A/N: Well, I know it took a little longer than I'd hoped, but I finally had time to peck it all back out. And then some. This chapter is slightly longer than the other two, largely because once I started re-typing, I kept tweaking things. At any rate, the story is complete in and of itself, though an epilogue is possible in the near future. No promises.

Thanks so much to everyone that's read and reviewed. Most especially to YFate, whose work is oh-so-much-better than mine and you should all go read. And to Moon Step, who, while she no longer really dabbles here, remains my initial inspiration. This one's still very much for you, love. Happy very late birthday.

That said, I hope you all enjoy.

Part Three: When you needed me

"You know there's nowhere else I've wanted to be, than be here when you needed me. I'm sorry, too, but don't give up on me. And just remember that when you were asleep, I got a little bit closer to you." --The Wallflowers, Closer to You

Sango eased her shirt back with a hiss, exposing her swelling shoulder and wincing as the already flowering bruise worked deep into the muscle of her bicep. Damn. Hiraikotsu would be more difficult to work with for a while, that was certain.

"Is this what it's going to be?" he asked, dangerously quiet from the shadows of the room, frustration hanging like a thundercloud above them. "You just gonna have him beat the shit outta you until you forget?"

It was an old argument between the two, and she evaded the question as she always had.

"What are you doing here, Inuyasha?" she sighed, tiredly. "I thought you weren't coming back until Tuesday."

It was common repartee between them by now, but it didn't ease the hanyou's mind, whether he understood the logic behind it or not. Which he did, of course. They were more alike than either of them cared to admit, and it had taken him some time to put it together, but eventually, he'd made sense of it.

Above all things, Sango was a warrior.

Warriors, as Inuyasha had come to learn, do not break. No matter how fragile they may be.

Sango was no exception, and in the three some-odd years he had known her, only once—after every horror and painful beating of the heart she'd taken—just once had Inuyasha seen her give in to the basic human need to cry.

She went on, carrying the pride of a dead village on her shoulders. Relentlessly, she threw herself into battle, time and time again—a goddess of war and destruction. It was only after he caught her in a fit of rage, beating the hell out of herself one night that he understood.

This was how Sango cried.

Knowing why and being able to relate didn't make it any easier to watch, however.

He pushed away from the wall, a blanket of shadow slipping from his body as he stalked into the light of the kitchen and opened the freezer, reaching for one of the many ice packs Kagome kept there.

She was slower in her approach, limping as she was, and by the time she'd made it to the table, the hanyou had already brought a chair and motioned for her to sit.

"You don't have to baby me," she fussed, attempting to snatch the pack from his grasp. "I can do it myself."

"Shut up, idiot," he groused, smacking at her hand. He eyed the angle of the wound. "Take your shirt off, I can't get to it like this."

She didn't even argue him on it, anymore. Inuyasha had seen her without a shirt more times than she had at this point. There was nothing sexual or strange about it. They were hurt often in their travels, and pure necessity outranked modesty. It was second nature at this point.

Slowly, she slipped the garment up her torso to her shoulders. Getting it over her head would be the hard part, and Sango bit down on her lip to avoid crying out when she stretched her arms upward.

Inuyasha drew a sharp breath, and Sango realized it must have been worse than she thought. He must have really worked her over good, this time.

"Gods," the half-demon whispered, suddenly angry. If not for the fact that he'd known Hiei was in nearly as bad of shape, and that she had likely instigated the incident and drug it on, Inuyasha would have gone and beaten the fire apparition to death with his own arms. "What the hell did he do, run over you with a bus?"

It looked that way. Some of the wounds were old, he could tell, but the bruises covered more of her skin than its natural color—her midsection looking more like an overripe plum than human flesh. She might have broken a rib, he decided, and the deep, angry gashes on her torso were too many to count.

"Here," he said, applying the ice pack to her shoulder and placing her hand to hold it in place. "Hold this." Inuyasha began pilfering through drawers until he found a bottle of iodine and some bandages. He set them on the table beside her with an angry thwack. "What the hell are you thinking, Sango?"

The demon slayer turned away subtly, hissing when the iodine made contact with the first open cut. "We fight, Inuyasha," she intoned. "Sometimes, we get hurt."

"This," he said, grabbing her less injured arm to bring the dark, angry furrows along her forearm into her line of sight for emphasis, "is not fighting, Sango. This is just sadistic. I don't know which is worse: the fact that you let him do it or that you practically beg him to."

