way towards it and felt around the edges. As his fingers touched a gap in the wall behind the shelf, his heart beat quickened. He was near, he was so near. Wedging his hands into the gap, his used all of his strength to pull the shelf from the wall. Hearing a loud groaning sound as the large wooden shelf was pulled from its place against the wall, Tsuzuki saw into the room right behind it.

His eyes widened when he saw a body slumped against the floor.

�HISOKA!!!�
--------------------------

�Who are you?"

He couldn�t exactly tell his younger self his name, could he? Yet, this place wasn�t real so it shouldn�t matter if he told him the truth or not, right?

"You refuse to see the truth." [5]

The truth? What was there to see here? It was just a garden, a safe place for him. What was he supposed to tell his younger self? That he was dead? That what his Father had told him was true? That he was dead, as dead as dirt? He couldn�t do that. He couldn�t do that to himself. Even if this place wasn�t real. Even if it was just some place in his mind that he was hiding in. He couldn�t. He couldn�t break himself like that.

The truth? He didn�t know what or who he was anymore. Was he Kurosaki Hisoka? The son of the most respected family in Kanagawa? The heir to the family that was a descendant of a God slayer? But Kurosaki Hisoka was dead, wasn�t he?

�This is your grave, Hisoka.�

The truth? He was a puppet. Marked and branded by a madman. Forever a doll for the person to use as he pleased. Even in death he couldn�t escape those pale hands that pulled at his strings.

�� Upon your body I imprinted the cursed words that no one would be able to vanquish�� [6]

The truth was that he was nothing. He was all of those and yet he didn�t know which one was really him. He didn�t know who he was anymore. Some where along the way of being Hisoka, a puppet and a shinigami, he�d lost his true self. He looked down at his younger form. He�d lost that look of complete trust. Lost the innocence only a child could have when looking at the world around him. Lost the complete faith and hope he had in his parents.

He�d lost the ability to open up to everyone around him.

He wasn�t Kurosaki Hisoka anymore. He was someone else.

�I� I don�t know.�
--------------------------

Rushing over to Hisoka�s prone body, Tsuzuki gently pulled the slender form into his arms. An expression of pain and sadness fell over his face when he saw the scars and cuts on his partner�s slender chest. Hisoka was breathing slowly, his breath coming in short gasps. Letting his hands touch every inch of Hisoka�s body, he made sure to see if there were any other injuries the boy was suffering from. Lifting his hand back to Hisoka�s face, he patted the tear streaked face gently, whispering his name.

�Hisoka! Hisoka, wake up. Please, wake up.� He bit his lip when the boy didn�t budge. Once again the feeling of complete helplessness came down on him. He had Hisoka in his arms and yet he couldn�t wake him up. Worried that his partner was lost in a nightmare, he shook him by the shoulders. �Hisoka! Wake up!�

�Oya, oya. You shouldn�t be shaking him so roughly, Tsuzuki-san.�

He all but growled and turned around, still clutching onto his partner. �Muraki.�

Muraki chuckled, adjusting his glasses as he leaned against the window. There was a doll in his arms, a Victorian doll with blonde hair and green eyes. It reminded him slightly of Hisoka. Muraki noticed this, and smiled slightly as he straightened up. Holding the doll in front of him so that Tsuzuki could see it more clearly, he spoke.

�Do you like her, Tsuzuki-san?� He looked down at the puppet in his arms. �She�s been with me for a long time you know.�

Hugging Hisoka closer to himself, Tsuzuki glared. �I don�t care.�

Muraki caressed the doll�s slightly pink cheek as he smiled, looking up at Tsuzuki from under his bangs. �Her name is Veronica.�

�I told you, I don�t care about your doll.�

�Oh?� Turning Veronica around in his hand, Muraki continued to gently touch the doll�s face. Tsuzuki then noticed a ward, a spirit ward on the back of the doll�s head. He recognized the kanji on the paper. It was a one way ward, spirits can go in but once inside they weren�t allowed to go out unless the ward was taken off.

