Kohaku sat gingerly on the ground at the base of the tree and watched the bustling as Sango oversaw the packing – or rather, single-handedly commandeered the entire operation. Everyone, even Inuyasha, was careful to keep out of the demon slayer's way as she whirled in and out of the house, packing things. Miroku bore the brunt of her temper with his customary patience, following her dutifully wherever she stormed, various bundles and boxes in his arms.
Kohaku, wanting to be of use, had ill-advisedly picked up a bundle and was promptly attacked by Sango. In a wink of an eye, she had whisked it from his hands and chivvied him over to a nearby tree.
" – and don't you dare move from this spot until I say so. You're not fully recovered yet, I don't want you injuring yourself again..." Miroku pulled a face behind the slayer's back as she rambled on, making Kohaku grin.
"Houshi-sama!" Sango growled, catching on; he intercepted her wrist inches away from his cheek. "Make yourself useful and tie the bedding on properly, look at it, it's sagging – "
Finally, after much hassle, everything was done.
"I'm going to miss you all," said Kagome, her eyes moist, as she warmly embraced Sango.
The older girl laughed even though her own eyes were as watery. "Don't be silly, Kagome-chan, you can come and visit us anytime. It's not like we're going to be gone forever."
"Sango, Miroku, don't leave!" whined Shippou, hopping into her arms, wedging himself neatly between the women. "Stay here."
Miroku chuckled and ruffled his hair. "We'll miss you too, Shippou."
Inuyasha stood a little way off, his arms folded. "Keh," he growled. "What's all the fuss about? Sango's right, they're just going to the demon slayers' village to live. Stop acting like they're going to die, wench."
Even as Kagome winced at her dog demon's blunt language, the slayer smiled knowingly and walking forward, threw her arms around the hanyou's neck. "We'll miss you too, Inuyasha."
He blushed as red as his clothes and awkwardly returned the hug.
Kagome, Shippou left in her arms, let the little kitsune hop over to Miroku and grabbed an embarrassed Kohaku. "I hardly even got to know you, Kohaku-kun, and Sango's taking you off," she protested half-heartedly.
Inuyasha rolled his eyes – even Miroku looked a little bemused. On the other hand, Sango surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.
The boy patted the overcome schoolgirl's back; his eyes flicking left and right, searching for someone to relieve his discomfort. At last, Miroku took pity on Kohaku and came to the rescue; he placed a gentle but firm hand on Kagome's shoulders, squeezing until she regained her composure.
"We'll visit often," he told her. "I don't think all of us will be traveling much anymore."
She laughed, red-rimmed eyes filled with mirth. "You're right, Miroku-sama; I don't even know why I'm getting so upset."
The hanyou muttered something under his breath which the others did not catch, not being as blessed with extraordinary hearing as he was.
"The village isn't very far from here," noted Miroku, looking the over-stuffed wagon up and down. "There's no need to bring so much things with us; if we forgot something, we could always take Kirara back here."
Sango rounded on him, her eyes ablaze and he wisely decided not to say anything from then on. It was agreed that Miroku would go with the wagon while Sango and Kohaku rode Kirara to the village. ("It's been so long since you've flown with Kirara," said Sango, getting rapidly misty-eyed all over again.)
Kirara transformed and offered her back to him; Kohaku hesitated, taken aback by the massive size of her firecat form. The cat demon rumbled – a larger version of the tiny cat's purr – and he managed a smile, scratching her ears. Sango helped him clamber on the broad back, telling him in gentle tones where to hold on to the massive ruff of fur.
The young man ran his hand through the lush coat; eliciting more contented sounds from Kirara. After a quick conference with Miroku, Sango climbed on the cat demon's back behind Kohaku not long afterwards and they took off.
He cried out in alarm when Kirara bounded into the air in one powerful movement; the muscles rippled beneath his flanks and Kohaku's hands fisted in the silky fur. Sango's arms around his waist were somewhat calming and he eventually relaxed.
