Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei or A Dream Deferred. Much props to Mars, which gave me on of the lines in the story.

Background Information: This is an idea I got back in May of last year that's been bugging me since, so I'm going to write it and hopefully have it turn out well. For edification, this takes place in Gensoukai, after Riko has died; however, there is no battle between Kurikara and Kijin. Hisoka has returned to Kansei to recover. This is Hisoka POV, as well, and based on an essay I wrote for the fun of it regarding Hisoka's role in TsuSoka. The essay itself is posted up on my LJ (click on my "homepage" button to find it).

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

- "A Dream Deferred", by Langston Hughes

I don't like to think of myself as someone who runs away. I am not some frightened little puppy that can be kicked around by its littermates (or it's parents or other dogs or a wolf or…). I can stand up for myself. I…am strong. Yes. I'm a strong person. There are so many things that I can handle. Like this Shinigami job, which is driving Tsuzuki crazy and has been for decades. Like…

Like…

Like my nightmares. I don't wake up in a cold sweat anymore, feeling his hands all over me even as the dream fades into the recesses of memory. Because no one ever touches me in my dreams anymore.

………

Because in those dreams, I'm running.

………

Of course, it's better to run than to stupidly allow myself to be raped and murdered. Of course. Of course. I've made it so the bastard can't touch me. Even before I made it that way, he never got very far with me in my dreams anyway.

Good. I don't have to deal with feeling that man on me again. I just run.

I run.

………

"The boy is so impatient."

There they go again, Seiryuu and Taimou gossiping about me right outside my hospital door. Of freaking course I'm impatient. Do they know the shit I've had to deal with? Waiting to be let out of the basement for air, waiting in the hospital to die…I do not like waiting. There's nothing "worth waiting for". If you want it, go and get it.

"Now look where he is. Stuck in the infirmary with his only Shiki dead."

Thanks for reminding me.

Not that I needed reminding that the hyperactive little cactus died trying to protect me.

God damn it.

That was supposed to be what I do. I was supposed to be the guardian, the protector. I'm tired of people (Tsuzuki, Riko) doing that in my stead.

I'm not a puppy that gets kicked around. No one is supposed to die because of me. I'm the Guardian of Death. I'm supposed to be in control. The one to put his life on the line. The one calling the shots. The strong one.

Not a manic-depressive partner or a stupid Shiki.

………

God damn, it hurts to move. I haven't been in this much pain since…since I tried to stand up after Muraki disappeared.

And what are you going to do about this pain, Hisoka? Run?

Oh, joy. Self-deprecation. Just what I need.

………

The door opens. Tsuzuki enters, and shuts the door behind him. I'd tell him to go away, but it hurts to move my mouth. He sits next to me on the bed.

How funny. The only one to know about the first time I felt pain like this, and now I can't even communicate to him that I'm in that same pain again.

I send out my Empathy. He knows, oh how he knows, even without me telling him. Little snatches, surprisingly accurate, of me being destroyed by Kurikara and me being destroyed by Muraki mingle with each other.

I grimace. He immediately puts up a wall on those imaginative musings. Crap.

"I don't need you to hide your thoughts," I mutter through gritted teeth. "I'm not a child. I know what happened to me. I can deal with it."

He looks at me, and his eyes are odd.

"Are you sure you can?" he asks me.

"What?"

"I…I told you I know you better than anyone," he says, his resolve faltering. "I don't think you can. Deal with it, I mean."

"I'm don't need you to take care of me." Because I am not a child. A child runs when it's scared. A child does not protect. A child can't protect. Because it is not strong. And I…am strong. "I'm a strong person," I say. He doesn't reply. "I'm a strong person," I insist, and still he doesn't reply.

I can keep Muraki from touching me in my sub-conscious. I can make things happen. I can protect. I can deal with being traumatized. My parents locked me in the basement. I should be a psychopath, not just irritable. I was raped. I should be afraid of men, not just Muraki.

No. I am not afraid of Muraki. Screw how much I screamed and cried and begged for him to stop. Screw how far I run from him in my dreams. I am not afraid of Muraki.

"Then why don't you talk to me about anything?" Tsuzuki asks, finally.

"I can take care of myself," I say. I'm not scared of anything. Only weak people are scared of anything. And I am not a weak person.

"Hisoka, do you have any dreams?" Tsuzuki asks me after awhile. "Anything to live for?"

"To get strong," I answer. "Strong enough to get back at my parents and Muraki."

"I…is that all you have room for, in your heart, Hisoka?"

God damn it!

