Spring grasses were popping up out of the ground like light green magic, turning once lifeless slush and hard earth into a lively carpet of new growth. The days were still cold, but it was a pleasant difference from the recent freeze-or it would be, if Kurapika wasn't sick again.

It was a strange, bone-deep sort of sickness that started in the head and sank its claws into his blood until he found himself delirious and sweating through his sheets. It was the sickness that came from overworking himself, from overusing Emperor Time, a sickness he could only barely push through with caffeine pills and force of will. He was left robbed of breath most often, or energy, or an appetite, and he longed to go one day without seeing his sins scrawled across his eyelids with glowing red marker.

He was a murderer.

This was something he had a difficult time digesting. The idea that he had killed multiple people now, his enemies, refused to settle in his mind. Indeed it left him rather unsettled on a regular basis, to the point where he found himself gripping his sleeves with white knuckles and staring at nothing as his mind played and replayed the scenes.

Uvogin had been his first, and like most firsts he hadn't known what to expect in the slightest. Killing someone, torturing him with his bare hands before crushing his heart with the Judgement Chain, it left him disillusioned as to what killing felt like. He thought it would be an overly warm feeling that seared through him and left him breathless with victory, instead he had been left cold as he dug a grave for the giant he had brought down. Back then he'd thought he hadn't learned anything useful, but now he knew better. Uvogin had taught him just how completely empty his victory would be and legitimized the concerns Kurapika's nen teacher had voiced back in the forest.

Phinks had been easier, in a way. That time he'd had a good idea what murder felt like and it was easier to interrogate the man held in chains. Kurapika had smacked him around hard enough that even now he could sometimes feel the man's cheekbones under his palms, warm and damp from exertion as he refused to give any information on the troupe, any information on the whereabouts of his friends or their abilities, even their names were treasured information he refused to release. On pain of death. Kurapika had glowered down at him in the darkness of that shack in the slums and crushed his heart without so much as batting an eye.

Franklin was where he learned cruelty, vile desires followed through with the rush that came from a fight. "You might as well talk to me, I'm the last person who's ever going to see your face." "I'm not going to leave them a body to find, they'll only know you're dead when the months pass and you never tell them where you are." He'd gotten no response, and it made him even more violent until another spider was crushed beneath his hands.

He avoided thinking too hard about it while awake, so they snuck up on him in his dreams. Cold hands of the dead snagged his clothes, his hair, and brought him to the ground where he could smell their rancid breath creeping up from beneath the dirt. Whatever they said to him on those nights frightened him too much to remember upon waking, drenched once more with the signs of unrest. Many times he had stumbled from his bed into the shower to claw a layer of filth and skin off his body, sure that his sweat was someone else's blood and too afraid to open his eyes to check. It left him where he was now; sick.

On top of this, he had found out Hisoka was also killing off the Troupe, gruesomely and without any sense of mercy. He'd seen some footage of the magician brutalizing one of the new members that Kurapika didn't recognize, without warning and in such a way that he made quite the mess before launching a card into the camera lense. Competition was the last thing Kurapika needed. The knowledge that Hisoka might beat him to the punch, kill his enemies before he could, only drove him further into his frantic search for the spiders. He found himself meeting Hisoka in the abandoned carnival grounds in York New now and then to beg him not to rip this out from under him, to let him have this revenge, only to wake up pleading with air. He at the very least had the presence of mind to be disgusted with himself afterwards.

Kurapika had tracked Feitan down to a town that sat between two mountains where the surrounding landscape was made up mostly of meadows, the occasional copse the only real place to hide. Feitan was being sloppy, the clues were too obvious, and it filled him with a budding sense of unease. He was being baited to this place, perhaps because the spider thought he could win in a one-on-one fight with Kurapika or because he had a death wish. Either way Kurapika was going to squash him like he had the others, he could feel murder in his veins like a shot of something wicked. It kept him focused and functional enough to consider his options, to get lost in the fantasy that maybe this time would be different, this time he would feel the rush of accomplishment and relief he desperately longed for.

