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Power of Loss	By : psyca Category: Gensomaden Saiyuki > Yaoi - Male/Male > Gojyo/Hakkai Views: 1732 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gensomaden Saiyuki, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Power of Loss
- 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely Saiyuki boys.

Blood.

He could smell blood everywhere. The coppery scent filled his sensitive nose, so thick in the air he could taste it on his tongue. His vision was practically tinged with red, an inexplicable fury welling up from his gut.

Countless bodies piled up around him. For some reason, his jakujou was nowhere to be found. A long knife was clutched in his crimson-stained hands instead.

The inexplicable call of something drew him down dark and unfamiliar hallways. Innumerable enemies rose snarling (or was it shrank screaming) before him, falling in a spray of hot red every time. Each kill left him satisfied yet anxious for whatever it was that called him. His heartbeat sounded louder, faster, and he was running now, barely seeing the faces of his opponents (victims) as he cut them down.

*thu-thump*

Stairs brought him deeper down into the twisting hell of dark hallways, fewer youkai meeting his challenge. How many had it been, five hundred? Almost a thousand?

*thu-thump*

The something calling him was closer. He could almost taste the something, the someone that he needed to find. The hallway stretched to an almost impossible length, and he ran faster and faster, killing indiscriminately.

*thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump*

He ripped the door open, dank and dirty cells meeting his gaze. The last youkai died under his blade, blood splashing everywhere. A ringing that he hadn’t noticed before laid underneath his harsh breathing, overlaying his senses like the smell of blood.

*thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump*

Booted feet skidded on the slick floor as he grabbed the bars of the cell where the call emanated from. A huddled form in the far corner stirred at his noisy approach.

“You’re alive! You’re really alive!”

*thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump*

Cool hands reached down and gently took the knife from his blood-slicked hands. The figure looked up, sorrow barely visible behind the heavy bangs and glinting eyeglass.

“It’s too late,” the equally cool voice said, a hint of longing in the sad tone. “Goodbye.”

The ringing got louder, almost deafening. A splash of crimson stood out sharply on the crisp white shirt.

*thump*

He screamed his name in the red darkness.

“-kai!”

Gojyo lurched up as he cried out, caught in the last throes of the dream. Sweat poured down his face, breathing loud and heavy. Red eyes darted around the campsite, over the snoring monkey, past the priest propped up against a tree, to rest on the long form of his best friend on the other side of the glowing embers. A strained moment passed until he detected the slow rise and fall of the man’s breathing.

Quietly, Gojyo rolled up and crept on silent feet away from his sleeping companions. He stopped several yards away at a small stream, and sat heavily. Lightly trembling hands pulled out a cigarette and lit it, drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs. His free hand rose to cradle his forehead wearily.

“Fuck.”

That was the third night in a row for the damned dream. He didn’t know if it was caused by the increased intensity of their quest as they drew closer to India, or the fact that the idiot nearly died draining his chi healing his companions after the last gruesome battle.

“Stupid, selfless bastard.”

Gojyo didn’t want to contemplate the cold vise that clamped onto his heart when the green-eyed healer collapsed above him after tending to his wounds. He refused to think about the warm rush that flew through him when those soft eyes opened more than a day later, nor about how much sleep he’d lost holding vigil.

There was no way he was afraid of losing him this much.

Another deep drag chased away the lingering taste of blood. The unsettled fear still remained in his gut, just as it had since the dream came the first time.

This was not happening.

“Fuck.”

…………………………….

As with countless previous days, the ride in Hakuryu the next morning was bumpy, tiring and long. Unlike previous days, it was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional “harahetta” from Goku. Sanzo brooded quietly in the front seat, Hakkai focusing almost exclusively on the road. Gojyo pretended not to notice the concerned flicker in the rearview window.

Gojyo didn’t have the energy to needle the kid today. He was exhausted, but the memory of the dream kept him from falling asleep. The last thing he needed was to open himself up to ridicule by saying something embarrassing in his sleep. He already knew no one thought much of a half-breed. He didn’t need someone else calling him stupid and useless.

