InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Morning ( Chapter 48 )

~~Chapter 48~~

~Morning~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Wandering through the strangest place; a vast cavern filled with the deepest fog, a vile air, he covered his nose and mouth against the fumes that he couldn't place. Despair—despair so ingrained in him that he couldn't escape it if he tried . . . just what were they saying? Those voices . . . He knew them, and yet . . .

 

Stumbling as the last of his strength seemed to be sucked out of him, he reached out to lean against the wall, noting in the back of his head that the wall was soft, fleshy. Struggling to breathe, sinking to his knees, he tried to shake off the paralysis that was slowly draining him.

 

A song . . . a low, sad song . . . hummed under the breath . . .

 

`Why is that . . . familiar . . .?'

 

He'd heard it before, hadn't he? He couldn't remember where or when, but somehow, it lent him strength. Pushing himself to his feet, his grip on the strange staff he carried tightening, he trudged onward, deeper, further into the darkness . . . The song—that song . . . how did he know it . . .?

 

A low growl, a pair of glowing eyes . . . the glimmer of fangs . . . `A . . . hellhound . . .?'

 

Out of the deepest shadows, the eyes moved closer, the reek of something wild and unnatural, ready to rip him to shreds; a guardian of the beast . . . a creature spawned in the bowels of hell . . .

 

Reaching into the folds of his clothes, he yanked out a paper charm. “Be gone!” he mouthed—no words were spoken—as he hurled the charm at the beast. It struck true, and the creature howled, exploding in a blast of putrid wind and a flash of purple light that condensed on his skin the moment it hit him. As the wind died down, the song grew louder, beckoning him onward.

 

The cavernous space closed in on him as the song grew louder. Stumbling forward, how did he know that if he could reach the source of that sound that he would be saved?

 

He stopped at a junction, unsure which path he should follow. One led to death . . . the other . . .? But which one should he take . . .?

 

Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the song, tried to discern where it was coming from. `Trust . . . my senses . . .' he thought suddenly. `Trust in . . . her . . .'

 

He walked a few steps, altering his course, taking the left corridor. The air was thicker here, fouler, denser. Lifting his forearm to breathe through the fabric of his sleeve, he pressed onward. The darkness seemed to congeal around him, and he had to fight against it to move, leaning on the staff he carried. With every step he took, his body seemed heavier, leaden, but the song compelled him forward.

 

Stopping short at the wall that blocked him, he gritted his teeth. That song . . . it was coming from the other side of the wall . . . That's where he needed to be . . .

 

Reaching into his clothes once more, he pulled out another paper charm, smashed it against the pulsating wall of flesh. Closing his eyes again, muttering an incantation that he'd never heard before . . . the wall dissolved, and he blinked as fresh air, as daylight, flooded over him. The wall had been a simple illusion; nothing more, nothing less . . .

 

Slowly, wearily, he stepped out of the cavern as the crisp breeze lifted the dampened bangs that hung over his forehead. A field—a familiar field, though he couldn't recall how he knew it . . . and in the center of that field, sitting beside the single old tree and the babbling stream that ran beside it . . .

 

Facing away from him, her back straight and proud, she sat in the grass with her feet tucked under her, and she was humming under her breath, the song that he remembered . . . a song to lead her out of the darkness, too . . .

 

He stepped toward her, his hand resting on the gnarled old trunk of a stout, thick tree, and he couldn't help the small grin that surfaced on his features.

 

Her song ended, and she lifted her chin though she didn't turn to look at him. Staring at the pale blue sky so high above, she heaved a small sigh. “You're late,” she said in a quiet tone that reached him somewhere deep inside, neither angry nor accusing in a foreign voice that he hadn't heard before but he knew it, just the same.

 

Pushing himself away from the tree, he moved toward her. “I apologize,” he murmured. “I didn't mean to keep you waiting . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

The strangest sensation awoke her: a steady warmth that she couldn't quite credit. It didn't make any sense to her oddly clouded mind, did it? After so long and perpetually being cold . . .

 

Slowly opening her eyes in the filmy light, she blinked and looked around, unable to understand exactly where she was or why. A room in a wash of grays and blacks—a small kitchenette, a little table . . . bookshelves and boxes . . . a door . . . a certain brightness that didn't dispel the somber feel as much as it enhanced it . . . She was incredibly warm, yes—a sensation that she wasn't entirely sure existed outside of the fog that enveloped her head, but . . .

 

Her senses felt dull, blocked, congested, but that didn't account for the heaviness of her body, the clumsiness that she couldn't understand. The cheap alarm clock on the small table beside the bed read 5:13, but whether that was morning or night, she was too disoriented to know . . .

