InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Season of Sorrow ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: ladygriddlebone 
Nothing ever really changes.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Angst / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 04.09.2012 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.6K | Visits: 343 | Status: Completed
Nothing ever really changes.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological / Angst / Drama | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 04.09.2012 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.6K | Visits: 343 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi.
Chapter Five
Something had changed, and there was no going back. Ever since she realized her position in this place, since she became aware that she had never been more than a prisoner subject to Naraku's whims, Sango's life had been stagnant. Days had blended together into a mass of painful memories and idle tedium. She could have dealt with that, or at least she thought she could.
But Naraku was never content to leave well enough alone. Not when he could devise new and more ingenious torments for his precious prisoners. She had to quash the idiotic feeling that he enjoyed picking on her in particular, but that led her to wonder, in a dispassionate way, what he hoped to gain from cultivating her hatred in the first place. She did not have any way of knowing that any more than she could understand his reasons for providing her with a companion. Then again, the monk had done little other than drive her mad since his arrival, so perhaps it was all part of Naraku's master plan.
She hated thinking about the monk. And about Naraku. Both of them.
The memories Naraku evoked trapped her in a waking terror of helplessness and pain that took eternities to fade. Although she had time in abundance, the constant threat of his presence made sleep impossible and turned even the slightest sound into cause for alarm. And the monk... his presence was soothing. His voice was kind. Something about him made her want to be strong, to give up on this determination to die and find another way. For the first time since her imprisonment began in earnest, Sango felt like fighting. And it terrified her just as surely as Naraku himself. To feel again, after so many days of empty numbness... it shook her to the core.
She couldn't confess it. Not yet. If the monk knew that he had managed to stir something to life again within her... she had no doubt he wouldn't give her a moment's peace.
And she needed peace.
She wasn't sure yet that she was worth saving.
Chief among her fears these days was the thought that Naraku might have somehow got her with child during the course of his abuses. She had not thought it a particularly likely possibility before, but with each day that passed with no sign that her cycle had resumed she grew more frantic. Was it only her physical deprivation that kept her body from resuming its usual cycles, or was there more to it? It was getting hard to hide the fear. And not just from the monk, but herself as well.
Do you not feel it, Sango? The darkness growing inside of you.
When Naraku had asked her that, she had thought he meant her complete and total despair. She had forced herself to believe that, rejecting every other possibility. Now she feared he had meant something else entirely. But surely there was no way he could know before her, not for certain, that some hideous, tainted life had taken root within her. Or so she told herself. He couldn't know for sure. Even she did not know for sure. It was far too early to tell.
But it was a possibility.
She wondered if telling the monk would change things. If he knew she might be carrying the offspring of his greatest enemy, he might be a more willing accomplice in her death. Or it might only make him more sympathetic of her plight, strengthening his refusal to aid her efforts at self-harm.
She decided not to tell him. Not until she was certain. When she knew for sure and had grown more desperate... then she would tell him, and see what difference it made.
Sango shivered without knowing why.
-x-
Bit by bit, she was learning not to take her solitude for granted. While the monk had apparent free reign of the castle, or at least more of it than she had access to, he made a point of keeping an eye on her. As if she could go anywhere, even if she wanted to. Even if the barrier that kept her penned in were to suddenly disappear, she lacked the strength to move about.
It was almost funny. Her decision to die had rendered her completely incapable of seizing any chance at escape that might present itself.
It was a desperate decision and, no doubt, a foolhardy one. Forged out of overwhelming guilt, it had seemed at the time like the only possible escape. It was certainly easy enough for Naraku to force her submission; she remembered all too vividly the painful grip of the servants as one held her head back and her nose shut while another poured some foul brew down her throat. Given the choice between suffocating and swallowing, she had made up her mind to suffocate. But her body, buoyed by instinct and reflex and powerful hunger, had rebelled and swallowed.
She had never stopped fighting it. That had been, she thought, six or seven days before Naraku gave her the monk. It was hard to tell. Naraku's servants had forced her to eat for several days, but since then... Naraku seemed content to let Miroku make her eat. Sango was just as determined not to.
By now it had become routine, this locking of gazes and clashing of wills. The monk Miroku would prepare food and try to entice her to eat. Sango would refuse, glaring fiercely until he backed down, no matter how her belly ached at the sight and smell of food. Each time, it took longer to make him give up. She wondered how many refusals it would take before he got it in his head to force her. If he would be able to go through with it, and render himself no better than his greatest enemy.
"Eat."
"No."
She had stopped reacting violently to the food he presented a couple of days ago. Now she simply did her best to ignore it.
"Then tell me why I should take it away," he suggested.
"No."
His expression went sour. She was close to victory. "Is there no compromising with you?"
"There is life or death," she pointed out. "I know of no middle ground."
"Then tell me why you so desperately seek death," he said, sounding somewhere between passionate and desperate.
She shuddered, feeling almost as if she had betrayed herself. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to confide in this monk, this holy man who had found his way to her through the most unexpected circumstances, to let him share at least the knowledge of the weight that rested on her shoulders. If he knew, he might understand. If she could just bring herself to trust him, even that much...
But there was danger in that. She had learned all too well how dangerous a thing trust could be. She had trusted Kagewaki too well and too easily, and had let him do despicable things to her without speaking a word against it until the deed was done. She had trusted in her wounds to end her life, and those, too, had failed her. She had trusted herself to be strong and resolute, and now she found herself succumbing all too easily to doubt, to the sweet words of this man she had only just recently met.
"I..." She could not think of anything to say, any reason that he would understand, and fumbled stupidly for the words to explain herself. She had become so accustomed to saying merely, 'no,' over and over for the past two days. "I..."
You've ruined everything. Why won't you just let me die? Her thoughts were angry, accusing. She couldn't put words to them.
