Chapter Text
The Markets
The next morning, Ghost awoke to find himself still on the couch, red imprints in his skin from the old, rough fabric. He emptied his bladder and realized upon looking into the bathroom mirror that he'd never brushed his hair. It was so long it almost reached his ass, and it was a pain to work through it. Still, he didn't want to lose what he had left, knowing it would be gone forever.
When he'd first awoken that day years ago and realized he'd died, he'd had a full head of long hair. He was the perfect image of his living self with the exception of being invisible to everyone around him. There were no lasting wounds to hint at his demise or any memories of it at all. A few days of wandering, feeling less like himself every day, brought him to the portal between his world and the spirit realm. That day changed everything for him.
Fast forward a few weeks and Ghost was alive again, in debt to a King, and rapidly realizing that his price was normalcy. His hair and nails stopped growing. He didn't feel hunger or thirst. He'd cut part of his hair to experiment only to realize he'd be stuck with the horrible mess forever, and decided on the shaved look instead. Years passed and his suspicion was confirmed: he'd stopped aging. He wondered if this counted as getting his life back; couldn't decide if it was better or worse.
That was all decades ago. He'd stopped counting the years. The world was changing so much, so fast, and years didn't matter anymore. It was all he could do to keep up with human technology, current lingo, and make enough cash to pay rent.
Speaking of rent, he had to find something to do for the day, preferably something that paid. He pulled his hair back, got dressed in his cleanest white tee and a pair of black jeans, his sturdy work boots laced tight to his ankles. Most days he'd take odd jobs down at the markets, or take a look at the Police Station's wanted lists. A stable job was usually out of the question, as he didn't want anyone knowing him for too long. He didn't really belong to the human world anymore.
He decided to head down to the markets, and passed by the police station without stopping. Their bounties were usually easy criminals, who'd just violated probation or were suspected in some crime, but the occasional demon in disguise might end up on their list and he didn't want to end up in a fight today. There was one such instance where he ended up tracking down a demon who was acting as head of a mafia-wannabe group, who figured out a portion of his abilities and tried to get him to steal for them. It made sense, seeing as all he had to do was walk into a bank vault and open it up. However, he'd politely denied their threat and shut the whole gang down. It wasn't beneficial for him to flaunt his powers, and he wasn't the dishonest type anyway. If he took a minute to consider his feelings, he guessed he wanted to be a good person in order to feel like a person at all. And that day, he couldn't feel like a good person at all.
He went stall to stall in the packed market, the familiar faces of the shop owners either smiling or avoiding his gaze in turn. Most were friendly to him and offered him work occasionally and some continued to snub him every time. It didn't stop him from asking, and he probably looked like a decently-dressed beggar. After about fifteen minutes a middle-aged woman packing spiced rice into a carry-out container waved him over. She didn't speak much of his language but enough money-related words to settle on pay. He was going to make ten percent of every sale he brought to the stall by talking to the passerbys and he'd make more if he ended up in the kitchens by the end of the day.
He set to work immediately, crossing the street of densely packed bodies and carts, and started to work his charm. He'd found that if he smiled the right way and used the right honorifics, women would generally be receptive to him, so they were his main focus. He had young women with backpacks and college textbooks grabbing their lunches at the stall within minutes, and after the college rush had passed, the moms rolled in to get their dinner supplies. Ghost had been around a long time, and was pretty good at charming people. The back pocket of his tight jeans had a few phone numbers in it after an hour, but he wouldn't call any of them. He didn't want to turn the numbers down and lose business for the day, and he couldn't exactly afford to wine and dine anyone. Even if he could, he wasn't bringing anyone to his ratty apartment any time soon either.
Hiei saw my apartment! Ghost recalled, and physically recoiled from the embarrassing memory. A woman he had just approached skirted around him gingerly and took off.
"And what exactly are you selling?" An effeminate but definitely male voice asked him from close behind his shoulder. He turned and found a bleach-blonde, buzzed head in his view, and looked down to see a shorter man. He wore a nice v-neck and jeans not unlike something Ghost would own.
He knew the man was perhaps implying something, but wanted to set the record straight. "Rice, and chicken, and I think some kind of green vegetables that are stewed to hide the dirt smell." He smirked at the man in what he hoped was friendly, but not flirty.
"Oh come on, babe, you know what I'm asking. How much to get you to a hotel with me?"
Ghost had to scoff to himself. He would have considered giving the guy a chance if he'd asked him out normally, but trying to pay his way into bed made it all pathetic. Instead he decided to get the guy's money another way.
"Well you could certainly get my number, if you play your cards right. You work around here?" He asked with what he hoped was the right tone.
"Club downtown, you should come by sometime."