She shrugged, too tired to engage him on something she normally might have reamed him for, and they said nothing for several long minutes as he worked. It was a companionable silence, though Inuyasha could tell the demon slayer was in pain by the way her muscles ticked and her skin prickled.

Still, she never breathed a word. He'd give her credit for her poker face, if nothing else.

"It's done," he spoke quietly as he did his best to clean the dirt from a wound already clotting. It could get infected that way, he knew. "Kaede says the well should be ready by Saturday."

Sango stiffened right down to her toes. So, that's why he was back early.

"So?" she asked, voice strained under the weight of some unknown emotion.

He stopped scrubbing and peered around the side of her face, hoping to gauge an expression. "So," he began, forcing down the rising frustration in his tone, "you should go."

"There is no need," she said, tension building in her shoulders. Really, how could he expect her to go back there, even for just a short time? Sango felt her head starting to swim, every gut-wrenching failure creeping up into her chest.

Surprisingly enough, Inuyasha kept his cool. "Shippou will ask questions."

"No he won't."

True enough, he realized. The little fox demon had stopped asking about Sango a long time ago. "You're never going to find your place here until you say goodbye there," he said, voice low with irritation and a startling insight that Sango felt a bit too much for him to have come up with on his own.

"What the hell do you care?" she barked, having been pushed past the bounds of apathy. "You're never around anymore, anyway!"

The hanyou stepped back, spinning her chair so that she met him nose to nose. "Well that's a hell of a thing to say!" he snapped, having lost all semblance of calm. "It's time to get your head outta your ass and stop chasing ghosts, Sango!"

"Chasing ghosts?" she asked rhetorically, anger leaping like flames from the depths of her eyes. "You want to talk to me about chasing ghosts? I'm not the one who abandoned the one good thing that's ever happened to me to go live out the rest of my days in search of a dead woman! Honestly, do you have any idea how hurt Kagome was?"

The hanyou went completely still, an old pain in his eyes that Sango might have regretted bringing up if she weren't so damned angry. It hadn't been an easy decision for him, but it was only the right thing to do. He didn't belong in this world, and even if he could get passed the fact, he'd never be able to give Kagome what she needed so long as his heart knew he let Kikyou wander like some kind of animal. It wasn't fair to either of them.

Inuyasha cleared his throat, suddenly cool in his expression. "Kagome moved on," he said quietly. "Maybe you should, too."

"Whatever," she grumbled, pushing the hanyou aside to brush by, tugging her shirt back into place over her shoulders forcefully and ignoring her body's painful plea. "Just leave me alone."

He stopped her with a tight grip upon her wrist, though she did not turn to face him. "You think this is what he would want?"

"Don't," she breathed.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he spoke, voice a mere whisper though it swelled and burned like a cherry bomb between them. "Your village is gone, Sango. Your father is dead. Kohaku is dead.

"Miroku is—"

"Stop it, Inuyasha," she husked.

"—closer than you think." The girl went stone still, and Inuyasha paused, knowing he'd struck a cord. "You know full well what I'm talking about."

"You lie," she growled, rage barely contained below her human skin.

"Do I?" A rhetorical question, of course, though Inuyasha was certain he'd gotten the point across. His grip eased, and he let go of her wrist, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "Forgive them, Sango. Maybe then, you can forgive yourself."

It took him by no surprise when she slapped him hard enough to draw blood from his lip. She was gone before it even hit the floor.

She ran.

Farther, faster, harder than she ever had before. Slipping through the tangles of moonlight and darkness like a shadow, ignoring the sting of every branch and bramble to catch her hair or strike out at her flesh until she tumbled blindly, crying out as she hit the ground hard on her hands and knees.

For many long moments she dared not move, willing away the sickening pain she felt seep in on her chest with each straggled, broken breath. Perhaps, if she lay there long enough, she'd never have to move at all. She could just slip away, into the oblivion in which she belonged.

"Why do you run, huntress?"

If only.

"Why do you care?" Sango wheezed, not bothering to turn and face him, much less get up out of the dirt.

She didn't have to. He was there before her, that ever-steady look of smooth condescension in place like a stone mask.

"Hn. I don't," the fire apparition intoned, effortlessly. "You're becoming something of a nuisance, though. No matter where I go, you always seem to find me."

"That certainly doesn't say much for your skill, then, does it?" she said, never missing a beat, even as she lifted herself to a standing position. "Are you really that easy, or is it that you want to be found?"