 

She couldn't easily move, either, could she? Something was holding her down—well, not down, exactly, but it felt like . . . `Like . . . someone's arms . . .?'

 

It was the taijya, wasn't it? An instant surge of absolute relief washed over her as she shifted enough to see him. Face pale and even a little sickly looking in the weak and filtered light—the hazy glow that she vaguely remembered—he was holding her, wasn't he? Wrapped around her like a blanket . . .

 

It was welcome, and she closed her eyes for a moment, wondering idly why everything seemed so disjointed, so warped . . . everything but the sensation of his arms around her, that was . . . `Nice . . .'

 

Blinking, she grimaced at the strange sense that something was tugging just beneath her skin on her arms. She started to scratch at them, but stopped when the dull edges of her fingernails met up with the gauze wrapped around her limbs. Why . . .?

 

Unable to shake off the sluggish, slow feeling, she gave up for the moment, allowing herself to bask in the comfort that she couldn't credit. It seemed to her that she ought to realize something, but her mind was simply too lethargic to comprehend what that could possibly be. It was enough, at least for now, for her to know that she was safe, warm . . . protected . . .

 

Letting her eyes closed, she snuggled a little closer to the taijya. He didn't mind, did he? Not for now, anyway . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt groaned and opened his eyes cautiously, loathing the intrusion of coherent thought when his head ached so badly that it hurt to breathe. `Damn . . . why . . .?'

 

And slowly, like ice melting in the first days of springtime, he remembered . . . The cuts, the panic, the fight, the tense trip from the facility to the relative safety of his apartment, the hours of anxious watching and waiting, and . . . everything; everything . . .

 

“Little demon!” he gasped, eyes flashed wide open. An unreasonable surge of panic gripped him despite the quieter, more logical knowledge that she was right there beside him; her body warm and soft . . . he started to sit up, only to fall back once more as a wave of light-headedness crashed down on him. “Damn it,” he grumbled, lifting a hand to rub furiously at his forehead.

 

He'd given her a little too much of his blood, hadn't he? He hadn't thought about anything but the idea that she desperately needed it; that she . . .

 

“Shit!” he hissed, forcing himself upright as he glanced at the clock beside the bed and winced. Nearly six in the morning, but . . . Blinking rapidly, he rubbed his eyes. The room slowly came into focus, and even the grayish-black shadows that surrounded him were welcome.

 

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He should have stayed awake. But one glance at her was enough to reassure him that she was still breathing, and much easier than she had last night—still sleeping comfortably . . . Reaching over to grab the stethoscope from the nightstand, he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, willing away the slight fuzziness that lingered in his head—a fuzziness that he couldn't completely shake off.

 

Her heartbeat was stronger though still not as steady as it normally was, her pulse also more stable. In fact, she looked much better, and while he wouldn't really rest easy until she woke up, until she explained why she was human, he felt a definite weakening in the trepidation that had gripped him so tightly . . .

 

Still he allowed himself a minute to just stare at her, to feel the absolute comfort of her nearness before he carefully pulled away from her and got to his feet.

 

The first thing he needed to do was to get more liquids into himself. Some sort of electrolyte solution would be best, but he was unwilling to leave her alone in order to run to a store, so he settled for a glass of water with a couple tablespoons of sugar stirred in, and as he sipped that, he tried to pull together the plan that had gone so awry.

 

He needed to get back to the facility before they discovered that she was gone—if they didn't know already, that was. He hadn't wanted to fight with the guards, but he hadn't had much of a choice, either. It was bad enough that they knew he'd broken her out of there; the last bit of knowledge that he wanted to arm them with was the idea that she was human, too.

 

It made no sense . . . Just how could she possibly be human? Even if she were half human, why the complete and total change in her? Heaving a sigh since he wasn't going to get an answer about that until she woke up, and that was only if she'd tell him anything at all, he shook his head. No, better to concentrate on how to get her out of here, instead . . .

 

Those damn researchers would be out looking for her soon. He didn't even try to delude himself into thinking otherwise, and while they didn't know where he lived or where to find him, he couldn't rest easy until he had gotten her safely out of the city, and what was more: he had to go back, didn't he? To ensure that she would forever be safe, that she could leave her home without the fear that they'd find her . . .

 

`And let's not gild the lily, here . . . I've got a few bones to pick with them, myself . . .'

 

Setting the empty glass down with a dull thud, he shuffled to the bathroom with a sigh. Blinking in the bright and artificial light of the stark room, he shifted his gaze around slowly, as though he didn't quite recognize it. Staring at the empty bathtub, he moved forward without really considering what he was doing. She'd wanted a real bath, hadn't she? And he, bastard that he was . . . he'd filled a fucking trash can and said that it was the best he could do . . .