Kohaku watched with fascination as the verdant countryside melted and blurred into splashes of colour, the wind howling in his ears. Great crests of flame dancing around Kirara's feet seemed not to hurt him and he laughed aloud, giddy with delight. Behind him, the slayer smiled. Far below, the young man could just barely make out Miroku's form with the wagon on the dirt path winding through the green wood.
"We're so high up!" he yelled over the wind, little-boy's excitement taking away his natural reticence.
"Do you want to go higher?"
He nodded eagerly; Kirara bounded through the clouds and headed for the sun. Blue mountains beckoned in the far distance, by now themselves reduced to anthills. Kohaku shivered, both from the cold and from the thrill of the ride.
At last, with his curiosity satiated, Sango reluctantly nudged the firecat down in the direction of their destination; she loved to fly almost as much as Kirara – and it appeared – Kohaku did. But the sun was getting low in the sky and it would be dark soon. Miroku should be already approaching the village.
She felt Kohaku pat her hand excitedly. "Sango-sama, look!"
Inclining her face past his, she gazed at the far-off horizon: the sun was beginning its nightly dip into the valley beyond the mountains, the red-orange light bathing everything in its warm glow.
Kirara paused in her descent, tails swishing behind her. The scenery took on a whole new beauty with its themes of red, orange and yellow: like a painting, the clouds echoed the dying light. Kohaku drank it all in, saving the sunset in his memory the way a child secrets away a shiny pebble.
Only when the sun had sank completely below the horizon did Kirara leap away, rushing down towards the tiny plateau on which perched the remnants of a people. The firecat touched down gracefully in the centre of the ruined village. Sango was the first to hop off, her eyes cloudy with memory.
"You certainly took your time in getting here," remarked Miroku cheerfully. He had his sleeves tied back as he unloaded the wagon, a growing pile of bundles appearing beside him. "Have fun?"
The last question was directed at Kohaku; the boy nodded shyly as he slid off Kirara's back. Sango smiled at them both and tying back her own sleeves, she threw herself into the work of unpacking the wagon. Kohaku – again expressly forbidden to help – waited patiently for them to finish, Kirara curled up in his lap.
Miroku came over and eased the mound of cloth from her hands. "I can handle the load just fine," he said. "Why don't you take a break?" He stared deep into her eyes, cutting her protests off before she could even voice them. Once the monk was certain he had her full attention, he glanced significantly over at the surreptitiously nodding pair.
She smiled; a gentle, motherly smile. Walking over to Kohaku and Kirara, she lightly tapped the young man's shoulder and he shot upright.
"You must be tired," said Sango softly. "Are you hungry?" He shook his head. Taking the bedding from the pile, she carried it into the house for him.
Kohaku was sound asleep the instant his head hit the pillow; Kirara was curled up on his belly, nose tucked in her tails. The slayer pulled up the blankets and went outside to join her fiancee.
Miroku had made a makeshift campfire from a few discarded logs and was busily boiling water for the instant ramen Kagome had thoughtfully added to the baggage.
"Kohaku's not eating?" he asked as she sat down.
"He's too tired." She gratefully held out her bowl for the hot water and replaced the lid to let the noodles cook.
As they ate, he noticed she hardly touched the noodles. "Sango, is there something wrong?"
"No, nothing," she sighed. He raised an eyebrow.
She relented, putting down the half-eaten bowl. "It's just... I haven't come back in such a long time. And now, we're here to stay. You, me, Kirara and Kohaku." Sango rested her weight on her hands, leaning back. "I never thought I'd see the day we'd come home."
"We've come home," repeated Miroku. She gave him a shy smile and scooted over to rest her head on his shoulder.
Kohaku woke early the next morning, disturbed by Kirara's morning stretch. He yawned widely; the morning air was crisp and cold.
When he ventured outside, Sango and Miroku were already there, busying themselves with rebuilding the headman's house.
She saw him as he approached; Sango put down the beam she was carrying and waved. "Good morning! Sleep well?"
