Well, it took me a while, but chapter one is here! Well, technically, its chapter two, but the first one was a prologue. I was planning on getting it up Tuesday the 5th, but I got sick at the last minute and my mom wouldn't log me on to the computer. (They have a lock on it.)

And thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue! I have about 100 hits for this fanfic so far. Now if only I could have 100 reviews. -hinthint- So without further rambling, here is Once Bitten, chapter one!


Chapter One

Five Years Later

They had probably stopped looking for him a long time ago. Sure, Shinigami were immortal and Tsuzuki was a lot more tenacious that anyone else he had ever met, but even he probably would have stopped after this long.

This was what Hisoka had come to realize as he got out of bed on Friday morning, glaring angrily at the curse marks marring his normally pale skin as he threw on a dark blue t-shirt trimmed with at the sleeves with yellow and a pair of blue jeans to get ready for work.

Under normal circumstances he would have worn a long-sleeve shirt with his curse marks openly exposed like this, but his nightmares had been nightly occurrences for nearly five years now and everyone at his job thought that they were just tattoos. Besides, his lower arms from his wrists to his elbows were wrapped with bandages, so they weren't as easy to see.

Even now, when the curse faded away after a couple of hours, no one stopped and shouted "He's not human!" Sure, when they asked him how he had done it, he still answered "Magic," in a sarcastic tone, but they never took it seriously, chalking up the curse mark's disappearance to simple sleight of hand.

Hisoka glanced at the mirror. As usual, his hair was a wreck. He hadn't cut it in… great, he couldn't even remember the last time he had taken a pair of shears to the ash-blonde mess that now hung to his shoulders.(1) He didn't have any time these days to worry about miniscule things like that, so he simply tied it back into a thin braid at the nape of his neck.

He quickly ate a light breakfast consisting of a bagel and a glass of orange juice before walking out of his apartment building and onto the streets, heading for the back alleys that were not very far away. Suspicious looking men in trench-coats, drug addicts, and slutty-looking whores abounded, but he ignored them all as he continued on his way.

One woman in particular, dressed in a black mini-skirt, white spaghetti-strap shirt and black vest stepped forward as he passed. "Hey kid, bitchin' tattoos." Her tone was a little more than "friendly". Hisoka stopped and shot her "the look"- a stare of pure malevolence that had never failed to send humans scurrying. In the five years he had been away from the Judgment Bureau, he had managed to evolve this look from the death glares he had been so good at.(2) Her eyes widened, she stumbled back, and she ran off. Hisoka hadn't said a thing.

Hisoka continued on his way, still ignoring anyone and anything in his way. 'Like I care about them.' He had learned by now how to drown out the thoughts he heard coming from other people, subconsciously shifting through the unimportant things to what he needed: which was a fancy was of saying that most of the time he didn't hear anything.

However, it seemed today that something concerned him. He stopped beside a trashcan and looked out of the corner of his eye to see a group of punks lounging against a warehouse, smoking cigarettes. He could hear the rusty cogs of their minds working as they sized him up to see if he was a suitable victim or if he had enough money worth stealing.

Hisoka turned and stared at them with unblinking emerald eyes, simmering with a cold ferocity none of them had ever seen before. All fight immediately drained out of the gang, though they tried to disguise it by joking about how he "wasn't worth their time" and "wouldn't put up much of a fight anyway." But they all had seen it, and their best instincts told them that he was not to be messed with.

Hisoka smirked, amused, and continued on his way.


Typical days. Normal, average days at the Judgment Bureau.

These were the kind of days that seemed to go in and out with little indication that they had occurred at all. As usual, there were pay dockings from a certain tightfisted secretary. As usual, around ten am there was an explosion from down the hall caused by a certain blonde scientist. There was the usual argument between rivals. There was the usual whining about not having enough sweets.

Yet, it all seemed hopelessly empty. No longer were there the usual squeals from two girls trying to dress someone up like girl. There were no longer the occasional groans from headaches. There were no longer any shouts of "Lazy baka!" from down the hall, no longer any slaps on the head or threats of violence.

