Bffimagine: This is just a senseless, plotless one-shot I wanted to do because I was inspired by making my own pizza. DO NOT ASK.
Miroku: I suppose we look like pizza to you, correct?
Inuyasha: Just because I wear red does not mean…
Forty-eight days had gone by. They seemed like hundreds of years to Miroku.
It was forty-eight days ago that Naraku had attacked, and forty-eight days since he'd sent them to what seemed like barren wasteland.
Also, it was forty-eight days that Miroku had to carry Sango, Shippo and Kirara.
Those forty-eight days had been long and taxing, since Miroku was badly wounded and he and Inuyasha lived on scarce food and water; nothing grew or lived in the awful place.
Sango had collapsed during the battle; exhaustion took her over. Kanna had simply knocked Shippo out from a particularly cruel bang to the head. Naraku and Kagura fought against Miroku and Inuyasha harshly, but once the houshi and hanyo gained the upper hand Naraku transported them to the barren desert.
Miroku had forced Kagome to return home and never come back three days prior to this, and his heart still tugged at him. He was a kind as he could possibly be; and Kagome was compliant enough. She and Inuyasha had a conspicuously violent argument, and from then on, they ACTUALLY hated each other. This went on for three weeks before Miroku decided they should part: forever. Also, it was for her safety. He tried to get Sango to go to her own village as well, and Inuyasha helped him try and convince her, but their persuasions were futile.
He knew his time was running short. Miroku knew his Kazaana wouldn't stay under his control for much longer. He had told Inuyasha, but the hanyo refused to leave his side. And although Sango didn't know for sure, she had guessed and decided she'd help destroy Naraku, not only to save Miroku but because she had a right to see the awful you-kai's mangled corpse just as much as the other two.
Trudging through the sand, Miroku swallowed with a parched throat.
"Are you alright back there Miroku?"
Miroku looked up at Inuyasha.
"I'm fine."
"I should carry them," Inuyasha suggested, "You've been carrying them day and night without resting. My wounds have already healed, but you're now more severely injured than you were before."
Miroku began to say no but the steady gush of blood running over his body reminded him of the severity of his injuries. He was running a high fever, fatigued from blood loss, weak and very tired. He knew he wouldn't survive any more than two days with these conditions.
"You have three broken ribs, a sprained wrist and a fractured broken leg. If you continue carrying them I'll knock you out and carry all of you." To Inuyasha this actually seemed quite a good idea.
"You need to rest Inuyasha," Miroku insisted, "And so do they."
Inuyasha was tempted to slap Miroku across the face. How could he worry so much for the welfare of others when he was the worst off?
"That fever has gone to your brain! I don't need any rest, and they've been resting enough. You've given most of your water and food to them, even though we don't have enough for the two of us to survive! How can you be so foolish!" Inuyasha's temper was exceptionally bad with the heat and dryness.
The wind brushed the torrid sand across the vast area, and a demon popped up in front of them. It was a demon in the form of a human, and both Miroku and Inuyasha seriously doubted it was friendly.
"So your blood is that sweet smell," the demon commented casually, sniffing Miroku warily.
Miroku inched away and Inuyasha stomped toward the demon. It was a male about as tall as Inuyasha, had pointed ears, green eyes and elegant golden hair. It was lapping up Miroku's blood like a hungry dog.
"What are you doing? If you don't want to be killed, get out of here," Inuyasha warned.
The demon didn't back away. It smirked and bit down into Miroku. As it pulled its teeth from Miroku's shoulder, it smiled and leaned toward Miroku's face.
"My name," it hissed almost seductively, "Is Wareyaro."
Wareyaro sunk his teeth into Miroku's other shoulder and Miroku whimpered under his breath.
Inuyasha grabbed Wareyaro by his hair and attempted to yank him off Miroku, but he didn't budge. Inuyasha unsheathed Tetsusaiga and slashed off Wareyaro's hair.
Not even a flinch interrupted Wareyaro. He was drinking deeply of Miroku's blood, and, as Inuyasha noticed, Miroku was just about to pass out.
"GET OFF HIM!" Inuyasha bellowed, stabbing through Wareyaro with the red Tetsusaiga.
Inuyasha watched in horror as blood flowed into the stab wound and it healed completely.
"What… what are you?" he stuttered, backing away.
Wareyaro came up from Miroku and smiled.
"A demon. Need I say more?"
He bit into the nape of Miroku's neck. This time Miroku gasped in agony and struggled against him.
Miroku grew deathly rigid and Inuyasha's eyes darted to him, never leaving his face. Wareyaro has inserted his tongue into the bite and was seemingly drinking with it.
