Hair the Color of Sunlight
The silence was unbearable.
Ordinarily Goku would be everywhere, More often than not exactly where he was least wanted; being his usual childish self and leaving everyone to wonder what he had been like in his 50's. Silence was a rare gift, something to be cherished even if it involved being up at ungodly hours to avoid the stupid monkey. Or it should have been.
Now, though, silence was a curse; a biting feeling in the pit of his stomach and a clawed hand squeezing his heart. Sanzo didn't understand; didn't want to understand. Why should silence seek to kill him? Why would peace and quiet steal his breath and blur his vision whenever his mind wandered from whatever arduous task he forced it upon? Why was he trying not to remember, yet never wanting to forget?
Perhaps it had something to do with empty golden eyes and a shattered body in the mud. With blood and bruises and the sickening thud that Goku made when he landed. Maybe it was how the broken frame shuddered as it fought to stand; fought itself and the monster before it with a single-minded determination to protect Sanzo.
To protect him.
He could no longer hear the voice calling for him. Perhaps it was that silence that drove him insane.
@~@~@
"Is he awake?"
A flash of blood red hair, woven through callused fingers. Hakkai wrapped his other arm around Gojyo's waist, emerald eyes never leaving the boy before them.
"Yeah, but he won't respond. I don't think he sees us." Worry, out-of-place in the lilting voice. Amber eyes stared at the ceiling, the left half-closed in swelling, and beneath them parched lips bled from inside and out. Bandages covered the body like a second skin, tying together the shreds of true flesh. Goku was red and gold, purple and yellow and green; like a sunset. His body would heal, eventually; it always did, but it was his eyes that worried them. They were dilated as if in darkness, lost in some unknown memories where light was not a factor. He did not speak, did not eat; the only assurance of life was the rattling breath and the occasional blink.
"…and Sanzo?" Fingers traced the twin scars, as if they held all memories of pain; not just one man's personal suffering. As if they held the answers, and the questions, and the thoughts he could not even process. Gojyo looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye, expectant.
"He threatens to shoot me whenever I try to talk to him, unless it is to tell him how Goku is doing. He won't leave his room, and whenever I look in on him he seems to be listening for something."
Breath, erratic and painful, wheezing like bellows and tainted with blood. Eyelids descended on golden eyes, and Goku blinked.
"Listening for what?"
The silence was short, painful, heavy with reminder and uneven gasps until Hakkai spoke, more in an attempt to rid himself of the eerie sense of wrongness than anything else.
"I don't know."
@~@~@
Darkness, endless darkness, bereft of light and sound and feelings. Yet he could see, somehow, he thought. But the images made no sense; they were unfamiliar, detached and nonsensical as in dreams. Still, they felt more important. He was sure he would know what they meant, if only he tried harder.
What was he? He had no body that he could tell. There was only darkness, and images; like memories, but not. Like dreams. Only more important.
He couldn't remember sunlight. It was locked deep inside him, hidden in shattered bones and his broken mind along with other things that were important. Very important. He felt that it was essential to remember, whatever they were. If he could remember that, then he would know what he was. There would be more than darkness.
Only they weren't memories; they were dreams. Right?
Yes. Dreams, but was he sleeping?
No. He was awake, he was aware, blind but for the images. Memories? How could he have memories if he didn't exist? If only he could reach the strangeness the danced on his fingertips, just within grasp, but he was too small. Too short. He needed someone taller. Someone taller could reach the sparrow.
The sparrow.
