Okay, okay…I know I've been a very bad writer and have taken a long time to update. Sorry. Since this scene wasn't part of my original outline, I had a hard time getting it started. Then I had computer problems. Then my bird died. Then I just got lazy. Bad me.

Thanks for all of the really kind reviews thus far. Special thanks to ButteredOnions who has agreed to be my beta reader. I can't tell you how many grammar/spelling and just-plain-stupid mistakes she caught.

I kind of had to drop the non-yaoi disclaimer because, do you realize how incredibly difficult it is to write Karasu non-yaoi? However, I think I'm still within the PG-13 rating, so I hope I didn't write anything too offensive. Karasu/Kurama scenes are a dime a dozen out there. Some ideas are good, some suck. I went for "different" and hope it doesn't suck.

Disclaimer: When I asked the Magic 8 Ball (boy, am I showing my age or what?) if I owned YYH and/or its characters, it replied "Not a chance." And who am I to argue with the all-knowing, all-powerful Magic 8 Ball?

Enjoy.

Faster…faster…he should be able to run faster…why couldn't he gain any speed? His body felt so cumbersome. The ground was thick, slick and spongy, making it difficult to run. There was ground, wasn't there? Why couldn't he see it? And he was tired. So tired. He kicked his right leg forward, willing the reluctant appendage to obey his command, yet straining under the weight. It felt like lead. And the harder he tried to run, the slower he seemed to move. Like running under water. Like drowning.

As his foot slipped again, he gasped. Heavy, damp air flooded his chest, its wet chill doing little to quench the fiery pain in his over-taxed lungs. Instead, its sudden, cold weight shocked him into convulsive, sharp coughs between greedy gulps for precious air. The sheer force wracked his entire body, causing his eyes to water and bitter bile to flood his parched mouth. He doubled over. Long hair cascaded down his shoulders, drawing a curtain of red velvet across his peripheral vision.

Hiei blinked. Red hair? Was this a dream? This wasn't his body. It was a human body—that explained a lot about the burdensome lack of speed. And not just any human body. This body belonged to—

"Kurama…" The voice drifted liltingly through the darkness—as if carried on the whisper of a non-existent breeze—somehow piercing the thundering roar of the blood rushing through his head. Icy dread clutched at his chest, tearing his heart and sucking the breath from his tightening throat. Rational thought—his own sense of identity—fled Hiei as he found himself caught up in Kurama's unadulterated terror.

"Kurama…" the voice repeated. Closer.

Panic propelled him forward again, legs kicking frantically and eyes not daring to look back lest he see the glowing red orbs pursuing him in the darkness...closing in on their prey.

"Karasu…" he whimpered, forcing the word over the taut knot in his throat. If Karasu caught up to him…

Up ahead a faint greenish glow finally caught his eye. Light. Tendrils of light stretched their dim, delicate fingers through the inky darkness, pulling away the shadows and beckoning him forward. If he could just make it to the light…

Encouraged, Kurama staggered onward, ignoring the pounding in his head, the groaning protests of his lungs. But his aching body would not be silenced; he only made it a few steps before his leg shrieked in agony and forced him to his knees. He reflexively grabbed the injured limb, the sensation of skin brushing upon the open wound sending another jolt of excruciating pain clawing through him. He screamed.

Was that his scream? It couldn't have been. It sounded so far away…it barely even sounded human…the cry of a terrified, wounded animal…

Blood seeped between his fingers, its sticky wetness drawing him further into the abyss. He felt so light-headed, yet so heavy. Rivulets of scarlet poured from the gash, pooling in murky crimson puddles at his feet, soaking his shoes. No wonder he kept slipping—his shoes were slick with…did he really have that much blood? So much blood. Like a lake. A big, red lake. You could practically float on it. Float…drift…drift to the light. Needed to drift to the light. Had to reach the light…

"Kurama…" Closer. This time, he could feel the hot breath beating down the nape of his neck.

Adrenaline snapped his mind back into focus and pure survival instinct kicked in. He couldn't—he wouldn't—be caught. Kurama scrabbled on all fours…crawling…scratching the ground…anything to get away. He finally regained his feet and began running, this time grateful for the pain each time his foot slapped against the ground and pushed him forward. Pain meant he could still feel—meant he was still alive.