He nodded dumbly, settling down to watch them both haul wood. It seemed she was equally as strong, if not stronger than the monk; Sango easily hefted timber as though the weight was nothing.
When they took a break for breakfast (some more of Kagome's ramen, since neither Sango nor Miroku felt like cooking), Kohaku began to warm up over hot tea and the steaming bowl of tasty, strange noodles.
"Where is this, Sango-sama?" he asked after they had finished eating. Fascinated by the level of emotion demonstrated by the women the day before, he had been expecting a grand castle or something of equal grandeur. The crumbling surroundings and cloying smell of decay was hardly the kind of place he had in mind.
She smiled and stood up, taking his hand. "Let me show you." She began to lead him over to the quieter side of the ruined village, where the graves were. Miroku watched them go, deciding to give the siblings some time alone together.
"Well, Kirara," he said, bending down and petting the little cat demon. "Are you going to show me around your village proper or are you going to help me with the work?"
Two spots of colour appeared high on Kohaku's cheeks as he allowed himself to be pulled along. This girl – Sango – was holding his hand. He was taller than she was, his slightly larger hand grasping her delicate one loosely and her forwardness unsettled him.
She brought him to a quiet part of the ruins, beside the rotting palisade wall. The ground here was uneven, with regular mounds arranged in a row. A graveyard…
A sharp bolt of pain lanced through his skull. Wincing, Kohaku dropped to one knee, both hands supporting his head.
"Kohaku?" Sango placed her hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What's wrong?"
"I… I know this place," he choked out. "I've seen it before, but I can't remember anything else!" Wild eyes stared around and he abruptly whirled around, gripping her arms. Sango cried out in pain. "Why can't I remember anything? Why?"
"Kohaku," she whispered, gently easing her hands out of his suddenly slack grip and drawing him into a hug. "It's alright now. I'm here."
The boy clutched the front of her kimono, sobbing softly. He let his mind go blissfully blank – thinking caused too much pain.
He hated this – living in the dark. He remembered absolutely nothing about his past; only vague flashes of memory teasing him. The one thing that stayed constant was Sango. Beautiful Sango. She was always there, always so sad but he had no idea why –
"Kohaku?" She peered down at him, concern in her soft brown eyes.
"Sango-sama… tell me everything about myself. I want to know."
She bit her lip; the gesture both tantalized and worried him. "Kohaku…"
Anger flared. "Why won't you tell me? Am I supposed to live like this?"
"No, it's not that – "
He pushed her away roughly and got to his feet, ignoring the hurt in her face. Not knowing what to do next, the boy walked over to the graves.
They all had no stone marker – an oddity – as he knew they were customary. Instead, broken weapons lay over each mound, distinguishing each occupant from the other.
Kohaku dropped to his knees in front of one makeshift marker, a shaking hand reaching out to touch the odd-looking scythe on one grave. The wooden handle had rotted away long ago but the blade still gleamed; curving lines frozen in steel he felt an instant affinity with.
"That's where Yoichi-sensei is buried," came Sango's soft voice from behind him. "He was a master of the kusari-gama – he used to teach you before Chichi-ue took over from him after he retired. He made yours for you."
The pain stabbed at his head again. Names… they triggered fleeting glimpses of a past which lay locked away from him. If only it would not hurt so much…
"Kusari… gama?"
"Your weapon." She was nearer to him now. "You and I, Kohaku… we're the last of our tribe of demon slayers."
"Demon slayers." That made sense – the weaponry was too stylized to belong to mercenaries or samurai. It explained the neglected ruins this place was. He could tell it used to be a thriving village until someone or something had destroyed it.
He had to ask. "What are we, Sango?"
Slowly, he shifted on his knees to face her. Sango smiled wistfully, reaching out to smooth his hair.
"You're my little brother, Kohaku."
"Ane-ue…"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Crushing disappointment filled his chest. Of course they were siblings – would she have cared so devotedly for him otherwise? As Kohaku struggled to comprehend the bombshell she had dropped on him, he was surprised to find guilt mixed in with the other emotions.