Had he not been blind, the flash that ensued would have done the deed. A cascade of dreams, memories, images, over in a length of time too short to measure. He understood, though, and remembered. Remembered someone's else's life. After all, he didn't exist; it couldn't be his memories. It couldn't be him that sat behind rock bars (why was he there?) and held out his claws (why did he have those?) to the tiny bird. It wasn't him that laughed against soft feathers, his eyes bright with unshed tears of happiness. Why would he be so happy to see something so small? Why would the tiniest sign of life make him happy? Yet something nagged him, pulling at his mind with slippery fingers as it told him of the sparrow, of the way he laughed for its company though he knew, somehow, of its death. So similar to something else…if only he could remember…
And there he was again, grasping in the darkness for something he wasn't even sure what there, for something he didn't know how to use even if he did obtain it. But this was important, he knew it was, if only he could reach the something buried in the darkness. The something that would ease his burning need to know and grant him sight. Fingers grasped futilely for whatever-it-was, catching on air and falling short of their goal, as if bound by invisible chains.
Chains.
Another flash of memory, brighter then before, and chains glittered on his wrists from behind the strong stone bars as he strained to reach the sparrow. Only it wasn't him; it was someone else, right?
He wasn't so sure. He could feel the pain where they dug into his skin; in fact, he could feel pain everywhere, and he grasped for the lifeless body with his claws and vaguely wondered why they needed chains. There were already stone bars, but he was strong enough to break them.
Why was he so strong? What had he done to be imprisoned so? How could he survive in that lonely cave with no food or water? What was he?
If these were memories, what had happened? Was he alive? What was this darkness? Where was the something just beyond reach, and why was it important?
He didn't know. It just was. It was vital, crucial, the one thing that could move him from wherever here was to wherever he was supposed to be. He knew he was supposed to be somewhere, but where? What were the dreams trying to tell him? What were the memories showing him? Random images of things long past, spent alone in a cave. Was this what he was? Was this all he was to be?
What had happened to him, to be left in this darkness, between here and there and things he knew were in between? Why couldn't he reach what he needed, why would he be abandoned to blindness and half-remembering, swallowed in darkness forever, condemned to not know and not feel and not reach the one thing that would make everything alright. He would love it if he could just…
Love.
And, quite suddenly, his mind exploded, the somethings and the unknowns cascading down like waterfalls and avalanches and Goku knew.
He was drowning in sunlight and memories and blinding brightness that banished the night, and for a second all he could see was red and green and hands holding him up, and then the memories returned full-force. They blocked out his sight, and through his light-dazed eyes he could see the sunrise through his eyes, and feel the chains fall from his wrists as from in front of the bright came a man with hair the color of sunlight, and eyes such as he had never seen.
Sanzo, who took his hand and his heart and gave back only tolerance, and hard on the heels of knowledge came more memories. Memories of blood and crunching bones, memories of the need to save the object of his unrequited love, because if he died right there he would die knowing Sanzo was safe.
Knowing that he had saved his sunlight, his god and his sight, given himself completely to the monk who gave nothing back. To the monk who would ultimately break his heart, and Goku knew that he preferred a broken body to something so painful as that, and so he chose.
He chose to die, because he remembered the sparrow. He remembered brief happiness and then soul-shattering loneliness, and it was better to take the memories of happiness and run before the hurt caught up with him.
It was better to die before Sanzo could react to those three soft words he has whispered to his savior as he felt the light in his eyes flicker into nothingness, followed closely by his body.
Only something had gone wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
He had lived. Lived to face 'I love you'.
@~@~@
It was then, only inches of plaster and worlds away that Sanzo's eyes flew open, forgetting to breathe as the silence was broken. Shattered. Showering like shooting stars around him as he heard the words that had brought on the cursed silence.
The voice that called for him, begged him to return, to save, to love and hold and, for once, be the protector of. The voice that had shattered his icy shell as quickly as it decimated the silence, ripping it to shreds as the monk catapulted out the door, his fevered mind echoing with 'I love you'.
He tried to be calm in opening the door, he really did, but his hands were shaking too hard to work the doorknob, and cursing his body the monk tried it with his foot. The door exploded.