"Taijiya-sama, please let me help you."
The plea almost reached her. He looked so very kind... She thought for a moment he might try to touch her again, but he did not. The visceral, violent reaction his last attempt at comforting her with physical contact had earned must have made an impression. Somehow, that pleased her. "You are too quick to assume I am worthy of your aid."
"Everyone is worthy of mercy," he supplied.
"Even Naraku?" she asked, feeling clever.
He sighed. "Naraku deserves our pity. But mercy... no, I would not say that. But I am not in a position to speak of judgment, at least not where that soul is concerned."
"Then what makes you think I deserve mercy? You know more of Naraku than you do of me."
"It would take a lot of convincing to prove to me that you are no different from Naraku, Taijiya-sama."
Something inside her snapped. "Don't call me that."
"Sango, then," he said easily, though he did not seem pleased. She did not doubt that he would revert back to the infernal Taijiya-sama as soon as he thought he could get away with it. He had made it clear that he was determined to treat her with the utmost kindness and respect, regardless of her wishes. She wanted to hate him for it, but found she could not. Not quite. She might wish he would leave her in peace and stop meddling in affairs that were not his concern, but she could not hate him.
Confronted by a long silence where she usually made an impatient outburst, he tried a different tack: "Our enemy is the same. Can we not at least be allies?"
Sango stared at him, uncomprehending. Could he truly not understand that she had nothing left to live for, no wish but to die and join her family again in the afterlife? No, she supposed sourly, he probably could not. She had not told him anything about herself save her name. He knew nothing about her beyond what he could surmise from her condition. He could not know how she had watched her brother slay the last of her kin, nor how she had been buried alive and crawled forth from her own grave to seek vengeance, nor how Naraku-Kagewaki had brought her back to this place afterward to use her body for his own sick pleasure.
"So be it. But will you at least tell me how you came to attack my friends outside the Taijiya village?" he prodded, his tone perfectly innocent, as if he were merely inquiring about the first time they became casually acquainted.
They both knew it was a loaded question, as surely as they knew that he would press for more information if she gave him the answer he sought. She struggled to resist. It seemed that if she just told him what he wanted to know, then he would be satisfied, would cease his unending chattering and would leave her to die in peace. Still, she knew that would not be the case, and steeled herself against it.
But with him staring at her so expectantly, it was not long before her resolve began to crack. It had been so long since she had someone to talk to... since someone had treated her with kindness rather than with cool, silent disregard, or in Naraku's violent, dominating way.
Miroku didn't want anything from her. He was just... curious. Compassionate. And he was damnably determined, too. He had been hammering away at her nearly ever since the moment he found himself stumbling into her room. Eventually he would find a crack in her shell; it might be best to give him something, even just a small bit or a half truth.
"I... Naraku told me that the village of Taijiya had been destroyed, that a demon named Inuyasha had come to the village seeking Shikon shards and slain all who stood in his way." She paused, unused to speaking so much. Her voice was creaky and ugly, her parched throat slow to cooperate with her. "He - he told me when and how, and took me back there with him to... to avenge the fallen. I am -" she faltered.
"Inuyasha did not destroy the village of Taijiya," Miroku said softly. "The village was in ruins when we arrived."
"That's not... what I was told." Sango felt sick. She didn't want to believe, but the alternative was that Naraku had told her the truth and this man before her was a liar. And that, experience told her, was very unlikely. But... if Miroku was telling the truth, then she had killed two innocents in cold blood, for a crime they had not committed.
And Miroku, he didn't know. He had no idea that the friends he believed so staunchly would come to his rescue were dead, dead at the end of her sword. A cold, ruthless part of her wanted to tell him what she had done at Naraku's behest, so he would hate her and she could watch as he abandoned the last vestiges of hope. Then he might begin to understand her. He might see why she needed to die.
But she could not do it. She could not take hope away from him.
"Naraku lies. He is a thief and a shape-changer, and his sole purpose in life is to make others suffer," Miroku informed her, his tone dark and ferociously angry. "That he deceived you is no cause for shame, nor is it any reason for you to suffer like this."
Life as Naraku's prisoner had made her more bitter than she had thought possible; she almost laughed. If only that were all there was to it. But he did not know the half of what had befallen her, and she was not entirely sure she was ready to tell him. Telling him would mean reliving it in full, beyond the mere half-memories that plagued her. The nightmares those pushed-aside memories caused were bad enough, as was the skittishness that made her want to jump at the smallest shadow or the slightest sound. She did not think she was ready to willingly endure again what Naraku had inflicted upon her.
"You don't have to tell me anything," Miroku was saying, smiling faintly, "But if you ever wish to talk about it, I will listen."
Sango stared at the empty cup in her hands, realizing that she had drunk the water he brought for her without even thinking about it. No wonder he was smiling. She bit down on her rising temper, horrified at how easily he had coaxed her into taking water, and even more so at how swiftly he had managed to begin pulling her back to life. It had taken him days, but he had roused the spirit within her into at least this one shudder of activity. For a moment she yearned to recapture the numbness that had consumed her for the past weeks, but found she could not. Nor did she truly want to.
Something had changed, and for good or ill there was no going back.
-x-
Sango had not realized how much she missed sunlight and fresh air. But when Miroku offered to help her over so she could sit in what was left of the day's sun and enjoy the breeze, not even the realization that this would require him to touch her could dampen her desire. Her room looked out over a small yard; she knew that already, from having encountered Kagewaki and Naraku there once, but she had not tried to return to it after that. She also knew it was probably the same courtyard in which she and her family had been buried, but even that seemed peaceful and calming.