His sword was at rest below her chin before either of them realized it was drawn, and she stilled in morbid excitement. The comment was closer to home than he would have preferred, it seemed, and she knew it. His eyes narrowed in slightly at the feral gleam in her own deep, chocolate irises, and Hiei realized with a growing sense of unease that it had been exactly what she'd wanted.

He would have taken her up on it any other time, but something was amiss. After their session that afternoon, he hadn't expected to see her again for a few days. Hiei, himself, wasn't quite ready for another go-round like that one just yet, and he knew for a fact she had nearly dislocated her shoulder. That kind of pain wasn't easily ignored, even by a demon's standards.

Hell, she wasn't even dressed for this, he noticed, eyeing the simple cotton yukata with suspicion. And the slippers—hardly running shoes. She'd left suddenly, that was certain. Her hair was bereft of the typical ponytail she used to keep it from her line of sight, instead left to hang in waves of tangle and silk about her face. The hollow of her eyes pronounced in stark detail within the thinning lines of her face, and he couldn't help but wonder when the last time she slept was.

He breathed, suddenly weary with the unknown constricting in his chest. "Go home, slayer," he said, lowering his blade and sheathing it with a snap as he turned to walk away. "I won't play your games tonight."

He snatched the dagger from the air without turning, just as it whistled passed his right ear. "Fight me!" she cried, furious at his dismissal.

The fire apparition dropped her blade to the ground, decidedly disinterested as he continued on his way. "I don't take orders from humans," he scoffed, never bothering to look back.

The girl screamed. Literally screamed like a creature clawing out from the gates of Hell, a great cry of war and death in a restless cacophony of hate as she launched herself at him, ready to kill him with nothing but her own dull, human fingernails.

He spun just in time to block a poorly executed swing to the back of his head, wincing when she took the opening it left his midsection to make a hard strike to his sternum. The blow drove the wind from his body, but her assault was relentless, and Hiei had no time to consider a countereffort. They were barely a vapor trail, flitting back and forth as he fended each strike with fluid ease.

It was too easy, really. The girl was reckless in her attack, so consumed by malice she was very nearly sloppy in her approach. It was the first time Hiei had ever seen her anything less than strictly composed. Really, he should have seen it coming, and at least a part of him felt the old, familiar sting of guilt creeping in. He'd wanted to believe it was sheer nerve and solid determination to best him on her part that drove her on. In truth, it was just continually growing aggression, a far uglier burden to bear. She was as angry and scarred up on the inside as he. Funny, really; he'd spent so much time concerned about how she affected him, he'd never considered how he might be affecting her.

It was a vicious cycle between them. They fed off of each other like two parasites, no host to sustain either of them.

And maybe, it was time to stop.

She lashed out again, and he gripped her tiny wrist in the iron clamp of his fingers, slinging her to collide painfully with the trunk of a large maple. Without preamble, he captured her waist, pinning her arms at her sides and caged her between himself and the tree using the greater weight of his body.

"You will stop this senseless struggle at once, slayer," he rebuked in a tone that left no room for argument.

Naturally, Sango renewed her efforts with fervor. The huntress kicked and swore, snarling like a beast caught in a snare. She bucked forward sharply to unsettle his distribution, only to meet with the business end of his blade suddenly at her throat. She stopped short, just in time to avoid slicing herself, though the flame in her eyes told him she might just do it anyway.

"I said that's enough," he spoke softly, though the words left an impression like that of a thousand heavy stones. For a long moment, they remained in the web of her anger, until her muscles eased minutely and the fire that burned within her eyes turned to something steel as cold determination. And when he was satisfied she'd not pursue the matter further, he let the edge of his sword drift back into place at his side.

He dropped it altogether when she turned the battlefield upside down, claiming his mouth with her own, vicious and brutal in ways unfamiliar to him as he stood motionless and wide-eyed. Her body went slack as she pulled him closer still, probing and exploring the planes of his body with urgency, demanding response as he, too, let his eyelids flutter closed, and his lips gave in to the soft rhythm of hers.

Futile, he realized. Humans ran for one of two reasons: catch or escape. It shouldn't hurt that now he knew which.

But just this once, Hiei could let them both pretend.

She was pliant and sweeter than he ever deserved, and he brushed his calloused fingers down the line of her jaw and slope of her neck, wrapping them in the silk of her hair as he slowed their kiss, mapping the feel of her into memory.

She shuddered, breathless, as he pulled away, and he took her by the shoulders, touching his forehead lightly to her own.

"I cannot give you this," he said, a tenderness in the deep roan of his eyes none would have thought him capable of. One step back. "You are more than what you seek, Sango."