There was no longer any Hisoka Kurosaki.

Of course, everyone tried to mask it, but even their best efforts did nothing to disguise the fact that things were different. The air around the Summons Department and its shinigami was more sullen; each shinigami seeming more wrapped up in their own thoughts as the days passed. The usual routine was only continued because it felt normal, and no one was willing to change it.

But the hole in their hearts and minds were still there. Things couldn't possibly be normal, not without Hisoka.

That was the conclusion that Asato Tsuzuki found himself facing as he shuffled the papers on his desk and began filing them away. It was here that his penchant for being considered an idiot came in handy. Everyone thought that he was being tricked by their charade, not expecting him to figure it out.

They weren't fooling anyone, not even Tsuzuki.

It was a painful sight, having to watch the other shinigami like this. Tsuzuki hardly even came to the office that often anymore, just to avoid the sight of their imitation of normalcy.

Just to avoid all the pain. It was painful to watch the Gushoushin cataloguing the library, knowing that Hisoka wasn't there. It didn't help that they let him come in whenever he wanted, even though they had banned Tsuzuki for repeated destruction of the library. It was painful to watch the twins checking for who had overdue books, only to come to the name "Kurosaki, Hisoka" on the list and fall silent.

It was painful to see Tatsumi checking the accounts, happy that the Bureau's spending wasn't in the red this week, only to remember that the reason that they had more money was because a certain shinigami wasn't there to collect his salary. Tatsumi's face would show nothing, but Tsuzuki knew he was hurting too.

It was painful to see Wakaba's smiles fading, knowing that her marvelous cooking skills wouldn't fix this problem. It was painful to watch Terazuma pull a cigarette out of his pack, only to pull out another only five minutes later. It was painful to see Watari isolating himself in his lab for longer and longer periods of time, to the dismay of 003 and the other birds.

It was painful to see all the unshed tears.

And Tsuzuki was tired of seeing it all. It was time for him to start what he considered his "real" job more and more these days. Sighing, he finished his filing and teleported to the living realm.


The Inferno was unlikely to win any awards. Any drunk that somehow managed to locate it in its obscure downtown back alley would think twice about going inside after looking at the warning sign clapped on its door: "Go home, take a dump, and sleep it off."

But, of course, those that could handle themselves could brave the vicious management, down a few beers, and maybe even scarf down a meal at the bar if you were exceptionally daring. Low prices and late hours kept the customers coming; constant brawls and the occasional gunshot from the bar's manager, Dante, sent them out.

The Inferno was not for the faint of heart.(3)


"Hey, Hisoka, get over here!" Dante, the manager of the Inferno shouted as he scrubbed the countertop, his customary scowl on his face. The place was already jumping today, loud rock music or heavy metal blaring out of the speakers. He knew that anyone showing up after sunrise was usually good for nothing. Hell, most of the customers in general were good for nothing, but that wasn't the point.

Hisoka groaned and shuffled over to the counter. "Man, I thought I was going to be able to size up the crowd before you put me to work. You're a slave driver." He didn't usually talk that much, but considering the face that he had to be sociable on at least a small level (and that the man he was talking to was his boss) was the only reason that he bothered to even open his mouth.

"Whatever." Dante slid a mug of amber-colored beer made from cheap, rotting hops over to the teenager, who grabbed it in his hand without missing a single beat. "You see that dumbass wearing the fancy-looking tuxedo in the back?"

Hisoka shot a glance at the man in question, an "interesting" (A.K.A stupid) character with slicked-back, greasy black hair and wearing a white sequined tuxedo, black shoes and stuck out like a sore thumb. "Yeah. That guy's just asking for trouble."

"Well, he's the one that ordered this. Get to work."

"Yeah, yeah." Hisoka muttered as he pushed his way through the crowd and tables packed with people, beer mug balanced expertly on the tray that he held one-handed. He weaved through the crowd with the skill of practice, moving the tray out of the paths of arms and shoulders and never spilling a drop.

