Think Long, Think Wrong

Shippō didn't brood.

No matter how many of Inuyasha's habits Kagome thought he picked over the years, he didn't brood. He reflected on many things. It was a way of self-preservation, so he didn't say or do the wrong thing that would earn him someone's ire. After all, no one deserved to be snapped at because he was in a bad mood. So on the occasions when his thoughts became too heavy, and he felt impossible to be in the company, he decided to save someone the trouble of getting angry with him and make himself scarce. That was something he learned from his time traveling with the others. A fair share of fights could've been avoided or solved if someone knew when to step away and clear their head.

Although, he'd never tell them. He was a kid back then and probably fanned the flames more than putting them out. And it all worked out in the end. Sango accepted Miroku's marriage proposal, and their family had a little over the same number of members as their group. Then there was Kagome and the joy of seeing her climb out of the well with Inuyasha supporting her, how she held Shippō close despite him not being so little anymore, and wept salty tears that burned his nose.

He refused to cry though.

Kagome was home, and that was more than enough reason to celebrate. Hearing she decided to stay with them put him in such a good mood that he couldn't even hold his human-like form for long. The delighted laughter erupting from her as he curled around her moments after Inuyasha finally let her go would forever ring sweetly in his ears. She talked so much about how much he'd grown, but he felt like bawling like a little kid again when she and Inuyasha married, both wearing smiles even when they bickered only a day later over who left the futon out when it rained.

Tension melted from Shippō's shoulders once he stopped in the middle of a footpath and breathed. Leaf litter rustled beneath his paws, the woods strangely quiet for the height of summer when insects incessantly sang into the heat. Somewhere above him, the lonely cry of a bird traveling deeper into the forest drew out a sigh from him. Though his form was of a human man, he couldn't betray the parts of him that were a yōkai without effort.

Pointed ears, a fox's hindlegs, sharpened canines, fingers tipped with wicked claws, the desire to keep what was his away from undeserving eyes.

Shippō wrinkled his nose at the thought and slapped a hand against his cheek. The skin-to-skin contact echoed across the trees, battering their trunks and stirring the Kodama. Branches trembled, some angry at being awake, while others shed their leaves out of concern for a child of the woods. Shippō sucked his teeth, slipping his hands into his sleeves. Funny how he came to this part of the forest to be alone and stumbled to a place where the nosier trees were. No wonder it took Inuyasha so long to find one where he could sleep peacefully.

Trees had ears and eyes spanning from great heights and depths, and they were privy to all but beholden to none. Which meant they could be pretty nosy and prying when they wanted to be.

Your spirit is as loud as it is unbalanced, they said. Where was this disquiet borne from, little one?

Without meaning to, Shippō laughed. Little one. Ever since he came to Kaede's village in Kagome's arms, they always called him that. It was a greeting he hadn't heard in years before then, and he wondered how far they had come to have heard Pa's endearment for him. Aches chipped away at Shippō's resolve until he could not stand the painful twinge, taking a seat between the roots of a half-sunken tree whose thick canopies had parted enough to allow thin shafts of sunlight to dance atop his head.

Shippō sighed, breathing in the clear air and the taste of coming rain. Bitter, yet sweet. Distant claps of thunder resound in his ears, throbbing like the pain of a finger flicking against his forehead. He wouldn't have long to be like this, so he decided to take whatever time he could. The silence between himself and the trees is comfortable, unhurried, and unharried. After all, they had all the time in the world and could even wait out a fox. Shippō brushed his claws over the small tufts of grass sprouted from the tree's roots. Shippō pulled a blade of grass, then set it at the crook of his lips, drinking in the kōki, thick and sweet, until it withered into nothingness.

Exhaling, Shippō cast a glance up to the shafts of light. Swaying motes moved with quick and lively bounces, prolonging their time in the air as much as possible. Some joined together while others stayed apart, gradually circling but never meeting. Shippō wondered which he envied more.

"I love someone, but I am no good for them…." The admittance rang hollow yet loud, and all at once, Shippō felt exposed. He slipped his hands into his sleeves and hunched his shoulders as if to hide the part of him left vulnerable. Gaze firmly kept on the ground, he asked in a soft and even voice, "Tell me, what does it mean to be a good kitsune?"

As a child, he hardly listened to his father's lessons but knew the difference between right and wrong. Terrifying kitsunes played cruel jokes and feasted on humans, but were the good kitsune only considered that because humans liked them? In a way, Shippō could understand. He'd tricked Kagome what felt like ages ago and still felt guilt despite her constant reassurance in his youth that he'd only been acting as a grieving son would. Kagome was neither his mother nor his sister, but she was a part of him in a way he couldn't define.

He wanted her to think of him as someone good, to be able to approach her without incurring wrath from the villagers onto their heads. Their feelings toward the strange band of travelers who brought not only protection but destruction to their humble village waxed and waned from distrust to silent contempt to toleration. Shippō wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before. Maybe because he was a kid, and hiding in Inuyasha's shadow shielded him. But now he felt the eyes and heard the whispers and felt the scorn. The thought that his goodness depended on how other people saw him was frustrating.

