Every Time
Chapter 11: Locks and Chains
AN: Sorry this one took three weeks, my head is dying. Thanks a bundle to parnsip for her beta-ing skillz, and everyone who has reviewed up to this point, because we have reached 100! I feel loved.
Disclaimer: mm, no.Fresh air was a boon, filling her lungs that had been breathing thick, vile air for so long. The sunlight cast red splotches against her vision as she closed her eyes, slightly unaccustomed to that light. Had it been that long? She had no way of knowing. Not that she had the time to be thinking of that. The wind, the flora, the azure sky stretching on forever above her; they were all still out of her grasp, so far away.
She was not free. She was on a leash.
Sango looked back at the castle, resisting the urge to spit at it. Who the Hell cared, really? Naraku might. Naraku might lose his patience. Naraku might crush everything she had which wasn't much anyways.
His voice, slimy and causing a tickle inside of her ear, commanded her, controlled her. And he wanted her to go do a little something for him. There was a youkai he had made a deal with whose loyalties had turned with their newfound power in the jewel shard. She was to do exactly what she'd been trained all her life to do.
Slay.
She still had her uniform underneath her yukata, and two Saimyoushou had gotten her hiraikotsu from where she left it by Kaede's.
Details, details.
She had been given a lift to the area by one of Naraku's lower demons. She might have declined, except for the large amount of time it would have taken her to get to the youkai by foot. Stupid as it sounds, she wanted to get back to the castle as soon as possible. While she was gone, there was no telling what would happen to Kohaku or Miroku. She knew very well Naraku was not to be trusted. Hell, she was finding it hard to trust anything, be it reality or even herself!
There really was no way out of the maze. She just kept going in circles, wondering how she could rescue the innocently poised object, being resting on the vibrating coils of a tensely wound spring. A misstep could cause the delicate balance to upset, crushing the prize. And so she circled.
I will not let him win…
But as usual, there were costs.
o
"The scent's been here a few days," Inuyasha muttered, sniffing at the ground. "That bastard."
"Naraku…" Kagome murmured knowingly, wishing she and Inuyasha had been there to save them rather then arguing in her time. That Shippou had found Kirara alone still caused her heart to palpitate with fear of what might have been.
The hanyou stood, crossing his arms. "Well, they're gone. Must've flown off, cause the scent doesn't go anywhere. Naraku came here, and there was a battle. Quite a bit of blood."
"Do you think…"
"They're dead?" Inuyasha finished for her. "No. Naraku's not like that."
"So there's still hope…" Kagome squinted against her tears, putting on a smile as best as she could manage. "Right?"
Inuyasha gave a curt nod. "Obviously, Naraku has something planned. He'll show up, sooner or later. We'll be ready then."
Kagome decided not to bring up the points that only she and Inuyasha were in fighting condition, since Kirara hadn't quite healed yet, and without Miroku and Sango, there seemed no point in trying. She instead grabbed Inuyasha's hand and led him back to the village, while spouting optimistic wishes, her spirit uplifted by his consolations.
It was the least she could do.
o
It was like living a memory.
She could barely remember the battle. There was only the corpse in front of her and her used weapons, along with her body's cry for some kind of rest and her muscle's joy at returning to such use. It felt good to breathe.
But in the corner of her eye, she kept seeing her comrades salvaging what they could use from the carcass. She could feel her father's hand on her shoulder, his voice congratulating her, and Kohaku's slight laughter as he averted his eyes from the sight. But she was on her own.
A ghost in her own right.
The youkai slain, she watched a saimyoushou pick the jewel shard from the large mass of flesh that had before been trying to kill her. She had to admit she liked the adrenaline rushing through her, the thought of death being just inches, just seconds away, and how she kept avoiding it or even bringing it upon the monsters she fought. There was control when she could do that.
But it had slipped away.
And it was all just memories.
Just "Chichiue" and "Kohaku," names whose souls had faded.
Kohaku, though, she had almost caught in her grasp…
In the end, she knew she would die. As a child, she never did quite understand why her mother hugged her father tightly whenever they parted ways. When her mother had died giving birth to Kohaku, she had cried and sworn to protect her brother. A lot of good that did when his kusarigama pierced the skin of her back, biting into the flesh.
