A/N: This is my first hxh fic but I'm really proud of it! Gifted to my amazing brother Kyle, who I don't think has an ao3 but has helped a ton with ideas for this, my fiance who got me into HunterxHunter in the first place, and Windy, who has the exact same little niche of "Killua getting the love he deserves" as I do and cheered me on while writing this (and inspired me with her writing!)
I really like to explore the relationship between Killua and Kurapika, because... well, Gon has Leorio, and Killua has never once had a supportive parent figure. And Kurapika is fantastic.
There's brief mentions of Gonkillu, and brief mentions of Trans-Kurapika, but mainly this is about Kurapika and Killua getting a chance to bond, and both having some pretty bad trauma.
These babies need hugs.
TW for pretty detailed depictions of illness/vomiting
Fevered Lullaby
200g finely sliced beef
6-8 blocks hayashi rice stew roux
450-500ml water
1 onion
1 carrot
100g fresh button mushrooms
2 tbsp sesame oil
800g cooked rice
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce (optional)
Kurapika's eyes travelled over the recipe in the book, taking into account every ingredient one last time before setting the book aside. He knew that if he and Leorio had switched places tonight, he would return to a large take-out bill – one not including any vegetables or, realistically, any nutrition at all. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded getting take out for himself, if he even remembered to eat at all– that was actually the original plan. When the kids were involved, however, he tried desperately to give them good, full, balanced meals – goodness knows they needed it, with all the running around they did.
Originally, tonight's plan would have left him home alone, forgetting to eat and staying up late into the evening working while Leorio accompanied the kids out. Tomorrow morning at six AM, a new video game was being released for purchase (Kurapika, never one to focus on the entertainment industry, couldn't even remember the name of the game – just that his partner and the little ones had been screaming excitedly about it for more than a month), and the idea had been to sleep over in line at the store in order to ensure a copy of the game would be theirs. The planning had been intense and thorough, covering everything from tent stakes to midnight snacks. Killua, Gon, and Leorio had been raving about the release since it was announced – Kurapika knew that as a fact. However, that morning, the mood shifted when Killua emerged from his bedroom two hours later than his usual 8am morning.
"Welcome awake, Killua." Kurapika had said from his place at the table, his third cup of black coffee resting in his left hand with his right on his laptop. "Sleep well?"
The child grumbled something incomprehensible, his shoulders hunched under his oversized sweater (likely one stolen from Gon's closet, considering the extremely loose shoulder seam and the little sliver of pale belly skin visible due to Killua's one-inch height advantage). Kurapika's eyes followed him into the kitchen, where he stared into the fridge for a moment before closing it and slinking into the living room.
"Kiki!" Gon shouted as he felt the couch dip with Killua's weight. Killua grumbled a little, but didn't protest the nickname. "Are you excited about tonight? Leorio and I want to get McDonald's for dinner!"
At that moment, Kurapika was glad that he still had his eye trained on the youngest member of their group. If he hadn't, he would have missed the way that Killua's already pale skin lightened a shade as he swallowed thickly and crossed his arms over his middle.
"Yeah, I'm not going." He spit, his voice sounding cold and bitter.
Gon's gasp was almost tangible, and the duo now had both Kurapika and Leorio's attention.
"What do you mean?!" The shorter boy shrieked, his mouth agape as he stared at his companion. "Quit being silly, Killua! We've been waiting for forever, you have to come!"
Killua rolled his eyes and blew hair out of his face, but Kurapika didn't overlook the way suppressed a shiver.
"That game looks stupid, anyways. I'd rather rip out my own eyelashes than sit outside for twelve hours for a dumb overpriced CD." He closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head, but Kurapika was still watching closely. Unlike Gon, the older wasn't so focused on the insult that he missed the way Killua's voice cracked painfully to end his sentence.
"What the heck, Killua," Leorio huffed. "Just yesterday you said it was the coolest game ever!"
Killua shrugged instead of responding, and Gon looked about ready to cry.
"Killua," Kurapika chimed, his voice concerned and firm, "are you feeling alright?"
Killua made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat at this, and scrambled to his feet.
"This is fucking ridiculous! I feel great, and I'm allowed to change my mind! You can't make me want to go. Stupid!"
Before Leorio could even reprimand his language, the thin child had stomped down the hallway and back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving the remaining three in utter confusion.
"Well, that was uncalled for." Leorio huffed, crossing his arms. Gon sighed, his lower lip going out in a pout.
"I'm sure he didn't mean it." Kurapika closed his laptop carefully and stood, making his way into living room to sit beside Gon.
"It was weird, though," Gon pouted, and Kurapika couldn't argue with that. It was weird, but Killua was right – they couldn't force him to go. And they didn't.
At 5pm, Kurapika started dinner. At 5:30, Gon bounded into the kitchen with excitement, looking for his shoes, Leorio close on his heel.
"Pika!" The child shouted, rounding the corner recklessly as Kurapika chopped a carrot.
Kurapika, ever observant, was able to see the brief look of sheer panic as Gon's socked feet slipped out from under him and glided effortlessly across the freshly mopped hardwood flooring. Eyes wide and mouth agape, the boy had slid right past the table and slammed into the wall with a loud CRASH and shout of surprise. Kurapika cringed as he crashed.
"No running in the house!" He chided immediately, distracted from his work. Gon opened his mouth to apologize, but was interrupted immediately by Leorio careening into the room.
"Kurapika!" The man shouted, rounding the corner so vehemently that he didn't notice Gon's disheveled, apologetic form on the ground. Kurapika caught his eyes as he came into view and did not miss the second appearance of pure terror that evening as the older's socked feet slid out from under him.
Leorio went tumbling directly into Gon, leaving them a tangled mess on the hardwood floor with a picture frame shattered behind them. The blonde couldn't help but laugh at the sight, shaking his head a little.
"You two will be the death of me," He chuckled from the kitchen. Gon giggled while Leorio opted to narrow his eyes with a smile.
"You love it." The oldest member of their party teased. Laughing again, Kurapika set down his knife and moved towards the pile of boy, squatting just enough to slide an arm around Gon and lift him to his feet.
"I do." He smiled, bending again to press a warm kiss on the crown of Leorio's head. He straightened again and began to dust Gon's clothing with his hands, becoming satisfied with his work after a moment and stepping back into the kitchen.
"Now, do you two plan to head out any time soon, or are you just going to sit there like a feral little man?"
"For your information, we were just leaving." Leorio huffed jokingly as he stood. Gon gave a little sigh as his eyes darted to the hallway.
"Does…does Killua really not want to come?" He pouted, his voice incredibly small. It broke Kurapika's heart, just a little, to see those big brown puppy dog eyes looking so pitiful. He reached out and put a warm hand on Gon's shoulder.
"I'll talk to him, okay?"
With that, Gon perked up the tiniest bit – if anyone could get the truth out of someone, it was Kurapika.
The young man put on his best parental smile and gave Gon's shoulder a little pat before gliding past him into the hallway. Killua's room was at the very end, and the door was shut – which, really, wasn't at all a surprise. Kurapika came to it and gave it a gentle rap with his knuckles.
Something very important that he and Leorio had discussed when taking Killua on as their full-time charge (on paper just to keep him away from his abusive home, but in reality because the couple had spent the last year and a half becoming incredibly attached to the child) was privacy. Killua's home life had been less than ideal, and both men knew this. He was beaten, poisoned, and pushed past the brink of sanity daily, so it took little sleuthing to deduce that he likely grew up with little to no privacy. Therefore, privacy became a priority – if the child could have privacy without consequence, it was no doubt that he would be more comfortable in their shared living space.
There was no answer to Kurapika's knocks. He tried again, a little louder.
"Killua?" He ventured, resisting the urge to open the door.
"What?" Spat a small, bitter voice from inside. Kurapika almost jumped from the unexpected anger – yes, Killua did tend to get into moods rather often, but normally it took a bit more prompting to get such a spiteful answer. Kurapika took a deep breath; there was no use in getting angry back.
"Killua, Gon is really upset. I thought you wanted to go to this….thing." He tried, his voice soft and inquisitive. He heard a huff from inside, but no movement.
"No. It's stupid. He can get over it."
