It's the shadows he hates most. Inuyasha's ears are laid back, blending seamlessly into the silver fall of his hair, as usual dressed in their sire's firerat hunting clothes, and the image is so vivid Sesshomaru nearly expects to look into his father's eyes. Even the hanyou's face bears the stamp of him, lacking only the dramatic markings of a true taiyoukai, and Sesshomaru's fist clenches so tightly the claws bite through flesh and the warmth of blood coats his palm. That is the heart of it – though he's tried, he cannot kill the hanyou who wears his father's face and his mother's human heart on one red sleeve, cannot kill what his father died to protect. Perhaps he's never truly meant to, though he dances his way through the gestures nonetheless. He remembers what it felt like, the child's pulse fluttering like a frightened bird beneath his fingertips. Golden eyes the same shade and shape as his own stare up at him with defiance instead of fear, and tiny fangs sink into his thumb. Not enough to do damage, of course, the boy was only six; and so Sesshomaru cannot explain the sudden slackness of his hold.
And now the orphan boy who got away has become the stubborn hanyou who refuses to die, even when every odd is against him and the rest of the world is telling him to give up. Inuyasha doesn't understand surrender; it is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. And when the subject of his half-brother's startling achievements is raised by Sesshomaru's council – not the least of which is his mere survival – the youkai lord's lip curls in a dignified sneer and his hand on Tenseiga is enough to remind them that half-breed bastard or not, Inuyasha has the blood of the Inu No Taisha running through his veins. Unbeknownst though it is to him, Inuyasha occupies a peculiar position in the hierarchy of the West – hanyou, and so unworthy of their notice – prince of the land his father ruled. Sesshomaru has never denied him that, trusting in the half-breed's finely honed sense of self-preservation to steer him well clear of his brother's kingdom.
And now the half-breed has become a man, all cold eyes and honed hate. Losing his companions – the slayer and the monk to each other, the girl to some place beyond even Sesshomaru's knowledge of the world – has tempered that rage to the coldest of calculating smiles. The kit will survive without him, Inuyasha knows this, and so the protector is abandoned by the last of his pack. Sesshomaru knows there is nothing more deadly than a man with nothing left to lose, and that is what faces him now. The moment strikes him, with a heart softened by a little girl's smile, as simply tragic. Betrayed, not cruelly but by the fickleness of human emotions nonetheless, left behind by those who always saw him as fearless, when the only thing he truly feared was being alone again. Inuyasha has come to him for death. And Sesshomaru has reached an abrupt realization that is a wish he no longer wishes to grant.
Deliberately he lets his hand fall away from Tokijin's hilt. The anger flares, sharp and savage, in his brother's eyes; and the Tessaiga transforms with a fluidity echoed in the practiced grace of its owner's body. Inuyasha has grown into a power that should never have been his, and it sits easily on his muscled shoulders. Grief has given him patience, too, it seems; he does not launch an immediate attack, but waits for Sesshomaru's response. Which is, precisely, to do nothing.
"You won't even let me have this, will you?" Inuyasha's voice is very soft.
"There is no need. Flee this place, if it causes you grief. But seppuku, even concealed in a veil of battle as this? Such dramatics do not suit you, little brother."
"You've always told me I should have been drowned at birth. That there's no place in the world for a half-breed. And finally, I'm saying you're right, and now you won't accept it? I do." Misery has dulled the golden eyes Inuyasha inherited from their father, and on closer inspection, Sesshomaru can tell he's lost weight. Even with the advantage of Tessaiga, in this condition Inuyasha would present little challenge.
"There's no place for me with her gone."
When Sesshomaru does not respond, the hanyou sinks to his knees on the grass, body curled around the naked blade as if it is the last thing that remains in a world that's falling apart around him.
Sesshomaru has seen this before – warriors broken by the deaths of loved ones, spirit faded but the body soldiers on. And so Inuyasha's greatest strength has become weakness again; the fire is gone but the flesh remains, an empty shell that once housed a soul.
"You never understood surrender," Sesshomaru says to the slumped figure, but he can't imagine even that indomitable will can hold out much longer. In the days he's been tracking Inuyasha's movements, since the hanyou crossed the borders of his land, he's watched the neko hunt for them both, and watched her offerings refused. Now, with Sesshomaru's silent vigil offering no resolution, she approaches again. A flash of fire heralds her return to her kitten form, and she crawls into Inuyasha's lap. Her purr, surprisingly loud to come from something so small, rumbles in the clearing. The dead buck lies a dozen yards away, but this time she doesn't pull it closer, doesn't urge him to eat. She, too, knows the end is nigh.
Sesshomaru has wondered at her presence. Though he's seen her fight beside his brother as an equal, he'd always assumed she belonged with the taijiya. Now he wonders what it has been like for her, lone demon in a village of humans who can never understand. And he thinks he knows why she's followed his brother since the taijiya married the monk. It's not the lack of excitement, the placid nature of their new life that disappoints her. It's being forgotten. Her usefulness has ended, and like Inuyasha, she's become . . . obsolete.
His brother's hand strokes slowly across the cream-colored fur, fingers buried in her thick ruff.
"It's such a long way home," he says, and the cat's mew echoes the weariness in his voice. His head falls back, baring his throat, and his eyes close. "Just finish it, Sesshomaru."
The taiyoukai's single hand closes over Inuyasha's fingers, and the prick of his claws is lost in the pleasant drowsiness that drags him under. And it doesn't hurt.
The poison is still dripping its green miasma from his nails when the cat nudges her head under Sesshomaru's hand, and the purr slowly fades to silence.
There's never been a neko in the ancestral tomb of the great dog demons, but Sesshomaru doesn't mind. There's never been a hanyou there before, either.