Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You fucked my mom?"

"Yes."

"And you fucked Genkai?"

"Well, yes."

"Here's the million dollar question: am I going to wake up tomorrow morning and find out you fucked Keiko too? Because you're really racking it up with chicks who are important to me, and we've got two generations represented al-fucking-ready."

"Yusuke, don't get goddamn melodramatic—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Muscles, it must be so hard for you to learn your arch-enemy is apparently a stallion of a man who's banged so many women he's actually banged your mom."

"She was a one night stand. Her father's—your grandfather's a big-time Yakuza, though I think Atsuko kept you out of that life. One of his wealthier, sleazier associates contracted me." Toguro sighed, removing his sunglasses to massage the pressure points next to his eyes, and added, "I didn't even know she got pregnant, not until I invited you to the Dark Tournament."

Yusuke sank into a chair, feeling weak and pathetic now that the sarcasm and anger had deflated.

He'd always known who his father was—a loser man who'd grown from a loser boy that his ma had the foolish misfortune to love, once upon a time. The night after the end of the Dark Tournament, when his mother had sat him down over two pints of beer and told him the truth, he hadn't believed it; had raged, shouted, and thrown things through the hotel windows, until his mom had chucked a bottle at his head to shut him up.

Then, finally, he'd settled down, and decided that having an evil reprobate father and having a loser reprobate father was much the same thing. Unfortunately, Koenma (along with half the remnants of the Dark Tournament's fighters and guests) had overheard their discussion (since neither mother nor son could keep volume control on in the best of times), and rushed to Reikai, where, upon finding out the veracity of Atsuko's claims, he'd used an ancient rule to spring Toguro from limbo and bring him back, expecting to have done so just in time for Toguro's doubts about what he'd consigned himself to for thousands of years.

The father had his son's familiar stubbornness, Koenma had realized for the first time when Toguro had actually come out, angry as a lion with a stepped-on tail about being disturbed from his eternal rest, and just as dangerous. It was only by calling him a coward for never telling Yusuke the truth that Koenma got to him, and that assertion had nearly gotten the godling killed.

So here they were, father and son, tying up some loose threads.

It wasn't going peacefully.

"Now, now, you two…" Koenma placated, a weak smile on his face.

"You stay out of this," Toguro growled, pointing an intimidating finger at Koenma, who shrank back into his chair.

"Don't you fucking talk to Koenma like that, bastard!" Yusuke yelled, despite the fact that he'd been about to snap much the same thing. "And while we're on the subject, nobody calls my ma a one night stand!"

It wasn't going peacefully at all. Bickering, blank-walling, sarcasm; Koenma just had to hope that complying with Toguro's unspoken wish would lead to some understanding.

"Urameshi, that's enough. I've said my piece—I'm done listening to you whine. Now, I'm going back to hell, where I belong."

"Go there and rot, bastard!"

Toguro took a few steps over towards the doors of Koenma's office, and stopped, indecisive.

Before Yusuke could think up a smart-aleck remark, Toguro had walked back over to him, and placed his hand on Yusuke's head, ruffling the short black hair fondly.

"Take care of yourself, boy. Don't worry overmuch about this."

Yusuke stared up at him, stunned. Then his face twisted.

"Get your hand off me, bastard!" he shouted, and swatted the massive palm away. For one moment, the untouchable Toguro looked genuinely morose—only for a moment, and it was over so suddenly the two onlookers weren't sure it had been there at all.

"My assignment is to limbo. I don't think the higher-ups will be too thrilled about you nullifying it for a paternity test, toddler."

"Sometimes, here in Reikai, if someone's done something, and the victims forgive him or her…" Koenma started, but he was cut off.

"I have many more victims than Urameshi and Genkai," Toguro grunted. "I have long lists of people I've tortured, beaten, and killed. D'you want their names? Some of them were innocents, some just children. Don't you have them already? I sent them up to meet you."

"Let me finish." Toguro, still fighting down emotion over his last few phrases, allowed the censorious tone to pass. "In these cases, according to an ancient law, the victims can wish one thing for the soul of their tormentor. It's in their hands. Genkai's given up that ability, and the next person on the list is Yusuke. If he defers, the next person gets a chance."

"Who's the next person on the list?" Toguro asked, his fist clenching.

Koenma's eyebrow rose. "Do you have to ask?"

"Fair enough."

