SAIYUKI

Gensoumaden Saiyuki and Saiyuki Gaiden belong to Minekura Kazuya.

BEFORE AND AFTER

PART TWO

..........

...me

What?

...find me

Where are you?

...here.

find me.

Where are you?!

...Sanzo.

***

It was a violent awakening.

Violet eyes snapped open on a shuddering breath, and one hand immediately went to his abdomen. Sanzo cursed inwardly and forced himself to slow down, until his breathing had eased into a gentler rhythm and the dull soreness in his ribs stopped throbbing.

It was the worst kind of way to wake up: the sour tang of aftersleep was on his tongue, his throat was dry, and his eyes were still bleary with exhaustion. He closed them for a bit before moving to lift himself. Carefully he straightened, his back stiff from having being bent over for so long. He had retreated to the window earlier, the sill broad enough to sit on comfortably as he waited out the doctor's visit. He turned back towards the relentless splattering against the glass, staring past the water out into the night.

It was still raining.

Goku's wound was an ugly cut that apparently ran fairly deep, but Hakkai had breathed quietly in relief when the doctor had declared it a miracle that internal bleeding was minimal.

It had been brisk work after that. The immediate danger past, the doctor had fussed over Goku's minor injuries before – no thanks to some useless, meddling cockroach – turning to Sanzo and his sore ribs. Unfazed by his glares and cold insistence that he was fine, she'd bullied him into at least a cursory check-up and admonished him to ease off the cigarettes before finally leaving.

Women.

Gojyo had hustled Hakkai and his half-hearted protests out the door after that, with stern instructions to get a good rest. Sanzo himself, for the second time that night, had been more than ready to retire and sleep off a bad case of smoke withdrawal.

Konzen.

Fuck.

Where're you going?

He'd ignored the question, already headed towards the door without a backward glance and only half-listening to Gojyo's explanation about lack of sleep and short-tempered monks.

But Konzen always stayed.

Only Gojyo had looked surprised when Sanzo turned around and abruptly ordered him out to get some sleep in the other room. Touching his head in a mocking salute, Gojyo bade Goku good night before getting to his feet and sauntering out the door. And only Sanzo had heard the smirk in the half-demon's tone as he'd brushed past.

"Good luck."

A nice, round bullet hole, through the heart.

So here he was, on the windowsill, and that fucking half-demon snug in *his* bed.

Or maybe not. Had to be a given the cockroach was doubling up with Hakkai. Which meant one empty room that was nothing but more expenditure on his card. Because he hadn't counted on this, had badly needed the solitude, no thanks to the rain and his lack of smoke.

Stupid ape.

Goku's fever had broken shortly after the doctor had left, and he'd quickly drifted off after that. But Sanzo hadn't been able to leave. He had been restless, and irritable at having to contend with useless pacing around the room before returning to the window to study the storm.

Rain did not trouble Goku the way it did him. But this time, it was not the nightmares that had jerked Sanzo out of sleep.

He tilted his head, forehead to glass, the gloom outside unseen in the vivid memory of a boy he'd first encountered all those years ago.

Goku had truly been young then, in that cave. Five hundred years, enough time for a soul to live five times over, for time's wheel to turn five cycles, but they had not touched him.

                Isolated in your ignorance. Accepting in your innocence.

He couldn't hate those who had imprisoned him if he had forgotten them. He couldn't mourn a freedom lost if he didn't remember the sensation of being free.

                Because you don't remember, you don't begrudge.

And perhaps that was it.

Sanzo again turned to the bed. What did he – did any of them – really know about Goku? Sealed away for some unknown sin, his memories taken from him and his youkai powers repressed. Sanzo recalled what Hakkai had told him, after their run-in with Shuuei. Hung out with the rest of the big shots Up There no less, if Bosatsu was to be believed.

But the boy remembered nothing. Whatever it was, it had happened during the youkai fight – Sanzo's eyes hardened; of that he was sure – and quite possibly had triggered off some recollection of the past. True, Goku could simply be delirious.