If the other things hadn't given Kurapika reason for concern, this attitude definitely had. Gon and Killua were close – closer than close, really. Leorio and Kurapika even had an ongoing bet on whether the two would confide in them about their mutual pining first, or if they would they wait until they confessed to each other to tell their friends.
This being said, Killua never put his own feelings over Gon's. This proved to be a bit of a problem, yes, but seeing him disregard the elder's feelings struck Kurapika as…odd. More than odd, it struck him as concerning.
For just a moment, there was silence.
"Is…" The blond started, fidgeting slightly with his lip in his teeth. He needed to approach this carefully as to not bring Killua's walls up. "Is there anything that is bothering you, Killua? You seem…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence.
"You're stupid too! Just leave me alone!" Killua's tinny voice cried from behind the door, and the volume caused Kurapika to cringe.
But, no matter how startling – and how utterly disrespectful – the statement, something told Kurapika not to push any farther. Instead, he gently told the door that dinner would be ready in a couple of hours, and went to break the bad news to Gon and Leorio (and possibly easing the pain with a few extra dollars for McDonald's ice cream cones).
That had been two hours and seventeen minutes ago, and, just like he had said, dinner was now nearly ready. As he moved the pan from the heat and retrieved two bowls from the cupboard, he debated briefly on whether or not he should go fetch the sullen child.
In the time since Leorio and Gon had left, there had been no noise from Killua's room – no loud music, no video game sounds, no slamming things around, and, of course, no appearances of the child himself. This radio silence wasn't… uncommon, persay, but combined with the abnormal attitude towards Gon earlier in the day and the uneasy feeling that had settled in Kurapika's throat, more and more it seemed as if something was wrong.
That being said, Kurapika was nothing if not a man of his word – he had promised himself to give Killua his privacy, and that the child would come to him when he was ready. If not him, then Leorio, or, more likely, Gon. And so, rather than trying to pry Killua from his bedroom, Kurapika brought a hot bowl of rice and vegetables and left it by the door, shooting a quick text of "dinner is ready. Left it in the hall 4 u."
And then, with the house seemingly empty, Kurapika went on about his nightly business, trying harder than ever to ignore the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.
It was far too late to be doing research, and Kurapika knew that. But his mind couldn't seem to stop, not even as the clock chimed two in the morning. He was looking for Spiders, like he had been as long as he could remember, using his Hunter license for more reputable sources on the internet. He yawned slightly and stretched big, blinking a few times in hopes to rewet his contacts. Rather than moisten and keep their assigned place on his pupils, though, the pale lenses continued to feel as if they were glued to his eyes. He tried once more to no avail before deciding that – maybe – that was the universe telling him it was time for bed.
Or, maybe, it was just time for some eye drops.
Kurapika stood from his desk with another stretch and mentally cursed himself for sitting hunched over for so long when his back cracked profusely. With the last snap crackle pop of his joints, Kurapika walked out of his bedroom and into the hallway, taking an immediate left to go towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. He entered, not bothering to turn on a light (he was not in the mood to see himself in the mirror, thank you very much) or close the door (Killua should be asleep, and even if he wasn't, Kurapika wouldn't be in the bathroom for more than a few moments), and began to search for his contact solution. It was right where he left it, resting to the right of the faucet, and upon locating it Kurapika used his index finger to gently remove his right lens. He almost had gotten a hold of it when something bumped into him from behind.
Kurapika was lucky he didn't poke his own eye out.
"Oh, fuck," A little voice said, gravelly and weak in the pitch black. Kurapika blinked a few times as he tried to catch his breath, the finger that had nearly gone into his cornea now clutching at his chest.
"Killua!" The man breathed, his heart still racing from the scare. There was only a brief moment where cold blue eyes met his in the dark before they shot away, but it was enough for Kurapika to see that something was wrong.
"Killua?" He said again, steadying his voice. "What are you doing up? It's very late."
There was a noncommittal grunt in response, and Kurapika's darkness-adjusted eyes saw the boy cross his arms.
"What, am I not allowed to piss now?" He spat, but Kurapika didn't buy it for a second.
"Killua." He said again, his voice stern as he blinked at his continuously drying contacts. An icy blue gaze looked up at him, challenging him with all the rage someone under five foot two could muster. The child glared up at his caretaker, his chest heavy with angry breath before he flinched – just a little. His glare didn't falter immediately, but within moments Kurapika saw the boy's chest begin to heave, and that was all the warning given before Killua clambered to the left, threw open the lid of the toilet and immediately vomited noisily into the bowl.
"Oh!" Kurapika exclaimed involuntarily at the sudden action, his natural reaction being to take a faltering step back. Killua's breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now as he stood over the toilet, his body shaking and his eyes wide. The older man observed him for a moment, completely unsure of what to do in this situation, before speaking. "Are you…alright?"
As if on cue, Killua's stomach heaved again and his throat made a strangled little noise as he threw up for the second time. Kurapika cringed at the sickening wet splash from the toilet, but this brief disgust softened as he saw Killua sink to his knees, his hands gripping the toilet seat for dear life. His breath was still coming way too fast.
Kurapika didn't know how to react to illness, not really. That was Leorio's job – as the doctor and designated dad of the group, any sick was generally directed towards him for comfort and cure. Not only that, but the one sick was generally Kurapika himself, so he hadn't really had much of the option to care for someone fallen ill (Gon's immune system was strengthened by eleven years of eating dirt in the forest, and Leorio's just seemed to be magic). More importantly, he had never seen Killua sick, not even with a simple cold, and now here he was, throwing up in the bathroom in the middle of the night with no one knowledgeable enough to help at home.
"Okay," The blond started, holding his hands in a defensive position as he pondered his options. Should he kneel by the child? Rub his back? Get him medicine? Leave him alone?
The last option left a bitter taste in Kurapika's mind, so without pondering any longer he carefully crossed the room and sat gently on the edge of the bathtub. Killua breathed heavily into the toilet bowl, little pained whimpers and harsh swallows echoing off the porcelain. Kurapika carefully set a hand on the child's sweaty back, but as soon as the two touched Killua flinched violently away.
"I told you, I'm fine," He choked, trying with all his might to glare up at his caretaker. The gesture failed, though, as the second he shifted his gaze a belch escaped his lips and set him immediately retching again. Kurapika cringed, more so at the declaration of independence from a child so ill than the sick itself.
Killua coughed and spat into the toilet as he finished, but the reprieve lasted only moments before his stomach was lurching again – and this time, it didn't seem to want to stop. After the second gag, the child's eyes were filled with tears and his forehead beaded with cold sweat, and Kurapika's heart was breaking.
He may not know how to deal with illness, but he couldn't just do nothing. Gently, the adult leaned over slightly and began to stroke Killua's hair from his face. His bangs were soaked with sweat and tinged with yellow-green stomach acid, a small amount of undigested food clinging to the longest strands, but Kurapika didn't falter. Instead, he pulled the hair back and held it from the child's face as he was sick again, his nausea preventing him from protesting the gentle touch. He gagged violently again, this time with his entire body, and let out an unrestrained cry of pain that was bordering on sob.
"Shh, shh, my love," Kurapika muttered upon instinct, brushing a few strands of hair that had fallen from his grip back into place. "You're alright, you're okay,"
In reality, he had no earthly idea whether or not the child was okay. Killua showing weakness of any kind was next to nonexistent, even more so for physical weakness. Kurapika had seen Killua cry a few times in their time together, but he had never, ever seen him cry from physical pain. It hurt his heart more than he'd like to admit to see it, but it hurt more to know that whatever was happening had to be worse than any of them could ever imagine if he was being openly pained.
And that was more than a little scary.
It appeared that the gagging had stopped, at least for the moment, but it wasn't much of an improvement. Killua was still grey around the lips, breathing too fast, and shaking profusely as he leaned his hot little cheek on the cool porcelain of the toilet seat. Tears were rolling freely down his cheeks as he shook, and after just a moment of silence he let out the most pitiful whine of desperation and fear Kurapika had ever heard.
Well.
One that he had only heard once before.
Please, his brain screamed, and for a moment Kurapika could only see, hear, think one thing –
Pairo.
