InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Pain ❯ Pain ( One-Shot )

Pain

An Inuyasha one-shot by Cleodasia.

Sesshoumaru's POV, after the first battle for Tetsusaiga.

R-rating, because I've never written anything PG-13 in my life and I don't plan to start now. **Grin**

Implied Shonen-ai, Implied Incest (or incestuous thoughts, to be precise), Angst, possible OOC…umm…anything else, please do let me know...

Don't own Sessh or Inu…but Jaken is mine, all mine, all mine. So hands off, ladies…*growls*

Damn, I can't keep a straight face on that one…*falls over laughing*

Alright, I don't own Jaken…sheesh.

They all belong to someone else who is not me. I swear. Just borrowing them…I'll give them back…*whispers* except for Sessh…*runs from the herd of rabid lawyers*

Wanna get in touch with me? Drop me a line at cleodasia@excite.com.

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Pain.

It never fails to surprise me.

I have never had much acquaintance with it, so every time we meet it is like the first time.

As a child, I was rather precocious in my agility and balance, never once falling from a tree, or down the stairs, or into the fish pond, as my younger brother often did…not always without my help. His human blood made him clumsy and slow…although it seems he is not as incompetent as I once thought.

Wincing again from the jaws that have clamped themselves down on the remains of my arm, I attempt to sit up, needing desperately to stop the flow of blood that pumps steadily from the ragged stump. I could kill my brother for this. I will, just as soon as I am able. For now, however, I must forgo my revenge, in favor of repairing my wounded arm…and pride.

It irks me, that I was forced to leave a battle with that half-breed son of a whore. Not even a true battle, it resembled more our nursery-room squabbles. I am disgusted with my own ineptitude at dispatching the puling little worm called Inuyasha.

I deserve this pain, I think…if I die from these wounds, I can only hope that I do not meet my Father in the afterworld. The shame of defeat, added to the certain knowledge that he always preferred his mortal bitch's whelp. No more evidence is needed than the choice of his resting place. A black pearl, deep within the eye of his half-breed boy…it suits his melodramatic style, but why Inuyasha? I am stronger, faster, smarter, a full-blood youkai and his own true heir.

The pain of his betrayal is a thousand times sharper than the bite of his fang.

His fang…his fang…why do I bleed so? Why does the wound given me by the Tetsusaiga not heal immediately, as most of my wounds do? Why does it hurt so, a fire that rages just beneath the ruined surface? Pain wars with shame, both battling annoyance…I want to rip the rest of the damned arm off, deep into my shoulder…I want to gnaw with my own sharp fangs, and make this pain my own. The claws of my remaining hand move purposefully, wanting nothing more than to tear, to scratch, to weal, to stop the infernal itching of a thousand biting insects, a million stinging ants, the flames that lick and blister and burn.

I will not cry. I never have cried, not when my Father died, not even when my Mother slipped away into the night, unfeeling monster that she was. Demons do not cry, it is beneath them, a physical outpouring of great emotions, of which I have none. The stinging in my eyes, it has nothing to do with tears…the welling droplets at the corner of my sealed eyelids, have nothing whatsoever to do with my shame, my disgrace, my complete and utter failure to take what is mine, to take what is owed me.

How disgusting…how humiliating. This entire situation is quite possibly the most degrading of my life…a long life, lived with pride and honor, hopelessly despoiled by my own foolishness. I should have killed the brat immediately inside the great belly of our Father. I could have felled him with a single blow, leaving him to rot and putrefy amid the skulls and bones and corruption of those sepulchral remains.

I did not.

For the life of me, I cannot explain it. I have no words for what I did, for what I felt.

Feelings. Emotions. Sensations that should be alien to one such as I. I scarcely recognized them, and yet, however infrequent their visits, I knew them to be my one true weakness. A defect, passed down from my Father, a flaw so great, so terrible, it led ultimately to his death...and to my present disfigurement.

To inherit such a thing…how despicable. I would rather the sword, my Father's power distilled into a single fang, something I can touch and hold that does not shame or lower me. My dignity, I cannot live without it, yet here I sit, forever marked a fool, my missing arm testament to my true birthright.

I felt for him, for Inuyasha, and for the little human chit who accompanied him. Guilt…it did not show on my face, or in my eyes, but it was there, simmering, boiling behind my smooth, implacable facade. Lying in wait, it assaulted me just as I went in for the kill, my entire body tensed for the final moment, when my brother's blood would pool about my feet, staining my massive paws, the taste of it on my tongue, caressing my fangs with its' coppery perfection.

I was blindsided by emotion, my homicidal fantasies precluded by my own innate protectiveness. I wanted to save him, to aid him, to rescue him as older brothers often do…but the only danger to Inuyasha was myself. I hesitated, and that was my undoing. The shock to my body as the great sword tore through skin and flesh and sinew, ravaging bone and marrow, it could not compare to the absolute realization, deep in my very soul, that I cared for the boy I was trying so desperately to kill. That I wanted nothing more than to care for him, to worship him, to lie at his feet in unreserved supplication…to belong to him and him alone.