He felt a sudden feeling of dread as Muraki continued to idly play with his puppet.

�What if I told you that the body you are holding in your arms is not your dear partner? What if I told you that that is nothing but a lifeless body? And that this, � He held up Veronica, smiling slightly as his glasses gleamed maliciously. �is actually the boy?�

He stared at Muraki for awhile before he spoke, his hands shaking as they clung to Hisoka almost desperately. �No� I won�t believe you. You�re just trying to confus�"

�What would I gain from that, Tsuzuki-san? Why would I send a note for you, telling you where you can find your partner only to trick you?�

He didn�t know the answer to that. So he glared.

That seemed to only amuse Muraki even more. Smiling pleasantly, Muraki placed the doll in the safety of his arms as he spoke again. �Which one do you pick, Tsuzuki-san?"

He must've looked confused, for the next thing Muraki said was...

"The doll or the boy?�

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's embarrassing to say that this chaptered confused me while I wrote it. It's all Muraki's fault! Yes, when in doubt, blame Muraki. It makes you feel so much better. xD I also had fun writing this chapter. Erm, yea xD

[1] = I remember being told that young children, around 4/5 and under, can see ghosts. And that ghost are afraid of babies because they're so innocent. It's just an Asian story type thingie. Also, nothing important about these three children, they're just there. xD
[2] = Muraki said this in Chapter 8.
[3] = Another tall tale. I remember my Mother telling me this. ^__^
[4] = Book#1 Nagasaki Arc. Muraki said so himself that he kept an eye on Hisoka in his last three years on Earth. So I toyed with the idea a bit in my head. xD

--------------------------

Some people are known to be indecisive. Having a hard time picking one thing from another, most would say, "I don't care. You pick."

However, a person can't always be like this. Letting others make the decision for you isn't always a good thing. One must make your own choice. You must practice your right to pick as a human being.

So the next time a person asks you if you'd like cream with your pie, say yes or no.

Don't say, "I don't care."
--------------------------

Once again silence greeted him. Only this time, it was a silence of confusion. He watched as his younger self frowned at the answer he'd given him, head tilted to one side in thought. Looking at himself, Hisoka was amazed at how opened he used to look. He could see clearly every emotion the young Hisoka was going through. The youthful face full of expression while the older version was one set in stone. How he'd changed.

"Why don't you know?" He asked himself.

"You are a puppet."

"Demon!"

"YOU'RE NOT MY SON!"

"This is your grave."

Staring down at himself, Hisoka tried to find a good answer. But he couldn't find any. Kurosaki Hisoka was only a name he carried around with him. He wasn't him anymore. He was just an empty shell that pretended to be Kurosaki Hisoka. The real Kurosaki Hisoka was the one standing in front of him right now. The real Kurosaki Hisoka was a child that believed in his parents. The real Kurosaki Hisoka was a child who giggled and posed in a beautiful kimono for his Mother.

The real Kurosaki Hisoka was under that large stone, covered in dirt and was nothing but bones.

He wondered slightly if anyone else ever had a problem like this. Faced with their younger self, being asked a question that they thought they would have the answer to. It would be so easy to just lie and tell his younger self that he was him. That he was that little boy who looked up with him with those large green eyes and convince him that they were the same person.

How do you convince yourself that you are the same person you were when you were but a child?

He found that he couldn't. He couldn't say that.

He couldn't lie to himself.

Turning away from the emerald gaze, he struggled with an answer. Only to look up sharply when a voice called out his name from across the garden.

"Hisoka!"

"Hisoka!"

With a big smile and a short giggle, he saw his younger self turn around as he quickly ran to hide behind a bush. Three young children around the same age appeared from behind the side of the house. One of them was a young girl with her hair in short pigtails, running quickly to try and catch up with her other playmates as they tried to find the young Hisoka. He watched stupidly as the children giggled, calling out his name.

