Author's Notes: Another chapter rated T for minor foul language.

My sincerest apologies to jhalya! This sequence is turning out longer and more detailed than I'd expected. Sesshoumaru enters soon, I promise.

Absence

Chapter Eight

And so summer faded into the brilliant reds and oranges and golds of autumn, the mugginess replaced by crisp nights and warm days. There was a sense of purpose in the village as everyone hastened to make the final preparations before the harsh winter set in. Roofs were re-thatched, fields not in use for the autumn harvest plowed under, firewood stocked. Women dried vegetables and fruits, smoked fish and meat, and patched up garments unused all summer.

At least the humans had a sense of purpose. Inuyasha sat, hidden in the burnt russet foliage of a tree on the edge of the forest. He was too far away for most people to see, and the red of his hakama helped him blend in to the season's bold colors. Shippou might know where he was by scent, but the little kitsune wouldn't bother him.

Sometimes the deference and understanding they gave him was too much. If he wasn't feeling threatened by the villagers' imagined distrust, he was being smothered by their false pity.

Poor Inuyasha. He's had his heart broken. If we give him some time and space, he'll get over it. He'll be okay.

He wasn't okay. He would never be okay. How could he be 'okay' when it felt like he was missing part of himself? It was worse than losing his eye, worse than the monthly loss of his youkai powers, worse than that time he'd eaten chocolate cake and had gotten—ha ha—dog sick.

It felt like he was being punished. Like he was dying, but death would never come.

He wanted Kagome. He'd never wanted to be a hero by letting her go.

And then there was that damned promise he'd made Kohaku. He felt, if not trapped, then like he was tied down. Leashed, like those pet dogs he'd seen in Kagome's time, the owner holding the end of the lead they used to control the animal's every movement.

He couldn't leave without informing Sango of his intended return.

But he'd be damned if he would stay.

"Dammit." He muttered it, fed up with himself, and hurtled himself deeper through the forest before his conscience could hold him back. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the pity in his eyes, the whispers they thought he couldn't hear behind his back, the clogging, choking feeling of eyes on him everywhere he turned.

Everywhere he looked, they were watching him. Not like they thought he'd turn on him. Not like they were thinking about turning on him, even.

But like they thought at any moment he might break.

Couldn't they see? Didn't they know?

He already had. He already was.

Broken.

The sob burst from his lungs, tore out of his throat. Trees whizzed past as he darted blindly from branch to branch, long-standing expertise in finding landing points as much in play as dumb luck. He no longer cared if he ended up as one big hanyou splat on the side of a tree. He couldn't care. Why should he care? It didn't matter if they worried about him or if they would miss him or if he had come to be a part of their lives.

Couldn't they see? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. They would never miss him as much as he missed her, and they would never be as important a part of his life as she had been.

She'd been the best he'd ever had.

"Stop it." Stop it. He'd thought he'd been okay. That was the worst of it. Springtime repairs, the long summer, mindless village chores and petty youkai exterminations, running errands and pointless little tasks meant to occupy his time and preoccupy his thoughts…he'd thought he'd been handling it. He'd thought it'd be okay.

But all it took was a certain shift of light, and he'd think he'd glimpsed her around the corner. A whisper of the breeze, and it was her voice, murmuring secrets to his heart. All the more painful with reality. She was gone, gone, she was gone, and she never coming back.

He couldn't stop the thinking, couldn't stop remembering. Every tree he passed was a milestone in his heart, another tree they'd camped beneath, another tree in which he'd passed a restless night, gazing down at her peacefully sleeping face beneath. Over the whistle of the wind, Inuyasha could hear his own breath, ragged, tearing his lungs. There was an unfamiliar fire in his legs, coursing through his body. Exhaustion, and pain.

Then he noticed he was running slower, and he was missing trees more often than not. He crashed heavily to the earth—not for the first time, if the blood and the bruises were indication—struggled to his feet, panting harshly, not caring as he scrabbled to regain his balance. He had to keep moving, the wind in his face, if not liberating, then somehow promising of a freedom that would be his if only he could run fast enough, far enough.

