A/N: Sequel to Faux Pas and Interphase – it is not necessary to read either of these, though it might be helpful. The basic premise is that in exchange for the charges against Sensui being dropped, Itsuki has gone to hell.

Disclaimer: Yu Yu Hakusho belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi.

Atonement

Prologue – Assembling the Pieces

Emptiness.

Cold.

Silence.

It was quiet. He preferred the quiet, because it meant he was not screaming.

Outside the window, the nothingness gathered and shifted.

He was not thinking of anything in particular. He concentrated on the intricate patterns only he could see, forming just beyond his grasp. His fingers touched the windowpane.

It would be so lovely to just be nothing. No worries, no cares, no pain, no sorrow. No regrets.

Absently, he rubbed at his eyes. They were sore. That wasn't unreasonable since he could not remember the last time he had been able to close them.

Really, if he had known that he was supposed to watch the video the whole way through, he never would have shut them in the first place. Maybe then he would still have his upper eyelids.

They'd regenerate though. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that he would persevere.

He was here for eternity, after all.

Since he couldn't close his eyes, perhaps he'd just sit a while longer and watch.

There is a place you have been before, though you may not recognize it. It's been a long time.

Since you last saw it, time's natural progression has altered the landscape drastically. There was once a building here; rain, wind, and the changing environment have worn its structure down, virtually hiding it from sight. The majority of it is buried under layers of sediment. What's left above ground doesn't give much indication that it was ever a building at all.

There's no reason to worry, though. That's what the experts are for.

They've started excavating, you see. Something to do with an unusual incident dating back hundreds of years, involving a flood that appeared, and vanished, almost overnight.

Perhaps you are familiar with it?

No matter; you will be soon enough.

Today they've brought in the heavy equipment. The building was a skyscraper, and it will take a bit of work to make it all the way down to the lower floors.

It's a good thing these people take their jobs seriously. They will make it to the bottom. I'm counting on it.

A lot of people are counting on it.

I hope they don't run into any problems. Some of the support beams have been super heated and may make for hard passage. If they hit the right spot though…

Well… let's just say it's a long way down.

They'll still come. They think there's something interesting down here; probably washed up with the floodwater.

There's something here, all right.

Oh, it seems that it's time.

They've started digging.

Another section of crossbeam was added to the growing pile. Takasaki Nobu, lead archaeologist and area supervisor, winced at the noise.

It was a good thing the people funding the excavation weren't concerned about the roof. They had specifically said to take any means necessary to make it inside. What they wanted was an examination of the lower floors.

What he wanted was to go back to his vacation; spend a little more quality time with the sand and water as opposed to his old friends dirt and rocks. He figured he was entitled to the break after four months in the field.

The department heads at the university evidently had other ideas. They had called him up three days into his trip, told him that it was a matter of the utmost importance, 'extraordinary historical documents', 'puzzling weather phenomena', 'immediately requiring research', 'bearing interest to the national environmental board'; the sort of babble behind a hastily thrown together project.

He had packed his bags, left the east coast, and headed straight over. Curiosity, he found, was a brilliant incentive.

Of course, now he wasn't sure exactly what it was they were looking for.

The team had a building. More accurately, they had the roof of a building and a fair amount of layers below the soil. Not in great condition, but wasn't that the point?

Takasaki had been led to understand, courtesy of the university, that city documents from when the skyscraper was in standing condition talked about some sort of rapid flooding. The strange part was that it had occurred only in and around the structures immediate vicinity. There was concern about whether there had (and still was) some sort of underground reservoir beneath the site that could lead to subsequent disasters.

He figured if that were going to happen, it surely would have happened by now. Not to mention, it was so far below the current surface it probably didn't matter. But hey, what the founders of the dig wanted, the founders of the dig got. It was their money.

So here he was, watching as various members of his team cleared away debris to give them a safe passage down. His daughter, whom he had totted with him from his hastily cancelled vacation, sat several feet behind him exploring in the dirt with a tool kit he had given her. He felt a sense of fatherly pride; he'd make an archaeologist out of her yet.

There was another resounding crash as more metal fragments were moved. Takasaki sighed. It was slow going.

"Daddy!" the excited voice of his daughter drew his attention. "I found something."

More metal, he was willing to bet. He'd humor her though; she was only six.

"Did you?" he asked, trying to keep his attention split between his team and little Takasaki Amaya. She rushed over, hands held out before her proudly.

"Look!"

Takasaki meant to spare whatever it was only a glance and send Amaya on her way. He didn't want her this close to the machines and the off chance of shrapnel flying off the dropped metal.

Her discovery wasn't metal though, he realized on sight. He plucked it gently from her hands, holding it up for closer examination.

"It's a pretty rock, isn't it?" Amaya asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her pigtails swung back and forth with the motion.

"It's not a rock," Takasaki murmured, turning the thing over between his fingers. A vague sense of unease settled over him.

It was a purple fragment the size of his thumb. It was smooth like glass, but after exerting a fair amount of pressure, he was sure it was too strong to be. That and the last time he had checked, glass didn't seem to… pulsate.

"You may have found something here," Takasaki said, patting Amaya's head absently. She grinned. "How about you grab your stuff and head over to the trailer for a bit. I'll call you when they're done moving the heavy stuff."

