Faded Song

by Ryuuen

Warnings: Possible shounen-ai, dark/mature themes, SPOILERS (esp. for the character's pasts).

A/N: Saiyuki songfic. Set to the song "501 Beauty Queen" by Jewel. Each part, you ask? It's for a different character. In this order: Gojyo, Goku, Hakkai, Gojyo, Sanzo, Hakkai, Goku, Sanzo. Two parts for each character! ; Anywho, please read and review. C&Cs welcome, as always.

FADED SONG

"She's got nice lips, a seductive smile. She's still as thin as a beanpole, with a little less class, but a little more style. And she spends all her time trying not to hear what she doesn't want to know... don't wanna know."

Maybe it was the dark that made him remember. Or the simple fact that it was a cold and rainy and an altogether depressing day. It was hard to keep on a smile in weather like this. So he looked at the wall from his seat across the room, ruby eyes gathering shadows with memories, long red hair pulled back away from his face, revealing the dark scars on the side of his otherwise flawless face. The scars of the past that this day made him remember. The scars of the past that he could never forget.

He had always wished his stepmother had loved him more. He had always prayed that someday she would stop throwing things at him and crying, and love him. That she would realize that he loved her like the human mother he had never known, and she would return it. He couldn't stand to see her cry. He wanted it to stop. And he wanted to feel loved. But she had never loved him. To her dying day, the only love she had ever shown him was in trying to kill him. Perhaps there was a kindness in that, as well. Somehow.

He reflected absently that maybe that was why he was always with women. Maybe he was trying to reclaim the love he had never actually had in the first place; to feel that, the love he'd never felt. He blew off the thought with an irritated sigh. That was just the psychological bullshit that Hakkai might have mentioned at some time or another, but it wasn't his style to care about things like that. He was who he was, and only who he was. And that would have to be enough for everyone else, because he didn't really give a damn. They could think what they wanted of him, good or ill. He only cared about a select few people's opinions. Mostly just Hakkai. After all, he was his best friend. But he didn't have to try too hard for Hakkai. He cared about him the way he was, and he reminded himself to thank him for that someday, when they were both old and sentimental-feeling... if they lived that long. Either way, the sentiment was there, and he knew that Hakkai understood.

Maybe it was because Hakkai was the only person in his life who had really shown him such unwavering kindness and love. He had never doubted him really, never gone cold to him. He was open and honest with him, which mattered a lot to the blunt kappa. And besides that, he truly, really cared about him. And that was a good feeling. He liked that. He didn't get it often, but Hakkai gave it to him every day; that kindness and emotion.

Shit, I need to get laid, he thought to himself, shaking off his thoughts as he stood and went to the door.

"And there's Kellogg's in the cupboard; she takes a heart down from off the shelf. She passes by the mirror; she doesn't like to look at herself, 'cause she'd rather lose touch with reality than lose her fantasy... her fantasy."

It was getting dark out. Almost time to go back inside before Sanzo came and tracked him down. He'd get a good hit on the head if he made the ill-tempered priest go out of his way, that much he knew. So it was with a little sigh of resignation that he began the slow journey back to the inn from the hills he had been exploring. They had had the day off, on Sanzo's orders that they needed to restock supplies. That was mostly Hakkai's work, so he had been let go where he wanted, on the condition that he wasn't back too late. "Too late" usually meant after dark, since it was harder to find him if he got into trouble or was attacked at night. But even though it was starting to rain, he didn't really want to go back in. The hills and the land around them was exciting and new. He wanted to explore it all! But he knew they didn't have the time, and even if they did, he didn't like being gone too long. For some reason he always had this illusion that maybe Sanzo worried about him when he was gone...