The gathering black storm clouds in the western sky matched his dark mood perfectly. Hopefully there would be a town at the end of the drive so they wouldn’t have to sleep in the rain.

Several hours later, it seemed that at least one thing was going right. A decent sized town crested over the horizon, the graying evening broken by warm lights. After the expected discussion over where to stay between Sanzo and Hakkai and the chanting of the monkey for meat buns, the living vehicle rolled up to a stop in front of a nondescript inn.

Gojyo didn’t even wait for the surly monk to check in before vaulting out of the back seat, thrusting his hands in his pocket and wandering away towards a bar. Preferably as far away from the inn as possible.

“Gojyo?” The soft cultured voice caused a falter in his step. Putting on his best leer, he turned towards (him) the others.

“I need some different company. Something better smelling than a jeep-full of sweaty guys.”

He didn’t look him in the eyes, focusing his smirk on the monkey instead.

“Oi!” the boy exclaimed, taking a step towards him.

“Leave the stupid kappa to his whoring, Goku. Means less of his face I have to look at.”

Gojyo flipped Sanzo the bird.

“Eat shit and die, baldy.”

Yeah, that was him, the stupid horny half-breed. He couldn’t help but flick his eyes over Hakkai’s face as he turned to go. The slight crinkle in the corner of one eye asked a concerned question to which Gojyo wouldn’t respond.

At least not until he knew the answer.

…………………………….

The best thing about getting plastered is that you stop remembering things after a while. He’d won all the money he drank with, so no one could piss with him for being wasteful. Hanging on some pretty women was fun for a while, but none of them offered what he wanted tonight.

Cool hands, green eyes.

Of course, the worst thing about getting plastered was that it was harder to control your thoughts. Gojyo signaled for another drink. Obviously he wasn’t drunk enough.

The bartender gave him one shrewd look and shook his head. He didn’t bother pleading with the man. Even hammered he was enough of a poker player to read a look. Luckily he made friends easily, and by slipping a few coins into the right hands his beer mysteriously refilled.

By the time they were kicked out, Gojyo wasn’t sure he remembered where the little traveling band was staying. He’d worked pretty hard to not be anywhere near that inn tonight. He fumbled with a cigarette, giving up after the fourth attempt to light up left him with burnt fingers.

Fuck. He hadn’t gotten this shitfaced in a while.

As soon as he stepped into the heavy evening, the sky opened, pouring a steady rain over his staggering form. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he raised his spinning head up and let the rain darken his brilliant hair to the color of fresh blood. Maybe that’s why he had so much blood on the brain. He was covered with it.

Unsteady steps splashed through the muddy streets, dodging the few passers-by with an innate grace that the alcohol only blunted. His mind was not so sharp, head spinning with every step. Each leg got harder and harder to lift, like his boots were filled with lead. Blearily, he looked for Hakuryu under the unfamiliar awnings. ‘Course, Hakkai would bring the little dragon inside due to the rain.

The boarded doorway of an abandoned building looked awfully comfortable. Just a moment to clear his head, and then he’d find the inn. It wasn’t dry, but the overhang provided shelter from the worst of it. A low rumble of thunder sounded overhead as he slid down the rough boards. One final thought ran through his mind before gladly embracing oblivion.

‘At least the stinking monk will sulk tomorrow so I don’t have to ride in the jeep with a hangover.’

…………………………….

It was still raining. The sound was a soothing whisper over his weary brain. But. . . he wasn’t wet.

Slowly, agonizingly, an unfamiliar ceiling came into view through slitted eyes. Blinding pain shot through his head, feeling like Goku was jumping inside his skull. Closing his eyes, he groaned lowly, bringing one hand up to soothe the ache.

Gojyo furrowed his brow, trying to put together the pieces of last night. He remembered the rain, sitting down. So why was he dry and lying on something so soft?

The alarm bells finally reaching his addled brain, he sat up quickly to gauge his surroundings. Big mistake. The world spun, and he leaned against the wall next to the bed heavily. Deep breaths attempted to calm his lurching stomach and pounding head.