Kurapika hadn't cried in a long, long time, and he had become very good at letting any emotion numb him in order to not feel that overwhelming pain of guilt and longing that came with thoughts of his home. But, right now, in this situation, that was not an option. You couldn't become numb and unfocused with a scared child crying and vomiting at your side.
Oh, but hell, it hurt. His hands were shaky when he began stroking Killua's damp hair with one hand and his back with the other, and he felt his eyes prickle for the first time in six years.
"Shhh, shhh baby, I know," He choked as his heart clenched. "I know."
Killua's shoulders twitched under his hand and his whining turned into retching, loud and wet and pained and so, so pitiful. As the tiny child before him gagged, Kurapika couldn't help but to think of another tiny child – another so weak and yet so, so strong.
He bit his cheek.
A few minutes passed, the air filled with frightened energy and pungent smells and unshed tears, before Killua finally pulled his head up as far as he could and looked to Kurapika with multicolored vomit dripping down all the way from his nose to his chin and fever clouded, heavy lidded eyes. He swallowed.
"Do you feel better?" Kurapika asked gently, swallowing his own tears and putting on a brave smile. His hand was still tangled in the child's unruly curls and he moved to smooth them out. Killua nodded slightly and a sad little noise came from his messy lips.
"M sorry," He mumbled, dragging his arm across his mouth and nostrils to clean the vomit from them.
Kurapika continued to stroke his hair.
"Oh, love, no need to be sorry. It happens to everyone. Are you sure you're feeling alright now?"
He didn't want to push it – Killua had a tendency to shut down and push everyone away when questioned or doubted, so no matter how much Kurapika wanted to pet him and make sure he felt alright he abstained. Killua would tell him in his own time.
The boy in question nodded.
"I'm… 'm gonna go to bed."
Killua reached for the flush handle before beginning to stand, and it was all Kurapika could do to watch. What was he supposed to do here? All of his instincts told him to grab the child up and help him tidy himself, to give him tea and tuck him in and sit with him until morning. It's what he would do for Pairo, every time the frail boy had been sick or sad or scared back home.
But this wasn't Pairo.
This wasn't a gentle, fragile little boy with a loving family but a judging community. This wasn't a child who relished in physical affection, who held onto Kurapika's hand and middle for dear life whenever they went somewhere together.
This was a broken, exhausted, child soldier. An impossibly tiny boy who had been through so much pain and torture in his short life that it was impossible not to flinch at the gentlest touch. This was a child who would have been better off with no family at all to what he had.
He couldn't treat him as he would Pairo, because this wasn't Pairo.
Pairo was gone.
"Brush your teeth, Killua." Kurapika managed to say as the child stood and walked with shaky legs to the sink. Tiny hands took a blue electric toothbrush and reached for the toothpaste, which, once in hand, he was unable to open. Kurapika could see the frustration cross his pale face.
"Here, let me." He stood from his place on the tub's edge and went to Killua, popping the lid off with ease and putting the correct amount of minty blue paste on the brush's bristles.
He stood by while Killua brushed and spit, while he cupped water in his weak hands and brought it to his lips, while he dried his hands and moved on trembling legs out the door, down the hallway, and into his room.
Kurapika could only watch.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, his darkness adjusted eyes facing the mirror but not registering his form, his brain spinning and eyes prickling. It could have been minutes or hours, but by the time he emerged into the hallway he was exhausted. He couldn't even imagine how Killua was feeling.
He still hadn't taken his contacts out.
It wasn't until nine that he woke up the next morning, which was a lot different from his usual seven AM morning - whether that wake-up time be from nightmares, or work alarms, or loud children. But, he supposed, if his body let him sleep that long, he probably needed it – last night had been…. Interesting, to say the least.
He tried to tell himself it hadn't happened. Seeing Killua, always so stoic, always so confident, look so tiny and broken, seeing the unhealthy thinness of his body that had always been there but never noticed, seeing him sobbing in the floor… it was all too foreign. It was easiest to pretend it had been a dream, a product of eating too many of the noodles he had cooked last night since he had made enough for four, just to end up feeding himself.
And so, instead of dwelling, Kurapika rolled over in bed to find his partner, dead asleep on his back with one arm flung over his belly and the other over his head.
He and Gon must have come in extremely late last night, or, rather, extremely early this morning – Kurapika vaguely remembered waking up when Leorio came to bed – and Leorio had the day off from work. Kurapika scooted a bit closer, pressing his body into Leorio's side and nuzzling his face into his chest. The man stirred just a little, moving his arm around to be around Kurapika's shoulders instead. He rubbed his stubbly chin against Kurapika's hair, and the smaller hmmed contentedly.
"Good morning, sunshine," Leorio mumbled into his blond locks, his voice gruff from lack of sleep.
"Good morning to you as well." Kurapika smiled, cocking his head up slightly to look at his boyfriend's face. It was tired and in need of a wash and shave, but the crinkles in his forehead from too much worrying were smooth from relaxation, and that made the blond smile. "How was the game release?"
Leorio chuckled gently and stretched his legs out.
"It was fine, Gon ate his body weight in sugar and was passed out by two AM, so I had to carry him the rest of the night. He's on the couch now, probably'll sleep clear till dinner." He petted Kurapika's hair gently. "How was the night with Killua? Not a repeat of last time, I hope?"
Kurapika knew what he was referring to – both he and the snowy haired tween had extensive anger management issues, and the last time he had been left at home as a babysitter, things had gone…less than pleasantly. Leorio and Gon had come home from the farmers market to find an all-out nen battle in the kitchen, spit and insults and chairs flying and more cussing than Gon should have been allowed to hear. The argument had started simply as a denial for Killua to sneak sweets before he ate lunch and had spiraled into…..Kurapika didn't even know. Into something violent and aggravated, both parties saying things they shouldn't have as they flung kitchen utensils back and forth.
The night had ended with Kurapika berating himself to Leorio and Killua gently coming into the bedroom to apologize in a tiny, scared, but stubborn voice. Kurapika accepted and apologized back, and nothing more had been said about it.
He shook his head gently.
"No, we did not argue, though…" He paused. Of course he should tell Leorio – not only was the man a doctor, but he was also his life-partner – the person he told everything to. And yet, for some reason, it felt wrong - he didn't want to make Leorio worry over something that he was trying to convince himself hadn't even happened. He didn't want to share the events of the night before, and maybe that was because of his conviction to the idea that it was all a figment of his imagination.
Or maybe that was because of the look in Killua's eyes as he heaved and cried on the cold hard bathroom tile, the look of pure childish fear and pain and anguish present and pleading in his features.
Against his thinking, however, Kurapika nuzzled his face closer to Leorio's chest, his nose being tickled just a little by the man's chest hair, and took a breath.
"Though we did have a bit of an incident. Killua was up very late last night, and I came across him in the washroom, sicker than I have ever seen him."
He felt Leorio tense, and Kurapika immediately regretted mentioning it – those crinkles in Leorio's forehead had returned, and Kurapika hated that he had been the cause. Leorio had already started sitting up.
"Sick how? Did he have a sore throat, or a cough, or—"
"He was throwing up and appeared to have a temperature. He went back to bed before I could get a fever reducer to him."
Kurapika put a hand on his chest to keep him from getting out of bed. He didn't mention what really had concerned him the night before. The sobbing, the fear, the way the child had looked so needy and small – that was something he would keep to himself. Letting Leorio know about that… It felt like a violation of trust, even if there had been no verbal agreement to not tell.
"Please, though, Leorio – you know how cautious he is to open up. Let him come to us."
Killua hadn't felt this badly in a very, very long time.
Well, that wasn't quite true – he had felt badly plenty of times, like the migraines he got whenever Illumi was near him or the nausea he experienced when he got nervous or even the flu-bug he had caught while on Whale Island with Gon in the Summer.
But not like this. Not for this long.
The day before he had woken up…off. His head was a little swimmy, his eyes a little spacey. His stomach had grumbled lightly when he rolled out of bed, but he knew it wasn't with hunger.
Like usual, of course, he would hide it and get through the day – that was all he could do, really. Growing up in constant training, showing signs of illness meant nothing but punishment.
Punishment meant extra endurance training, generally electricity, or poison, or whips.
Punishment meant pain.
