Chapter Text
Two more weeks. Two more weeks until these damned casts come off and Kurapika can wear normal pants again. Two more weeks until he’s allowed to put his full weight on the healed breaks in his legs and start weaning himself off the wheelchair and crutches for good, one short walk at a time. Two more weeks until Kurapika can scratch the infuriating itch on his right shin instead of sitting stiffly on Leorio’s couch, losing the thread of his latest rant about anatomy lessons and drug names and microbiology, or whatever flavor of the month Leorio is cheerfully complaining about this time. Kurapika has trouble keeping his expression from souring into a scowl as he tries to erase the stubborn itch out of existence with willpower alone. God, he can’t wait.
“Geeze Kurapika, I hate RNA mutations as much as the next guy, but what’s with the face?”
“Fine, you caught me,” Kurapika sighs, losing the battle against his frown. “This itch above my right ankle is driving me insane. I’ve been trying to ignore it but it isn’t helping. I haven’t been able to focus on a word you said for the last five minutes. I’m sorry.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Leorio asks as if this solves everything.
As a matter of fact, it does.
“Check this out.”
Kurapika can’t use nen anymore but he can still feel it. Leorio taps two fingers of each hand in a cross shape against the place where Kurapika indicated on the outside of his cast; a small, concentrated, pulsing wave of pressure soon follows, smoothing away the itch instantly. Sweet relief. Kurapika is too grateful to feel jealous.
“So what do you think? I’ve been working a new palpitation skill as a diagnostic tool. Turns out it also has some other uses.”
“Leorio, you’ve saved my life.”
“You’re welcome!” Kurapika can hear the proud grin in Leorio’s voice. “Hey, do you mind if I check how your fractures are healing? I know your doctor is already on top of things; I’m just professionally curious.”
Yeah, well, Kurapika’s doctor at York Shin General can’t make his re-growing calf muscles feel like they’re being treated to a day at the spa. “Go ahead. By all means.” Kurapika loses the thread of the conversation all over again as he melts into Leorio’s couch. He can’t help it. Leorio’s voice is so soothing. Kurapika’s healing legs have sapped the energy out of him for so long that the instant he stops actively trying to focus on a task, he’s never more than three seconds away from keeling over into an emergency nap.
Some time later, Kurapika stirs into the awareness that Leorio is snickering at him.
“I have become too powerful.”
“Shut up,” Kurapika grumbles with no menace in his thick, gravelly half-yawn. Reaching toward the warm gravitational pull of Leorio’s weight indenting the couch cushion, just beside where Kurapika’s curled up legs had been, Kurapika uses Leorio’s shoulder as a pillow. During the next few minutes of peaceful silence, Kurapika feels disinclined to move as the world around him sharpens back into wakeful focus. Leorio doesn’t seem to mind.
Then there is a marked shift in the atmosphere. Something is making Kurapika’s pillow a lot less comfortable all of a sudden.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“So, this is probably nothing, but…”
Kurapika lifts his head, directing his furrowed brows toward the sound of Leorio’s voice.
“Have you heard from Gon and Killua lately?”
All Hunters have a sixth sense. Now that Leorio has mentioned it, Kurapika doesn’t need his Dowsing chain to pick up on the feeling that something isn’t right. “I must confess that I have not had the chance, no.” He’s tried to catch up on all the missed calls, he really has, but now his calls are going straight to voicemail.
“Me neither, for weeks now. I get the impression that they’re somewhere with no cell reception. I hope they’re doing okay.”
“They’d better be.” Kurapika’s right hand tightens into a fist at Leorio’s waist. Goodness knows both of them have enough to worry about already. The last thing Kurapika needs is someone new he is utterly incapable of chaining down to Hell.
When it rains, it pours. Soon enough, the bad news comes in the form of a phone call from Morel Mackernasey, an experienced Hunter who had been fighting alongside the boys in the NGL.
Chairman Netero is dead; the ballots to elect his successor are on their way.
Gon is in the Swardani City Central Hospital, hanging on to life by the barest thread.
Killua is facing off against his own family.
Leaping up out of his seat so quickly it throws Kurapika off balance, Leorio is ready to fly straight to Swardani City without so much as a change of clothing in his briefcase.
If Kurapika still had eyes, they would be scarlet. Well, they are, but God damn it, that’s old news. Gon and Killua are so much more important.
