Story Title: In the Eyes of Angels

Disclaimer: Still don't own Yu Yu Hakusho.

Author's Notes: Thanks to LiterallyNoOneCares, Rockleerox93, the abridgedkuriboh, KyoHana, Dragonn77, The Only Love For Soujiro Seta, mircheto, TheScribe22, Raith, and LadyClassical for reviewing and all those who faved since the last chapter.

Long time no see! (Well, no see from me, but life has a way of getting in the way.)

This chapter probably features my favorite scene between Hiei and Kurama. It's a scene that I've been eager to write since the first brainstorming days. But I also wanted to get the scene perfect, and that perfectionism got into my head and paralyzed me from working on "Angels" for a good long while. I'm still not convinced it's there yet, but I have to stop at some point. This chapter is shorter than I imagined it would be, but a lot of stuff goes on in this chapter too.

As long as it took for this chapter to come out, Hiei's wounds would have already healed or he would have bled to death long ago. Good thing this chapter is about opening his old wounds right up. Readers might want to skim through the previous chapter, or reread the last scene to refresh themselves before continuing on with this chapter.

Special thanks to Sami_Delirium for beta-reading over this chapter. As always, thanks for reading...and now, back to the void.

-o-

Chapter Twenty-Six: Unraveled and Restitched

-o-

As he went through his notes and journals, gathering everything to do with his research, Kurama Minamino heard a thump and a hissing slide of a hand sweeping across the door of his dorm. He quickly shoved his notes into his backpack. Kaitou was certainly not at the door. After what had transpired earlier in the evening, Kurama was wary of peculiar noises. Even more so of turning doorknobs jangling in a quiet dormitory. He reached for a pair of scissors he had hidden under his pillow.

"Kurama, are you there?" Hiei said, his voice muffled behind the door.

Kurama sighed in relief and released his grip on the scissors. He stood up to let Hiei in.

Was he scared? Maybe. Shaken was a better word for it. He was unsure of what to do. His control was unraveling. He needed to think quickly and regain the upper hand. On what exactly, he did not know, but he was off-kilter and did not enjoy feeling this way.

Kurama considered not saying a word to Hiei about what had happened earlier. He didn't know how much dirt the Daioh Corporation had on him—for all he knew, Enma knew full well that they were witnesses to Takenaka's murder. Hiei was as much a target as Kurama, only Enma had no desire to conscript Hiei into his corporate ranks.

Kurama opened his door to find Hiei bracing himself against the doorframe. He was hurt and unsteady on his feet. There was a bruise on his left temple and blood on his white shirt. Kurama's heart sank. Had that creep attacked him as retribution? He had been watching Kurama for weeks. Surely he knew that Hiei was important to him. And if he knew, more than likely Enma Daioh knew as well.

The tightness in Kurama's throat let up enough for him to ask, "Hiei, what happened?"

"Iwamoto," he growled and limped into the room, giving Kurama a clear view of a large, bloody spot between his shoulder blades and several shards of glass stabbing through his shirt.

It hadn't been Kurama's shadow then. Kurama felt a weight of worry and fear lift off his shoulders, only to be replaced with revulsion in the pit of his stomach. Iwamoto assaulting Hiei was not surprising. Kurama had seen it as a likely possibility once teachers were granted permission to use corporal punishment as they saw fit, but even so, seeing Hiei hurt was difficult to process.

Hiei looked under Kurama's bed, pulled out a flat, plastic storage bin, and went through its contents in search of something. A med kit, no doubt. Kurama had one. It was in the bottom desk drawer on Kurama's side of his and Kaitou's shared desk. Hiei found it, opened it up on the desk, and rummaged through its contents. He quickly deemed it satisfactory to his needs.

Kurama moved toward Hiei, offering him a hand. "Let me—"

"Don't," Hiei ordered, his glare sharp enough to pin Kurama to a halt. His voice sounded rough. Kurama just barely discerned the shape of a handprint amid the flushed bruises along his neck. Strangulation, Kurama speculated. Or Iwamoto had held Hiei up by the neck. Both were likely.