Sanzo. The often cruel and always cold priest had been the night and day for him ever since he had found him up in that rock prison on the mountain. He was the light at the end of the tunnel, as they say, he guessed, grinning to himself at the thought. He had always stuck by Sanzo, from that moment. It was for Sanzo whom he'd give his life. It was for Sanzo whom he'd fight. He would follow the monk to any distance, and he wouldn't leave him alone until he took him with him. And screw what anyone else thought about it, he wasn't a pet, but Sanzo was the only person he could remember really caring about, or that really cared about him. Because despite his cool demeanor, he knew that Sanzo really did care, somewhere deep down. Sometimes he thought he was imagining it, but on occasion the priest's words would lose some of their edge when he spoke to him, and it calmed him a little bit to hear it. That feeling of being cared for... he could easily live for that. Although he said he only lived for himself... it was the truth, wasn't it? But he also would die for Sanzo. He wondered vaguely if that made any sense.

He smiled to himself when he saw that he was getting closer to the inn. It was darker now, and he saw, clearly illuminated in the dark, the light from their room, where it was undoubtable that Sanzo and the others were still awake, waiting for him. And after a moment he saw the door open, and the familiar robed figure outlined in it; the glow of the lamplight inside made a light around him like when he had first seen him, and it made his smile grow.

"Oi! Sanzo!" He called, running forward. It was time to rejoin the party.

"And her smile is as faded as a used pair of jeans; and her heart is frayed around the edges, she's comin' undone at the seams. And it's her last chance to make a statement; it's her last note I've recieved."

It was raining again, albeit lightly. It had been raining like this for a week, just tiny droplets. Hardly enough to do more than dampen things, but it got chill even inside in such weather, and everyone was fighting over the blankets except for him. Instead, he lay awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in a way that prompted Goku's question of, "Um, Hakkai, are you still alive?" He almost answered "no," but thought better of it and turned to him with a brief smile, saying, "Of course. I'm just thinking," and went back to the aforementioned thoughts. It was hard to concentrate with the light pitter-patter of the rain on the roof above, and his thoughts kept going back to old memories, old wounds he wished he could keep from opening again and again, as they always seemed wont to do. He wished briefly that he could just go back to trying to figure out the party's exact supplies and what they would need to get before they left the town, but his mind kept returning to those old days.

For him, the scars had never really healed, though he kept them well hidden. He smiled and tried to forget, but he never could for very long. It was like a curse, but he never let on that he was afflicted. Only Gojyo really knew the truth, though he thought Sanzo might suspect. How false were his smiles, that underneath was hidden such pain? How sincere his good thoughts, when he had to try to hard to keep from letting his memories tear him up inside? He never stopped thinking about it, really, even if he didn't truly realize he was doing so. Haunted by his own past, and his own life. He had never really been able to let it go.

But somehow, being with the others, on this tough and harsh road, was helping him to forget about that. Somehow, he was able to forget sometimes about the blood that stained his hands, the pain that stabbed his heart day after day. It hadn't occurred to him then, but when he met Gojyo, it really had changed his life... for the better. His meeting Gojyo had spurred a series of events that had taken him from death's door to the very beginning of a new "life", his own life. His life as Cho Hakkai, when he had been Cho Gonou. But Cho Gonou, he reminded himself, died a long time ago.

The memories, though... those remained. Despite his new name, and his new life, he could never forget those painful events of his past. He knew that he never would. It wasn't something he minded, though, really. He wanted those memories, in an abstract and somewhat painful way. They helped shape who he was. The happy times, the bad times... even those terrible times where he had wanted only to end it all... they were a part of him, and he couldn't let it go.

Love was something that he had had then. Maybe he even had it now. He certainly felt it, for his companions. Even the elusive and cold Sanzo, he loved in his own way. The exciteable and energetic Goku, he loved in his own way. And, of course, lecherous and grinning Gojyo, with his own painful past hidden behind good jokes and bad pick-up lines, he loved. And he never wanted to give that up. Because those people, his love for them, and their journey together... he felt that in some way, that had become him, the essence of him. And even if it was painful...

...even if it's painful, he thought, closing his eyes finally, I won't let this go again...

"And there's flowers on the table: she's lovely, she's lovely not. But circles only make the hunger grow, so she goes out a lot. And she's out there just a' runnin' around, trying to make up some lost time... lost time."