The affection he felt for her was anything but brotherly.
But now he knew better. He would not make the same taboo mistake again…
Sango helped him pay his respects to the dead, naming each grave in turn and telling him a little about the person each had been. Kohaku found his mind drifting after the first handful – he felt nothing for these lumps of soil and bone. They were once alive and now were dead. He was – is – alive. The dead would never return to the world of the living, so what good did it do him to know their names?
He let his sister ramble on, plastering a polite smile of mild interest on his face. She was happy with her memories. That was all that mattered. If his existence as an empty shell hurt her, Kohaku was all for making her smile in any way he could.
"Sango, Kohaku, are you two there?"
The boy turned. The handsome monk – Miroku, his name – was approaching, Kirara padding at his heels.
Sango paused mid-narration, greeting him with a warm smile. There was an familiarity – affection – in that smile which the young boy suddenly wished he saw when she looked at him.
He knew there was something more than friendship between his sister and the monk. Although Sango had never explicitly told him, it showed in her interactions with him; the smiles, the knowing looks, the way their bodies seemed to touch in the smallest of ways.
"Houshi-sama," said Kohaku politely. Kirara mewed and rubbed against his ankles.
The man graced him with a cheerful grin.
"Please, Kohaku, call me Miroku. Kami knows, it took me two years to get your sister to stop calling me by my title."
Sango blushed and smacked him playfully.
Kohaku pretended he did not see the fond look that passed between them, bending down to scratch Kirara's head.
"Sango, I've found a box of tools in one of the huts," Miroku said excitedly. "Before nightfall, I could have your house habitable."
"And since when were you so adept in repair work?" she responded in a teasing tone. "Let me do it, I know my way around tools."
He grinned. "A woman of many talents. You never fail to amaze me, my lovely Sango. Perhaps you know more tricks to do with beds."
"Pervert." Torn between amusement and annoyance, she shot a quick glance at Kohaku. "Not in front of Kohaku."
He let them be, walking off on his own towards what used to be the village centre. A soft mewing sound at his ankles told him that little cat was following him. The young boy soon reached the square. The soil was still dark with traces of blood here and there. The ragged, bare patches where grass stubbornly refused to grow told him where demon blood had been spilled.
Kohaku barely gave the area a second look, letting his feet take him elsewhere.
He found himself outside the palisade, walking the winding path around the mountain down to the forest below.
"Kohaku?"
Sango had already noticed his absence and called after him, her improperly-bound sandals slapping against the bottoms of her feet. He responded with a wave.
"I'm alright, I'm just going for a walk."
"Be back by sunset. Kirara, go with him."
The firecat mewed.
The boy set his jaw, feeling a small spike of anger. Really, he was old enough not to need a babysitter. He wondered whether she had been as overprotective of him when they lived in the village.
The thought would have to go unanswered of course: the memories were long gone. They had been since the day the band of slayers had been called to Kagewaki's castle.
He let his anger slide, breaking into a smooth run. For now, it felt good to be carefree, with the wind in his ears and the sun warm on his skin.
Kirara, ever the perceptive one, sensed her companion's change in mood and quickened her pace to match his.
Finally, Kohaku reached the stream he had seen while they were traveling here on Kirara's back. He sat by the limpid water, running a hand in it. His feline companion settled in his lap, wide eyes watching the dark shadows darting through the water not far from Kohaku's fingers.
"They're keeping something from me, Kirara," he said at length. "I can see it in the looks they exchange. Even back in the other village, the hanyou and the miko, they all knew me."
She blinked and mewed, nose thrusting against his arm. His free hand came up to tease her fur.
"Even you. I seem to know you from somewhere in my past – I know all of them – but I can't remember anything, only Sango's face."
Kohaku pulled his hand from the water and ran the wet fingers through his hair: the cool water felt good on his scalp.
"She said she's my sister. My Ane-ue. But I don't think of her as that. Is that wrong?"
The boy frowned. He hated being kept in the dark.