"I'm on baby-sitting duty again," came the sarcastic voice, shattering her memories into little pieces. The taste of them upon her tongue turned vile and bitter as she turned to see Kagura, tapping her fingers against her arm. Sango glared, quietly making her way over to the wind youkai. Kagura raised an eyebrow, giving her a look, but said nothing as she summoned the large feather. Honestly, she was dreading the ride back to the castle with the taijiya, and was glad she had been out spying so she didn't have to provide the ride there.
Sango stared away, never having been in close proximity with the wind-user. She was nice on the eyes, but not exactly what Sango would want for beauty. Some of Naraku could be seen in her, which caused a chill to run through Sango's heart.
"What…" she started, leaning forwards a little, raising her voice against the wind. "My brother… How has he been? Can you tell me?"
"Well, Naraku hasn't fucked him as far as I know," Kagura gave a smirk that instantly dropped as she saw the slayer's face. "Well, that's the truth. He's out on assignments sometimes, but Naraku seems reluctant to give him anything unnecessarily dangerous. Other times, he's just out of it. I don't really know much."
Sango gave a nod, suspicious. "Are you lying?"
"Tch. Why would I?"
"Well, you work for Naraku… It would be only natural for one to assume-"
"Look, you don't know shit about-" Kagura cut herself off, eyes widening as she saw an opening. "I know you don't know me, and probably hate my guts but…"
"But what?"
Kagura smiled, glancing around anxiously. There were saimyoushou flying near, but not near enough to hear their dialogue over the harsh wind that had blown in. Licking her lips, she adjusted her position to sit further back, so that Sango could hear her better, and it wouldn't look too much like a conspicuous conversation.
"You'll probably not believe me, but I'm in the same situation as you," she explained in quick, sharp tones. "I'm a slave for Naraku. He can't control me like he does Kohaku since I can think for myself, but if I step out of line, he can kill me within seconds, and isn't afraid to give me a little taste from time to time. And right now I want the same thing as you. I want him dead."
Sango narrowed her eyes, hair whipping painfully into her face. "You don't know what it's like-"
"I'm not asking for an understanding!" Kagura persisted. "I'm suggesting an… alliance, if you want to call it that."
Sango drew in her breath, glancing from her lap to the youkai with fierce eyes staring at her over her shoulder, waiting for her response.
"I'll do it," she said finally, and Kagura turned her head forward.
"Don't talk to me like this happened. If he finds out, we're both fucked."
Sango almost had to smile at Kagura's explicit speech. It was a trait she would usually despise in both men and women, but it suited the expression playing across Kagura's face, the wind playing with her long beaded earrings. Sango didn't have memories of many friendships before Kagome, Inuyasha or Miroku.
And they say the enemy of your enemy is your friend.
Sango was beginning to learn just how many sides there were to their little war.
o
His smile was cold on her skin.
"Well done, Sango…"
She kept her eyes on the ground, where she stood in the doorway, still covered in dirt and blood. He liked the look of her like that, as if she had just crawled out of her grave.
He grinned.
She looked up.
But said nothing.
"Do us a favor and don't let Kohaku see you like this," came the slithery voice. "You know he doesn't like blood…"
And yet he was covered in the stain.
Sango clenched her fists.
"Why don't you kill me?"
A laugh trickled from his lips into the musty air between them. It burrowed beneath Sango's skin and began to itch, tempting her to scratch until it bled. He would drink the pain from her lips, she knew, until she was sick with it.
"Sango…" he murmured, almost affectionately.
She turned and left the room, empty except for him, and the ghosts that would never leave.
He made sure of that.
o
Sango's fingers dug into the thick bundle of chestnut hair, trying to untie the ribbon that bound it up to the top of her head. Finally, the knot came undone, and her tresses fell down from their binding, swishing against her back and shoulders as she walked. Naraku seemed not to care that she had abandoned her old room and was staying with Miroku. They were brought a meal twice a day; day meaning the period of time she paced or sat around, unable to sleep. They had decided to take turns sleeping, not wanting to be caught off-guard with neither fully conscious.
"Miroku," she called quietly, approaching the door. A thump came from within, and she rushed to the door. "Miroku!"
He lay on his side, small pools of red liquid behind him, obviously from the wound on his back. His face showed extreme strain, one arm clutching his shoulder, freshly shed blood on his fingertips. A day earlier, they'd both taken baths, since they had discovered the tub strangely full, but already she felt soiled, as if she was never really able to wash it all off.
Stumbling over to him, she caught sight of a glimmer within the small crimson puddle, and her mind made the connection while raving and trying to shut it all out.
"What did you do?" she asked anyway, looking around for something to stop the bleeding. Miroku looked up, head bobbing as if he were about to be sick.
