by IronRaven
editorial assistance by Lachesis-chan
Disclaimer: Shippou and company aren't mine. This story is AU, and is used to tie a pocket of space time into a rather interesting loop. :)
R for swearing, violence, insanity and euthanasia.
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I know I didn't finish this yesterday. I need to finish it today. The only way that is going to happen with a full bottle of sake. I'm already a quarter of the way thought it, so if my coherency is a little off, my dear diary, forgive me.
---In the past
Enough of Sesshomaru's retainers remained to protect us as we gathered Miroku and our dead comrades, and carry their litters back to Sesshomaru's castle. It was not an easy voyage, but in retrospect it was easier than it should have been. Maybe Naraku's death caused his demons to turn on each other, or run.
Sesshomaru told me that it had been Myouga who finally won the battle for us. Myouga the grandfather flea, the most cowardly thing in all of Japan. He had gotten close to Naraku, very close, and managed somehow to get under our enemy's eyelid before biting. It must not have been a massive pain, but a shocking and unexpected one. That combined with Naraku's instinctive response to protect his eyes gave Sesshomaru the time he needed to kill our enemy, enough to take away the shards scattered through his body.
On the way back, Sesshomaru carried Miroku much of the time. He has never told me why he did that. But I imagine it is related to why he saved Rin, or stopped fighting Inuyasha. Under that cold, superior exterior lay a heart, a heart he couldn't allow himself to show to anyone. Would Inuyasha have ended up like that if he'd not been orphaned?
At the first rest break, Sesshomaru and Kotou examined what was left of Miroku's hand, and decided that it would never heal. If it stayed, it would fester and rot, and take the monk's life. Miroku said nothing as six large inu-youkai warriors pinned him down, and the herbalist removed the dead tissue. He never even flinched at the red-hot blade, nor as the stump was bandaged.
We buried our friends in Inuyasha's mother's gardens the next day. From her grave, she could look at them, and Inuyasha could see her marker any time of the year. In his hand, he held Tetsaiga's hilt, with the necklace still around his neck. We had to stich up his hakimia where it had been cut- it had been his life force keeping it whole all those years. Next to him, we placed Kagome, dressed in a kimono of the purest silk, white and green. I combed her hair until it gleamed silver-black, like calm water under the moonlight. And Myouga. I know it sounds strange to bury a flea, but he was Myouga. He had been my teacher, and Inuyasha's, and Sesshomaru's. He had been our wise man, somehow knowing about just about every demon and magical artifact in our journies. And he'd died a hero's death. Without him, none of us would have survived, and Naraku would have had the completed Shikon no Tama.
Miroku watched as we lowered Sango's body into her grave, his eyes blank, devoid of any sign of emotion or life. The shattered bone of her weapon we placed as her marker, under a flowering cherry tree. Kirara's little body lay on her chest, curled as if asleep. Kohaku was lain at her right side. In death, he looked like the carefree boy that Sango had described. We couldn't find his weapon as we escaped, but I didn't think it was something he was going to need. Sango was a warrior, but Kohaku was too gentle, too kind. Miroku sat there and stared, not crying, not talking, barely blinking.
I sat with him as Sesshomaru and Rin carried Jaken to a small pond, filled with lilies, and a gnarled, twisted old willow at it's side. Rin had cried the entire way back. Even when Sesshomaru passed Miroku's unconscious form to a follower on the walk back, she refused to let him touch her. She wouldn't even speak to him. I knew what she was doing. When my mother, my real mother, died, I hated my father. When she stumbled, I urged her onto my back, carrying her the same way Inuyasha carried Kagome.
As night fell, I led Miroku back to the castle proper. He simply sat there when I finally stopped dragging him after me. He'd neither drank nor eaten in two days. I spent the night feeding him soup, a sip at a time, using a spoon from Kagome's backpack. I cried the entire time, and eventually quit from frustration, anger and exhaustion. I stormed out of the room, leaving him to sit there, but not before raging at him. 'How dare you hide, monk! They died saving your life! Kagome, Inuyasha, Kirara, Sango, they all died to protect you. Even Myouga was more of a hero than you are! YOU FUCKING COWARD!!'