"Alright," she agreed, but otherwise didn't move. She looked at him expectantly.

Takasaki fingered the fragment once more, wincing at the sting the edge left on his skin. He could swear it was shifting color. Pulling his eyes away with some effort, he forced a smile for his daughter. "Mind if I hang onto this for awhile? I'd like to check something."

"Mm," Amaya consented. This time she did gather her things and go.

Some of his unease dissipated as his daughter slipped out of sight. Takasaki gave the fragment one last glance before slipping it inside his pocket. Later… there was always later. Now, he had real work to do.

Naru was talking, but he couldn't hear her. He was too far-gone.

His focus slipped from the nothing to the reflections in the window. Naru's hand was resting on his cheek and he could see tiny droplets of blood beading out from the cut her fingernails had made. Funny, he hadn't even felt it.

Once, he might have pushed her away. Once, he might have run.

Once, his mind was whole.

He turned his attention back to the outside.

The farther down they dug, the more fragments they uncovered.

Takasaki frowned. No one had been able to identify what the substance was, and so far there were no great theories about what construed the larger part of the whole. Discovery was part of the job; they had to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Hard to do when you were missing a few integral parts…

Still, they had quite a collection spread out across a tarp on the surface. Takasaki hadn't wanted anyone fiddling around with the pieces and strictly told his team to stick only to work that involved getting to the bottom of the expedition. Literally.

Having something so unusual and not being able

(willing)

to work at determining what it was… it went against his instinct as an archaeologist. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The sudden commotion from the team's entrance into the site pulled Takasaki from his thoughts. As he made his way over, one of the senior field officers, Keiji, poked his head out of hole. His face was ashen.

"Takasaki, I think you better take a look it this."

They had made good progress in the several days they had been digging. Clearing their way through the top two floors, they had branched off tunnels in either direction to get an idea of the size of their excavation site. It was down one of the branch-offs that Keiji led him.

"We hit the wall," Keiji told him, ducking under a lantern rigged to one of the ceiling supports.

"Must be some wall," Takasaki replied.

Keiji glanced back over his shoulder. He hesitated slightly but only uttered a quiet, "yeah."

Takasaki followed suit as Keiji stopped. No words were needed; it was obvious what had Keiji so worked up.

Creeping forward, Takasaki squatted down next to the wall.

Several somethings were protruding from the framework, dark red despite the dirt that had been covering them. Sack-like bulges occurred every few inches, grotesquely warping the otherwise smooth surface. Each about a foot wide in length, the things clung to the wall like ivy up a lattice, branching out and disappearing through the layers of dirt at the top of the tunnel.

"Some sort of plant life?" Takasaki ventured.

Keiji shook his head. "I don't think so. Two stories down, no sunlight."

"Roots, then?"

"There's nothing topside that would have roots this big," Keiji said. He motioned to the floor. "Then, there's that."

He hadn't noticed before, being absorbed in whatever it was adorning their excavation site. Takasaki lowered his eyes… and frowned.

"Wha-"

"When we were digging, getting close to…" Keiji gestured at the wall, "we scraped one of those things. This came out. When we had enough dirt cleared away to make sense of it, I sent everyone down to the main shaft and got you."

The sense that something was wrong came back, stronger now. Hesitantly, Takasaki reached down and touched the small puddle that had gathered. In the dim light, it appeared black. Bringing his hand up for closer inspection, he realized it was actually red.

Red like…

"Blood," he murmured, rubbing his fingers together.

Takasaki and Keiji turned as one to the wall.

"You know what it looks like?" Keiji began.

Takasaki nodded, but couldn't force the words past his lips.

He didn't have to. They were both thinking it.

Veins.

Humans have an amazing ability to ignore what goes on around them. It never ceases to amaze me just what they can turn a blind eye to. That makes everything so much easier for my kind.

Not in this place. It's impossible to disregard the unusual. No amount of self-denial can make it go away.

Having been trapped here, ignored and forgotten for so long, it's a welcome change.

They've finally noticed. Fortunately for me, they can't hope to understand. Not until it's too late.

I can hear them, you know. For a while I was a bit concerned (but not worried. Never worried). They dug too far back and missed the shaft entirely. And after all the trouble I went through to clear their passage, too…

No matter. They're back on the right track. How… persistent.

I like that.

They're getting closer. Prepare yourself.

It won't be long now.

Wrong, wrong, wrong…

Takasaki cut the flashlight beam across the vertical channel. He tried to tune out the steady dripping from the opening he had made. Whatever the passageway was, the walls were covered with

(veins)

the strange growth that coated the site perimeter.

After the previous day's discovery, Takasaki had ordered everyone to avoid the side tunnels. They would be changing their digging course to straight ahead, splitting up to have another group continue down where they had originally started.

It appeared they could scrap that plan; there was no longer the need to dig down. They had just found their proverbial express elevator to the bottom.

Avoiding the spreading

(blood)

puddle on the floor, Takasaki edged closer to the opening. The air inside was stale and sour, but the fact that there was any air at all was surprising in itself.