And yet.

It had to be a truly heinous crime, to warrant such condemnation. To exist indefinitely, confined to iron shackles and stone bars; isolated from the world outside, a world that would continue to move forward and leave him behind.

Five hundred years. How much longer, if Sanzo had not heard him call?

For even then, when he couldn't hate and couldn't begrudge because he couldn't remember, Goku had understood what it meant to be alone.

                ...find me.

It had been disgustingly persistent, that voice, had dogged his thoughts and screwed with his dreams, refusing to let up until Sanzo had finally conceded, until he had followed the compulsion that had drawn him to the cave and its captive.

He had wanted peace, but in taking Goku in – he had simply traded in one annoyance for a louder, more troublesome nuisance; worse, for one that whined incessantly and had to perpetually be fed.

Sanzo.

Now, after so long, now that he had been found... what had happened in the fight, for Goku to forget?

Sanzo stood and stretched carefully, mindful of the discomfort. Passing by the bed, he paused for a brief instant before heading for the door. The boy was resting easily enough. The questions could wait until sunrise. Right now he badly needed a beer and a smoke, to hell with the doctor's instructions.

Outside it was still raining. He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep that night.

***

                It's cold.

"Itai na!!" You are mad. Good. It's good to yell and grumble and complain.

Then you can ignore the knot of apprehension in your stomach, the fear that refuses to go away.

                Cold floor.

You try to hold back, but the marble is smooth beneath your feet, and denies you purchase. The tiles stretch away in glossed, geometric precision, square after square after square.

It's a long corridor.

                Cold iron.

The man holding the chain jerks sharply, and you stumble, half-choking in protest – the metal ring around your neck is rubbing the flesh raw. It would not hurt as much if you simply follow where they lead, but why should you?

You did not want to be here in the first place.

                Cold words.

"Be quiet! When you are before Bosatsu-sama you must be still and not speak!" One of the men takes you by the shoulder and shakes you sternly. You shrug him off fiercely, refusing to listen. Their repeated reprimands to be silent have sparked a rebellious streak that compels you to be as loud as possible.

They do not listen to your pleas to be left alone – why should you heed anything they say?

It only grows worse as you and the men near a pair of wide, imposing double doors, flanked by two soldiers heavily armoured and passive-faced. The men grow more insistent, slapping at your arms, hissing threats in your face.

You are angry. You are not afraid.

                Cold.

You are not afraid.

"Enter." You only vaguely hear the guard's voice, so intent are you on swinging at your captors, warning them not to touch you. The doors creak open with magnificent groans and awe-inspiring languor, but the calculated aesthetics are lost on you, dismissed in a desperate promise whispered in your ear.

"A feast is waiting for you in there, but only if you go in quietly and behave yourself."

Food. The chain switches hands and the first man enters; you shift impatiently, until the second man finally moves, and you step over the threshold eagerly enough after him. Your eyes take in the chamber in one broad, cursory sweep, details flitting across your mind: a long, spacious room, tiled floor and white pillars; a dais at the other end, three persons, one sitting down.

That's it. Other than that the room is quite empty. No feast. No food.

You scowl as you are pulled forward. The man who entered first has moved closer to the platform, and is kneeling deferentially before it. He is speaking to the person who is seated, but you are not paying attention. Another tug on the chain, and you flare up. "Let me go! It hurts! Stop pulling, alright?"

"I told you to be quiet!" The second man unclasps the chain from the links in the shackle around your neck. Firm hands urge you to drop to your knees as the first man has, but you settle cross-legged on the floor instead.

"Didn't you promise me something to eat? You liar!" You are disgruntled, listening only vaguely to your captor – he is talking about the colour of your eyes. You don't understand the fuss – it is the reason they took you away from your mountain in the first place. Itan. Change. Misfortune.

You are not a troublemaker.