"Hisoka! Hisoka!"

"Where are you?"

"Come out, Hisoka!"

He recognized these children. He knew them, each of them. He remembered playing hours on end with these three children in the garden. He remembered he used to have endless fun with these three. The joy of actually having playmates to play with when no one was around. No one knew of these three children, of course. If they did, he'd never be allowed into the garden ever again. He didn't want that, these three were the only friends he had. To be in the garden and not see them wouldn't be fun.

So he kept these three as a secret from everyone. No one knew he had playmates, not even his parents.

They didn't know because�

"Hisoka! Come out wherever you are!"

"I think I see him!"

"Over there!!"

� these children weren't real.


--------------------------

"The doll or the boy?"

Amethyst eyes still glaring at the offending figure near the window, Tsuzuki pulled the limp body of his partner closer. If what Muraki has said was true, then there was no way he could pick between the puppet in Muraki's arms and Hisoka's body in his own. Letting his eyes fall from the ever present smirk on Muraki's face, he looked into the puppet's dull green eyes. They reminded him of Hisoka's own eyes at the moment. Dull, dead and not reflecting anything back. He once again thought of the abandoned puppets in the workshop and how they too reminded him of his stoic partner.

Hisoka was like a puppet. Locked away in a room, he was like a puppet that was thrown away once a child found a better toy to play with. Forgotten and abandoned, he lost all hope of ever being touched by gentle hands. And like a puppet, he can be easily manipulated to do whatever his player wanted him to do. He couldn't control his own movements, he wouldn't be free.

He mentally shook his head.

To say that Hisoka was like a puppet wasn't completely right.

Perhaps, he should say that puppets were like Hisoka. Cold and emotionless, you can never tell what a puppet is thinking. Much like Hisoka himself. Locking all of his thoughts and emotions within himself, it was hard to try and understand him.

He frowned, not agreeing with his own thoughts. To say that a puppet was like Hisoka and that Hisoka was like a puppet was something he didn't want to have in his head. A puppet and Hisoka were nothing alike. Hisoka could control his own movements; have his own thoughts where a puppet was completely controlled by a string. Hisoka would argue and glare where a puppet would just follow with every pull of the string.

Hisoka was not like a puppet.

But the spirit ward on the doll's head mocked his thinking. He had to pick correctly in order to win this game Muraki had set up. If Hisoka's spirit was actually in the doll, then he would have to get the doll from Muraki's arms. If it was true, then having Hisoka's body alone wouldn't mean anything. True, the body is Hisoka but the spirit itself is what makes Hisoka himself. To just have his body and to bring it back to Meifu would be like carrying a shell.

But, if he believed Muraki's words, then he would admit to himself and give proof to Muraki that Hisoka was indeed a puppet. To say that he would pick a puppet over the body of his partner is to come forth and bow his head down in defeat; agreeing with Muraki that the boy was forever in his control. Picking the doll as Hisoka would be going against his current thoughts that Hisoka was not a puppet. That he was himself.

Yet, if Muraki was telling the truth� Tsuzuki fisted his hands, clinging to Hisoka's body even more as his thoughts tumbled over themselves in his head. This was quite a well thought out game Muraki had set up.

And what scared him the most was that he didn't trust his own instincts to pick out the right answer to the question.

Sweat slided down the side of his face as Muraki glanced at his watch with a smile.

"Time is ticking, Tsuzuki-san. What is your answer?"


--------------------------

He watched, like a person watching a movie in the theaters, the children playing around before his eyes. There was a time where he thought they were real. That they were like those children beyond the walls of the garden. They laughed like normal children, they giggled, played like normal children and yet they can never be real. He watched, unmoving, as his younger self ran from them. Laughter filled his ears, yet he really only heard one. It was a strange feeling. To watch himself play, to see the imaginary children run after him as if they were actually there.