“I’m going with you,” Kurapika growls before Leorio could dare to tell him to stay put and focus on his own recovery. More motivated than ever to walk again, Kurapika hauls himself up onto his feet and paces around Leorio’s studio apartment on his crutches like a caged tiger. What else is he supposed to do? He doesn’t have the means to heal Gon himself. He can’t even see him. Being physically present, offering the smallest straw to grasp at; Kurapika at least needs to say he tried before he finds out yet again that it’s too late.
Action is the only way he knows how to fight against a great crashing tsunami of helplessness. Depending how long this goes on, Kurapika has a million phone calls to make: cancelling his last four physiotherapy appointments and rescheduling them in Swardani City, because he does still want to get the casts off, working out some kind of remote arrangement with the grief counsellor, shuffling scheduling around with Senritsu and Basho, notifying Mr. Nostrade of his impending absence- and then there’s all the minutia of booking his travel arrangements and accommodations.
Wait. Kurapika’s racing thoughts crash to an abrupt standstill at a hitch in Leorio’s breathing. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t responded-
“Not Gon… why him? He’s the sweetest kid in the whole world. He didn’t deserve this. I should have been there! I should have helped! Why didn’t I learn nen faster!?” Leorio’s voice shatters into loud, wet, unfinished sentence fragments, punctuated by sobs. “I could have- if only- this isn’t-”
All the rage drains out of Kurapika as abruptly as if Senritsu were playing her flute right by his ear. “Leorio.” Kurapika sinks back onto the couch, carefully sets down his crutches and pulls his close friend into a messy, tear-stained hug. In this moment, this is where Kurapika is needed the most. “You didn’t know. You’ve been helping me. You can’t be in two places at once.”
“Then why does all this shit have to happen in two places at once?” Leorio snivels pathetically as he begins to regain control. “You’re still hurt.”
“I’m getting better.”
“I’m still catching up on my late assignments from last month.”
“Talk to your professors. They will understand.”
“I have midterms.”
“Postpone them.”
“Geeze, Sunshine, you make it all sound so easy.”
“Good.” Because it is easy; startlingly so. The ability to reprioritize has been the most useful thing Kurapika’s blind eyes and broken legs have taught him.
*
The next two days pass by in a whirlwind of emotion that simultaneously feels both incredibly fast and unbearably slow. Kurapika barely registers dropping everything and getting on the next airship to Swardani City, tugging Leorio along by the elbow. His arrival in the hospital is a blur of hushed conversations with other injured Hunters he has never previously met, the beeping and hissing of life support machinery, and an interminable span of waiting. Waiting his turn to see Gon. Waiting for more news from the doctors and nurses. Waiting for Killua to come back. Waiting for Gon to stir from unconsciousness, to breathe on his own, to say something, anything - Kurapika doesn’t want to show Leorio, Senritsu, and all these sympathetic strangers how it breaks his heart all over again.
Kurapika feels numb sitting by Gon’s bedside, almost glad that he can’t see what a terrible shape the boy is in. Gon has grown long and thin and achingly fragile, like his body has been stretched until it’s ready to snap. What little Kurapika can feel of his arm through the bedsheet is all skin, bone and bandages, offering meagre warmth. Kurapika finds his hand and gives it a squeeze anyway. Gentle. Reassuring. He wishes he could chase away the dark, oppressive aura hanging over Gon like clouds before a heavy downpour. Who did this to you? Kurapika doesn’t ask, because he knows all too well. Gon did this to himself. Kurapika knows, because he can feel the same dark, clinging echo over his own heart.
In the meantime, Kurapika participates in the Hunter Association’s Chairman Elections, grateful for the way the lively, twisting political machinations take his mind off his worries for a moment. Kurapika is immediately deeply unimpressed with Ging’s careless attitude – not just about Netero and the Chairman Election, but about his own son. So this is the father Gon has gone to such lengths to meet? How is it possible for Ging to show such utter disregard for his flesh and blood when Kurapika would quite literally kill for the chance to see his clan again? Kurapika would absolutely kill to save Gon too- or burn as much of his own lifespan as it would take for Emperor Time and the Holy Chain to put the smile back on Gon’s face.
