He rose from the bed the moment he heard birdsong; sleep had been hard to come by. Sango was still sound asleep and he had no wish to disturb her, so he crept out.

The morning air was crisp and refreshing, like sleep was not. Kohaku felt happy to be able to enjoy the moment.

"Kohaku?"

He whirled around. "Ane-ue – did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"Not at all – Kohaku, we're demon slayers," she said with a slight smile. "We sleep light."

Kohaku's shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. "Oh." Somehow, she made him feel acutely self-concious.

She reached for his hand – seemingly ignorant of the effect she was having on him. "Listen, I've been thinking."

"Yes?"

"Last night… you were right." Sango sighed, pursing her lips. "It was wrong of us – me – to keep the truth from you. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," Kohaku hastily muttered, flaming crimson. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those… things."

His sister laughed suddenly. "You remind me of me. Miroku says I'm always apologizing for everything even though it isn't my fault."

His immediate response was to stick out his lower lip;though he had not been awake very long, he already knew it was rare to see her in a playful mood and it made him happy. "So that's where I get it from."

Kohaku gave a snarl and pretended to chase her around, hands taut, mimicking claws as she squealed.

"Demon!"

Laughing, he gave chase to Sango and they ran across the village, out the gate and down the path Kohaku had trod yesterday. Finally, tiring of the hunt, he leapt and seized her around the middle, bringing them both tumbling in the grass.

"Cheater," she breathed in between gasps for air. He laughed.

They lay like that, sprawled in the tall grass by the wayside, looking up at the blue sky. He was not sure why, but the feeling of prickly grass against his skin soothed him.

Kohaku sat up, picking some dirt off the back of his short kimono, grimacing at the brownish stains they left behind. Sango drew her knees up to her chin, an absent smile on her face as she watched him.

"You're getting tall," she commented: the hem of her brother's kimono ended mid-thigh now. His broadening shoulders jutted awkwardly from the sleeveless top. "Remind me to adjust that for you. No – I'll sew you a new kimono. This one's too worn."

"You sew?" The playful light was still in his eyes.

"Yes, Miroku taught me while we were on our quest." Sango dropped her eyes, studying the grass closely.

A silence followed, one punctuated by the occasional murmuring gust of wind. Kohaku plucked at the grass.

"Ane-ue?"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me everything that happened? I want to know."

Sango took a deep breath. "Everything?"

He mimicked her sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs, resting his chin on the tops of his knees. "I – These few days since I've been awake, I've been… remembering. I don't recall much – " he added quickly, catching the look on her face " – but I know a little from our childhood, our life in the village…"

"Until when?"

"Until that day we were summoned to the castle – Chichi-ue, you, me and the others. I remember pain and then… nothing."

Sango wore a strange half-smile. "Well. I'll be brief. The lord was already dead – he was being controlled by Naraku to lure us away from the village and kill us all."

"So Naraku killed them all except for you and I?"

A flicker passed over her face – he could have sworn it was hesitation. "Yes," she said firmly. "But he had enslaved your mind and kept you as his servant. I escaped and eventually traveled with Inuyasha, Kagome-chan and Miroku. Finally, we killed Naraku and freed you."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost two years now. You're thirteen, almost a man already." There was no mistaking the look of pride she wore; Kohaku returned it with a warm smile.

Sango pushed herself to her feet; he sprang up beside her. He was already taller than she was, coming close to Miroku's height. "You're already tall; I take back what I said earlier," she smiled, ruffling his bangs. "Probably going to be as big as Chichi-ue was."

Genuine joy lit up his features. "Really?"

"Really." She mussed his hair affectionately again and then took his forearm. "Come on, let's have some breakfast."

Kohaku let her pull him back: in his excitement at seeing her happy, he had quite forgotten to ask her what their father had been like. His big sister – his not-so-big-anymore sister – had saved him. She had not forgotten him. It made him happy. The feel of her warm, strong fingers around his wrist tied him down to life. So long as he was with her, the death that was his soul could not touch him.

The air was heavy with the fragrant aroma of cooking rice. The monk sat by the campfire, placidly stirring the pot. He looked up, smiling warmly at the siblings' approach.

"Had a nice walk?"

"Good morning, Miroku. Yes, we did." Sango let go of Kohaku's hand and knelt beside the fire, scrutinizing it.

"Miroku, is there a good reason why you're cooking outside instead of in the kitchen?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

He blushed. "Well… I feel more comfortable cooking outdoors than in a kitchen…"

Sango laughed. "I see. At least it's not something like you burning the kitchen down or something like that."