"The jewel…shard…"
"Idiot!" Sango hissed, grabbing at her yukata, which she'd left in the corner of the room before she'd left for the mission. Hastily, she sank her teeth into the material, tearing strips from what used to be the bottom. He tried to control his breathing, but the pain was immense, even more so as she put pressure on the wound. It was only bleeding a little, but the shock of suddenly not having the jewel shard to distract him from the pain was harsh. Patiently, he let her run her fingertips over the skin around the wound, which she gained access to after pulling back the dark robes he wore.
"Why?" she asked, tying the bandage tight.
He winced. "I don't want to owe Naraku my life. I was dying. Sango, I am, and the jewel shard was forcing me to become dependant on it. I don't… I don't want to be a puppet. I would rather die. I'm sorry…"
Her hands pulled away, and he pulled his legs beneath him so he could sit, still a little clumsy from dizziness and lack of sight, both at once being quite a strange experience. The shard still lay on the floor, abandoned.
"Sango?" Miroku asked, his voice sounding tired. "Are you still there?"
"I'm no more than that…" she whispered to herself. "A puppet… Just like Kohaku."
He bit his lip, reaching forwards. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked bitterly. "I'm the one that…made more mistakes."
"It doesn't matter."
"You just said yourself, you'd rather die!"
He gritted his teeth, letting his hand find her forearm. "You don't really have a choice. I know he's playing you, Sango, but what are you supposed to do! It's Naraku we're talking about!"
"I could've done something!" she yelled, but didn't pull away as he wrapped his arms around her, an event that had happened a few times in the last few days. She could feel warmth in him, as opposed to the bitter cold that had before coated his skin, and was glad for it. Before she could protest again, he kissed her forehead softly.
"I know you feel badly, and I can understand why. But everyone makes mistakes. We're only human; can we expect anything else of ourselves? I don't blame you for the mistakes, and they don't at all change how much I care about you. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. Time after time, I continually touched you without permission and foolishly let my desires for women lead us into danger. But…though you became angry with me, it seemed you always forgave me, though I don't know why. It would have been so easy of you not to trust me, but you're still here." His dug his fingers into her hair, feeling her quivering next to him. "I never really understood why. But I do know that your forgiveness of me just made me care about you more. I can only give you the same in return, Sango. Never can I hate you for the things you do, as long as you have reason. So stop blaming yourself."
Limp in his arms, she gave a shudder.
"Thank you," she murmured, regaining herself, and beginning to pull away. Quickly, she pressed her lips against his. The taste of death still lingered in his mouth, but it was fading, replaced with the curious warmth that she knew as him. "I'm going to go bathe, but I'll hurry back… Thank you."
In the doorway, she paused.
"No peeking," she added, if only for old time's sake.
o
Footsteps crept down the hall, calloused skin over the smooth, wooden floor of the hallway, color as deep as chocolate. His shadow taking no time to play with the flickering candlelight that lit the halls, as he tried his best to stay quiet in his anxious state, trying not to shake, trying not to crumble.
Miroku looked up, sensing him in the doorway. The monk knew his visitor was not Sango; the breath was flavored with a different, younger voice, and his footsteps were still a little clumsy, not as graceful as the female taijiya.
"Who's there?" Miroku asked cautiously, not bothering to move. If it was a battle that was coming for him, he knew he wouldn't survive. Sango had left for the bath a good ten minutes earlier, so he supposed she would be back soon, though in her undressed state, a speedy arrival may not have been easy.
The boy in the doorway stepped in quietly, though Miroku couldn't see his appearance. Apprehension briefly touched the visitor's freckled cheeks, before he carefully paced over to the monk, trembling just slightly. A muscle in his left shoulder twitched; a nervous habit.
"Tell me…who I am," came the soft male voice, still in its youth.
A shuddered breath came from the doorway, and a third entered the room, rushing over to Kohaku.
"Kohaku, what are you…" came a voice Miroku knew as Sango.
Her little brother looked her straight in the eye, feeling his left shoulder convulse minutely once more.
"I want to know."
"Know wh-"
"Tell me who I am! I don't know who I am! But I'm ready now. Please, I need to know!"
It hurt, not knowing his own heart. Feeling it shy away from things, and give off a glow at others, when he didn't even know the people, or places, or objects he was near.
And it hurt to see that woman's eyes, again and again.
Like a nightmare on repeat.
It refused to stop.
End of Chapter 11