Hearing Leorio’s impassioned speech, the way he punches Gon’s father and the way all the assembled Hunters cheer for him brings Kurapika a much-needed smile. Not like it’s going to sway his vote. Sorry, Leorio, your heart is gold but your head is inexperienced, impulsive and too easily manipulated. Fuck Pariston; he really is a Rat. Kurapika was tempted to sleep through that smarmy asshole’s speech just to spite him. Kurapika’s vote is for Cheadle, sharp and loyal and logical.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Gon bursts into the chamber like pure sunlight, greeting Leorio in his high, clear and cheerful voice. Kurapika hears running footsteps, a crash, a thud, the whoosh of air out of Leorio’s winded lungs right before the medical student dissolves into incoherent blubbering. So many emotions hit Kurapika all at once; he can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Is he really okay? Can Kurapika believe his ears? What about Killua, did he escape from his deadly family? Surely Gon wouldn’t sound this happy otherwise?
By the time they all met up again in York Shin City, those two had become inseparable. Kurapika remembers Gon and Killua chasing each other around the park after declaring an all-out food war. He remembers their capture by the Ryodan, their escape, the hostage exchange, the crippling migraine, the guilt tearing him apart as he left both of them behind without even saying goodbye. He realizes with a dawning horror, that hostage situation was the last time he would ever see them. How could Kurapika have made such a grave mistake? Their faces are already becoming hazier in his memory. Kurapika will never get to see what they look like when they grow up.
Then Gon’s footsteps approach Kurapika slowly, as if the boy has cornered a flighty endangered animal. “Oh no, Kurapika, what happened to you?” He hugs Kurapika so carefully he could be spun from blown glass, and suddenly Kurapika is crying so hard he can’t even begin to formulate an answer.
*
Hours of explanations later, Kurapika still doesn’t feel like he has caught up on everything. Already raw with emotion, Kurapika finds it easier than expected to bare his own soul. He fills in Gon, Killua, and even Leorio and Senritsu on all of the defining moments that brought him here, starting from his childhood and ending with his long recovery. In turn, Gon and Killua tell Kurapika about Greed Island and Kite and the Chimera Ants and all of their new friends. Killua’s presence is much stronger and more confident, but a tense, unspoken gap has become palpable between him and Gon. Cleared of his binding nen covenant, Gon seems to have no aura at all; Kurapika wonders if this should worry him. He makes a mental note to talk to Gon privately later.
Sitting somewhere among them is Killua’s sister Alluka (and Nanika), neither of whom Kurapika gets to meet properly just yet because they need a long time to sleep off a miracle. Gon asks Killua if Nanika could heal Kurapika’s legs and eyes after they have had a chance to rest, like it’s an obvious solution, like Kurapika has done anything to deserve a stranger paying off the debt he owes to his own arrogance. Resting an arm on Gon’s shoulder, Kurapika shakes his head. He is walking in Pairo’s shoes now.
*
Kurapika does not join Gon, Killua and Alluka on their outing exploring Swardani City; he would only slow them down hobbling around on his crutches. After the long, hectic journey to get here and the subsequent emotional roller coaster, Kurapika is content to hang back and get some rest.
Or so he tells himself.
He still can’t quite process what happened – the idea that he could have lost Gon and Killua so easily. He could have missed it entirely, not knowing until years later, or never. What emotional scars are they still hiding beneath flawlessly healed skin? Does Kurapika even have the right to ask, given the way his own emotional turmoil exploded in all their faces, and how he ran away instead of owning up to the result of his actions?
He knows Killua comes from a broken family, with impossibly high expectations, mind games and manipulation, and a twisted sense of protectiveness that once smothered the spark of life from Killua’s eyes. But Gon? Gon was always smiling through all their hardships like it was nothing but a game to him. He enjoyed the challenge. He enjoyed winning against all odds. When things appeared to be at their grimmest, he brightened the spirits of everyone around him until the tables were turned. What could have possessed him to wreck himself like this?
Kurapika is utterly shocked, surprised, at a loss. But… he realizes slowly, belatedly… maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe the signs were always there. The determination to hunt down his father at all costs. A twelve-year-old so willing to throw away his life, so willing to accept that if he failed it would be because he is unworthy. Kurapika remembers Gon’s broken arm and his swollen, bruised face, taking repeated beatings from Hanzo during the Hunter Exam and then from Canary at the Zoldyck Mansion, because he didn’t know when to give up. Kurapika can’t blame him. Kurapika didn’t know when to give up either, until every last drop of morale was squeezed out of his body. Even after that, maybe he still doesn’t. Is that what it means to be a Hunter? When is the sacrifice really worth it? Kurapika will be renegotiating the answer to that question- with himself, with his grief counsellor- for a long while yet.