And so, signs of illness were hidden. Training went on as usual, and if anyone were to see you cry or sneeze or vomit, you were just pushed harder, just hurt more.
Even though, logically, he knew that his new house mates wouldn't hurt him, old habits die hard. And so, he got out of bed and walked to the kitchen, trying to act normal.
He really doesn't think he succeeded, but that didn't matter, because he had really failed last night. Not only had he given in, allowed himself to be sick and cry and hurt, but he had given in in front of Kurapika.
Something was itching in the back of his head – something deep and dark and painful, something that caused him more than just the fear of being hurt – but he couldn't place it.
He woke up even later than the day before, but now his brain was swimming even more, not only with illness and fever but with shame. His stomach rolled uncomfortably and he could barely keep himself from whining – but he was better than that. Still, fever was rolling over him in waves and his sheets were sticking to him with sweat, and he was having a rather hard time thinking coherently.
On top of that, his brain still itched, something clicking for his subconscious that wasn't being shared with the rest of him. It left him feeling scared and anxious, on edge and cautious and terribly weak.
He rolled over, planning to do what he did best – get up and go on with life, because you cannot show weakness, even to those you trust most. But, as soon as he moved, his stomach lurched painfully and he didn't have time to think (not that his brain was working at the moment anyways) before he was vomiting over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The hot sharp liquid spilled from his lips, splashing onto the ground with an awfully audible sound as he heaved uncontrollably. As if the first gag wasn't enough, Killua's stomach contracted again, splattering more mess onto the floor with such violence that he almost slipped off of the edge of the mattress.
His throat burned and his senses were entirely filled with nothing but weakness, and all of a sudden it clicked – not just for his subconscious, but for the rest of his fevered, shaking self.
Poison.
Poison training was common growing up. So common, in fact, that most of his time being sick to his stomach as a child was a direct result of his parents or Illumi's hands, even if those hands had reached over and forced a butler or maid to do it for them.
That had to be what was happening, right? That had to be the cause of the stinging pain in his throat, of the churning of his insides, of the vomit pooling on his floor.
Which meant, it was his job to overcome it – his job to show them he could take it. Because…what would happen if he couldn't?
If Killua's brain had been working correctly – if there had been no fever ripping through his body, no sickness infiltrating his train of thought – then he probably would have realized that there was no way that he would be poisoned here. Kurapika and Leorio would never, could never be like his family. And yet…
And yet his brain went there, and it dwelled, and the only fevered explanation for his current state that he could come up with was that he was being tested, and he had to succeed.
He gagged again.
He had to succeed. He had done this before, he could do it again – hide it. Be strong. Act normal. If you persevere, things get to go back to normal, things don't get worse.
Killua let himself spit into the puddle of sick on the ground and tried to calm himself before rising to shaky legs. He didn't really know where the cleaning supplies were, but he could find them.
Be strong.
Act normal.
Leorio was wrong – Gon was up by one PM, loud and excited to tell Killua and Kurapika of the events from the night before.
"It was so cool!" The small boy grinned, smearing mustard onto a slice of bread. Kurapika sat at the table across from him, a steaming mug of tea in his right hand and a worn, thrifted copy of Caress and Conquer in his left. Leorio was in the kitchen, pulling leftovers from the night before out to heat for his own lunch. Killua, though, was seated alone in the living room, curled up on the sofa with his and Gon's shared Nintendo-Switch grasped in his pale hands.
Kurapika had made sure that the seat he chose had the youngest within its clear view, and, from this optimal vantage point, he could tell that the gaming platform wasn't even turned on.
No matter how much he wanted to believe that the night before had been a fluke, the longer he analyzed the child's actions the less he believed that to be true. However, there had been no signs of vomiting or fever today, from what he could tell, and that was a good sign.
Gon slapped his sandwich – peanut butter, raisin, and mustard on white – together with a sickening squelch and plopped it onto his plate.
"Gon, you do realize that you've just made the most horrendous abomination known to man, right?" Leorio scolded as he walked into the dining area, hot bowl of noodles in tow.
"Oh, gross, did he make that raisin-mustard-peanut butter thing again?" Killua called from his place in the living room, shuddering as soon as he said it. "That's fucking disgusting."
"Killua!" Kurapika chided, head flicking immediately over to the little pale figure. "Language! We do not speak that way under this roof, young man."
Killua snickered, and, through his scolding, Kurapika fought back a small smile. Maybe– just maybe – the night had just been a fluke, after all. He made eye contact with Leorio, who gave him a small nod in return, and exhaled.
If the doctor agreed with him, then surely the odd behavior was just Killua's way of recovering and not signs to worry further.
Gon took a massive bite of the sandwich.
"You should try it sometime!" He grinned, halting his chewing. Kurapika cringed.
"We do not speak with our mouths full, either."
The day passed rather uneventfully after lunch. Killua spent much of his time in his room while Gon and Leorio played their new game in the living room, Kurapika spending the day reading his novel.
There were two reasons that Kurapika was being (in his eyes) extremely lazy that day, the first being that he had gotten little-to-no sleep the night before.
The second reason was so that he could keep as close an eye out as possible for any signs that Killua was still under the weather.
It was weird, really – when Killua was within his sight, Kurapika was able to notice a few indicators that something wasn't quite right. Killua's legs would shake, or he would choke on a word, or he would appear to be dozing off when he shut his eyes. However, every time one appeared it was gone again so quickly that the older was nearly sure that he had imagined it, and Leorio hadn't given any indication that they should be worried.
Kurapika was trying very hard not to worry, especially as the day wore on and there had been no concrete evidence that the youngest member of their household wasn't well.
Kurapika and Killua had once made knowing eye contact as Kurapika reminded the younger to eat, passing him a bowl of lightly seasoned rice and vegetables, and that was the only sign that Killua gave that he even remembered the night before. Kurapika had kept an eye on him while he ate, ensuring that he finished at least most of the meal, and then Killua had disappeared into his room once again. And that was it.
Maybe that should have risen the blond's suspicion, but, for Killua, it was normal. By evening, Kurapika had convinced himself that he was overreacting.
It was still difficult not to worry.
He had to hide it.
No matter what, he had to hide it.
His stomach was rolling all day, and he had to wear layers to keep from shivering.
Still, he ate when prompted, laughed when necessary, quipped when expected. Because he knew what happened if he didn't.
Killua had to stay strong and show that he wasn't weak, he had to obey and act normal, because what happened if he didn't was worse than the growing aches of his body and the rising fever in his skin.
He reminded him of this every time he began to doze off, every time he started towards the bathroom to give in to his stomach's upset. He had to be strong.
He let himself give in one time. When Leorio and Gon began their game and Kurapika was immersed in his book, the young boy had sneaked into the bathroom and allowed himself to vomit as quietly as he could. The retching was horrible and painful and disgusting, the hot liquid in his mouth even worse as it reminded him of his weakness. He managed to stop by pure will power alone, swallowing and resisting his middle's protests until he was able to stand.
He went into the living room, and he ate rice – because Kurapika had told him to.
And he knew what happened if he disobeyed.
Still, he let himself go to bed early, and tried with all of his might to wish away the illness as he fell asleep.
He dreamed of poison and pain, of tall, pale men and cold chains and swift blows to his middle.
It was rare that they got to be intimate like this. With Leorio's work having him constantly on call and Kurapika having to be on homework-help-duty whenever he wasn't on assignment, as well as the constant presence of two sets of pre-pubescent eyes on them, any alone time was a treat. The house was now relatively quiet, with the boys in bed early for once and dinner put carefully away for tomorrow's lunch, and the only sound seemed to be the busy city outside their window. Kurapika sighed contentedly as he slid under the covers next to his partner, his hands coming to rest on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. Both were silent for a moment
"I'm worried about Killua," Kurapika finally said, his eyes flicking to Leorio. Leorio hummed in response.
"He's recovered now, though, hasn't he?" The man asked, putting his larger hand on top of Kurapika's.
"Yes, it appears so, but…" Kurapika sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know. It just seemed off to me. I'm probably overanalyzing."
Leorio nuzzled the blonde's neck gently, pressing a small kiss on his jawline. Kurapika shivered.
"You worry too much." He mumbled. "In my professional opinion, I think it was a twenty-four hour bug."