Kurama's gaze was gentle, but his tone was skeptic."Hiei, you can't tend to your wounds properly by yourself."

"The hell I can't," Hiei insisted as he closed the med kit and carried it off.

Kurama circled around as Hiei pushed past him. "How do you expect to reach the middle of your back?"

Hiei stopped and stared over his shoulder back at him. He huffed in frustration. Much as he hated to admit it, Kurama was right. Hiei was not merely being stubborn—he was certainly smarter than that. But try as he might, there were certain physical limitations that prevented him from properly tending to the worst of his wounds.

Kurama obtained the med kit from him and opened it up on the desk. While he had never needed anything more than an occasional band-aid, the med kit was stocked for a variety of minor first-aid situations.

"He killed Minamino," Hiei said.

Kurama picked up a pair of tweezers and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Soulless fuck," he murmured. Hiei didn't react to his swearing.

"Can you bring her back?" Hiei's voice sounded so young and small.

Kurama froze in place. His throat clenched. If only he had a viable solution… Trial after trial, he had tested mice, and none had shown any change. If there was ever a moment he needed a breakthrough in his research, it was now. He would call down lightning from the heavens and course it through Minamino's remains if it would restore her spark of life. But this was not a film or a fantasy. The laws of Nature applied, and Death was irreversible.

"No," Kurama said.

As he sterilized the tweezers with the rubbing alcohol, Kurama told Hiei to remove his shirt. Hiei demanded to know why as his nose wrinkled at the smell of the rubbing alcohol.

"To remove the glass from your skin," Kurama replied.

Hiei's jaw tensed as he swallowed roughly. His stare was fixated on the rubbing alcohol bottle. "Can't you do that with my shirt on?"

"Not efficiently," Kurama said. "Hiei, your shirt is going to have to be removed, and I'm going to have to touch you."

Panic and anger flashed across Hiei's face. "What?"

"These things cannot be avoided."

Hiei was not stupid. He knew he had to remove his shirt, but if there was a way around, he wanted to take that course of action. Kurama observed Hiei's mind at work, trying to figure a way out of this situation, as he paced back and forth in the small dorm room. Hiei muttered to himself, his voice too low to understand and his lips moving too little for Kurama to read them.

"Just..." Hiei raised his trembling hands toward his head, changed his mind, and threw them back down to his sides. "Give me a second." He turned away and tried to calm his quickened breath, tried to prepare himself for the inevitable. Or delay it a few minutes longer.

Kurama waited and observed. Hiei's bowed head. His slumped, shaking shoulders. The fear hiding beneath the cracked surface. The image of the tiny corpse child came to mind. There was a lot Kurama didn't know about Hiei, and many things he might never know if Hiei decided not to tell him. Rumor had it, Hiei changed for gym in one of the locker room bathroom stalls. The storymongers claimed it was because Hiei had a yakuza tattoo covering his back. Kurama, however, believed Hiei simply did not want to invite stares and provoke questions.

Hiei hesitated but slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As he let the fabric slide off his body, a tiny part of it adhered to his back, sticky with blood. Hiei tugged on the tuft of cloth, dislodging it, as well as a few of the larger shards in his back. Blood trickled down his open wounds, none of which Kurama paid more than cursory attention to. He would tend to his injuries soon enough. Right now, Kurama's focus was elsewhere.

Throughout Hiei's back, there were scars, old and raised. Some were heavy. Others were faint. A few had jagged edges. Most were clean cuts, made with surgical precision. There were too many to be the result of an active childhood, and they were too systematic to all be accidental. No, there was human planning behind these scars.

Kurama stopped himself from asking what had happened. The question nearly slipped out, propelled forward by shock bleeding into anger. News of Iwamoto's assault had sparked his outrage, and the reins of his control loosened further upon seeing the claw marks from a monster in Hiei's past. Kurama wanted to take action. He desired retribution against a specter he never knew.