In that sense, he could understand Inuyasha. Watching him languish in agony after losing Kagome, harboring all the memories of their time together - good and bad - having the feeling of being adored by someone so wholly only for it to be ripped away. Then, the looks on everyone else's faces, the scorn, the distrust, the hate, even when all he did was try to help. No wonder he was so grumpy all the time.

Tell me, fox child. Do you wish to be good or loved?

Wrenched from his thoughts, Shippō gazed up at the tree's trunk.

You foxes are all alike, the tree lamented with a whispered sigh rustling its leafy crown. Clinging to your tricks and boasting your tails but it matters not when your precious treasure is stolen. Then, you whine and complain about the fairness of it all. What does it mean to be good? Will it grant you a long life or the power and grandeur you seek?

Rings etched into grooves along the outer bark shifted slowly as if they were circling around to face him in turn. Though Shippō had never met another tree yōkai besides Bokusenо̄, the Kodama was different. Exposed, Shippō averted his gaze, and for a long moment, he said nothing.

His pa never told him kitsune were feared, but he never told him to be good either. All he did was love him as much as a father could and protect him when everything awry. Even the jewel shards his father stumbled across were untainted, glowing a pale pink shade like when Kagome had them. Whatever his intentions had been for the jewel, they weren't ill. He never left their den for long and if he did, it was to chase away anyone who would try to hurt them. Shippō shuddered at the distant clap of thunder from somewhere beyond the forest.

That day, he wanted to fight with his pa. If they died then they would die together. Youthful outrage, the inability to see the vastness between his strength and theirs, howling about the unfairness of it all as his father chased him away. Snapping jaws and the rasping laughter of the younger Thunder Brother sprung fresh tears to Shippō's eyes. His pa was only trying to protect him, and he knew that, deep down. If anyone asked, that's what he remembered most about his pa. He might not have been perfect, but he was loved by his son most of all.

And in turn, his pa loved him.

Enough to buy him time with his life.

Shippō spat the withered blade of grass on the ground, then covered it with dirt. "... Love won't give me that either," he said softly as the realization of how empty he felt after his father's death was unearthed as easily as the grass he uprooted. Flashes of faces - Kagome, Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Kirara, Kaede, Rin - flitted through his mind. Yet two lingered longer than the others: one, a man with kind brown eyes that held a hidden well of sorrow. The second was a stern-faced woman whose gimlet stare could see through his tricks and pranks effortlessly. His claws pressed to the dirt, catching and digging thin troughs as he clenched his fist tightly.

"But I want it," he whispered, repulsed and embarrassed in spades by the desperation in his voice. "More than anything."

To be loved for simply being Shippō, flaws and all. Like how Kagome loved Inuyasha, how Sango loved Miroku, how…

"There you are."

Shippō blinked, then looked up. He wasn't sure how he missed the smell of a cookfire's ashes and the metallic odor of iron metal, but he would know Kohaku's face anywhere. It's a face he's spent an embarrassingly long time memorizing the contours of, every inch mapped out by wandering eyes, restless fingertips, and on the rare occasion they were alone, Shippō's mouth. Before his thoughts could ease toward pleasant musings of their time together, his gaze fell to the bridge of Kohaku's nose, and the offending flesh - raised and shiny - displayed prominently. He couldn't smell the stench of the demon who caused it and knowing Kohaku, it was likely dead by now - but an irrational part of him wanted to find its remains and then burn them to ash with his fox fire.

Maybe then he would feel somewhat appeased.

Suddenly irritable, Shippō turned his head away from Kohaku and pressed his hands in his lap like a child hiding their wrongdoing. His tail traitorously flicked behind him as he felt Kohaku's presence sidle up in front of him. Far enough they would need to reach for each other to touch but close enough to send a clear message — I'm here until you want to send me away.

And the answer was clear in Shippō's hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. He couldn't send Kohaku away if he wanted to. The need to be around him was much greater than some territorial instinct to tear apart whatever lowlife dared to touch him. But there was something more than that. Deeper than Shippō cared to probe into.

A shame he couldn't shake.

"Aneue was hoping to have your help with the purification ritual," Kohaku started, ever practical and mild as he spoke. Pinches of fondness surrounded his endearment of Sango but they withered once he continued. "I won't be present, but if it helps…"

Shippō bit down on the inside of his cheek. Meek. Kohaku sounded meek, hesitant, ashamed, and for what? He brought down a yōkai as he did probably a thousand times before. Only this time, it left its mark on him. The damned thing was probably celebrating and cursing Kohaku as it sat underneath binding sutras, being prepped to be crafted into a weapon.

Sango would forgive me if I burned it, Shippō thought. He could always hunt down another yōkai, one vile and strong, decent enough to be used by the taijiya. Unable to harm anyone else.

Silence lingered between them, and though Kohaku may not have been able to feel it, Shippō sensed the trees watching them. An audience, a show, his token to them for the wisdom they bestowed. Now it made sense why he didn't feel Kohaku nearing. Nature itself was conspiring against him to look his problems in the face.

