Chapter 3

A flash of lightning, but no rain.

The sky grows dark and oppressive, encouraging civilians to close the doors and windows of their apartments without hesitation. Meteor City doesn't seem like a place that would see much rainfall, or any at all. The sight of lightning is more like an omen than anything.

The sudden change in humidity makes Kurapika's hair stick to his face. As if the heat could be more unbearable. The heaps of garbage rise several floors high next to the buildings, and the pungent scent seems to have magnified. No wind passes by as he moves through the vacant streets, keeping a measured distance behind Kuroro and Kortopi to remain undetected. It's fortunate that he can still conceal himself using Zetsu.

As he leaves behind old apartments, more decrepit dwellings come into view. Some makeshift houses seem more durable than others, constructed from planks of wood and cardboard, while many are only composed of ropes and tarpaulin. Although most of the civilians have retreated into their homes, barefooted children still mingle beneath low roofs made from tin sheets and plastics. Kurapika fears they will not hold should it rain.

Kuroro eventually stops at an open landscape, far from the homes of Meteor City's inhabitants. Finally, because Kurapika didn't exactly want to ambush him in public. Amidst the smoke and ascended dust, where something used to stand, only rubble and broken glass remain. The aftermath of destruction is thick in the air.

Kurapika presses his back against a slab of rock, not daring to make a sound. When the dust begins to clear, he can make out a massive figure approaching Kuroro and Kortopi. The sudden flood of aura melts away the scraps of the building at their feet, vaporizing them into nothing but air. Kurapika's breath seizes in his throat.

Silva Zoldyck emerges from the dust, holding a young woman by her long, black hair—but she isn't struggling, isn't even moving. Only her white dress billows with the breeze.

If Kuroro could grow even paler, he does. Kortopi hides behind his leg, trembling and grasping onto him without any intention of letting go.

"You've kept me waiting, Spider." Silva drops the woman, and her body strikes the ground with the sound of a crumpled doll being discarded like garbage. Her hair spills over in a pool of black, soaked with fresh blood. "Where's the rest of your subordinates?"

Kuroro sets his jaw, not breaking eye contact with his unwanted visitor. "Go, Kortopi."

Kortopi's head snaps up, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. He shakes his head, grabbing onto Kuroro's clothes again.

"Did you not hear me?" Kuroro's tone is harsher now. "Go."

Kurapika knows faintly of their past together, of how Kuroro managed to hold his own in a fight against the Zoldycks twice, though he doesn't know who hired Silva. This is unfortunate timing on his part, because all he wants is his Hunter license back, not to get involved in a fight between these two.

Silva approaches with thunderous steps, and the smell of something burning is their only warning. Electricity crackles in his hands, spinning into an orb of vibrant purple light, and he hurls it towards their direction with terrifying strength.

Kurapika doesn't even have time to see the result, because Kuroro grabs Kortopi by his shirt and throws him across the landscape—back in Kurapika's direction. As Kortopi's body skids through the ground, landing at his feet, Kurapika doesn't even think, just picks him up and runs. He makes a sound of surprise, but Kurapika doesn't have the time to explain yet. Earth shatters, rocks flatten, and when Kurapika looks back, his heart racing like never before, Kuroro's figure has disappeared with the dust.

The surge of dust sears at Kurapika's skin as he runs, stings at his eyes, but he refuses to stop. The static is so close, so strong that it crackles through his hair. He's tucked Kortopi underneath his arm as if he's carrying a package, though he's far too light for a child. "Don't say a word, kid." Kortopi doesn't struggle in his grasp, only looks at him with profound confusion. "I'm getting you out of here."

"But Kuroro! What about Kuroro—"

"Kuroro's strong," Kurapika says without hesitation. It's not something he's ever admitted before, despite the times Kuroro called Kurapika's own abilities fascinating and his strength compelling. Behind them, there's the sound of impact and a hundred birds escaping from the battlefield. "He's stronger than you think. He's not going to die so easily."

"How do you know—"

"Focus." Kurapika grits his teeth. "I don't think you can fight, but I can. You're only a liability here. You don't want to be a liability to Kuroro, right?"

"Then go help him!" A sharp tug on the sleeve of his jacket, and Kurapika looks down. Faint tracks of tears stain Kortopi's face. "Please."

Something hot sparks at his chest, but Kurapika chooses not to answer. He doesn't stop looking forward, continues moving through the haze of smoke and dust. A deafening blast distinguishes itself from the others, so powerful that the ground shudders beneath them—and there's another and another and another—and the series of explosions only gain momentum from that point on.

It's only when the heat in the air fades and the smoke is a distance away, that he sets Kortopi down on the ground. They're close to the district where they came from, and Kurapika finally lets out a quiet breath of relief. They take cover beneath a canopy in front of an abandoned shop front, and it's enough shelter for now. His head is spinning, his legs are trembling, though he can't tell if it's from adrenaline or from the fact he decided to rescue a Spider.