Kurapika nodded, leaning into his partner's touch.
"You're right, I shouldn't dwell."
Another kiss was planted on his face, this time nearer to his left ear, and he smiled.
"Right now there are more important things to dwell on, if you ask me." Leorio whispered. Kurapika rolled his eyes with a grin.
"Is that in your professional opinion?" He giggled. Leorio nodded solemnly. "Oh, well in that case…"
It was so rare that they got to be intimate like this that they soon found themselves completely lost in that intimacy, bare chests touching and hands caressing and tongues lingering, when, in hindsight, they probably should have been more aware of their surroundings.
Their lips were locked, mouths hungrily exploring one another and hips moving as one, Kurapika's hands pinning the other's to the bed as their breathing came heavy and synced, when there was a loud bang.
"Kurapika, Leorio!" Gon's high voice shouted at a shrill pitch from their doorway. The pair froze, eyes wide, and Kurapika had never been so grateful for Leorio's incessant request to only make love under complete shroud of the comforter. "Killua threw up in the hallway!"
Kurapika's turned his head immediately to the child's voice, his breath catching a little as he did so. He knew something was off about the youngest member of their household, and yet he had ignored it. He turned his body swiftly to be seated next to Leorio instead of straddling him, the blankets pulled up over his chest as the taller propped himself up on his elbows, face blazing with embarrassment.
"What? Is he alright?" Kurapika inquired harshly. Gon shook his head, his eyes worried.
"He started crying and fell down, a-and he hit me, and he won't let me touch him, and –" Gon stopped, his worried look going to confusion. "Were you two wrestling?" His expression changed again, this time to fear. "No, you can't be fighting right now, Killua's sick!"
Kurapika's wide eyes looked to his partner, who was already staring at him, both of their faces more akin to tomatoes than skin.
"Uhm, well—" Stumbled Leorio in response. Kurapika put a hand on his bare shoulder and turned his focus back to Gon.
"It doesn't matter right now, Gon. Please go sit with him while I get dressed."
Gon cocked his head a little, his face a little panicked, but nodded anyways. "I don't think he'll care if you're in your jammies or not, but okay." He turned and disappeared from view, his voice still loud. "Don't you worry, Kiki, they're coming!"
As soon as he was out of sight, Kurapika grabbed the throw blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped himself in it before swiftly standing and shutting the door. He sighed, closing his eyes with stress.
And Leorio had the audacity to laugh.
"This isn't funny, Mr. Palidiknight." Kurapika whispered harshly as he moved to open the closet. Leorio cleared his throat in an attempt to stop his laughter, but it wasn't quite a success.
"Why are you getting day clothes out?" He asked through chuckles. "Pajamas would be quicker."
Kurapika's head shot to the side to stare Leorio in the eye, the shirt in his hand swishing on the hangar.
"Because, my dear, Gon thinks we were wrestling in our pajamas, and I'd like it to stay that way."
At that, Leorio snorted.
"Sorry, sorry," He laughed, swallowing in order to calm his laughter as Kurapika's disapproving glare hit him. "It is a little funny, though."
Killua hadn't thought of it before, but of course he should have.
He knew Leorio and Kurapika were nice – too nice to punish. He knew that from the minute Kurapika had looked at him that morning, with soft, knowing eyes and a nod that said he wouldn't tell.
And yet… they poisoned him; they must have. Why would they test him like this if they couldn't enforce his success? Why test him if they didn't have the strength to punish him when he failed?
He had already gotten one chance the night before, when Kurapika saw him give in. He hadn't been hurt, or yelled at, or reprimanded. Second chances don't exist, and third chances definitely don't.
He had stumbled out of his room tonight knowing this, knowing he had to hide, he had to stay out of sight until he was better, because by some grace of God he was given a second chance and he couldn't blow it because he would not get another.
He knew they wouldn't hurt him, but they would punish him somehow – he knew it. He just didn't know what they would do yet.
It hit him when he stepped into the hallway and saw Gon, all big eyes and toothy grins, not at all tired enough for eleven o'clock at night. Killua's brain was swimming, his thoughts barely coherent and entirely jumbled, but they eventually landed on one conclusion.
Gon was well. He was not. The punishment he would get was beginning to make sense.
He had been allowed to live with Kurapika and Leorio in their home, rent free, for a month now. Gon lived mainly with Mito, but he would visit often and stay on the couch. There were two rooms, three chairs at the table, three places to sit in the living room. They didn't need two – no matter how much he had tried not to, he was beginning to see Leorio and Kurapika as the parents he never had, and what kind of young parents wanted to start out with two children?
They were testing them, feeling them out, finding who was stronger, who would be an asset.
Obviously, Killua had failed and Gon was victorious – he was having no signs of poisoning, somehow, even though Killua knew that he had not been trained to be immune. Gon was incredibly strong.
Killua was so, so weak. So weak, in fact, that when Gon saw him break at this realization – when Gon saw him crumble and cry, saw his stomach contract and its contents splatter onto the hardwood floor, saw him push away any help and smack any form that came too close and sink to the floor with a wailing sob – he couldn't even stop him from going to tell Leorio and Kurapika.
He couldn't even stop him from showing their caregivers exactly how weak the younger had proven to be.
There was nothing he could do to stop it, and he knew what came next.
He would be thrown away.
Within five minutes, both men were dressed – in day clothes, to avoid any further questioning – and hurried into the hallway to see Killua curled tightly in on himself in the corner, a puddle of vomit obvious directly in front of the bathroom doorway. Gon was seated a few feet from Killua, but his worried eyes immediately flicked to the adults.
"He won't let me touch him and he's crying really hard."
"Leorio?" Kurapika questioned. Leorio was a doctor, so it stood to reason that he was best equipped to handle this situation – Kurapika had been entirely out of his depth over the weekend. Gon sniffled a little, and for the first time, Kurapika noticed that he was crying.
"Killua," Leorio said softly, kneeling on the ground beside the boy. The child's head shot up abruptly to reveal a fever flushed face coated in tears. His chest began to rise and fall even quicker. "Killua, I need you to tell me what's wrong, okay? What hurts?"
Killua shook his head, but the movement was jerky and short. "Nono," He mumbled, "No, 'm okay, promise, 'm okay."
Leorio nodded gently, and already Kurapika could tell that he was handling the situation in a calmer, more helpful way than he ever could have.
"Okay, okay," The man said, "Can you let me touch your forehead, then?"
Killua swallowed harshly, his head jerking in what Leorio assumed was an affirmative. However, as soon as cold hands moved to touch warm skin, Killua let out a blood curdling scream.
"No, please!" He shrieked, his voice raw and pained. "Please, no, I'll do better! I didn't mean to, promise, I didn't mean to! I can take it!"
He was sobbing and screaming, and Kurapika noticed now that his nails were extended daggers. He was terrified.
Leorio backed off immediately, leaving Killua breathing shallow and fast, fever and fear clouding his features.
"I'm going to kill his family." The brunette grumbled, shaking his head in anger. "How could you do this to a kid."
"What's wrong with him?" Gon whimpered. The look in his eyes said everything – he wanted nothing more than to go to Killua, to hold him and rock him and make him better. But, from the looks of it, no one was going to hold Killua for a very, very long time. Leorio shook his head again.
"His fever's really high, he must be hallucinating. About his family, more than likely. Those bastards."
Kurapika looked from the tiny, fevered child in the corner, to the crying boy beside him, to his seething partner, and then took in his own form. Suddenly, he kind of understood why Killua was panicked – there were too many people in this fucking hallway.
"Gon." He said, his voice gentle but stern. Gon looked up at him, his lower lip quivering. "Let's go get some cleaning supplies, alright?"
The boy nodded and stood, walking ever-so-slowly away from his crumpled pile of sobbing best friend and stealing worried glances back. Kurapika gently pushed his shoulder as he passed, and the touch gave Gon the encouragement needed to make him trot along towards the kitchen for cleaner. Taking one last glance at the pair still on the ground, Kurapika began to turn, but a piercing, pained cry stopped him.
He redirected his sight immediately to the source of the noise – Killua, still folded over himself in the corner, reaching a frighteningly thin arm out towards him, tears streaming down his fever clouded and delirious face that was normally so stoic, his entire being shaking with labored breath.