The man in the tuxedo glanced up in surprise as Hisoka slammed the beer down on the table, causing it to splash just a little onto the tablecloth. His lips curled up in distaste at the sight of the beer and its teenaged waiter. "I didn't order that."

Hisoka ignored the comment. "Yeah, you did."

"No, I didn't. I ordered the best drink in the house."

Hisoka sighed. It looked like this guy had ignored the warning sign out front completely and by the looks of his attire, he was right. "That is the best drink in the house. Enjoy."

He watched as the man picked up the drink and was about to turn away, when he slung his drink right in Hisoka's face.

Hisoka resisted the urge to hiss, wiping the beer from his stinging eyes. The bar had gone strangely silent all of a sudden (excluding the music) as all eyes turned to Hisoka and Tuxedo-dude. Dante, sensing a confrontation brewing, put his hand under the counter to grip his peacemaker- a double-barrel rifle. No one messed up the Inferno, not on his watch.

Hisoka's hair was drenched, and had the sour smell of cheap alcohol clinging to it, but at least he could see again.

He resisted the strong urge to launch himself at the man, instead reaching out and wrapping the tablecloth in his fist. He jerked it out; causing the half-empty empty glass to crash to the ground, making everyone wince as the sharp sound cut through the silence and the nearest people got sprayed by the remaining alcohol. Hisoka wiped his face on the tablecloth and turned away.

"Thanks for the beer. It was good, better than what you deserve." It was a bluff on his part; his alcohol tolerance was at a ridiculous all-time low.

"Why you-" Hisoka froze as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Acting on pure instinct, he grabbed the arm attached and heaved, flipping the man over his shoulder and onto a nearby (and luckily empty) table, breaking it in half right down the middle. Years of martial arts and working in the Inferno came in handy.

Tuxedo-dude picked himself up, rubbing his injured back, and looked at the teenager glaring viciously down at him, and the crowd of angry people surrounding them.

"Get out. Now." Hisoka hissed in a low, demonic tone as he shot him "the look".

He obeyed.


Almost everyone had stopped looking for Hisoka long ago. After six months of almost ceaseless effort, everyone else had given up on finding the sixteen-year old immortal and headed back to their own areas. They had things to do, cases to solve.

Now, four and a half years after the others had given up, Asato Tsuzuki was the only one left.

It was times like this that being the head Shinigami of Kyushu, the least busy district in all of Meifu, came in handy. He hardly ever had any cases, so he could continue his search without any interruptions once they were completed in a day or so.

But still, even though afterwards he restarted immediately, Tsuzuki still harshly berated himself for losing even the smallest amount of time. He couldn't help but think of his partner alone in a city somewhere, possibly hurt, and an image of Muraki often leapt unbidden into his thoughts.

A city would have been the only place where Hisoka could have kept anyone from finding him. But Tsuzuki knew from experience that even a city couldn't stop their favorite doctor, if he set his mind to things. Kyoto had been five and a half years ago, but Hisoka had been absolutely certain that Muraki still lived, and Tsuzuki had learned to trust his partner's instincts.

So now Tsuzuki was combing through all the cities in Kyushu, desperately hoping to find his partner before the good doctor did.

He was wandering the downtown back alleys of one such city in Kyushu, a city known as Hyuga.(4) It was a Friday in summer, so it was hot and he had to walk instead of run to avoid getting heat-stroke. For the hundredth time he berated himself for dressing in his customary black trench coat. He really needed to wear something other than black.

Tsuzuki's stomach growled, distracting him from his search. He groaned inwardly. At other times he would have goofed off (especially during paperwork back at the office) but now he found himself hating every moment that he was distracted from his search. When had that happened? He reflected silently on his partner.

Hisoka had been the only person who had stuck with him. Tsuzuki supposed that it sounded ungrateful, especially to everyone at the Shokan Division, but he couldn't help if it was true. Others had left him because they couldn't deal with his emotional and psychological problems, still others because of his "lazy baka" routine.