"I love to dance," Ghost lied beautifully, "but I'm afraid you'll have to open your wallet for me another way." He trailed a finger down the man's chest and then pointed it towards the stall. "Buy you and your co-workers dinner tonight and I get a cut. That's much more my style, babe. " Then, he gave the man one of the papers from his pocket, pretending to scribble the number on it as the man checked his wallet. The man gave a toothy grin before he trotted over to the line to make his order, and Ghost walked around a corner to continue working.
He watched from a safe distance, still chatting up passerbys for business, as the man got an armful of boxes and turned to find Ghost gone.
"Excuse me," a petite voice called.
Ghost swung his head around for a second time, only to see a young woman in a smart business suit and a briefcase. She had shoulder-length brown hair and her other hand held a cellphone as if she'd just ended a call. "Can you tell me if there's a REC Bank building around here? I've lost my way in the market."
"Certainly! But how about lunch first?" He smiled only to be met with the woman's angry stare. "Not like that," he amended, "at my stall. I recommend the combo meal!"
Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled dismissively. "No, thank you very much. I just finished lunch down the block. I just really need to find the bank, it's an important job opportunity for me."
Ghost saw now her nerves, and took pity, deciding not to withhold information in exchange for her patronage. He beckoned her to follow him, and they walked two blocks away where he could easily point to a tall building a few more blocks down. She briefly made small talk along the way, informing him she had a young baby at home and a husband without a job. He felt bad for her but she insisted he was looking for work, and she was in-between jobs herself. It sounded like she really needed whatever job she might get down at the bank.
He felt the need to return the conversation, so he decided to talk about a safe subject like his own work. He explained what he'd been doing at the market, that he took whatever tasks the owners gave him and had done just about every job. He tried to make her feel more relaxed by assuring her that he wasn't there to hit on all the girls as it may have appeared. She laughed at the situation and ended up making him feel better instead when she said, "I can see why they put you on sales; you have a natural charm."
When they stopped, she handed him a business card and told him to call her if he ever needed someone good with money. "Good luck!" He called as she ran off toward the building, nearly tripping on her own high heels. The card was without an actual business on it, but held her contact information. "Keiko," he said the name thoughtfully, and tucked it into the pocket with all the other numbers.
When Ghost got back to his stall, the old woman gave him a disappointed shake of her head and motioned across the street, where a new beggar seemed to be pointing people towards the stall. Things moved fast around the markets, and he'd lost his place. She handed him a stack of small bills that really didn't cover his rent or even utilities, and went back to serving food without a word.
He returned home that evening, unsuccessful in finding any other work. He'd even stopped by the bounty board despite his body's protests to see if anything suitable would show up but nothing seemed worth the hassle. He reasoned that he still had a few days to make rent and gave up.
Back at home, however, Ghost's mind wandered back to all the things he'd been avoiding. The moment the door creaked closed behind him he felt the darkness of the room like weights on his shoulders. He didn't feel like indulging in the needless but comforting task of eating, and didn't have any food anyway. It may have saved him money to not need to eat, but he still enjoyed it when he could afford it. Instead, he pulled out a pencil and a notebook and decided to doodle in front of the T.V, wondering if there was a chance he'd have another short, handsome visitor. When the voice in his head kindly called him an idiot he decided to think on other topics. For instance, how to make everything up to Hiei and Kurama, and he guessed Koenma too.
As he thought about his strategy, plans forming and changing as he sketched, he started to feel better. He had hope about the future of his new acquaintance if his plan worked. All he had to do was get Koenma to listen to him, which seemed a bit impossible considering how they'd parted the day before. Koenma had completely snuffed him as he'd passed the man's office on his way out, even going so childishly low as to loudly proclaim his inability to see or hear anyone nearby. Still, he thought perhaps Hiei, having forgiven him, or Kurama when he woke, could get Koenma to listen to him. He just needed five minutes.
But without any way to contact Hiei, and no invitation to enter the spirit realm and check on Kurama or beg Koenma, he was stuck in this depressing apartment with no way forward. He glanced again at the balcony and thought how convenient and welcome it would be for Hiei to show up again, but the man never came.
---
Hiei had been brooding. Though he wasn't admitting it to himself or anyone else anytime soon. His Jagan showed him Yukina, not so far off in the tangled city buildings, playing with a small human toddler. He knew he shouldn't spy, and he really never did anymore. But he was feeling a sense of change in his life accompanied by nostalgia that had him opening the third eye instinctively to search for her. It had been an obsession once, and then a comfort once he'd found her, and then a taboo once she'd eventually found out.