She sat as close as possible to the open doorway, just far enough away that the barrier's buzzing energy did not bother her, and peered outside. She could see blue sky dotted with clouds, hear the rustle of grass as the wind blew through it. If she closed her eyes and emptied her mind, the feel of sunlight warming her could almost chase away her demons.
There was something freeing in it, though it made her yearn hopelessly to share in the freedom of that small outdoor space. It was so close, and yet utterly unreachable.
"You truly cannot pass?" Miroku asked from his place on the porch.
She shook her head. With one hand she reached out and touched the barrier, pressing her palm to it until her arm began to go numb from the strange energy. She withdrew then, letting both hands rest in her lap. "The barrier keeps me in. He's not taking any chances with me."
They both knew who she was talking about without having to name him and, coming to a silent accord, dropped the uncomfortable subject. As they sat together, she inside and he outside, they watched the sky gradually fade through vibrant pinks and reds as the sun set. Sango watched, feeling some measure of inner peace for the first time since Miroku entered her life, as the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle through the deep blues and purples.
She fell asleep where she sat, though she did not realize it until morning when the sun brightened the room again and drew her slowly to wakefulness. Miroku brought her food and water, and this time she ate without protest. She was sick almost immediately, retching and vomiting helplessly into the chamber pot, her stomach heaving even long after it had been emptied. Miroku remained a silent support beside her, pulling her hair back for her so it would not be dirtied, rubbing a hand soothingly along her back when she shook. And when at last she was done, he took the pot away and brought it back clean without a word of complaint.
She scrutinized him after that, watching the calm expression on his face as he pretended not to notice her staring. She felt shriveled up and dry inside from being sick and took more water when he silently offered it. It soothed, a little.
"Allies," she croaked after a time, remembering what he had asked of her before.
They shared the same enemy. What did that make them, if not allies? Could they not cooperate and hope to throw off Naraku's shackles together?
"Allies," he agreed, and they clasped hands to seal the deal.
-x-
Life settled into a new routine after that. Miroku ceased his endless prying and, in return, Sango slowly stopped resisting his attempts to get her to eat. She took to calling him 'Houshi-sama' and meant all of the respect implied by the title. The monk showed her every kindness and consideration that she had been denied for so long. As it turned out, he was a friendly man and a very easy companion. He was also possessed of remarkable patience, and if he was ever irritated by her reticence he never once let it show. He attended her when she allowed it, spoke kind words when it was appropriate, and left her alone when she indicated that she required solitude.
One day after an unusually long absence, he even brought her a big pot of warm water with a rag and a chunk of rough soap that he had obviously salvaged from the kitchen. He slipped discreetly away so she could bathe in privacy and when he returned later for the supplies he pretended not to see that his kindness had made her cry.
She had not shed tears in a long time. It felt almost as good to let the tears go as it did to clean away the grime accumulated from weeks of idle imprisonment. She had not realized just how awful she felt and how dirty she had become. Her long hair, once her one vanity, had gone all to lank, oily tangles. She did not realize until she was clean at last just how terribly her skin had itched. She must have looked frightful when Miroku first saw her, she thought. More tears pricked at her eyes to recall that Naraku had brought her low enough that she had not cared. She wiped them away. Miroku ignored that, too.
She spent that afternoon using her fingers to coax the tangled knots out of her hair while Miroku busied himself with making sure the room was clean. To her surprise, he even took the time to rearrange the mats on the floor. With bright, warm sunlight streaming in through the open door it almost did not even seem like this could be the same room in which she had spent so much time.
As the days passed, even her nightmares began to fade. She allowed herself the foolish belief that Miroku could protect her from whatever threatened, and slept restful for the first time in well over a month. Slowly but surely, as the days passed her appetite returned. She felt ravenous, scarcely caring as she devoured whatever Miroku brought her. She was beginning to feel more and more like herself again. And with that feeling came some small fragment of her former strength.
When she was strong enough, she spent her time relearning how her body worked rather than sitting in the sun all day. It was frustrating to have to learn to walk all over again, but she had time in abundance. She also had a willing partner and assistant in Miroku, who was perfectly happy to support her as she hobbled feebly about the room and cheered her on with a smile or kind word at every success, no matter how small or insignificant.
It was harder to pick up her Taijiya's training again. She had not lost just strength but also flexibility and stamina, and those were more difficult to regain. But she persevered and eventually she did begin to recover, though it was an agonizingly slow process.
She had never let herself go so thoroughly before, even during those rare occasions when she had been wounded or sick. In the past she had always had someone to poke and prod and cajole her back into activity. Whether it was her father or her brother or one of the others, there had always been someone concerned for her future and willing to help. This time there had been no one to help her. But with Miroku's encouragement and assistance, she thought that perhaps she could find her way back to health and strength again. Certainly, with the passing of each day it became easier to walk, and each morning found her more limber than the last.
And if the threat of Naraku's presence cast a pall over the long stretch of painless days, for Sango had little doubt it was only a matter of time before he destroyed whatever peace he had allowed to spring up in this place, she did her best to ignore it. She clung to the tiny threads of hope Miroku had so carefully woven within her and turned her back on fear and doubt. A monk and a Taijiya... if she could get her strength back, could find some sort of weapon, a pair like that just might be able to fight Naraku. Or die trying.
But somewhere along the line, dying had lost its appeal.
-x-
Sango was not sure what brought it on, but one day she told him. She poured her story out to Miroku, who listened with an expression of grave attentiveness, and relished the half-sick purged feeling it brought on, as if spewing out the words like this could somehow clear away all that had happened to her. Strangely, she found herself feeling like an outsider as she told the story, and recalling it did not hurt nearly as much as she had feared it might. It felt like someone else's tale, something from a long time ago.
