Tsuzuki always dreamed the same dreams. Not all of them were of demon eyes or faceless physicians or even scarred, bloody skin, but all of them felt the same. Regardless of whether he dreamt of the gentle sway of his sister's dancing or the roiling darkness that cascaded over him every time he summoned a shikigami, his dreams had a rhythm, an accustomed feel to them that let Tsuzuki know they were his own. He'd never thought about this feeling before, never even noticed it, until he was yanked out of his own dreams and unceremoniously deposited into someone else's. The threateningly comical image of Gushoshin holding up a cleaver dissolved barely a moment after it had appeared, and Tsuzuki found himself standing in the middle of a grandiose section of Japanese countryside.
Everything felt different. Tsuzuki rarely ever realized he was dreaming while he was doing it, so the unnatural awareness of existing within a dream was his first clue that things were definitely not right. He blinked, looking around quizzically. Before him lay a rolling hillside with thick, well-kept grass and a grove of cherry trees in bloom. Behind him, a large, dark manor, imposing and elegant with its black windows and its unpretentious simplicity. Tsuzuki whistled lowly. From the looks of things, the owner had to be really loaded.
Tsuzuki frowned. Dreams were not supposed to feel this logical. They were supposed to have flying monkeys and mountains of cake and sometimes bad memories too, but... Memories. That's what it felt like. As though he were walking around through somebody's memories. No wonder he felt so uncomfortable. Even in dreams when he only observed, like an omniscient narrator, Tsuzuki had always felt like an integral part. Here he felt more like an intruder, as though he had stumbled onto a love confession or started paging through someone's diary. He felt voyeuristic and uninvited and invasive and... just plain unwelcome.
Tsuzuki slid a finger in between his collar and his throat, trying to loosen the constricting fabric. The night was overbearingly humid, a midsummer night. It must have been past midnight; the grass was wet with dew, and not a sound penetrated the thick, hot air. Tsuzuki shrugged. At long as he didn't know whose dream - cross that, memory - he was in, there was no point in standing around. He decided to head towards the cherry tree grove, which was shedding soft pink petals to the ground in a quiet, lovely shower. But the sound of fabric swishing against the moist grass behind him caught his attention and he turned, looking for the owner of the approaching footfalls. Tsuzuki caught sight of a child, looking curiously past him at the cherry trees, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was Hisoka. He was in Hisoka's dream. Tsuzuki flushed, embarrassment burning his cheeks. Hisoka would be furious if he found out his most private moments got invaded by his bumbling idiot of a partner. Explaining it was an accident would probably just make things worse. Hisoka was such a private person, sometimes frustratingly so, and Tsuzuki was positive he would hate the idea of Tsuzuki showing up in his dreams, probably due to some dumb mistake. Tsuzuki respected that need for privacy, of course, and he would have never done anything like this on purpose, but there were times he wished he shared Hisoka's empathy - something to clue him in on what his partner was thinking or feeling. Tsuzuki worried about him, and it was aggravating that he couldn't get closer to his partner, understand what hurts he carried and find a way to heal them. And Tsuzuki worried because things just happened to Hisoka - like how he had just moments before found him lying unconscious on the floor of Tsubaki-hime's room. Even though he knew his attentions were unwelcome, Tsuzuki was curious, and meddling was his middle name.
But... but how could all of this be possible? Tsuzuki thought hard. Living as long as he did, he knew by now that his powers were concentrated in fuda magic and shikigami - definitely not telepathy. He knew Hisoka was powerful, but what logical reason would he have for showing Tsuzuki his dreams? It wouldn't make sense, and Tsuzuki didn't get the feeling he'd been invited. Besides, what could Hisoka have done in the state Tsuzuki had found him? Tsuzuki cast his mind back, trying to think of any time he'd had some sort of telepathic connection with Hisoka- of course! The synchronization. That must have been it. He hadn't thought it would have- he hadn't thought at all. Synchronizing with Hisoka... it had been a last-ditch attempt to somehow save their lives and beat back Muraki in the process. He hadn't even bothered to think about the consequences of such a rash and personal action. Stupid stupid stupid. What did he think would happen!
The dream Hisoka moved again, and distracted Tsuzuki out of his own thoughts enough to look at his young partner. He'd never seen him in a yukata before, and the light summer garment made him look elegant, giving his slight body more grace than everyday clothes could. This Hisoka looked younger, maybe by a few years - his face was rounder, more childish, and he was a good few inches shorter. Even so, Hisoka's eyes held that same hard, impenetrable glint that made Tsuzuki's heart ache, the moonlight darkening their bright green color. But there was something fundamentally different about this Hisoka and Tsuzuki's partner, something far more innocent and open. Well, he may as well try and talk to him. Maybe he could learn something from this younger version of Hisoka to understand him better.
