Disclaimer – "Yu Yu Hakusho" and all known related characters do not belong to me. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"What Goes Around . . . "
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 4 – Kurama's Inferno

Kurama had no idea how long it had been since the guards had gone, leaving him in the cell he now occupied. He knew exactly where he was - in the high-security section deep within the prison. In fact, he realized with a twinge of irony, he could easily be in the same cell he had once found Hiei. Wouldn't that be fitting? he thought wryly. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the wall, seated cross-legged on the ground. The cell was barren except for the narrow trench in the floor along the wall opposite the door, which reeked of stale excrements, and the chains hanging down the same wall from rings bolted to the stones. Kurama could only be thankful that he had not been locked into them. He had tried to lay down but found sleep far from him. The knot in his stomach had yet to unfold itself. He looked down at the shackles, idly twisting one wrist back and forth in the cuff, testing it. If they have not come by this time, I doubt they will tonight. Surely, it is late enough, after midnight, at least.

If I am to do this, it must be now . . . while I am still physically able.

His mind made up, Kurama began twisting the manacle in earnest, slowly working his slender hand free. Once done, he looked at the sides of his hand, bleeding where he had lacerated them on the rough edges of the metal cuff. A small price to pay. He worked the other free, keeping the chains from clicking as much as possible, then kicked off his shoes. For most people, ankle cuffs were all but impossible to remove over the heel of the foot but being a master thief had also meant becoming something of an escape artist. One of the many tricks he knew involved using the blood from his wrists to grease the skin. Quickly, his ankles and feet were slick with their own blood but he managed to work himself free of those cuffs as well. He set the shackles aside, then reached into the folds of his clothes, satisfied that he could now both move freely and access his Yoki. They think by taking a single rose, they have divested me of my only weapon, Kurama thought. They are wrong. From various tiny pockets in his clothing and from his hair, he gathered a small assortment of seeds into his palm, looking them over. There must be something among these I can use to open that door. On his own, he could not have reached the lock on the outside of the door even if he had a set of lockpicks on him. But a vine, perhaps -

Kurama could not react fast enough as a key turned in the lock and the door swung suddenly open. Startled, he stood with enough force to kick the shackles, the cuffs clattering noisily over each other, the seeds scattering across the stonework. For a brief instant, Kurama found himself hoping it was Hiei. He could not have been more wrong.

"Well, well, looky what we have here," Bokuma smirked, leaning lazily on the doorjamb. "A pretty fox caught in the hunter's trap."

"Oooh," another prison warden murmured, peeking around the jamb. He was short, thickly built, and disfigured by heavy scarring. Kurama could only guess what abuses had permanently lain such patterns across the youkai's flesh. " Chief wasn't lying, I see. Get to play with him after all, do we?"

"You do know what we do with foxes down here in the Pit, don't you?" Bokuma continued. "We skin them . . . alive."

In spite of himself, Kurama found himself pulling back from his to-be torturers. His heel went over the edge of the trench, the chains jangling ominously as he backed into them, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Feeling trapped, little fox?" Bokuma jeered.

"Fox? Oh, no, no - a skittery rabbit that one looks," the other chuckled, sounding less than sane. "Hee, hee! I love when they get that look on their faces! Oh, we are going to have so much fun."

"You didn't sense us coming, did you?" Bokuma nodded knowingly. "Well, thief, you're not the only one who can mask himself." He looked meaningfully at the shackles on the ground. "What? Didn't like the jewelry? They come free with the accommodations but they're still the best money can buy."

"Sorry. They do not suit me," Kurama responded, finding his voice at last.

"Oh? Well, perhaps if we paint them red to match your hair," Bokuma suggested, stepping into the cell. Kurama shifted away from him involuntarily, even knowing there was no escape, as Bokuma bent to retrieve the manacles. "Ah, but I see you already have." Grinning maliciously, he ran a finger along the inside of one cuff, then licked the blood from his finger.

Kurama stared back at him in disgust. "You are sick, Bokuma."

Bokuma only chuckled at that. "You have no idea . . . but you will."

Kurama had retreated into a corner without even realizing what he had done. Bokuma shot out a hand and caught Kurama by one arm, then jerked and twisted with an expert ease Kurama had not realized he possessed. He stood now facing the door, his back to Bokuma, one arm wrenched up painfully behind his back. An iron grip on his other shoulder ensured that he stayed exactly where Bokuma wanted him. His breath hot on Kurama's ear, Bokuma warned him in a low voice, "You're in my territory now, youko. There is no escape. The slightest resistance will be duly rewarded. Be sure you remember that. Now, move!" Kurama could do no more than let himself be steered out of the cell and down the corridor, away from whence he had come, away from freedom.

The stench was the first thing to reach him. As a human, one thing Kurama had retained was his fine sense of smell. Faint at first in the stagnant air, Kurama recognized the scent of blood, of fear and pain, of death. Terror and agony rode in shifting waves around him, nearly making him gag. As they neared the turn in the corridor, he realized he could hear muffled screams as well.

