Destin Enchaîné

Me: I know I promised that I wouldn't update for a while. I'm sorry about that. I promise that I will update my other one by next week. Here you have it, my computer is fully up and running again. I'm very happy to say that you'll be seeing a lot more frequent updates on my part. All warnings and disclaimers were mentioned in chapter one, and will not be repeated.


Chapter Two

Gray orbs flickering, a teen turned his gaze upwards. He had been transported back to his bleak and desolate homeland, the world of his dreams. It was colder this time, oh so colder. Squeezing his arms weakly around him, he tried desperately to retain the last remaining bit of his body heat. His warm breath condensed into clouds around him as he shivered. Prickles of dread along with the biting cold journeyed along his spine. He was beginning to get frustrated with himself. His tranquil nature was chased away every time he revisited this hostile panorama. Nothing in the world could make him think pure thoughts right now.

The haunted feel of the place imprisoned him. It bound further than the strongest chain could. Though he willed himself of move, just to get away from the dreadful place, his limbs remained unresponsive. One or twice, he was being suffocated by the vast cold. He couldn't take a breath for his lungs remained compressed. Nothing but silence passed when his lips turned blue. Tears collecting at the corners of his eyes from lack of air, he hugged himself tighter. Shortly after the last tendril of body warmth whittled away, he found himself able to breathe again. Nothing good seemed to come without side effects, though.

Visions of blood and terror would not leave his gaze. He knew he was hallucinating. That didn't stop him from drawing his arms around him and allowing a loud cry to escape his mouth. The incessant trembling was strong enough to be from a seizure. It hurt to move, but he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. He wanted stillness, a comfort brought on by rest. His eyes remained snapped open wide, breath shaky and rasping.

These visions were enough to transport him to another land. This was a land of not only death, but blood and hatred as well. The warm, stale wind carried dry twigs and dead grass. He was alone, and his presence reverberated like an echo off of a wall. This place was empty, silent, yet it held nothing but fear and foreboding. It was then he realized who exactly was on this battlefield. Friends and past family lay slaughtered; their bodies were mutilated to a point of bare recognition. Body parts laying everywhere stained the ground. Endless red carpet, and the inescapable gore of the scene around him surrounded him. Like most would, he felt like throwing up. The horrified expressions on some of the less mangled faces warned him of extreme pain.

There was someone there, holding him throughout time, never letting go. Yet at the same time, his feelings were counteracting each other so violently. His vision spun and the world blurred through unfocused eyes. Blood again, flowed down from a wound to the head. The violent pain remained sharp as a knife. The pain in his chest, the sensation of falling, it all mixed together for a deadly combination. And it only had just hit him. Out of nowhere, there was the warmth of another person's arms. For that to happen, there had to be someone there. Someone alive. The person holding him was the only thing that remained secure. The rest of the world trembled violently. The fragments of shattered landscape passing by him reminded him of broken panes of glass. It was only then that he reached forward to touch them. Blood welled up on his fingers as a result. He nursed the injury with his good hand, tightly shutting his eyes.

He was still insecure. In the arms of his captor, his body was aflame with sensation. Burning skin was pressing against his body, making him dizzy while at the same time, making him more and more passionate. Through a squinted gaze, he tried to figure out who was causing this pain, this violent clash of conflicts within his soul.

There wasn't just pain or terror in his head, but an odd calmness. Nothing made sense anymore, he thought as he struggled desperately with the force that held him compellingly to the spot where he knelt. Nothing in the world could be compared to how he felt now. He was trapped and imprisoned, bound and degraded. He held his hands over his eyes as a heavy downpour, a mixture of rain and blood hammered down on them. It had the force capable of nailing him effortlessly to the ground, yet strong arms continued to hold him up. The pounding of his heart resounding in his ears was beginning to make him feel faint and dizzy. Despite his hatred against the person imprisoning him, he felt as if it was worse once he felt the presence disappear altogether. He felt lost and alone. Slamming his fists into the ground, he began to sob loudly. It only horrified him when he discovered that his tears were black like ink. They left perpetual trails of darkness on his cheeks where they had slid down. Hurriedly trying to wipe them away, he wondered what in the world was wrong with him.

