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Home Wrecker	By : NihilEtNemo Category: InuYasha > Yaoi - Male/Male > Inu no Taish?/Sessh?maru > Inu no Taish?/Sessh?maru Views: 6302 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter 2

This time Sesshoumaru knew he wanted to follow his father. The moment he realized he was a gone from their home as he had been the previous day he swallowed a growl, more of confusion than anything, and ran outside to the courtyard. He was already transformed by the time he burst through the heavy doors, and he dove off the edge of the terrace, through the piercing winds and the rolling cloud cover below.

There was no hope of finding his trail in the high air, even with his preternaturally acute sense of smell - the wind had long since stolen any trace of him. He had to get to the calmer airs beneath the clouds, and even there the chances would be slim. The earth, however, would hold the signs of his passage for as long as he needed it to.

The clear air below the pale clouds was dimmer, without the unshielded light of the near sun, but he was used to that; it was so every time he visited the humans' world. He didn't pause to appreciate the differences, however, or consider the tiny forms of trees and even tinier living beings far beneath him. The landscape paled in comparison to the brilliant white world he was used to and was only mildly interesting at the best of times; now he ignored it entirely and crouched in the air, straining his sensitive nose to find the scent in the gentle winds.

It eluded him. He smelled forests, mountains, fresh water, the salt of the sea, fields, livestock, wild animals, humans and the pollution of their habitation, weak youkai, even another nearby daiyoukai at the edge of his senses, but not a hint of his father. If he were anywhere upwind within a distance of a day's travel at the speed of a human he would have scented him in even a weak breeze; downwind he would have had to be nearer, but there should have been a lingering sign of his passage. There were none.

Scanning the broad arc of earth visible to him for any sign, and seeing none, he moved upwind and nearer to the ground. The smell of rank terror assaulted his nostrils as he passed not far above a human village that happened to lie in his path, irritating him by obscuring anything more useful he could have smelled, but the little people scattered and took their stink with them as they fled.

The nearest landing place the castle might have drifted past held no signs, even imbedded in the ground; nor did the next. He became quickly aware that he was wasting his time but still he stubbornly continued his search in a loose spiral with the castle in the center.

What finally stopped him was the realization that his father could have covered many times more ground than he simply by virtue of his size. He could conceivably be on another island... If he continued to search he could easily miss him and had no chance of finding him. This was simply useless.

With a snarl he laid flat all of the trees he could reach and launched himself back into the air. The castle had drifted slightly but he couldn't bring himself to go back anyway; he prowled through the clouds, waiting, restlessly watching the pale cover for his father's return.

* * *

Darkness had fallen, leaving the clouds lit by a sinking half moon and the expanse of stars, before the calm white surface heaved and parted. The massive canine form broke through with ease and bounded gracefully to the waiting compound; only after he passed did Sesshoumaru fall in behind him.

Even from a distance it was clear that he had been mingling with humans again, and closely. The smell on him was so strong it almost overpowered his natural scent, and to smell that reek in their home set Sesshoumaru on edge. His father was not supposed to smell like prey...

He didn't catch up to him before he had resumed his smaller form, and for a moment as his paws lit on the stone he looked down at his father. The moisture on his hair and clothes gleamed as much in the moonlight as in the sunlight; his back was to him and he was walking away without sparing a glance back for him. He felt the impulse to seize the small body in his teeth and shake him until he either got an explanation or made him pay for the treatment with his life...

The urge passed before he could act upon it, and he resumed his human shape instead, his eyes boring into his father's back. He hadn't even looked at him... He had left him in the night without a word and now he refused to even grant him a single look.

The massive doors closed between them with a hollow tone.

Sesshoumaru stared hard at it, mind in unaccustomed turmoil. Finally it came to him that his father was so distracted that he hadn't noticed him. What could preoccupy him so much that he would not realize he were being followed he did not know and did not want to, but there was no other explanation for the lack of greeting, No, it was more than that - for being utterly ignored. His father would not do that, and so his explanation was the right one.

Calmer now, he followed after him and let the sound of the closing door, if nothing else, announce his presence. It still garnered him no greeting, but if his father were so distracted it was only to be expected. Instead of waiting for his attention he sought him out. There must be some sort of story to his absence; his father did not always tell him of his exploits, but he enjoyed hearing about the contests of power or will that he invariably won when he did... And even if this adventure would be kept to himself, it would do them both good to spend the time in each other's company, and find their interrupted routine again.