He let the eye close and her image faded. It was replaced instead with the dull stone wall of the forest cave he'd declared a hideout and backup stash years ago. In the corner was a dusty duffle bag and beside it, a freshly laid sleeping bag. He didn't know what else to do after leaving Ghost's apartment, so he'd gone to bed. It was only morning now, and he'd hardly caught any real sleep.
He grabbed his sword, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. Of his few worldly possessions, it was the most important and irreplaceable. He didn't have a team anymore, or a place to call home. He knew he had chosen to leave the one place he might have, and kicked himself for it, but it had felt like living a lie. Now, here he was. His sword and himself and a dark, raging dragon below the surface of his skin always itching to get out.
There had always been a mission, a goal, to drive him. The dragon had been one; Yukina, another. Defeating Yusuke and other strong opponents, protecting what little he felt needed protecting. Now he saw the pattern every time he was called by Koenma, who'd give him a new goal to accomplish if only for a moment. He'd throw himself into it, thinking of nothing but the fight or the goal, only to feel empty again afterwards. His sword was proof of that. He'd been so focused he'd dulled it completely and then nearly lost it.
It was thanks to Ghost he still had it, and that was worth something to him, even if he wasn't ready to be 'friends' yet. He grasped the sheath tightly, frustrated, before storming out of the cave into the early morning light.
He went down into the city to find someone to sharpen his blade. These days, humanity wasn't as keen on blacksmiths as they once were, so he spent a good few hours wandering the streets. People looked at him oddly, and he felt it wasn't just due to his sword. He ran a hand through his hair to find it dirty and lacking it's usual volume. His clothes, he found with a sniff, smelled as if they'd been in a duffel bag for a few years in the wilderness. They had, of course.
Eventually he found himself on a street he'd never ventured to before, full of parked trucks and ramshackle stalls, and full of even more people. The smells reached him and indicated a market of some sort. As he wandered through the tightly packed street, his own oddness seemed to blur into the crowd and he felt finally that he wasn't the center of attention. It helped of course that he was much shorter than most people.
He still had to dodge the many solicitors trying to get him to buy food or wares, and the hurrying workers jogging by with armfuls of stuff or pulling handcarts. It all reminded him of times long past, if he ignored the many cell phones he could see.
Human technology still eluded his understanding. He tried to spend as little time in the realm as he could, but his reservations had started to wane in recent years. The convictions about demons and humans had faded during his time with Team Urameshi. Still, he didn't end up here often. He knew the little electronic rectangles acted similarly to the communication devices they used on missions, but were much less reliable. Kurama had patiently tried to explain to him how he had been watching a pre-recorded video on one once, but he just didn't get it.
He heard the sound of a grinding stone beneath the din of the crowd and his attention perked. He ducked a few passerbys and turned a few corners to find the source: a meat stall manned by a large gentleman in an apron, who was sharpening his knife behind the scenes. He was trying to stay tucked away from the street but his sparks were still flying towards the crowd, who seemed to do a fine job of avoiding them without slowing down. He approached the man wearily, suddenly remembering he'd have to speak to someone today.
The gentleman stopped when he noticed Hiei watching and gave him a questioning grunt, already eyeing the sheathed sword.
"How much to sharpen this?" He held it out horizontally, revealing the length fully now that it wasn't partially covered by his cloak.
"Not my usual sort. How valuable is it?" He asked with a smirk that said he truly wasn't sure he'd return it to Hiei in one piece.
"More valuable than your life," Hiei said deadpan, ensuring the man saw the fire in his eyes that said he meant it. He saw the flinch the larger man gave at the look and felt satisfied.
"Well, I'll give it a try. Can't be too difficult?" He wasn't inspiring confidence but Hiei didn't have many options, or much money.
"How much?" He repeated.
"Let's see how I do first. I won't charge you if it doesn't work out. If it does, let's say fifty?"
Hiei wasn't even sure he had that much human money. He'd grabbed a handful from his duffel and stuffed it in his pocket without counting it before he left that morning. He nodded anyway. Let that man try and shake him down, he thought.
A few minutes later and the man returned the blade for inspection. He hadn't done any new damage to it, but it wasn't much better either. The man looked truly apologetic and a little ashamed at his work, so Hiei tossed him the handful of bills as thanks anyways. He didn't know what prompted the kindness, and he didn't want to dwell on it either. Perhaps he just wasn't himself anymore.
He continued down the next busy street with no real goal in mind. He didn't expect to find any other willing or skilled butchers around, and didn't understand the exchange of money enough to make a purchase at any of the stalls. He settled on watching the people instead.
That was when he saw Ghost.
He was chatting amicably with another man, and Hiei felt an uncomfortable flop in his stomach when he saw Ghost's finger trail down the other's chest. Then, he felt somehow worse when he saw Ghost hand over a scrap of paper. He didn't even know what the paper was, what it meant, just that it seemed intimate in their gestures and looks.
