Some Mirsan angst inspired by a friend and her podcast. Go Check out Mustardyellowsunshine and Gypsin in their Dogboycast on soundcloud.
Agnate: adj- Allied or akin
Shooting into a seated position, Sango clutched at her chest, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears like the beating of a horse's hooves. Taking in shallow breaths, she ran her shaky hands over her sweaty forehead and through her bangs as she squeezed her eyes shut, her lungs burning for more air than she could supply. Images of blood and the faces of her family and friends stained her eyelids. The smell of the iron twang and the complete and unforgettable sound of her father and cousins choking on their own blood. The gurgling gasp as they tried in vein to stem the draining of their life force. The pain and burning shock of her own brother's kusarigama piercing her flesh. The drowning feeling of her lungs collapsing.
She needed fresh air and water. The small room that she shared with Kagome in the inn seemed suddenly terrifyingly small and hot. Glancing over to a sleeping Kagome with a small puff of red hair tucked beneath her chin, she made a move to stand when Kirara licked her fingertips and let out a small growling meow, her ruby eyes showing hundreds of years of knowledge and emotion. And also reflected the same soul ripping pain of loss.
"I just need some air." Sango whispered, leaning down and planting a gentle kiss to her friends forehead. Silently thanking her for her unparalleled understanding.
Sango stood, straightening her sleeping yukata, and slowly opened the outer door leading to the courtyard. The full moon's bright face illuminated the soft wood of the deck and the individual leaves of a maple tree by her room. What she wasn't expecting to see was a man sitting on the ledge of the deck, his own sleeping yukata still on. Black hair fell down over his neck and barely touched his shoulders. The man turned his head to look at her, familiar indigo eyes held none of their usual mischief and innuendo. Tonight they looked much older than 18. Tonight they reflected the same pain she was suffocating from. As if he had his own sickle protruding from his back.
"Ah. I see I'm not the only one unable to sleep on this night." Miroku sighed straightening his posture and running his covered right hand though his bangs and into his loose hair as he propped himself up with the other. "Please, come sit with me. The night is still young and much too quiet for my taste."
Sango conceded, lowering herself to sit beside her friend. "You,too?" She asked, pulling her own loose lochs over one shoulder and playing with the loose ends. "Ahh, yes. Old trusty." Miroku sighed, his right hand clutching into a fist in his robe. "Just watching Dad get ripped to shreds by his own hand while Mushin holds me and shields me from flying debris. For so much blood, it's surprising how clean and uniform everything was afterwards. Every drop was sucked away. Every article of clothing. Not even a single hair left behind, believe me, I searched. It's as if he never existed. With the exception of the huge hole in the ground, that is." he breathed, his voice growing gruff as he looked at his own damnation marring the skin of his own palm. "Which one was it for you?" He asked, letting his hand fall limp as he assessed her.
"The night that Kohaku was possessed and killed our family and friends. I felt myself dying all over again." She whispered, her eyes falling to her own lap. "Fear, loss and threat of one's own life tend to make lasting impressions, I've come to find." He turned to her then, taking in her pained expression. Leaning forward, he placed his left hand on her knee and squeezed gently. Not in his usual playful manner, but in a knowing gesture. Sango closed her eyes, covering his hand with her own and squeezing back in thanks.
Slowly, she leaned to the side, resting her head on his shoulder as she squeezed her eyes shut and released a ragged breath. "Will it ever get better?" She asked, knowing full well that despite his spiritual powers, he had no knowing of the future. But he had dealt with his pain for far longer than she had. "Maybe not. Maybe so. But i'll always be there to talk when you need me, Sango. It's okay to not be okay." He whispered, leaning his head against hers. She nodded against him, warm tears falling silently as she gripped his hand as if it were her only tether to the here and now, fearful of the weight of her past and the repercussions it would hold for her future.
At that, the pair grew silent. Taking strength from one another in the pale lunar glow.
Across the courtyard and above the roof sat an observer, his white ears trained on his friends in their moments of weakness. He understood their pain. Most nights the images of his past robbed him of rest. But now, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Everyone needed a shock absorber. He had found his in Kagome. She was his lightning rod. In his storms, she helped him divert his fear. And now he was happy for his friends as he was able to witness them finding their own safe haven in each other. He figured this would be the start to a long process of healing for them and an even shorter one of love.