The town was a quiet one with kind but private citizens who seemed wary of him. Not enough to bar him from staying in their single motel, though he could feel eyes on him when he walked around playing the part of a traveler in need of some down time. He couldn't blame them, he must look horrible with his increasingly ratty clothes, the dark smudges under his eyes, and the hair that hung drab and pale down to his shoulders. He'd been meaning to cut it lately but couldn't find it within himself to spend the energy on anything besides staring at screens until his eyes ached or following leads to different parts of the continent.

Kurapika woke up early from a gut feeling, a brush at the edge of his En, in the violet hours of the morning. The motel room was dark, the only lights cast by the LEDs of the coffee machine and the TV remote, and it was quiet except for the breeze pushing at the window above the air unit. He sat up warily to feel further out and got a harsh chill up his spine when his reaching gave him the sensation of burning oil. As he'd thought, this was not a slip-up; Feitan was waiting for him here and he may not be patient enough to wait for the sun to rise. In fact, Kurapika was sure that if he didn't head out now he would be dragged into the street for this fight.

No, no he didn't need the locals growing concerned. He flipped the sheet off his body and walked into the tiny bathroom to splash icy water on his face to shock himself into further alertness. Once dressed, he stepped out into the chilly pre-dawn air and started the walk away from civilization. It was a hike to get to the nearest open field, and a longer walk still to a place just past a small stand of birch trees that stood like bright bones in the rising sun. The weather was still cold enough that he could see his breath clouding around his face before being swept away in front of him, the breeze at his back. He felt like he was walking to a gallows.

A figure stood in sharp relief as the sun's rays spread long fingers of light just over the horizon, and Kurapika knew this was his enemy. His robes blew in the wind and light shone off the sword in his hand. Cocky, but not stupid. Feitan had been there to massacre his clan and he was there to see his friends dead by Kurapika's chains, he knew the danger he was in. Kurapika wondered what they thought of him. 'The Chain Bastard' gave him a good clue how they felt before when he was a nuisance, someone who got the better of one of their members, but what about now when he had three of their ghosts following him around?

Kurapika brought his hands up to massage the cold out of his right knuckles, the metal from his ever-present chains responsible for the constant ache in the flesh beneath them. The only way he was ever free of them was to put himself into a state of Zetsu, and that wasn't something he could afford to do anymore. So they remained, a constant source of noise and discomfort that had grown almost relaxing over the years. The chains meant he was still following his goals, ready to take on his hunt, even if it occasionally added to his budding sense of unreality to hear the chains clink even in sleep. He allowed his chains to manifest, at least in part, sticking with the dowsing chain for combat.

Feitan tilted his head, expression unreadable at this distance, and let Kurapika come closer before showing off his speed by rushing him, sword poised. Just as Kurapika was ready to dodge and loop some chain around his adversary, he disappeared, popping back up a few feet to the left. When he spoke, it was in a tone that suggested all the smugness his hidden face could not. "You're a conjurer, not a manipulator."

Cryptic, Kurapika didn't like it one bit and he lashed his chains towards his opponent like a whip, ready on his feet to respond to whichever direction Feitan went in. That Feitan knew what type of Nen he used wasn't the main problem, he could have deduced it from the murders or from when Pakunoda died, but he had a gut feeling that wasn't what this was about. Again, Feitan spoke up from Kurapika's blind spot.

"Not that only, a specialist too." He barely dodged in time to avoid being stabbed in the shoulder and he used the momentum to put some distance between the two of them.

"Why are you telling me, knowing how my abilities work won't keep them from beating you." Kurapika slung his chains again with a harsh toss of his arm, but again Feitan was too swift. He used his ears instead to wait for the change of air pressure to tell him which way to jump, and wound up launching himself straight up and over Feitan's head to avoid the next jab. This time he succeeded in getting a loop around his sword arm as well as his throat, leaving them imperceptible for now.