More than a few times he felt fluid rise in his throat, and he was only able to choke on it. A taste mixed with blood and bile was repugnant on his tongue, it made his cringe. The invasion of an unwanted presence was thick in his mind, and he scraped his nails across his temples. Now, this was different. He didn't just feel fear, but intrusion as well. Another conscience was probing his mind, searching for something. A short-lived scream echoed in the stagnant atmosphere. "Get out of my head!" His soft utterance echoed for a moment's time before he fell to the ground. Whoever his invader was, they didn't care about his sanity. Bit by bit, it was being unwillingly torn away from him. His gaze remained widened, a fractured expression eminent. What he wouldn't give for a kind shoulder to lean on right now…

What he wished for, he actually received for once. A gentler presence approached him and he could feel himself being pulled up into strong arms once again. Never had complete refuge came without the smallest amount of insecurity, at least. There was a danger all it's own to the person holding him. His intentions may have been good, but he had the aura of a serial killer. Within a moment of being subjected of the strength offered, he began to tremble again. For a moment, he struggled, mouth agape and eyes laced with distrust. This wasn't what he wanted. Wishing to be free, he did the most rare thing for he was known to do, thrash about violently, incessantly. A soft voice comforted him, or at least tried to do that. The voice was familiar to a point where he automatically trusted it. Though it was calling out to him coldly, he knew it well enough. He basked in it as if it were the warmest thing in the world. Yet there was still something insecure about the tone. His thrashing was making itself more known by the moment. A soft protest being uttered, he excused himself from the hold of his captor. His eyes widened softly. The man standing before him wasn't human. It looked a lot like the fox from before. While his form remained rather human, pointed fox ears poked from his head and he word a theatre mask that hid the features of his face. He was clad in something very oriental, an expensive foreign fabric he was unable to identify.

A sharp prick shot through his leg, brought on by a sharp, gleaming set of teeth. Automatically, he knew whom, or so to properly say, what it had been. Haunting, glowing red eyes were studying him intently. He sensed the ravenous nature the animal radiated of. This time, however, he wasn't going to allow it to harm him. Kicking the fox hard when it ran at him, he watched as it skidded across the ground with a wraithlike howl. That was a mistake, for the howl was not that of pain. He had invoked a rage like nothing else because of this. The man who had been holding him earlier walked forward and grabbed his shoulders in a secure hold. The touch stung, delivering unbelievable agony. He was bleeding again. Crimson blinded his gaze as it slid leisurely down the contours of his face. He couldn't tell where it came from, blinded by the sea of endless red. All he could feel was the man's hands looped around his torso and the fox's teeth embedded in his leg. He waited for the final blow, a signal to show that it had ended. Anything so long as this pain ended soon.

Nothing of the sort came.

For the second time that day, Kurama awoke frightened and tired. Yet he was still in his own bed. There was nothing wrong with him other than that which had been knowingly inflicted earlier. This time, he felt more fear. It was almost like a he was a little child who had a nightmare. What could be basically called his 'Monster under the bed' was now his nighttime duo of the fox and the masked man. The two partners, seemingly intent on his suffering and confusion were now eminent figures in his wild mind. Almost terrified, he ran around his room, checking to see that nobody was hiding. There was nobody, as expected. He sighed and hit his forehead. He was being childish. There was no such thing as a fox with glowing red eyes, or a man who had fox ears. This was all in his imagination and it was working him up.