He caught sight of his own hand as he used a nearby tree trunk to haul himself to his feet, and for a moment, he stared squinting through the darkness, at the dull-nailed fingers so unlike his own. But it was his own; his other hand came to touch it, as if to reassure himself it was his. Inuyasha twisted his head to peer at the sky through the dying foliage. It was night, and it looked to have been night for quite some time.

There was no moon in the sky, and even that brought on only the slightest twitch of discomfort, coupled with fear. He was human, and he was lost.

Broken.

Did it matter? He didn't care. He could die out here, midnight snack for some hungry demon, and it couldn't be worse than what he was going through now. Part of him wanted to die out here, in the dark, in the unknown. He didn't want any funeral services or memorial services or flowers on a nameless grave. He didn't want them to remember him after he was gone.

He didn't want them to have to hurt, thinking about who he'd been. The way he hurt for Kagome.

He stumbled blindly forward, flailing in the dark, hauling himself out of mucky bogs and forcing his way through thick, thorny underbrush. Pain meant nothing to him, and if his vision hazed from loss of blood, he couldn't tell through the shadows that lay thick on the forest floor.

Branches clawed at his face and arms, roots rose up from the unseen ground to snarl his feet, tripping him. Inuyasha stumbled over one, landing heavily on his face. For a minute, he could only lay where he'd fallen, chest heaving as he fought for air—but why should he fight? Why should he have to fight to live? Hadn't he fought enough? Couldn't he just rest?

But the sound of sinister slithering forced him to push up to a crouch, hand on Tessaiga's hilt. Inuyasha knew it was useless, knew he was helpless, caught in the open in this form, but somewhere, deep down inside, was an innate will to survive he couldn't deny. I can't just give up. But he'd die trying. Better to go down fighting a winless battle than let the enemy take him facedown.

Fight. Die.

Run. Live.

Fight. Live.

Run.

Inuyasha ran. The sound of danger passed behind him, countless times during the night, as he raced through the forest, sometimes slamming into trees, sometimes seeing them in time to avoid them, only to crash through bushes or trip into low-hanging branches or toe-stubbing rocks. But each smaller pain only coalesced into one giant, throbbing ache that beat to the rhythm of his feet as he pounded relentlessly forward.

Away.

Dawn came slowly, and still Inuyasha hadn't stopped. The tears hadn't either, tears he hadn't acknowledged in the thick dark of night. But they were there, and, as if the first rays of sunlight illuminated them on his face, he knew he'd been crying, gasping out great, terrible sobs as his heart broke, and broke, and broke. He could feel the transformation come over him, nails to claws, teeth to fangs, human ears to hanyou's, but the world around him had the hazy, distant feel that he had only when he'd transformed to the other extreme.

Why? Why had he? He wasn't in danger for his life. There were youkai around, true, following the unsteady passage of the crazed human in their midst, but they weren't anything he couldn't handle. He stumbled to the edge of a river, used a clear, still pool to check his reflection. Blood-red eyes stared back at him from over slashes of purple, and his fangs were overlong and cruel, like his claws. But there was something in his eyes, something about the red…

Inuyasha snarled, slashed at his reflection as if by deleting it, he could erase himself. The ripples splashed and spread, and he whirled, flexing his claws in silent challenge to the dangers of the woods beyond. Come and take me…if you can.

He gathered himself, and lunged into the trees.

Youkai fell and died beneath his claws. Blood and gore rose in his nostrils, the stench rising to enshroud him as he fought. Petty youkai, mindless beasts whose only thought was to attack and kill. Weak youkai who, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have landed a single blow; now took advantage of his weakened defenses, his wild attacks that as often as not left him vulnerable to counterattack.

Why? Why couldn't he forget? Before he could forget, he could lose himself in the madness. He could be just a mindless beast, killing and rampaging until he himself was killed by something stronger. Why couldn't he be that? Why did his mind still cling to that last shred of sentience? That last spark of hope?