"In case you're wondering," Wareyaro explained, "My tongue has teeth of it's own. It can drink just as I can."
Almost gagging, Inuyasha swiftly cut off Wareyaro's tongue. It melted into a garish purple-greed fluid, and seeped through Miroku's neck. Instantly, Miroku collapsed and writhed in pain: his bones were breaking; some were jutting out of his flesh, his fever spiked higher than Inuyasha thought humanly possible, wounds opened on every inch of his body and blood pooled and soaked into the sand around him.
"You dare cut off my tongue?" Wareyaro seethed acidly, "Now your friend is poisoned. But since you defiled me in such a manner, I think I will kill him."
Wareyaro stroked Miroku's face gently and pressed his lips down onto Miroku's bloody ones.
Something like jealousy boiled in Inuyasha's veins, and his blood bubbled.
"Get away from him," he seethed, wielding Tetsusaiga above his head.
When Wareyaro pulled away from Miroku's lips, they were bruised and bleeding, but also a nasty black colour.
"It's a shame I have to kill you," Wareyaro said softly, "You're a beautiful young boy. No wonder this… Inuyasha… loves you so."
Inuyasha felt as if he was slapped across the face with ice water.
'Me? Love Miroku? But… I… I…'
"Don't deny it Inuyasha. You love this boy."
"How do you even know my name?"
"I can read it. I can read everything in your mind. But, strangely, I can't read his." Wareyaro motioned to Miroku.
'Is Miroku really stronger than me? But… how?'
"This boy is much stronger than any demon you will meet," Wareyaro continued, "Because he will have demon in him in the near future. Then he will be much stronger than you could possibly comprehend."
"Why? Why does Miroku have this power?"
"Ah. His name is Miroku. Yes, I did pass by it in your mind. Anyhow, he has died before, so he's much more different than anyone. He's an incarnate god; all he needs to unlock his power is to somehow have demon in him."
"Incarnate god?"
"That is why I've been sent to kill him. He's a huge threat to Naraku."
"You've been sent by Naraku!" Rage boiled through Inuyasha, heating his body with an angry fire.
The Tetsusaiga tore through the air and caught Wareyaro through the heart, and he disappeared. Another demon dead on Naraku's cause.
"Miroku," Inuyasha murmured softly, "I love you."
"I love you too, Inuyasha," Miroku mumbled quietly, through his bleeding lips.
Inuyasha turned sharply and looked into Miroku's eyes. They were perfectly focused, despite his burning fever and unstable condition. The half-demon brushed a few sweat and blood-soaked strands from Miroku's naturally pale face, never taking his eyes off Miroku's violet orbs.
Picking the younger boy up, Inuyasha kissed him deeply, and Miroku responded eagerly but with weak motion.
Somehow, Inuyasha had managed to get them all out of the accursed desert. They arrived in a cool rain-forest-like clearing, where fish and fruit were plentiful and water was in infinite supply.
Sango finally awoke during the last stretch of desert; she carried Shippo since Inuyasha refused to allow her to carry Miroku. Kirara awoke as well, and Inuyasha and Miroku rode on her back.
Now, in this beautiful area with bounty in plants and animals, Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Shippo and Kirara took refuge in the shelter and finally were able to get a decent amount of water.
Miroku had not stirred; not a bat of an eyelash, nor a twitch of a finger. Inuyasha was constantly holding his hand and nearing tears.
'Don't die Miroku. Stay with us,' Sango silently pleaded, watching both Inuyasha and Miroku sleep. The stars seemed to be watching them intently, as if they were important deities that needed supervision.
The abundance of trees and hiding places allowed Shippo and Kirara to frolic as they pleased, playing hide-and-seek and tag.
Inuyasha was constantly hunting, fishing, gathering food or watching Miroku. Sango hauled water and built fires, and she also spent a lot of time sitting by Miroku and sewing leaves and demon hides together for shelter from the rain.
Shippo had various chores as well, like finding firewood and planting trees after Inuyasha cut one down. He had to look for salt and herbs for salves and medicines, and Kirara was needed to help him around.
There were various resources around them; metals, minerals, gems and different kinds of stone. Sango used the metals to make various repairs to her Hiraikotsu, and the others were used occasionally.
Every moment passed by with a graceful swirl of hazy thought, as life seemed to drone on and not pause for any latecomers.
And with every moment Miroku's condition worsened.
"We can't go on just by living in a tent, Inuyasha," Sango stated one day, "The weather is becoming colder and Miroku's becoming more ill."
It was true; the poisoning, the fever, and the other sicknesses—they had all somehow converged into one disease they could not seem to combat.
