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The Great Trial	By : WinterDovane Category: InuYasha > Yaoi - Male/Male > InuYasha/Sessh?maru > InuYasha/Sessh?maru Views: 22202 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha and Co nor do I make any money from this fic.

Chapter List
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The Great Trial
Tags: Yaoi, Alternate ending, Inucest, Fluff, Angst, ect.
I do not own InuYasha and Co., nor do I make any money from this fic. This is my first fic. Please give constructive criticism.
Prologue: Combating shame, despair, and pride

He remembers being perched in Goshinboku when his wounds had been in the process of healing, just looking out over the forest that bore his name. Since no one is around, he doesn’t have to be brash, confident, or arrogant to deny the claim that half-breeds were inferior, weak. Nor does he have to put on a brave face, to lend others his unbreakable spirit. But in the quiet vale of the forest, the swaying of trees in the wind, the sounds of wildlife foraging, the real InuYasha is silent and thoughtful. Not until then, three days following the final battle, a familiar pain struck him in the center of the chest—no sacred arrow could match that particular pain, one that went beyond physical, beyond blood, muscle, sinew and viscera. This pain made his very spirit ache.

Of course, there had never been a question of winning against his insanely powerful half-demon enemy, not in InuYasha’s mind anyway. There was too much at stake that depended on Naraku’s defeat: Miroku’s and Kohaku’s lives, Kikyo’s and Sango’s vengeance, Kagome’s safety, and the safety of everyone within Naraku’s reach. In the stark reality, there were always too many reasons for the InuHanyou to allow failure as an option; rather, he maintained a cocky attitude to cover up his realistic fear of dying before Naraku could be destroyed. He needed to be over-confident to supplement the fears and pessimistic view when they met with defeat. It was up to him to keep them fighting by a completely false attitude and putting himself at bodily risk to keep them all alive until the end. They would win; there could be no other option. No one in his pack would be allowed to die, not while he still drew a sword and a breath.
Thus, his mind’s neat little conclusion to how life would progress after the Jewel and the bastard were gone:
Sango and Miroku: married. Shippo: staying in the village where he could train the kit to be a real demon. Sesshomaru: leaving Rin with Kaede and visiting once and while. But Kagome, of course the Jewel would allow Kagome to remain in the Feudal Era with him, like she’d always wanted to be. (Spoiler alert) Maybe even pissing his older brother off by calling him, “Sesshomaru nii-chan!” while they gathered herbs around the village.
He had believed he would keep them together even after their mutual mission was completed. No other option was acceptable. They were his, his pack, his to protect, his to feed, his to laugh with, his to weep for. He would strive to keep them close and safe…Maybe even get that damn Monk to finally put his hentai hand away.
However, it had all spiraled out of his control, so quick in the last few moments of Naraku’s life on this plane. The aftermath was horrific in emotional backwash than the holes and bloody rips that riddle his physical body. Rather, his neat fantasy (the one he’d fully allowed himself to fall into, to depend on, to base his arrogance on) crumbled irreparably upon waking. It was all he could do was try to keep some semblance of sanity while healing and mourning the pieces.
But it wasn’t really until then, in Goshinboku’s branches without their auras in range, that he realized the effect of his loss of control.