It was normal, wasn't it? To have imaginary playmates?

Yet as he watched on, the children began to slowly fade. The girl with the pigtails became transparent just as her hand touched his slight shoulders. The two boys who were laughing from behind a sakura tree slowly started to fade. Their mouth wide open in laughter but no sounds came out. Soon, all he saw in the garden was himself.

He saw himself running from tree to tree. He heard joyful laughter from only one child as he played by himself, thinking that he was surrounded by friends. He saw the excitement in emerald eyes as the younger Hisoka sneaked a look from behind his hiding place. Hiding from something that wasn't even there in the first place. What he saw before his eyes should be normal.

What he saw was just a child playing with his imaginary friends.

Yet, somewhere in his mind he knew it wasn't normal.

Those three children, the young girl and the two boys, weren't imaginary friends.

Once again the children reappeared along with the sound of their laughter. The young girl giggled merrily as she caught him in a hug, making him fall onto the ground.

"Caught you!"

The two boys laughed along with her.

He felt his skin crawl as he remembered clearly what they were.

They were ghosts. [1]

Soon, the laughter became louder and louder, deafening his ears. Clutching his head, his hands covering his ears, Hisoka stumbled away from the laughing ghostly children. He felt goose bumps forming on his bare arms, a chill running down his spine as the laughter taunted him. Eyes tightly shut so that he would no longer see his younger self playing in the empty garden, he continued to back away.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it." He pleaded over and over again. "STOP IT!"

Louder and louder the laughter rang around him. Soon, there was something else added to the laughter. His name. The children began to chant his name.

"Hisoka!"

"Hisoka, where are you hiding?"

"Where are you going, Hisoka?"

"Come back and play with us, Hisoka!"

"Hisoka!!"

He let out a scream as a hand took hold of his wrist. Opening his eyes, he stared straight into cold silver orbs as a smooth voice spoke softly to him.

"Oya, what do we have here?"


--------------------------

He had to pick. Even if he was against going along with this game, whatever kind of a game it was, he had to pick. He had to pick to save Hisoka from whatever Muraki had done to him. A sudden surge of anger directed Hisoka and not Muraki surprised him. He was angry at the younger man for falling into a trap. Angry at being called an idiot countless of times when Hisoka himself had been an idiot. Angry that Hisoka didn't wait for him. Angry that Hisoka was used as nothing more as a bait to lure him to Muraki. He was angry at Hisoka for not being as smart as he should be.

How could you follow him, Hisoka? How could you when you know what he is capable of?

Muraki took a few steps closer towards him, doll still in hand. "Which one shall you pick, Tsuzuki-san?" He chuckled a bit. "Although, it doesn't really matter, does it? The doll or the boy, we both know the truth." Another step closer, his eyes practically shone with enjoyment. "Your partner will always be the puppet I use to lure you to me."

"No. Hisoka isn't some kind of a puppet. He isn't a toy for anyone to play with!" Tsuzuki glared up at him.

"Oh? He isn't a toy? But Tsuzuki-san, he is. He is your toy like he is mine." Muraki turned his attention back to Veronica. "You want to have him in the palm of your hands. You want to see him break down before you. You want to see his tears, his pain and the color of his blood. You are selfish, Tsuzuki-san. You want to be the puppet master who can fully control this boy."

He shook his head violently. "NO! You're wrong! I don't want to control Hisoka! I want to understand him! I want to know him better! I want him to be himself! But most of all I want him to be free from YOU!"

Head tilted to one side, Muraki gazed at him. "Free from me?" He chuckled. "That's impossible."

Tsuzuki narrowed his eyes. "You may think it's impossible, Muraki, but it can be done. I'll free Hisoka from you. Starting now."

Smile slipping from his face, Muraki raised an eyebrow.

Amethyst eyes burning, Tsuzuki continued.