I stumbled into the gardens, and curled up next to my parent's graves. Rocking and sobbing, I finally fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up inside, on a futon. It was covered with a big, fuzzy blanket, next to Rin. I could smell Sesshomaru. Looking about in confusion, I realized what this was. I was sleeping on Sesshomaru's cape. He was nowhere to be seen, but he must have carried me inside at some point in the night. I could see where it had been torn in the battle, but he would not part with it, any more than he would have left behind the remains of our friends or the swords of his father. I carefully got up, trying not to disturb the sleeping girl, finding the large warm spot left after he woke up. That is when it hit me- pups often will snuggle with thier parents when they are young. Sesshomaru considered Rin his own, and Inuyasha had asked him to look after me. So this is what Kotou meant when he said that 'she' had changed Sesshomaru.
I slipped out the door, sliding it closed behind me, and found my way to the small eating room off the kitchen where I had left Miroku. He lay, curled in a fetal position, sleeping on the floor, protecting his bandaged hand. Close claw scores were on his left cheek. Close enough to only be mine, the fine hairs singed by fire. I had hit him in my anger, and I didn't even remember it. Oh kami, in my grief, I'd hit him.
When I finally worked up the courage to wake him, I shook his shoulder. His eyes opened, but they were flat, lifeless. He looked lost as he glanced around. Then he spoke. The rich, melodic tones I was used to had been replaced by those of a scared child, frightened and alone. 'Shippou? Is that you Shippou?'
'Yes, Miroku.'
'Where is Sango? She told me she'd be with us at breakfast today. Or maybe tomorrow, if her father and brother kept her at the village longer than planned. She's a powerful hunter, you know, that she is.' The childlike hopefulness, the trusting smile. It twisted my heart to listen to him. All I could do was pray to the Kami and Buddha that he would get better. His expression became one of disappointment when I shook my head.
'She had to stay longer, didn't she. Are Kagome and Inuyasha here, or are they in her time?'
'They aren't here, Miroku. I don't think they'll be back for a while.'
'Where are we, this isn't Keade's. It's bigger.' Kaede? She'd been dead for over a year now, slain by the "flu" that Kagome had accidentally brought with her. The medicines of Kagome's time saved the lives of many in the village, but not Keade's. After that night, we never set foot in Keade's hut again. It was her resting place. Inuyasha and the others built a hut nearer to the well, and it had not been an easy task in late winter.
'No, Miroku, this is my palace, where you are welcome to remain as long as you wish.' Sesshomaru's eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was still disarrayed from sleep. Despite all of their differences, the common blood between Sesshomaru and Inuyasha was clear that morning. Miroku's eyes went wide as the one-armed demon lord stepped into the room.
'No, stay away! Get behind me Shippou, I'll protect you. Stay back, Lord Sesshomaru, I'm warning you.' Desperately he tore at his bandages, trying to reach the non-existent windtunnel. With his nails and teeth he ripped the covering away, fighting like a mad man. His struggles opened the wound, and his blood ran down his arm as he tried to suck Sesshomaru into his hand.
'Cease your struggles, monk, you will only injure yourself further.' As Sessho and I tried to restrain the wild man, the Demon Lord's voice trying to remained calm as his words lost their cultured edge. 'Damnit bozou, sit still before you bleed to death.'
Miroku's struggles stopped, giving me time to clamp my fingers down on his wound, as he looked around. 'Inuyasha? Is that you, Inuyasha?' Again, his eyes settled on Sesshomaru, this time frowning, a faint glimmer of recognition in them, but only for a moment. The terror flooded his face again. 'Inuyasha, in here, your brother has us in here! Help us Inuyasha! Kagome, Inuyasha! SANGO!!'
Sesshomaru silenced Miroku's screams and struggles with a viscous blow. He and I were still breathing hard when the first guard reached us, sword at the ready. Silently, he was waved away. Sesshomaru left, and returned after a moment with a bowl filled with from the kettle of soup his cook kept going at all times. Slowly, silently, he fed the semi-conscious monk with the same spoon I had used last night, while I rebound his wound.
I looked between them, my uncles, one lost, his mind possibly gone forever, the other outwardly calm but his place in the world shaken half off it's foundations. Each of them missing a hand. So alike, in so many ways. Three days ago, they both were quiet and serene, sure of their place in the world, balanced and confident. Miroku had let his emotions out, while Sesshomaru walled his off, both of them controlling their public masks to hide what was in thier minds. Without his mind, Miroku's emotions were unchecked, and his grief was drowning him.