Two steps into the darkness. "And I am not what you need."

Jin needed a stiff drink. He'd never been much of a drinker, but tonight, he was inclined to make an exception. He rummaged through the cabinets with all the grace of an elephant in panty hose until his eyes settled on the bottle of firewater Genkai had stashed in the very corner. Jin took it, and set the bottle down roughly as he reached out for the biggest shot glass he could find.

Hopefully, the old psychic wouldn't care too much. Besides, that's what she got for letting him know where she kept it.

He poured a healthy shot, swigging it back and relishing in the warmth that swam down his chest and burned in his belly. He poured another, just as stout as the first, and choked it back just as quickly.

He sighed, slumping down onto the closest stool and feeling the heat work its way into his nostrils as he sucked down another. He'd be sick soon at this rate, but the wind apparition simply didn't care. He'd be sick anyway after what he'd seen.

Honestly, how could he have expected things to turn out any other way? It was a fool's mission, and he'd known it. The girl was too much for him--too good, really. What could he have possibly done for her, anyway? She didn't need him.

And he had been too late.

He'd seen them there, wrapped around each other at the base of that red maple tree. Jin had known it was coming, had seen the looks between them. Still, it was too much for him to bear.

But he didn't get angry; he didn't call them out.

He left them their moment and slipped away as the shadow he'd become.

The demon threw back another, ignoring the warm disorientation that set into his senses as he set his sights on the gift he'd planned to give her. A waste. Maybe, if he hadn't sat on the damned thing for the last week…maybe, if he hadn't gotten it at all…

Jin snarled and slung it across the room angrily, pretending not to care when it broke upon impact, spilling beads like rain across the floor.

Why had he ever let her get under his skin? He slouched forward with a sigh, reaching for the bottle again. He refused to dwell on could-have-beens. Tonight, he would drown her memory, and tomorrow, he'd never see her again.

"You'll get nothing accomplished that way."

The wind apparition went stock-still, blood boiling at the very sound of the demon's voice. "Shouldn't you be somewheres else, lad?" he said, alcohol clouding the normally light timbre of his voice into something sinister brewing below the surface.

"You have more important things to concern yourself with than my whereabouts, shinobi," Hiei sneered. He had no patience for the wind master's pity-party this evening. "I go where I please."

"That so?" Jin replied, throwing back another. He stood, only a slight swagger in his step as he set the glass down upon the counter hard enough to crack the rim. "Sango might have somethin' to say about that, she might."

The fire apparition sighed heavily, a look in his eyes that, had he been sober, Jin might have identified with. "Idiot."

In retrospect, it might not have been the best thing to say. The more than slightly intoxicated wind apparition took one hurling lurch forward, breaking his fist across the demon's face like a hammer blow.

Hiei's head slung hard to the left where he stayed motionless for a moment. Slowly, he righted himself and spat the blood from his mouth, setting the wind demon beneath the weight of his scalding, red-eyed glare. It wasn't his most intense, but something about it must have gotten Jin's attention because he made no other move to strike; just stood there breathing hard and wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Hiei was a demon of no regrets. And while he couldn't think of a single reason to redeem Jin, he knew someone else that could use the help. Unlike him, she deserved it.

"She doesn't want me, fool!" the fire apparition snapped, his patience wearing thin as he wiped the steadily streaming blood from his bottom lip. He snorted, rolling his eyes at the confused fog that dropped over Jin's features. "You rely too heavily on your eyes. Things are not always as they seem."

"But…" the demon trailed off, "I saw it m'self, lad…"

"Honestly, you're even dumber than you look," Hiei intoned. "I can't imagine why she hasn't leapt straight into your arms," he continued sarcastically, turning to melt away in the shadows. "Tell your shinobi brother he can keep his contacts. I've got some searching of my own to do."

And then he was gone, leaving Jin with nothing but an empty bottle.

He'd been thinking about this moment for months, but he still couldn't find the words. How could he ever? She was beautiful, even now—dirty and damn near broken, curled in on herself at the river's edge. His heart seized in his chest at the sight of her, feet dangling in the clear, frigid water and yukata torn down to her shoulder. She lay on her side, hair fanned out about her like a burial shroud; shattered like a porcelain doll.

She was aware of him, he knew. Even as she was, Sango could never turn off her instincts. She was a fighter, right down to the very core.

Still, she failed to acknowledge him, and Jin feared what his sudden approach would do. So dangerously deceptive, she might disappear like a whisper or take his head without warning. It was one of the first things that drew him to her, that unpredictability.

