Puppet Master by Gaki

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.

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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.

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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."

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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?"

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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."

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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?"