Once again, he cursed himself for being foolish. Yet there was still a fear there. Though knowing it was stupid, he checked his closet up and down once more just to see that there wasn't anyone there. To his relief no such thing was there. All he was able to find were a few old boxes covered in cobwebs, along with a spare set of blankets and some of his outfits hanging on hangers. Just like his bed, this was something familiar to him. It was nothing short of a sanctuary. He quietly grabbed the spare blanket and wrapped himself in its warmth. After shifting a few boxes over, he leaned up against a wall and forced himself to relax.

Somehow, he could feel the sensation of drifting back to his dream. It was frightening. The blood, he could still smell it and feel it. The only question that remained was something that puzzled even him. Why did he not mind pain when Karasu inflicted it? Again, he felt extremely guilty. The idea of it sickened him now. He was so scared of his dreams, yet he wasn't scared of real pain. It was very pitiful. A sharp sting reminded him of the cuts he had neglected to bandage. At the current moment, he couldn't find a reason in the world why he should care. It wasn't that he was generally negligent of pressing matters, but he was too distracted. The dream pressed his mind and made his vision fuzzy. It was only then that he knew wasn't actually alone now. He didn't know when the presence had joined him, but he must have been very deep in thought not to notice. Two men, one a carrot top and one with handsome brown orbs were both studying him intently. He felt the urge to scream out, yet he didn't. He had trouble finding his voice at the time. Numerous times, he opened his mouth with the intention to speak. He could muster no strength to speak. The first man, the carrot top spoke first.

"You alright, Kurama? You were screaming." The guilty realization then hit him again. He could barely breathe now. How many people had he woken up because of this? He was too lost in thought to answer. It was only when he felt his shoulder being grabbed that he snapped out of it. With a yelp, he scooted away from both boys so that they wouldn't touch him again. Luckily, the closet's darkness and the blanket covering his body prevented them from seeing his injury. He was glad for that, because it wasn't a cause for concern. His friends were much more caring then Hiei was. They'd go through much trouble if they saw he was hurt. Kurama didn't like to see that.

He was muttering meaningless words to himself now, as if he was possessed. The pain of his throbbing head brought on a dream-like state. It hurt to think, so he just tried to fall back asleep. Seeing that he was nodding off, his friends were worried. "Kurama, buddy," the dark-haired one asked. "You sure you're alright? Did you have a bad dream or something?" The concern was something that he generally wished for. He expected nothing less than that from the boys. For now, he could care less about anything of the sort.

Muttering something along the lines of "I'm fine Yuusuke, now leave me alone. Nightmares are childish." he slouched against a warm shoulder. He knew he was being rude. They were asking a question out of pure concern. They cared for him. Though he knew he shouldn't dismiss them like this, he was much too tired now. He wanted to contemplate the dream ALONE. He didn't need someone to ask him all about it.

Yet they still looked concerned. "Kurama, does this have anything to do with Hiei?" they asked at the same time. Kurama looked quite startled. Why had they asked question? How could they possibly factor him in to any of this. The only thing that the man affiliated himself as was his partial caretaker. Both Yuusuke and Kuwabara knew Hiei expected Kurama to deal with things on his own. They also knew that besides slight pity, Hiei cared nothing for Kurama. They could only be considered slight friends, as of now.

"No, Yuusuke. I don't even understand why you'd think that. If you don't mind, I'd rather go back to bed now. If you really want to talk, we can do that later. I'm tired, guys" They looked nothing short of disbelieving. They knew there was something wrong. It was in the redhead's nature to keep problems to himself. Once, he had actually sprained his ankle falling down a staircase at night. For a week, he had dealt with the injury in silence, walking with a barely disguised limp. It wasn't until Hiei noticed horrible swelling on his leg that he got treated for anything. And still then, at the doctor's he'd been protesting that he was fine. His excuse was that he had pulled a muscle. The severity of the sprain, however, counteracted any evidence of a minor injury.

"Explain, Kurama. I don't like to see you in pain," replied Yuusuke a minute afterwards. The redhead silently drew his legs up to his chest and hugged them silently. He was on the verge of tears not from sadness, but from frustration. Why did they have to meddle in his affairs? Why couldn't they just leave him alone for once? He reminded himself once again that this was good, because it was what friends were supposed to do. There didn't seem to be anything positive in it, though.