After a moment, he blearily looked around. Hakkai’s familiar bags sat next to the bed opposite his, and his clothes hung over a sturdy wooden chair. Gojyo looked down, noting he was dressed only in an undershirt and boxers. Mind still puzzling, he gingerly reached into the shirt on the chair and drew out a cigarette. The first drag took the edge off of the pounding and the nausea.

How the hell did he get here?

As if in answer, the door opened and closed softly, measured footfalls entering the room. Hakkai appeared with a tray holding a glass of water and a covered bowl. His face was unreadable, even to Gojyo.

“You’re awake.” The soft voice seemed loud in the quiet room.

“Yeah. ‘Morning,” he answered, voice husky from the booze and too much smoke.

“Afternoon actually,” Hakkai replied almost primly. Gojyo could see the thread of upset, almost disapproval in the green eyes. He used to look at him like that occasionally before they went on this journey, when he came home particularly late. The healer handed him the glass of water and two aspirin.

“Thanks.” He drank it slowly, grimacing at how it sloshed in his rebelling stomach. An expectant moment passed, but he refused to meet the gaze he felt on him. “I suppose I have you to thank for getting me here in one piece.”

A dry, light laugh.

“I couldn’t very well leave you passed out in the rain.”

Gojyo looked down at his hands.

“Maybe you should have,” he muttered softly.

The tray was set quietly on the nightstand. Hakkai pulled a chair up, Gojyo wincing at the scraping sound it made along the floor.

“Gojyo, what’s wrong?”

“I got drunk and have a hangover.”

An exasperated sigh passed his lips, Gojyo catching the tightening hands clasped between his knees.

“You haven’t talked to me in four days.”

Gojyo put up a grouchy front, turning to answer, trying not to get sucked into those eyes.

Just stop.

“Whadaya mean? I’ve talked plenty.”

“To argue with Goku, or swear at Sanzo. You haven’t said a word to me.”

Please, stop.

He turned away, dropping his finished smoke into the almost empty glass. His hair formed a curtain of red around his face as he leaned forward a little.

“I’m fine, just needed to blow off some steam.”

“Gojyo . . .” The cool hand touched his shoulder, and for the barest moment he found himself leaning into the touch. His hand jumped up to knock the hand away, and he crowded against the wall, refusing to look.

Don’t touch me. . .

“Don’t, I’m . . .fine.”

. . . or I’ll never let you go.

Hakkai stood slowly after an incredibly long moment. The quiet steps retreated from the bed, and the door opened with a creak.

“I wouldn’t drink tonight if I were you. The rain won’t last through tomorrow.”

…………………………….

Hunger beyond what the gentle broth on the tray could assuage eventually drove him downstairs. A bath had washed most of the alcohol/road stink from his body, leaving him feeling oddly light and empty. His clothes were clean, thanks to Hakkai he supposed.

Only Goku sat in the great room, eating what looked like dinner. A glance at the clock confirmed the late hour. Gojyo sat down and signaled the waitress, snatching an egg roll from the monkey’s plate.

“Oi, get your own, pervy-kappa.”

“Shut up. You have more than plenty.”

He ordered his own food from the smiling woman and sent her away. Goku stared at him as if he had a second head.

“What the hell are you staring at?”

“Are you feeling ok?”

A vein ticked at Gojyo’s forehead.

“I’m fine. Why the fuck is everyone asking me that?”

Goku didn’t flinch at his harsh tone. Instead, stared at him for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed before replying.

“You fell asleep in the rain last night, and haven’t been picking on me for two days.”

“So? Maybe I wanted to get hammered.”

Goku shrugged.

“Maybe. But that never stopped you from flirting with a waitress before.”

Gojyo’s jaw dropped, then clenched.

“Whatever. Eat your food, monkey. I don’t want to hear you complaining about being hungry.”

Goku stuck his tongue out at the kappa, and continued to stuff his face.

After a quiet cigarette and the arrival of his food, Gojyo spoke again.

“Is the monk holed up in his room?”

“Yeah.” The boy’s face dropped a little, then brightened. “But Hakkai says the rain will be gone by tomorrow.”

Gojyo snorted a little, hesitating before asking the next question.

“Is Hakkai with him?”