In this moment, he was willing to take a chance. Slowly, he stepped to the riverbank, easing himself to the ground at her side. She was facing away from him, but Jin didn't mind. She had her reasons, and honestly, so did he.

They sat in silence for nearly a half-hour before he swallowed the knot in his throat and reached into the folds of his shinobi robe to retrieve what he'd come to give her. It had taken him all night to find them all and string them back together, but Jin would have spent a lifetime if he'd had to.

He clenched his fist around them and said a silent prayer before he eased closer and laid them gently in the palm of her upturned hand.

She said nothing at first, and Jin felt his demon heart flutter like a hummingbird's wings in anticipation. However, she granted him no mercy, and the only indication Sango gave that she even knew what he'd done was the sudden hitch and shudder of her breathing. As far as Jin was concerned, it was pure torture, but he wasn't going to push it. Pushing a girl like Sango was a medicine for disaster. This was his only shot, and he knew it. If he failed now, there would be no other chances.

Still, the silence stretched as an eternity. With each passing second, his heart grew a little heavier.

He was about to give up and apologize for troubling her when she finally spoke, her voice a merely another shadow in the breaking grey of morning.

"How did you find me?"

The demon looked out across water toward the sun stretching its golden fingers across the sky and painting the cool dawn a canvas of rose and tangerine. He shrugged, a shy turn to his lips as he responded.

"I always know where ya are, love."

He glanced over, the light flush to his cheeks magnified when he found the demon slayer leaning up on her elbows and facing him. If ever there were a time, it was now. He turned slightly to face her, swallowing past the desert in his throat to find the words he knew he didn't have. But he would say them anyway.

"I...I think," he started, clearing his throat and internally groaning at his own inability to communicate. "No...I know you. As ya really are. I know it sounds a wee bit crazy, but it's true." Jin paused, struggling for the right phrase. "I donna know how else to say it. I canno' promise ya anythin' an' I've nothin' left ta give, but I'll do my best by ya for as long as you'll let me, girl. …You're a part o' me, somehow, ya are. Right 'ere," he said, reaching out tentatively to touch her hand, and when she didn't jerk away, bringing it slowly to his chest to rest above his heart.

"You're here, Sango...where you'll always be."

It was the look in her eyes that stopped him. Something was there, buried within the melancholy depths of that haunted gaze. Jin could see it all; every wall she'd so carefully placed torn to the ground, the pages of her soul burning to ash. She trembled, and it took everything he had not to reach out and pull her to him as she began to crack beneath the pressure.

He wondered if she could feel the tears beginning to slip down the smooth planes of her face as keenly as he could.

"A demon of the wind," she uttered quietly, clenching the rosary to her chest like a lifeline as her voice crumbled to ruin. "How very ironic."

There were things in the world that Jin did not understand. Similarly, there were things in the world that Jin understood he was not supposed to. This, he knew implicitly, was one of those things.

"It troubled me at first, you know," she continued. "I thought Naraku's mark had tainted you; that a holy spirit couldn't possibly..." she trailed off, reaching a timid finger out to trace the scar upon his right palm. He'd had it from the time he could remember. It had never been as sensitive as it was in that moment.

He shuddered as she ghosted the tracks of his skin, working her way along the dips and lines of his face, whispering along the contours of his temple.

"You have the same eyes," she breathed, mapping the shape of them to heart as she lost herself in that deepening blue. "Amazing."

It wasn't fair to either of them, and she knew it, but the truth was seldom kind. The demon slayer stood swiftly, shaking her head. "Your soul is well-traveled, friend," she choked.

He caught her wrist as she turned away, and Sango froze in place. "You know more than ya let on, lass, but I don't care. I'm 'ere, however it be ya need."

"Please," she whispered. "Don't."

"Don't what?" he said, calmly. "Don't feel? I'm sorry, love. Too late for that, it is." He took a chance, then, knowing he'd never forgive himself if he let her leave this way. The apparition slipped a hand around her waist, spinning her as he tugged, and brought her to her knees before him with a startled whimper.

"However it be ya need," he repeated, taking her tiny hands within his own and looking down on her, gaze hopeful and terrified at once.

"I…" the huntress started to shake outright, desperation breaking her from the inside out. Sango flung herself into his chest and buried her face within the folds of his robe, her body wracked with heaving sobs.

Jin made himself a sanctuary, wrapping around her in soft reassurance as she finally gave in to the need to cry.

And he smiled, just a little. It was where he belonged.