What could have possibly made such a passageway? It was too wide to be an elevator shaft. Shining his light up, he could see no cable wires. What he did see made him catch his breath.

It wasn't just the walls covered with thick red tendrils. The ceiling was a mass of tangled loops, twisting, arching, climbing, and meshing together to form what looked like a net.

Keeping out the dirt, Takasaki realized.

Using his hands to brace himself on either side of the opening, Takasaki leaned out into the shaft. Without a light, he couldn't make out a thing in the murky blackness. He closed his eyes, breathing in. He knew what normal digs entailed. Dirt and earth, no matter what the climate or location, had a distinct base scent underneath any unique ones. He was honed to it.

The air here…

By exposing himself more to the environment, Takasaki had to admit the air wasn't as stale as he first had thought. There was a hint of moisture to it that he had overlooked. It wasn't particularly uncommon for covered passageways to be moist or humid, especially if there had been heavy rainfall before the excavation. While there hadn't been any on this particular dig, the nature of the entire exploration could account for the moisture build up. If there indeed was an underground spring, it would make sense. Especially considering the cocoon

(veins)

webbing encasing the area.

There was another smell, an unfamiliar one, which bothered him.

The uneasy feeling, which had been building up steadily in his chest since Amaya had found that first piece of fragment, grew stronger.

Opening his eyes, Takasaki drew back and freed his hand in order to shine his flashlight down the shaft. As he suspected, the beam didn't reach all the way to the bottom. Instead of being drowned out in a seemingly endless pool of darkness, it was caught and reflected by the thick clouds blanketing the lower floors.

It looked almost like…

Fog.

Takasaki's grip on the flashlight tightened.

A sense of something, a feeling of probing, a gentle beckoning at the back of his mind…

Takasaki jerked and his balance shifted. He abruptly released the flashlight, scrabbling for purchase. His hand found and clenched the shaft wall; there was the unpleasant feeling of his nails digging into the webbing, a watery popping sound, the rush of warm liquid over his fingers, the smell of copper-

Below him, the flashlight beam cut through the fog, was enveloped by it, then disappeared.

He didn't need the light to know something was wrong.

Underneath his hand the webbing

(not webbing, not some plant life, not anything explainable)

pulsed.

He could not dream, because he could not sleep. He could not daydream, because he had forgotten the concept of days. He could not pretend, because he did not remember what imagination was.

Sometimes though, he wondered. When his body was on autopilot, his mind wandered. In his head, he shifted through events he didn't quite remember, but still felt drawn to. Everything was broken and twisted, and he didn't know which pieces went where, or what order they fell in.

He always had to stop though. As soon as he saw the flames, smelt the blood, heard the screaming

(helphimpleasei'lldoanything)

he withdrew from the confines of his mind, fleeing to the safety of his shell of a body.

Sometimes, he thought it was better not to wonder at all.

Amaya knows she isn't supposed to be near the hole; her father told her so. He was very clear when he burst into the trailer, pale and sweating, telling her to 'stay inside, I have to make a phone call right away, and why not go play with your toys?'

She knows she should listen, especially when she knows her father is frightened. She could tell when she heard him yelling at everyone outside. He said to pull up, get out of the hole right now; he would be making some calls…

She wonders what can be so important that he needs to keep making phone calls. Phone calls mean Something Big. A phone call was what made them leave from their vacation. She hadn't even gotten to swim in the ocean.

What Amaya wonders about more is why she wants to go outside even though he father said not to.

She doesn't just want to go outside… she needs to go outside. It's like there is water roaring around her head, filling it with noise, and the only way to make it stop is to keep moving towards wherever she is being drawn.

Quietly, she closes the door behind her. When she turns towards the direction of the hole, the roaring recedes. She knows she must be careful, because if anyone sees her

(everything will be ruined)

she will be scolded.

Time is on her side. It is nearing dusk, and the sun's rays are fading. Shadows stretch long, and Amaya uses them for cover.

Something else is on her side as well, though she does not know it yet. It is for this reason that all the other excavators are tucked safely inside their trailers, unnerved by Takasaki's behavior. For them, this is fortunate. They are safe for a few more minutes from what is yet to come.

Amaya creeps behind the row of trailers, sights set firmly on her goal. Some force compels her to stop

(the water; the waves are crashing and it's so loud)

and head toward the tarp where the purple fragments are stored. They must go with her.

Unmindful of the sharp edges that cut her hands, she shoves the pieces hastily in the pockets of her overalls. They are pulsating.

The noise in her head grows again, deafening her, and she rushes towards the hole, jumping down with the lack of inhibition only children are capable of. If Amaya were older, she would take the time to use the small platform that can lower one person at a time, or maybe even the rope on the side of the hole. She doesn't, and she is lucky, so very lucky, that she doesn't smack her head on the platform as she zips by.

Her short legs can't absorb the full impact as she hits the bottom and she stumbles, landing on her backside. It could have been much worse if the hole were deeper than two stories, and it might have spared a lot of trouble to come if something weren't watching out for Amaya. After all, two stories is still a long ways down.

The fragments poke through the cloth in her pockets, piercing her flesh. As blood is drawn, they pulse faster.

Amaya is listening to the roaring water, the waves dictating where she should go. She can't see in the dark, but she doesn't have to.