"Where you think I got it? The air?" He slashed the air with his sword impatiently before disappearing yet again only to reappear closer, catching Kurapika in the jaw with the hilt. It sent him stumbling back until he got his wits about himself just in time to block the punch aimed at his side. "Found a homeless man camping, he knew too."

Kurapika yanked on the chains around Feitan with an enraged snarl and dragged him off balance until he was close enough to kick in the gut. "You're hurting my friends now? If you mean to taunt me I hope you know it's the last thing you'll do." He let the chains constrict Feitan's movements, not having nearly enough on him to bind him securely.

"He dead now." Feitan's eyes narrowed in an obscured grin, and he rushed Kurapika with his sword. The distance was too short, dodging this only led to a deep wound along his side and Feitan throwing them both into the dirt. The swordsman got a hand around Kurapika's throat and squeezed hard, grinding his blond hair into the dirt. "Don't matter, you'll die too. Eventually."

Reaching up to retaliate was a mistake Feitan made full use of, grabbing his wrist and twisting until it snapped. Unable to pull air into his lungs to scream, Kurapika simply paled as his whole body tensed up. Feitan pulled his broken wrist back until Kurapika saw spots at the edges of his vision and was digging his heels deep into the dirt under him, and then he let go with both hands to sit up. Kurapika got only a few moments to breathe before his attacker had a knife jammed into his shoulder. This time he puffed out a winded yelp and punched Feitan in the face with his usable arm.

His hand was seized on the back draw as he prepared to strike again, and his fist was forcibly opened up so the fingers could be spread, one captured more blatantly than the others. "Cry. Won't kill your exam friends, maybe." Kurapika's eyes rolled back as his pointer nail was ripped out of it's bed. "Maybe you cry, and they die anyway." His middle nail was next to go and he was finding it difficult to breathe through the pain.

Perhaps if he wasn't bone tired and barely running on fumes he could fight out of this, but he could feel his body shaking with the strain to stay conscious after the energy expenditure of the fight and now torture on top of everything else. The nail on his ring finger was tugged on, pushed up just enough to peek under. Then Feitan did it again, reveling in the way Kurapika's spine curved. He leaned closer over Kurapika and pulled the captive hand up to his heart, the texture of his robes shockingly coarse. "Did your mom like this, you don't cry though." The nail came up slowly as Kurapika's vision tunneled.

"Keep your mouth shut-" His leg kicked out as Feitan grabbed the bloody tip of his finger and pressed down upon the raw flesh. "Fuck!"

"You see bodies? Carved up nice, skin peeled nice. Pretty, better bloody. She screamed a lot, then I cut her throat, right through spine." Feitan's eyes glittered in the early dawn, his black hair shining gold around the edges, thick loose hairs nearly transparent with it. Kurapika's eyes were already lit up, but then he saw red, and then he felt something crunch under the stiff palm of his bloodied hand. Feitan's eyes widened, and he almost thought it was a trick of his pain-addled imagination, but then the bandana over Feitan's face began to grow dark. Blood seeped through the cloth as he brought a hand first to his broken esophagus, then falteringly to Kurapika's, nails digging in deep and ragged to rend the flesh.

He died ugly and fell heavily onto Kurapika's chest, where he stayed until the other fighter could push him over and sit up. The Spider was rolled onto his back as his expression glazed, still startlingly intent. Normally this was when Kurapika would dig a new grave and hide all evidence of what he'd done, as if enough feet of soil could keep the ghosts in. Not this time. This time he curled in on himself to think back on the café he'd been in when the news had broken with all the banality of a lost pet announcement, spoiling the taste of his treat and leaving him orphaned at age twelve. They had shown a short clip of the bodies, and it was enough to sear its four seconds into his mind permanently. Feitan had been the one then, the one who cut them to pieces, the one who left the bodies disfigured.