It was ironic how the only one who could stand his emotional problems was the one person who shouldn't have been able to deal with it to begin with; an empath. And if he was being particularly lazy, Hisoka either forced him into work or did it himself. The boy had stuck with him, and ended up being the only partner that Tsuzuki had ever had for more than a few months.

Of course, it hadn't started out that way. In fact, the first time he and Hisoka had met, it had been with Tsuzuki on the wrong end of a gun in the hand of a pissed off empath; definitely not the start of a partnership made in Heaven. In fact, Hisoka had first struck Tsuzuki as an aggressive brat that was pissed off at the world for no good reason.

But as he got to know Hisoka better, he learned just how wrong his first impression had really been. Hisoka wasn't really mad at the world; he was cold, withdrawn from everyone else and avoiding them as much as physically possible. The false anger was just a mask he used to disguise when he was in pain, or uncertain of himself. As an empath forced to feel the emotions of those around him, this wasn't much of a surprise.

But now Tsuzuki had to deal with an emotionally withdrawn empathic brat.

And then he had found out about the boy's childhood, and everything suddenly made sense to him.

Hisoka wasn't naturally aggressive; rather his aggression was really just a front that he used to hide his pain, pain stemming from his abuse at the hands of his parents. It was that pain that had made him distrust everyone, most of all himself.

Coupled with his death; being cursed to die slowly and in complete agony over a three-year period after being raped at age thirteen (by a certain insane doctor), that pain inflicted upon him had shaped Hisoka into who he was now.

It was a pain that had stuck with him, even in death.

Tsuzuki decided that, since it was only mid-day and he had the rest of the day to search for his partner, he could afford to take a break for lunch. Provided, most of the places around here were bars that looked less than sanitary, but he felt sure that he could get a decent meal somewhere.

So he started searching, and it wasn't long before he had found the Inferno.


"Hey, Hisoka, there's a guy in the back left corner who walked in just a few minutes ago. Can you go and find out what he wants?" Dante tapped the teen on the shoulder, getting his attention without having to shout above the pounding music.

Hisoka glanced up from where he had been moving a new table and chairs to the spot where he had broken the other set. It would have been a lot easier if he had been allowed to wait until when the bar had cleared out, but Dante had made it clear that he had pushed his luck enough already and that if he kept it up the money would be going out of his paycheck (which was even smaller than what he had been paid at the Judgment Bureau).

He might even lose his job, and there were few places around here that would employ an immortal that looked like a sixteen-year-old.

"Sure. Back left corner, right?" Hisoka wiped the sweat from his brow as he gave the table a final kick into position. He didn't build muscle very well, and although he was somewhat more muscular than he had been five years ago it was still a lot of hard work for him.

He headed off in the general direction Dante had given him, while the manager returned to wiping his beloved mahogany counter. The music was pumping, and he soon recognized the song "Bent" by Matchbox 20. Hisoka scowled angrily. He had never heard a song that characterized him better than that particular one, which only intensified his dislike for it.(5)

"If I fall along the way
Pick me up and dust me off
And if I get too tired to make it
Be my breath so I can walk

If I need some other love
Give me more than I can stand
And when my smile gets old and faded
Wait around I'll smile again

Shouldn't be so complicated
Just hold me and then
Just hold me again"

It wasn't so complicated, not really, and Hisoka knew it. The cold, hard truth of the world was that people were too concerned about themselves and what they wanted to give a damn about others. In his entire life- and afterlife –he had only met a handful of people that had cared about him on any level.

And he had been forced to leave them all behind…

Bullshit. No one had forced him to leave. He had done it to himself, and now he had to deal with the consequences himself. To anyone else it would have sounded harsh, but Hisoka wasn't into deluding himself to reality. He had dug his own grave this time, no pun intended.