He lay in the bed, arm around the woman he had found himself for the night. She was pretty in a way that he liked at times. The beauty of someone who was once drop-dead gorgeous, but saw everything there was to see and ended up with such sad eyes and bitter lips that she drove everyone else away. Threadbare Beautiful, he called it. It was what he looked for when he wanted someone to reflect him, someone that he could love in his own way for a few brief hours, and leave again with no whining, begging, or hard feelings. Threadbare Beauties were always used to getting run over on their way across the street, and it did them no harm to be with him for a night, as long as they were careful not to get attached. Because that was the only danger: attachments. Love, and things like that. Things he didn't want anyway, and they didn't want anyway, and so they reached an agreement.

The Threadbare Beauties reminded him of Hakkai sometimes, though he dispelled the thought quickly. It was their eyes. Something about their eyes, so sad even when they were smiling, made him think of the green-eyed youkai. Maybe because he was like that sometimes... someone who had seen so many very terrible things, had done so much and caused and felt so much pain, that it took all they had to hide it when they ventured out to speak to others. So that they appeared "normal" and didn't scare people off with their sad eyes. But around him, maybe they sensed they didn't need to bother. He had seen as much as they had, and somehow they became comfortable around him. Sometimes they spoke of their troubles, but it was rare. The Threadbare Beauties didn't like to talk about what hurt them. They only wanted to pain to go away for a little while, a request that he gladly indulged. He was good at making the hurt go away. He wished he could work that same magic on his own heart.

The girl he was with now, this Sleeping Beauty, Threadbare Beauty, on the bed beside him, had long dark blonde hair, and blue eyes that were as sad as the deepest ocean was blue. She was one of the ones who smiled, the ones that reminded him so much of Hakkai. Because even her smiles were tinted by past tears, and sometimes that was even more heart-rending than the Beauties who would stand to the side, expression drawn and eyes wet with tears. Sometimes it was worse if they were smiling. Maybe because it was a mark of how long they had lived with their sorrow, that they had somehow learned to smile again, even if their attempt was a poor one, and so transparent it would have been laughable in any other case. These were the ones he loved the most, the ones he whispered kind words to before he left, smiling back at them in almost identical fashion the smile they gave to him like a gift.

Maybe it was a gift, their smiles. A present wrapped in sorrow, gilded with time.

"And she sits down for a social call; like a princess she puffs on a cigarette. Her beauty is all threadbare now, but she's never gonna let them forget, 'cause my how smashing she looked in her gold lame tank top, with the fancy beadwork on front... the beadwork's on front."

It was evening, it was raining, and he was looking out the window again. It was dark, and he had only just returned to the window after making sure that Goku had gotten home - he hadn't wanted to go looking for him anyhow - and the rain turned his thoughts to things that happened long ago. Like everyone else, he had his ghosts and his past, and his terrors that haunted him in the night, prompting him to awaken with unshed tears in his eyes, staring at the ceiling and wondering how much of the nightmare was merely a dream, how much a memory. How much of it could he hold on to, and how much of it did he wish he could let go, when the night was over? He would lie there looking at the ceiling for hours, and in the morning worried Goku by not having an appetite for anything but the usual coffee to keep him awake during the long day ahead, and a cigarette to calm his frayed nerves. He could never sleep again after he was visited by his memories.

Sometimes it got hard. Harder still to remember where he was when he woke, and he would think himself still there in that room, blood on his hands and tears trailing down his pale face, though of course he wasn't really crying. The tears were in his eyes, but something deep inside him, some stubborn refusal to show his emotions, wouldn't let them fall, even when he himself was asleep. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was something else entirely. He didn't know, and he didn't really care. Except in the early hours, when he awoke from the nightmares with bloody images dancing before his tired violet eyes; that was when he cared. That was when he gave half a wish that he dared show enough emotion to ask for someone's help, to ask for some affection so that he could fall back into his ordinary coldness again. Instead, he lay staring at the ceiling and tried to forget about it. Tried to refuse the aching need deep inside, that he never let anyone see. It was like a line in a song he had once heard, "no one seems to hear your hidden cries; you're left to face yourself all alone." He tried so hard not to let himself get attached to anyone, because it hurt him too badly to do so, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was something else altogether, which he would never know, but wonder about until the day he died.

