A/N: Err... yeah, I found this under my AP Euro papers and decided to type it up. I am SOOOO sorry for its lateness! TT I hope people still read this... probably not...

S.N.R.

Recommended listening: Walking the Air by George Winston

Heal My Wounds

Chapter Two- Comforting, Yet Not Touching

The intricate red flames marring his body burned as Hellfire would, a deep raging heat that reminded him of the endless suffrage of living, knowing that its path was to kill him after draining every last drop of his spiritual power that alone threatened to be his end. These were the same powers that gave his parents the compulsion to be so cruel as to sell him to a man dressed in white, looking as an angel would. Yet, he was hardly an angelic being that had simply dropped down from the heavens.

He was the devil himself, if not a demon already. He lusted after the small child in ways the boy himself didn't even know about or want to imagine. It was he, the man, who cursed him that way, needing a youngling's spiritual power to allow his own will to run strong, his will to kill so many others less fortunate than the boy's alone. But the boy knew his end was soon to come. This burning upon his skin was the signal to him that the day of death would come very soon, perhaps not soon enough.

But now, as the boy lay in the darkness, feeling the curse work its way into his blood, he felt, even if for just a moment, a soft touch, a cool feeling against the power of the fire, a feeling that counteracted the curse, a feeling he had never before felt for as many days as he had been alive. A throbbing headache soon began to settle in and a groan passed those dusty, tainted lips without fail. Despite the headache, despite the burning, the boy longed for the cool touch that was sweeping over various parts of his body, shoulders down, flitting over the milky white skin…

Green eyes snapped open and the small body sat up as fast as the strained muscles would allow and a gasp of surprise was heard from a little far off, but the headache pounded blood into the boy's ears, thumping louder and louder. He tried to bring his heavy arms up to hold his aching head, but he found that his limbs were frozen in place, unmoving. Panic beginning to take over a mind. Thinking this was some other form of punishment to endure, that they had found him and taken him back to that Hell, he opened his mouth to let out a scream, yet none escaped, not even a squeak.

The youth whipped his head around as he felt hands place themselves on his shoulders, trying to ease him back down. Finally finding strength within and a voice he knew had long since been filled with pain, he began to struggle against this stranger, shields being brought up to wave off the foreign emotions, a voice crying out against the hold desperately in a damaged, broken tone. "Hanase! Hanase!"

"Whoa, calm down!" the stranger said, their voice much different from the lust-filled voice that the youth normally had to wake up to. Blinking and his struggles dying down a little, the boy looked up to meet tired, lively purple eyes, a shade unmatchable in neither human nor demon. Chocolate bangs fanned in and out of the vision line of those eyes, those eyes that held such odd emotions that the boy began to act up his struggles again.

"If you don't stop struggling, then you'll die!" the stranger shouted, pushing the boy back down on his back onto the unfamiliar bed. The boy blinked up through sandy ashen bangs that fell gracefully over his green eyes, which began to fill up with surprise. In less than a second, he felt his power act up and he blasted the man away from him as was part of his defensive tact, a tact that helped him a great deal when it came to people forcing themselves upon him.

The unfamiliar person groaned and got up the floor before trying to make his way back, holding his burned hand that was now covered in blood. The boy glared at him, straining to edge away from this man. He gaped in shock as he watched the burn marks ebb away and the drops of blood vanish as the wound immediately healed. Glancing back up to those eyes, the boy took a quick look around and gasped.

All around, him candles were lit, giving off a faint incense he did not recognize. An open book lay near the bed, which was glowing slightly. Looking down at his arms and legs, he found that he was in the same situation as he had been when he had run away (not counting the location change), the red marks marring his skin and the burning become more intense now because he was awake.

He felt his back strike the bed again as he was laid back down, no more will within him or strength he could find to stop this person from doing so. Surprisingly, it was all he did. So far, anyway. The boy looked at him through hopeless, half-lidded eyes as the individual turned, flipping through the book for a minute or two. What in the world was this stranger doing? Why didn't he just hurt him or kill him and get it over with? The youth watched as he saw herbs being mixed into a small clay bowl and crushed with some red powder and water. What was this man doing?

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked quietly, finally finding his voice again amidst the tension in the air that had before kept him from speaking. The man gave him a look, an odd look, as if he were wondering why such a question.

Turning back to what he was doing, the stranger changed the subject and asked, "What is your name?"

The boy bit his lip, trying to decide whether to answer or not. Whoever this was could know where he was from and immediately take him back there, back to the place he had tried so hard and had planned for years to get away from. His mind thought otherwise and answered for him. "Hisoka."

"Well, Hisoka, I'm not going to do anything with you," the man replied. "Intimately, at the very least. I know you don't want that after what you've been through. Besides, I have no reason to hurt you."

"Who are you?" Hisoka asked angrily. "You speak as if you've known me for years, but I know you just found me somewhere! Who are you?"

"Tsuzuki Asato," he replied somewhat dully. "The sorcerer."

"Sorcerer?" Hisoka repeated, raising a fine eyebrow. This was a first. The only sorcerers he knew of were back from whence he had come, and their spells and magic was dark and nothing like this. This man wasn't touching him at all and he used herbs, not emotions. At least, he did so far. "Does this mean you're like every other magician?"

"Magician?" Tsuzuki looked at him with a surprised look before shaking his head, turning back to his work with a small snort. "No, no, no, not a magician, I assure you. I can do spells, certainly, but I prefer to aim towards helping people with my magic and talents, not the other way around."

"If that's true, then what are you going to do with me exactly?" Hisoka asked angrily, sitting up again as his defensive powers already beginning to act up again, despite the fact that the man wasn't near him enough to touch him.

Tsuzuki sighed and his hands stopped their work with crushing herbs, instead adding the wiccan powder Hisoka had only seen in a widow's home when he was younger, much younger, before he was found out to be "demonic" and sold to the man in white. The purple eyes looked up to meet his and for a moment, the man's shields dropped. Hisoka's breath hitched as he felt the emotions radiating off in stronger waves, all the concern, the worry, the care, the sadness, the sorrow…His hands instinctively came up to clutch his head in a futile attempt to block out all the emotions he could feel. Why was this stranger feeling so much for him? Why?! All in a second, the shields were back up and Hisoka remembered how to breathe.

"Daijoubu ka?" he heard the man ask quietly. Hisoka's eyes focused and glared at the speaking person, as if to silently say "Does it look like I'm ok?"

Tsuzuki stepped back. 'I knew it,' he thought, feeling slightly guilty. He turned back to the red herbs he had been crushing. "You're an empath," he said, more as statement than a question as he added a spice to the herbs and a small amount of water. The ingredients were slowly turning into a paste, much to Tsuzuki's relief.

Hisoka gave the purple-eyed man a look. So he knew. Now what? Would he shove him away and call him a demon? Accuse him of being a monster and murder him now? Force him to succumb to torture? All were possible and things Hisoka knew too well. The teen's look faltered and he looked away. "And...?"

Tsuzuki tore his eyes from his book to the blonde. "And what?"

"What're you going to do to me?" Hisoka asked for the second time, forcing all emotion out of his voice, as if what he said was an automatic response.

Tsuzuki gave him a weird look. "Help you, of course."

That got the emotions back into the boy's voice, surprisingly. "W-what?"

Tsuzuki tilted his head slightly. Had the boy never gotten help in his life before? "I'm going to help you," he repeated while turning back to the crushed herbs and powder. "I know how you've been cursed and I want to help rid you of it."

Amethyst eyes glanced up to meet the shocked emerald and it felt as if, for a moment, time stopped for them both as both minds processed unspoken questions and thoughts. It was as though there was a small connection between them, despite having just met, and each small word had triggered something inside of the teenager. No one had ever come to help him. Did this man expect something from him?

"What do you want?"

Tsuzuki blinked as the question floated around the room on broken wings, waiting to be caught. Tsuzuki caught it with his eyes and he blinked again to make it vanish. The tone the boy had used when speaking those words was a tone of defeat, of fear... And Tsuzuki decided it was best to reply with truth. Tersely.

"Absolutely nothing."

Was it possible for eyes to get any wider than they already had been? As Tsuzuki watched Hisoka, it was apparently proven true. He had never seen such shock and disbelief run through a person's eyes – much less a young teenager's eyes – and it surprised him a little. Tsuzuki set down the bowl and walked over. Hisoka leaned back away from him for a moment as he stopped at the edge of the bed and sat down.

"What are you so afraid of?" the sorcerer asked.

Hisoka glared at him. "Baka, I'm not afraid..."

"Your eyes tell me another story."

The glare was replaced by that same shock. Tsuzuki looked straight into the bottomless green eyes before he spoke again. "They tell me you're afraid; you're scared by every move I make. Do I truly frighten you, Hisoka?"

Hisoka stuttered, shock in his eyes, his body almost shifting into a defensive position. "N-no, it's not you..."

Tsuzuki mused on the choice of words before he sighed and stood. "I'm almost done. Then I'll need to ask your cooperation, Hisoka."

"Cooperation for what?" The teen's tone was even again.

"Cooperation to touch you."

The horse atop the cliff let out a shrill neigh as a cold, cruel hand tugged its reins sharply and unexpectedly. Eyes as cold as frost-bitten grass seen every morning in past spring gazed over the fading horizon before darting up to the Eastern Border, where the moon, full as ever, began to rise.

'He won't escape me forever...' Then a smirk. 'My beautiful little doll.' And with that thought, Muraki tugged the reins and turned his horse, galloping back to the main road.

He was the man in white who had no true name.