She follows the tunnel, going straight forward until she can feel the shifting current of air ahead of her. The noise in her head stops for the time being, and she gropes forward blindly.

There's something on the wall. It is slick, and warm, and gross. It shivers beneath the first hesitant touch of her fingers then begins a slow, steady, throb.

The fragments in her pocket pulse to the same invisible beat. Faint purple light seeps into the tunnel, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. Amaya stares, mesmerized.

But oh, daddy will be sad when he realizes I'm gone, Amaya thinks, eyes focused only on the flashing light that is being emitted from the source nestled against her leg, bathing in her blood. For the briefest of moments, the hold over her mind, that pulling force, weakens.

Then it is back, the waves roar, and Amaya leaps through the opening that she sees between the lights flashes. She is falling, falling, falling, her pigtails are flapping, flapping, flapping, and it is a long way down.

There is a tearing sound past the waves and the rush of air in her ears. Something wraps around her waist, slick, warm and pulsing; though she continues to fall, she has more a sense that it is now a controlled fall.

The purple light grows stronger, bouncing off the walls, off the red shivering veins, off the fog that now surrounds her. Amaya is swung from side to side, brought closer to the veins that reach out towards her. They are glowing too, she realizes. She stretches out her hands and the loose tendrils brush over her flesh, depositing their purple, shining, treasures.

She can hear the beating now.

Her feet touch down on the ground and the thing around her waist lets go. The new fragments go in her pocket. By now, her hands are slick with blood.

The pull is guiding her and the roaring waves drown away her pain. Amaya kneels, crawling in the wet dirt. Her hands are stretched in front of her, feeling the ground. Searching.

She skirts the edge of a shallow crater. The purple light reflects over the white chips of bone.

Interesting, but that's not what she wants.

She gives a small wail of frustration, clutching her head. It feels like it will explode at any moment. If she doesn't find what

(it wants)

she needs, she fears it will.

In the crater, beneath the dirt, something glows. Amaya digs with her hands.

She is only a child, with a child's strength. It is wedged in firmly from whatever impact caused the crater in the first place. But Amaya is determined. Pulling, straining, yanking, she finally tumbles backwards. In her hands, she holds a curved piece of purple fragment.

This is what she

(it)

wants.

Amaya plunks down on the ground with no semblance of grace. She is only a tool and her comfort is not a priority. She empties the fragments from her pocket, spreading them out on the ground before her.

Her father always told her to put together the pieces of the puzzle. Everything would become clearer as the parts were put in their proper places.

That's exactly what she does now. It is not her alone that assembles the sphere, but it is her hands that are needed to get the pieces close together. The purple light grows stronger as more pieces are added, building the larger part of the whole. They snap together, crackling with energy.

They want to be whole.

There is a moment, a single short breath in time, when everything stops. The final significant piece of purple fragment balances between Amaya's thumb and middle finger. Her hand hovers just out of reach of the sphere. The purple light dims between flashes. The veins on the wall halt mid-throb. The fog ceases to shift.

A drop of Amaya's blood snakes down her finger. It slows at the tip, gathering form, and slips onto the shard. Purple darkens, red spreads. Inside the not-glass, there is a flash of stars and of a world beyond.

One moment of calm before the storm.

The span of a single heart beat...

The piece joins the greater whole, and the world is bathed in purple.

Amaya shrieks as the sudden flash of light blinds her. The waves in her mind overpower her thoughts, and everything fades away. There is a brief glimpse of the ocean (which is silly because she's never even seen the ocean), a silhouette, and then she's running, running as fast as she can through the shallow water, arms stretching out, reaching for-

And then that thought is washed away as well, and everything that was Amaya is gone.

The purple light recedes and reveals a completed sphere, no bigger than a tennis ball. It doesn't look like much, at first glance. All this trouble for a knickknack.

Inside, clouds and stars drift by under the cover of a purple haze.

Amaya's body (for Amaya is no longer here, not in any real sense) lifts the sphere up. Its light casts her face in shadows, twisting her grin, unknowingly reflecting the soul of what is now inside her.

When her mouth opens, it is not a six-year-old girl's voice that emerges. This voice is deeper. Rougher. Angrier.

"Come," it says, holding up the Power Sphere of the Netherworld.

"Come and see."

He felt a sharp tug and withdrew from his mind, expecting to find Kazuya. But Kazuya was nowhere to be seen, and he hesitated.

The tug came again, harder. This time it was accompanied by a voice.

"Come. Come and see."

It was like no voice he had ever heard before. He did not hear it with his ears; it came from within his head. Though it wasn't unusual to hear voices from there, he knew that this one was different. This one was not one of his.

Maybe, if he ignored it, the voice would go away.

He forced his eyes to focus. If he just sat and looked out the window, everything would be fine. Everything would just go away. He stared past his reflection, gaze pausing only slightly at the reflection of his eyes, and looked beyond. The nothing was always a comfort.

The nothing still swirled and shifted, but it was different too.

It wasn't just nothing; there was something out there.

He touched the glass of the window, unbelieving. It was impossible.