No voices came after him, asking or trying to cajole him out of his favorite perch to announce food or wound checks. His ears swiveled, twitched, spasmed, strained in the attempt to catch the soft thud of a footstep coming in his direction or the crinkle of the Ninja Food in a bright yellow pack. Maybe even the soft whistle of breath or the faint jingling of a holy staff, the purr of a fire cat on the shoulder of her fighting mate. His eyes scanned the foliage, separating the lines of leaves, cherry blossoms, and branches for an impression of a cheek or the pink tint of skin. Something, even the similar green of a short kimono or the little bow on the front of her “shirt.” A dark purple or black of the robes, a moving shape that could be the Hiraikotsu. Anything other than the usual spans of ground that housed him for fifty years. And yet, the forest was quiet with the swaying of wind through the trees, and the animal life struggling for daily survival. He could vaguely hear some voices in the village calling out as they too eeked out their own living. But, so many things were missing:
No: “I’m going home to get first-aid supplies and some Ramen to help you feel better! I’ll be back in a few hours, okay? Not long at all!” with the scent of her mother’s cookies and the sweet hint of unquestionable acceptance fading as she went to the well. “Wait for me, mina-san!” Her, so different and yet similar to the woman he’d once loved enough to give up every ounce of demonic power to change completely human. Just like her past self, he found that she gave him some form of absolution for him being born a sin to the world. Her presence soothed him in a way nothing, not even his mother’s touch, could—made the ragged ends of his soul seal themselves back together again. Between the human and demon in him, only she understood the struggle he went through. Only she had seen the darkest parts of his soul.
No, “InuYasha?” softly from half-way down whatever tree he happened to be perched in. But hearing that soft tone of voice, one he could remember uttering as a child alone in the wild, made some part of him that had never existed rose to the call. It was a priority to protect the youngest, to soothe them when they were afraid, even though no one had been there to comfort him as a child left to survive or die. “I-I had a… I mean, about the Thunder Brothers. Can I- c-can I please-?” was all he could stand before he’d reach down to pluck the little red-headed fox demon up on his lap to warm him from the horrors of his past. That warm little kit finally resting with some feeling of safety that he used to feel when his parents were still alive.
No. “My friend, you need not feel bad for Naraku’s escape. His defeat is not something the Gods wished to happen right then, no matter how formidable your strength. There are still events at work that must unfold in the universe before he can be brought to justice, or else you would have killed him with that blast. But also, my friend, Naraku is a wily bastard that has had more than fifty years to prepare his plans. Of course he has escape plan after escape plan, of course he has studied your techniques and adapted to counter them. But do not be disheartened, for you have increased in strength each time he has come close to fulfilling his plots. You will have the strength to end him. Only when the time is right, InuYasha. Then, we will find him, we will kill him, and the Gods forgive us, help us, when we do.” That damn chipper optimism, always hard-to-believe coming from a man that saw his own father die a horrific death because of the cursed hand, had leant to the inu’s own sense of optimism and confidence. As council, he’d been invaluable to helping the half-demon control his temper and learn to interact with other people rather than try deter them with intimidation and false gusto.
No. “Allright. Let’s look at it again, InuYasha.” Squatting in the dirt with a short stick to draw out the movements of war, to try predicting the next moves, to plot ways to keep everyone safe while using their talents in battle, he and Sango combined strategy. The facts, only he and Kirara could dodge high enough and fast enough to get close enough for hand-to-hand with powerful demons… He always ordered the others to stay back as far as possible, cajoling Kagome to shoot further distances just to keep her away. The slayer, however, always understood the subtle strategy behind his fights. What seemed like wild and unpracticed swing and disregard for the finesse of swordsmanship was actually initial distraction. Good warriors can size up an opponent’s style in the first ten minutes of a fight, and the half-demon came in half-cocked to keep ‘em guessing, pulling back at just the right moments until he had his opponent’s weakness pegged (usually long before the others meaninglessly shouted absurd crap from the side lines). He knew to anticipate the humans’ interference and plan around them, making certain to keep an eye out for poisonous insects, murderous little brothers, and incarnations after the jewel. More than once she’d let him know his strategic thinking wasn’t lost on the pack: “That’s a good plan, InuYasha, but we need to keep the right covered! These kinds of demons shove themselves underground and sense by vibrations in the earth. What do you want us to do in case that happens? Kirara can hold the three of us, but not for long. Can you get ready with the Adamant Barrage while we distract them?” The other soldier, a real fighter in the unbelievable package of a beautiful young woman, made him include the others in his fighting strategies and to plan around the group strengths and weaknesses. Her eyes, always so much older than the gentle smile on her face, ready for the next attack, the next move, the next on-coming enemy. Like all of them, he’d gained a grudging admiration for her strength of spirit.