The door to his father's room had been left open, as though he were waiting for him, and he relaxed as he approached. He could see him in the diffuse starlight within, no armor in evidence, his sword propped up in the corner out of immediate reach. He, too, looked relaxed and calm now that he was home. This episode must be behind them now.

He had opened his mouth to speak to him when his father aborted his greeting before it could begin.

"Not now, Sesshoumaru."

His words died on his lips, and though he did not show any reaction he froze in place as though he had been struck. He had never heard such a terse dismissal... No, he had, but never directed at him. At servants, at humans, at petty inconveniences not worth his time or attention... but never at him. There was not even any anger or malice in it, only a certain coolness and the unspoken expectation that someone so inferior could do nothing but obey.

He resisted, oddly sure for a moment that he had misheard, or that there was more. An explanation. A touch. Something. Then cool eyes turned on him in the darkness, waiting for him to comply, and he backed away from the door a single pace. With another he turned away and didn't look back until he was in his own cold bedroom.

* * *

He expected his father to be gone again in the morning and he wasn't disappointed. He spent most of the day in the room he had until recently shared almost nightly with his father, waiting for and dreading his return and the explanation he was determined to have, and he fell asleep there still waiting.

* * *

When his father returned he bore a sword Sesshoumaru had never seen before, that smelled of him and the heat that had recently forged it, but there was no explanation. There were not even any words passed between them; a single glance from his father sent him from the room and back to his own without even opening his mouth. He still respected him too much to make the demands he felt he was due, and that gaze... It burned him. There was still neither malice nor anger - only the sense that his father did not even have to be bothered with him enough to tell him to go.

He had seen such disdain before; he had dispensed it liberally himself. To be the object of it, however...

For the first time, he actively avoided his father, not to satisfy his own urges but to simply avoid the pain. It was simple on the increasingly often occasions his father was absent from home, always without explanation, but on the nights he returned Sesshoumaru found himself either sequestered or exiled by his own decision.

And it was never successful.

Avoiding his father was easy enough, more often than not, because his father had no interest in seeking him out, but the pain could not be avoided. If he sent himself to wander the earth, he ached to be with him. If he lay in the clouds he could not stop watching the castle and knowing he was so close, yet he could not let himself return. The worst was when he could not bring himself to leave - a single accidental glance in passing would pierce him through, either because those eyes slid right over him without seeing, or because he seemed as content as ever and he knew that now it had nothing to do with him.

It crossed his mind only once that his father was angry with him; the thought did not linger because he knew he had done nothing to incur his wrath and this was not how he expressed anger anyway. Punishment had always been meted out swiftly and directly when it was deserved... It was never like this. This torture was new.

It was nearly a full moon before he lay with him again, and he knew he humiliated himself to do it. His father looked on him with indulgence and pity, but no passion and no real desire; he accepted the touches of pity, however degrading, because in his desperation even that was preferable to the distance between them. He could not escape the thick human scent on him, though, and he removed himself to his own room immediately afterward, knowing he could not stay the night and not wanting to hear it. He had no place in that room any longer.

He did not send himself away again, though. He no longer needed the physical distance to know he could not reach him.

* * *

When days spent in quiet and essential solitude made him too restless, yet he was not hungry enough to hunt and he could not bring himself to leave and wander, he expended energy in the courtyard with his ancient practice sword. In his eyes, it was not a real sword; it was a blade of metal, sure enough, honed enough to sever limbs and graceful enough in form, but that was all it was. It had no will or power of its own, and no response to his youki. It was a metal stick, and nothing more.

He should have had a real sword, he found himself thinking as he fought an imaginary foe. Why had he never been given anything beyond this child's toy? The blade swung forward, and he envisioned it piercing his enemy's head. The face his foe wore belonged to his father, and not only because his father was his usual practice partner...

In truth, he had very little appreciation for swordplay; he saw little point in the use of unnatural weapons when he had such effective natural ones at his disposal, and such innate mastery of them. He had never found himself in a position where his own strength was not enough. If somehow his speed, claws, and venom were insufficient for his enemy or prey, the power of his true form could not fail him. He was not even in the habit of carrying a sword when he walked the human world, though he might wear armor... and woe to the ruffians who mistook his lack of a weapon for being unarmed.