Gloomily you lift your head, pondering the injustice of being cheated out of food, when...

On the dais, the man in white, on the left...

You are already up and moving, too quick for anyone who would have stopped you. They are still talking, the first man and the person in the chair, but you're not listening. And because you're not listening, you are unaware of the startled hush that falls, when you go so far as to step onto the raised platform. He is tall, and up close you have to tilt your head all the way back.

"What?"

His half-growled question does not intimidate you, nor does his bored, brooding expression. You notice only vaguely the grim set of his features, and the violet of his eyes. It is not his face that you are staring at.

                It's cold.

"Kirei..." You lift one hand, wonderingly, almost reverently...

                But it's okay.

"...it's shining..." ...to touch, to hold...

"Like the sun."

                The sun is shining.

..........

*yank*

..........

"...warii."

***

He had been chasing the light in his dreams for so long he didn't know where it ended and where reality began.

Dust motes drifted lazily above him, gleaming in the brightness that washed over the ceiling and the bed. He lay still, squinting in confusion. The light...?

He shifted then, and winced. It hurt too much to be a dream. But where was he? He didn't recognise the ceiling, or the walls, or the bed. No, this wasn't Konzen's room...

bad grief, bad hurt, something lost, something precious, beloved...

What urgency was this? He wanted to shy away, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to howl.

He wanted, he wanted...

He jerked suddenly, and hissed at the pain it sparked in his stomach. Still he struggled to rise, the hurt lost under his agitation and determination. Need to get up, quick! Get up, and find, find...

Hands slipped beneath his arms, supporting his back as they propped him up. He leaned back gratefully against the wall, and for a short moment closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

When he opened them again, he started a little at the face so close to his own. Red hair hung past the shoulders, a blue bandana keeping the long fringe out of red eyes. They held his gaze briefly, assessing him, before the man leaned away to slouch in a chair by the bed. "How ya feelin'?"

"Aa, okay." The onii-san from before, with hair like fire. He half-frowned; hadn't that been part of the dream? The images chased each other in his head, crashing and merging and breaking away and coming together again.

The onii-san was real. What else? Who else? He'd seen Ten-chan too... hadn't he? Half-consciously he raised one hand to rub at his head, willing his scrambled brains to fall into order.

Huh? His fingers stilled in his hair, before running back, all the way to where it ended just above his nape. When had it been cut? Bemusedly he moved his head, marveling at how light and easy it was. He hadn't mind it long before, but he could get used to this. He turned his head to find the red-haired oji-san staring at him, a peculiar expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

The man blinked, pulled back from some contemplation, and grinned, crossing his legs and arms lifting to rest behind his head. "Gave us quite a scare, stupid ape."

He scowled, suddenly thinking of a man in uniform, with cropped black hair and a perpetual smirk on his face.

They were alike, this nii-san and Ken-niichan.

"You've been asleep for quite some time – it's well into the afternoon now." The door had been pushed open, and he blinked at the person who stepped into the room. "Ten-chan?" But he was wrong – he realised it the moment he blurted out the name.

Something changed in the man's face, a difference he didn't understand, but he fumbled to apologise anyway. "Gomen, you just look alot like Ten-chan, so I thought you were him even though Ten-chan has longer hair, but I thought he cut his, and he also wears glasses, which you don't, but you have that one glass thing..."

"...really?" He only realised he'd been babbling when the man spoke, and he subsided meekly. Again, there was that expression, same as the red-haired onii-san, before this other stranger smiled anew, hefting the wooden tray he held between his hands. "Good timing. I went down to the kitchen for something to eat, for when you'd wake up. You must be hungry – you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. It's only porridge unfortunately; solid food will have to wait until your stomach wound is better."

Stomach wound? Aa, that's right – he brushed the bandages around his abdomen. Then that wasn't a dream too.

