Disclaimer: I don't own HxH

Rise from the Ashes:

Part I:

Remember the Fire

January 8th, XX15 : Age 13 : In the Library

Phoneutria, commonly known as the Brazilian wandering spider is the most venomous arachnid known to the human species. The Phoneutria fera and Phoneutria nigriventer currently hold the title of being the most aggressive and deadly of the species.

Kurapika hadn't been sure why he had decided to read a book about spiders. They were kind of creepy and had decisively too many limbs. The fact that the strange arachnids had more than two eyes was an added bonus that put them above most arthropods in creepiness. They also showed up at the most inopportune of moments. In the shower, for example, or in the kitchen, in the cupboards, even in the sheets of your bed. Was his home just going through an endless infestation of the eight-legged creatures and they were usually more considerate of their roommates?

Either way, the creepy creatures had been on his mind that day, so his brain automatically thought he must be interested in exploring that day. And of course, the first page he had to flip to was the one with the deadliest of them all. His miraculous luck was something both foreboding and fascinating.

The blond child went back to the pod of study tables. Picking a comfy armchair, Kurapika let himself sink into the colorful satin cloth and proceeded to bury himself in the spider book. By the time he got halfway, the boy came to the conclusion that spiders were little demon spawns sent to quietly conquer the world one web at a time. Indeed, that was the most logical conclusions.

The sound of sirens pierced through the quiet library, where you could hear a pin drop, a siren was practically like two cymbals clashing together right by your ear. A murmur of whispers followed, but Kurapika didn't feel like joining the conversation. Sirens were a normality here. Nothing interesting probably came of them.

The older boys next to him started to talk as well, just loud enough to render Kurapika's sensitive ears incapable of blocking them out. They, if Kurapika recalled correctly, had been there since before he walked in. He remembered one of them sported a haircut that stopped at his shoulders and framed his pale, oval face. Emotionless, bottomless, lifeless black eyes had peered at him for about three seconds when he'd made his way to the arm chair behind them. The other man looked even stranger with his colorful outfit and bright red hair. Compared to the muted colors the other boy leaned towards, the redhead looked a bit like a clown. They were both slim and muscular, though, and both their clothing looked ridiculously expensive. Confidence seemed to gather around them in a tangible sort of aura.

"Have you heard, Illu?" the one with red hair asked, conversationally, edging closer to the other with a small smile on his face. "There's been a fire on Eighth street."

Now, Kurapika knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping. His parents told him again and again that it was impolite to listen in on a conversation he had no place in. But . . . eighth street was his street, and he deserved to know if there was a fire in the neighborhood.

"You told me on our way i-" The one with the crazy eyes clapped a hand over the bottom half his friend's face before the words could even begin to fall out of the pale one's mouth.

"Yeah, it's that crummy apartment, y'know, Garden Gates or whatever."

Kurapika's eyes widened. Garden Glass Apartments. His home. No, that was impossible. Surely, they were just some kids joking around, but what kinds of freaks would joke about something like this? It was definitely a joke. It couldn't be anything else. Yeah, a joke. But the sirens. A joke! That was all it was!

What was he afraid of?

After all, it was probably nothing. It was probably just a prank. And if it wasn't then his family would just have to move. That would be okay. As long as they were all alive, it would be fine.

He got up calmly, just in case it was a joke. Kurapika didn't want to give those guys any satisfaction. The book was pushed back into place, the librarian was waved goodbye, and his heart's racing was unanswered for those few seconds. And then he broke into a run. He could smell the smoke from there. This was no small fire.

Fire trucks were lined outside on the streets. The flames themselves seemed contained to just his home, but they couldn't seem to put it out either.

"Oh my god!" Kurapika heard someone scream as he rounded the corner. "There's people in there!"

Kurapika ran up and reached the outside of the yellow tape, eyes searching for the window of their tiny apartment. He covered his mouth as the wind shifted towards him, the stench of burning flesh and debris overwhelming. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Oi, kid, get back!" the owner of that heavy hand order. "This smoke is too thick."

And he was pulled away by strong arms. No, he let himself get pulled away, coffee eyes still focused on the third window on the seventh floor.

Mom. Dad. Grandpa.

Ah. So, this was what he'd been afraid of.

. . .

January 20th, XX15 : Age 13 : On The Steps Of The Orphanage

A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, but he ignored it. He ignored most things now. The memory of the fire playing over whatever was happening around him. The blond had only brought himself out of his stupor for the few minutes it took for the authorities to figure out he was orphaned by that fire. After that, he was shipped off to an orphanage and given over to a pretty lady with purple hair. He caught her name, Melody, and tuned in long enough to know she really did want to help. The only problem was he didn't really want her help.