He remembered the blood, the cold. His own voice alien to his ears, "I couldn't protect him." Tears. Memories of a man who would never again smile, never laugh, never skip out on his duties to show him irrelevant and silly things like paper airplanes, but who always made stupid things like that matter somehow. His vow never to cry again, and never to get attached, because attachment could only lead to pain. It could only lead to a slow and painful death; the death of the heart. So he closed himself off, and didn't let anyone in. He couldn't bear to. He knew that no one could take his master's place in his cold heart.

That had held up until the day he had met Goku. That ringing in his ears, a voice calling him... he remembered it with perfect clarity. He had been so annoyed, but he had tracked the monkey king down anyway, if anything just to stop the crying in his mind. But when he had seen him, he found he wasn't as angry anymore. And he had taken him "home" with him, if it could be called that, to the monestary. And since that day, they had traveled together, Goku never more than a short distance away. He knew he was becoming almost attached to Goku, and to the others, but he refused to acknowledge that. He thought that caring would lead to more pain, and he denied his attachments to them. But they were still there, and distantly, he knew that.

But even knowing what it would bring, he became closer to them. He wondered briefly why that was.

"And a voice chimes like a bell in the night, that just don't know when to quit. She used to have more options, now she wishes she'd already picked. And she wishes she couldn't remember, all those things she'll never forget... never forget."

He awoke again around midnight with a painful, sharp headache. He tried to rest his eyes, so that he wouldn't be kept awake all night with this annoyance, but it didn't work, and he sat up reluctantly. Tea always helped headaches, and so, he decided, he would make some. As he put the water on to boil, he reflected that his bad dreams might have been the source of the headaches. "Stress headaches", and the nightmares certainly were, if nothing else, stressful. Those memories, and those nightmares; they were tied hand-in-hand, and it was getting increasingly hard to tell them apart. Sometimes the nightmares were the memories, interspersed with different recollections of the happenings. Sometimes it was true to what he knew. Other times it was completely different.

That night, it had been one of the different nightmares. He had gotten Kanan to leave with him, and he was so happy... just to see her alive, and know that everything would be alright now... but just as they were leaving the castle, he had heard Chin Yisou's taunting voice, "So, the woman died?" And he turned around, only to see that Kanan wasn't really living, she was a corpse walking. He had pulled only her body out with him, somehow. He had felt tears well up in his eyes, and then he had awoken with a hoarse, stifled cry that he hoped no one had heard. And he had woken up with a headache to reflect the pain in his heart.

He sighed, pouring the hot water into the mug with the tea bag in it. He would have to wait for it to cool as well, now. He could have made a pot of tea, rather than just a cup, but there wasn't anyone to share it with, and by morning it wouldn't taste so good. He wasn't planning on staying up, anyway. That would only lead to more memories, and with the memories, more pain. He sighed, looking at the window. It was still raining out, though it had slowed almost to stopping. He knew that the rain was probably what had brought on the nightmare. Even this light rain was enough to cause his memories to return. Those memories that were supposedly of another life, but that he couldn't forget no matter how hard he tried.

He smiled slightly to himself, though he knew it was a rather melancholy and sad smile. He made a silent prayer that Kanan was in a better place now, away from the pain of this world. He threw away the tea bag and set the kettle aside to cool, picking up his tea with both hands and letting it warm the palms of his hands. The warmth drew away the chill that the rain brought, and with it the pain of the nightmare slowly receded, until it was something barely there, just in the back of his mind. Just as it usually was... something there, tangible, but at the same time not something he felt the need to dwell on. Not something that haunted his every waking moment, as it had once.

And with that thought, he went back to bed, setting the tea down on the bedside table, only to be forgotten in sleep.

"And the lines they all go deeper than the days of her youth, and she flirts and lies and always denies what to her is no longer of any use. But it's not because she hates what she doesn't understand... she just don't understand."