"Move over, Gojyo." The red-haired oniisan grunted, half-rising to drag the chair across and make room as the dark-haired oniisan knelt by the bed with the tray. "Here." He stared at the bowl, steaming porridge and sticky syrup. It did look good, but...

"Um, I'm not really hungry right now." He raised his head to smile at the two men, only to blink in bewilderment. He would have laughed if he had been sure it wouldn't hurt so much. Why did the red-haired oniisan have that strange, stunned expression on his face?

"Are you sure?" Worry now, in the other onii-san's tone. One hand lifted to rest against his forehead. "Do you feel alright? Still tired? Dizzy?" He frowned. What did that have to do with not being hungry?

"If he doesn't want to eat, leave him be. God knows it's an improvement."

Another voice. Someone else in the room. He angled his head to look around the two onii-sans by the bed....

His breath caught as a grin began to break over his face, the relief and delight bubbling over. "Konzen!" But he knew then, the way he had with the onii-san called Hakkai. He was not Ten-chan. And the man sitting on the windowsill was not Konzen.

Not Konzen, but still... he stared and marveled. Almost like him, so much so that he nearly doubted again. Hair the colour of the light streaming through the window, though nowhere as long as Konzen's.  The brightness obscured his features at first. It helped when the man moved, folding the paper he had been reading before he stood.

He was too far away, but he was sure, uncannily so, that behind the thin-framed spectacles the man wore, his eyes were violet.

Konzen. How could it not be? But different... different, he knew. Like the other onii-sans, not Ten-chan or Ken-niichan.

Not Konzen.

***

Sanzo paused in removing his reading glasses. Those large, golden eyes had been staring at him since he'd first spoken, but now something fell in the boy's expression. Putting the spectacles away, he watched as Goku dropped his head to stare at his hands; discouragement, disappointment.

Baka.

"Finally awake; you can tell us what happened."

"Haa?" Goku lifted surprised eyes. "What do you mean?"

At the foot of the bed Gojyo snorted. "We were duking it out with the youkai last night when you snapped." He jerked his head, and Goku reached up to touch the metal band wrapped around his own. "Not all the way, but almost."

"Youkai?" In the palace? Goku looked around, seeing the room with new eyes. But this wasn't part of the palace, was it? At least, not any place that he'd been before.

Not the palace, not Ten-chan, or Ken-niichan. Not Konzen...

"Here... where is here?" There was sudden, frantic intensity in his voice, and their bemused expressions triggered something in his chest.

where not the palace what happened why who are you Ten-chan I hate this I want to go Ken-niichan go back go home Konzen Konzen I want to go home.

"Who?"

Had he said it all out loud? His hands were shaking – he didn't realise how agitated he'd grown. The man by the window had not moved. "Har?"

"Konzen – who is he?" Goku almost flinched at the question, he didn't understand why. "My – he takes care of me."

"Takes care of you?"

"My – guardian."

A short silence. "Friend?"

Goku's hands fisted in the blankets at Hakkai's gentle question. "He – Konzen – " He swallowed over the tightness in his throat, willing the betraying sting of wetness in his eyes to go away. Why was this so hard?

bad grief, bad hurt, something lost, something precious, beloved, *beloved*...

"Konzen – " he blurted out hastily, saying anything, shying away from, from…

"Konzen..." The sheets twisted tighter in his grip. "He is...

...he is the most important person to me."

A sudden, almost painful stillness in the room. A bare moment, but long enough, too long, before they moved together, Gojyo to sit up properly in his chair, Hakkai to settle the tray with the untouched porridge on the table, and Sanzo drawing nearer to the bed.

"From the beginning." The monk leaned against the table.

This should be interesting.

***

"How could this have happened? Is it allowed?"

"Even we have no hand in chance. Destiny is a fickle creature, Jiroushin, more so for these four."

"Are you going to leave things as they are, then?"

 "The game is starting to look interesting. Let's see what hand destiny plays."

"Excuses do not solve your messes."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Bosatsu-sama."