"What the fuck?" Yusuke whispered. Both Toguro and Koenma looked at him in shock. "What the fuck?" he repeated. "Why is it up to me?"

"Yusuke," Koenma said softly.

"So now, let me get this straight, if I don't figure out one thing I can wish for the bastard, just one thing, the damn thing goes to someone who'll probably wish Toguro was immobile in a white room for all eternity, with nothing but a pink wind-up bear for company?"

Toguro blanched a little at the thought.

Koenma sighed. "Yes, something like that."

"This isn't fair. It's just not fair. After all the shit—" Yusuke was shaking with emotion, his hands opening and closing into fists. "After everything—"

"Just wish I'm back in limbo, where I belong," Toguro grunted, almost kindly.

"No!"

"Yusuke…" Koenma started.

"No! Fuck that! Fuck you getting everything you want, everything working out the way you planned! Koenma, I wish Toguro was brought to life in a new body, with only normal ningen Reiki."

Koenma smirked. "It'll take some bending of the rules, but it can be done."

"But I'm not kissing him. First of all, he's my dad. Second of all, that's gross. Genkai can do it."

Toguro was staring at him in horror. "What? Urameshi, you can't be…"

Yusuke cut him off with one hard and fast answer.

"That's son to you, bitch."

Chapter Text

Of all the goddamn impulses Urameshi could have had, Toguro thought. Of all the reckless, stupid things he could have wished.

Toguro wasn't angry, really. Certainly not pissy, which was the first word Urameshi had used.

No, the words for this particular debacle were fucking furious. Possibly livid. Toguro tried for the thousandth time to extend himself, to reach into what had always been an untapped, inexhaustible, nigh bottomless well deep inside him.

Nothing. His pitiful muscles, though still quite impressively sized for a human's, didn't even flex. And Urameshi had the gall to say, "Well, maybe I should've let you have you some power…"

The big man bared his teeth, closed his eyes, and pondered how he would manage to slaughter a being as strong as his son without even the faintest hums of the yoki that was so familiar to him.

"Toguro! Get down here! We're going to Genkai's place!"

And this was the most galling part of it all. It was Kurama, the smooth, cunning fox, who had mentioned to Yusuke that it might not be safe for Toguro without Yusuke or one of them around, what with all the enemies that Toguro had, at one point, left unkilled.

So he'd fathered the boy, and chosen him as the opponent to finally lay him to rest—that didn't mean he wanted to spend every waking moment trailing along as the self-serving teenager hit up arcades, and did little else.

And it was a shame to see the boozer the always party-oriented Atsuko had become, and the old woman he could never look at too long, morphed from his ex-lover, Genkai.

It was painful to him. He knew that he'd altered the course of both women's lives, Atsuko by leaving her young and pregnant, Genkai by leaving her young, disillusioned and lost. The main thing was that it was strained between him and both those women, and equally strained between him and the other fighters of Team Urameshi. They gave him a wide berth. Fair enough, he deserved it, but it made it difficult when Urameshi demanded he come with him to the most banal of places. Banality wasn't Toguro's style.

"Toguro!"

Massive jaw clenching, Toguro walked downstairs, eyes unreadable and disturbing.

"I am no reticent child, Urameshi. Do not call me like one."

Yusuke gave an angry, lopsided grin. "Then don't act like one."

Toguro ignored him, the snide banter too far beneath him to merit a response. "Thank you for the hospitality, fox."

Kurama waved him away. "It's nothing. I certainly could use the company."

"Yeah you could, fox-boy," Yusuke laughed, his constant irritation easing for a moment. "Why don't you come with us?"

Kurama smiled, walking quietly to a potted tomato plant and thoughtlessly stroking it, examining the underside of its leaves. "I wanted to devote today to gardening. My roses are looking a little waterlogged after this last week of rain."

Toguro's eyes followed the graceful figure with interest, and no small amount of guilt. What had seemed like a necessary risk when he was caught in the monotony of evil held more meaning for him now.

Seeing the kitsune in his home, his hushed daily routines, Toguro was continuously reminded of that pretty face contorted with screams—reminded of the unstaunched proclivities of Karasu, and what would have happened to the boy if Toguro had kept just a slightly weaker rein on things during the Tournament.

Kurama seemed to hold the least trust for him, but the most understanding, an odd paradox that fit the mysterious kitsune perfectly. It made Toguro uncomfortably guilty.

"Kurama, honestly, I could use some help with babysitting Muscles. Your plants will survive, and you know it."