But. None of that anymore.
The village, his forest, was empty of their scent, voices, and auras.
The quest had finally ended, and, instead, his nomadic existence would begin once again—with this moment of pensive solitude. While the pangs of still-healing wounds struck at odd moments, the pain in his soul was much more acute. Even though the main threat was dead and he’d regained his honor from a fifty year old betrayal, even though those Naraku had wronged, slaughtered like so much meat, were now avenged, and those that were trapped now freed, the half-demon was in emotional agony.
All was supposedly right with the world, and some part of him felt ashamed for hating the outcome. Kagome would have to return her time and restore the balance that had been askewed when she passed through the time portal. Miroku would no longer have the constant fear of being swallowed by his cursed hand; he could really live. And Sango, Sango could finally stop being the last of her clan out to avenge their betrayal; she, as well, could finally really live. Even Shippo would have more stability in a home of two parents and Kohaku. They would all finally have the peace they’d all worked so hard for; maybe not at first, but human lives were so short that with the majority, they would live happy lives free of the burden of Naraku.
But he, the glue that kept them together as a pack, he would be the one to return to the life of an exile. He would again walk as the outcast he’d been before word of the Shikon Jewel ever reached his puppy-like ears… It made him want them back while hating himself for that desire. To wish for Naraku’s evil to still exist in the world, just to keep the only true pack he’d ever had together, shamed him beyond even his knowledge.
No matter what pathetic shit other demons and humans spewed at him, about him, the hanyou had a fierce sense of right and wrong. Sure, he covered it up with bravado and a little “that fuckin’ugly-ass demon just happened to be in my way” mentality; but he had taken lives (of demons or humans) only to save the innocent, or ones that were after his own. He derived no pleasure from the kill, not as his normal self anyway. In his long childhood, adolescence, and maturity, he’d seen the weak beaten by the strong, victims made to suffer over and over without hope of rescue; he’d seen the natural order of the world. The strong win, but that does not necessarily make it right. If sometimes, just sometimes, the strong could protect, then more would be better off; the world would be balanced.
His original reason for wanting the Jewel of Four Souls had been to become a full demon, of course, to protect himself better. But, he was the son of the Inu no Taishou. He also wanted to protect the people of the Western Lands as a full and powerful demon, not that he would ever expect to do so as a Prince of the West, but it was the duty of his blood to protect the innocent people of his family’s land. Even his mother’s people, the royal humans that had thrown him out of their household after her death, were rulers with humans they protected. His morals became ingrained as from his royal blood as from his harsh experiences. And so, wanting his pack returned would mean putting others at risk of Naraku’s evil; the thoughts churned his gut. A pathetic, dirty, half-breed would damn others to try holding on with selfish intent. Maybe, just maybe, Sesshomaru had been right all these years…
The wind whipped through the branches, swirling close to the hanyou’s face, and spinning his white mane in its spiral for only a moment. The breeze reveal the worn, golden eyes of the once-fiery warrior, the set line of his jaw, and the grooves of despair around his mouth and corner of his eyes. The whole mess cumulated in the hanyou’s thoughts, churned with torment at the familiar surroundings of his forest, his village…sans his pack.
A few more days is about all I’ll be able to take of this, he thinks inanely while his ears twitch in the breeze. It would be too painful to stay for long and cater to these depressing thoughts and realizations.. He sighed gently to himself, proving his strength by not shedding tears or allowing himself the luxury of sitting in Goshinboku until his vile flesh rotted, alone as was apparently meant. Rather, when he healed, the wandering would begin all over again. The old InuYasha that saved a girl from the future, that took in a little fox, a demon slayer, and a monk, began to die away.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated.
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The Great Trial