 

“I'm sorry, little demon,” he murmured as he sank down on the edge of the empty tub. A miscellany of images flew through his head, each one painful and poignant . . . Pulling the cast-off sandwich out of the trash to feed her . . . Her smile and absolute delight when she'd realized that he'd cleaned out and filled the trashcan for her to bathe in . . . Her huddled and lifeless form, so tiny, so desolate, in the confines of that hateful cage . . . the blood-soaked blanket . . . the pitch black hair . . . the sound of her voice, begging those bastards not to do it; not to hurt her . . . because she knew, didn't she? She knew that she wouldn't be able to heal herself; not this time . . . and the last image, the very last one . . . carefully settling her into that trashcan, her small form curled over onto herself . . . The feeling that he'd thrown her away like the rest of them; like garbage . . .

 

Common logic told him that he'd done no such thing. Common logic reminded him that he'd done what he had to do to get her out of there; to set her free. Common logic didn't help him now, and no excuse in the world could even come close to sanctifying his actions, could it? The little demon with the eyes so blue . . . and yet she chose to smile at him time and again . . . and yet she'd chosen to cry for him . . .

 

He reached out, pulled the lever to plug the tub, and turned the old-fashioned water taps. They were in a hurry, yes, and he had to get her out of there without question. He also owed it to her, to allow her the things that he'd taken from her, even if it were something as base and ridiculous as a bath . . . but maybe . . . maybe in the end, she'd understand . . .

 

“Taijya . . .!”

 

Sitting up straight when the sound of her voice called out, he stumbled to his feet and out of the bathroom, stopping short at the sight of her, sitting in the middle of the small bed with the blanket pulled up to her chin and a terrified look on her face. “Hey,” he murmured, shuffling across the floor to her side. “It's all right,” he told her.

 

Her wide, scared eyes met his, little more than shadows in the dim light filtering out of the bathroom. “Where . . .?”

 

“You're with me,” he told her quickly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, to gently push her back down again. “You're going to be okay.”

 

Her confusion was a palpable thing; a bitter thing. Kurt heaved a sigh and shook his head as he eyed her. “Are you in pain?”

 

She nodded slowly, wincing as she folded her arms over her chest. `Stupid question,' he thought with a shake of his head. `Of course she's in pain . . .'

 

“Okay,” he said, turning his back on her to grab the pain medication. She whimpered, and he shot her a wan smile over his shoulder. “I'm not leaving you,” he assured her.

 

He got her a couple pain killers that he knew to be safe to use with the medicine he'd already given her and a glass of water. She stared at the pills in his hand for a moment then hesitantly reached out to take them. Her hands were clumsy, though, and she couldn't hold onto the glass, so he sat on the edge of the bed, slipping an arm around her to help her. “It'll take a bit for those to kick in,” he told her. “Do you want a bath?”

 

“A . . . bath . . .?” she repeated with a shake of her head, as though she didn't understand.

 

He nodded and stared at her for a moment. In all actuality, he wished that he could give her a little time to recover, but he just didn't dare try. They had to get moving, and the sooner the better . . .

 

In the end, he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, noticing not for the first time, exactly how small she really was. Just a little wisp of nothing, really, and she snuggled against him with a soft exhalation, her eyes drifting shut.

 

“Here,” he said, sitting her on the closed lid of the toilet. “Just, um . . .”

 

He turned off the water and shrugged. “I, uh, don't have anything pretty,” he explained. “Take as long as you want.”

 

He started to close the door after he stepped out of the bathroom. A sudden cry from her, though, brought him right back. “What's the matter?”

 

Her eyes were wild, frightened. “Where . . . where are you going?”

 

Kurt frowned and shook his head. “I'm just going out here,” he said, nodding at the room behind him. “I'm not leaving.”

 

Her panic was painfully obvious, and for a moment, he thought that she was going to break down into tears. “Y-you can't leave me,” she whispered.

 

He opened his mouth to try to reassure her, but he couldn't do it. The brightness in her wide open eyes was enough to kill him just a little inside, and he slowly nodded. “All right,” he agreed, knowing in his heart that it was a really bad idea but unable to summon the will to tell her `no'.

 

She looked relieved enough though the acute fear still hadn't left her gaze, and in the end, Kurt had to help her undress since her hands just didn't seem to want to cooperate. Not really surprising, he figured. He'd be surprised if there weren't some kind of nerve damage there. `Damn them,' he thought, having to fight off the white hot anger that surged through him.