"It's time for dinner, Kurapika," she spoke, voice tender and gentle. He only stood up and walked inside.

What were the last things he said to his parents? He couldn't quite remember.

Ah.

"I'll be back before dinner."

He had been late.

. . .

January 21st, XX15

The next morning, Kurapika took a walk. It had been a while since he actually went outside. He usually didn't go beyond the gates of his temporary shelter.

Somehow, instead of returning to the orphanage after he was done with his walk like he should have, his legs took him to eighth street and stopped by the ruins of a place that he'd lived in for most of his life. Garden Glass Apartments. It was always there. No matter how far he went. And now it was gone. And he had nothing but his life. And it really didn't seem like a fair trade.

"The entire place burned down two weeks ago," a man said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Wooden boxes were stacked up high in his arms, crates full of fruit and the like. He couldn't even see the man's face. "It's a real tragedy. No one survived. They're actually speculating it was arson. The work of some pyromaniac."

The blonde clenched his jaw. He knew all this already. Why did he come here? Why? Wait.

"What do you mean by arson?" he asked, eyes wide. He knew what arson was, of course, but the fact that this was it. He had to know everything.

"The fire wasn't natural. Spread too quickly and stuff. The guys inside couldn't get the windows open either, so that's pretty shifty too," the man explained. "They can't find the guy who did it though. Hey! Where are you going?"

Kurapika didn't answer him. He just kept running. He ran past the tired working class waking up for the day, past the coffee shop on first avenue, past Melody on the steps of that Victorian house of an orphanage.

"Arson," he whispered, sitting down in front of the computer. And for the first time, his words had life. Not because he'd come to accept his circumstances, but because he'd found something to change them. He'd found a reason to live. A reason to hate.

. . .

October 5th, XX21 : Age 20 : In Kurapika's Dorm Room

He was late! He was never late! How could he be late? God dammit, he was blaming this on Leorio and Pairo for taking him out for drinks so late at night! Just so he could be their designated driver. Ridiculous. And now he was late! His flawless attendance record gone down the drain just like that. Just because he figured he couldn't just let them get into a car accident while they drove back home. Sure, attendance records didn't really mean anything anymore, but he was proud of it all the same. And now he was late! Should he skip coffee? No, he couldn't just skip coffee. He'd just fall asleep during class, and then what? Alright, how long would it take to get coffee? Three minutes? Two if he was really fast.

Freshly brewed, black, please," he breathed, as he reached the cashier. The young woman just fixed him with an amused look before turning away to shout his order at the barista. He dug into the pockets of his red jacket for his wallet.

"That'd be four seventy," the woman chirped out the price, sounding far too excited about working the morning shift at a coffee shop.

"Ah," Kurapika said, once he was sure that his wallet had definitely been misplaced somewhere along the way. "I'm so sorry. It seems my wallet's disappeared."

"Oh my," the woman said, sounding ridiculously sympathetic, to the point where one could almost mistake her for the one who'd lost her wallet.

"I probably shouldn't keep up the line. Thank you." Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Late, coffee-less, and wallet-less. What had he done to make the deities frown upon him today? Was it because he corrected the teacher in front of the whole class again? It was really such a small correction.

"I can pay for him," a silky baritone interrupted, putting down a ten dollar bill on the countertop. "I'll have the same, please."

What had he done in that sixteen-second time frame to get back in the deities' graces?

He turned to his savior, who turned out to be a strapping young man with dark hair eyes, dressed in all black and pulling it off quite nicely. Kurapika averted his eyes from the well-sculpted specimen, scolding himself ever-so-slightly for finding him so attractive. He was with Pairo, and he was not messing it up. Nope. No way.

"You really don't have to do that," Kurapika said.

"But I already did."

Kurapika gave him a look between a glare and an impatient snarl. He glanced at the clock, then back at him, temper reeling its ugly head. He had wasted three more minutes than he was supposed to. Alright, alright. So, a guy wanted to buy him coffee. No big deal. He'd just pay him back.

"Thanks," Kurapika said, taking his cup and running out of the cafe. Dr. Linthroe was going to be so pissed.

At least he got his coffee in the end.

. . .

October 5th, XX21 : Age 20 : Art History 395

"Where were you?" Pairo mouthed, as Kurapika finally found his seat beside him in the extensive lecture hall. His boyfriend was dressed in a navy shirt, black jacket, and jeans. Sneakers adorned his feet for comfort.

"I'll tell you later," he mouthed back, secretly wondering why Pairo didn't have a giant hangover after yesterday. His alcohol tolerance was way too high to be normal. Sometimes, Kurapika doubted his significant other was even human.