"C'mon Kurama, you can tell us. Talking about it helps." Offered the carrot top sitting next to Yuusuke. He looked just as concerned as the person next to him was. He finally decided to talk, only because they were his friends.

"It was a dream. I was lost. There was a lot of blood and pain. I'm scared, that's all." He whispered softly. He of course, left out many of the significant parts. These dreams seemed private in a way. After a minute of them staring at him, he issued them a soft, kind smile. "I'm fine, Kuwabara. I just need to get some rest. The dream tired me out, you know?"

They still looked concerned, but shrugged it off. Seeing that Kurama was all right had been their original intent, after all. After a good ten minutes, Kurama finally managed to shoo them off. As soon as he could be sure that they had defiantly left his room, he crumpled to the closet floor. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep. Despite that, he couldn't allow himself it. His eyes were achy and seemed to be weighted down by fatigue. The prominent details to his dreams still haunted him. The torn up limbs… the blood running down his face. As it had for the last dream, it felt so real. He pushed himself up to his feet and exited, following a few passages back to a main room where he had abandoned the bandages earlier.

Forcing himself to sit, he began to survey the full extent of damage that the wounds had taken. The ones Karasu had inflicted were surprisingly less severe than the ones that he had gotten when he had tripped. That arm had slight cement burn; the skin that wasn't broken was red and peeling. Those spots were the tenderest part of the injury. After prodding the most sensitive skin a few times more, he went to work.

The first arm was fairly easy. It was simple cuts, all the way down. As it had been a human who inflicted them, his wounds weren't that deep. Swiping a cotton swab drenched in antiseptic was enough to do the trick. The next arm was trickier. His cuts were very deep, and though he hadn't noticed at the time, there was a chance of gravel being embedded in the cut. Without it being removed, the little pieces of dirt and cement would certainly prove to cause infection. He sighed and pulled up a pair of tweezers at that moment. Just because he enjoyed pain wouldn't mean that he'd exactly like prodding around a wound with a pair of tweezers. In fact, the very idea made him squeamish. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he rubbed a hand roughly across his scab until the wound was open and bleeding. After placing a towel under his wounded arm to catch the blood, he began.

His father had always told him what a good doctor that he'd make. Kurama had honestly never liked the idea. Though he could stand the idea of blood and gore, he couldn't stand drawing someone's blood or digging around with some metal instrument. But at this moment, there was no doctor to go and see. He had to act as his own caretaker or face the consequences later. The only idea he hated more was having antibiotics forced down his throat for a month to prevent sickness due to infection. He set the tweezers slightly on the edge of a particularly long cut and slid them directly onto it. He did not mind the pain, but the idea of having to do this type of thing made him wince. After finishing his careful inspection on the first wound, he cautiously moved on to the next. The metal encountered something rough and hard.

Twisting his head to confirm it, he set the tweezers around the solid object and gave a firm tug. It wouldn't budge. Narrowing his eyes, he quickly removed the instrument and wiped his hand on his shirt. It was slippery with sweat, the only sign of his nervousness. After replacing his hand and the metal object, he found his spot again. The rock was lodged in the skin, so it wouldn't be all that pretty when he finally managed to remove it. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gave another firm tug. He could tell that the rock had finally been removed or rather he could feel it. There was now a gaping hole in place of where the foreign object used to rest. This was considerably deeper than the rest, and it was gushing blood. It had already almost soaked through the towel he had set down entirely. Then, he turned to look at the rock he had pulled out. Slowly opening his eyes, his gaze immediately widened considerable. The object he had removed was not thick at all like most rock. In fact, it looked like a pint-sized version of a small dagger. It was long, and had been embedded into his cut like a knife stabbed through wood. Casually discarding it on the towel, Kurama went back to his frantic search. In all truth, he was extremely eager to get this over with.