She held only one detail back, and that was her knowledge of the fate that had befallen his friends. She feared that he would turn his back on her if he knew that she was responsible for their deaths, and she hated the thought of being the one to take his hope away, for he had managed to instill hope in her where she thought it to be forever lost.
She had thought he might express pity or sympathy, but instead he looked angry. She knew it was directed at Naraku, not her, but it was still a bit surprising to see. He always seemed so difficult to discomfit, so patient and slow to anger.
She let him go when he asked to spend some time outside meditating in the open air. She could understand his need for quiet thought and fresh air. She was not exactly averse to the idea of a day of solitude, herself. She forwent her usual exercises that day in favor of spending the day in the sun and enjoying the empty feeling inside for as long as she could.
Wherever Miroku went in the courtyard to do his meditations, it was beyond her line of sight. She wondered how big that open space was, but could not remember. She had not been paying attention to the yard's size the only time she had ventured into it. She had been far more concerned with Naraku's tale of a destroyed village of demon slayers.
Once, Sango had not thought she would ever miss the monk's idle chatter or his constant presence. Now she realized that she did, to a surprising degree. There was some small comfort in not suffering alone. She had not truly been aware of that before; now she felt bereft in her companion's absence.
He returned later in the day, but stayed only briefly before heading into the hall that led toward the rest of the castle. The next time he returned, he brought food with him. They ate together in awkward silence, Sango half watching him to see if she could discern any clues about the direction of his thoughts from his expression. She could not.
"Do you find my presence disagreeable?" he asked calmly once they had both finished eating.
She shook her head.
He left anyway.
That night, Sango slept uneasily, and dreamed strange dreams.
Her dream was not of the airless void of her grave. Nor did she find herself once more pinned beneath the writhing tentacles of Naraku.
In her dream she lay dozing in a warm, dark place. She was cuddled against another person, in the same way that she had held Kohaku when he woke in the night with fear writ across his face... someone kind and gentle, who wrapped her in an embrace that was strong and protective.
Father, she thought, snuggling closer into that warm, familiar embrace, make the nightmares go away for good.
But one of Father's arms was bound by cloth and sealed tight with beads.
-x-
Sango was still dozing when Miroku returned from whatever errand he had been about; he had made it a habit to prowl the castle until late into the night, though she had never asked him why. Being alone helped her sleep, but she was accustomed enough to his presence now that she did not immediately rouse herself when he entered.
She listened without moving as he crossed the room and knelt beside her. Only then did she open her eyes.
"Houshi-sama?"
Usually he knew better than to get close to her. She had made him well aware that having anyone in close proximity made her very uncomfortable, even if she had not told him exactly why. She had to admit, however, that she was curious as to what he might want.
One good look at his face told her that something was wrong. He did not look well.
She sat up. "Houshi-sama, are you all right?"
He didn't answer, just stared at her with that strange look on his face, like he was seeking something.
She felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. "Houshi-sama, you're scaring me."
And then he closed the short distance between them and pressed his lips hard against hers. For a long moment she was frozen, suffocating under the weight of his closeness. She could not breathe, terror and hatred - how dare he do such a thing? - clawing her into unthinking fear. Unable to bear it any longer, she slapped him hard enough to turn his head.
"What do you think you're doing? Don't touch me," she hissed. He had always obeyed before, giving her space when she let him know that he had overstepped her boundaries. This time, he did not. This time he captured her arms, his hands around her wrists, and with impossible strength forced her down against the floor. "Houshi-sama!" The hiss turned into a growl, but still he would not let her up.
It was too close by far to what Kagewaki - or Naraku, whichever one it had been, if they were different at all - had done to her. She squirmed and flailed, trying to get away, unable to stand by and allow this to be done to her but strangely reluctant to harm Miroku.
He released one of her arms so he could reach down between them to move their clothes out of the way. Sango seized the opportunity, kicking furiously between his legs and lashing out with her free arm. He blocked the kick before she could do any damage, but she managed to score a line of deep gashes on his face; if she was lucky, they would be deep enough to scar.
He still remained eerily silent, as if the attack had not hurt at all. Horrified, Sango hesitated.
Then he seemed to come out of whatever trance had overtaken him and moved against her. He pushed her down, hard, and forced her legs wide apart.
"Houshi-sama, why?" Sango gasped, on the verge of tears as he thrust his hard length into her to the hilt.
It hurt.
It went beyond physical pain. That, she could have dealt with. She was a Taijiya. She knew how to deal with pain, to suffer it and move beyond it. But the violation of her trust threatened to consume her. Pain, fear, and doubt assaulted her as surely as the man on top of her.
Sango lay still on the floor beneath him and tried to close her mind to it. She had never been trained much in hand-to-hand combat, because it was too dangerous to attempt such things when fighting demons, but now she wished that she had. She wondered distantly if, in his awkwardly thrusting frenzy, Miroku would notice if she tried to strangle him. But she could not seem to wriggle her arms free from his vise-like grip, and knew she would get no chance to find out. Not until he was finished.
Distancing herself mentally as best as she could, pretending she was someone else dispassionately watching her debasement, Sango waited. She bided her time until he finished. She let him catch his breath even though it felt like his weight might crush her. She let him pull away and smirk in a remarkably self-satisfied way at her dishevelment. She waited until he was nearly out the door.
"Wait," she pleaded, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbled for a moment, then went after him.
For some reason she would never understand, he had waited. Did he think she had somehow enjoyed that? A fit of fury overcame her at the thought.
She punched him as hard as she could. In the face. She didn't care if she broke her hand or his jaw, didn't notice the pain that reverberated up her arm from the force of the impact. He stumbled out the door and disappeared into the hallway.
Sango, not caring that he could easily come right back in and assault her again, broke down. She stumbled backward into the room, tears streaming down her face; her body was wracked by silent sobs; for a long time she thought she would be physically ill, but the feeling eventually subsided. She sank to the floor and curled in on herself, wondering how she had ever allowed that man to convince her not to die.