Gon returns to Swardani City Central Hospital by himself. Kurapika can hear the forced smile in his voice when Gon relays a few stories of Ging’s adventures, only dropping in the revelation that Killua has now decided to make protecting his sister his priority as a soft, pained afterthought. Kurapika, who is devastatingly good at reading between the lines, can also hear a whole lot of what Gon isn’t telling him. Gon feels like he has failed, like he isn’t good enough, like he can no longer keep up. Gon is riddled with guilt and loss and the sharp, sudden devastation of loneliness that Kurapika knows all too well– surrounded by well-wishers who will never understand. Does Killua think it’s too late to protect Gon anymore? Does every glimpse of Gon’s open, honest amber eyes remind Killua of the gaunt shell of a human being who must have been unbearable to look at beneath the covers of his hospital bed only a day ago? Do Alluka and Nanika make Gon feel like he no longer belongs in Killua’s life?
A decision crystallizes in Kurapika’s heart.
“Gon, may I come with you to Whale Island?”
“YEAH!!! I mean, really!? I mean- what about your mission?”
“My mission now is to be a better person, and a better friend. Everything else can wait.”
*
Sea salt. Wind whipping about his hair. Hot sunshine on his skin. Rhythmic splashing waves, flapping canvas pulled taut in the breeze, seagulls crying overhead. A sense of hope, of promise, of setting out on a new adventure. Funny how Kurapika missed out on all this last time on the boat to Zevil Island, choosing instead to shut out the world and bury himself in his books. Leaning half his weight against the railing over folded arms, balancing himself against the gentle rocking of the ocean, Kurapika closes his sightless eyes and inhales deeply. Standing at his right, Gon gives him a friendly elbow bump.
“What do the sea birds have to say about the weather this time, Gon?”
“Nothing!” Kurapika can hear him grinning. “They’re hungry and they’re looking for fish.”
“Good.” As thrilling as it was to ride out a massive thunderstorm on the open sea, Kurapika really isn’t in the mood to repeat the experience. Another ten minutes and just standing here is going to be taxing enough on his weak legs.
A long, contemplative silence descends between the two of them. Is it strange to think back upon that journey leading up to the Hunter Exam as a simpler, more innocent time? Yes, Kurapika’s life was already long since torn to shreds by then, but it was before he had blood on his hands. Before nen. Before covenants and restrictions and a chain around his heart. Before turning his eyes scarlet on purpose, sapping his lifespan like it meant nothing to him. Before Ubogin. Before Pakunoda. Before nearly throwing Gon and Killua under the bus on a violent impulse, struggling not to succumb to Kuroro’s provocations from the back of the car. But it was also before healing and counselling and the realization that Kurapika has new friends who are vitally important to him. It was before he placed value on his life as a precious thing, not to be discarded as mere currency on a hopeless path to ruin. Before he began to make peace with himself, his sins and all his failings. For all that he has sacrificed, Kurapika still wouldn’t go back to that time even if he could.
A sudden, shaky intake of breath from Kurapika’s right brings him out of his reverie and back into the present. Gon’s voice comes out very small, nearly inaudible over the wind. “Hey, Kurapika?”
“One moment, please. I need to sit down.” Kurapika’s legs have decided for him. There’s that familiar ache in his mending bones, the quivering of muscle as it grows too tired to compensate. Gripping the railing for support, he carefully lowers himself into a cross-legged position. When he is settled, he reaches out in Gon’s general direction, finding one booted foot. Kurapika taps twice on hard leather and shoelaces then pats the wooden deck beside him, inviting Gon to sit. “Go on. I’m listening.”
Gon lets himself drop like a stone, huffing out an exasperated breath. “Do you ever just… wish you never left home at all?”
“I… yes. Every day.” Kurapika sighs like he’s had all the wind knocked out of him. “Oh Gon, I’m so sorry you feel that way.”
