Work Text:
The air is still thick with the stink of smoke and blood though the threat has finally been dealt with.
Kuwabara’s shoulder throbs with every step, and his jacket hangs open. The buttons have ripped off, and his shirt is half torn underneath. He barely notices. He keeps pace beside Yusuke, who’s practically dragging Kurama down the forest path, one of Kurama’s arms slung over his shoulders. Kurama has looked better, and he hasn’t said much since the fight ended. His breathing is shallow and uneven as he clutches his stomach.
“We’re almost clear,” Yusuke mutters, scanning the trees with sharp eyes. “Just a bit further, then we’ll find somewhere to patch you up.” It would be just their luck to be ambushed now by opportunistic lurkers that have seen how hard the last opponent hit them. Kuwabara flexes his fingers warily.
“I’ll be fine, but there was some kind of toxin on—” Kurama’s voice catches in his throat as he doubles over more sharply. “I’ll be fine,” he hisses, “but it may have to work its way through my system on its own. I’m trying to heal the wound, but it doesn’t seem to be very effective.”
“You will,” Yusuke agrees. “Maybe Kuwabara can take a look at it, he might have more success.
Kuwabara nods, eyes still on the trees. He looks around, scanning the shadows between the trunks and frowns. “Hey, uh, where’s Hiei?”
Yusuke glances back to confirm they are down a party member. “He probably took off. You know him—doesn’t stick around for the group photo. He’ll show up when he wants to.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Kuwabara said, tone sharper than before. “You saw that hit he took. You’re tellin’ me he’s fine?”
“He’s Hiei,” Yusuke snaps, but not unkindly. “He’ll be fine. We’ve gotta focus on Kurama.”
Kurama shifts just enough to glance over Yusuke’s shoulder. His eyes are intense on the trees, voice faint but clear, “No, he’s hurt. I could smell the blood when he left.”
Yusuke pauses, twisting himself and Kurama halfway around. “What?”
Kurama closes his eyes again, his hand over his stomach a weak source of light as his spiritual energy dimly works at the tear in his gut. “I fear it’s bad.”
Kuwabara doesn’t hesitate. “Then I’m going after him.”
“Wait—what? Kuwabara, we just—”
“You take care of Kurama,” Kuwabara says, already stepping off the path. “I’ll find Hiei.”
***
The forest is quiet. Too quiet. Kuwabara pushes forward, brushing branches aside, ignoring the sting of every bruise and cut.
A streak of red on a rock catches his eyes. Another smeared on a tree. Kuwabara’s stomach twists—blood, still tacky and fresh.
He spins in a slow circle, trying to see which way Hiei might have gone. The blood isn’t much to go on, and he can’t focus to find Hiei’s spiritual energy over the thrum of his own pulse. His whole thing is his spiritual awareness, but he’s still not great at sussing out energy signals when they’re purposely being concealed. Not like Kurama or Hiei.
But he’s been around Hiei long enough to know the feel of him. That familiar, sharp-edged pulse of power is still out there. Dim. Fading. Flickering like an angry little coal in the dark. Kuwabara turns toward it and starts moving faster.
There’s more blood now. A smear across another rock where Hiei likely leaned against it to catch his breath. A dark stain in the dirt. Kuwabara’s chest tightens. Hiei wouldn’t leave a trail like this unless something is very wrong.
Then he sees him.
Hiei is slumped at the base of a tree, one knee drawn up, a hand pressed tightly against his side. He looks pale—too pale—and the blood has soaked through his shirt and down his arm.
His eyes snap up when Kuwabara gets close. Even now, even like this, Hiei still manages to glare like Kuwabara’s arrival is some kind of personal offense.
“Kuwabara,” he rasps, like it hurts to say.
“Yeah, nice to see you too.” Kuwabara drops to a crouch beside him. “Don’t move. You’re bleeding like crazy.”
“I’m fine,” Hiei grits out, but immediately winces.
“Sure you are,” Kuwabara mutters. “That why you’re leaking all over the forest floor?”
He reaches for him, and Hiei bats his hand away. There’s no real strength behind it.
“Go,” Hiei says. “You don’t have to be here.”
Kuwabara ignores him. He peels Hiei’s hand away from the wound. It’s deep, the skin around it raw and angry, smeared with dirt and inviting infection. He doesn’t know what exactly hit Hiei, but it’s enough to scare him.
“Damn it,” Kuwabara mutters, pressing his hand over the gash. He’s exhausted from the fright, and sore all over, but he still has a little energy to spare. His hand warms, tingling as his energy seeps into Hiei.
Hiei watches him work, eyes narrowed but unfocused. The wound itself responds, but only slightly. There’s something interfering with his healing, and Kuwabara fears that even if he poured life energy into it, the toxin Kurama mentioned would still prevent him from making much progress.
“Kurama said you’ve both likly been poisoned, and that it’ll need to work through your system.”
Hiei grunts and turns his face away, eyes already closing.
“You’re always like this,” Kuwabara says under his breath as he searches his pockets. “Trying to go down alone like some kind of tragic lone wolf. Doesn’t suit you.”