"Eheheh… Sango! I'm sure you know me better than that." He waited until she had gone to fetch the utensils before leaning conspiratorially towards Kohaku. "Kohaku, do you mind distracting her after we've eaten so I can clean the kitchen up before she sees?"

The boy grinned. "Certainly, Houshi-sama."

After Sango had been successfully lured away from the vicinity of the kitchen (with Kirara's help), Miroku sighed as he picked up a broom.

"... Just how did this happen, Houshi-sama?" asked a wide-eyed Kohaku; every single thing in the tiny cramped room was covered by a thick layer of soot.

The monk took a while to answer as he struggled with the stubborn substance. "I... didn't know I had to clean out the fireplace before putting in the wood. And when the fire didn't catch, I fanned it."

The younger man smiled. He could empathise; after all, it had been Sango who usually took care of the domestic affairs. It was needless to say he would have done the same thing if he had been in Miroku's place.

They worked in silence, removing as much of the soot as possible.

When they had gotten the kitchen to (roughly) the state it had been in previously, both men went down to the river to wash, careful to give the area Sango had gone to inspect a wide berth.

Miroku stripped off cheerfully, rinsing his heavy outer robes in the gentle current of the water; Kohaku was more reserved.

Slowly, he shrugged off his clothes and steeped them; black tendrils of dirt leaked from the fabric and mingled with the clear water.

The monk noticed – he was used to picking up the signs from Sango – and waded over. "Your kimono looks so much easier to wash than mine." He held up the sopping-wet black koromo. "Look at that – I don't even know whether it's clean or dirty."

Kohaku laughed.

Miroku took that as a reassuring sign; after all, he did not know Kohaku that well to be able to be of much comfort. But the boy – young man – was family now, and that was the most important thing.

After the outburst last night, Miroku had no idea how Kohaku viewed him; the man who had taken away his sister, the only family he had left? An older brother or father figure? Maybe even just a friend – the monk could not care less.

All he wanted was to care for his new family and love them: love them like he had never gotten the chance to with the family torn apart by the Kazaana.

Kohaku watched the pensive thoughts run over the monk's face; he was a puzzle to the young slayer. Miroku could be jovial one moment and brooding the next. He supposed it was because of the cursed hand he remembered the monk carried; all howling suction and black-purple winds. The older man's right hand was paler than the other – clearly the curse was broken and the glove made redundant.

Whether Kohaku liked it or not, Miroku was family now – his new brother-in-law. He briefly pondered the notion of having family again. Calling on his depleted memory brought nothing but annoying twinges of pain and he gave up on the idea.

The young man would simply have to get used to his present changing – faster than he could keep up with.

"Kohaku?"

Kohaku blinked; Miroku was climbing out of the water, pulling on his underkimono and spreading his robes over a large flat rock. "Here – pass me your clothes, They'll dry quickly in this heat."

True enough, when the younger man stepped out of the water, he felt the sun prickling at his back. It had risen into the sky while they were busy rinsing their clothes.

His back to Miroku, he tied the loincloth around his hips into a neat knot before joining the monk in the sun-warmed grass.

For some reason, the young slayer was a little embarrassed at continually being jerked out of the reverie he slipped into; without realising it, he drifted into his own world and stayed there. One hand plucked at the worn cotton of his loincloth.

Miroku glanced sideways at the young man, an almost fatherly smile playing on his lips. "How's your memory?"

"Better." It was, though he was recalling emotions and sensations rather than actual events.

"That's good." The monk lay back on the ground, hands pillowing his head. "I've never seen Sango so happy, not since you woke up."

"... She was?" He felt stirrings of affection for her.

"Yes. She really loves you."

Kohaku was happy; maybe it was the warm grass, maybe the drowsy heat, maybe the affirmation that Sango loved him.

They were helping Miroku with the rebuilding of the hut – he was having more problems with it than he originally let on – when they heard a voice calling.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Sango frowned and put down the crossbeam she was carrying. "Who could that be?" She walked over to the gate, Miroku and Kohaku following after.

A young man in rough, travel-stained clothes was standing outside the gate, a battered straw hat clasped between grubby hands.

"Yes?"

The man gave a visible start. "Ah – so they were right… there are demon slayers living here! Thank the kamis…"

Sango smiled. "We are indeed demon slayers. I am Sango, and this is my younger brother Kohaku and my fiancé, the monk Miroku. You have need of us?"

Kohaku did not miss the look on Miroku's face as he heard himself being introduced as such.