Like the light inside. The point of light in the darkness to which he clung. Let go. Just let it go! There would be no more light. Just let there be dark.

With a howl of anguish, he found Tessaiga in his hand, cleaving enemies apart with the Kaze no Kizu. He was surprised at himself. Did he remember how to use this? Why had it appeared in his hand, as if by its own will? What did this sword have to do with him?

But that's right. He remembered. Tessaiga, given to him to seal his youkai blood. Why would he keep a sword that would do such a thing? He could throw it away, throw it away right here. No youkai could take it, and in the hands of a human, it was just a dull, rusty blade. He didn't need it, hindering, holding him back. He could just rid himself of it…

That's your sword, isn't it? I believe in it. I believe in you.

I believe in you.

"Don't." It was a whisper, hoarse and raw, his throat torn from countless hours of screaming and sobbing. "Don't." Stop. Kagome's face, gazing at him with such sweet intensity. Falsely optimistic, but when there was nothing else to cling to, she'd held on to him. Empty words that, in the end, had turned out to be not so empty.

I believe in you.

"Don't!" He fell to his knees, Tessaiga clattering to the ground at his side and turning, at the break in contact, to its original rusty form. His hands covered his face as the sobs took over once more, forcing their way through his body so that he shook, shook with them. Kagome's face, tears in her eyes, watching him. It's no good, then? He'd told her she might die there, in that world between worlds, in his father's body. Sesshoumaru in full demon form watching, waiting, ready to kill them without hesitation.

He'd said he'd protect her.

He'd protected her, hadn't he? In that, he hadn't failed…had he?

"I don't want to know anymore." Inuyasha lifted his face to the skies above. Broken. He could just use it, and it'd all be over. Once more he found Tessaiga in his hand and, shattered, staggering, he hauled himself to his feet. "I just can't take it anymore." Both hands gripped the battered leather hilt as he hefted the great sword in front of him. "I don't want to miss her anymore."

Meidou zangetsuha. With one stroke, it could be over. He could end it, just end it all.

Inuyasha stared dully at the blade, concentrating. Trying to concentrate. It was hard. Why was it so hard? The world was swaying, too. Or was that him? Inuyasha couldn't tell, squinting so he could focus on the glittering, glinting, blinding blade of his sword as he stood in the middle of a sun-washed field. Youkai at his back—he could smell them, sense them, feel their approach—and eternity in his hands.

If he hadn't been concentrating so hard on the blackening of Tessaiga's blade, he might have been aware of the single human presence on the edge of the clearing to one side. If he had been more conscious of his surroundings, he would have recognized the scent of one small female.

But as it was, it took all his energy to lift the sword. It was heavy, too heavy, like it had been after Toutousai had reworked it with his own fang. Or maybe it was because his arms were shaking like that Jell-O stuff Kagome had made him eat a couple times.

Just one more swing, Tessaiga. Just one more…and then we'll be done, you and I. Then it'll all be over.

He braced his feet, sucked in a breath.

And just as he brought the sword over his head to slice downwards, staring into the face of the gaping emptiness before him, the scream rent the air.

Small feet pounded towards him, and every youkai in the area, attention arrested on the strange solo performance Inuyasha had been giving, swiveled its head—or heads—in the direction of the human girl who hurled herself into the open towards the red-and-silver figure standing in solitary glory with emptiness yawning at his feet.

Youkai surged forward, mouths wide, teeth gleaming, hissing, screaming, charging, intent on the human who would make but a mouthful for the lucky one who made it to her first.

"Inuyasha-sama! Save me!"

Author's Notes: Cliffhanger! Oh no! Next chapter will be up before too long, honest.

Meidou zangetsuha is Inuyasha's final technique, inherited from Sesshoumaru via Tenseiga. It never appears in the anime, but it plays a big part in the end of the manga. Long story short, meidou zangetsuha opens a gap in the space-time continuum and sends enemies straight to hell.