"Hisoka," Tsuzuki called out to the boy. But Hisoka didn't seem to hear him, or if he did, he ignored Tsuzuki, moving quietly towards the cherry tree. Tsuzuki followed him a little ways behind. Hisoka paused at the base of the tree, and touched a hand to the trunk, looking up at the falling cherry petals. Tsuzuki came up behind him, watching him, and then looked up too. The moon. The moon hung heavy and red in the black sky above him. Tsuzuki shuddered, unease creeping up his spine. He glanced to Hisoka, to see if he had noticed anything amiss. Hisoka looked peaceful, a serene expression smoothing his features. But something caught his attention and Hisoka drew his eyes away from the cascading petals, cautiously peering around the trunk, hidden in the shadow of the tree. Tsuzuki looked around too: a man and a woman stood not too far off, locked in a loving embrace in the light of the scarlet moon. The man had his back to the tree, and it was too dark, even in the moonlight, to make out their identities. Tsuzuki smiled down at Hisoka's blond head. Little boys shouldn't be peeking on grown-ups. Oh, would Hisoka get a teasing for this when he woke up.
But then the man raised his arm, and the blade of a long knife glinted in the moonlight. He plunged the knife into the woman's chest with a brutal, wet crunch. Tsuzuki's throat tightened as he felt the woman's life snuffed out, watched the man let the woman's body fall carelessly to the ground. He grasped for a fuda, horror and anger seething in his veins, but a small gasp to his side made Tsuzuki tear his eyes away from the shadowed murderer and the woman's corpse. Hisoka was trembling, his eyes wide and frightened. Tsuzuki had never seen his partner look so openly afraid. This was not the caustic, capable Hisoka Tsuzuki knew, but someone much more fragile. Tsuzuki glanced at the murdered woman and back at Hisoka. Dread gnawed at his heart. He had to get him out of there.
"Hisoka, let's go," he murmured, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. But to his surprise, Tsuzuki's hand passed right through Hisoka's shoulder, insubstantial and ineffective. Hisoka's eyes were fixated on the man before him; he hadn't even noticed Tsuzuki's attempt to pull him away. And slowly the man turned and looked directly at Hisoka.
Muraki. The doctor was devouring Hisoka with predatory, unnatural eyes, the red moon flooding his paleness with color. The front of his lab coat was dark and wet with blood. Muraki smiled and began to move towards Hisoka, slowly and deliberately, and suddenly Tsuzuki knew. He knew what he was seeing.
Hisoka had never been willing to talk about his past with Muraki. Tsuzuki had learned bits and pieces of it from his co-workers and even Muraki himnself, vague and serious intimations of what might have happened. But he had never pursued the unspoken truths about that night, and Hisoka hadn't ever confessed to them. As careless as Tsuzuki could be, he was very careful not to reopen old scars, especially not those as potent as Hisoka's. Tsuzuki caused people pain daily, and he could never bring himself to hurt his partner with old horrors, regardless of his curiosity. The two of them continued their case work, letting mundane issues take precedence over past horrors.
The young Hisoka had finally found his feet, it seemed, and backed up slowly before turning to run away from the cherry tree, away from the advancing Muraki. But as he tripped up the hill, he slipped on the wet grass, falling on his back at the base of the tree in a heap of wet grass and crushed pink petals. Muraki continued his approach. Tsuzuki tried to stand in his way, panic leaping up his throat, but Muraki walked right through him without even blinking, a small breeze toying the silver hair the only visible sign of Tsuzuki's presence.
"Muraki, stop!" Tsuzuki cried.
Hisoka scrambled to his feet, dirt and dew sullying the back of his yukata, and ran with a burst of desperate speed, but Muraki blocked his path and caught his thin wrists. Hisoka lashed out, a child's ungainly attempts to defend himself with martial arts training degenerated into futile kicks and frightened cries; his struggles were useless against Muraki's hold.
"Let go of me, please! I won't tell anyone, please, don't hurt me!" Hisoka begged, his voice breaking as tears ran down his cheeks.
Muraki smiled kindly, stroking the back of his hand against Hisoka's cheek in a mockery of a loving gesture. "You poor little lamb. It's dangerous to wander alone at night. You might see things you weren't supposed to see."
"No, I swear, I didn't see anything, please, let me go!"
Roughly, Muraki shoved Hisoka to the ground, and was soon upon him, pinning his small body beneath the doctor's adult one. Hisoka resisted, pushing against Muraki's face, but Muraki's hands flew to Hisoka's throat. Hisoka choked, trying to pry the hands off, but he was overpowered, and could only lie there, a helpless doll, choking to death. A sick sense of panic twisted in Tsuzuki's gut, and he rushed at them, grabbing at Muraki to stop him strangling Hisoka. But again, Tsuzuki passed through Muraki's arms, his hands closing over nothing. Muraki released Hisoka's neck of his own volition, and Hisoka gasped shallowly, coughing as he tried to draw air through his damaged windpipe. Tsuzuki could have sobbed in frustration as he watched Muraki slowly untie Hisoka's yukata, watched him admire Hisoka's pale, unmarked body, prone before him, with a vicious, covetous expression.