 

But she just sat in the tub, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Kurt washed her, careful not to get her arms wet. Lost in a world all her own, she was, and with every passing second, he could feel her mind slipping slowly away from him . . .

 

“I'm going to get you something to wear,” he told her, clearing his throat. She didn't blink, didn't move, didn't seem to have heard him at all. It only took a minute to grab a clean pair of sweatpants and a plain black tee-shirt, and she hadn't moved at all when he stepped back into the bathroom. “Here, I . . .”

 

Trailing off as his eyes widened in shock, Kurt could only blink and stare as the black locks started to fade, shifting back to the silver color that he had come to know. The little ears that so easily reflected her mood seemed to pop out of nowhere, and when he glanced at her hand, he wasn't surprised to see her claws spring out in the space of an instant. “Welcome back,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly. “Little demon . . .”

 

She didn't respond, and he heaved a sigh of relief, somehow feeling reassured that she'd be all right, after all. He'd seen her healing powers in that state, hadn't he? It was enough to know that she was back to normal, at least.

 

He scooped her out of the tub and quickly toweled the moisture from her. By the time he'd finished helping her into her clothes, his hands were shaking, and he couldn't help the irritation at the entirely inappropriate thoughts that plagued him, even knowing that she wasn't in any condition to help herself. Still, she managed to shuffle out of the bathroom under her own steam, but she didn't go far. Dropping into the chair at the small kitchen table, she blinked, her eyes slowly coming to focus on him as he pulled her foot into his lap to tug one of his socks over it. “We're not . . . not at that place anymore, are we?” she asked, her voice as empty and vague as her gaze had been mere minutes before.

 

“Uh, no,” he replied, sparing a moment to glance at her before turning his attention back to the remaining sock and foot.

 

She digested that for a long moment, running the fingers of her right hand over her left forearm idly. “Where are we?”

 

He didn't like the almost spacey quality in her tone; not at all. “This is . . . my apartment,” he admitted, tugging the hem of the sweatpants down over the socks. They were way too big, the heel extending well up past her ankle. “We've got to get moving.”

 

“Something itches,” she said suddenly, her gaze falling to the bandages on her arms.

 

“Oh . . . the stitches,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “You won't heal with those in, right?”

 

She stared at him for several moments before she finally shook her head.

 

Kurt stood up and grabbed his cell phone, dialing the number of a cab company as he filled two glasses of water and dumped sugar into both. It only took a moment to ask them to send one over, and he hung up, dropping the phone into his pocket before returning to the little demon's side and handing her a glass. “Drink that,” he told her firmly but gently as he took a sip of his and set it down on the table. She did as she was told while he carefully unwrapped her arms and snipped the stitches. He frowned, wondering if she really were going to be all right as he stared at the angry gash. It looked just as bad as it had the night before, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore. “I . . . I'm sorry,” he whispered, concentrating on her arm, unable to look into her eyes. “I should have gotten you out of there sooner . . . Hell, I . . . I never should have taken you there, in the first place.”

 

She didn't respond as he unwrapped her other arm and repeated the process. After he'd removed all the stitches, he wrapped her arms in gauze once more. Only then could he look at her.

 

She was frowning at her arms though she didn't seem to see them at all. She looked like she was trying to understand something but was having trouble doing so. “Drink this,” he prompted again, patting her hand that held the glass he'd given her. He had very little doubt that the medicine that he'd injected into her hadn't fully worn off yet, and while he wasn't certain he should have given it to her, he couldn't say he was entirely sorry for it, either.

 

She drank the water, however, and let him take the glass. For a second, he considered getting her boots out of the bag he'd packed with her things, but discarded that idea since they had heels, and he wasn't sure she'd be able to negotiate those, at least at the moment.

 

Standing up, he stalked over to the window just in time to see the bright yellow cab pull to a stop in front of the dilapidated old building where he lived. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the coat that he'd tossed over a chair last night. “Come on, little demon,” he said quietly, holding out the coat for her.

 

She shot him a questioning glance but slowly stood.

 

Settling the coat over her shoulders, he gently pulled her hair out of the collar and reached for the duplicate knapsacks on the table, smiling just a little as he gestured toward the door. She looked entirely puzzled, but didn't complain about following him. Kurt opened the door and held it for her as she hesitated then slowly crept past him.

 

“Where are we going now?” she asked as he pulled the door closed and checked to make sure that it was locked.

 

He led the way toward the murky stairwell illuminated by a single yellowed bulb ten stories over their heads. Tamping down the surge of emptiness that the very thought inspired in him, he shook his head and forced his feet to move. “You . . . you understand? It's time for you to go home.”

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~= ~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Final Thought from Kurt:

But why was she human …?

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~