"Yes, yes!" blurted the man; he caught himself and bowed stiffly. "I'm sorry, how rude of me. I am Ryota, of the village beyond the mountains. We are being plagued by a terrible demon and we heard tales of a village of demon slayers living here. But as I traveled, I heard rumors it had been destroyed…"

"The rumors were true," she said shortly. "My brother and I are the only survivors. We only recently returned here to rebuild our home."

"I see. Will you help us, Sango-san?"

"Certainly. Give us some time to prepare. Would you like to rest for a while, Ryota-san? You must be exhausted from your journey."

He shook his head. "Forgive me, but I would prefer we depart the instant you are ready. Even now, the demon must be rampaging through my village. There is only so much we can do to ward it off."

"Of course. How far away is your village, Ryota-san?"

"About two days' walk from here."

"Alright."

Sango exchanged a look with Miroku, and he nodded. She beckoned to Kohaku to follow her, letting Miroku guide Ryota to one of the vacant huts.

"Ane-ue, where are we going?"

"The armory," she explained, leading the way through the collapsed huts. "There might be some useful equipment we can use – from the sound of it, this demon must be quite tough. In any case, it's better to be over-prepared than under-prepared."

They stopped in front of a sturdy-looking hut. Sango opened the door and stepped in, Kohaku behind her. He sucked in his breath. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with weapons of all shapes and sizes. His sister was rummaging in a large chest, pulling out various bags and pouches.

"Poison powder… smoke screen… this will come in handy," she muttered, examining a label attached to a small box. "Hmm… I wonder whether they're still effective…" He peered over her back, made curious by her monologue. Abruptly the rummaging came to a halt.

"Kohaku," she said, standing up and closing the chest with a snap, "are you… comfortable with fighting again?"

He blinked in confusion. Sango was chewing her lip worriedly, one hand gripping her elbow.

"Of course I am. Why would I be not?"

"Of course you are – what a stupid question to ask." Sango smiled weakly – it did nothing to reassure him – and began gathering the supplies in her arms. "Come on, help me take this back to the house."

Much to Sango's delight, the poisons and medicines she had found were still usable – Kirara took off and refused point-blank to come back until the fumes had completely dissipated – and she quickly stocked up hers and Kohaku's inventory. Miroku and Ryota watched, fascinated, by the sheer array of equipment.

Finally, Sango took up her Hiraikotsu and Kohaku his kusari-gama. "Let's go. Kirara!" With a mew, the demon cat ran to her mistress. The small party set off on their journey.

Initially, Kohaku was puzzled as to why Sango had not asked him to put on his slayers' outfit but as the day wore on, he understood: the day was hot enough as it was, even in his kimono. The heat would have been unbearable in the close-fitting black suit.

They walked quickly, stopping to rest only occasionally. Sango had wanted to travel through the night to make better time, something Ryota was all for but Miroku had dissuaded them both, expounding the importance of a good night's rest.

"It does you no good to go into battle tired," he admonished them gently. "You of all people should know that, Sango."

It was hard to argue with the persuasive monk and after a quick dinner, they settled down to sleep immediately. Miroku volunteered to take the first watch.

Sango stayed with Kohaku as he lay curled against a transformed Kirara, head resting on her back. She even stroked his hair as he fell asleep; it brought back vague stirrings of returning memory.

As his breathing became deep and regular, Sango got up and walked away to where Miroku sat. Kohaku's eyes snapped open and he stopped feigning sleep, turning his head slightly to watch her.

"Miroku."

He looked up and in the light of the dying fire, Kohaku saw him smile. "Sango. Why don't you sleep? Tomorrow is a busy day for you." He reached out and took her hand in his.

She slipped into his lap, his crossed legs forming a very comfortable seat for her. Miroku chuckled, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

"So you've come to keep me company?"

"Of course."

He brought his chin to rest on her shoulder, kissing her cheek. "I've missed holding you like this."

Sango giggled. "So have I."

She leaned her head into the crook of his neck. "You know, Kohaku said he remembered a bit of our childhood."

"Really? That's good," he told her, bringing both his hands to rest over her stomach. "Kaede-sama was right after all."

The slayer sighed. "I hope he eventually remembers everything – and at the same time, I wish he wouldn't. Is that silly of me, Miroku?"

"Of course not." He squeezed her hand. "You just don't want him to suffer with all those terrible memories."

"Yes – like I did. Sometimes I almost envied him: Kohaku didn't relive the past night after night, he didn't have his days haunted by memories. Just… nothing."

"The important thing is that you have your brother back, the way he was before Naraku took him."

