I don't own Inuyasha
He pushed me away, and I pushed back. Only the slow, painful turning of time could show me what really happens next. It's a damn shame I was too blind to see it earlier.
What can his eyes show me? Eyes are nothing but a collection of cells that relay light waves to the brain. They betray no emotions. They know not fear, nor pain, nor love. They are dead, like his heart.
He wouldn't gripe about the trouble, wouldn't want us to mourn for him. He is too kind and gentle a spirit to wish troubling thoughts to pass through innocent minds for his sake. Or at least he was.
Me. They say he used to remind them of me, or I of him. It really doesn't matter any more. He is not I, and I not he. No one can be me, just as no one can replace him. No one will ever fill the hole in his sister's heart, or empty the graves of his family. He is lost to us all, and it shows only in his sister's actions.
The tale she told was not in full, the details of that horrid night only haunt her memories now, for he has none. She bares this cross alone.
Looking out past the dead eyes, past the dead and rotting corpses and the dead hope that his loving sister dared let rise in the pit of her being, there is only grey. The grey smoke and misty fog that is now rolling and churning over this pit of despair lets its dull and sad fingers curl around us all, showing us in a twisted mirror what happens next. If, and only if, we pay the attention it demands.
He's moving now. The dead eyes fill with water and life as he once again recovers a flickering memory.
She reaches out for him again and again. She always does. He falls into her this time. He lets her try to sooth the sporadic pain that has surfaced in his numb mind.
We take him in, against the wishes of Inuyasha, who insists he is a danger to us all.
She is hurt and against his initial instincts, allows the boy to stay.
Here he is now, an unspoken agreement between us all.
The boy will stay. Sad, that we do it for his sister and not for him. For her piece of mind he will eat our food, share our shelter and company, and stare. Stare with his lost eyes that are nothing more than swirling pools of vast empty space, occasionally allowing a glimmering thought or emotion break the surface.
It is only the boy and I now, staring across the fire. I imagine his face mirrors mine, for I have long since lost the spark of interest needed to have a fulfilling life in this place, and lost the will to fight for it. My only motivation now is to save my time, and if I have to do it through this, so be it.
The soft crackling of the dying fire, licking its last pathetic tongues of white hot warmth, and the soft snores of the taijiya and the houshi are the only sounds penetrating the silence of the small camp at that moment.
Every night since he came this is how it was. He and I having a mute battle of eyes across a dying fire, the early retirement of Sango and Miroku, and the head clearing "nature walks" that our dog-eared leader seemed to be so fond of as of late.
It was a challenge, to see whose mask would break first. Mine is impenetrable.
A foreign sound broke through to my senses, and after a delayed reaction I located the source.
Odd, I didn't think I'd win so soon.
It was a small sound, had it been summer and there were night birds and insects buzzing about I would not have heard it.
Then his chin twitched. Lost life once again flicked across his features, and this time decided to stay for a while.
I watched in silence as the tears came, rolling silently and steadily down his freckle-kissed cheeks.
He was bound to break sooner or later.
Without words, I gently transferred the slumbering kitsune from my lap to between my two friends, snuggling him up to the miniature fire neko.
It took me no more than ten seconds to reach and kneel down next to the troubled youth, who was really not more than a scant three years younger than I.
His eyes never left mine, and I was starting to become a bit unnerved.
This was Sango's job. To take care of this and heal his wounds, and vice versa. It was a sibling team effort, not mine.
I took his face in my hands and gently wiped the tears away with the corner of my battered sleeve.
Two years of feudal era nonsense had made me tough, not heartless.
His hands darted out and bit mine away with a sharp slap, and I retracted immediately.
Burying his face in his hands, the long since locked away tears broke free, and with his back heaving, he cried.
Not knowing what else to do, I wrapped my arms around his trembling form and let him heal himself. He didn't push away this time.
Not too long after, my shirt had accumulated a large spot of salty tears, and it clung to my stomach. The boy's crying had ceased, but his breathing was shaky and uneven. He sat upright, wiping his face almost sheepishly before I brought his head down on my shoulder.
"I don't want to remember," he whispered so softly I almost missed it.
"I know," was my only response, nothing could fully comfort him from the harsh reality of his past.
I rubbed my hands up and down his back in a soothing fashion, it seemed to be working. Lightly fingering the jewel shard inhabited scar between his shoulder blades, I felt him shudder in my embrace.
The shard was tainted by Naraku's hand. The boy would no doubt succumb to the aspiring tyrant's whims at any given moment if something not be done. Resting my chin on Kohaku's soft hair, I looked over him and to his slumbering sister. Something had to be done, and this time, for his sake.
I had origionally planned on more in this story, and after finding on my hardrive (where it had been neglected since last summer...) I thought, although slightly abrupt, this was an appropriate place to stop. In my opinion, Kohaku is a neglected character in the anime... but whatever. Remains a one-shot unless I'm overwhelmingly inspired, unlikely, but hey.