To what extent should Kurapika get involved, if any at all? The outcome of this fight has already been decided—a standstill where both end up surviving the encounter. Perhaps he didn't need to do anything at all, but he's seen too many deaths already, too much blood spilled, and letting a child bear witness to that isn't something that sits well with him.

As Kortopi looks up at him, tears slide down his cheeks. He cries quietly, with only the softest of sniffles. "Who was that?"

Kurapika can't think of a roundabout explanation. "That man wants Kuroro and his friends dead. You saw what happened to that woman."

A Spider that he's never met before. But he doesn't dwell on the thought, because she's dead.

"But why?"

"Because someone hired him to do so." Kurapika thinks of the first time he saw Silva during Yorknew, as a fellow assassin rather than Killua's father, and how he did things the way he liked, despite expectations of the mafioso. "He's doing his job."

Kortopi contemplates this in silence, looking at the dust on his shoes. Kurapika has never particularly enjoyed being around children, although that thought might have changed during the time he spent with Prince Woble. He wonders how she is doing now, if she managed to safely return home with Queen Oito.

A moment passes between them, before Kortopi's expression shifts to something more hesitant. "How do you know Kuroro? You don't—want him dead too, do you?"

"I've only heard of him," Kurapika decides to say, closing his eyes for a brief moment. There was a time when he wished Kuroro dead with all his being, but that time is not now. "I just want my Hunter license back, that's all. I'm not going to murder him over it."

Kortopi wipes away his tears with the sleeve of his tunic. "I don't want Kuroro to get hurt. If you're a Hunter, then you must be strong too." He reaches out to tug at Kurapika's pants, pleading him. "I think he needs help."

Kurapika lets out a resigned sigh. He doesn't exactly have a plan beyond not getting interfering with Kuroro's fight against Silva. "I'll go take a look. Stay here, and don't move."

When Kortopi finally lets go of him, he drags himself back to where he last saw Kuroro. Despite the reverberation in the distance, something like a detonation, the street children have yet to take shelter. They look on with curiosity in their eyes, towards the grey, rainless sky. He hopes that Kortopi will heed his instructions and avoid getting into trouble with the other children. He would rather not return to find him getting beaten again.

As Kurapika gets closer, dust sweeps across the landscape, and he has to cover his face with his suit jacket as he forges onward. The last thing he wants is for Silva to mistake him for Kuroro's acquaintance—or even worse, a Spider.

When the dust clears, the landscape has been violently warped, consisting of nothing but deep craters steaming with smoke and ridged footprints trailing away from the area. The air is still with Silva Zoldyck nowhere in sight.

Amidst the rubble, Kuroro lies a few feet away from him. His clothes are scorched, left as tattered pieces on his frame, and the blood on his torso conjures an echo of the last time Kurapika saw him on the Black Whale. Kurapika goes to him, lowering himself to his knees by his side.

Kuroro's gaze sharpens, striving through the haze of pain to focus on Kurapika's face. "It's you." It takes effort for him to speak, though he sounds perplexed, as if he believes that he's seeing things. "I thought I told you to go home."

Kurapika suppresses the urge to scoff. "You have something of mine, and I'm not leaving without it." He turns his head, taking in their surroundings. "Where is he?"

"Escaped," Kuroro says after a moment. He heaves himself upright, flinching at the discomfort, but Kurapika splays a hand across his chest to support him. Kurapika doesn't know why he does so, but Kuroro feels alive, and the touch feels capable of burning Kurapika's hand. He leans back against the rubble in a sitting position. "Kortopi? The child who was with me?"

"He's safe."

"Good," Kuroro murmurs, although there's nothing good about the pain in his inflection. His voice trembles as he speaks. "I'm glad."

A soft, breathless sound is the last thing Kurapika hears before Kuroro suddenly falls forward onto his shoulder, instead of a slab of dusty stone. When he breathes, the sordid scent of blood and ash fills his nose. It makes him go very still, because all he can remember is—

Kuroro resting limply against his shoulder, so close to the crook of his neck, bloodied and broken. Kuroro murmuring his last words against the bare skin of his neck, his breath still warm. Kuroro closing his eyes, ensuring that Kurapika would not be alone during his last moments.

Kurapika shouldn't have such poignant memories about his former enemy, but he does. They were never companions. They were the last survivors of their families. They didn't choose each other.

But the Kuroro he knows is dead.

A breath to steady himself, and Kurapika turns his attention back to the person in front of him. Though the wounds that Silva afflicted upon this Kuroro seem severe, the future has already dictated that he will survive this ordeal. How, Kurapika doesn't know.

Kuroro has already fallen from consciousness, only a light weight on his shoulder now. It's jarring to think that he will be the one to destroy the world that Kurapika cherished so much, when he looks so vulnerable here. His hair, shorter than what Kurapika remembers, is a dark veil over his sepulchral face. His lashes are still very long, brushing against his cheeks. Kurapika can't fathom a time when Kuroro was truly innocent.