Pairo raised one elegant eyebrow at his reaction, but let it go in the end.

"Kurapika Kurta," Dr. Linthroe spoke, derisively, "would you please come down here? I could use a volunteer, and seeing as you're so noisy, I gather you've already read the material we'll be covering."

He had. That didn't make the situation any less annoying.

. . .

October 5th, XX21 : Age 20 : Out in the Courtyard

"So, where were you?" Pairo asked, sitting down on the steps beside him and passing him one of the sandwiches he'd bought from the nearby shop.

"I was sleeping," Kurapika answered, grumpily biting into the sandwich. It was Pairo's fault after all.

His boyfriend smirked a bit and then burst into laughter. "It's because of last night, huh? Sorry. Look on the bright side, though, you missed ten minutes of class."

Kurapika groaned and buried his pale face in his knees, honey-kissed hair falling over his shoulder. "There goes my record."

"I doubt anyone was keeping score."

"I was," Kurapika whined, placing his head in the crook of Pairo's neck. The other man just brought him closer in a one-armed embrace.

"What's this?" Pairo suddenly asked, eyes focused on his back as he plucked something off it. A post-it note? "Call me. 555-640-1200. Qworof Wrilcylfe - Wrylcidfe - the hell is this name?"

"Oh," Kurapika said, as realization donned his face, "that must've been the guy in the coffee shop."

"Guy in the - Kurapika," Pairo said, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking him in the eye with a teasing seriousness, "are you cheating on me?"

Kurapika placed both his hands on Pairo's and pushed them away, shaking his head with a small smile.

"I forgot my wallet, so he offered to pay," Kurapika answered, simply.

"You think he thought you were a girl again?" Pairo asked.

The blonde shrugged, recalling all of the times people have hit on him because they thought he was a member of the opposite sex. Too many to count. Most didn't even seem to care when he corrected them. It took a chair to the stomach to wake them up.

"That name though," Pairo said, stifling a laugh. "Maybe it's just a joke."

Kurapika elbowed him in the stomach. "Don't make fun. Who knows, he might be haunted by that name. We're just adding to his grief." Besides, that man didn't look like the type to play such a cheap prank.

"Always so serious," Pairo chided, ruffling up his hair with a tender smile on his handsome face. "It's cute, though, so it's okay."

Kurapika frowned. He didn't like being called cute. He was an avenger, not a poodle. Speaking of avenging, that man was going to strike soon. He was sure of it. On the fourth of July next year. And he would be ready. Oh yes, he would make him suffer the same hell as his parents.

"Woah," Pairo said, and his sandwich was suddenly hijacked by one brunette jokester. "Slow down. You're gonna choke."

"Pairo! Kurapika!" a familiar voice greeted. Leorio walked over to them, Gon and Killua in tow. "What are ya doing here? I told you to go meet up with us at the usual place!"

"You don't have to yell, Leorio. My hearing is perfectly fine," Kurapika said.

"If it was so perfect then you wouldn't have made us wait so long!" Leorio continued yelling, and Kurapika's frown deepened. Their companions idled away from them. They knew better than to get into the crossfire of the verbal war between these two. The tension was almost palpable, almost like a storm cloud hanging above them, lightening striking down anyone who came too close to their makeshift arena.

"You're rather easy to ignore," Kurapika said, voice low and gentle, like the purr of a cat as it mocked its prey. "And if you had been listening to me yesterday, you'd realize that I had no intention of meeting you in that place."

"What do you have against my place? My place is a great place," Leorio fumed, eyes blazing, forehead contorted in anger.

"It's filthy, the food is bad, and there's a fire hazard at every turn," Kurapika ranted, distastefully. "And don't even get me started on the construction. It looks like the entire building is about to collapse. The amount of health code violations is innumerable, and the staff is terrible. I'm pretty sure one of them tried to skewer me with a knife once, for no reason, I was just sitting there."

"It - it has character," Leorio spluttered out angrily, eyes narrowed to slits as he pointed at him accusingly. "You just can't appreciate hard work!"

Kurapika scoffed, "I'm sorry I can't seem to see all that hard work under all that rubbish."

"Rubbish?" Leorio said, almost breathlessly, as if Kurapika's words themselves had given him a third-degree burn.

"Eh," Killua said, stepping into the war zone. Pairo and Gon both commended him for his bravery, clapping a bit as he walked up. "I'm with Kurapika on this one. That place is a total shithole."

"Watch your mouth, young man," Kurapika warned, without snatching his glare away from Leorio. Kurapika had always been the mom friend in their group. He kept everyone in line and worried non-stop. Like a mom.

"Oh yeah," Gon suddenly jumped into the conversation. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple, blue pocket-sized object. "This guy came up to me and told me to give you this, Kurapika."