Why impossible? part of him that wasn't quite so far-gone asked.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. He knew, and it knew, and they all knew that there wasn't anything outside. He had been there before and there was nothing but pain.

A part of him that remained in his mind held up a piece to the puzzle of his memories as a reminder. Running, screaming, crushing weight, a thousand voices, a hundred thousand voices, all crying out…

He cracked his forehead against the window and the image ghosted away, knocked aside from the sudden rush of pain. The glass shuddered but held.

He had sworn to never go outside again. It was dangerous out there, far more dangerous than in here, and maybe here wasn't so bad after all.

His hand probed unconsciously at the freshly gouged skin of his neck, courtesy of Kazuya.

He turned to that dangerous sense, that little thing called 'wonder'.

He wondered what was in the nothing.

He wondered if Kazuya would notice if he slipped outside.

He wondered what part of himself he would lose next, how the walls would look soaked in his blood, how he could ever question whether this was bad, awful, terrible, and how it was happening to him-

The tug became a caress and he could hear the sensuous sigh in his mind.

Yes, yes, why don't you come and see? the voice asked.

Yes, why not?

He slipped out of his spot on the window ledge, stretching his sore muscles. A quick look out the door wouldn't hurt. As long as he didn't stray too far and could find his way back, he'd be fine. No need to worry – he hadn't made Naru cry, so Kazuya would come get him if he got lost.

When his fingers touched the doorknob, he didn't hesitate. Only a peek, one little look, what could it hurt? After all, every door here held some surprise behind it, and in the end didn't they all just lead to the same place? A place tinged with pain, sadness, and loneliness?

He cackled. No, they didn't lead there in the end. There was no end! That was the best part. He could keep on opening doors for eternity and never get anywhere.

Maybe this door…

It was black, but maybe, just maybe…

He stepped outside, for the third time in forever. One hand kept a firm hold on the doorknob.

Just a bit further now. Two parts caress, one part tug, all parts compelling.

He could make out the something, which was actually more of a large tear in the nothing. He laughed because, really, it didn't make much sense. Things had stopped making sense a long time ago.

It didn't make sense how he was walking towards the tear, either; he certainly hadn't meant to let go of the door, he didn't remember telling his legs to move forward, and he couldn't fathom why he was not screaming yet.

He stopped as a gust of wind rustled his hair. That was strange, because there wasn't supposed to be any wind.

Surveying the tear, he stretched one hand forwards. The wind caressed his flesh and the voice caressed his mind with a single word.

Come.

He did.

One step forward was all it took, and his body followed his arm

(because, for the time being, his body was attached to his arm)

through the tear, which was shimmering, and then he was falling, down, down, down…

He couldn't see. It was dark, so very dark

(come here and let mama fix you)

and he panicked, reaching out, grasping blindly.

He felt a sudden burst of emotion, not from him but from someone else, and he turned towards it not questioning how one could feel emotion. All he knew was that he was falling and if he didn't slow down he would crash. He reached out for the feeling, clinging to its source like a drowning man. He felt it struggle but he held tight because he needed to stop.

Slowly, the resistance subsided, and he was no longer falling.

It was still dark (were his eyes even open?), but it was quiet and somehow peaceful, so he didn't wonder. He retreated to the place he went often, in his mind.

There wasn't anything else to do in the black void of nothing

(something)

and so he settled down, beginning to sort through the pieces of memory floating around his head.

Sekino Toki froze, the cup of tea still halfway lifted to her lips.

Her husband looked up from the papers he was shifting through. "Toki?"

Throat suddenly dry, she tried to swallow. Her free hand stole away and rested against her stomach, pressing down ever so slightly. "Yukio… the baby…"

He was up and around to her side of the table in a flash. Toki could only stare at him, brown eyes wide, as he rested his hand atop her own. His fingers threaded through hers and tightened.

Heart racing, muscles taut, lungs frozen-

It was faint, but she felt the slight fluttering sensation resume in her belly. Toki took in a deep breath, the muscle tension subsiding.

Yukio reached up, taking away the cup she was still holding and placed it on the table. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before asking, "Okay?"

She nodded. "I just couldn't feel her there for a minute and with how much she's been moving lately, I just thought-"

"He's fine," Yukio said with a grin. It seemed a little strained at the edges. "Probably was just a bit tight when he shifted around."

With the familiar play-on-gender game resumed, the sense that everything was all right again solidified. It was probably nothing. Toki gave her stomach a reassuring pat and went back to her tea.

So many pieces…

How was he ever supposed to get through them all?

He had to hurry. If he took too much time, Kazuya would wake him from his not-dream.

A chuckle bubbled up, not from his mouth but from his mind. What was time, when you had forever?

Some nights, Toki would just lay awake with her hands laced across her stomach. Part of it was that she couldn't seem to get comfortable. Too many blankets, too hot. Lose the blankets, still too hot. After several minutes, much too cold. Blankets back on, freezing. Then back to hot. It was the nightly cycle.

The other part was the baby. In the past few weeks, the movement had declined significantly. She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like it. The doctor had assured her that everything was still checking out fine, and to just keep coming in regularly for the duration of the pregnancy.

Still, Toki couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He grabbed a memory floating by and tugged. Doors closing, the displacement of wind, someone screaming his name…

That was important, he was sure.