"Don't you want me to get revenge on Muraki?" Screw the pain; those eyes are hurting me more than anything Kurikara inflicted on me. "He's hurt you, too. But you…you don't want to get revenge on anybody, you're too damn much of philanthropist." I can think straight. "I've wanted to get revenge on Muraki since before I even liked you. This is my prerogative, Tsuzuki. I have to do this. I have to…I have to. I can't run…"

Because children run. And I'm not a child.

But I run. I run from Muraki in those dreams, as much as I want to turn around and put a knife in his heart.

Why do I run? I'm not scared of Muraki.

Bullshit.

Children lie, too.

I'm scared of Muraki. I'm petrified of him. Because around him, I can't protect myself. I can't protect anyone. I can't protect Tsuzuki.

Oh, God, Kyoto. Tsuzuki sitting in that fire just waiting to die. Why did I, the Empath, not get that he had been preparing to kill himself for years, since even before I met him? Why did I not see what Muraki was doing to Tsuzuki? Why didn't I protect him?

Because I couldn't protect him. The same way I couldn't protect Riko. Or Tsubaki-hime.

I couldn't even understand how Muraki was affecting Tsuzuki, because I was too self-absorbed to notice. I cared too much about hating Muraki to comprehend anything else, including my partner's mental state.

I am a child. A silly, impatient, weak, selfish child who can't protect anything.

"Hisoka?"

I'm crying. Shit. He can't see me cry. Children cry. I can't be a child. Children need to be protected. He'll want to protect me. He shouldn't have to protect me. He shouldn't have to see me for what I really am.

It hurts me physically when he touches my face to wipe away my tears because he just shouldn't have to. Why does he put up with my childish shit? He's got bigger problems than a spoiled brat who doesn't know anything and can't do anything for anyone else, who runs from what scares him instead of facing it like a grown-up.

"Hisoka, I wish you would talk to me," Tsuzuki says. "Even after Kyoto, even after what you said, you still won't…it's like you're running from me."

After Kyoto is when I started running from Muraki in my dreams. So I wouldn't have to feel him, to face him, to deal with the fact that he hurt me in ways that might be irreparable when I was thirteen and almost managed to do likewise in a different way in Kyoto. My parents…I run from them, too. I can't talk about them. I can't even think about them.

Tsuzuki, how am I supposed to talk to you about being raped and abused and neglected? They told me; they proved to me that I was weak and a child and if I tell you I'm going to prove it to you, too.

"Hisoka, are you scared of me?"

I'm petrified of you thinking that I'm in need of your protection. I don't want you to think that I'm a weak child because then you'll be just like them, and I can't bear to have you be like them. You're the first person in the world I ever respected and I need you to respect me, too. I need to be stronger than Muraki and my parents. I need to protect you. So you can respect me. That's my dream.

"Hisoka, please." He takes my hand in between both of his and raises it off the bed. "Please, just talk to me. Just…just tell me what you're thinking right now."

He kisses my fingers.

"I don't deserve you."

I don't know why I said it. It might have been the kiss. It might have been that I was about ready to explode.

"All I can do is throw tantrums when I don't get my way and run away when I get scared. I don't deserve to have you respect me, because…because I'm always getting saved. I…I can't protect anyone. Tsubaki or Riko or you…All I am is a stupid kid who's only been around for eighteen years."

There. Now it's out. Now he knows who I am and is free to despise me, because he should have better than an immature brat for his partner.

He stares at me. And then he opens my hand and holds my palm against his face. I feel his tears slipping in and out around my fingers.

"Oh, God, Hisoka, is that what you think?" he asks me.

I should have known. He would never hate me. There's no room in him for hate.

Great. On top of everything else, now I feel like a complete jackass.

"Is it…does being with me make you feel that way?"

"No," I say. No, no, no, no, it's not you, please, don't ever think it's you. It's Muraki and my parents and me taking it out on you because I love you so damn much that I'd die if you looked at me like they did.

But…but…

The man has no hate in him. How can I think so little of him?

I'm startled by one of his hands touching my face, wiping away more tears that I wasn't even aware I was shedding. The other hand still holds my own.

It's too late. Tsuzuki already sees me as a child. A weakling. Disposable.

I want to sit up. I want to get up and walk away. But I can barely move an inch without pain exploding over my body. Piece of shit Shikigami making it impossible for me to move.

It's starting to scare me. Every time his fingers brush against my eyes I see fingers masked by cherry blossoms and red with blood. I try to move and there's pain.

I can't run and I start to cry harder. He hitches, and then doggedly continues to take my tears onto his fingers.

I'm not even aware of deciding to do it, but the instant I sink my teeth into his hand I realize that I've just done one of the least rational things of my existence. It startles him; it startles me, and before I know it I've released his hand from my teeth and instead my tongue is running all over where I've just bitten him. There's no blood and no puncture wounds, just light red marks, but those are injuries to me and no other part of me has the strength to try and take care of them.