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Chapter Five
Something had changed, and there was no going back. Ever since she realized her position in this place, since she became aware that she had never been more than a prisoner subject to Naraku's whims, Sango's life had been stagnant. Days had blended together into a mass of painful memories and idle tedium. She could have dealt with that, or at least she thought she could.
But Naraku was never content to leave well enough alone. Not when he could devise new and more ingenious torments for his precious prisoners. She had to quash the idiotic feeling that he enjoyed picking on her in particular, but that led her to wonder, in a dispassionate way, what he hoped to gain from cultivating her hatred in the first place. She did not have any way of knowing that any more than she could understand his reasons for providing her with a companion. Then again, the monk had done little other than drive her mad since his arrival, so perhaps it was all part of Naraku's master plan.
She hated thinking about the monk. And about Naraku. Both of them.
The memories Naraku evoked trapped her in a waking terror of helplessness and pain that took eternities to fade. Although she had time in abundance, the constant threat of his presence made sleep impossible and turned even the slightest sound into cause for alarm. And the monk... his presence was soothing. His voice was kind. Something about him made her want to be strong, to give up on this determination to die and find another way. For the first time since her imprisonment began in earnest, Sango felt like fighting. And it terrified her just as surely as Naraku himself. To feel again, after so many days of empty numbness... it shook her to the core.
She couldn't confess it. Not yet. If the monk knew that he had managed to stir something to life again within her... she had no doubt he wouldn't give her a moment's peace.
And she needed peace.
She wasn't sure yet that she was worth saving.
Chief among her fears these days was the thought that Naraku might have somehow got her with child during the course of his abuses. She had not thought it a particularly likely possibility before, but with each day that passed with no sign that her cycle had resumed she grew more frantic. Was it only her physical deprivation that kept her body from resuming its usual cycles, or was there more to it? It was getting hard to hide the fear. And not just from the monk, but herself as well.
Do you not feel it, Sango? The darkness growing inside of you.
When Naraku had asked her that, she had thought he meant her complete and total despair. She had forced herself to believe that, rejecting every other possibility. Now she feared he had meant something else entirely. But surely there was no way he could know before her, not for certain, that some hideous, tainted life had taken root within her. Or so she told herself. He couldn't know for sure. Even she did not know for sure. It was far too early to tell.
But it was a possibility.
She wondered if telling the monk would change things. If he knew she might be carrying the offspring of his greatest enemy, he might be a more willing accomplice in her death. Or it might only make him more sympathetic of her plight, strengthening his refusal to aid her efforts at self-harm.
She decided not to tell him. Not until she was certain. When she knew for sure and had grown more desperate... then she would tell him, and see what difference it made.
Sango shivered without knowing why.
-x-
Bit by bit, she was learning not to take her solitude for granted. While the monk had apparent free reign of the castle, or at least more of it than she had access to, he made a point of keeping an eye on her. As if she could go anywhere, even if she wanted to. Even if the barrier that kept her penned in were to suddenly disappear, she lacked the strength to move about.
It was almost funny. Her decision to die had rendered her completely incapable of seizing any chance at escape that might present itself.
It was a desperate decision and, no doubt, a foolhardy one. Forged out of overwhelming guilt, it had seemed at the time like the only possible escape. It was certainly easy enough for Naraku to force her submission; she remembered all too vividly the painful grip of the servants as one held her head back and her nose shut while another poured some foul brew down her throat. Given the choice between suffocating and swallowing, she had made up her mind to suffocate. But her body, buoyed by instinct and reflex and powerful hunger, had rebelled and swallowed.
She had never stopped fighting it. That had been, she thought, six or seven days before Naraku gave her the monk. It was hard to tell. Naraku's servants had forced her to eat for several days, but since then... Naraku seemed content to let Miroku make her eat. Sango was just as determined not to.
By now it had become routine, this locking of gazes and clashing of wills. The monk Miroku would prepare food and try to entice her to eat. Sango would refuse, glaring fiercely until he backed down, no matter how her belly ached at the sight and smell of food. Each time, it took longer to make him give up. She wondered how many refusals it would take before he got it in his head to force her. If he would be able to go through with it, and render himself no better than his greatest enemy.
"Eat."
"No."
She had stopped reacting violently to the food he presented a couple of days ago. Now she simply did her best to ignore it.
"Then tell me why I should take it away," he suggested.
"No."
His expression went sour. She was close to victory. "Is there no compromising with you?"
"There is life or death," she pointed out. "I know of no middle ground."
"Then tell me why you so desperately seek death," he said, sounding somewhere between passionate and desperate.
She shuddered, feeling almost as if she had betrayed herself. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to confide in this monk, this holy man who had found his way to her through the most unexpected circumstances, to let him share at least the knowledge of the weight that rested on her shoulders. If he knew, he might understand. If she could just bring herself to trust him, even that much...
But there was danger in that. She had learned all too well how dangerous a thing trust could be. She had trusted Kagewaki too well and too easily, and had let him do despicable things to her without speaking a word against it until the deed was done. She had trusted in her wounds to end her life, and those, too, had failed her. She had trusted herself to be strong and resolute, and now she found herself succumbing all too easily to doubt, to the sweet words of this man she had only just recently met.
"I..." She could not think of anything to say, any reason that he would understand, and fumbled stupidly for the words to explain herself. She had become so accustomed to saying merely, 'no,' over and over for the past two days. "I..."
You've ruined everything. Why won't you just let me die? Her thoughts were angry, accusing. She couldn't put words to them.
"Taijiya-sama, please let me help you."