"He can't seem to breathe," Inuyasha noted aloud.
Sango peered at Miroku.
"Of course not!" she retorted, "He's gotten pneumonia! And I can bet he's anemic and has all sorts of other diseases by now! But we just can't DO anything!"
She began to sob, large, wet globules of tears rolling down her face.
"We can do something. We can believe in Miroku and hope for the best." Inuyasha took Miroku's hand in his.
Shippo returned with Kirara and four buckets of water. Sango had fashioned these out of reeds from the water's shore.
Dismounting, Shippo carried the water to Inuyasha.
Cupping his hands, Inuyasha allowed water to trickle down Miroku's throat. He noticed grimly that all the wounds looked fresh and exactly as they did when they were inflicted on him.
To all of their surprise, Miroku spluttered and opened his eyes.
"Inuyasha? Sango? Shippo?" he looked at them disbelievingly, and he blinked several times.
"We're here, Miroku," Sango said, wiping away her tears.
"You're finally awake!" Shippo chimed in.
Kirara made a noise as if she were chirping.
Miroku's eyes became suddenly wide, and he shot up without warning.
"Stay back!" He yelled at all of them.
Confused, Sango and Inuyasha moved closer.
"STAY BACK!" Miroku hollered as loud as he could, the effort shredding his throat.
He could feel his Wind Tunnel widen, so though it caused him much suffering he got up as quickly as he could and tried to run off. His broken legs screamed in defiance, dislocating and protruding from his skin.
"Miroku!" Inuyasha yelled, running after the monk.
"INUYASHA! STAY BACK!"
Miroku turned away and ran, blinded by his pain. With every step the Wind Tunnel deteriorated his skin and became larger and larger. He could feel the pull from the pit of his stomach.
Blood was covering him in a thick sheet of crimson, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He knew he couldn't go much further, but there wasn't much further to go. Just had to be… out… of… reach…
Miroku collapsed against a tree, his back being cut by the rough bark. His vision swam and he could see Inuyasha's face near his.
"Inuyasha, I love you. Please… don't cry for me when I'm gone. Just take care of Sango. Please… go." Miroku fell unconscious and slid down the rest of the tree's trunk.
"Miroku! Don't leave! Stay with us!" Inuyasha pulled Miroku into a tight embrace, his ears being caressed by Miroku's silky hair. The tears that dripped off his face mingled with Miroku's blood as he held his in his arms.
A weird pulling feeling made Inuyasha look up.
'The Wind Tunnel!'
Inuyasha could also sense another presence; it was a demon for sure. But he didn't know which direction it was coming from, nor where it would attack.
Something entered Inuyasha's mind. He wasn't sure what it was, but then he saw Miroku standing in front of him.
"Miroku? Where are we?"
"Inuyasha," Miroku smiled, "My time is short. Within a few seconds my life will end. But you have to go on, Inuyasha. Make peace with Kagome. Take care of Sango for me. I love you."
"Please, don't go. I never learned of your childhood, but you knew all of mine. Please, just tell me what I want to know before you move on. Tell me… tell me because I love you." Inuyasha was on his knees.
"Once I tell you, I will have to move on. You will see why in just a moment."
FLASHBACK
Miroku's father looked at his tiny infant son with adoration but also with disdain; once the child was born his mother was sucked into the hole in his hand. Before the child was wrapped in cloth, his hand was bound with juzu and a glove was put over it.
"I shall name you Miroku; under Buddhist ways, follower of Buddha. That shall serve as a befitting name, for no love or affection lies within it. Though you shall be the one to end the curse and slay Naraku, I will never love you, never care for you as mine. You killed your mother; you are a murderer. Therefore, Miroku, I hate you. And once I pass on, you shall not be accepted ever again. Instead of a father's blessing I give you this; you shall die a painful death whether you succeed in bearing an heir or slaying Naraku or you fail. You will find love at the end of your life, and you will be short lived."
Turning away, Miroku's father handed the infant to Mushin.
Miroku had turned six years old, and saw his father once a year for one day his whole life. He thought of himself as a curse; his father never showed any signs that he appreciated his son, no matter how hard Miroku tried to impress him. One night he overheard Mushin and his father talking, when he was supposed to be asleep.
"Do you not think the child hates himself enough? Do you know how taxing it is on him for him to know he killed his mother and that you gave him up of your own free will? That you abandoned him?" Unusually, that night Mushin was sober.
"I care not for the child. He killed someone, and that is all that I need to know. He is a murderer and a curse, even more of a liability than this hole in my hand."
