Title : Washing It Off
Theme : 25. Blood
Warnings : slight spoilers via reference for an episode in Gensomaden if you look closely.
Disclaimer : Saiyuki is the property of Minekura Kazuya. I just like screwing with the boys' heads.
Summary : There's still blood on his hands, no matter what he does.
Author's Notes : Slight 39 if you look closely. Self-beta. All fuck-ups are mine.
WASHING IT OFF
He stuck his hands under the stream of cold water, scrubbing vigorously with the soap. Sanzo scrubbed until it felt as if his skin would peel off from the slightest touch, scrubbed until his skin was raw and red. The bar of soap he was using broke in half and he threw it angrily across the bathroom, taking little satisfaction in the sound of it hitting the wall.
The monk was distantly aware of someone shouting his name outside the door. He ignored the noises. Frustrated, he turned off the faucet and sank down slowly to kneel on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom, his hands still holding onto the rim of the sink.
He could still smell the blood on his hands, could still feel it after all the washing he had done. He could still see the demons falling to the ground around him, eyes wide in surprise even as they died, a bullet lodged into their heads. You should have been the one to die, those eyes told him.
They didn't know that he had died already. More than ten years ago when he had killed someone for the first time.
Self-defense had always been a given. There was no way he would—could—kill someone in cold blood. He was getting tired of it, getting tired of the endless days on the road broken up by the occasional town or demon attack. He wanted out. He wanted this journey to end, wanted to just find the damn sutras then go home.
The shouts were getting louder. Hakkai and Gojyo had probably found Goku; only the monkey could make so much noise. They were threatening to break down the door. Sanzo simply sat there, hands shaking as they gripped the sink, eyes shut, the scent of blood invading his senses.
How could he wash it off, the feeling of the lives he had taken weighing down on him? He was jaded but everyone had their limit. Everyone was entitled to be weak sometimes.
The sound of splintering wood reached his ears, making him look sharply over his shoulder. The bathroom door was broken in half, split down the middle, and Goku was stepping through the remains, nyoi-bou in his hand.
The brunet made his way towards Sanzo, dropping down on one knee before the blond. His nyoi-bou blinked out of existence, ready to be summoned the next time it was needed, and he took the monk's hands in his.
"Sanzo," he said softly, "you use a gun."
The monk had to smile at those unspoken words.
You won't get blood on your hands with that weapon.