"Kur'pika…" The child rasped wetly. His hand wavered a little, his clawed fingers reaching out long before making a clumsy grabbing motion. This tiny movement pulled drastically at the man in question's heart, and he felt his eyebrows knit in worry as his body automatically moved towards the child.
"I'm right here, Killua. Right here, see?"
The grasping hand did not stop, even as it became visibly weaker. Instead, the child's voice began to catch, a sharp whine coming instead as he shook his head. As soon as Kurapika was within his grasp, hot little hands grappled desperately onto his sleeves. The older man gently grasped Killua's wrists, his voice soft as he gave a gentle shhhhh.
Without a verbal exchange, Leorio nodded slightly at Kurapika, signaling a wordless I'll go with Gon. He needs you right now. Following the short, brisk nod of okay, Leorio moved as quietly as he could down the hallway, leaving Killua and Kurapika alone in relative silence.
"Kur'pika," Killua croaked again, his eyes entirely unfocused under his red-hot cheeks. Baby blues flickered briefly over Kurapika's face, finally landing on his eyes and betraying any semblance of strength Killua had possibly managed to hold onto. When his voice came again, it was broken in more ways than one. "I c'n do it."
Confusion flashed briefly across the Kurta's sole survivor, but he let it drop quickly. Looking into Killua's eyes, he could barely handle it – the fear he saw was not a fear that any adult should have, let alone a child of twelve. It wasn't only a fear of sickness, though that was definitely a contender, but also a fear of rejection, of abandonment, of pain not caused by germs and bacteria but by external hands. It was a fear of abuse, pure and simple, and Kurapika was sure that his eyes were now a vibrant scarlet hue.
Warm hands moved from tiny wrists, pulling Killua closer and holding his sweltering body in a way only a parent could be expected to.
A moan escaped Killua's pale lips, however, and he pulled weakly away from Kurapika's chest with hot tears spilling once more down his cheeks.
"N-no," He mumbled, a shaking hand wiping away his tears roughly. "'M getting better, promise, promise, I can—I c'n take it."
With the second assurance, Kurapika was still puzzled. Can take it? Can do it? Getting better? At first his natural conclusion was that Killua was just trying to convince him that he wasn't as ill as he appeared (likely in order to avoid a punishment that would never, ever come again), but now he wasn't so sure.
"Killua, please, my love. What's going on?"
Killua shook his head as he tried his best to sit up. His face was red with fever and crumpled with what appeared to be… anger?
"'m fucking weak," Killua growled, and before Kurapika had the chance to intervene, a clawed hand came crashing into Killua's own face with a sickening slap, the other following suit. "Stupid, stupid!"
"Woah, woah!" Kurapika acted fast, his small hands grasping the even smaller pair and holding them tight to his chest as they struggled to break free. "What is going on?"
Suddenly the struggle stopped and the anger faded from the child's face, the only expression left one of pure despair as the sobs came even harsher than before.
"I- I couldn't do it, I could-couldn't take it," Killua sobbed, only causing Kurapika's confusion to grow, "I know G-Gon's better and-and stronger, and I failed, a-and—"
His crying was too much for his body then, and without much warning his chest was lurching forward with a gag. A surge of putrid vomit spouted from his mouth without any resistance, some of the viscous liquid spilling down his pale chin while the majority of it slushed onto Kurapika's clothed chest.
And then it clicked. Killua had had an extremely upset stomach for two days now, though it seemed to be at it's worst currently. While the phrases of failure hadn't triggered the memory on their own, the horrific smell of vomit on his clothing had done the trick. Once, so long ago, Killua had mentioned his past. More importantly, Killua had mentioned his immunity to poison.
It didn't take a doctor to understand that, in order to build immunity, there must be insistent exposure. Meaning that Killua must have spent a fair amount of his early development with his head in the toilet bowl, retching until the horrible chemicals within his being had become part of him.
Stretching his mind only slightly further, Kurapika could conclude that the main reason for abdominal discomfort in all of Killua's short life was poison. It wasn't hard to understand that Killua's fever-clouded mind must have come to the obvious conclusion that he had been poisoned again.
Gon's better, and stronger, and he failed.
Suddenly, everything fell into his understanding. Killua's brain had decided that both he and Gon had been poisoned, and yet Killua was the only one showing effects. That Killua was weak. If his eyes weren't red before, he knew they were now.
Ignoring the sick on his front, Kurapika stood silently and lifted Killua with him, the smaller not showing anywhere near as much protest as would be expected. Kurapika noted how the boy was impossibly light, and the worry in his chest multiplied. When was the last time he had eaten? He hadn't thought to pay attention. He moved swiftly over the puddle of vomit in the bathroom doorway and past the sink, setting Killua onto the ledge of the tub's cool porcelain.
The boy in question was sobbing in earnest now, his breath coming only in harsh sobs and coughs with vomit still dripping down his chin, and Kurapika wasn't quite sure what to do. He was angry, sure – angry at the bastards that caused this much terror in a child who hadn't even reached the age of puberty yet, and he felt such a wealth of paternal instinct that he could barely see straight.
And yet, he wasn't sure what to do. Leorio was the one to care for them when they were ill or hurt. Kurapika could be a comfort, sure – he loved the kids more than he could verbalize – but that didn't mean he knew how to calm Killua down. It was likely no one did, actually, because for all the months they had known each other, and all the time they had been staying in close contact, no one had seen Killua this openly upset. No one had seen him cry so hard his nose was dripping like a faucet, no one had seen him sob so harshly that he began to cough, no one had seen him so sick that he couldn't even muster the strength to get to the toilet before throwing up. This was all new territory, and while Kurapika knew who to blame, he didn't know how to handle.
And so, he let himself do what came naturally.
Taking care to be light on his feet, he positioned himself beside the child and placed an arm around his shoulders. Killua didn't even react, which was worrisome – even at the levels of distress they had seen before, he was always jumpy at a touch. Instead, he just sobbed harder, his body limp and soaked to the bone with sweat. Kurapika secured his hand under Killua's left armpit, providing extra support if he were to lose consciousness, and began to do something he hadn't done in front of others since he was very, very small.
Kurapika began to sing.
The tune was soft and warbly, a stark difference to his untrained and tired voice, and the words were clumsy and unfamiliar in his mouth. But he didn't stop – he had said a Kurtish prayer nightly for the past eighteen years (only growing more insistent in the last six) in order to never lose the soft sweet lilts of his native tongue, and as he sang the gentle tones were becoming easier.
His singing was in no way perfect – it was patchy and the words had faded slightly from his memory, leaving large sections of humming where lyrics should be – but it didn't matter.
Within the first phrase Killua's sobs had become slightly more manageable, allowing the child to take in enough oxygen to ease his panic. By the second, Killua's snowy head had subconsciously lay itself heavily onto Kurapika's chest. By the third, Kurapika's voice was stronger and he was gently rocking back and forth, Killua's raging fever practically burning a hole in his top but his cries reduced to heavy breaths and the occasional sniffle.
After what felt like a lifetime, the song ended and left Kurapika and Killua snuggled together in silence. Kurapika took a deep breath and continued to rock.
"Mmph," Killua mumbled, his eyes obviously unfocused from where Kurapika was sitting. His warm body shifted under the other's arms.
"Shhh, you're alright, my love. You're alright."
Killua turned his head slightly and buried it in Kurapika's shirt, mumbling something petulantly. Kurapika couldn't make out the words in the slightest.
"What's that?" He pried gently. Killua whined, but moved his mouth out of the fabric enough to be heard.
"'m gonna throw up…"
After the past few nights, Kurapika figured he was probably more qualified to deal with the situation than he previously thought.
"Okay, no worries, up up," Gently, the blond moved Killua's limp, ragdoll-like body to a position seated in the floor within easy access to the open toilet bowl. Killua gave a heavy whine, trying once more to bury his face in Kurapika.
"What is it, love?" Kurapika crooned, petting sweaty locks from pale forehead. Killua choked a little on a feeble sob, and it was blaringly obvious that his fever was a little higher than before.