That did not mean he was ineffectual with the weapon, however. He had spent five centuries practicing with his father, and if his power was less and his experience lacking, he was naturally the faster and could land at least glancing blows.

In all that time, he had also discovered that the motions of sword practice were excellent for refining mental turmoil. The unaccustomed emotional roiling, to which he had become far too accustomed recently, responded to every stroke, and resolved itself to a single point of coldly burning anger. Underneath uncertainty and hurt and desperate addiction, he found, he was murderous. Only his basic respect for his father kept him from acting on it.

He envisioned his father before him and with a snarl swung to decapitate him. The sword struck at the wind with such force that the tempered blade bent back and snapped off at the hilt.

For a moment he looked down at the broken blade blankly. Then he picked it up with a delicate touch that didn't nick his skin, holding blade and handle both in the same hand. He could not have explained it, but he felt better. Calmer. Destroying something he had received from his father was only a petty rebellion, but it did help.

Even if he saw his anger clearly - and even that clarity began to fade as he walked back inside - it was not the purity of hatred. He wished it were. It was difficult to be so angry and have his own feelings hold him back from expressing it. There was no one else in the world who would have survived treating him this way, yet he knew that if only his father would welcome him back into his bed and his life, with or without explanation, he would forgive him immediately. If only...

Complicated emotions still disturbed him.

When he approached the room his father occupied, the office to which his nose had unerringly drawn him, his steps slowed to a stop and he forgot about the broken sword and his reason for visiting. Or was it an excuse? Watching his father's broad back as he manipulated the brush and paper, he knew it did not really matter if he got a new sword. Nor was there any reason to advertise the fact that it was broken; there was no reason he could not obtain a new one on his own if he so wished. No, it wasn't necessary... it was only a good, valid excuse to visit him.

He didn't speak, though. If he hold off he could continue to watch him. He seemed so relaxed; nothing in him had changed. How was that possible? He felt himself relaxing against his own will. It was all so normal he couldn't help it.

The peaceful scene made him desire to be apart of it. It occurred to him that he should go and sit quietly at his father's side, as he had done when he was taught to read and write, and surely they would fall into their usual closeness... He had actually stirred to act upon the impulse when his father's voice stopped him.

"You are very much like your mother, Sesshoumaru."

He froze in place, staring at the back still turned to him. He had voiced the sentiment before, and he accepted it as fact, yet every time he had heard it before there had been a note of fondness to it, as though he enjoyed the reminder. Now that note was missing. It sounded like, if not an insult, at least a cool, objective judgment.

The considering eye that turned to him in silence reinforced the impression. He stood still as he was critically appraised, unable to even think of a response.

"I have wondered if you are truly my son," the great dog revealed, and Sesshoumaru stiffened. "You resemble her so strongly she might have mated with anyone. Where is there any of my spirit in you?"

He turned back without waiting for an answer. "You grow more like her with every year. You should be much greater than she is, yet you are not. You have such potential; by now I despair of you ever reaching it. Instead of growing to be more, you have only grown to be every bit as selfish and cold as she."

Sesshoumaru stared at his back, his jaw working as he ground his teeth together, struggling with anger. This was the most his father had said to him since his visits to humans started, and it was this that had been growing in his mind in that time... This judgment... These cold insults... He did not feel the pain as the sword blade bit into his clenching hand, but he did distantly notice the scent of the venom that leaked from his claws. Those claws needed to be buried in flesh...

His father seemed unaware of the danger, yet he could not be unaware. He obviously disdained the threat so much he did not feel the need to turn his exposed back from him.

"She too was always capricious... immature... unable to make up her mind and live with her decision. She too would make me chase her as she ran wild. And she still has not learned that childish games grow very old when you are no longer a child... Though at least she did have the grace to go her own way when I refused to play with her any longer."

A snarl of fury left his face elongated and partially transformed; the sword blade parted the fur over his father's shoulder and impaled the paper on the low table as the hilt bounced harmlessly off his back. Sesshoumaru was already leaving and did not wait to see his reaction. He did not know if he had missed intentionally or not.
~tbc~
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