The light drew closer. Its seductive glow called to him—promising to wrap him in its radiant embrace and melt away the darkness…the fear…the pain. He could already feel its warmth on his clammy skin.

"Kurama, stop!"

Yusuke?

"Don't move!"

Kurama skidded to a halt. "Why?" He trusted Yusuke with his life. But ordering him to stop…now of all times…

"Look!"

Blinking his bleary, light-starved eyes, Kurama concentrated his gaze on the alluring greenish glow in front of him. Gradually, his surroundings came into soft focus. He tottered backwards a step, sheer horror gripping his chest as if someone plunged a hand through his torso and was squeezing the life out of his heart. Pain melted into dread…then despair. The weight of his own heart dragged him down, and Kurama slowly sank to his knees. "No…"

Before him, a wall of radiant orbs stretched out as far as his eyes could see. Plasma flames licked their smooth curves, creating the illusion of twinkling party lights, winking sly taunts at Kurama's dashed hope. Beyond that…light…the real light. Out of reach. Shadows skittered across the surface, further eclipsing the coveted illumination.

Icy fingers combed through his hair, then traced further down his spine. Kurama shuddered violently at the chill and the revulsion knotting his stomach. He spun around to face his attacker. Nothing. A cool breeze kissed his cheek-—the air disturbed by something that had been there.

"Kurama…" The word buzzed in his ear, blowing wisps of his hair. Kurama swung at the voice. His fist met no resistance.

"Kurama…" Behind him this time. He swung again. Nothing.

A low chuckle reverberated about him, seeming to change direction every time he snapped around to face it. Each movement taxed his beleaguered body into further exhaustion. Frustration gnawed at the fringes of his mind as he realized how stupid he must look blindly thrashing at nothing.

"Kurama!" This time, he got a solid lock on the voice. With the skill of hundreds of years, Kurama extracted a rose from his hair, and, in one fluid movement, flung his energy into it while spinning around and lashing out at the voice. As the transforming whip sailed through the air, he realized his mistake and hastily yanked the weapon back to him. The sloppy recall caused the whip to flail out of control, and its tip snapped back against his own face, biting his cheek. But at least it had missed the wall of bombs it had initially headed toward. That had been Yusuke's voice last time.

Hissing in pain, Kurama dropped the weapon. It transformed back to the lovely rose, which was promptly crushed under the foot of a shiny black leather boot.

"You've marred your pretty face…"

Kurama staggered back—straight into the arms of Karasu. With surprising speed and ferocity, the demon locked one arm around Kurama's waist and jerked the struggling teenager back against his own body. Kurama's hand instantly flew to his neck to protect his throat as he felt Karasu's other hand winding through his hair. Instead of choking the life out of him, Karasu's fingers lightly skimmed Kurama's cheek, wiping away the blood. Petrified green eyes followed the bloody fingers up and over his shoulder, finally gazing upon Karasu's porcelain features. His malevolent, glittering eyes glanced down at his prey. "Hello, Kurama," he purred, licking the blood off his fingertips.

"Kurama!" Yusuke's voice again.

Tearing his eyes away from Karasu's magnetic, malignant gaze, Kurama focused on the direction of Yusuke's voice—beyond the wall of flaming orbs. The shadows skipping across the light resolved themselves into the images of his friends, running towards him. Karasu's grip around his waist tightened. The demon twisted his other hand through Kurama's locks and wrenched his head back. Kurama gasped.

"Wow, Kurama, you're a mess," Kuwabara gaped, stepping into view. The glow of Karasu's bombs danced across Kuwabara's square features, deepening the shadows and making him look positively demonic. "I mean…geez…you're always getting hurt…and you almost blew us all to kingdom come with that little whip stunt of yours a moment ago…"

Hot shame rose to Kurama's cheeks. He felt as if his heart would rend in two…Shame, guilt…and…anger. How dare that idiot, of all people, condemn his fighting style and berate him about injuries? He would reach through that wall and throttle his worthless human neck, if he could…

Hiei smirked. His mind was beginning to separate from Kurama's. The anger was his own. Kurama still struggled in the throes of pure torment. But the separation was brief. He tried to widen the gap—to reclaim himself—but Hiei felt himself shoved back into Kurama's mind as Karasu yanked Kurama's hair again, jerking his head backwards and straining his neck—nearly to the breaking point. He wheezed for air. "Help me…" he mouthed, unable to produce sound.