“Nope, he left about two hours ago to get supplies. Said he’d find dinner while he was out.”

“Ah.”

Gojyo held back a sigh. Probably for the better. He didn’t think he could face his friend right now. He felt too stupid.

…………………………….

The dream was different.

Blood ran down the walls, over his hands, into his clothes, saturated everything he touched. He still slew countless youkai with his little blade, running through the twisting dark hallways. The call was stronger, pulling him stumbling through the horror, youkai practically throwing themselves on his blade in their haste to get in his way.

*thu-thump*

The final door came into view, and he burst through it, only to see a hauntingly familiar room covered in dripping red. A force knocked him down from behind, sending the blade skittering towards a dark corner.

*thu-thump thu-thump*

His mother stood shaking over his cringing form, held down by the creeping hands of the youkai he’d killed. He thrashed and struggled, desperately trying to free himself from the clawing masses.

She loomed over him, insanity blooming in her wet eyes.

“Red. . . red . . . red. . . I hate that damned color!” she snarled viciously.

*thu-thump thu-thump*

A slender figure appeared from the corner, dark hair covering the bent head. A pale, smooth hand picked up the bloody dagger slowly, turning it over in front of the too-white shirt.

*thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump*

“No, stop, don’t,” he gasped, the dead hands gripping his neck.

“He doesn’t want you, worthless half-breed,” his mother snarled, raising an axe in her hands. “Too much blood!”

*thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump*

The axe swung down, landing just in front of his prone form. He could smell the rotting flesh of dead hands that the blade bit into.

The figure in the corner raised the blade towards the neck, tilting just slightly to the side.

“It’s too late,” the voice whispered softly.

*thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump*

“No! Stop! Please!” he sobbed. Not again.

His mother raised the axe one more time, and it whistled towards his head as the blade cut a crimson line across a pale throat.

*thu-*

“Hakkai!”

The body fell to the ground, and the axe came down.

Goyjo screamed, struggling against the hands that held him down. Caught in the throes of his nightmare, he lashed out, sending him and his assailant flying. The impact of his hip hitting the hard wood floor jolted him to awareness.

Startled, worried green orbs stared at him in the moonlit room. Goyjo’s breath caught.

Hakkai. He was alive.

Without thought, he threw his arms around the smaller man and pulled him into a rough embrace. Goyjo didn’t realize how much he was shaking until he held the other man tightly. He murmured to himself as his heartbeat raced, not even knowing what was falling from his lips.

The dream-panic slowly subsided, the smell of blood being replaced by pine and sandalwood. His breathing slowed, the pounding of his heart gentling to its normal rhythm.

The reality of the situation came crashing down on him. Embarrassed and ashamed, he stammered an apology and tried to pull away.

Two bands of soft steel wrapped around his waist prevented his escape. His mind worked frantically to process that Hakkai was holding him back. And not letting go. His arms gently rested around the slim muscular shoulders again, afraid this was still a dream.

“Hak-kai?”

“Why did you scream Gojyo?” His cool voice blended perfectly into the quiet night.

Gojyo took a shuddering breath.

“The dream. . .”

Hakkai waited, shifting so he could lock his green orbs onto Gojyo’s red ones.

“I saw you die,” he finally choked out, turning away. “You killed yourself countless times rather than stay with me.”

The silence was deafening.

“Why do you think I would leave you?”

Gojyo looked at him, shocked.

“Why would you want to stay with a lousy half-breed?”

Hakkai smiled, a genuine turning of lips.

“For the same reason you stay with a murderer.”

“But you were . . . You aren’t that man.”

“And you aren’t a lousy anything.”

A silence passed.

“I don’t know . . . how to feel about this.”

He felt Hakkai smile against his chest.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“What about-”

Hakkai leaned up and silenced him with a firm kiss. Just a pressing of lips, enough to still his thoughts completely. The man sat back into his arms, resting calmly against him.

Gojyo had no more words. Instead, he held the man close that he knew he couldn’t let go. Not now, not ever.

They fell asleep. For the first time in a long time, the nightmares were replaced by dreams of cool hands, green eyes, and a real, gentle smile.
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Power of Loss