"D..don't want to," Killua mumbled into Kurapika's shirt, and immediately upon speaking he began to cry in earnest. "Please, don't want to,"
Kurapika knew there was no way to really ease the tears – no way to really calm the child before him. He couldn't fix his nausea, and he sure as hell couldn't fix the years upon years of emotional and physical abuse that had led up to this moment. What he could do, though, was pet Killua's head, and hold back his hair, and offer reassurance and warmth.
And so he did.
"I know, dearest, I know," He said gently, subtly turning the head pets to be pulling the child's hair out of his eyes and shifting ever-so-slightly so any sudden projectile vomiting wouldn't cause much of a mess. "But it's alright, I'm right here. You're safe, Killua, I promise you that. You are safe."
Killua made a choked gasping sound, his face frantic and scared. Suddenly it seemed that those words were all he was waiting for, that he had held out for as long as he could, because immediately he was lurching forward, heaving and choking on tears and vomit, nearly too fast for Kurapika to redirect his head over the toilet. The sound was loud and messy, but moreso it was heartbreaking. The ragged sobs, so unlike Killua's usual demeanor, broken apart by gags and whimpers of pain and confusion and fear…
It just made Kurapika sad.
It just reminded him of Pairo.
It wasn't a conscious decision, then – no, Kurapika did not decide this in the active part of his brain. Still, it was decided, by something deep inside of the sole survivor of the Kurta clan, that Killua was his.
Pairo had been his. Pairo had been his friend, his brother, someone who he loved so deeply that he needed to hold him close and protect him with all of his might – the closest thing to a child that a slightly-older child could have.
When Pario had been lost, something inside of Kurapika died. Some gaping hole had opened, hollow and raw, and had been growing since that fateful day all those years ago.
Kurapika wouldn't really consider himself a paternal person, or a maternal person, really. But he was, in his own way – and without Pairo …. He was empty.
Killua, now, small and fragile and crying, covered in spit and sweat and vomit and clinging to Kurapika with everything he had in him, was, unbeknownst to Kurapika, filling that empty space in the older's heart.
Killua, the child with no one, was now his. He didn't realize it consciously, but that didn't make it any less true.
Without thinking, Kurapika squeezed Killua a little tighter as he let a tear trickle down his cheek.
Kurapika was so exhausted he could hardly keep himself from dozing off every time he blinked. The night had been long and taxing, and it wasn't even quite over with yet.
It was nearing four in the morning, and there was no way that Killua had anything else left in him. Kurapika had been able to get him to sip a dixie cup of water from the bathroom sink, but that, like everything else, had come right back up.
Still, Killua was leaned heavily on the seat of the toilet, his sweltering skin pushed onto the porcelain and into Kurapika's side, his stomach convulsing every few minutes with nothing left to push out but acid. He had cried himself out long ago, leaving an empty, scared shell of a child in his place. Kurapika sat up just a little to stretch his back when he noticed the shadow of little feet from under the door.
Even in this uncomfortable position, he couldn't help but to smile just a little.
"Yes, Gon?" He said gently, quietly enough to not disrupt Killua but loud enough for Gon to hear.
The door creaked open just a little to reveal Gon's wide puppy eyes, worried in their entirety, staring directly into Kurapika's soul.
"Is Killua gonna be okay?" The boy asked, not sticking more than his head into the room. Kurapika nodded as gently as he had spoken, one hand still absently petting Killua's sweat-slicked hair.
"He will be. He's just a little sick, that is all. Killua will be just fine."
Gon ventured a little farther into the room so that his whole body was standing just inside the threshold of the room.
"Leorio and I cleaned up the mess…." He whispered. The older knew he wasn't saying everything.
"Yes, and I appreciate that."
He didn't want to push.
Gon was quiet a moment, his fingers twisting together and his teeth biting down on his bottom lip.
"Uhm.. He's… He's never been like that before. Killua's always so strong, and… I've never heard him cry like that. He sounded really, really scared…"
He took a tiny step forward, his body language nervous but still presenting an obvious message, just waiting for the invitation.
"Would you like to come here with him, Gon?"
The child was immediately at his side, kneeling on the ground beside his best friend.
"Killua?" He said softly.
When there was no response, he looked to Kurapika, who nodded a reassurance while stifling a yawn.
"It's alright. He's just…afraid. He has been sick all night, so I would imagine he is tired as well. Be patient."
Gon nodded, eyes trained on Killua.
He supposed this was like the animals back on Whale Island – the ones he had sometimes found caught in traps, or half-mauled and scared. They had always gone wild at his presence, so afraid that they would thrash about and try to injure whatever they could to try and break free, just like Killua had earlier. He lifted a hand to his cheek where he had been hit – it didn't hurt, even right when it happened. Surprisingly there wasn't much force behind the hit in the first place.
(He guessed that was because of the state of the boy before him, tired, and weak, and limp.)
He thought again of the animals, and how after exerting their energy they would sometimes play dead. That seemed pretty similar to what Killua was doing now, in his opinion, and so he treated it as such.
Gently, after looking to Kurapika for unspoken permission, he put a warm, calloused hand on Killua's back. Killua didn't jump – instead, he let out a low, pained whine that broke Gon's heart.
"Hey, Kiki," Gon said, shuffling to be in a position where Killua could see his face. He knew that animals always felt safer when they could see you – if they just sensed you, that made them even more afraid. He supposed that probably applied to people, too. Especially tired, broken people who have forgotten that no matter what their usual first response to being touched was to jump.
Killua's eyes shifted the tiniest bit to meet Gon's, and the older immediately noticed how glazed and clouded they were. It was no wonder Killua had forgotten how he usually responded to things.
"Kurapika says that Killua's not feeling good," He tried, eyebrows knit with worry. Killua made a little noise.
Glancing at Kurapika once again for reassurance, Gon shifted to be in Killua's line of sight a bit more. His hand was still planted firmly on the younger's back.
"Back on Whale Island, when I'm not feeling good, Aunt Mito usually holds me tight, even when I'm all gross and sweaty."
He paused, moving his hand from Killua's back to place the back of it gently to the boy's feverish cheek.
"Could I hold Killua?"
Faint comprehension came into Killua's eyes and he blinked, once, twice, before the choked, hoarse answer came.
"St-stupid,"
It was Gon's turn to blink, but his confusion was soon replaced with a grin. Even if it was just a tiny glimpse, that was his Killua.
"…is that a yes?"
It took a few moments of shuffling and sliding and maneuvering, but soon Gon had wrapped himself around Killua, his back leaning against the side of the vanity and Killua between his legs, his red cheek on Gon's chest and Gon's arms wrapped around his back.
"See? I bet Killua's feeling better already." Gon grinned, nuzzling the top of his friend's head and giving a good squeeze, just for extra measure.
Killua made a little noise in response, somewhere between feigned annoyance and adoration and physical pain.
Gon wished it was only a mix of the first two, and he glanced to Kurapika, hoping that the elder had heard something different – heard or seen some sign that Killua was getting better.
Instead, his glance was greeted with an exhausted form slumped into the corner, arms folded neatly across its chest and eyes shut, completely and utterly dead to the world.
Kurapika was asleep, and Gon really couldn't blame him – Gon was tired himself, and all he had done was clean up a mess and lie in bed for two hours staring at the ceiling.
Suddenly, the weight on his shoulder was shaking and something warm and wet was seeping through his pajama top.
A choked sob confirmed that Killua was crying.
"No, no, don't cryyyyyyy," Gon fretted, gently putting his hands on Killua's face in order to push him up so their eyes could meet. The baby blues were downcast, filled with tears that were leaking down a horribly flushed face. The younger's sharp teeth were worrying with his lower lip as he tried to hold back another sob. Gon's heart broke. He hated to see Killua – beautiful, amazing Killua – cry. "Can you talk to me? Can Killua tell me what's wrong so I can try and help?"
Killua gave a little whine, moving to hide his face in Gon's chest.
Gon was nearly positive that he knew what that meant – it meant that Killua did not want to talk about it.
More likely, Killua did not want to show his suffering to Gon.
The one thing Gon hated more than seeing Killua cry was not being able to do anything to stop it.
"Kiki, it's okay," He whispered absentmindedly, his rough, calloused hands naturally going to the younger's soft hair. "I wish he'd let me help, but Killua doesn't have to tell me if he doesn't want to."