Hiei turned around partway, his glare demanding to know what the holdup was. His scars continued on to the front and no doubt spread across his body. It was no wonder he was so averse to undressing in front of others. Imagining the lies and ever-twisting tales the storymongers would tell if they ever caught sight of Hiei's scarred flesh repulsed Kurama.

He had done enough staring. It was time to get to work. Kurama picked up the sterilized tweezers and requested Hiei to lay down on his bed. Naturally, Hiei was against the idea, but he complied with minor fuss. Kurama turned the desk lamp toward his bed to shine the light on Hiei's wounds. Hiei stared apprehensively toward the light and pulled Kurama's pillow closer against him.

Kurama sat down on the edge of the bed beside Hiei. He laid a hand on Hiei's shoulder. Hiei twisted away, as if Kurama had swiped a lighter flame across his skin. Realizing what he had done, Hiei mumbled an apology. He still flinched again at his touch. Gingerly stretching open the skin, Kurama began with the larger shards, removing them with care. He dabbed a clean bath towel against the wounds to soak up the blood. He wished he had something smaller, something any other color but white, but this would have to suffice.

Hiei's entire body was shaking. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He had a white-knuckled hold on the top edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry. This won't be a painless process," Kurama said.

Hiei strained to speak. "It's not the pain that bothers me."

Kurama wondered what it was that bothered him more than the pain. Hiei's breathing was heavy and staggered. He shook his head from side to side, muttering low to himself, and smacked his face into Kurama's pillow. His eyes were shut tight.

"Talk. Anything," Hiei ordered, desperation trembling in his voice.

Kurama took on a clinical tone. "I have so far removed five shards of glass, each roughly four centimeters in length. There are—"

"Not that," Hiei said as he fought off a scream. "Anything else."

Kurama paused, not sure of what to say. There were certainly things they needed to talk about, but Hiei was in no state of mind to be pressed. He wanted to escape. He wanted a distraction. "When I was little, my mother used to take me to view the cherry blossoms in the park," Kurama said, returning to work. "It was typically just the two of us, since my father was working, but we always went again with my father in the evening."

As he carefully removed large shards of glass, Kurama went into detail over everything that went into his mother's picnic bento, how she let him make the rolled omelets, and how he helped her place each item into its compartment with care. Hiei listened, his shaking lessening but not disappearing.

"We walked the few blocks down to the park, arriving early to get a good spot. Along the way, Mother let me pick out a drink from a vending machine. I always picked a bitter green tea. Neighborhood kids used to say I was trying too hard to be an adult, but I genuinely preferred it to the sugary options." Kurama brushed his fingertips across Hiei's skin to feel for smaller slivers. Hiei gasped sharply and bit into Kurama's pillow to stifle the sound. There were plenty of slivers to remove.

"Then we spread out our blanket, removed our shoes, and sat under one of the cherry trees. Mother talked to folks from our apartment while I quietly observed the trees. To this day, they are still one of my favorite plants. After a while, it was time to eat. Mother always made extra inarizushi because it was my favorite. She used to tease me and say that if I ate too many, I was going to sprout fox ears and a tail and start yipping. Sometimes I yipped back just to make her laugh."

Getting rid of the larger shards had been the easy part. Locating and removing the small slivers and chips was the real trial. Many of them were obscured by Hiei's blood. Kurama moved in a steady rhythm—dabbing the blood, removing a tiny piece, and then feeling for the next one. He worked quickly and efficiently to get the job done, for Hiei's sake. Hiei flinched and grunted in pain every time Kurama laid his hands on him. He struggled to hold still and not wriggle away.

There was one splinter buried deep in Hiei's skin that refused to budge. No matter what angle Kurama approached it from, there was not enough glass poking through for the ends of his tweezers to grip it. Kurama sterilized a metal sewing needle and carefully broke the skin around the splinter. Hiei twisted around and kicked his bed. He screamed into Kurama's pillow.