He added it to the growing pile.

Toki had never heard of crushing someone's hand after labor, but she was beginning to think it was possible. If not for Yukio's equally strong grip on her hand, she would have been feeling guilty.

It wasn't even undergoing labor that had her on edge. Looking back through the haze of the last day, she thought that had probably been the easy part. This was worse, so much worse.

Nearly a minute had passed and she hadn't heard the baby cry.

Her grip tightened and Yukio squeezed back.

Toki's senses were on hyper alert. She could smell the faint odor of sweat, the sterilizing solution used for the hospital instruments, the blood adorning the blankets, and the too-strong aftershave of someone in the room. The light was as brilliant as a sun and really, that was all she could see because they had taken the baby over to the table…

Most importantly, she could hear. The low murmurs of the doctor and assistants, the sharp intakes of breath Yukio was taking, voices beyond the room, her own heart pounding… but no baby.

It was an eternity, and there was no way the baby could have survived after going that long without air, no way at all, and something inside her wrenched-

A sharp, piercing wail filled the room and Toki took her first breath as well.

Sekino Kado was six minutes old when he opened his eyes.

Toki, who was busy inspecting his head and wondering if it was supposed to look so stretched, didn't notice. At Yukio's gasp, she dropped her gaze, wondering if he had stopped breathing and if the blankets were keeping her from feeling it. But no, Kado's eyes were open and that was certainly nothing to be alarmed about. Nothing at all-

The arm holding the baby began to shake.

It's just the pigmentation working itself out, she told herself, unable to look away.

The baby didn't take after either her or Yukio. Or anyone else for that matter. The last time Toki checked, people weren't born with gold eyes.

It was no longer peaceful. For the first time in a long while, it wasn't quiet.

Itsuki turned away from the memories he was arranging. If he didn't want Kazuya to be mad, it would be best to leave. He could always come back and finish later. There was always later.

He slipped out of his mind and opened his eyes.

It was bright, much too bright, and he couldn't focus. A shadowy form shifted, and he tried to make out what it was.

I lost my eyes again, he thought. Sometime when I was away, he took my eyes. They're coming back, but they're not back completely, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Well, he knew how to fix that.

Itsuki retreated once more to the safety of his mind.

Sekino Kado was two months old when the doctor finally admitted something wasn't right. Maybe not wrong, but Not Quite Right.

Toki's major concern was that Kado hardly slept. Half the time it was hard to tell, since he was abnormally quiet. He would lie still for hours, hardly even twitching, eyes fixed on the ceiling. If not for Yukio testing his tracking with a slow moving finger in front of his eyes, Toki would have sworn the baby was blind. He didn't cry for food, he didn't cry when he needed to be changed, and he didn't cry when he was fully awake. The only time Kado cried was when he slept.

He would drop off, toss fitfully to the point where she worried he would catch up in the blanket and smother himself, then wake up shrieking and crying. As far as Toki could tell, he wasn't hungry and he didn't need changing.

Her eyes had dark circles under them from the nights spent up, watching over Kado. They were nowhere near as dark as the one's under his eyes.

The doctor looked him over again. "And it's just sleeping that's the problem?"

No, he's got eyes no normal person should have, he does a pretty good imitation of a log, and I think he might not be quite there upstairs, Toki thought uncharitably. She rubbed her face and nodded.

"How many hours a day does he sleep?"

"No more than six," Toki said. The doctor raised an eyebrow. "He won't sleep more than an hour without waking up and screaming."

"Six," the doctor repeated. Toki just nodded.

Kado stared vacantly at the ceiling, unaware he was such an important topic of discussion.

"I've never heard of a baby sleeping that little," the doctor mused.

Then fix him! Make him better! Toki wanted to scream.

"This isn't a common occurrence, so I'm hesitant to give him any medical sleeping aids at his age," the doctor said. "I can give you some pamphlets on helping babies sleep through the night. You, of course, can try the techniques out for any time of the day. Whatever gets the job done, right? There's nothing wrong with him physically, so just give it time. It can't last long."

Toki wondered.

Itsuki knew

(or thought he knew. Who could really say?)

what had happened.

It was taking a while to put his mind back together, but he had enough pieces to know this much: the realization of what he had grabbed onto when he was falling made him feel ill. Worse yet was knowing that, given the chance, he would do it again if it meant getting away.

Had he really gotten away? How many times had he been given false hope, only to realize it was another product of hell's cruel sense of humor? How many times had he given in, only to be hurt when all was said and done?

Was the voice that beckoned him here real or another illusion? He hadn't heard it again but always, at the back of his mind, he could feel a gentle pull. He wanted to be pulled, really he did, but his body just wouldn't move.

He was an infant. It was… a disturbing feeling. Helpless, lost, alone.

Mostly, he was just tired and afraid.

The thing that made him question above all else whether he was still in hell or not was his sudden ability to sleep. The damned did no such thing.

When Itsuki slept, he always dreamed. Dreamed about hell, and the countless horrors he had endured.

He always woke up screaming.

Sekino Kado was three years old when he talked for the first time.