He finds a clean handkerchief and presses it into the wound. Hiei hisses through his teeth. His hand shoots out, gripping Kuwabara’s shirt—not hard, but tight enough to be deliberate.
Kuwabara freezes, and for a second neither of them moves.
“You should leave,” Hiei murmurs. His voice is thin. Quiet. “I don’t need saving.”
“I didn’t come all this way just to leave you here to bleed out,” Kuwabara says, softer now. “I came because I don’t want you to die.”
Hiei doesn’t answer. He doesn’t let go, either.
Kuwabara shifts closer, pressing the linen more firmly into the wound. He’s slowed the blood flow some, and the handkerchief seems to be picking up the slack. Hiei flinches again at the pressure but doesn’t make a sound. His hand stays fisted in Kuwabara’s shirt, trembling slightly now.
This close it’s clear Hiei’s burning up. Fever has already set in, and Kuwabara curses under his breath.
“There’s no way you’re walking out of here like this,” he mutters. “Alright, short stack, we’re doing this the hard way.”
He slides an arm under Hiei’s legs and another behind his back, lifting him with a grunt. Hiei tries to protest—Kuwabara feels the tension in his shoulders, the effort to push away—but his body doesn’t cooperate.
“Don’t,” Hiei breathes. “Don’t carry me.”
“Too late, I’m not giving you a choice,” Kuwabara snaps, hauling him up, gritting his teeth as his own ribs protest. He shifts him closer, adjusting his grip so Hiei’s weight settles more comfortably against his chest. “You wanna argue, save it for when you can stand. Right now, I’m getting you out of here before you bleed out and make this whole forest smell like an overcooked demon. Besides, it's not like this is a new situation or anything.”
Hiei doesn’t respond. His head drops against Kuwabara’s shoulder. His breathing is shallow, and Kuwabara can feel it—warm and uneven—against his neck. He starts walking, slow and careful. Hiei’s dense for his size, but the weight isn’t much. Every step feels like a balancing act, though—like one wrong move might snap the thread holding Hiei together.
They don’t speak as they go. The silence is heavy, but not hostile. Just… tired. Resolute. After a while, Hiei shifts. His fingers are still clenched in the fabric of Kuwabara’s shirt. It’s not in protest, simply holding on.
“You always come back,” he murmurs.
Kuwabara stops walking.
The words are soft, barely more than a breath—and for a moment he thinks he imagined them. But he did hear them, and they hit him like a punch. He looks down. Hiei’s eyes are open just enough to meet his.
There’s something raw in them.
Neither of them moves. A beat passes. Kuwabara doesn’t know what to say. His chest tightens.
“Yeah,” he finally manages, voice rough. “I do.” Kuwabara’s heart hammers in his chest. Their faces are so close. Too close. He could lean in, could tilt his chin—
Hiei’s eyes flutter shut. His grip on Kuwabara’s shirt loosens, not completely, but enough to let the moment pass. Kuwabara lets out a slow breath and keeps walking.
“Whenever you’re ready, shorty,” he murmurs. His arms tighten around Hiei, quiet and steady, like a promise he can’t say out loud.
***
By the time Kuwabara catches up to the others, the sun has started to dip below the trees. The sky is painted orange and gold, the light catching in the smoke still drifting from the ruins of the battlefield.
Yusuke looks up first. He’s sitting beside Kurama, who’s still awake and drinking water from a battered canteen. Both of them are bandaged and tired, but alive.
Kurama’s eyes land on Hiei slumped against Kuwabara’s chest, and something flickers behind them—relief, mostly. Maybe something else.
“He’s alive,” Kuwabara says, voice hoarse. “But he needs real help. That wound’s bad, and I can’t heal it.”
“Damn,” Yusuke mutters, standing quickly. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”
“He didn’t want you to,” Kuwabara says, no accusation in his voice.
Yusuke takes Hiei carefully from Kuwabara. With Kurama's help, they guide him to the ground. As Kurama checks the makeshift bandage, Kuwabara sinks down onto a nearby rock, breathing hard for the first time since he ran into the woods. His muscles ache. His ribs scream. His heart’s still going like he’s mid-fight.
Kurama glances up at him once—just once—but it’s enough. There’s understanding in that look. Gratitude. Maybe even approval.
Yusuke pulls a blanket from his pack, settles it over Hiei. “He’ll make it,” he says, then eyes Kuwabara. “And you?”
Kuwabara shrugs. “Been worse.” He looks at Hiei, who’s out cold but peaceful now, his brow no longer furrowed in pain.
Yusuke drops next to him. “So, you found him and saved his life. Bet that’ll really piss him off when he wakes up.”
Kuwabara huffs a laugh, but doesn’t answer.
Kurama, still focused on Hiei, speaks without looking up. “He won’t say it, but you did the one thing he least expects people to do.”
Kuwabara blinks. “What’s that?”
Kurama finally lifts his head. “Stayed.”
The word hangs in the air, soft and weighty.
Kuwabara doesn’t reply right away. He just looks at Hiei—at the faint crease in his brow, even in sleep, like he’s still holding onto something he doesn’t know how to let go of.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kuwabara says quietly. Not for Kurama, not for Yusuke. Just for himself.
Maybe for Hiei, too.