For three moons, Miroku suffered. He never stopped fighting Sesshomaru, or trying to use the Kazanna on him. Every morning brought the same questions. Had her brother and father kept Sango longer than planned? Was Inuyasha with Kagome in her time? Every night, he asked if they would be with us in the morning. Once, when he saw Rin, he called her Kirara, and tried to pet her. One night he ran away, and we found him nearly drowned in a river the next morning. After that, when he slept, we blocked the door to his cell, caging him like an animal, even if it was for his own safety.
One afternoon, I went into the gardens. I remembered one of Keade's lessons to Kagome. I knew what I needed. That night, feeding him his diner, I gave him a dark, bitter-smelling tea. It must have been horrible. He spat it out, spraying it over himself and the floor, coughing at the taste. I told him that it was a special tea, and that Sango thought it was very good.
'Really?'
'Really. She sent it by messenger today, along with word that she'd be here late tonight. She wanted you to drink some of it, and she'd share some with you in the morning.' My lies sicken me. I used her memory to get him to take the draught. But what choice was there? He was gone, and he was never coming back. He could live for another twenty years like that, a scarred, shattered mind, trapped between child and man. Always in pain, always afraid. Wherever his soul went, it would be better than this. I knew that Sango and Kagome and Inuyasha and Kirara and Myouga, and even Kohaku, would be waiting there for him, along with my parents.
I nearly drank the tea myself, but I couldn't. Sesshomaru and I had talked over the future many times. We had to make sure that Kagome made it to our time, safely. She had to be protected, before she could have Inuyasha's protection. I had a mission, a quest. It seems like my life had become one quest after another. Quest for vengeance for my father, the quest for the Jewel, and now a quest to guard Kagome. A quest to make sure my mother could become my mother. And maybe, with luck and the blessings of the gods, they wouldn't die like this again. I could not, can not believe that it is my fate to have two families destroyed by the Shikon no Tama.
As the tea slowly took effect, I held his head in my lap, combing his tangled, matted hair as he looked up at the ceiling, occasionally asking questions. He had started to shiver, and I softly sang to him the songs that my okaa-san and Kagome would sing to me when I was scared, stroking his hair. And as suddenly as it started, his trembling stopped. His eyes closed one last time, his lips moving. 'They're here, Shippou.'
Silent tears streamed down my face as I sent an illusion for the gate gaurds to investigate, then dragged him into the garden. Miroku's shakujo and a cloth bundle lay next to Sango's cherry tree where I had left it that afternoon, along with a shovel. If there was anything that the quest for the Shikon no Tama taught me, it was how to dig graves. Through the night I dug, and finally rolled him into his grave.
As the first light smothered the stars on the horizon, I shed my clothes of childhood. I donned a simple tan yakuta, and shrugged on my carry cloth with my meager supplies. I picked up my staff, and walked towards the west, trying to avoid the pure light of day. As I heard the castle come to life, I knew someone would soon find my letter, telling them I would be back soon.
I looked over my shoulder one last time. The rings of Miroku's staff, silent and dull for three months, glittered and danced in the peaceful breeze that caressed his grave. I thought I could hear them ringing, laughing, as I continued on my way in silence.
It would be five years before I returned to Sesshomaru's palace.
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Author's notes:
There will be more stories of Shippou the Wanderer, that there will. Some, you have already read- Time Enough, White Dog and Komainu. The choice to become a guardian is not a light one, however. The path is filled with choices, which must be made correctly, or all will be for naught.
I've noticed one thing, that I'm expecting someone to mention sooner or later. In this, Shippou is a bit taller than he is in the series. Two explinations- that the quest took several years and he's been growning, AND he seemed taller the first time we saw him. We know he is a shapeshifter and illusionist, so looking like a younger version of himself becuase he thinks it will protect him is a possibility, and once you start living a legend, you can never, ever stop.
For anyone who thinks I'm picking on Miroku in my stories, I'm not consciously doing so. But he is much like me, and I can keep him in character easily. He and Sango are, in my opinion, the most tragic characters in the Inuyasha saga.
(Editor's Note: By the end, I was fighting back tears again. I hope you're proud of yourself.) (referring to author) While this has been a common comment among the early reviewers (SailorCelestial and BlueFuzzyElf, in addition to the eidtor), it was not my intent to write a story so painful. But I too must confess that it made me cry to write it.