Concern cracked through Kurama's calm. "I can stop—"

"Keep going," Hiei harshly commanded.

Kurama was not sure if he should.

But after roughly thirty seconds that went on for an hour, Kurama finally pulled out the obstinate splinter. Kurama sat up straight and took a few moments to rest for the both of them. Hiei's breathing remained uneven, and his back muscles stayed tense, but Hiei had settled down somewhat. Kurama noticed the clamminess of his skin and the perspiration beading up across his back. Kurama swept the flyaway strands stuck to his face and found his own forehead damp. The back of his neck too was wet from perspiration.

Kurama had expected this to be uncomfortable, but he hadn't expected to see Hiei in so much distress. He wanted to comfort him. Words didn't feel like enough. A simple "Everything will be okay" sounded hollow and untruthful. Kurama wanted to hold him. Hug him. Even something as small as resting his hand on his shoulder would suffice. Anything that would not be rejected and cause him more pain. Kurama didn't know what that something was. He didn't know if that something even existed.

Kurama reached out to Hiei but then cautiously pulled his arm back. He was proceeding too hastily. He was letting his sympathy for Hiei cloud his judgment. Hiei was too shaken, his nerves too raw for Kurama to make mistakes by being too softhearted.

"I'm going to check your head for wounds. Is that all right?" he asked.

Hiei did not reply immediately. There was several seconds of silence before Kurama received an affirmative grunt.

Kurama slowly reached over and stroked Hiei's hair in search of blood and glass. He found none. And yet his hands lingered. He ran them through again and again, making double, triple checks. More than he needed to. Hiei endured it all, his body tense, his tight jaw quivering. Kurama's touch, no matter how gentle, was nothing more than a necessary evil to put up with to receive the medical assistance he required. Kurama didn't want his touch to be endured. Kurama wanted it to be comforting and reciprocated. It wasn't.

He quickly checked Hiei's upper arms, took out a couple more fragments, and cleaned up the cuts. He cleaned and bandaged up the large wounds on Hiei's back. Kurama had been concerned the wounds needed a few stitches, and he didn't have the materials for that. Thankfully, that was not the case.

"It's over," Kurama said, as he got up from the side of the bed and laid the roll of gauze and medical tape back into the kit. He closed the lid and put the box away. He intended on putting the kit back in order another time. He had seen enough of its contents for one day.

Hiei did not immediately sit up. He continued to lie there, hiding his face in Kurama's pillow. Kurama turned the desk lamp away from him. He placed the used towel in his laundry basket. The lock on the door clicked. Hiei scrambled to grab his shirt and put it on. The door opened. Kaitou entered the room as Kurama dropped a shirt over the bloodied towel.

Kaitou jerked to a stop. He looked as surprised to see them as they were to see him. "Minamino, rare to find you here," Kaitou said and then looked over at Hiei, buttoning up his shirt with trembling, uncooperative fingers. "With company."

"It is, isn't it?" Kurama replied, putting on a polite smile. "We're finished here so the room will soon be yours."

"It's after midnight, Minamino," Kaitou said, his tone measured. "And in case you've forgotten, curfew was at nine."

At this point, I'm well aware of when curfew begins. "I don't plan on leaving the dorms," Kurama said. He picked up his laundry basket. Even if Kaitou hadn't seen him cover up the towel, it was hardly wise to let a hound sniff around in his unmentionables as soon as he was out of sight.

Hiei didn't say anything. He simply approached Kaitou and ordered him via glare to move out of the way. Kaitou stepped aside to allow Hiei room to pass. Kurama followed closely behind. He had no doubt that Kaitou had seen the large blood spot on the back of Hiei's shirt.

Hiei hurried off elsewhere, seeking some much required solitude. Kurama did not follow. He only wished that wherever Hiei went that he was safe. Adjusting his grip on his basket against his side, Kurama headed on down the metal stairwell.

