Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to, own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho, it's characters, setting or plot. I do, however, own this fanfiction and the ideas that it portrays.
Warning(s): Shounen-ai innuendo
Yusuke had fought many kids before- gangsters, delinquents, boxers; they were all the same. They all wanted to take out The Famous Urameshi- for some kind of name to be made for themselves. It was all about publicity and power- which Junior High could get the most recognition. But this was a war, far greater and darker than any world war or crime ever committed. The hate smothered the oxygen- made it hard to breathe. Even before they had wrapped their hands around his neck.
Perhaps it was driven by fear. Fear of something that they could never understand, never imagine, even if they wanted to. Maybe it was the hate advertised by so many religious figures, or simply the idea that anything different was ugly. For that's what this was, an ugly sin, something that only those destined to the fiery pits of hell would attempt. Or maybe it was just some sort of disease. Some random, nameless disease that plagued them, something just put there by society's intolerance or malice to those not seen as equals. For they were not deserving of equality.
So many poetic words went into describing the events of that day. Mourners whispered prayers under their breath, speculators hooted cheers of triumph. It was a two-sided war. You were either black or white- there was no grayscale. It was just a childish game, to see who could break the porcelain doll first. But someone always has to pick up the sharp pieces, bloodying their hands against the shards, trying to right the wrong.
His face was so beautiful as he lay there. Even with the crusted blood and the darkened bruises, he seemed so peaceful, blissfully ignorant to the real reason he had been hurt. It had seemed like such an innocent fight, just like any other. But their hate had driven them blind with rage- and it was a deed that no mortal human could commit. And he hadn't seen it coming.
The words were what hurt him the most. Their words were harsh and demeaning, as if each syllable was a silver dagger, thrust deeper and deeper into the very center of his heart. How could they judge him? Did they know the things that haunted his nightmares, did they know the morals he had risked his life to uphold? How could they hate him before they had even looked inside his soul?
The IV beeped a melancholy tune, as if the very eyes of God were looking down at them and their evil deed. Had he meant it to be this way? Had that all-powerful deity really planned on causing so many people so much pain? Kurama didn't know. All he knew was that with every blip of the screen, the room became more and more out of focus. With every breath that Yusuke took, laying there so battered in the starch hospital bed, his lungs ached more and more, like he was sinking deep into the depths of a large pool, kicking to the surface- but he never could reach the surface.
He could hear the angered shouts of protesters from both sides picketing the hospital. Different words merged together to create two opposing voices, black and white, but both sharing one common feeling: hate. One side screamed things like 'abomination' and 'blasphemy', while the other side rebelled with 'tolerance' and 'equality'. But their fancy words didn't much matter to the redhead, now. It all meant the same to him.
Could it be that maybe they weren't really alive? Just dead things that were, in fact, deserving of this punishment? Were the ones that had done this to Yusuke, his Yusuke, really sent by some powerful being to punish them for wrongs committed?
No, he thought sternly, it wasn't any sort of punishment. It was the hate. Because hate is like a plague- it spreads from one to another, never ceasing. Because at that moment, Kurama hated them, too. He wanted so badly to make them pay as Yusuke had, make them bleed and wilt away on a blipping monitor, just as Yusuke had.
No human could make Yusuke die, for his demonic heritage insured him from that. But it was the thought- the idea that if they could, they would do it again.
For they would find nothing worthy of redeeming.
Dedicated in loving memory to Matthew Shepard. You can find more information at http/ a little over 30 minutes to write. Do take 30 seconds to write a nice, constructive review.
