This is a project of mine I've had stuck in my head for quite some time. It actually is based on a previous "What If" story of mine about Amon-Shinpi and Hiei meeting under the circumstances of her being given to him as a slave. I've changed up the premise quite a bit and have a different plan in mind if I keep the ball rolling on this one.
By the way, as a heads up, there won't be Mukuro hate in this. Yes, I'm aware she's dead and that's not everyone's favorite choice for how to handle a story but it's imperative for this one. She's not dead because I hate her. Promise.
Hiei stared into the cell with narrowed eyes.
"Release him."
"Sir, with all due respect I think you should reconsider. This one is charged with murder."
"We're all murderers. We're demons. I said release him." Hiei turned his hot glare onto the poor underling in charge of the prison.
He wasn't sure exactly what possessed him to make the command. Maybe it was the frailty of the pitiful waif's body. Maybe it was the fire lighting his eyes. Though, if he were going to be honest with himself (which he definitely would not be) it was likely the shock of flame red hair paired with the icy cobalt of the prisoner's gaze. The shackles on his wrists made for too close a similarity.
Maybe he just couldn't live without a redhead in his life to annoy the piss out of him.
And the glint in those eyes, framed by dark lashes, promised he'd find nothing short of trouble in this one. That head that refused to bow under the weight of the metal mask encompassing the the waif's face from the bridge of his nose downward. Tattered clothing did little to dissolve the idea of dignity surrounding this one.
Hiei thought that sort of unwavering fire might help keep his mind from dwelling on the past, no matter how recent it may be.
Fucking Mukuro.
No one gave her permission to die.
He shook his head and made his orders. The prisoner watched him without a word of acceptance or protest.
"He doesn't speak, sir."
"I always preferred the quiet anyway." Hiei responded.
A slave. A redheaded, blue eyes slave slapped in irons. Charged with killing his master. It was a quiet murder, the sort that comes to pass through inaction. Simply, the slave did nothing to stop someone else from poisoning his then owner. Now he faced the gallows.
It rang too close to home for Hiei to ignore.
All he could see was shackles and oppression and he had to do something. He had to change the story this time.
"You'll work for me from now on." Hiei declared, not bothering to look back at his newest employee. "Congratulations, you're in the service of a king."
An unwilling king who wished he could just forget about his duty, but a king nonetheless. Hiei ran through the quick tour of the castle, of the rules to his silent audience. The man followed him on quiet feet befitting a servant.
"I'll come up with a post for you." Hiei explained, realizing he hadn't thought through this part. He didn't have a job for this one to fulfill. Just a need.
He just needed a redhead around, he told himself. Kurama, Mukuro and now this one.
A dull stare answered his words and he wondered if this was going to work. Maybe he was just too desperate. This one seemed defective, broken.
Quiet.
He needed that annoying redhead vigor, the banter he never asked for but always secretly enjoyed.
"Find a place to sleep. Settle in. I'll try to come up with something for you to do tomorrow."
Hiei marched off to bed, leaving the servant behind. He found himself in Mukuro's room with a frown on his face.
Not her room, his. He was king now.
All because she had to go and die. Like a fool.
He didn't sleep well. Fitful at best. What was the point in trying to sleep anyway? He awoke to his clothes set out on a chair in the room, immaculately prepared. They smelled clean. After dressing he found food on the table in the dining hall, a breakfast that would be wasted on just one demon. And the taste was actually palatable for once. He marveled at the change and then forgot it as one of his men walked in to brief him on the days events.
A busy day punctuated by timely meals of well cooked food. Of tea at just the right moment. Of hot water prepared for his bath just when he was finally finished.
A few days of this routine eventually, finally, made him question it all.
"Oh, that's Amon sir." One of the other house staff explained. "He's taken over your personal care. He takes it quite seriously."
"Amon?"
"Yes sir, the new house servant? With the mask."
Funny that the mask was the first thing everyone else seemed to notice when for him it had been the man's eyes and hair.
"He told you his name?"
"He wrote it down with detailed instructions on how to prepare your meals."
"I see." Hiei looked around the kitchen then, squinting as he thought. "Where is he now?"
"I'm afraid I'm unsure, sir. Amon sleeps in separate quarters from the rest of us and moves at his own pace."
Hiei nodded and turned on heel, leaving the room. He didn't have time to track down a rogue servant at the moment. He had meetings to attend.
It was late. The rest of the castle was quiet, but Hiei was awake pacing Muku...his room, unable to sleep. He hadn't decent rest in weeks. The last few days had been especially bad. There was unrest in the city around them, the citizens restless about the change in command. He couldn't blame him, he had no idea what he was doing. He had never been forced to lead this way before.
Yusuke carried that special charisma people who innately took charge were graced with. Mukuro had it too.
He did not.
Jerking to a stop at the sound of metal against wood he spun to glare with menace at the intruder. He hadn't heard anyone approach. It took a few seconds for him to loosen up his prepared stance, his palm hovering above the hilt of his blade.
Amon stared at him with eyes bruised from nights without sleep, glanced at his hand before he slowly allowed it to fall loose to his side, and then met his eyes once more. With a quick bow of his head, he used a sweeping hand to present the tray of tea and small snacks. Hiei noted that while the man's clothes were now clean, they weren't in any better shape than they had been before. Did he only have one pair?
He closed his eyes at his own stupid, silent question.
Of course he only had one set of clothing. Amon had been a prisoner.
"Do you always skulk about when I'm not looking?" Hiei snapped at him, annoyed at himself for his lack of awareness and at the man for pointing it out.
Those blue eyes just stared back at him, no sign of agreement or otherwise. Hiei huffed and marched over to accept the tea.
"How did you know I was awake?" He asked, just barely letting go of his harsh tone.
Amon glanced to the light illuminating the space.
"Just happened to notice the light under the door? What were you even doing around here?"
Again, that blank stare that seemed to reveal nothing, empty eyes peeking from above that damn mask. Hiei studied the man before him. The clothes were clean, but the man underneath? Not so much. His pale skin was a patchwork of dirt and grime with peeks of the natural tones popping through where it could be seen from under the long sleeve shirt. That short red hair was thick with the same. Why would a man who took the time to polish his shoes not bathe?
"Find time to bathe between your skulking sessions." Hiei demanded with a partial glare. "You look disgusting. And get some new clothes. Honestly. How are you supposed to be any use if you can't even care for yourself?"
It was faint, the confusion that sparked in the man's eyes. Almost as if just realizing his own state, he lifted his arms to study the backs of his hands with a look of mild curiosity.
Hiei grabbed him, crossing the several feet in a blur. He kept the man's hand aloft, trapped in his own as he studied the raw wounds on Amon's wrist. His captive didn't fight, didn't flinch. But when Hiei moved his attention back to the man's face, he was met with eyes that had gone glassy.
The eyes of someone used to sudden contact resulting in pain.
Hiei dropped his hold immediately stepping back. His fingers had left marks where they'd wiped away some of grime.
"While you're finding time to bathe, get those wounds cleaned. They're started to fester." Hiei commanded, distracted.
Sores from the shackles.
Mukuro had born them too, though hers had long before turned to scars of thickened skin and scrapes against the metal of her other arm.
"Now." Hiei looked away, unable to see any more. Maybe the guards in the prison had been right. Bringing Amon here had been a mistake. He'd fallen victim to a rare moment of sentimentality.
And now he was stuck with a ghost reminding him of what he'd lost.