I will never forget this pain, my body violated by my own Father's fang, forever torn asunder by the bastard hanyou whom I once tried to drown, so many years ago. How nice it had felt, his struggling, bare feet kicking, tiny claws making faint scratches on my wrists as I held him beneath the water. I failed that day, just as today, and I have no more explanation for my feelings then than I have now. Had I succeeded that long ago day, instead of allowing myself a faint moment of compassion, I would still be whole, unsullied, unmarked.

Yet, without him, without his aggravating presence, in the fifty years he was sealed in the forest, I was truly alone, my body complete, but my soul divided. I could have released him from his prison at any time, but I dared not allow myself the luxury of his presence. The small-fanged smile, those large yellow eyes, the quicksilver hair that beckons to be groomed, to be touched, to be enjoyed. Like me, and unlike me…beautiful, in a savage, wild way, untamed and unbroken.

My remaining hand rests on my blood-spattered chest, claws scratching lightly across my skin, halfhearted thoughts of suicide dancing feverishly through my brain. As long as I live, as long as he lives, these feelings will not leave me. I cannot die, I cannot live, I cannot think. The only thing I know for certain, is that for the rest of my days, Inuyasha is and will be the living, breathing embodiment of my flaws and limitations, my imperfections and humiliations.

The bleeding has stopped, finally, a few crimson tears splashing satisfactorily in the vast lagoon of gore that surrounds my inert form. I have been forced to revert to my most "human" appearance, being wounded in my highest form was unfortunate, as it does not lend itself to healing as easily. Yet, it should not have been this difficult…I am indeed grateful to be alive, no matter how degraded. I will not think of suicide again. If I die, I will at least die honorably, in battle, as a warrior demon should.

I can do no more to repair my ravaged pride.

My servant approaches, eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. He is afraid of me, as he should be, but he is as much afraid of losing me. The little toad-like imp, with his round yellow eyes, and his long beakish mouth is a welcome sight. I am glad he has come, and this too shames me. His shrill voice is a balm to the soul, reminding me that for some, I am still a fearsome beast, a demon lord to be venerated and idolized. Would that he could teach his awe of this Sesshoumaru to Inuyasha…he could do with a lesson or two of my true power.

A sigh escapes, and Jaken stares. Perhaps he thinks it is for the pain, or perhaps he think I am actually listening to his rambling…I care not. It is clear to me, in the way that only suffering can reveal that Inuyasha does not fear me, because there is nothing to fear. Not for him. Not from me. I would as soon lose both arms…my life is not to great a price to pay, for one such as he. And somewhere, deep inside of him, my hanyou brother knows.

The familiar pain-that-is-not-pain of my healing flesh brings my thoughts to bear, as my mind is finally cleared. "Jaken," I growl, "The Tetsusaiga will be mine."

My servant bows his head, breathing heavily with relief, "Of course, milord. A half-breed such as him could never be a match for Lord Sesshoumaru." His claws lightly finger his staff, ready for my next orders.

I rise, unsteadily, my equilibrium upset by the loss of my arm. A hand to Jaken's tiny shoulders steadies me, and I can sense the pride he feels at being able to serve me thus. My touch is gentler than usual, and I compensate by throwing him into the nearest tree. "M..m..milord?" he questions, pulling himself upright with little difficulty. He smiles goofily at me, if you can call it smiling, happy that things are perhaps returning to their rightful places.

I walk purposefully to him, as if stalking my nightly prey, and his yelps of fear are rather comforting. "This Sesshoumaru does not require you to tell him that he is the greatest of his Father's sons."

"N…n…no, milord," he stammers, and I take some pity on him. Once begun, it seems I have no end of the compassion that wells inside of my heart so dangerously. I stand him to his feet, and motion languidly for him to follow.

"Milord?" he questions, not as nervously as I would wish, but almost…concerned.

"I must find an arm to replace the one he has stolen from me. When that is done, we will continue our battle. Until that time, he lives on my sufferance…just as you do," I intone gravely, and he remembers himself, keeping a bit of distance between us.

I will learn to live without my arm. I will learn to live without honor, or pride, or the love of my Father. I will learn to bury the feelings that I have deep within me, where no one will know they exist. Perhaps someday I will even rid myself of these emotions which have led to my defeat. There may come a day when I am finally able to kill him; only then will I truly be free.

And yet, I know that I cannot learn to live without Inuyasha. Bastard child that he is, he has always known how to live without me.

From this day onward, this pain will abide with me, in the place of the arm that he has destroyed, in the place of the birthright he has stolen, in the place of my heart which only he has ever touched. I will live with this pain, and hold it close to me, the only gift he ever gave me…the only gift I have ever had to give.

~end~