Changing Fate
AUTHOR: Angelhart
GENRE: hurt/comfort
STORY: oneshot/drabble
STATUS: complete
RATING: K+
DISCLAIMER: Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi / the television series are produced by Sunrise. I do not own Inuyasha, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Written for Inuvember 7 th day. The free day in friendships and relationships. I wanted to write about a friendship that (I believe) has not been written about. The relationship between Mushin and Miroku.
Mushin became like a father to the monk when Miroku's actual father died due to the Windtunnel curse.
I this short one shot Miroku is still a young boy who struggles with his newfound fate. For how traumatizing must it be for a child to have witnessed his father's death and shortly after has come to learn that he will probably die in the same way.
He had watched him from afar for quite a while. In the distance the child seemed just a mere statue as the boy sat there quietly on the edge of the deep crater. A deep sigh left his mouth as he watched the boys other hand toying with the beads that were surrounding his right arm and hand. The third generation. And Mushin's lips formed a scowl.
"Curse you Naraku," he muttered. The fingers of his right hand pulling slightly on his mustache. Demons were known to toy with the likes of mankind, but this particular fate was most cruel. "You battled one demon you shouldn't have fought." He had said it to Miroku's grandfather before and heard the words leaving his mouth again.
The man had been stubborn. Not knowing when to back out from a fight. And the man – like all men in Miroku's family – had one weakness. The beauty of women. And the demon had explored that in the end when he realized he couldn't defeat his adversary so easily. Bounding the monk and his offspring to a terrible fate.
And now, three generations later he, Mushin, was forced to witness the results of it again. As a close friend to the family he had been raised with stories of the monk's family curse that would befall all male children. He had seen its effects on their lives and that on those they loved.
And for the second time as an adult he had to deal with it again.
For a moment he stared at the jar of sake on the table. The liquid courage to face his own demons from the past. As he rubbed his chin he pondered if perhaps a drink would clear his mind of the images that haunted him so he could focus on what needed to be done.
"Too much," he muttered absent mindedly. "Too much for one man to bare."
But the child wouldn't be alone. Not if he could help it.
Turning away from the alcohol that called out to him he stepped out on the porch and walked down the stairs to the infant in the distance.
As he walked towards the child he sighed again.
At least the boy's father had been older when the cursed passed onto him. Gnawing on his bottom lip Mushin felt guilt wash over him as he realized he was relieved that he wasn't bound to such fate himself. That in all his stupidity when dealing with demons himself he had never met one that had left him with such torment. And he had been a stupid youth a lot of times during his life.
Swallowing some saliva deep back in his throat he realized he regretted he had not filled his stomach with that familiar warmth before he would be dealing with this shit again. At least I will be spared to deal with this a third time, he thought. He was certain he would not grow that old to see one of Miroku's offspring fall under the same curse. And in a harsh moment he thought it would be even better if the curse died with the boy this time. But if the boy resembled his father and grandfather that would most likely not happen. His mouth forming a smirk when he thought about the older version of the child which back was facing him. How many women hearts he would break.
Mushin watched the silent form of the child in front of him. The infant looked so small sitting on the edge of the crater like that. Young grass sprouting from the soil, life already repeating that endless circle again. Soon the remaining void would be filled with flowers. A peaceful grave for the man who once stood in the middle of the field while the vortex consumed him.
"Are you going to sit here all day?" Perhaps the tone in his voice was a bit crude, but he decided it didn't matter. What was done, was done.
The young boy didn't react. Mushin only noticed the shoulders sag down a little more.
"You can either sit here and wait for fate to catch up with you, or elude it for a while and perhaps find a way to change it."
The boy looked up. His face was wet from tears. He held out his right hand and Mushin flinched for a moment. Luckily the beads were sealed as he had taught the boy. A lesson that the boy had to learn quickly. One he had anticipated the moment the boy's father disappeared into the void. Regaining his composure Mushin looked at the covered up palm.
"I don't want to die like that, master Mushin," the boy pleaded.
Mushin's expression softened, feeling sympathy for the child's fate. The infant looking up to him in desperation. The stretched out arm a plead for help. But there was nothing within his power the old man could do. He could share the knowledge about the curse he had come to learn over time. But this was not a simple curse that could be nullified that easily. These were the type of curses that could only be undone by the death of the demon that had placed the curse upon the boy's family.
Mushin had no knowledge at all where that demon might be. And to be honest, he was a coward himself. He had faced the demon once in his life time and had been fortunate to live to see another day.
The demon had looked into his heart and had found the weakness there. One he didn't want to know, but was a part of his personality he disliked. Fear… Cowardliness.
"Are you so eager to bound yourself to the same fate, monk?" The creature before him had asked. And it had chuckled as he had backed away. As he couldn't push himself passed that feeling of fright to avenge.
He had always enjoyed a good drink, but from that day on those eyes, the dark malevolence in them haunted them each day, each night. And he couldn't escape them not without the nulling effect of alcohol drugging his mind. Banishing the illusion – for he knew it was just that, an illusion – from his vision. So he found solitude in said drinks and in the arms of warm female body. And each time he would sober up the eyes would be there. And that laugh would echo in his mind.
His own curse. That he didn't have the guts to face his own demons. Not like the boy's grandfather had done or the boy's father. And he would be damned to hell if he would allow this boy's fate to entangle with his own.
"Get up," he said. "You will gain nothing here by watching the grass grow on your father's grave. You hold your own fate."
The child blinked and pulled his hand back slowly. Staring at the covered palm, clenching his hand into a fist and unclenching over and over again. As if that would make the curse go away. But these words had to be spoken. The boy would find comfort in the healing warmth of a women's flesh one day when the nights would seem endless and without redemption. Now the boy would need discipline, training, to toughen him up.
"You will dishonor your father by admitting defeat. He has not raised you like that." And as he spoke those words, this time not alcohol filled his hearth with strength, but his own determination. To redeem himself from his own shortcomings. A second chance.
And he ignored the envisioned chuckle and the gleaming eyes as he pulled the boy to his feet and grab hold of his arm. Pulling the boy with him towards the old temple. His right hand reached for the staff that was standing against the staircase. Grabbing hold of the boy's left hand he manipulated the small fingers around the shakujō.
"This was your father. Now it is yours to wield. I will teach you. When the time comes to face your demons you will be ready.
And as Mushin eyed the young lad holding the shakujō he noticed a resemblance for it seemed not so long ago the boy's father had stood before him like that, staff in hand and had asked him to take after his son. And he had heard the howling wind of the tunnel in the palm of the man signaling his soon to be end.
One day, Naraku, you will meet your match. One day young Miroku you will perhaps be able to change your fate.
Reviews are most welcome ^-^
Arigato Gozaimashita