“What’s so great about being a Hunter, anyway? Why would Ging choose this over… over me? If I knew I was just going to lose my nen, and that I would get in Kite’s way and they would die and reincarnate in the wrong body because of me, and that I would make Killua fight his whole family-”
“Gon. Gon, slow down. One thing at a time. I’m here. We can talk through this.” It’s heartbreaking listening to Gon rapidly growing upset, his voice quieter and more toneless than Kurapika has ever heard it. Gon is a child, and he’s been through so much. As Kurapika gathers him into a one-armed side hug, Gon shifts sideways to cling hopelessly with both arms.
“I often regret leaving home,” Kurapika starts over, trying to steer his own train of thought past the old, familiar despair that keeps trying to disguise itself as a form of comfort. “But then I get to wondering. Would the Genei Ryodan have inevitably found us anyway? Would I be dead? Would I be happier knowing we had all died a violent death together with no survivors and no one who would even try to return the Scarlet Eyes to their rightful graves? If my clan were still alive, but it meant that I never got to leave, would I ever be satisfied with that sheltered existence, having already read through my father’s entire library dozens of times? Would I trade having met you and Killua and Leorio, and Senritsu and Basho, in exchange for my best friend Pairo, my parents and my eyesight? Ultimately, I don’t wish I had never left home after all. It isn’t what Pairo would have wanted for me. And I would never trade you away, Gon. You deserve better.”
“I do?”
“Of course.”
“Even though I traded Aunt Mito away to become a Hunter, just like Ging?”
“You are not ‘just like Ging’. You are the kindest, brightest person I know. You have brought smiles to me on my darkest days. And you did not trade your Aunt Mito away. We’re on our way to see her right now.”
“…She’s going to be mad.”
“And then she will forgive you.”
“Yeah…” Gon’s shoulders stubbornly refuse to loosen. “Do you… do you think Killua will forgive me too?”
“Have you forgiven me for nearly getting myself killed facing down the Ryodan alone?”
“There was nothing to forgive, Kurapika! When I saw that you were hurt, I was too shocked and scared to be angry. If I had more time to think about it, then I would have been angry at them, not at you. I just wanted you to be okay.”
“Then there’s your answer. Maybe Killua has already forgiven you. Maybe he needs time. Maybe the person he needs to forgive the most is himself.”
“I miss him.”
*
Kurapika’s first impression of Gon’s Aunt Mito is admiration. Strong and unsentimental, she jumps straight to the point instead of letting bottled emotions fester in the same way Kurapika would have only a short time ago. She is as solid as a rock. Her voice is neither raised nor strained. One small scolding and one big hug later, suddenly Gon’s most immediate worry is the mountain of schoolwork he has to catch up on.
While she leaves Gon to struggle with the consequences of playing hooky for two years, Mito launches the full force of her attention into making Kurapika feel welcome. Introductions and pleasantries are exchanged. This is Gon’s aunt. This is Gon’s great grandmother Abe. Here is the kitchen, and Gon’s room is up the stairs. Oh god, stairs. Kurapika will have to start working stairs into his daily exercise routine, slowly and with exaggerated care. Until he is sure he can make it to the top without any issues, he’d probably better sleep in the kitchen, or outside in the warm grass.
A bath, a batch of washed clothes, and a generous, delicious helping of lunch later, the prospect of a nap under a tree is suddenly nigh irresistible. Next time Kurapika promises to help with dinner, not just the dishes. Next time Kurapika will jump in and rescue Gon from his homework, just as soon as Kurapika has sorted out his own work and the loose ends remaining with his health care. He’s good at math. Once upon a time, huddled together over books with Pairo, Kurapika thought he could have become a good teacher, too.
*
Kurapika’s second impression of Mito is that she sees through to his very soul. He feels it in the comfortable, non-judgemental silence between them as they chop vegetables. He feels it in the way he never wakes up alone on the days when everything feels like more effort than it’s worth- picking up his phone, picking up his body, picking up his clothing, even picking up a pair of chopsticks. Someone is always there, Gon, or Mito, or Abe, coaxing life back into Kurapika’s dulled emotions with a steaming bowl of breakfast that smells too good to refuse.
Gon’s smile is returning at full force; Kurapika can hear it in his thundering footsteps just as much as his voice. He’s never done this well in school before, and he glows from Mito’s hard-earned praise.
Kurapika’s mentorship for the unwavering encouragement of Gon and his family: this is a fair exchange, Kurapika thinks. He likes it here. Soon he knows his legs will be healed and itching for adventure. Until then, why hurry?