Then why did killing him feel like an acid bath?

Why did giving these monsters the punishment they deserved feel like taking a step further back from the world with each kill? He reached up and ripped the knife out of his shoulder with a shudder, and wondered if it was poisoned. He stood up, turned towards town, and sent Leorio the address of the motel. As he found himself wandering through the morning work crowd with his head nearly spinning on his shoulders, struggling to keep his eyes open and his feet in order, he decided that yes the knife had most certainly been poisoned. Either his state of dishevelment went unnoticed or he was too out of it to realize what expressions people were making at him, and when he tried to understand any face in the crowd and found that he couldn't differentiate between people, he guessed it was the latter.

The moment he got in the door of his room he stumbled in a barely contained fall to the floor, entire body screaming but nothing giving him useful input. He was on the verge of passing out some million years later when he heard the door open behind him.

Leorio definitely went over the speed limit about ten miles back, foot jammed into the gas pedal as he took the interstate to wherever the hell this location was Kurapika had sent him. That guy was lucky Leorio would do just about anything for him, he had an exam coming up in little over a week and he really should be studying. Instead he was sweating from worry. He doesn't answer his phone for years and now suddenly he wants Leorio to meet up with him, likely for some ridiculous plan where they kidnap a criminal and Leorio has to make sure he doesn't commit murder in broad daylight.

His stomach clenched. Worried on an empty tank, only coffee in his system since he'd gotten up the moment he heard the tone he'd given only to Kurapika's number. He had better be ready for a fight because Leorio was going to kill him. Oh god what if he's dead, what if that was the last place he'd been before being-

Leorio took in a deep breath and held it, letting it back out slowly. This was going to be fine. Kurapika wasn't answering his phone because he can't hear it, or something. He dried his forehead off on his sleeve, then pushed his hair back from where it was hanging limp and ungelled in his face. Kurapika was fine, because he was Kurapika and no matter what he at least looked like he had everything planned out and prepared for. Although… That he called for help, no, not help but assistance, Leorio's presence anyway, was not a good sign.

When he got to the motel he shut the car off and took another calming breath. Okay, so find out which room he's in and then do damage control, don't try to figure things out until he actually had some idea of what was going on. He got out of the car and turned towards the office as he shut his door, and immediately noticed the trail of blood leading to one room. Leorio's heart jumped into his throat as he scrambled to the door and opened it easily, noting that Kurapika had pulled the upper latch out as if for the housekeeper. Once he was inside, Leorio saw why.

Kurapika was laying face down on the floor with one elbow bent as if he were trying to push himself up and couldn't. Upon seeing him tremble, Leorio realized he was in fact unable to lift himself, and quickly rushed to help him turn over and lay back down. "Hey hey hey, what the hell Kurapika? What's wrong, are you just worn out or is this blood loss?"

"Poison. I can't…" He opened his hand and failed to lift it very far. He couldn't move, so probably some kind of paralysis, which Leorio was not in any way prepared for. He didn't have anything for the obvious lost blood, he'd have to take Kurapika to a hospital. Leorio nodded to his own train of thought and maneuvered his arms under his friend's body, lifting him up like a child and carrying him out to the passenger side seat. He pulled the lever for the seat to lean it back before buckling Kurapika and jogging around to the driver's side.

"It's going to be fine." If he said it enough in a determined enough manner, maybe the divine mother would put in a word for him with the angels. Speed his wagon or some shit. His hand itched to slip into his shirt and feel the beads below, but both hands were securely clamped down on the wheel. "I'm taking you to a hospital."

Kurapika breathed with a shudder and struggled to look at Leorio. "No. Just you."

"Just me my ass! You think I can fix any of this? I'm a fucking pediatrician not a war medic." He was so outraged he turned to yell at Kurapika, swerving violently until he focused on the road again.

