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Fuck, it's hot.
Sweat stings Gojyo's eyes, his headband completely soaked already, drops rolling down his neck and plastering his shirt to his skin just that little bit more. His hands are slick on the shaft of the shakujou, his aim getting steadily worse because of it. Even his feet slide around inside his boots, wet and throbbing with the heat and movement, and it's a good thing that he's long since learned to tap even tiny shit like that to feed his will to fight, 'cause the fuckers just keep coming.
Every damn day, it gets worse - Houtou throwing goons at them in larger and dumber numbers, apparently hoping that one of these times, Sanzo's going to just give up, hand over the sutra and wander off back home. Of course, that bastard would sooner burn to death than ask for water he couldn't reach, so being here in this heat, exhausted and beating back yet another bunch of hopeless targets is really beginning to Piss. Him. Off.
An arm lands on the ground beside him, thwapping wetly against his ankle, and he can't be bothered to spare a second to have a thought about that. Not that he would, anymore; it's just one more stain that Hakkai's going to carefully not bitch about having to get out, later. Not the first, won't be the last. Screaming just behind him as the owner of the arm figures out that he's lost it. Fuck, what a bullshit trip. Gojyo swings around, pulling his elbow back hard, the stationary blade biting flesh to (shut him up) put the fucker out of his misery.
And now he'll spend all night scrubbing blood off his boots.
Turn, duck to avoid a badly-aimed club, quick jab and lift and that acrid reek of intestines that he's never forgotten, and he has no idea when that started being a good memory. Maybe it's the road, and the burning in his arms and legs and the endless fucking attack-fight-kill-drive-repeat that have become the entirety of his life. Well, almost, he amends, catching a glimpse of Hakkai out of the corner of his eye, there and then gone again, blocked in a flash of pointed teeth that falls under his blade. Gods, when the fuck is that crazy youkai bitch going to run out of stupid grunts to sacrifice?
Somewhere off to his right, Goku is taking on the largest group, and even he doesn't hoot and holler like he used to; the only sounds from that direction are the low huffs of effort and the sickening crack and thump of bone and flesh falling to inhuman strength amid the screams of the dying. The dead, of course, make no sound at all. Sanzo's gun, tiny pops in the distance like a kid's capgun, except these targets don't get up again. The crack and sizzle he's learned to hear, when Hakkai's qi gathers, and those ones are always too fucking surprised to shriek. Assorted cries of idiot aggression as they rush in, so damn eager to be bludgeoned, shot, blasted, sliced down...it used to make him sick.
Cartilage snaps under his elbow, the metal schick of chain in shaft as his blade returns and then flies away again in an automatic combination of defense and attack, the wind of a sword meant to take his head off only managing to ruffle his hair. Damn it, he's so fucking exhausted, it's hot, and these mooks just never seem to fucking end...
Pain explodes behind Gojyo's left knee, his leg buckling under his uneven weight and taking him to the ground, the clatter of his weapon against embedded rocks loud in his ears. Wasn't the guy with the sword; the fucker shouldn't have been there. Rage wells in his chest - for pain and the heat and fatigue and sneaky little bastards with fucking clubs who don't know how to stay put and get offed by the right guy - and he lifts from the ground with a snarl, right arm swinging out, spray of blood as surprised, dead eyes land a few feet from him. There's still another one, though.
Gojyo spins, his arm high and across his chest and stupid is the only thing he can think, when fire seems to rip through him. He sees the glint of metal under the rust of the blood he's shed, and the weight of death tears the blade from his ribs as his attacker falls. He thinks that Goku screams, and he looks that way, but the monkey's turning back toward the last of his horde, and Gojyo wonders why he's suddenly alone. Hey, assholes, plenty more Sha Gojyo for...
Fuck, it's too damn hot to breathe. Like sucking flames through a straw, burning his lungs.
The ground cracks his cheekbone when he hits it - he can feel the crunch, see the shock of it in his right eye, and Hakkai's going to pretend he's not pissed off about having to heal up something so dumb. He can see Sanzo, now, taking aim and firing in cold succession; the attack is still on, and they need him. He'll get up in just a second, when he's got his wind back.
Hakkai's feet. What the fuck...Hakkai's knees, legs, face, the sky...shit, the priest and the kid are going to get on his case for not getting up in time. He drags his eyes off the bright and the blue, to green. Hakkai's mouth is moving, and it looks like he should understand, but the sounds are all wrong. He coughs, his body lurching, agony slicing through him, and this feels like breathing mud. Rust taste in his mouth, sharp and thick as the air he struggles to pull in.
Hakkai's screaming at him, and he doesn't know what he's done, but it must be pretty fucking bad, to make Hakkai look all white and crazy like that. I'm sorry. Only it won't come out, cemented in his chest with all the breath he can't find. Hands press to his chest, and he's screaming, if it would only climb out of his fucking throat, and panic winds through his gut just as firmly as Hakkai's qi. Heat, fuck, more heat, and there's something really fucking wrong with this picture.
Hakkai's panicking, too.
Gojyo can feel his wounds beginning to close, and Hakkai's still got that look on his face, his words finally resolving into Gojyo's name, over and over again. It's going to be okay now, though. Gojyo opens his mouth to say so, but it's not working. Tiny, torturous breath that won't get all the way in, Gojyo's body convulsing with the effort, his vision darkening. Touch, then. Simple thing that always makes Hakkai all right again - except that his arm refuses to move, and Hakkai won't stop, his skin getting whiter, eyes wider as he tangles himself tighter into Gojyo's chest.
Gods, Hakkai, please...please don't look at me like