"Yes…" Sango stiffened, struck by a sudden thought. "Miroku?"

"What is it?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said in an amused tone of voice.

"More than a year ago, you asked me to marry you after we destroyed Naraku and took back Kohaku. Well…"

"… You want to postpone our wedding for Kohaku's sake?"

She looked up at him, horrified. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that – I'm sorry – "

"Don't be. I understand." His brow creased playfully. "And what have I told you about apologizing for things that aren't your fault?"

"Miroku…"

"Sango, you only just got Kohaku back. It's only natural you want to spend some time with him. You can't if you're a married woman with a home and a husband."

She buried her face in his chest. "Thank you," she whispered. "Miroku, it's not like you're second best or anything. I'm sorry – "

Miroku put a finger on her lips. "Again with the unnecessary apologies. He is your brother. He had the privilege of knowing you before I did."

"Anyway, there's still plenty of time. You said you would bear me as many children as I wanted."

She smiled. "How many did you have in mind, you lech?"

"Enough to repopulate the village by ourselves?"

Kohaku did not care to listen any more. He turned over, burying his own face in Kirara's fur and wishing it was her hair.

They set out on the journey again long before the sun rose and reached the village before midday. An over-excited Ryota broke into a run, announcing the arrival of the demon slayers. The inhabitants gradually emerged from their huts, weary drawn faces lighting up.

"Ryota?"

"It's Ryota!"

"Ryota's back!"

The murmur grew into loud babble and the group soon found themselves surrounded by people. They openly gawked at the Hiraikotsu, voices could be heard praising Sango's strength. She blushed, still not used to such attention.

Miroku took the opportunity to scan the crowd. Women and children easily outnumbered the men, many of which sported some injury. They were not dealing with an ordinary demon here.

"Give the honorable taijiya some room!" Ryota's voice boomed over the noise. They fell silent, the crowd parting to form a path for them to walk.

"Where is the demon?" asked Sango.

"It will be here soon," spoke up an elderly man, bent double with age. "It comes daily now, around sunset." She felt his eyes travel up and down her form, scrutinizing her carefully.

"Do you know where its lair is?"

The man nodded "Yes – it lives on the outskirts, in the forest." He hesitated for a second before speaking again. "Pardon me, taijiya-san, but are you really one?"

"What do you mean, ojii-sama?"

He gazed up at her through beetling eyebrows. "Many years ago, when I was a boy, demon slayers came to my village. They were all fierce men. You are a woman – and that young man with you is barely out of boyhood. The last member of your party is a monk!"

Ryota dashed forward, a panic-stricken look in his eyes. "Ojii-san!"

"I understand your reservations," Sango said patiently. "I do not know whether Ryota-san has told you that my brother and I were the last survivors of our people. But we are also the finest fighters. Miroku-sama is my fiancé and though not trained in demon-slaying, his assistance has proved time and again to be invaluable. We will not disappoint you and your people."

The old man locked eyes with her and grinned.

"You have spirit, slayer. I like that." He prodded the pale Ryota with the end of his staff. "Ryota, useless grandson of mine, take the slayers to the edge of the forest where that monster disappeared." The old man hobbled off.

The hapless young man shrugged. "I'm sorry about that – Ojii-san's a cantankerous old fellow at the best of times."

"It's alright," Sango grinned. "I've had many questions about my being a woman and a demon slayer."

As they walked through the village, Kohaku kept one hand on the handle of his kusari-gama. The stares of the villagers made him jumpy; he could feel their eyes like clammy hands running all over his body and judging him.

Truth to be told, he was more than a little nervous about the impending battle. Half of him thrilled at the encounter with his glorious death after so long; the other half recoiled in horror away from his soul.

A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder; Sango smiled reassuringly at him. "It'll be alright," she told him.

Kohaku smiled back weakly. If only she knew of the bloodlust in his heart – the real reason for his nervousness. If the inner demons were unleashed, no one, not even him, knew what could bind them again.

"We're here," announced Ryota, a definite quiver to his voice. The trees grew closely, casting a dark and gloomy atmosphere over the group. He pointed to a ragged gap in the tree line, littered with broken branches and foliage.

"The demon returned through here after its last attack, the villagers said, so the trail should still be fresh."

Sango knelt, examining the ground. "You never explained, Ryota-san – what kind of demon is it?"

"A bear demon."

"That explains a lot," she murmured, almost to herself. "Large bear demons are the only kind of demon capable of such destruction." Standing up, she addressed the young man.

"Ryota-san, we're going after the demon. Please go back to the village."