"Help yourself." Hiei felt the mental rift between himself and Kurama expand again as he watched another figure ease out of the darkness and transform from a diaphanous silhouette to a solid mirror image of himself. He looked so…cruel. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. No, he was scowling. Did he always scowl like that? "Carry your own weight."

Hiei's heart dropped, feeling the oppressive burden of Kurama's devastation more clearly than anything he had experienced in Kurama's dream thus far. More than that, he was aware of his own intense discontent. He would never say something so spiteful. At least, not to Kurama. To Kuwabara, perhaps. In fact, he was pretty sure he had said that to Kuwabara. If not, he needed to. Stupid human deserved to be taken down a peg…

Rising nausea and revulsion pushed those thoughts from his mind, though, as he felt Karasu's spindly fingers splay possessively across his—no, Kurama's—waist, caressing his prize. Fight back…wake up…Hiei urged as he felt himself being swallowed once again in wave after wave of crushing emotion.
Fear…panic…disgust…shame…abandonment…each more intense than the one before it, all churning and bubbling together within him, generating a volatile cocktail that would either explode or poison slowly, consuming them both in this nightmarish existence. Why couldn't he wake up? Fight back…

Maybe somewhere within the dark recesses of Kurama's mind, he was able to hear Hiei, because that's precisely what he did. He was tired of being a victim. His hands abandoned their sentry at his neck and rushed the vice-like grip holding his hair hostage. Scratching, clawing, prying—it did little to break Karasu's iron grasp on his hair, but it did catch him off-guard enough loosen it, enough for Kurama to regain some mobility. The instantaneous relief—the ability to breathe—gave him the small push of energy and adrenaline he desperately needed. With a sharp twist of his neck, Kurama managed to jerk his head free, leaving Karasu with only a few loose strands of red hair in his hand. He would rip out all his hair if necessary. Kurama continued his assault, quickly snapping his head backwards and smashing it into Karasu's face.

Karasu spewed curses as he brought his free hand up to protect his face. Rather than release the struggling boy, he reflexively sunk his claws into Kurama's waist.

Kurama hissed painfully and bit his lip. He refused to give Karasu the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. Warm blood flowed freely from the fresh wound. His energy completely spent from his last offensive, his resolve weakening with each drop of blood spilling from the wounds and splattering on the ground at his feet, Kurama's knees buckled. Sheer force of will kept him on his feet, but barely.

No…wake up…fight back…

"Fight back!" Hiei's thoughts audibly echoed through the void. "Damnit, Kurama," Yusuke raged, running into view, "fight back! You're not even trying!"

He was trying—couldn't they see that? Kurama pried feebly at the claws digging into his side, unable to get a grip on the slippery, blood-soaked hand. Weariness mounting, Hiei released a frustrated sigh, which translated into an exhausted, choked-off whimper from Kurama.

"C'mon, Kurama," Yusuke spat, "I can't always save your ass, you know."

Stunned into submission, Kurama's momentary hesitation provided Karasu all the opportunity he needed. Lightning-quick fingers flashed and encircled Kurama's neck. Kurama released a strangled yelp as his hands returned to his throat too little too late. "Gotcha," Karasu chortled, lightly tracing his claws along Kurama's jugular before applying pressure against his throat. Using Kurama's entrapped throat and waist as leverage, Karasu began dragging him backwards into the darkness.

Kurama dug his heels into the ground—he would not go back without a fight. Wasn't he always saying "never corner a wounded animal?" Time to prove why. But his wounds were extensive, and he was already captured, not cornered. His heels continued to slip, despite his best efforts. His lungs burned under the strain of Karasu's slow strangulation—just enough to control, but not enough to kill. Tears flooded his vision.

Yusuke grumbled disgustedly.

"You're mine," Karasu purred into Kurama's ear—so close that his lips actually brushed against it. Kurama could feel Karasu's hot breath beating against his face, Karasu's heart beating against his back, both quickening with excitement. Kurama gagged.

Hiei and Kuwabara turned their backs on Kurama. Hiei cursed his other self's desertion, his anger fueling another—ultimately ineffective—struggle from Kurama to escape Karasu's grasp.