Kurama sighed irately, coming out of the bathroom with a little green watering can. Its nozzle was quickly tipped around the roots of the languid tomato plant. "Fine, Yusuke, I concede. I'll come with you to Genkai's. Though you're being unfair to her, you know."

Yusuke drew up his full, tiny height, making Toguro hide a smirk. "And why's that?"

Kurama looked over at Toguro, eyes and voice calm, watching as the smirk slid from Toguro's face with his next words. "She shouldn't have to see Toguro and interact with him after all he's done. My apologies, Toguro, but you force her to recover from your betrayal at your pace. It should never be up to the aggressor to decide how the victim reacts. Genkai deserves time, and the space to heal. You're not giving it to her."

Toguro stood, looking imperturbably into Kurama's regal eyes. "I'll stay here then, if you don't mind me imposing further, fox."

Yusuke snorted, hopeful and relieved. "That alright with you, Fox-boy?"

Kurama sighed, stroking slim fingers through the tresses of his long crimson hair. "Can you plant flowers?" he asked Toguro evenly. At Toguro's arched eyebrow and tentative nod, Kurama smiled deviously. "It's alright with me. Run along, Yusuke."

The Spirit Detective let out a whoop, dashing out of the hall and through the front door as though afraid someone would take it back if he waited another second. He left his father with his friend rather callously, but there was fondness in both gazes as they watched him go, and after his form receded, both men looked at each other, recognizing the similarity in their expressions and feelings toward Yusuke.

It was unfortunately quite obvious within the first few plantings that Toguro had overestimated his abilities. Gruff by nature, he was quickly demoted from flowers to the much simpler tasks of turning new ground with a shovel and carting mulch.

Even without his demonic energy, Toguro was far from tired, though perhaps more aware of the heat than he was used to, when Kurama called a noon break. The big man stood, brushing Kurama's homemade fertilizer from his knees, as the fox went inside to prepare food. While his watcher puttered around the kitchen, Toguro admired the results of years of work on the fox's part.

The gardens around Shiori's house surpassed the merely lovely: they were truly breathtaking. The flowers were not confined to neat rows, nor carefully clipped into standardized shapes, but layered in natural patterns to complement each other's size, fragrance, color, and type of growth, each bringing out its neighbor's beauty.

Everywhere Toguro looked, there were greens, yellows, purples, oranges, every color that could be imagined, and entwining through it all the red of roses. Hydrangea so bright a shade of blue that they were almost unnatural climbed up the white sides of the Minamino's house with flowering ivy. Wood sorrel and caladium sweethearts nestled with begonias, ringed by spiderwort and lobelia, fuschia and larkspur, petunias clustered in a bed with a hundred thousand other pleasing floras.

There was nothing shy about these flowers—nothing wilting—they turned their heads to the sun and rejoiced in their short, simple light. Standing and taking all the rings and mats of them in, Toguro had newfound respect for their kitsune master, who had tended to them so carefully.

"You're admiring my garden, I take it?"

Toguro didn't startle. "It's very beautiful."

Kurama smiled. "Thank you. Here, come in with me—I've made us some lunch." Without saying another word, the fox handed Toguro a ceramic mug filled with chilled green tea and returned to the building. One sip proved to be so delicious that Toguro, suddenly aware of an unusual and uncomfortable thirst, drained the teacup, and then walked inside to see if there were any more.

Chapter Text

Toguro knelt at the squat wooden table with a grunt, taking up three cushions as he tried to lower his too-tall body to a place where he could comfortably reach the deep ceramic bowl of homemade udon Kurama had placed before him. Suddenly, delicate vines of a soft, pastel green curled up the table legs, cupping the bowl, plate of melon buns, and tall glass of chilled tea before Toguro and raising them up to Toguro's level, before hardening into place. A small tendril held up a large tan spoon, obviously purchased as a matching set with the bowl, receding when Toguro pinched it between his meaty fingers.

Toguro grunted out a thanks, surprised by the kitsune's thoughtfulness, and watched as the small redhead knelt on the other side of the low table and deposited his own bowl and cup there, reaching up and snagging a single melon bun from the dozen he'd gotten at a local bakery.

"Would you like some onigiri to go with the udon?" Kurama asked politely. They hadn't exchanged many words while tending Kurama's garden, which was comfortable to both the former-demons.