Kurama didn't know what was going to come from this. Only that it would be nothing good. He doubted he could convince Kaitou that he had seen nothing, or that whatever he thought he had seen was not the case. The truth might be best, but would Kaitou believe him once he had written his own narrative in his head? Doubtful.

His sigh for relief did not bring much relief. He certainly did not need this headache right now.

-o-

Yuu Kaitou stood staring at the closed door of his dorm room. He was not sure what to make of the scene that had just unfolded before him, but one thing was true: Minamino and Jaganshi were acting peculiar. Kaitou wanted to go as far as say that Minamino, in particular, had been acting guilty.

Now why on earth would that be? Kaitou wondered, as he surveyed Minamino's side of the room.

Kurama Minamino never brought anyone to their room. Not any of his endless admirers, not any of his students. And now twice Hiei Jaganshi had been brought to their dorm room. Kaitou didn't understand how their friendship had come about. Though if he had to speculate, it was likely with persistence and gradual erosion of Jaganshi's will on Minamino's part. While it was true that Minamino made friends like recent lottery winners, Kaitou never recalled him actively seeking out anyone's company. Until Jaganshi had arrived.

So was this a study session or a social call? Kaitou didn't see any open textbooks, any assignments spread out, and Jaganshi had left with nothing. Minamino's backpack was open, and there were certainly notes rooted in science, however Kaitou couldn't see Minamino's slacker students understanding advanced chemistry—Minamino would be lucky if his class emerged with a heliocentric worldview by the end of the year. Much as it galled him to admit it, he could barely make any sense of Minamino's scrawled madness. Kaitou tossed the journal back into Kurama's backpack and zipped it closed with that ridiculous fox tail charm Kurama had attached.

He wished he had been able to see what Minamino had hidden among his dirty laundry, but he wisely moved the evidence out of his reach. No doubt it explained all their odd behavior. Why had Jaganshi been hastily redressing himself when Kaitou arrived? Why was the back of his shirt bloody? The both of them had been shiny with perspiration and they had exited the room so suddenly...

Kaitou wasn't positive he wanted to complete that speculation, but it was too late to stop himself. He thought Minamino looked guilty when he walked into the room, because he was guilty. Guilty of breaking a tenet order of the tutorial program.

I can make an accusation, Kaitou flung his bag onto his bed, however Minamino will only deny it, and no doubt persuade the room that such a good boy and exemplary student such as him would never break a single, solitary rule, especially one so serious.

Kaitou scowled and paced the room. I need more proof. I need evidence that not even Minamino can smile and charm away. I need to know what is going on here—

Sharp pain abruptly jolted through Kaitou's foot. He sat down on his bed and investigated the source of his pain. He pulled out a splinter of glass.

-o-

Hiei curled up in one of the chairs in the small study room where he and Kurama had at one time shared a candlelit dinner. Hiei smacked the side of his head against the chair in an effort to shove the maudlin thought aside. There had been a candle and food, but it hadn't been as romantic as it sounded. It didn't matter if he had feelings for Kurama. He had no idea if Kurama felt the same way. In fact, he was willing to bet his legs Kurama didn't...

Hiei pulled his legs in closer to his chest. Balling up only marginally lessened his shaking. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to feel. He wanted the darkness to consume him. If he could just not exist for a while and then be brought back, that would be fine. He wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to sleep. He couldn't go back to the man. Not tonight. Nonetheless, Hiei was tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He felt stripped down layer by layer, a soul laid bare surrounded by bones and flayed skin and muscle.

He didn't want to think about Kurama. Or his hands pressing on his back. Or his fingers running through his hair. Giving him the gentle touch he hated and craved. Kurama assisting him had confused his mind with sights and smells he associated with the man, and Hiei could not, would not let his broken brain form a triggering connection between Kurama with the man. Hiei wanted to feel comfort without confusion, peace without pain. He didn't know if he ever would or if it was possible for him to. But if he was able, he wanted it to come from Kurama.