"See? Even your 'friends' have abandoned you." The slow descent into darkness continued. "Where's the honor in that? Such disloyalty should not go unpunished. Perhaps I'll kill them…yes…I'll kill them all." He leered. "After I've had my fun with you, of course. Let's play, my little fox…" Kurama recoiled in horror as Karasu's tongue cut a wide swath across his cheek, licking the tears off his face. "Mmmm…victory never tasted so sweet…"

"Disgusting," a female voice sliced icily through the silence. "Is this what your kind is all about? You disgust me."

Kurama's dimming vision flitted in the direction of the voice. His mother now stood with Yusuke, Hiei and Kuwabara. When—how—did she arrive? Her normally kind eyes were cold…unfeeling…her face contorted in a strange mixture of rage and repugnance.

"Mother…" he plead, extending a trembling hand in her direction, yet knowing he could never reach her across the wall of fire.

"Don't ever call me that again!" she venomously spat, "Filth! Demon spawn! What did you do to my son? My real son!?" Her eyes narrowed cruelly and she nodded at Karasu. "He can have you—he can kill you—for all I care. Had I known what you were, I would have ripped you from my womb with my own bare hands and killed you myself."

Numbness enveloped Hiei like a cold, wet blanket. His mind seemed to shut down—overwhelmed, he was simply unable to comprehend and process the torrent of emotions engulfing Kurama. Or perhaps, this, too, was the way Kurama felt. Absolute, undeniable defeat.

"Her too." The whisper barely cut through the fog enshrouding his mind.

"Huh?"

"Her too," Karasu repeated, oozing malice. "She'll die as well. But, I think I'd like to play with her a bit, too. Make her suffer. In fact, I think I'll keep you alive just long enough to watch."

Passionate rage ignited within Kurama once again. So much so that, for a moment, Hiei wondered if his own anger had somehow awoken the wrath of the Dragon of the Darkness Flame, causing it to blaze within his chest, searing his soul from the inside out. He had never known Kurama possessed the capacity for such ferocious vehemence. Kurama always kept it coolly in check, even when his back was against the wall. Even now. Despite the fury burning within him, his posture remained unchanged—passive…beaten.

He lifted his chin slightly and stared calmly at Yusuke, uttering one simple, solitary word: "Run."

Something in Kurama's eyes sparked a look of sheer terror from Yusuke. His face drained completely of color and his eyes went wide with fright. Unaccustomed to the look, Hiei's interest peaked—in his fight with Toguro, Yusuke never looked quite as panicked as he did now. Without another word, Yusuke seized Shiori's wrist and took off running. Kuwabara and his other self followed, beating a hasty retreat.

"That was foolish now, wasn't it?" Karasu mulled, "they were your only hope. And I was so looking forward to killing them all."

Kurama offered no response.

"I'm disappointed. Have you given up so easily?"

"No. Look."

A small gasp, then a bemused chuckle escaped Karasu's lips. Thick vines entwined his limbs, firmly binding him to Kurama. The shift in energy had been so subtle…so complex…that Hiei had failed to notice it.

"Goodbye, Karasu." His complacency unnerved Hiei. Total resignation. Yet a sense of victory at the same time. What was that stupid fox thinking?

Roaring defiantly, Kurama launched himself and Karasu at the wall of bombs.

Pain screamed through his entire body before everything exploded into blinding nothingness.

Hiei awoke with a start, clapping his hand over the Jagan eye, which burned fiercely. Still covered, he could feel it blinking lazily underneath his headband, slowly drawing itself shut. Satisfied it would not cause any more problems, he turned his attention to his stinging, watering eyes and drew his hands across them to rub away the last vestiges of sleep and shield them from the sun's painful glare.

Sun? Glare? Hiei scampered to his feet, cursing. Just how long had he been asleep? More importantly—had he been seen? No, of course not—someone would have raised an alarm upon seeing "the dark man." He was suitably concealed in this tree. It was the reason he liked it so well. Hiei chuckled to himself. Humans—they often missed what was right under their noses, much less noticing what lurked above them. Even Kurama had been unaware of his presence on more than one occasion.