There was a sudden shift, and Killua was pulling away from Gon's chest.
His face was messy – disgusting, even – with a deep red flush over his porcelain features, vomit staining his chin, and tear-mingled-snot dripping over his lips, but that didn't keep Gon from admiring his friend's face. Even the way his chin wobbled when their eyes met.
"I…" Killua started, his voice broken and hoarse, "You need to go."
Gon should have been hurt. The phrase was direct and harsh, and if anyone was sensitive to rejection it was Gon. And yet…
And yet the hurt in those words, the utter brokenness in Killua's now-tiny voice… Gon couldn't be mad. He knew Killua couldn't mean it.
And even if he did…
He couldn't be mad.
"Why?"
Gon's voice was different. Stronger, more sure than Killua's own, even though the both of them had been up for much too long and must have been given the same meals and beverages the past few days.
Killua's brain was so warped right now, so laden with fever, that he couldn't even remember the reason he had told himself that he was ill. Pain, torture, poison, hatred – tall men with long hair, dark figures looming over him, punishment for existing – flitted through his mind like a viewmaster in the hands of a hyperactive toddler that enjoyed the clicking much more than the images themselves.
Had he been poisoned? Is that what he had decided?
Was he being tested? That was common at home, being tested for strength, being compared to those he could never hope to live up to but being forced to anyways.
Somehow, now, being held in Gon's arms, he was sure that wasn't true. Gon was so… strong, and perfect, and kind – no one would ever try and poison him, or hurt him, or test him. And if they weren't trying to see who was better, would they test Killua?
Testing.
Testing, testing, testing…
Maybe it wasn't a test from his new found caregivers. Surely, it couldn't be – he loved them. They cared for him, fed him, perhaps even loved him.
Though… that love surely had to be feigned. Surely, surely, no one could ever love someone like him.
A broken toy, really, was all he was. A broken toy, broken from his own wrong doings.
He had killed before… He had killed so many, taken so many innocent lives. He had hurt countless others, Gon, and Kurapika, and Leorio included.
He hurt them. He knew he had – he couldn't think of how, or when, but he knew he had.
His fever was raging.
Testing.
Kurapika and Leorio would never test him, and he hated himself for ever entertaining the idea that they would. How terrible of him to have thought that, to have thought so little of them…
Killua was terrible. He knew he was.
Maybe this wasn't a test, but… a punishment. Not from his new family, no – but from something else.
Killua didn't really believe in anything, he didn't think. He wasn't raised in a religion, and he never really though of a God or gods or anything of the sort.
When Kurapika and Leorio had taken Killua in, Kurapika had started showing them some of his culture. It had started with simple things, like letting them watch him do embroidery on a new piece of traditional clothing or cooking them a traditional dish.
But then, later, Kurapika had done something new.
He had taught them to pray. Many times, they had watched him – before bed, before a meal, anything of the sort. Kurapika would kneel and fold his hands and begin speaking to an entity that Killua didn't really understand, thanking it and asking it for protection and ending with a few phrases (always the same) in his native tongue.
After he noticed them watching, he had tried to explain what he was doing. Gon didn't know much of any religion, and Killua knew of many but didn't believe in anything, so it was all a little foreign to the both of them – but Kurapika had explained the best as he could.
"We pray to the land….to our loved ones who have passed, the ancestors that watch over us." He had said, carefully and slowly. Killua knew he was thinking of his clan, his loved ones that were no longer part of this world. "We pray to thank them for our blessings… to ask them to keep us safe, to show us our wrongdoings and help us to give them pride from the afterlife. In my faith, they have much power that we could never hope to understand."
Killua didn't know if he believed in any of that. Even if he did, he knew that he had no ancestors who would try and protect him, and he hadn't exactly done the land any favors, either.
Still, he had tried it. On more than a few occasions he had found himself praying, choking his own words out and then stumbling over the unfamiliar Kurta phrases to follow. He didn't know what he hoped to come from that. It didn't even help him feel better, but it was better than nothing, and it seemed to help Kurapika so it couldn't do any harm.
Now, in his fevered haze, his temperature reaching much higher than it should and his stomach rolling dangerously as he let Gon's eyes bore into his own, he thought of those prayers.
It helped Kurapika because Kurapika was good. Killua knew this without even thinking – even the path of revenge he had chosen was justified. Kurapika had done no wrong, and even if he had, surely he had made up for it with all the good he had done since then.
If it helped because he was good, what would it do to Killua? He was bad.
He was worse than bad. He was an abomination, something that had done so many terrible things that he could never make up for them.
Maybe … maybe he was being punished.
And, if he was, he knew he deserved it.
"I don't… you can't make it better." He choked, averting his eyes from the raven-haired boy before him.
Gon made a face, a little hurt and a little determined, and leaned towards Killua a little more.
"I know I can't make Killua's tummy feel better, but maybe I can—"
"No, no," Killua was trying to speak clearly, he really was, but tears were once more clouding his vision. He choked. "No, I – I don't want you to make it better, cause … cause I deserve this, Gon. 've.. messed up, bad, f'r a long time… n if…if Im s'posed to die, then I won't…won't let you make it better."
There was a heavy silence, and Killua was sure that if he looked at Gon's face he would see disgust. Surely, Gon knew how awful Killua was.
Surely, Gon was only pretending to like him, because Gon was too good to let Killua know he was unlovable.
Tears were falling freely, hot and sticky on his fevered cheeks, and he trained his eyes on Gon's chest so he wouldn't accidentally see the boy's face.
Killua wasn't sure how long it had been. Minutes, maybe. Half an hour. He didn't know. Gon shifted a little, and when his voice came it was calm and cheerful – and accompanied by the feeling of cool metal on Killua's thigh.
"Do you know what this is?"
Killua looked up to see Gon's honey-brown eyes looking into his with nothing but childish compassion, then looked down to see what the boy had put on his leg.
What he saw was a little hotwheels car – an ambulance – being rolled across his hot skin by Gon's stout little fingers. He looked up with confusion.
"This is the feel-better truck," Gon's voice said, "Aunt Mito used to give it to me whenever I felt yucky. She said that, that if I focused on the feel-better truck, then I wouldn't be able to feel so bad! So, uhm, when … When Killua threw up in the hallway, I went and got it, just in case. To make him feel better!"
The little car was being rolled across Killua's leg, the cool metal making him shiver. Gon made a little broom broom noise with his mouth.
And Killua laughed.
"You're so stupid."
Gon grinned from ear to ear, leaning his head down to look at Killua's face before he let his smile slowly fall. When he spoke again, his voice was hard and serious.
"I promise, Killua doesn't need to feel bad. Killua's made my life so much better, and Leorio's and Kurapika's, too. He's perfect. Okay? And I won't let him die. I promise. I'd never let Killua die."
Killua couldn't believe Gon, logically. If he thought about it, he'd know that Gon was wrong – he had to be. But right now, he was feeling too sick, feeling too sad, to think. Instead, he let himself believe it – he let the tears trickle down his cheeks, let the sobs begin to wrack his chest, and let his head fall onto Gon's chest.
"I've got you," The older child's voice whispered. "I've got Killua."
His crying was too hard, now – he loved Gon. He knew it, then, for sure. He was too delirious, too sick, to think into too much – he didn't know what kind of love it was, or why he was feeling it. But he knew it was love, the deep, heart-pulling kind that ran through his every vein. And, just for now, he would let himself take Gon's words to mean that he loved him, too.
And that made him cry so much harder, sobs catching in his chest and shaking his body. He pulled out of Gon's grip just in time, shakily pushing himself over the toilet bowl as the sobs pushed at his abdomen.
He gagged, the pungent bile rising in his throat again, and as he vomited, he cried.
He cried because hands – warm, calloused hands with stout little fingers – were holding his hair back, and whispering his name with more compassion than it had ever been said.
He cried because behind him, a blond haired, scarlet eyed survivor was startling awake and scooting over to him, putting his own small, delicate hand on Killua's shaking back.
He cried because there was a knock at the door and when it opened a tall, fatherly doctor walked in with concerned eyes and a glass of water in tow.
He cried because, despite everything, he had a family.