Author's Note: I wrote this for the first day (favorite episode) of MirSan Week over on Tumblr. Based on Episode 118 - Into the Depths of Mt. Hakurei.
-x-
Sometimes, even now, he dreams of a cave in the mountains. It's been years since then; he lives with Sango and their children now, they have a cozy home in a peaceful village. His curse is long gone, their enemy defeated and dead.
And sometimes the fear comes creeping back in anyway. It was his constant companion for so many years, now it almost feels like an old unwelcome friend, jolting him from sleep in the middle of the night. His breath comes hard, his heart races, he reaches instinctively for Sango, but she isn't there.
He forces his eyes open, hating the feeling of being caught between dreaming and waking. The hut is dark. She is not there.
"Houshi-sama," Sango says from somewhere nearby. Her voice is quiet, gentle reassurance.
He is still often 'Houshi-sama,' even after all this time, but it warms him to hear the honorific. It became a term of endearment between them long ago. And now, however quietly uttered, it fills up the silence and becomes an unflinching reminder: He didn't fail her back there on Mount Hakurei, all those years ago. It still seems like a miracle that they both made it out of there alive. Seeing her unconscious like that, with enemies all around –
we'll die here, together
– he'd been so damn afraid. Afraid of losing Sango. Afraid of Sango giving up her life for his sake. Afraid of his own weakness, knowing he'd be selfish enough to let her.
Even now it takes an effort to calm himself.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," Sango continues.
He rolls onto his side to look at her, blankets tangling around him, a tangible reminder that he is here and not there.
Sango is nursing their youngest child, sitting near their shared bed but not close enough to disturb him. It's dark in their home this late at night, now that the fire's burned low, but he can make out the lines of her body. He was so deep in his dream he didn't even hear the baby fussing.
"Bad dream?" she asks, catching onto his agitation.
"Mount Hakurei," he murmurs. He doesn't really want to talk about it, but tells her anyway.
She is silent. He's never asked just how much she remembers from that day, but he has some vague hope it isn't as much as he remembers.
He watches while she finishes what she's doing; the routine is comforting and sleep is a slippery thing after a bad dream. Sango knows this better than anyone. She takes her time with the baby, giving reality time to settle more firmly around Miroku again. He realizes what she's doing, but that doesn't make it any less effective.
They've both learned how to cope with the other's fears over the course of their marriage. By the time she climbs back into bed with him and wraps him in her arms, all soft and warm and strong – alive – sleep doesn't seem so far off, after all.