Speaking of Kurama… Hiei hedged closer to the window. Judging by the shadows on the ground, it was nearly mid-day. Kurama was probably already at school. Then again, he may have stayed home for the day, given the previous evening's events. Unlikely—Kurama seemed to enjoy the pointless, mundane tasks of his human existence.

The light shone off the darkened windows of Kurama's room, bouncing Hiei's reflection back to him. He quickly scanned the area to ensure nobody was watching before pressing his hands and face to the window to peer inside.

Sure enough, Kurama was still home. Still in bed, no less, based on the rumpled lump in the middle of it. Hiei snickered softly as he stealthily lifted the window and crept into the dim room. Lazy fox. It wasn't often the tables were turned and he had the opportunity to catch Kurama off-guard, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

As soon as his feet hit the floor and his eyes adjusted to the light, however, he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hiei had his fair share of odd sleeping arrangements and habits, but Kurama's seemed downright bizarre. It looked uncomfortable, to say the least, especially for someone sleeping in an actual bed. Kurama lay face down, his head and shoulders slumped over the side of the bed. The tips of his fingers and the ends of his long hair brushed the carpet, swaying rhythmically with his slow, shallow breathing. His legs and waist were entwined in his twisted bed sheets. Upon closer examination, they were probably holding him in place.

"Kurama." Poke. Poke. Poke. "Kurama. Wake up." No response. Hiei grabbed Kurama's shoulder, jostling him vigorously. "Lazy fox. Get up." Kurama shook limply in his grasp, but did not stir. Odd—Hiei knew Kurama to be a relatively light sleeper. He did not like this one bit.

Seizing Kurama by the back of his pajama shirt, Hiei hefted him back on to the bed. Fortunately, Kurama was built more for speed and agility rather than bulky strength, making his slight frame easy for Hiei to manipulate, despite the height difference.

Hiei rolled Kurama onto his side and frowned. Though normally somewhat fair, the teen's complexion was grim…pasty. Beads of sweat misted his brow, but his skin was cool and clammy to the touch. "Kurama," Hiei prodded again, slapping him lightly on the cheek.

Kurama's eyelids fluttered in response to the touch. His pale lips parted slightly as if to speak, but issued no reply. Hiei could see his eyes rolling back under heavy lids that refused to open and feel faint, fleeting surges of Kurama's energy rippling far below conscious thought. The frown transformed to a scowl. It wasn't that Kurama wouldn't wake—he couldn't wake. Some humans had a silly superstition that if they died in their dreams—like hitting the ground in a dream about falling—they would really expire. Absurd. Or was it? Could Kurama's "death" have trapped him in his dream world? Nonsense—Kurama was too smart for such human rubbish. Besides, he had experienced the same thing and woke up fine.

Maybe Genkai would know. Hiei reasoned he could get Kurama to her easily and discreetly enough. Then again…perhaps carrying an unconscious, pajama-clad, half-demon, red-headed teenager through the streets at mid-day was not the best way to avoid attention. He would have to bring Genkai here.

A slam of the door downstairs interrupted Hiei's plotting. One…two…sets of footsteps trudged hurriedly up the steps. "This way, doctor…" Shiori beckoned, her voice tinged with panic.

Damn. Hiei muttered to himself. No time—he had foolishly closed the window behind him. Shiori and her companion would arrive well before he could retreat, close the window and conceal himself. Eyeing his options, he chose the only available "out."

He dashed into Kurama's closet.

Nestling himself among Kurama's neatly arranged clothing, Hiei cursed his ignoble circumstances. In the cramped hiding space, he deeply drank the heavy scent of roses and fabric softener that lingered on Kurama's clothing, and a dozen other distracting, distasteful, human aromas offensive to his demonic sense of smell. He cracked open the door, bestowing a decent view of the bedroom, as well as the breath of fresh air he desired.

Shiori burst into the room, followed quickly by a portly, middle-aged man carrying a small medical bag. Worry etched deep lines on her face. "Hurry…" she begged, leading him to Kurama's bedside.

Her words confirmed Hiei's suspicions.

"Something's wrong."

Well, there you have it. Let me know what you think.

The next chapter may take awhile as well, since I'm going to try and simultaneously write a one-shot. Add that to my sloth's pace at updating thus far, and I'll have the next chapter up…hmm…in a very long time. (I'm not stupid enough to promise an actual date, lest you all hold me to it).