He sighed to himself, hugging the pillow and looking at the wall. Sanzo had been mad at him for being late, but he hadn't hit him or anything -- he had come before dark, and Sanzo hadn't had to go look for him. But then again, Sanzo was always mad about something. Sometimes it worried him... no one should be so angry so much!... but he didn't dwell on it. Then again, he didn't dwell on many things, especially if they worried him. He preferred a life with no worries. Although he did worry about and care for the others, he didn't like to hang on things, especially if they would rather keep them private. He knew better than to keep on about things like that.

Sometimes he saw the sadness in Sanzo's eyes, or Hakkai's, and he wondered why it was there. And now that he knew why, it was harder for him to disregard it. Those sad eyes came back to haunt him, and he wished only that there was something he could do to help, to make it better. He wanted his friends to be happy. He felt so damned helpless when he found that there was nothing he could do. All he could think of was to stick by them, and do the best he could, and in making things easier for them, prompt Hakkai's kindness and Sanzo's occasional smiles. Those smiles were something he rarely saw, but he liked seeing them. Maybe because they were the proof that Sanzo wasn't as cold as he pretended to be. Or maybe because they were proof that the cynical priest really did care, somewhere deep down. Or were those the same thing? Oh well.

He wished he could remember his own past, before the mountain. But all that came to him was a blank. He had somehow jumped to the middle of the story and was heading towards the end, but without the benefit of a beginning to show him where he was coming from, and why he was where he was, going where he was going to. It was like opening a book to a random page and then reading through the rest of it without ever going back to read the first hundred pages or so. He felt lost sometimes, a feeling that never showed, but that was there, in the depths of his heart. But either way, he had a shining light now to follow, and that shining light was in Sanzo. And as he lay awake that night, he thought about that.

He had come so far, and still all he knew was his devotion. All he knew was himself and his friends.

"And her heart is as faded as a used pair of jeans; and her heart is frayed around the edges, she's comin' undone at the seams. And it's her last chance to make a statement; it's her last note I've recieved."

He was in his bed, drifting in the half-sleep that always preluded the true rest. Looking at the ceiling and hoping he wouldn't see it again until morning. He heard Goku's even breathing, and knew he was asleep. Gojyo was gone, presumably with a woman somewhere. It didn't matter. He heard Hakkai get up at some point, and he considered briefly going to see why, but eventually decided against it. Knowing Hakkai, to confront him at this point, when what had awoken him was likely not something pleasant, he would deny and smile and only feel worse later on. Because that was just Hakkai's way, really. He denied every unpleasant emotion until the strain got to be too much, and the thread that held him on to his smiles and denials snapped, and everything came down around him.

He supposed he could be the same way, only that he didn't smile. He only had denials and cynicism to keep him company, which was really fine by him. He didn't want to be kind to others, or anything like that. It didn't matter to him. There were only a few people who did matter to him, and they knew he cared without his ever having to say a word, anyhow. The rest of the world? He couldn't care less how they thought of him. It was only Goku, Gojyo, and Hakkai who mattered to him anymore. He didn't really give a damn about anyone else.

The next day, they were to resume their journey. Onward, to face more youkai, and try to complete their goal. His goal, too. And with luck, tomorrow they wouldn't find any hints of anything out of the ordinary, and none of them would have any past tagging along behind them, ready to strike out with venemous intent. He knew that wouldn't be the case, though. Each of them had a past that they had to overcome, some secret sadness that they couldn't seem to get rid of. But maybe... maybe now they could. But who knows? He didn't profess to be any kind of psychic.

Sometimes he wondered about the truth of his own words. Did he really not care what anyone else thought? Of course he didn't care. Did he really not care about the others? Ah, now there was the tricky question... did he care about them...? Yes, he did. And that stung a bit. He knew that he cared about them. And he didn't want to.

But the fact remained that he did. And they were his companions, the ones he would see this entire journey through with, like it or not. So he figured he should probably become a little fond of them somewhere along the lines, or he'd kill them all and end up completing the journey on his own, which probably wouldn't end nicely.

For better or worse, these four, each with their own pasts and their own demons, were stuck with each other on the entire road of their journey West.

"She's a 501 beauty queen."

--owari--