What if they're lying? What if they're keeping something important from me? The dark thought wormed its way into his thoughts abruptly; he burned with shame for even daring to think such a thing.
"We should go back. Don't want to keep Ane-ue and Houshi-sama waiting."
The cat leapt neatly from his lap and bounded over to the path, looking back over her shoulder to make sure he was following. The boy walked slowly this time, all the nervous energy gone from his small frame.
Light shone from the village: the sun was already halfway down the horizon by the time Kohaku had climbed the hill and entered the gate.
The largest hut in the village was lit up and he heard their voices from inside.
He slid open the sliding door. "I'm back."
"Kohaku!" Sango appeared from one of the rooms, the sleeves of her kimono tied back neatly with a length of cloth. She had bound her hair as well – he wondered whether she knew how motherly she looked like at that moment. "Just in time – I've prepared dinner. Houshi-sama is in the dining room, go on in."
He obeyed, walking into the room. Miroku was seated there, holding a cup of tea in his hands. He greeted the monk politely and sat diagonally opposite him.
"Did you enjoy your walk?"
Kohaku shot a discreet sideways glance at the older man: he appeared genuinely interested, the hot tea steaming gently.
"It was alright, Houshi-sama. Hot, though."
He sighed. "Just Miroku. Honestly, I get your sister to start calling me by my name and the moment you wake up, you send her back to square one." The monk winked at him suddenly from over the rim of his teacup. "No offence, though."
Kohaku felt a tiny surge of dislike.
Just then, Sango appeared, carrying various bowls and plates of food. Both Miroku and Kohaku rose immediately to help her and were promptly sent away to fetch utensils and other necessities from the kitchen.
She had cooked a lavish feast – "To celebrate our return home," she explained – with fish, pickled radish, roots and even some more of the strange food from Kagome's time, though there were none of the salty noodles they had for breakfast. Kohaku gave the latter a wide berth, sticking to the foods he was more familiar with. Tasty as the weird food was, he preferred the familiar old dishes.
"The food is excellent, Sango," complimented Miroku, his chopsticks reaching for another morsel. "Now why couldn't you have cooked like this while we were on our travels? Has Kagome-sama finally deigned to teach you some of her secrets?"
She laughed and swatted at him. "Houshi-sama, you flirt. You know very well Inuyasha doesn't like well-seasoned food – the exception being ramen – so we deliberately make the food a little bland. And well, if we are to be married, I think I should learn to take care of the house."
"Ah." He made a serious face.
Kohaku's face was white, the mouthful of rice he was in the middle of swallowing stuck in his throat.
"Married?" His voice was tight and the jovial mood in the room immediately died away.
Sango looked panicked, while Miroku's face was calm. "We may have neglected to tell you earlier, Kohaku – I'm sorry you had to know this way. I asked your sister to marry me – once Naraku is dead and you had returned to her a year ago – and she accepted."
The boy forced a smile: something he found himself doing a lot ever since he woke up. "Congratulations," he managed.
The serious look stayed on the monk's features. "Kohaku – I promise you I will look after Sango for the rest of our lives. I love her."
A shadow passed over the younger man's face. "How much more are you keeping from me?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I know you're not telling me everything," Kohaku repeated. "Ever since I've been awake, everyone has been treading around me cautiously as though I would break. Even you, Ane-ue. I can see it in your eyes: you fear me. You fear this empty shell."
Sango let out a choked sob. "Kohaku, that's not true."
"Prove it."
They could not meet his eyes. It was all the proof he needed.
"I'm going for a walk. Don't follow me."
"Kohaku, don't – " Sango made to reach for him; she stumbled and he moved out of reach.
"Please – " He ignored the pain of his heart hammering in his chest – he made her cry, it hurt him that she was crying over him – and walked away in long strides. The boy had no idea where he was going, as long as he was gone.
The young slayer's skills were no match for his sister's: she was behind him without him noticing, her arms around his body. Kohaku froze.
"Kohaku, please don't go. I'm sorry."