Toki and Yukio had suspected he was mute. There had never been as much as a 'da' or 'ma' out of him. The only noise he ever made was that awful screaming when he would wake up.

And so it came as quite a surprise when he said, quite clearly, "don't give me those any more."

'Those' were the sleeping pills Toki had picked up from the doctor a week previous. For the first time in his life, Kado had slept more than an hour in one go. He had actually gotten a full night's sleep.

When he had woken up, it had taken over an hour for his voice to go hoarse enough for the screaming to die down.

With the skin under his unusual eyes so black, Toki hadn't thought there'd been another choice other than to keep giving him the pills. He was abnormally pale, his eyes were often vacant, and he didn't do much other than listlessly stare off into space. She thought maybe sleep would fix her little boy.

Sleep wouldn't fix his eyes though. Nor would it fix the unnatural green shade of his hair. She just didn't understand…

No more than she understood how he could suddenly speak coherent sentences.

Toki dropped the pill bottle in her surprise. "Kado?"

He tilted his head and looked at her, pursed his lips as though about to speak again, then turned to the pills that now sprayed over the carpet.

"Why don't you want to take them?" Toki asked, as though she honestly expected an answer. She was struck by the sudden urge to laugh. Why not? Her life had been a surreal daze ever since Kado was first born.

She wasn't disappointed.

"Because then when I dream, I can wake up."

Blood rolls down his face like tears and he is helpless to turn away. He wants to, but Kazuya is holding his head firmly in place, making him watch.

"You should have watched this when you were alive," Kazuya tells him. "You might have learned something."

He can't close his eyes, he can only watch. Watch as the fox demon is beheaded. Watch as the body of the young girl is violated then decimated. Watch as the bombs drop on cities, killing thousands. Watch as the children scream. Watch as the black rain falls. Watch as the fires spread and the demons burn. Watch as the girl is locked away and forced to cry. Watch as the boy falls. Watch as the man fires his gun and the woman takes the bullet.

Watch it all, see it all, know it all

"The cruelty of human beings darkest sins," Kazuya whispers. "And of demons as well. Because we're all alike, don't you know that? Everyone deserves to die."

He whimpers.

He watches as the scene changes and this time it is Shinobu doing the beheading, Shinobu's blast killing the demon, Shinobu's hand delivering the final blow.

He doesn't want to see any more.

He might be dreaming, he might be awake, but no matter what he is in a nightmare he can't wake from.

Sekino Kado was four years old when he cut off his finger.

Toki had been napping. Kado had another bad night and she was tired. They had gotten as used to the cycle as they could, but sometimes, when the screaming went on and on and on…

She was going to send him to a therapist, she had decided. There couldn't be any harm in trying. None of them could continue on like this…

It was a dripping sound that woke her from the dream that the Sekino's were just another ordinary family, with an ordinary boy, and everyone had regular sleeping patterns.

Funny… Yukio had fixed the kitchen faucet days ago.

Toki roused herself enough to glance through the entrance from the living room into the kitchen. She couldn't see the tap leaking from here, but she never claimed she had eyes like a hawk.

What she did see was splatters of red on the white tile of the floor.

She was up from the couch like a shot. Inside her chest, her heart clenched painfully.

There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, was Kado. His left hand was held out before him, and he stared at it as though it held the answers to all of life's great mysteries. In his other hand, he held a stained knife.

Toki couldn't help it. She screamed.

Kado looked up, unmindful of the blood pouring out from where his pinky finger should have been.

"I had to make sure," he said, when Toki paused for breath. "I had to cut it off to be sure."

"Put down the knife, honey," Toki said. She was amazed at how calm she sounded. Inside her head, she was still screaming.

Kado looked surprised for a moment before placing the knife gently on the counter top. He resumed the inspection of his hand.

Toki walked on autopilot, grabbing a dishcloth and wrapping it around Kado's hand as tightly as she could. He looked slightly annoyed at the fact but didn't protest. Leading him to the wall with the phone, she stepped over the small puddle of blood that had gathered on the floor.

She ignored the finger that lay in the middle of the puddle,

(his finger, god, it was his finger, it was on the floor, and what the hell did he have to be sure of, what the hell was wrong with him!)

not thinking to put it on ice, not thinking about whether it could be reattached or not, not thinking of anything at all except calling Yukio at work to drive them to the hospital.

Awake or dreaming? Life or death? Real or illusion?

Itsuki wasn't sure.

When he looked in the mirror, it was how he looked before reflected back at him, albeit younger. But, if he looked close enough, he could still see the part of him that was damned.

His finger traced the face of his reflection. His scar was gone.

He could never be sure. That was what plagued him. Never really, truly, sure.

Unless…

The living couldn't regenerate what they lost. They didn't make themselves whole, just to be killed again and again and again.

There was one way to be sure…

Sekino Kado was four and a half years old when he began seeing a therapist.

Toki and Yukio sat next to each other, hands intertwined. They had never held hands much before Toki had gotten pregnant; now it was a familiar comfort.

They watched and they listened.

"What made you use the knife? Were you angry?" the therapist asked.

"No," Kado replied. "I just had to make sure this is real."

"What's real?"

He gestured to the room with one small, pale, hand. "This. Everything."

"Why wouldn't it be real?"