"I know which one I'm going to pick."
--------------------------

It is true that a person can be so horrified that they can't move their limbs. He was rooted into place as he stared up into Muraki's face. The doctor chuckled, pale hand clutching his wrist tighter as he moved closer. Muraki raised his other hand to caress his face. Finally able to move his limbs to avoid being touched, Hisoka yanked his wrist away only to find that Muraki hadn't been holding his wrist as he fell to the hard ground. Muraki wasn't holding his wrist; he was holding the wrist of his younger self.

"I'll ask you again, boy. What do you want?" [2]

He watched with horrified eyes as the younger Hisoka struggled against the hold. He looked past the scene before his eyes to see the large sakura tree and the blood red moon. His breathing picked up, heart pounding loudly in his ears as the memory of that night rushed back to him. A scream caught his attention as he looked back at his younger self.

"Let me go! Please!" He watched Muraki smiled as his younger self finally struggled free, turning around to run. Reaching a hand out, the Hisoka before him gasped out in surprised as Muraki pulled the yutaka from his body. Pulling himself up from the ground, he shook his head.

"No. Stop."

"NO! Please! Stop! Let me go!"

"Stop it."

"Please! Wh-What are you-?!"

"Make it stop."

"Ple-AHH!!"

He covered his ears from the scream. "Stop it! STOP IT!"

"St-STOP!"

"STOP IT! STOP IT!" Tears streaked down his face even as he tried to stop himself from crying. He kept shouting it over and over even as a few feet from where he stood the nightmare went on.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

As he stopped to catch his breath, he noticed that everything had stopped. Opening one eye carefully, he gazed around to find that he was no longer in that nightmare. He was seated on his bed in nothing but a hospital gown. Slightly confused, he let his eyes roam around the room. It was empty, he never did have much stuff as a child. The window was slightly open to allow a small breeze in. Pushing himself off of his bed, he walked towards the window to look outside. He couldn't see much though because of a large tree blocking the way.

Turning away, he looked back at his room. It was clean. Of course, when you have no toys to play with, your room would always be clean. There was a desk with a small lamp and his bed. His room. When he was being good, he was allowed to stay in his room. But if he would utter the wrong thing, ask about something he couldn't have known then he was sent to his other room. The room where the window was blocked up by bars, making it seem like a prison. Then again, it was a prison, his personal prison. There was no bed in that room. He would have to sleep sitting up.

"I want�"

Sometimes, when he couldn't take the cold anymore, he would cry softly in that room. Although he would only cry when it was raining. Crying any other time would allow the household to hear his sobbing. If they heard, he would get beaten up. So, he cried with the rain.

He remembered along time ago when his Mother still loved him, she told him that the rain were the tears of the Gods. [3]

He remembered asking her why they were crying.

"They're crying for everyone. They're crying for everything."

Would they cry for him still, he wondered.

The door to his room opened, causing him to jump a bit. But that wasn't what shocked him. Upon turning around to face whoever it was, he felt his heart stop beating and his blood run cold as he recognized the man in the doctor's garb.

Muraki raised an eyebrow, a slight smile on his face.

"Oya, out of bed already?" [4]
--------------------------

"Make your choice well, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki held up the doll again. "The doll with the boy's spirit, or that shell of what he used to be?"

Tsuzuki glared.

He wasn't complete idiot. He knew there was no way he could fully free Hisoka from Muraki. He couldn't free Hisoka from the madman, but he could help Hisoka find himself. He can help Hisoka be himself. He can show Hisoka that he didn't have to be the 'puppet' in a puppet show. He can help Hisoka cut the strings that pulled at his every move. He'll show Hisoka that he wasn't the puppet Muraki proclaimed that he was.

He'll show Hisoka who he really was.

Looking down at his partner's limb body, Tsuzuki brushed locks of blonde hair from Hisoka's pale face. He closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of having Hisoka in his arms before he opened them again. Looking up at Muraki, he told him his choice.

"I pick�"




I want the truth. Who am I?"