The plea almost reached her. He looked so very kind... She thought for a moment he might try to touch her again, but he did not. The visceral, violent reaction his last attempt at comforting her with physical contact had earned must have made an impression. Somehow, that pleased her. "You are too quick to assume I am worthy of your aid."
"Everyone is worthy of mercy," he supplied.
"Even Naraku?" she asked, feeling clever.
He sighed. "Naraku deserves our pity. But mercy... no, I would not say that. But I am not in a position to speak of judgment, at least not where that soul is concerned."
"Then what makes you think I deserve mercy? You know more of Naraku than you do of me."
"It would take a lot of convincing to prove to me that you are no different from Naraku, Taijiya-sama."
Something inside her snapped. "Don't call me that."
"Sango, then," he said easily, though he did not seem pleased. She did not doubt that he would revert back to the infernal Taijiya-sama as soon as he thought he could get away with it. He had made it clear that he was determined to treat her with the utmost kindness and respect, regardless of her wishes. She wanted to hate him for it, but found she could not. Not quite. She might wish he would leave her in peace and stop meddling in affairs that were not his concern, but she could not hate him.
Confronted by a long silence where she usually made an impatient outburst, he tried a different tack: "Our enemy is the same. Can we not at least be allies?"
Sango stared at him, uncomprehending. Could he truly not understand that she had nothing left to live for, no wish but to die and join her family again in the afterlife? No, she supposed sourly, he probably could not. She had not told him anything about herself save her name. He knew nothing about her beyond what he could surmise from her condition. He could not know how she had watched her brother slay the last of her kin, nor how she had been buried alive and crawled forth from her own grave to seek vengeance, nor how Naraku-Kagewaki had brought her back to this place afterward to use her body for his own sick pleasure.
"So be it. But will you at least tell me how you came to attack my friends outside the Taijiya village?" he prodded, his tone perfectly innocent, as if he were merely inquiring about the first time they became casually acquainted.
They both knew it was a loaded question, as surely as they knew that he would press for more information if she gave him the answer he sought. She struggled to resist. It seemed that if she just told him what he wanted to know, then he would be satisfied, would cease his unending chattering and would leave her to die in peace. Still, she knew that would not be the case, and steeled herself against it.
But with him staring at her so expectantly, it was not long before her resolve began to crack. It had been so long since she had someone to talk to... since someone had treated her with kindness rather than with cool, silent disregard, or in Naraku's violent, dominating way.
Miroku didn't want anything from her. He was just... curious. Compassionate. And he was damnably determined, too. He had been hammering away at her nearly ever since the moment he found himself stumbling into her room. Eventually he would find a crack in her shell; it might be best to give him something, even just a small bit or a half truth.
"I... Naraku told me that the village of Taijiya had been destroyed, that a demon named Inuyasha had come to the village seeking Shikon shards and slain all who stood in his way." She paused, unused to speaking so much. Her voice was creaky and ugly, her parched throat slow to cooperate with her. "He - he told me when and how, and took me back there with him to... to avenge the fallen. I am -" she faltered.
"Inuyasha did not destroy the village of Taijiya," Miroku said softly. "The village was in ruins when we arrived."
"That's not... what I was told." Sango felt sick. She didn't want to believe, but the alternative was that Naraku had told her the truth and this man before her was a liar. And that, experience told her, was very unlikely. But... if Miroku was telling the truth, then she had killed two innocents in cold blood, for a crime they had not committed.
And Miroku, he didn't know. He had no idea that the friends he believed so staunchly would come to his rescue were dead, dead at the end of her sword. A cold, ruthless part of her wanted to tell him what she had done at Naraku's behest, so he would hate her and she could watch as he abandoned the last vestiges of hope. Then he might begin to understand her. He might see why she needed to die.
But she could not do it. She could not take hope away from him.
"Naraku lies. He is a thief and a shape-changer, and his sole purpose in life is to make others suffer," Miroku informed her, his tone dark and ferociously angry. "That he deceived you is no cause for shame, nor is it any reason for you to suffer like this."
Life as Naraku's prisoner had made her more bitter than she had thought possible; she almost laughed. If only that were all there was to it. But he did not know the half of what had befallen her, and she was not entirely sure she was ready to tell him. Telling him would mean reliving it in full, beyond the mere half-memories that plagued her. The nightmares those pushed-aside memories caused were bad enough, as was the skittishness that made her want to jump at the smallest shadow or the slightest sound. She did not think she was ready to willingly endure again what Naraku had inflicted upon her.
"You don't have to tell me anything," Miroku was saying, smiling faintly, "But if you ever wish to talk about it, I will listen."
Sango stared at the empty cup in her hands, realizing that she had drunk the water he brought for her without even thinking about it. No wonder he was smiling. She bit down on her rising temper, horrified at how easily he had coaxed her into taking water, and even more so at how swiftly he had managed to begin pulling her back to life. It had taken him days, but he had roused the spirit within her into at least this one shudder of activity. For a moment she yearned to recapture the numbness that had consumed her for the past weeks, but found she could not. Nor did she truly want to.
Something had changed, and for good or ill there was no going back.
-x-
Sango had not realized how much she missed sunlight and fresh air. But when Miroku offered to help her over so she could sit in what was left of the day's sun and enjoy the breeze, not even the realization that this would require him to touch her could dampen her desire. Her room looked out over a small yard; she knew that already, from having encountered Kagewaki and Naraku there once, but she had not tried to return to it after that. She also knew it was probably the same courtyard in which she and her family had been buried, but even that seemed peaceful and calming.
She sat as close as possible to the open doorway, just far enough away that the barrier's buzzing energy did not bother her, and peered outside. She could see blue sky dotted with clouds, hear the rustle of grass as the wind blew through it. If she closed her eyes and emptied her mind, the feel of sunlight warming her could almost chase away her demons.