"Please, please…" The words just repeated even as they faded below audible range. Kurapika looked horrific. He was thin, more pallid than his norm, and he was currently begging Leorio to take care of this situation alone. It didn't fill him with a whole lot of confidence.

Leorio rallied all the calm at his disposal and gripped the wheel tighter, letting go only to shift gears. "If your heart stops," he paused, both for effect and because the thought bothered him. "There's nothing I can do to fix it. You are paralyzed, bleeding out, and delirious, how am I supposed to…" He blinked furiously.

His passenger was quiet for a beat too long, enough to make Leorio glance over to see if he was still conscious. "Leorio please not a hospital. I just need you to watch me." He sounded more put together this time, but his eyes were closed in concentration, obviously giving more energy to sounding fine than letting his body rest.

Leorio looked back at the road, hating how it blurred, and decelerated with a curse. He pulled over and got his medical kit out of the trunk so he could disinfect and bandage Kurapika up tight, his own hands unsteady.

The clock in the kitchen was slow, Kurapika had discovered. It blinked 2:55 at him from across the room in a way that distracted him, kept his attention as he sat at Leorio's dining table and didn't drink his glass of ice water. Leorio had a book open to study from, a handful of notes scattered across the table and music playing from his phone. Kurapika had blocked out the music and was watching the stove clock chase the true time in chartreuse blinks, cold condensation seeping over his fingers from where he held his glass. The wind blew in from the window and ruffled the papers and his hair, drawing his attention away from the clock to notice Leorio was only pretending to focus on his book.

He hadn't turned a page for half an hour, and Kurapika had only noticed in that moment. This was the third day in Leorio's apartment, and apparently he was interesting or worrisome enough to distract Leorio from the studying he needed to do. "What."

Leorio took the pen out of his mouth, something he seemed to do habitually, and pointed it at Kurapika. "Drink. You're still extremely dehydrated and I don't have the supplies to give you an IV so work with me here."

"I'm fine." He turned to look at the clock again, away from the concerned gaze of his friend.

"You contacted me and asked me to watch you, because you won't go to a hospital. Just drink your water. Stop telling me you're fine, I know and you know it's a stupid lie that doesn't make either of us feel better." He shut his book after putting a card in to mark his place, expression tight.

"I asked you to make sure I didn't die, not play house. I'm not your sick child." He rubbed the glass so more water would cascade along his knuckles. "Open your book."

"Drink your water."

Kurapika turned a simmering glare towards him and brought the glass to his lips. The moment the water touched his tongue he closed his eyes, drinking three fourths of the glass down without pausing. Only tilting his head back far enough to aggravate his sore neck stopped him, sending him into a coughing fit as he set the glass back down.

"Christ, I didn't mean all at once…" Leorio sighed and rubbed at a muscle in his neck, tension more prevalent in his face when he pressed a little higher. "Will you eat if I grab something from the corner store?"

"Fine." Kurapika wiped his mouth with his sleeve pulled over his wrist and watched Leorio get up, grab his keys, and leave. He waited as long as it would take for him to get downstairs and into his car, then he got up and grabbed his bag from beside the couch, where he had been sleeping. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened the door and found Leorio reaching for the handle.

"I… Forgot my wallet, uh." He noticed the strap on Kurapika's shoulder and clenched his jaw, standing aside as his gaze shifted to the top of the threshold. "I don't figure you were trying to catch up to me."

Kurapika wet his lips and stepped out into the open-air hallway. "No. I was going for a walk."

"Ah." Leorio went inside and came out a minute later, poorly hiding his surprise that Kurapika hadn't disappeared yet. "Are you coming with?" He deflated a little as Kurapika shook his head.

"I'll walk you to your car."

And he did, walking beside him down the stairs to the parking lot. Leorio got inside his car and shut the door, window rolling down so he could lean out over the edge and speak. "How long are you going for a walk?" Kurapika shrugged, not inclined to even consider whether he would be coming back or not.