He stood rigidly, allowing himself to be embraced but not responding in any other way.
Miroku was there too, standing a little way off from the siblings. "Kohaku, I know you're angry with us but forgive us – we were only trying to do what we thought was right."
Kohaku. Kohaku. Kohaku. Who is he? Why do you keep calling his name? He is not me. I am nobody. A shadow with no memories.
The boy felt Sango's grip on his shoulders slacken a fraction and he took the opportunity to ease her arms away.
"I will stay," he said quietly; his breath rustling her fringe and drying her tears.
She engulfed him in a massive hug, mouthing garbled apologies, sheer gratitude in her voice. The words ran together uselessly in his ears, degenerating into meaningless sounds.
I do not stay for the reasons. I stay for you.
Kohaku's arms came up to hold his sister's shoulders; her skin was warm and vital under his hands. Hands that have touched death. Her hair smelt good. He closed his eyes and pretended she was his. Sango seemed to take his touch as acceptance of her apology and her grip on him tightened.
She was his, true enough – but at the same time, no longer. She was betrothed to the monk. Sango could not be his sister and Miroku's wife at the same time.
Finally, Sango pulled away and he let her. Miroku came up from behind, offering his comfort in the form of a warm hand on her shoulder.
"It's late, Kohaku," he said. "Come in and sleep."
The young man nodded. When he made no other move, Sango raised a tentative hand as though afraid to touch him. Slowly, the tips of her fingers came closer, grazing the skin of his wrist. Kohaku shuddered involuntarily. The simple contact reminded him of something else: the cold prick of a sharp object being inserted into his unresisting flesh...
He allowed his sister to take his hand and bring him in. Her fingers were curled loosely around the delicate ring of his wrist; the young man briefly worried it was too bony.
Miroku, thankfully, said nothing else to him, leaving the hut shortly after with a mumbled excuse. It was just him, Sango and Kirara together. As it had always been – and he hoped always would be.
She was unable to look him in the eye; he sat on top of the blankets, one leg tucked under his body. Kirara went between the two, her tails drooping from the emotion running high.
"Kohaku – "
He firmed his jaw. Part of him wanted to accept her apologies, acknowledge he had been wrong in lashing out at her. She deserved a little happiness, like all humans. The other part wanted to stew in his selfishness.
He chose the coward's way out. "I'm tired, Ane-ue. Can we talk tomorrow?"
Sango's face sagged: though there was a little spark of hope when he called her that. "Of course, Kohaku. Good night."
He snuggled down under the thick blankets and waited for her footsteps to echo away; when he sneaked over to the window later, he saw her and the monk deep in conversation outside.
Kohaku felt a twinge of guilt when the firelight caught her the tears on her face; he so hated it when she cried, even worse when he was the cause of it. Miroku hardly said, his eyes speaking volumes for him.
He had to turn away when she buried her face in the monk's robes, his arms wrapped around her back.
Late that night, the boy lay awake and listened to the gentle sounds of his new-found family breathing. A tiny pang tugged at him: it hurt him she had not waited for him, she had found another man to turn to. Was she not his sister? No – she was mother and sister together. Had she not raised him after the death of their birth mother while giving him life?
A wry smile crept over his face. Kohaku had been marked with death – ironically enough – while entering life. Death surrounded him; death was a part of his soul.
In that same way, Sango was life. She lived for herself and him; she lived for revenge. Now, she lived for the future.
There was a beautiful symmetry in their lives, he mused, turning over in bed. The bedding was uncomfortable and he sat up. His sister lay on her side away from him, lips parted slightly.
Behind her on a separate futon – he guessed it was because of his outburst earlier – lay the monk. His hand was outstretched towards her as was her hand; it looked as though they had fallen asleep holding hands. The thought made him feel lonely.
In sleep, Sango's face was calm and relaxed; she looked her age – like a big sister – instead of the pseudo-mother she was towards him.
The detachment in his eyes softened; he was home.
"Ane-ue," he whispered. They were together – despite being not together – and that was what really mattered.