There was something freeing in it, though it made her yearn hopelessly to share in the freedom of that small outdoor space. It was so close, and yet utterly unreachable.
"You truly cannot pass?" Miroku asked from his place on the porch.
She shook her head. With one hand she reached out and touched the barrier, pressing her palm to it until her arm began to go numb from the strange energy. She withdrew then, letting both hands rest in her lap. "The barrier keeps me in. He's not taking any chances with me."
They both knew who she was talking about without having to name him and, coming to a silent accord, dropped the uncomfortable subject. As they sat together, she inside and he outside, they watched the sky gradually fade through vibrant pinks and reds as the sun set. Sango watched, feeling some measure of inner peace for the first time since Miroku entered her life, as the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle through the deep blues and purples.
She fell asleep where she sat, though she did not realize it until morning when the sun brightened the room again and drew her slowly to wakefulness. Miroku brought her food and water, and this time she ate without protest. She was sick almost immediately, retching and vomiting helplessly into the chamber pot, her stomach heaving even long after it had been emptied. Miroku remained a silent support beside her, pulling her hair back for her so it would not be dirtied, rubbing a hand soothingly along her back when she shook. And when at last she was done, he took the pot away and brought it back clean without a word of complaint.
She scrutinized him after that, watching the calm expression on his face as he pretended not to notice her staring. She felt shriveled up and dry inside from being sick and took more water when he silently offered it. It soothed, a little.
"Allies," she croaked after a time, remembering what he had asked of her before.
They shared the same enemy. What did that make them, if not allies? Could they not cooperate and hope to throw off Naraku's shackles together?
"Allies," he agreed, and they clasped hands to seal the deal.
-x-
Life settled into a new routine after that. Miroku ceased his endless prying and, in return, Sango slowly stopped resisting his attempts to get her to eat. She took to calling him 'Houshi-sama' and meant all of the respect implied by the title. The monk showed her every kindness and consideration that she had been denied for so long. As it turned out, he was a friendly man and a very easy companion. He was also possessed of remarkable patience, and if he was ever irritated by her reticence he never once let it show. He attended her when she allowed it, spoke kind words when it was appropriate, and left her alone when she indicated that she required solitude.
One day after an unusually long absence, he even brought her a big pot of warm water with a rag and a chunk of rough soap that he had obviously salvaged from the kitchen. He slipped discreetly away so she could bathe in privacy and when he returned later for the supplies he pretended not to see that his kindness had made her cry.
She had not shed tears in a long time. It felt almost as good to let the tears go as it did to clean away the grime accumulated from weeks of idle imprisonment. She had not realized just how awful she felt and how dirty she had become. Her long hair, once her one vanity, had gone all to lank, oily tangles. She did not realize until she was clean at last just how terribly her skin had itched. She must have looked frightful when Miroku first saw her, she thought. More tears pricked at her eyes to recall that Naraku had brought her low enough that she had not cared. She wiped them away. Miroku ignored that, too.
She spent that afternoon using her fingers to coax the tangled knots out of her hair while Miroku busied himself with making sure the room was clean. To her surprise, he even took the time to rearrange the mats on the floor. With bright, warm sunlight streaming in through the open door it almost did not even seem like this could be the same room in which she had spent so much time.
As the days passed, even her nightmares began to fade. She allowed herself the foolish belief that Miroku could protect her from whatever threatened, and slept restful for the first time in well over a month. Slowly but surely, as the days passed her appetite returned. She felt ravenous, scarcely caring as she devoured whatever Miroku brought her. She was beginning to feel more and more like herself again. And with that feeling came some small fragment of her former strength.
When she was strong enough, she spent her time relearning how her body worked rather than sitting in the sun all day. It was frustrating to have to learn to walk all over again, but she had time in abundance. She also had a willing partner and assistant in Miroku, who was perfectly happy to support her as she hobbled feebly about the room and cheered her on with a smile or kind word at every success, no matter how small or insignificant.
It was harder to pick up her Taijiya's training again. She had not lost just strength but also flexibility and stamina, and those were more difficult to regain. But she persevered and eventually she did begin to recover, though it was an agonizingly slow process.
She had never let herself go so thoroughly before, even during those rare occasions when she had been wounded or sick. In the past she had always had someone to poke and prod and cajole her back into activity. Whether it was her father or her brother or one of the others, there had always been someone concerned for her future and willing to help. This time there had been no one to help her. But with Miroku's encouragement and assistance, she thought that perhaps she could find her way back to health and strength again. Certainly, with the passing of each day it became easier to walk, and each morning found her more limber than the last.
And if the threat of Naraku's presence cast a pall over the long stretch of painless days, for Sango had little doubt it was only a matter of time before he destroyed whatever peace he had allowed to spring up in this place, she did her best to ignore it. She clung to the tiny threads of hope Miroku had so carefully woven within her and turned her back on fear and doubt. A monk and a Taijiya... if she could get her strength back, could find some sort of weapon, a pair like that just might be able to fight Naraku. Or die trying.
But somewhere along the line, dying had lost its appeal.
-x-
Sango was not sure what brought it on, but one day she told him. She poured her story out to Miroku, who listened with an expression of grave attentiveness, and relished the half-sick purged feeling it brought on, as if spewing out the words like this could somehow clear away all that had happened to her. Strangely, she found herself feeling like an outsider as she told the story, and recalling it did not hurt nearly as much as she had feared it might. It felt like someone else's tale, something from a long time ago.
She held only one detail back, and that was her knowledge of the fate that had befallen his friends. She feared that he would turn his back on her if he knew that she was responsible for their deaths, and she hated the thought of being the one to take his hope away, for he had managed to instill hope in her where she thought it to be forever lost.
