I do not own InuYasha or any of the characters created by Rumiko Takahashi

Because

"I am old in my sins," said Mushin, throwing back another drink out of the jug. "Let me be." Some of the liquid dribbled down his chin, and then he began to cough.

Miroku looked at the old man. His red nose was redder than usual, and his eyes were rheumy and his skin was hot and dry with fever. The younger priest took the jug out of the older one's hand.

"I cannot," Miroku said. "You think I could go back to Sango, much less face King Emna in the afterworld, if I just left you here to wallow in your sake until you died?" He took a pot off of the fire. "She'd send me to hell to join you right away." He poured some of the liquid from the pot into a bowl, then helped his foster-father to sit up. "Drink this." He handed him the bowl.

"What is it?" the old man asked.

"The same nasty brew you used to make me drink when I got sick with the cough," Miroku said.

The old man winced, took a breath, then downed it in one quick gulp. He followed it with a shiver. "Never should have taught you all that stuff," he mumbled, then collapsed back onto his bedding.

"But you did, and now you reap your karma," Miroku said. "Get well, you old sot."

"Why?" Mushin asked, coughing again.

"Because I'm young in my sins," Miroku replied. "And I'm not ready to let you go."