Toguro nodded, still bemused, watching the boy rise and clatter around the kitchen for a moment, before putting down a plate of the rice balls and raising them on vines, revealing briefly that they contained pickled plums and were from the same bakery where he had gotten the melon buns. "It's quite a nice little store," the kitsune said placidly, content with small talk.

Toguro thanked him again, and then listened to the brief itadakimasu Kurama offered, before the two of them dug into their meals, Toguro surprised to find himself hungry, his demon body having little need for frequent meals these last fifty years.

Kurama was a skilled cook, a master of vegetables, herbs and spices, and hadn't been exaggerating the bakery's merits. The meal was a success; Toguro found that hunger was a wonderful seasoning for already good food. The melon buns' sweetness, the thick udon noodles in their intricate broth, and the salty onigiri meant that both fighters finished every bite of the meal, before Kurama got the pitcher of his famous iced green tea out of the refrigerator and put it on the table, he and Toguro both sipping at glasses of it as they started up a conversation.

"What will you do when your enemies discover your new handicap?"

Toguro snorted, looking away, regretting the loss of his sunglasses. "It depends upon the enemy."

"True," Kurama said, his tone saying he understood.

"You've spent your ningen life hoping nobody discovered your identity, haven't you?" Toguro asked simply. "I'm surprised you would blow your cover as completely as you did during the Tournament."

It was Kurama's turn to sniff. "There was little choice, as you well know."

"You weren't directly invited," Toguro observed casually.

Kurama bristled. "I am not so honorless that I would abandon comrades to death simply to save myself from trouble. If any old acquaintances find me, I will deal with them, one way or another. But Yusuke has thoughtlessly saved my and my mother's lives on many occasions, never once pausing, never once holding a piece of himself back, as I would do in such a situation; I owe him no small amounts of loyalty for that."

"Are you in love with him?"

"Yusuke and I would not work out, as the ningens say," Kurama snapped. His posture was now stiff with annoyance, and though Toguro could see quite clearly that Kurama had as good as acquiesced, and admitted romantic feelings for his leader, he also did not wish to discuss them. Kurama changed the subject instead. "And Yusuke? Your son? What do you think of him?"

"Yusuke is too damn impulsive," Toguro growled, his own voice roughening. "And a brat." He paused then, taking a calming sip of the tea. "But he's not a bad kid, despite that. Most youths are much more mean-spirited than him."

"Are you proud to have fathered him?"

Toguro muttered something, looking annoyed, and then said, "He is more my enemy than my son. I never expected to have progeny in this world. I am glad I didn't know of him, though," Toguro admitted. "I would have felt obligated to remain in his life, and I am afraid," now the giant sounded rueful, "that the company I keep would not be conducive to the boy's mental health. I suppose I could have helped Atsuko out with money, but I suspect I would have been a terrible father."

"You are still a father," Kurama said quietly. "In the Makai, even one's mother staying with her child past a certain age is unheard of. It is a sign of your continued humanity, that you think in these terms." Seeing the angry look on Toguro's face, Kurama added, "I can say it. You and I are reverses of each other. I do not always fit in this world. Sometimes, despite having lived here for sixteen years, I'm a visitor in a foreign country. It's just a fact." He took a dainty sip. "But all that I love, at this moment, all that I care about, is here. So I am a visitor with a stake in the country's future, and sometimes, even I forget my heritage. Briefly," he conceded. "I think the same is true of you in the demon world. Am I correct in that assumption?"

"You are," Toguro grunted, and then lapsed into silence, refusing to elaborate.

The two continued to drink their tea, savoring its tartness and ignoring one another with their own intimate thoughts.

And so the noon-time passed, and they returned to gardening, neither with a word they wanted to say aloud, both feeling that the silence was a different type, less comfortable than it had been before their conversation.

Yusuke came back to find Toguro standing reading a newspaper in the front hall, not wanting to track dirt on any of Shiori Minamino's furniture, and Kurama upstairs taking a shower.

Yusuke called up that he was taking Toguro, making his father roll his eyes, and Kurama showed up at the top of the stairs, wearing nothing more than a towel patting his head dry and a pair of loose sweatpants, telling Yusuke that was fine, and giving the big man a farewell that sounded a little forced.

Once they were off the fox's street, Yusuke rounded on Toguro, and asked, "What did you do to Fox-boy, eh?"

Toguro shrugged, saying nothing, and they made their way back to Yusuke's apartment. Toguro spent the whole bus ride wishing he still had his motorcycle.

And so another day passed.