And there was Goku, coughing up blood as he held onto Gojyo, his small frame wracked with sobs that were not entirely of pain. His eyes were no longer blank, but wide and panicked in some unknown fear. He saw the door burst open, but golden eyes avoided violet, and shifted nervously behind the soft green glow of healing. Sanzo took a shaky step forward.
Slowly, the cuts began to heal a bit more, until Hakkai was exhausted and Gojyo released Goku in favor of his lover, who he half-carried out of the room. The monk and the monkey were left alone, comforted only by the erratic breathing and the hiss of air through teeth. The blonde somehow made it to the bedside, his fingers worrying a cigarette. Only concern for the boy's breathing kept it unlit.
His eyes were falsely dispassionate, a storm of apathy and emotion as he stared down at the demon stuck in that delicate frame, and he frowned. Goku closed his eyes, and settled back onto the bed, his movements halting and painful to watch. The silence returned, but Sanzo didn't mind so much anymore, because it wasn't truly silent. It never would be so long as Goku was alive. He sighed, brought the cigarette to his lips, and then, remembering its state of unlit, dropped it back down to his side. The movement was repeated four times before he grew sick if his neurosis and ground it into the floor with his foot. Sanzo sighed, massaging his forehead, and from below him the bedsprings creaked.
"I'm sorry," weak, pitiful, not like the boy at all. Amber eyes slid from his own like molten gold; just out of grasp. It annoyed him to no end, this meekness and submissive nature so unlike the usual energetic demeanor. Sorry? Sorry for what? For protecting his, Sanzo's, ass when the monk didn't do so much as lift a finger to protect him? For almost dying for a man who never showed him one ounce of encouragement? What had he done to deserve such loyalty? Such love? Nothing. He hadn't even meant to save the boyish demon; he'd gone to hit him over the head for being so annoying. And Goku was sorry?
"Sorry!?" His voice was rough, ground out of a suddenly tight throat, and at the sound of it the brunette winced again. He still wouldn't meet Sanzo's eyes.
The monk sighed, reaching forward to grasp the delicate chin. Golden orbs finally flew to his own, and a face carved in the very image of apathy seemed to struggled with some unknown emotion.
He wanted to tell Goku not to be sorry, to tell him to calm down because he certainly wasn't going to hurt him. To hurry up and get better so that he could stop worrying, and to quit feeling guilty for something that wasn't even his fault.
But instead, Sanzo leaned forward, capturing the half-healed lips in the gentile kiss. Then he pulled away to press another on the trail of dried blood that curled from the slightly gaping mouth, and then down the bruised chin to ghost over the thin cuts on his throat. Lower, to the fractured collarbone and the gashes on his bare chest. Then he was back at the lips, his fingers skimming over shattered flesh. He was heedless of the wounds until a small hiss of breath from Goku reminded him, and then Sanzo pulled back, leaving only a hand on the curve of slim shoulders.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," his voice was always stern, and yet somehow it seemed softened, and the brunette looked up at his savior and smiled, his eyes bright with unshed tears of happiness. Sanzo sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Now move over, saru," he commanded, though despite his words it was he who gently eased the wounded boy to one side before settling down next to him. Warmth spread through his icy demeanor as he turned to Goku, settling a careful arm over the demon's shoulders. Fingers danced on the healing backbone, gentile whispers of touch that sent shivers across the smaller man's skin. Then two pairs of eyelids eased shut, and for the first time in days they both slipped into dreams, and for the last time in their very long lives they remembered what it was to sleep alone.
Small fingers buried themselves in hair the color of sunlight, and Sanzo obligingly bent closer, his lips touching Goku's in a brief kiss before voluntary darkness overtook them both, and neither felt the urge to pull away.
Only Sanzo heard the words whispered in the peaceful silence of sleep, and only Goku heard the reply, because that was the way it was meant to be.
Both of their dreams were devoid of darkness, and through two sets of eyes the memories were reborn as chains shattered and they watched the sun rise, and in Goku's mind the sparrow took flight in a flurry of wings, resurrected by the dawn.