"Can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
Get put back together

You're breaking me in
And this is how we will end
With you and me bent

If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
Could you paint me better off
Could you sympathize with my needs
I know you think I need a lot

I started out clean but I'm jaded
Just phoning it in
Just breaking the skin"

That was another part that matched him perfectly. He hadn't started out like this, but the long nights he had spent in the darkness during childhood and his death at the hands of Muraki had left him jaded. Cold.

Oh yes, he had seen how bad the world could be. Anything that could go wrong in life would, and that was the way he had seen things for a long time until his meeting with Tsuzuki. And for a short while, he had been able to see the world in a different light. Then he had left, and five years of living in city back alleys among the outcasts and scum of society had reverted his views on the world back into what they had originally been.

But there was more to him than people thought; he really was just breaking the skin there.

Not that anyone around here cared about the person behind the mask. Even Dante, whom he could rely on without any doubt when the manager was in a good humor, had only hired him because he could fight. And that was only after he had seen proof of the teen's prowess, even though Hisoka fought more on the basis that he was more skilled than the typical bar room brawler, instead of being stronger than average.

"Can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
Get put back together

You're breaking me in
And this is how we will end
With you and me bent

Start bending me
It's never enough
I feel all your pieces

Start bending me
Keep bending me until I'm completely broken in"

The chorus repeated twice, but Hisoka ignored it completely and focused on pushing his way through the crowd, trying to ignore the headache that was slowly creeping its way into his system like an infectious disease. His efforts were cursed at, until whoever he had bumped into turned and recognized him as the waiter who had beaten up the Tuxedo-dude shortly before. After that, he received no opposition.

Finally, the table in question was in sight, and Hisoka's blood ran cold.

It had been five years since Hisoka had last see him. He was still the same, right down to the clothes that he always wore, ebony hair getting in the way of amethyst eyes. He rested his head on one hand as he casually watched the crowd, but his eyes were distant and his mind far away. His black trench coat hung over the back of his chair, but it was present nonetheless.

Asato Tsuzuki was sitting in the Inferno.


Author's Notes

(1) I don't know why, but the thought of Hisoka with long hair has always made me drool. -drools- A good example of this is panel 1 on page 98 of volume five. Of course, he will get it cut, but for the moment I can have my fun. Btw, I am a girl. Always have been, always will be. Sheesh.

(2) It was bound to happen. You know it was.

(3) The Inferno is fictional and inventions of yours truly, along with Dante and the others. The rest of the characters are Yoko Matsushita's brain-children.

(4) Not sure if this has anything to do with Naruto. And I have no idea what the real Hyuga looks like, as details on the web are sketchy at best. I just took a page out of Chief Konoe's book and threw a dart at a map of Kyushu, so don't take anything written here literally. The city wasn't even supposed to have a name, but I figured it might be a good idea to throw that in.

(5) Just because I put the lyrics in there doesn't make this a songfic. It's a bar, ok? It's going to have music. Plus, I always thought Bent fit Hisoka like a glove, so I decided to add that.

Me: Hmm... -nervous- Ok, Hisoka might have been a little out of character here. But Hisoka is perfectly capable of being a badass, as shown in the final volume of the anime, and his tenacity more than makes up for any physical strength he lacks in. You try getting cut from your shoulder to hip and keep going. It ain't easy.

I just never understood why just because there was a little crying in the Kyoto arc, people automatically think Hisoka is a wimp. You try having the person you care most about try to commit suicide and see if you can keep from crying. I dare you. Plus, Hisoka took kendo and martial arts for years so he-

Muse: He got mad skillz!

Me: Augh! Where'd you come from?

Muse: Blame your mind for interupting your extreme rant.

Me: Anyways, I thought that Hisoka beating up a guy at the bar was not so impossible.

Muse: Why a bar?

Me: Think of the places where people wouldn't care enough to notice how a sixteen year old doesn't age in years.

Muse: Ok...

Me: Then narrow down the available jobs.

Muse: Bar waiter, drug dealer, drug addict, whor-... Oh, I see what you're saying.

Me: Right. Well, I'm gonna try to get Chapter 2 up by next Tuesday. See ya!