He turned and walked back in the direction he'd come, still not ready to just return to his cave and still without anything else to do. He replayed what he'd seen and tried to analyze his reaction to it. Why did his stomach still feel tight? Why did he suddenly have sweat on his brow?
He didn't like Ghost. It wasn't as if a little flirting had turned him into a school girl and it wasn't as if he even knew the man. Even as a prospective friend, he didn't know him well enough to be upset. But his discomfort was so sudden and shocking that he had no choice but to admit and accept that it was there, taking him wholly by surprise. It was strange, and his steps slowed as his mind attempted sift through the thoughts.
He recalled the evening before, when Ghost had looked him directly in the eye with a desperate gaze and told him he didn't flirt with just anyone. He wondered what the hell he'd just seen, then.
He reasoned his reaction was disappointment. He was just disappointed in his new acquaintance for deceiving him, after he'd given the man a second chance. That was all it was, he thought.
---
Back in the spirit realm, Koenma sat at his desk with his head in his hands. There were no leads on the man named Merrok, and since inter-dimensional abilities were rare, he had trouble finding enough help to search.
He rose and walked down the many hallways and stairwells between his office and the medical ward in deep thought. Kurama remained floating in his medtank, his human body healed but his spirit energy still depleted. Koenma watched him for a long while, feeling a yearning for the old days when he had an entire team to call upon.
He missed the rowdy group and their carefree days, and their hard-hitting lessons and fights won too. He missed that feeling of unity they'd had for a few years and the confidence the group gave him when the time came to overthrow his father. Now he looked at Kurama and wanted to weep. He had only two team members left; one nearly human and ready to retire, one seemingly lost and only half dedicated to the cause. He needed something to revamp the spirit realm, the morale of those there, and a force that would keep their enemies fearful and at bay. Yet he couldn't even begin to find a single candidate.
He heard light steps in the hall and turned to find Botan. "Sir… are you alright?" Her thin brows curved in worry and her voice was so light he almost didn't hear her.
He wiped at his eyes, not really crying but watering, and stood a little straighter. "What is it, Botan?"
"Nothing, sir, I just thought that… well, it's a difficult time for us all, and…" her sentence faded uncertainty. She paused momentarily before coming to stand beside Koenma.
"It's fine, Botan. I was just getting sentimental. Won't happen again," he tried to sound teasing and light but there was still a pressure in his chest keeping his words a little choked.
"Remember back when it was just Yusuke, wandering around the city trying to get his body back? Who would have guessed we'd all come this far. That he'd get so strong, conquer it all, just to retire. Honestly, it's too much to take in sometimes and I was there for it!" Her hands were waving idly as she watched her King in his contemplation. "And Kurama, and Hiei… Genkai… all of these people who saw something in him and thought he was worth the effort." She was choking up a bit herself then, so she paused for a long moment.
Koenma spoke softly. "He was. He still is, as a friend and a husband. But we can't rely on him as a fighter, not during the tough parts anymore. The team is gone. While I sit around twiddling my thumbs over the next Spirit Detective, the realms never slow in their chaos."
She watched him as he watched Kurama, and finally rested a gentle hand on his arm. "It isn't such an easy choice. Kurama and Hiei have both turned it down. Our powerful allies in the demon realm don't want to do it, either. Everyone has seen what Team Urameshi was capable of and I think it scared them all away. No one wants the pressure of living up to that."
He knew she was right. Nearly everyone they'd approached with the offer had scurried away or made excuses, and it wasn't the kind of job someone took half-heartedly. In regards to the two men he had left from the original team, they were just too tired. They may not have held the title but they'd done their fair share of the work. Even when Koenma didn't assign them any jobs, fate had seen fit to push them towards Yusuke for so long. Now everyone was adrift.
Koenma's gaze had drifted down to the floor during his reverie, and now he looked at Kurama again and tried to really look . He tried to see the person he'd become, taking jobs out of pity and necessity but preferring the weekends with his friends or a normal 9 to 5. He deserved the life he wanted, the one he'd earned in numerous fights, and here he was in a medtank. Koenma was getting angry now instead of soft.
"There was one man I may have held out hope for. But he really let me down the other day," he said with an irritated sigh. "So many things went wrong, and we may not have gotten these two back..."
She finally looked up at Kurama in his tank, emotion in her eyes at the sight, "Makes you think, doesn't it?"
He gave her only a confused expression in response, wondering what exactly she was thinking of.
She smiled her gentle smile and turned to leave. "It makes you think how on earth they would have escaped the toxin at all if Ghost hadn't been there."