She had thought he might express pity or sympathy, but instead he looked angry. She knew it was directed at Naraku, not her, but it was still a bit surprising to see. He always seemed so difficult to discomfit, so patient and slow to anger.
She let him go when he asked to spend some time outside meditating in the open air. She could understand his need for quiet thought and fresh air. She was not exactly averse to the idea of a day of solitude, herself. She forwent her usual exercises that day in favor of spending the day in the sun and enjoying the empty feeling inside for as long as she could.
Wherever Miroku went in the courtyard to do his meditations, it was beyond her line of sight. She wondered how big that open space was, but could not remember. She had not been paying attention to the yard's size the only time she had ventured into it. She had been far more concerned with Naraku's tale of a destroyed village of demon slayers.
Once, Sango had not thought she would ever miss the monk's idle chatter or his constant presence. Now she realized that she did, to a surprising degree. There was some small comfort in not suffering alone. She had not truly been aware of that before; now she felt bereft in her companion's absence.
He returned later in the day, but stayed only briefly before heading into the hall that led toward the rest of the castle. The next time he returned, he brought food with him. They ate together in awkward silence, Sango half watching him to see if she could discern any clues about the direction of his thoughts from his expression. She could not.
"Do you find my presence disagreeable?" he asked calmly once they had both finished eating.
She shook her head.
He left anyway.
That night, Sango slept uneasily, and dreamed strange dreams.
Her dream was not of the airless void of her grave. Nor did she find herself once more pinned beneath the writhing tentacles of Naraku.
In her dream she lay dozing in a warm, dark place. She was cuddled against another person, in the same way that she had held Kohaku when he woke in the night with fear writ across his face... someone kind and gentle, who wrapped her in an embrace that was strong and protective.
Father, she thought, snuggling closer into that warm, familiar embrace, make the nightmares go away for good.
But one of Father's arms was bound by cloth and sealed tight with beads.
-x-
Sango was still dozing when Miroku returned from whatever errand he had been about; he had made it a habit to prowl the castle until late into the night, though she had never asked him why. Being alone helped her sleep, but she was accustomed enough to his presence now that she did not immediately rouse herself when he entered.
She listened without moving as he crossed the room and knelt beside her. Only then did she open her eyes.
"Houshi-sama?"
Usually he knew better than to get close to her. She had made him well aware that having anyone in close proximity made her very uncomfortable, even if she had not told him exactly why. She had to admit, however, that she was curious as to what he might want.
One good look at his face told her that something was wrong. He did not look well.
She sat up. "Houshi-sama, are you all right?"
He didn't answer, just stared at her with that strange look on his face, like he was seeking something.
She felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. "Houshi-sama, you're scaring me."
And then he closed the short distance between them and pressed his lips hard against hers. For a long moment she was frozen, suffocating under the weight of his closeness. She could not breathe, terror and hatred - how dare he do such a thing? - clawing her into unthinking fear. Unable to bear it any longer, she slapped him hard enough to turn his head.
"What do you think you're doing? Don't touch me," she hissed. He had always obeyed before, giving her space when she let him know that he had overstepped her boundaries. This time, he did not. This time he captured her arms, his hands around her wrists, and with impossible strength forced her down against the floor. "Houshi-sama!" The hiss turned into a growl, but still he would not let her up.
It was too close by far to what Kagewaki - or Naraku, whichever one it had been, if they were different at all - had done to her. She squirmed and flailed, trying to get away, unable to stand by and allow this to be done to her but strangely reluctant to harm Miroku.
He released one of her arms so he could reach down between them to move their clothes out of the way. Sango seized the opportunity, kicking furiously between his legs and lashing out with her free arm. He blocked the kick before she could do any damage, but she managed to score a line of deep gashes on his face; if she was lucky, they would be deep enough to scar.
He still remained eerily silent, as if the attack had not hurt at all. Horrified, Sango hesitated.
Then he seemed to come out of whatever trance had overtaken him and moved against her. He pushed her down, hard, and forced her legs wide apart.
"Houshi-sama, why?" Sango gasped, on the verge of tears as he thrust his hard length into her to the hilt.
It hurt.
It went beyond physical pain. That, she could have dealt with. She was a Taijiya. She knew how to deal with pain, to suffer it and move beyond it. But the violation of her trust threatened to consume her. Pain, fear, and doubt assaulted her as surely as the man on top of her.
Sango lay still on the floor beneath him and tried to close her mind to it. She had never been trained much in hand-to-hand combat, because it was too dangerous to attempt such things when fighting demons, but now she wished that she had. She wondered distantly if, in his awkwardly thrusting frenzy, Miroku would notice if she tried to strangle him. But she could not seem to wriggle her arms free from his vise-like grip, and knew she would get no chance to find out. Not until he was finished.
Distancing herself mentally as best as she could, pretending she was someone else dispassionately watching her debasement, Sango waited. She bided her time until he finished. She let him catch his breath even though it felt like his weight might crush her. She let him pull away and smirk in a remarkably self-satisfied way at her dishevelment. She waited until he was nearly out the door.
"Wait," she pleaded, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbled for a moment, then went after him.
For some reason she would never understand, he had waited. Did he think she had somehow enjoyed that? A fit of fury overcame her at the thought.
She punched him as hard as she could. In the face. She didn't care if she broke her hand or his jaw, didn't notice the pain that reverberated up her arm from the force of the impact. He stumbled out the door and disappeared into the hallway.
Sango, not caring that he could easily come right back in and assault her again, broke down. She stumbled backward into the room, tears streaming down her face; her body was wracked by silent sobs; for a long time she thought she would be physically ill, but the feeling eventually subsided. She sank to the floor and curled in on herself, wondering how she had ever allowed that man to convince her not to die.
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