Kado only smiled at that and Toki felt a chill race up her spine.

It had been months, and his finger hadn't grown back. Still, Itsuki questioned if that proved anything.

Time, in hell, was non-existent. Just because there were suddenly watches and clocks and digital displays didn't prove that time was real.

He had never been able to tell how long regeneration took when he had no source of time to go by. There was no telling now, either.

It would grow back, because they always did, and Kazuya would come and find something else to remove, something more painful, and he would hide in his mind that was shattered and broken, and it couldn't be real…

Itsuki's smile was merely an echo of his agony.

Sekino Kado was five years old when the world burst into flames.

Yukio was weeding and Toki was watching him from the shade of the porch. It was only the two of them outside since Kado had holed himself up in his room. They had long since learned to leave him to his own devices.

Toki took a deep breath, looking up at the sky. She needed to see the sun to remind herself she wasn't trapped in a nightmare. Just another beautiful day in the surreal world.

Everything fell apart in the span of a few seconds.

From inside the house, there was crackling, a loud pop, and the sudden roar of an explosion. The porch shuddered violently, and somewhere there was the sound of glass breaking.

It didn't register right away that it came from her house. Toki stared at Yukio, only distantly aware of the smoke billowing from the window in her peripheral vision. She was frozen; it was all just a bad dream and she would wake up any moment. Yukio wasn't really rushing by her, running into the house that was on fire; no sane person would run into a burning building… He was screaming something too, like some kind of movie hero. That was strange because he wasn't an actor, wasn't even real if it was really a dream, and what was he screaming, anyway?

"KADO!"

It wasn't a dream.

Toki pulled herself up and half ran, half stumbled behind Yukio into the house. The world was tilting, or maybe she was tilting, and it was hard to see because the smoke was like a blanket, and it was hard to breathe-

She could hear Kado coughing and the world was suddenly straight again.

Yukio was coming up on the door to Kado's room, but he didn't slow. Smoke was curling out from the door, tendrils of it caressing the wooden frame, and for a moment it seemed to wrap around Yukio's foot. Then, his weight was thrown against the door and it shuddered, tipped in its frame, held-

Toki rammed into it, shoulder first, and it collapsed inwards.

Kado was a shadow in the smoke. Behind him, the far wall (which wasn't a wall, not any more) burned.

It was strange, Toki thought, that she could see the street through Kado's bedroom.

Yukio didn't seem to be concerned about that little detail though. He had Kado hefted up into his arms, and then he was pulling Toki along by the wrist back the way they had come. She could only stumble dumbly behind him.

Outside, Yukio released her and gave Kado a little shake. His head flopped back and forth like a rag doll.

"Are you okay? Kado? Kado!"

Kado blinked bloodshot gold eyes at him. Toki could almost see how he snapped back to himself. His eyes were suddenly wild and his mouth pulled down into a grimace. He began to shake.

"We have to go. We have to go right now!"

Writhing like a snake, he freed himself from Yukio's hold. Toki was still functioning a few steps behind. When Kado grabbed her wrist, she followed his lead as easily as she had Yukio's.

He was talking, she realized. Babbling nonsense about how they were going to come for him and take him back, and no he wasn't going to go, he'd never go back again.

My poor boy is disturbed, she thought as the small stump of what remained of his pinky finger rubbed up against her flesh.

For the first time she was afraid not for her child… but of him.

His body was weak, human, but Shinobu had been human too.

Yes, a part of him sneered. He was. And he's the reason why we're stuck in this body now. It's all his fault.

My choice, another part whispered back.

It was an old, pointless argument. Itsuki shut the voices out.

Even if he was human, there was still a chance he could learn to use energy. Not the familiar comforting demon energy, not his beloved Uraotoko, not his shadow arms… but maybe spiritual energy.

He began to practice.

He would sit in his room, concentrating on the flow of power that was stored inside him. The air would crackle, but nothing would happen.

Itsuki tried and tried and tried, always with the same result: nothing.

There's something I'm missing, he thought as he sat with his legs crossed on the floor. How did I use to summon the Uraotoko?

By picturing it, came the quiet reply.

That was right. By visualizing it, picturing it forming, becoming real, becoming solid…

In his mind Itsuki pictured a familiar figure, hands drawing together, closing, pulling back and forming the purple sphere-

He had stood while lost in thought. His hands were lowered to waist height on his right side, legs spread to brace himself. And there, in his hands, was a small golden ball of energy.

Spreading his hands farther apart, he focused on keeping it steady. It wavered, but did not fall.

He wasn't thinking any more. He was doing what felt right. Raising his right leg, he lashed out, connecting with the sphere. As he watched, it propelled forward. The wall exploded.

As smoke and dust wrapped him in a tight embrace, as the first wave of fatigue washed over his senses, as his muscles began to turn to jelly, Itsuki watched the flames lick the wall.

Was it likely the Spirit World would investigate the matter? Was his spiritual energy strong enough to trace? Would they come? He wasn't going to take any chances.

Let them try, he thought with a sudden viciousness. Let them try and take me back. I'll never go back again.

The force that had beckoned him, guided him, pulled him all the while, sunk its claws in a bit further and settled down to wait.