While he was doing his inspection, it was hard to tell the difference between flesh and rock. Though they both had different textures to them, it felt the same if he were to tug on them. Rocks pulled up flesh when he did it, so unless he actually felt it or twisted around to look at it he was clueless. Really, he could have done without having to look and feel made him feel sick. His fingers, simply probing a little would get covered in blood again. Of course, he probably would have been a lot better off if he hadn't reopened the wound. He was loosing more blood than he had when he originally got hurt.

The teen was relieved when he finished the inspection. He hurriedly dabbed on antiseptic and wrapped bandaged on his arms as tightly as his circulation would allow. Sighing in relief, he turned to look out the window. Outside, he had a good view of the city. Kurama watched it for a little while and remained calm. Looking at the sky had always kept him in a fairly placid state. Lately, he had only been able to remain that way when people were around. Even Hiei had mentioned how tensed he was around other people, especially in the case of being around acquaintances. "You need to relax, idiot," he had told Kurama. "You're going to wear yourself down not even being able to stand the sight of your own shadow." Hiei was very right, but Kurama wasn't just ready to outwardly accept that. He felt that this change in behavior was for a reason. There was something coming, and something of a large magnitude. Of course, he hadn't told Hiei this. He knew what the leader's reaction would be. Most likely he would scorn and walk off, only to completely ignore him for an entire week.

After he finished the last of the bandaging, a lock clicked on the door of Hiei's room. After slipping out of the darkness, Hiei came to glare at the redhead tiredly. He looked out at the sky. Had twilight fallen so early? How had he slept so late while still feeling so tired? Hiei came to sit comfortable on a chair while staring intently at Kurama. A long silence passed between the two. It made Kurama tense, but Hiei remained as calm as ever.

"You're tense, you need rest," he repeated the phrase twice before he was actually able to understand it. Hiei was getting impatient. It only made Kurama slightly irritable. He looked over to Hiei questioningly, frustration showing through in his gaze. He bowed his head slightly and respectfully. After forcing himself to relax, he gave him his trademark smile. It was near a true one, bright, kind, and cheerful. It however lacked depth. So to say, it was only skin-deep. Automatically, Kurama could tell that it wasn't something pleasing to the gang leader.

"You've been dreaming again. What about this time?" he asked. As Kurama was about to shake his head 'no' when he felt a tight grip encircle his shoulder. "Tell me, I'm not foolish enough to ignore what you screamed in your sleep. You're scared, we both know that." He said coolly, watching Kurama gape at his accusation. He smirked softly. He had just cornered the teen where he hadn't wanted to be caught. Now Kurama would have to tell the truth. Hiei could always somehow sense lies.

"It was a dream. I guess I was just really scared. There was blood everywhere and people were mangled. Not to mention, it involved a fox man and a small black fox with glowing red eyes. I'm really okay, Hiei." He watched as the raven-haired man stood and sat down, so that he was facing Kurama's back.

"I don't really care about that, you know. I told you already not to flatter yourself." He whispered eerily as he reached ahead and placed his hands on the redhead's shoulders. Immediately, Kurama tensed again. Hiei made a harsh noise, signaling for Kurama to relax fully under his touch. To his surprise, the man's rough hands carefully kneaded away the knots and tension in his back. "I told you that you should relax more," he said, obviously satisfied that he had been right. Kurama was too comfortable to protest. Hiei HAD been right, after all. He DID need to relax. Almost instantly, the terror of his dream flittered away. Now he felt a warm drowsiness coming over him. He wanted now more than ever to fall asleep. And a few minutes later, that happened. Without much control over the matter, he slipped back onto a shocked and annoyed Hiei's lap. He could only smile from it.

After a few moments of making sure the redhead was really asleep, he abandoned his post at the couch to go look at the pitch-black night sky. With a quick glance back at Kurama, he was sure that there was something big coming, too.