He wished Minamino was here. His mouse, not Kurama. In times like these, he would focus on her squeaks or the pinpricks of her tiny paws climbing all over him to forget about the world around him. He missed her ball of warmth and her steady, familiar heartbeat as she slept in his shirt pocket. He never found out if he had ruined someone's experiment by taking her from the labs, but that didn't matter. She was his mouse.

She had been his mouse.

Hiei punched the back of the chair. His ribcage was clenching his heart and lungs. Maybe if he had stretched out and not scrunched himself into a dark blob, the tightness in his chest would have lessened. Hiei didn't mind if it hurt. He was used to the hurt. He found it oddly comforting, if only for the familiarity. His eyes felt raw and achy, despite no tears falling. Nor would they. Hiei wanted to cry, going as far as attempting to force tears to fall. The tension in his body was immense. He wanted to cry for his furry friend who had listened to him without judgment, who had always been ready to learn anything for a cookie, and who had given him the only affection he had been able to tolerate.

Fuck Iwamoto. Fuck the Academy. Fuck his own fucked-up self. Too damaged to cry, too messed up to feel love and enjoy it. Why would Kurama fall in love with someone who couldn't love him back in any normal way anyway? Surely, he knew better than to do something as incredibly stupid as that.

-o-

Kurama Minamino sat in the laundry room, waiting for his wash cycle to finish. It had not been his intention to do his laundry tonight, especially this late, but Kaitou's prying nature and a bloodied towel necessitated a post-midnight visit. There were definitely other things he needed to be doing, such as checking in on Hiei, wherever he may have gone. He was not in the best state of mind this evening. Enough had happened tonight that Hiei might want someone to talk to or someone to grieve with, depending on how open he was feeling. If nothing else, Kurama wanted to know where Hiei was, in case he was outside the dorms where Iwamoto or his shadow were lurking.

Kurama closed his eyes and allowed his anger to seep to the surface. His frown stretched into a deep slash across his face. Iwamoto's abuse was well known but rarely documented. The foul priest knew how to toe the line between culturally acceptable reprimands and beating students for his own satisfaction. Sure, a few parents of targeted students had threatened legal action, but the Academy had always settled out of court, and Iwamoto behaved for a few weeks. Much as he respected Father Takenaka, Kurama disapproved of his inaction against Iwamoto. Censures and pay docking had done little to deter Iwamoto. Firing him was the only solution to keep students safe, especially ones like Hiei with little to no support.

Which was precisely why Iwamoto had targeted Hiei in the first place. No family. No influence. No money. And Hiei's troubled background ensured that Iwamoto's heavy-handed punishments were necessary in order to straighten a crooked boy out. Was Hiei a model student? No. But there were other ways of handling Hiei's combative nature besides insults and violence.

The icy water broke through the cracks. It chopped and eroded the crumbling surface layers of his mind. Kurama's muscles tensed. Adrenaline rushed through him and urged him to take action. Kurama fought to remain in his seat. He bounced his uncrossed leg against the tile floor. What he was going to do, he did not yet know. What he did know was that something needed to be done, and he could no longer tolerate Iwamoto's cruelty a second more.

He could certainly turn Iwamoto in for assaulting Hiei. Iwamoto would try his best to twist his story in his favor, but Hiei's injuries and a damaged lab told a different story. Was it enough to get the bastard fired? Sadly, Kurama doubted it. In a just world, it would be enough a hundred times over, but Kurama had lost faith in justice ever prevailing. If Father Takenaka had never found the grounds to fire Iwamoto, Kurama was skeptical Father Koenma would succeed where his predecessor had failed. Especially if Koenma's father saw no reason to terminate him.

Truth be told, getting fired was too light a retribution for Iwamoto's actions. Kurama sought lasting damage. He was not the kind and gentle soul the Academy preached, especially when it came to the people he held dear getting hurt.