He nodded, still a little pale. "Take care – and good luck to all of you."

Sango strode into the trees, Miroku close behind and Kohaku bringing up the rear. The boy's eyes darted from side to side, watching for any movement or sign of a presence other than theirs.

"The forest is too quiet," commented Miroku in a whisper. "I guess the bear demon drove away all the other animals."

The slayer seemed as though she had not heard him, shifting into full huntress mode. Sango trod silently, her entire body focused only on her prey; with cat-like agility she stalked. Kirara, still in her little cat form, padded at her side, her eyes wide.

A distant growl.

They proceeded cautiously – and soon came across a clearing. A massive mountain of brown fur sat on its haunches in the middle, eating something.

Kohaku inhaled sharply – the creature was enormous. Blood-red eyes were set in an angular skull, large fangs and claws gleaming even as they were splattered with gore from the demon's meal. Even as they watched, a piece fell onto the ground and tumbled close to where they hid: a human arm, pathetically clad in the tatters of a bloody sleeve. He reflexively drew the kusari-gama from where it sat in his sash.

"Now!"

Kohaku and Sango leapt out of the bushes, hurling their weapons as they moved. Miroku was already in motion, careful not to get too close to the claws.

The demon roared as the Hiraikotsu cut a deep gash in its shoulder and the kusari-gama ripped apart its leg. Stumbling to its feet as blood began to fountain from its body, its attack was thwarted by a snarling Kirara going for its throat.

Kohaku darted around it, dodging the clumsy swipes, the blood thrumming in his ear. Adrenaline was surging into his limbs now, the battle-joy filling his mind. The scythe took on a life of its own, dancing through the air in a bloody display. Sango, Miroku, Kirara faded away into the background, as inconsequential as the trees in the forest. He was alone, invincible, battling the bear demon.

He laughed; a well-aimed slash brought forth a generous spray of blood, having clearly nicked a vein. Some splashed into his mouth, the coppery taste exciting his senses.

Killkillkillfeelsgoodfeelspowerful –

The roars of the bear demon grew progressively weaker as it began to flounder desperately, its attacks rapidly becoming desperate thrashing. The young slayer's confidence grew in comparison; Kohaku struck again and again blindly, pouring more ferocity into his attacks until his shoulder burned and the weapon's handle became slick with blood. It only made him laugh.

Diediediedieweak –

"Kohaku!"

The cry went unheeded. He was not Kohaku: he was a god of war, a victorious battle machine. Then the hands grabbed him. One seized his right wrist, forcing him to drop the already slippery kusari-gama, the other gripped his waist.

"Unhand me," he growled, spinning and backhanding the attacker with his weapon. A male grunt of pain; a human.

"Kohaku! Stop it, now!"

A woman's voice – Kohaku? Is that my name? – split through his battle euphoria and with an inhuman cry, the battle god departed, leaving Kohaku shaking and unsteady.

The redness dissipated from the young man's vision and he blinked. The attacker – Miroku – had let go of him and backed away, a strange look on his face. His arm, bleeding freely, went unnoticed.

Sango was kneeling in the dirt before him, clutching her stomach and arm, Kirara at her side. They, the entire clearing, were all bathed in crimson, the bear demon – now an unrecognizable mass of clotted fur – lying dead before them. What scared Kohaku was the same strange look on her blood-smeared face as she looked at him: fear.

Oh gods, had he hurt her? The weapon dropped from his limp hand.

"Ane-ue! You're hurt!" Kohaku rushed to kneel beside her and examine her wounds – she flinched as he touched her arm.

He told himself it was because of the pain of her injuries.

She paid no heed to her wounds, looking into his eyes. "Kohaku… the bear demon was long dead."

"I know," he said, eyes wide in astonishment, "I killed it."

Sango made as though she would say something but stopped herself at the last moment. "You did well. I'm proud of you." Still the fear lurked in her eyes. He hated her for it; hated himself for hating her.

"Are you wounded?" she asked him. "You're completely drenched in blood."

Kohaku shook his head. "No, it all came from the demon."

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Kohaku," cut in Miroku abruptly, coming over to the siblings. "We should return to the village and see to those wounds – Sango, especially yours."

"I'm going to the river to wash first," muttered Kohaku, conscious of the fear they felt of him. Something must have happened during the fight to make them this way: but why were they afraid of him? His chest tightened.

OhgodsohgodswhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone –

Miroku nodded tightly, picking Sango up, Kirara clutched in her arms. They went their separate ways.

Once Kohaku was out of sight, he broke into a run, giving vent to the conflicting feelings in his heart.