His hand moves before I realize it and my tongue grazes his wrist.

I hadn't even noticed he'd taken his watch off. He does that sometimes, since Kyoto, when it was just us alone together. I don't know why. I don't want to ask.

I can't control my tongue; I'm still licking those scars that won't heal as his fingers brush my face and then dig their way into my hair. His other hand knots our fingers together. I glance up at him. His eyes are shut and his head rests against our combined knuckles.

"You saved me, didn't you?" he says, and through my hand I can see me, a sobbing hysterical mess throwing myself on him, begging him not to die because he's where I belong and I wanted to live. "I…I didn't want to die, Hisoka. I wanted everyone…I wanted you…to be happy. I wanted to make you happy. I thought I couldn't, I thought I was just…That's…that's my dream, Hisoka. I want to see you happy because of me."

I retract my tongue, not taking my eyes off him. He leans over so his face hovers barely a centimeter over mine.

"Thank you. For saving me."

He kisses me, and it's his mouth (not Muraki's) and his hand in my hair (not Muraki's) and his scars (not mine) so I can't run from them because damned if I ever leave him alone again.

The fear isn't gone even as he kisses me a second and third time, and again and again. I'm letting him touch me in ways that were I not bedridden I would shove him away for. I'm just too damn weak and in too much pain to make him stop.

He stops.

I'm confused.

"Sorry," he says, taking hold of my hand again. "You looked scared."

"I was," I murmur, not realizing he can hear me.

Shit.

His hand begins to slip out of mine but I grab it. If he goes insane with self-loathing again, I'll do likewise. "Stay," I order. In a rasp. I sound pathetic.

He does so, reluctantly. "Did I…remind you of him?"

I don't answer. I don't need to.

"Is…" Tsuzuki swallowed. "I know this is going to sound stupid but, is he what's been scaring you?"

I don't answer. I don't need to. Tsuzuki looks away. My grip intensifies. "Among other things," I say quietly.

He looks back at me, steeling himself for something. I blink and suddenly he's kissing me again, even softer than before, barely touching me but there enough so I can feel him. I can feel him going out of his way not to use any force at all, so much so that it's a wonder he had enough nerve to do it.

Only this man can make me feel like a human being and two inches tall at the same time.

It's so damn sad that I can't just enjoy the fact that I'm being kissed by the man I love.

He sits back and half of me is relieved and the other half desperate for his return. I won't, can't let go of his hand. He's not letting go either. We sit in total silence for what feels like hours.

"You know…you're not a child," he finally manages to say.

I look at him. I'm quiet for a moment.

"I…couldn't sleep."

He stares at me. I don't know why I said that, or why I continue.

"It was a really humid summer that year. I couldn't breathe well, and it was keeping me up. I…I punched out a window and left the house. We had a really large property, and there was this grove of cherry trees…"

I stop. I try to force my voice box to work and it won't. Next thing to talk about is how I felt that woman's emotions pour into me as she was killed. I just can't put it into words.

I look at him. He looks slightly pale but squeezes my hand. "Go on."

No. I can't. I can't say it out loud. I shake my head.

He nods. "I understand." A pause. "Will you…can you tell me more, later?"

I make a noise. I don't know if it meant "yes" or "no".

He looks into my face and reads my expression for a few moments.

"You're not a child," he says. "And I do respect you."

I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything. I try to say so but my throat is sawdust.

I still feel so weak and childish but Tsuzuki is not my parents or Muraki. He is not them. Not them. He isn't and never will be anything at all like them.

I'm a child and I cling to his hand but there's no hatred in his touch; there's only his little dream of wanting to make me happy. My parents and Muraki fade, still visible and still clear but dimmed in my memory, as that dream tries so hard to replace them.

I try to tell him but I can't, there's a fear in my throat that grips my voice and won't let me say anything.

Tsuzuki pushes my bangs out of my eyes and his own eyes tell me he doesn't need my words. It's only me who suddenly needs my words, words that could defeat and banish my tormentors, but can't find them.

Tsuzuki kisses my hand. I'll find the words. I'll find the damn things. I don't know when or where, or how long I'll be a child who clings to his hand like it's a lifeline instead of simply holding it because it's a pleasant thing. But waiting is not a horrible thing, because…

Because waiting is not like running.

That's my dream. To stop running.

So I'll wait until those damn words find their way out of my throat and Tsuzuki hears them. He'll hold my hand until then. He'll wait with me. I know he will.

Waiting is not like running. And children do not wait.

I can wait.