In the end he only left for a few hours, returning to the apartment to eat and drink some more water. This time he wound up spacing out after pulling his phone out to do something, but forgot what he intended to do and simply stared at his lock screen until it went black. He flinched from his own reflection, which of course got Leorio's attention.

"I need to check your shoulder and make sure that poison was only meant to paralyze you." He was clearly worried, although Kurapika doubted it was only about his wound. He nodded and stayed on the couch while Leorio brought over some fresh bandages and disinfectant. He reached out to undo Kurapika's shirt, only to have his hands shoved aside so Kurapika could do it himself, eyes trained on his task. Leorio watched his face and carefully slid his hand under one half of the shirt to pull it aside, fingertips barely grazing the skin as he revealed the bandages and Kurapika's shoulder. They were quiet as he pulled the tape away and looked over the wound, cleaning and re-bandaging it before Kurapika got up to walk away as he did his shirt back up. Leorio watched him go, confused.

"Well, alright. You're welcome then." His worry was beginning to compress into anger, a frustration that showed more and more as the situation degraded. "Your shoulder's healing just fine, you can change your own bandages now."

"I could have changed them myself previously, but you would have insisted on looking for yourself." Kurapika's tone started out smooth but then quickly bent into something more sullen.

"Yeah, because I'm the one with actual medical training and also you asked me to look after you." He stood up to follow Kurapika into the kitchen, voice raising as he was faced with the man's back.

"I only asked you to do that while I was poisoned and bleeding, Now I am neither and I don't need to be coddled." Kurapika tugged at the hem of his shirt as he decided if he wanted to bother tucking it in.

"You-" Kurapika turned his head to watch out of the corner of his eye as Leorio brought his hands up, clenching them near his chest. "You are so frustrating, you know that? What's your problem? You go radio silent for years, years! Then just poof back in because it's convenient? Do you think I care so little for you that I can keep you from drowning on your own saliva and then send you on your way, no questions asked?"

"Stop." Kurapika turned fully in order to face him, his stance stiff.

"No! No, fuck you, I've kept my mouth shut this whole time because I didn't want you to bolt while you were still freshly wounded. Where have you been this whole time? Who even stabbed you? I tried talking to the Nostrade house through Melody and she didn't know where you were either, you just vanished! I thought you were dead, I thought maybe you, you did something crazy and- no, no no don't run out." Kurapika pushed past him to pick his bag back up, ignoring him until Leorio tugged at his elbow with an open hand, spinning him around but not holding him. Kurapika pushed his arm away regardless.

"Thank you for your hospitality." He made for the door and let it swing shut behind him, making it to the bottom of the stairs before bolting.

The evening was comparatively warm and made Kurapika's run uncomfortable, leaving the street the apartment was on and heading down another, then another, essentially hoping that if he got lost it would mean Leorio wouldn't find him either. He slowed down once he found a bus stop to catch his breath at, sitting down in the shelter and covering his face.

He didn't have to be such an unsociable mess, he could just talk to Leorio like the grown adult he was. Except that it had felt like wasps were swarming under his clothes, waiting to sting him at any moment the entire time he'd been in Leorio's home. He was breathing shallow and too quick, and when a hand lightly pressed against his back he flinched hard and brought up his arm to block an attack that never came.

Leorio slowly sat down on the bench beside him, hands up and open, as if he were surrendering to him. "Hey, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

No of course he wasn't, did he look okay? Kurapika was unable to respond in any organized manner so he shook his head.

"That's fine, that's fine." Kurapika had calmed only enough to see that Leorio was also breathing hard, having run after him. "I'm not going to force you to stay, you know you can leave whenever you want. But I can't just leave you to freak out in a public bus shelter okay? Come be an unmanageable asshole where you aren't likely to get mugged."

Kurapika got his heart rate back into a more reasonable range before nodding. He let Leorio help him up, and spent the walk back to the apartment getting himself under control once again.