Shippō swallowed hard, turning back to him as his lips melded around pitifully soft words. "Kohaku, I'm sorr—"

"Do you think I'm weak?" Kohaku interjected, as clean and precise as his kusarigama slicing through bone and tendons. Those words struck Shippō's heart, forcing the breath out of his lungs and all he could do was dumbfoundedly stare as Kohaku's guarded mask cracked along its corners. Perhaps a part of his half-uttered apology had gotten through, but that wasn't enough.

He clapped a hand over his knee, leaning forward challengingly. "Where would you get that from?!" His attention fell to the scarred flesh, reddened around its uneven edges. Not even a clean cut. Rage pushed him to turn his eyes away before Kohaku could see - but he must have because his posture tightened and he sat up straighter with his hands curled atop of his lap as if they were in a meeting. Showing he wasn't a threat to anyone else present.

I don't want that, Shippō howled in his mind. You don't have to be like this with me. It's just me! I know you wouldn't hurt me, and…

"You can't bear to look at me," Kohaku said. His tone straddles the border between offended and matter-of-fact. Shippō liked it best when Kohaku was tearing apart know-it-alls, not when he was trying to break down his defenses.

Maintaining neutrality wasn't as easy as it seemed, Shippō thought as he spoke. "It has nothing to do with being strong or not."

Kohaku didn't seem appeased by that at all, and Shippō did his best not to flinch when he received the look. The one that made Kohaku's warm brown eyes look like voids, practically communicating his displeasure without having to say a thing at all. It's a look Shippō had only seen Sango give Miroku. Was that it, then? He was as bad as Miroku now?!

Either unaware of his internal panic or uncaring, Kohaku asked. "Then, was it because I wasn't clever enough to dodge a mantis yōkai's forelegs?"

"We both know that accidents happen," Shippō shouted without thinking, not seeing the trap he'd set himself in until it closed around him with the finality displayed in the faintest lift of Kohaku's brow.

"Yet, the reason behind your disgust with me still remains unclear."

Shippō trembled, though he wasn't sure if it was from the anger or the cold snap of Kohaku's words. He hated it. He hated that they were like this and that it felt like they were fighting without actually fighting. "Alright, alright…!" Shippō batted a hand at the air between them as if he could push away the dark cloud lingering over them. He clapped one hand on each knee, bowing his head with a slight quaver in his voice. "I know, I know. I reacted badly when I saw it but that's not your fault, it's mine! I-I'm supposed to protect you."

He squeezed his eyes shut, claws sinking into his pants leg until he could feel them nick his skin. It didn't matter. He would heal no matter how many wounds he had, and if they were fatal, he'd only have to wait sometime until his body pieced itself back together. Humans weren't like that. Kohaku wasn't like that. If those spikes went too deeply, his head would have been lopped off and no amount of poultices or pleading would help him. Shippō shivered, feeling the weight of his fear rising up like a wave to pull him over.

But at the last minute, Kohaku's voice called out to him with a curt, "I can protect myself." Then his hands slipped into Shippō's field of vision as they gently cupped around his chin, lifting his head when he did nothing to stop it. "Besides, no matter how strong you are, you can't be everywhere at once."

His trembling eased up as he stared at Kohaku. The warmth returned to his eyes reminded him of the kind, gentle boy Sango would talk about as she and Kagome traded stories of their little brothers during their travels. Stories that reminded Shippō so much of his fondness for the people he's lost that he couldn't be upset with Sango when she wanted Kohaku to come back to her.

But there's a hardness to Kohaku's eyes as well, one that's eased day by day, yet hasn't left. It probably never would leave, and Sango seemed to make it clear she didn't mind. She wanted Kohaku, and on some level, understood that the boy he once was would never come back. Shippō didn't know the Kohaku from before, and though he sounded like a nice kid, he liked his Kohaku.

Kohaku's eyes softened, the faintest curve showing at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Shippō."

Shippō blinked slowly, taken aback by Kohaku's smile. "What're you thanking me for, I didn't do anything…" He trailed off, lowering his gaze whilst he muttered more to himself than Kohaku, "And I made you sad."

From in front of him came the sound of Kohaku's chuckle, bright and with a two-note pitch that disoriented Shippō like one of the taijiya's sound traps. And wouldn't that just be great? Shippō, the last kitsune of his bloodline, led to his death by the loveliest sound laugh he'd ever heard since…

Something soft brushes against the bridge of his nose, like a feather tickling until it draws back and Shippō opens his eyes, unsure when he let them close. There, Kohaku lingers not far from the tip of Shippō's nose, smiling a little broader than he was before. "You're clever enough to figure it out on your own," he said, drawing back his hands and then pushing up to his feet. "Let's go. Aneue is waiting for you."

Helplessly, Shippō watched as he walked away. His legs felt a little weak and he had to look down to make sure that he was still maintaining his form, twisting his fingers around each other like reeds. "Guess I was worried for nothing, huh?" The trees didn't answer him immediately, but he didn't need to hear them to know they agreed. "... He's not perfect, but he's good…" His voice quieted, whispering words he only wanted to keep for himself. "And I like being loved by him."

"Shippō!" Kohaku called, and Shippō scrambled up to his feet with the sound of wispy laughter carrying through the trees.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"