"Almost there!" the other warden taunted, chortling in anticipation.

Turning the corner, Kurama stopped short of a thick, wood-and-iron door. Bokuma pulled him to one side as their companion danced forward with the keys. The warden pushed the door inward and bowed, inviting them inside.

Shrieks of pain, groans of wooden machinery, the roar of a fire in the great fireplace and another in a stone ring in the center of the room, the smell of smoke and blood and pain - the sounds and scents of the Pit assaulted Kurama all at once, sending him reeling back into his captor. "Oh, no, you don't," Bokuma laughed, shoving him forward. Kurama stumbled into a massive room full of youkai and even a few oni. He averted his eyes before he could take in too much detail of who were the torturers and who the tormented, nor did he want to know what was being done. In school, he had read a translated version of an Italian classic called Dante's Inferno. He had never imagined he would ever visit the place. He could close his eyes but he could not escape the smells and cacophony of noises all around him.

"Ooh! What do we get to do first?" their companion begged, practically bouncing in eagerness. Kurama was beginning to think of him as more of a demented dog than a warden.

"Careful," Kurama murmured. "You're drooling."

Without warning, the youkai warden lashed out with a snarl, claws raking his face. Kurama twisted just in time to keep from losing an eye with the strike.

Bokuma laughed deeply. "I told you. He's got spirit. He'll have to be softened up a bit first. Here, clamp him to the pillar."

Kurama was shunted to Dog, who caught him with a strength even greater than Bokuma's. Dog dragged him to a column where Kurama spotted a pair of manacles bolted to its side. He struggled as Dog ripped off his sash and his jacket but his human-impaired strength was simply no match for the squat youkai. Dog pulled Kurama's arms up over his head, locking his already lacerated wrists into the cuffs so that he faced the pillar, the stone rough and cold against his bare chest. With a chuckle, Dog delicately pulled his long hair off his back through the inside of one arm. Kurama twisted, glancing over his other shoulder, then wished he had not. Bokuma was crossing back over to them, carrying a whip that sported at least five or six knotted braids, bits of jagged steel glittering in the firelight along the full length of each cord. Gods give me strength, he pleaded in despair, bracing as he heard and felt the first crack of the lashes.

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"K-KURAMA-A-A-A!"

Kuwabara sat bolt upright in bed, sweat-soaked, shuddering as the echoes of incredible agony faded from his mind, his whole body aching with the memory. His eyes darted all around the darkened room before he recognized where he was. He ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself, when a shadow appeared at his door.

"Hey, little bro, you all right?"

In the small amount of light from the street lamp peeking in around his window curtain, Kuwabara could just make out the form of his older sister, Shizuru, a bed-robe clutched about her shoulders. He waved her off. "Oh! Hey, sis. Yeah, I'm all right. Just a nightmare."

"It's two a.m. and you've been moaning for a while now. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah . . . it's nothin'. Sorry I woke ya up."

Shizuru stared at him in the darkness. "Who's Kurama?" she asked at length.

"Huh? Oh, uh - a friend of me an' Urameshi's."

"Yeah? Well, all right." She turned to leave but stopped. "Kazu?"

"Huh?" He startled at her use of his nickname.

"Why don't you give your friend a call in the morning?" She shrugged. "Just to make sure."

Kuwabara nodded. "Yeah, maybe. I'm sure it's nothin', though." As she withdrew, he laid back down. He could tell his sister that nothing was wrong but he could not tell himself enough times to ease the nagging itch at the back of his mind. But if somethin' was up, wouldn't he have let us know? Kuwabara wondered. Guess I was kinda distracted earlier. He heaved a thick sigh, turning on his side and curling up slightly against a sudden chill that would not be relieved. I'll give Urameshi a call. Maybe he knows somethin'.

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Silent as a specter, a lone figure stole down the corridor, sparing no thought for the warden left unconscious behind him. Hiei gripped the warden's keyring as he counted doors. He had been in Cell 137. He had been trained to note and remember seemingly insignificant details like that and now he knew he would be surprised if he did not find Kurama in that very cell. Bokuma had a sense of humor just like that, if that's what one could call it.

The door of Cell 137 stood ajar. Hiei's heart sank as he approached. He was too late. He looked in to see a discarded set of shackles and a pair of slippers. His sharp eyes also spotted the seeds scattered across the floor. A closer look at the manacle cuffs revealed blood. Looks like Kurama was caught mid-escape, he growled silently, knowing his friend well enough to read the signs correctly. No doubt he will pay dearly for that. Grrr! Hiei leaned back against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets out of habit, minimally comforted by one thought. He's too new of a toy for them to kill him just yet. Sick bastard's wanted to get his hands on Kurama for some time. Being his first visit, they should go easy on him, comparatively. Then again, knowing Bokuma . . .

In any case, they'll bring him back here eventually.

Hiei knelt, carefully gathering the seeds, and snuck out of the room. He would just have to bide his time a little longer.

Be strong, Kurama.

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