He had never chanted the incantation faster in his life. His hands flew through familiar positions as he tried to summon up the darkness that lurked in the base of his heart. 'Get him away from Hisoka.'
"Byakko!" Tsuzuki all but screamed, summoning forth his white tiger shikigami. But nothing came. The darkness refused to respond to his plea. Tsuzuki stared at his powerless hands with disbelief before curling them into fists and slamming them into the ground.
"DAMMIT!"
"Beautiful," Muraki murmured with reverence. The doctor trailed slender fingers over the white flesh of Hisoka's chest and stomach.
Breathlessly, Hisoka whimpered, "Please don't kill me."
Muraki smiled, a dark, sick smile. "My beautiful doll, I shall do so much worse to you than that." He stroked Hisoka's pale hair and cheeks, spoke a foreign incantation in a velvety smooth voice edged like a knife, and covered Hisoka's eyes. Hisoka's unrestrained screams penetrated the silent night air.
"Oh god, what are you doing, stop it stop it stop it! Don't touch me, no, please, stop!"
Tsuzuki couldn't stop it. Feelings of uselessness and self-loathing clenched his chest, tears spilling hot and wet from his eyes. He could do nothing to prevent Hisoka from reliving what Muraki had done to him, forced to watch every agonizing moment. Muraki was slow and calculated as he raped the boy, drawing out long, painful screams violently and mercilessly. Hisoka writhed, his neck muscles quivering with strain, his screams broken intermittently by anguished sobs. Tsuzuki squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, but the tortured cries and images of Muraki violating - not only his body, but Hisoka - burned in his mind.
Hisoka's screams increased tenfold and Tsuzuki's eyes snapped open at the sound, his vision blurred by tears as he watched, horrified, transfixed, as Muraki took nails to flesh, took up a dull silver scalpel in knowing hands and carved into Hisoka's body horrible, red marks, marks that Tsuzuki had never seen before. And Muraki was chanting, mesmerized by his gruesome work, and there was blood everywhere, and now the patterns of blood on Hisoka's skin glowed like coals. Hisoka always wore long clothes and now he knew why, knew why Hisoka didn't want to reveal the senseless violation of his body, didn't want anyone to see the horrible brands left by the sadistic doctor. Hisoka's legs were quaking and slick with sweat and dew and blood, his hair dull and matted, his hands caught in the folds of his dirtied yukata. Muraki kept cutting him, all over his body, placing kisses before scarring the boy's tender flesh, touching lips to red, limp fingers as he carved calligraphy into Hisoka's arms, chest, thighs, back. And all the while chanting and murmuring low, as though bathing a lover in kind, soothing words. But Hisoka was screaming, his voice hoarse and choked, and then he was screaming Tsuzuki's name, begging, desperate, and Tsuzuki knew he wasn't just remembering, he was reliving.
Tsuzuki jolted awake. He was sitting slumped over the case files in his and Hisoka's room on the Queen Camellia, and Hisoka was screaming his name, writhing about in agony on the bed. Tsuzuki rushed to his side and grasped him by the shoulders.
"Hisoka! Hisoka, wake up!"
Panicked green eyes snapped open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling for a moment before Hisoka regained himself. He took a shuddering breath and relaxed, trembling violently. "Tsuzuki. What..."
Tsuzuki sat back on the bed, breathing a sigh. "You looked like you were having a nightmare," was all he said, gently, slamming his mental shields in place. He couldn't smile or he would lose it, he would shatter right there, looking at Hisoka, so broken and closed and weary.
Hisoka slowly sat up and raked a hand through his hair. "Did... did I say anything?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Tsuzuki bit his lip and tasted warm metal in his mouth. "... No. Nothing." He couldn't help himself and pushed further. "I-I found you in Tsubaki-hime's room, but a moment ago you started screaming, like you were in pain."
Hisoka nodded distractedly, his hand moving to cover his mouth. His eyes looked past Tsuzuki, distant, hollow. Peeking from underneath his shirt, Tsuzuki could see the angry red edges of the curse. Tsuzuki clenched his fist. He couldn't let Hisoka know what he had seen, couldn't force Hisoka to depend on him, to admit to the horrors in his own memories before he was ready. He rose from the bed.
"I'll get you some water, okay?"
Tsuzuki left the room, to keep himself from screaming or grasping hold of Hisoka and sobbing. Heavily he slumped against the door; he felt like he was going to be sick. He had witnessed... oh god, and he couldn't- Hisoka wouldn't accept his help. He would never admit to needing to depend on Tsuzuki. He had been hurt so many times, he wouldn't open up and invite that pain back in. Even though Hisoka was in there, the curse blazing brightly on his skin, Tsuzuki couldn't... he couldn't do anything to take that pain away. He didn't know how to start healing pain that deep, that damaging. Tsuzuki smiled - whenever he didn't know what to do, he smiled - as he rested his chin on his knees, tears blurring in his eyes. Everything really was messed up, and even knowing wasn't going to be enough to fix it.