The reality that he's with Kuroro makes him think of the possibilities. If he's truly ten years in the past, no matter how unfathomable it seems, then—there's the potential for a future where his family will still live on, where he will not have to be the last relic of a forgotten past.

But he isn't the kind of person to change the world. His heart isn't as big as Gon's and his hands can't save countless lives like Leorio's. Yet, he's all that the world has right now. He's already been a boy, a murderer, a savior. Who must he be? What must he be to change things?

Kurapika doesn't know, but it's best to destroy an infection before it spreads. He could easily end Kuroro's life now, when he's so defenseless by his side, and eliminate the rest of the Spiders for good measure. His chains are a well-remembered weight on his hand and he could certainly do it, end everything before it even begins. A future where the Spiders would stand no longer makes his heart feel so light, but—

Kurapika doesn't need any more blood on his hands. Eradicating the Spiders doesn't mean that his clan won't be susceptible to the attention of others as well. Doesn't mean that another threat won't rise in its wake.

At his side, Kuroro's chest rises and falls shallowly. His wounds demand attention from him. He has to make his choice now.

Kurapika knows what will happen, and he's prepared. All he has to do is prevent the worse from happening. It's a new purpose for him, and he'll make sure that he accomplishes it while he's alive, no matter what it takes.

So he gently lays Kuroro back against the rubble, keeping him upright. His hands shake when he reaches for Kuroro's shirt, peeling whatever's left of it from his wounds. It's entirely possible that Kuroro's ribs were broken and punctured his lungs, and Kurapika can probably heal to that extent.

But he's not willing to use his Eyes for this. Not after how he exhausted his life in exchange for greater power.

Though, it's still comforting to have his Nen. His cross-linked chain is suspended over Kuroro's skin, glowing a gentle green, and he uses his own aura to accelerate the healing of damaged skin and muscle and bone. It won't be perfect, but it will be enough for Kuroro's body to heal naturally thereafter.

If Kurapika was the person he was two years ago, he would never let Kuroro live, but this time, he needs Kuroro alive if he wants the answers he seeks. When the wounds have sealed, Kurapika gathers Kuroro's arm over his shoulder and lifts him. Although Kuroro isn't much taller than he is, he is a much greater weight.

This means having to drag Kuroro back to Kortopi on his own strength. It takes twice the amount of time than it usually would, when Kuroro keeps on sliding from his shoulder and he has to avoid hitting Kuroro's body on the edges of buildings. The odd looks he gets from children seem to be directed towards him rather than Kuroro. Relief eventually comes when he finds Kortopi waiting for them at the same place.

Kortopi rushes over to them, his features fraught with concern. "What happened?"

"He's fine." Kurapika's seen too much for one day. His legs are aching and he's ready to drop Kuroro on the ground any moment now. "Where does he live?"

Kurapika silently prays that the building that Silva decimated wasn't Kuroro's home. Thankfully, Kortopi announces, "This way!"

His apartment isn't very far, but Kurapika's legs protest when he has to climb a flight of stairs. Kortopi helps him unlock the door with a spare key. The space is rather sparse, but much cleaner than expected, and Kurapika breathes a sigh of relief when it isn't cluttered with dust and filth. He releases Kuroro onto the bed, letting him fall none too gently, and finds himself envious of Kuroro for having a bed to sleep on.

Light streams weakly from the windows, passing over Kuroro's face and reminding Kurapika of how young he really is. His dark lashes flutter in slumber and the areas around his eyes are free of fatigue. The sight makes him contemplate why and how Kuroro became the person he did, though he'll most likely never know.

Kurapika sits on the edge of the bed and carefully removes the rest of the blood-soaked shirt from Kuroro's body, discarding it on the floor. His torso is exposed now, scarred lightly from his unfinished healing efforts, and there's the etch of a black tattoo on his arm. Kurapika averts his gaze before his eyes can shift to scarlet.

His Hunter license should be in Kuroro's pants somewhere then, or perhaps his shoes. He wills himself not to feel uncomfortable when he leans over to search Kuroro, digging his hands into his pockets for that familiar card, and then—

There's the sound of the doorknob turning, the floorboard creaking. Kurapika looks up, startled and very guilty of laying his hands on a half-dressed and unconscious Kuroro.

That aquiline profile is undeniable, because Pakunoda stands there at the entrance, her hands covering Kortopi's eyes. Her dress is modest and her face is clean of makeup. Her lips part slightly, as if she's too surprised to say anything. Kurapika can feel his face heating up, having possessed the most impeccable timing in all situations today, and the flush on his cheeks doesn't make things any better.

But behind her is another presence all too familiar. Nobunaga steps closer, tightening his grip around the hilt of his blade, though he doesn't unsheathe it just yet.

"Who are you?"

Notes:

I always lose motivation with longer fics, since I just want to upload the more explicit chapters already. +;) But alas, we are not there yet.

Please leave a comment—I would love to know what you think. You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna.