Yes, Ice Freezes. Yes, Kerfuffle. Yeah, I know. But the inspiration parakeets struck, and it was far too late to back out then. This was just an idea... What if, in the story Two Shots (volume seven of the manga, how Hiei and Kurama first met. Hiei thought Kurama was working for a powerful demon, Eight-Hands, who he also thought had kidnapped Yukina (Hiei was wrong on both counts). When he attacked Kurama, Kurama grew a sword out of a blade of grass and fought him. He won. Hiei had this huge sword wound across his chest that Kurama said was "awfully deep", but Kurama healed him up. Yeah. Brief summary there, kind of sucky), Kurama hadn't taken Hiei back to his house and healed the sword wound? What if he had said "Screw this, he tried to kill me!" and left him to die? What if, wounded and dying, Hiei sought out someone else to help him? Yeah. That's it. Well, uh, read and review! As for the title, well, Hiei's a fire demon and Yusuke's Spirit Beast is a phoenix, so, for lack of a better title...

I yawned, flipping the channel. Cheesy movie. Junk. Cartoon. Junk. Reality show. Junk. Another crappy movie. Junk.

"Can't you show something that doesn't suck?" I demanded of the television.

Its response was showing another crappy movie. Throwing my hands in the air in a "why bother?" gesture, I flipped the channel again. Lo and behold, more junk. Wednesday TV really did suck.

Throwing the remote down, I walked into the kitchen. Food would make me feel better! I grabbed a bag of popcorn from a cabinet, threw it in the microwave, and punched in "four minutes". That sounded about right.

All this I was doing instead of schoolwork. Yup, I had what should've been an hour's worth of homework from the past three days (I had skipped every one of them) and had no intention of doing any of it. I mean, I wasn't going to repeat the friggin' grade, so why bother with the homework?

Hi. I'm Yusuke Urameshi, age thirteen. I'm called a juvenile delinquent by my fellow classmates. My mom doesn't particularly care about me, and my only friend is a girl named Keiko who's always hounding me about not doing enough. I've spent more time in arcades during school hours than any other kid in the city, I knew where best to hit a guy to incapacitate him from age six, and I've been pretty much taking care of myself since my mom knew I was old enough to be left home alone without killing myself or burning the place down. My life sucks, doesn't it?

I shrugged, moving to grab my popcorn from the microwave, which had beeped at me as if complaining that I hadn't hurried fast enough. Was everyone yelling at me? A gush of awful-smelling air came out of the microwave, and part of the bag was a blackish color. Ah. Burned. Just great. I figured that I'd leave it for my mom to take care of. Not my worry, eh? I was too lazy to pop another bag. 'Sides, it was probably the last one anyway.

Someone tried to open my door right then. I mean, no knock or anything. I know I'm rude, but really! I guess locking the door hadn't been such a bad choice after all. I cocked my head to the side, curious. No one ever came here except for the gangs my mom got in trouble with or occasionally Keiko; my mom was out with the former, probably getting drunker than an Irishman during Oktoberfest right now, and it was far too late for the latter. Who the hell was this?

I opened the door. After all, I could take care of myself. I've been fighting with the other kids since the third grade and was quite good at it. I didn't think I was in any real danger, and if I was, well… I never was one to plan ahead. The point is, I opened the door.

A short, and I mean "welcome to Munchkin land" short, guy half-stepped, half-stumbled in. His eyes were an unnatural red, and were huge in comparison to his head. Hair that was every bit as black as mine stood straight up, as if the guy had had a bad run-in with some punks and gotten it glued in place (I'd done that to someone once. That showed them, trying to steal my stuff!), and a bright white patch was in the front. Of course, what got to me most was the fact that he was clutching his chest as if trying to keep his guts in. Blood had soaked through his weird black cloak (seriously, is this guy some kind of cultist? Red eyes and a black cloak… Really!) and stained his hand, too. A sword was belted at his hip, although it looked hastily done. I guess he didn't want to lose it but couldn't take any real time what with that cut.

He swayed on his feet a little, staring at me blankly, almost like he couldn't even see me. He blinked once or twice, and then looked at me.

"Against my better…judgment, I'm looking to you…for help. I'm dying," he spoke slowly. I guess he was too hurt. Must've been one hell of a street fight for knives and swords to have been brought in. Nothing like my usual fistfights… Although I've been in stuff plenty tough! Really! "Help…me."

I reached for the phone, about to call 9-1-1. He needed the hospital, not me. The hell was I supposed to do?

"Don't," he said. Suddenly, he gasped, eyes wide. It must be paining him… "You can't…call anyone."

"Why the hell not?" I demanded, staring at him like he was crazy. First he tells me to help him then he tells me not to!

"Because…I'm a demon…and you're one too."

With that, his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed, splattering blood all over the floor.

Suspend belief for a second and say that Hiei could sense Yusuke's ma-zoku heritage. Please, for the sake of plotline. Okay...yeah. Please tell me what you think.