His wallet? But how?

And then his mind put together the puzzle pieces. That man in the coffee shop with the dashing smile and impeccable manners. The man pickpocketed him and then acted like his savior! He was a criminal!

Kurapika almost frantically took the wallet and started checking to make sure everything was still there. Credit card. Check. Campus ID. Check. Money. Che -wait. He was missing ten dollars. The exact amount that man had given the cashier.

He'd been played like a fiddle and kind of liked it! That man was the devil and he was going to make him pay for his obstruction of justice!

Another post-it note?

Kurapika ripped it out, anger practically seeping from every pore, oozing out of him like some deadly aura. He did not fare well with criminals. One killed his family. Another had seemingly stolen his wallet, robbed him of ten dollars, paid for both their coffees, left him his number, and then returned his wallet. All in the span of two hours.

I like your eyes. Call me.

He crumpled up the note and tossed it behind him, not caring where it landed or who it hit.

Maybe he could call him over for a date with his fist?

"Kurapika, you've got a scary face on again." Pairo tapped him on the forehead, earning a heated glare from Kurapika. For a second, the blonde felt a fiery passion to break the finger that dared touch his forehead, but then the anger dissipated and his anger issues were reined in again.

"Sorry," he muttered, still fuming on the inside. Deep, deep inside.

. . .

October 5th, XX21 : Age 20 : Some Rich Person's Street

It was dark now. The moon hung low in the sky, silently watching over a lone stranger on the street. The autumn breeze ran playfully through his shoulder-length blond hair, which was usually a warm honey color but in the rays of the moonlight it took on a colder platinum shade. The man was suddenly reminded of his days as a male, sometimes female, model, and his mood took another dip in the pools of general discontent. Lovely.

He heaved another sigh. At least he was alone. His friends had always been exceedingly clingy. Killua was okay, but Gon and Leorio were almost unbearable. He had met them in the orphanage, Gon's aunt was a friend of Senritsu and Leorio had been another fellow orphan. Kurapika had immediately butted heads with Leorio, and Senritsu had figured it was good progress since before then he'd been rather reserved. Gon, on the other hand, had immediately earned another mother. Killua and Gon had met years later when the spiky-haired boy got into trouble with some boys from school. They'd been attached at the hip ever since. Other than that little family incident where Killua was forced to go home. He eventually flicked them off and entered the same college as Gon and the rest, far, far away from his insane family. And that was just the way Gon liked it.

The blonde suddenly whipped his head around, sure he'd seen something on the roof of the adjacent house. Sure enough, a young man seemed to be checking his phone there, sitting with his legs over the edge. He looked to be blonde, was tall, and wore casual clothes, but Kurapika somehow doubted he was just there because of the spectacular Wi-fi, and soon enough he was proven right.

From his spot behind a line of thick trees, our blonde criminology major watched the scene unfold. They were thieves, good ones too if the fact no one in the house seemed to notice them was anything to go by.

And so, Kurapika was faced with a difficult decision. Evidence first or phone call first? If he called first, they might get away and they'd have no way of finding them since the cameras were probably hacked into, if there even were any. A picture would be useful when trying to recognize them. But what if they caught him? How would they catch him? Would they even care? Shit, they're getting away. Alright, picture first, phone call second.

Kurapika lifted his phone, making sure to take caution as he did so. One press and thieves were forever captured in the little communication device.

Then, he dialed 911 because he sure as hell wasn't going to fight six ninja thieves on his own. Unfortunately, before the call was even picked up, it ended, and the phone was gingerly removed from his limp hands. A few seconds later, he was pulled into an embrace, or perhaps he fell into it. Kurapika felt himself get pulled to the ground and warm breath caress his ear.

"We meet again, Mr. Kurapika," a voice laughed, and he felt something like a needle slide out of his neck. "I really was hoping you'd call me, but this isn't half bad either."

Bastard. This tranquilizing agent better not have any side effects.

And with that thought, Kurapika faded into darkness, and his journey began.

. End of Chapter .

A/N: I hope you liked it. This AU was actually originally on AO3, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to bring it over here. BTW, this is gonna be a Chrollo/Kurapika/Pairo fic. Because KuraPairo deserves some love too, and Leorio is overused. Kidding, Leorio is BAE. KuroKura is the main focus in this story, though, because LeoPika is too easy and 'enemies to friends to lovers' is my guilty pleasure. I mean, what's cuter than a villain with a crush? Whatever. No regrets! KuroKura is my OTP. This is gonna be awesome. College AUs FTW! Please review, favorite, and follow if you would be so kind.

Question of the Day: What is your favorite and least favorite Hunter x Hunter pairing.