His father's words stung worse than anything Miroku had ever faced. Every day he did hard chores that boys more than twice his age struggled with, and he had to do them at a difficulty level increased by ten-fold. He worked hard to make his father proud, even though he knew his father hated every bone in his body. All he was to his father was a puppet you use for your purposes then throw away once it amuses you no longer.
Every night Mushin was drunk, and out of his alcoholic madness he beat Miroku until bones cracked, until blood poured from every inch of the child's skin. But still no complaint escaped Miroku. He had to be strong and prove to his father he wasn't worthless.
()
Two years later, Miroku watched his father die. What should've been a happy moment in his life, to rid himself of them one that hated him so, it was solemn and sad. He watched in horror as his father's body was twisted and broken then sucked into the black void. He knew that would happen to him one day, and tears filled his eyes.
That night Mushin was particularly drunk, having had more alcohol than ever before. That night he almost killed Miroku. Almost put him out of his long-suffered misery. Almost.
But he didn't. Miroku barely lived through that incident, and that night he didn't crawl back to his bed because he was so badly injured. That night he didn't push back his tears. That night he curled up into a protective ball and cried. Cried because it hurt, cried because he hated himself, cried because it didn't end. He cried because no one loved him.
()
The rest of the years passed by, and Miroku never cried again after that night when he was eight years old. As he grew up he took the torture, knowing they were punishments for existing.
Mushin never knew what he did to Miroku. Miroku never showed it. The poor boy just worked and worked, and when Mushin noticed a welt or gash Miroku would lie and make up a story so it kept the old monk's suspicions at bay.
But every night Miroku would lie in bed and apply salt to his wounds, bind his broken bones with pieces of cloth he ripped from old garments or his childhood clothes. With every strip he tore from his outgrown clothes, he hoped a piece of his pain and a piece of his memory would disappear and fade as well. But they never did. Instead they clung to him worse than burrs and stung worse than the salt to his blood.
When Miroku turned fifteen he left Mushin and had to fend for himself. Under constant attack from demons, he was always bleeding and broken along his wandering. Just like as a child.
Every encounter left him with a new scar or so. All they did was go right with all the scars he acquired from his beatings. Those scars from childhood refused to fade, just like the scars on his mind and heart. Just like the scars that would never, ever, go away.
After meeting Inuyasha not long after turning sixteen, Miroku felt as if he belonged, which was very awkward for him. He would often venture off alone during the night and return just before dawn. He thought that hopefully with his new friends the scars would finally begin to go away.
However, on the contrary, they deepened, re-opened and became worse. He always feared the Wind Tunnel would take him while he was with the others, thus resulting in all of their deaths.
Yet he still managed his happy, careless, perverted façade everyone knew him for.
All of this led to now, when Miroku was exactly sixteen and a half, and so much pain was bottled up inside he didn't know whether he'd live through another day. He just let those days sluggishly roll by, and tried his hardest to protect the ones he loved and keep them happy. He tried hard not to let them see his agony. He tried not to show them his tears. Then why did it hurt so much? Why was it so hard?
Every waking moment made Miroku want to just break down and die. He never slept; nightmares haunted his mind. Inuyasha would often find him awake and tell him to go to sleep, slightly unnerved by the pure look of deadness and terror so prominent in Miroku's eyes. The conspicuous doubt; the pain and insecurity.
The desire for love, the desire for life. But most of all, the desire for salvation.
END FLASHBACK
Miroku had finished telling his story. Inuyasha was in tears.
'I knew my day to die would some soon. I knew Inuyasha would be sad. But why does it hurt so much more than anything else? Why is it so difficult to move on? Why can't I let go?' Miroku shook his spirit head and closed his eyes.
Opening the vivid violet pools, he lightly stroked Inuyasha's cheek.
"I love you. Please move on; find another. Don't cry for me. Be happy and have no regrets. I love you, Inuyasha, son of Inutaisho. I love you." Miroku faded into the dissipating night mist.
Inuyasha was lying in a crater. The only thing left of Miroku was his staff and prayer beads. Nothing else was there.
"Miroku," Inuyasha cried, "I love you. I love you so much."
It seemed as if a soft light was smiling at Inuyasha. Miroku was smiling sadly at him.
"Inuyasha," he whispered softly, "I don't want you to suffer for me. I died much later than I would have; you kept me going. Thank you. I had to bear so much, carry such a heavy burden of pain; but I just couldn't take it any more. A mortal can only take so much before they reach a breaking point.'
bffimagine: This has to be my LONGEST one-shot ever.
Inny: Whoopee. Why don't we put it in the Guinness Book of World Records? 'Girl writes her longest one-shot...'
Bffimagine: (GRRRRRRRRRR) OSUWARI!