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he wasn't everything. but he was one hell of a lot.
Error: user not found.
The message that, without fail, always started the merry-go-round that was far from merry. She would never forget the day she first saw it. May 25th. After days of searching and searching for her little brother, she'd finally sent the message and watched it bounce back.
Error: user not found.
She hated that error message.
And here it was again, with another little brother. One who was family not in name or blood or officiality, but for all intents and purposes, could be nothing less. And perhaps Kohaku would always be first, perhaps she would never call him her brother, but he was. He wasn’t everything, but he was a hell of a lot.
And that error message--how dare it. It wanted to tell her she was losing yet another important part of her life, part of her. No. She refused to believe it. It wasn't possible.
Rin was in the Wastes, being an idiot, worrying her sick without even realizing he was doing it, and soon she'd search for him and bring him back and scold him, and then he'd apologize and hug her and make her dinner, and everything would be okay, and she wouldn't break just a little bit more. Or maybe his PCD had broken and he'd been too distracted to let her know. Adstring had a way of messing with people...
But for now she had business to attend to, so she let herself be distracted by violence, blood and drama and desperation and stress, and that night after yet another close call with Naraku, she collapsed into bed and spared only the briefest of thoughts to Rin.
The next day, injured and beaten as she was, she saw Shima's post and her stomach churned. Her heart constricted. Because yesterday she'd called him and he hadn't answered and she'd gotten that damned error message. She'd promised him that they would fight Naraku together, and he hadn't answered. She knew, somewhere, that something was wrong, because there was no way he wouldn't have answered.
She'd always expected to end up breaking that promise. And now she was breaking because somewhere deep inside, she knew she wouldn't have to.
But Shima hadn’t checked the Wastes, had he? So Sango stifled the feeling in her gut and straddled a pregnant Kirara and scoured the Wastes that no one else searched, stayed there a day and a half and would have stayed longer if she hadn’t seen Bon’s post on the network.
Bye.
One single word. And when she heard that word come out of the mouth of that dejected mohawked boy, she nearly broke, too. Not one moment had she ever cried in Adstringendum; she’d come so close, so, so close, but she’d never cried.
She’d lost friends before, from her world, but she’d known that she’d see them again. She lost Naruto and it was a blow that left her reeling and numb, and then Bubbles, who was less close to her, but still precious. She didn’t cry for any of them because they were better off where they were, even if, for some, it meant she might never see them again. It was alright; they had other people to love and rely on and treasure.
They were friends—or family equivalent that she’d see again.
Rin was family in all but officiality and he was different; he was special because he needed her, because he was like her, and because she might never see him again and losing him would be like losing a brother all over again, except painful in an entirely different way because this brother would keep on living—without her.
Without her.
And he was different from the others, because she wasn’t sure that he was better off in his world (even if his dreams lay there) and she wouldn’t be able to come with him, to protect him, to make it safe like a big sister should. He was the son of Satan, for the gods’ sake; she knew how hard Inuyasha had had it, and Rin’s plight would be a hundred times worse, even with friends and family, because he wasn’t just a demon, he was the son of the devil.
And sometimes she felt like she was the only one that didn’t matter to.
Yes, Rin was special.
That boy wormed his way into her heart before she even knew what to make of him; became family in all but title. She risked her life for him, trying to save him from himself, threw herself into harm's way for him (from him) and was eager to do it. She convinced him that no, he wasn't a monster, that he should forgive himself for his actions under the influence of Lucifer, that he could be anything he wanted to be--that he could fulfill his dreams, hopes, aspirations, because he was different from her. She comforted him when his brother, his father, and his teacher left, pulled him into her arms and let him cry when he needed it the most, helped resolve his ridiculous conflict with his brother because he didn't realize just how much he was taking for granted.
Rin was not everything to Sango. But he was a hell of a lot.
And with Bon’s final bye, different from Shima’s comical indifference, she knew it.
In silence she flew to the house. (Not ‘home’—never home; her only home was her world, her village, a destroyed and ruinous place where lurked memories she both dreaded and longed for. Adstringendum would never be her home because she wouldn’t let it be, because someday she’d have to go back, and while she wouldn’t be able to help becoming attached to the people here, she refused to let herself love the place.)
And she stayed silent, and locked herself in her room, and didn’t come out for the rest of the week. Because she needed to think, to feel, to wait out the tide of everything she couldn’t handle, and though she hated to be alone, though it hurt so much more that way, it was what she did anyway because she was supposed to be strong, invincible.
She’d never cried in Adstringendum. Let alone for herself. And she wouldn’t begin now. She’d simply add the pain, the dull acceptance weighing heavily on her from every angle, to the basket of woes she would never weep for individually.
And someday, when she finally broke, when she finally fell sobbing to the ground and couldn’t hold it in anymore, she would cry for him and for Naruto and for Bubbles and anyone else who’d left her by then; for her brother, her friends, for everyone. And maybe she wouldn’t cry for him the most, but she would cry one hell of a lot for him.
(He wasn’t everything. But he was a hell of a lot.)
Ironically enough, that shatter happened three weeks after he left, two weeks after the kittens were born (one of which she named Kou, “light,” for Rin—her “light-bearer”) when an event had her walking through a living nightmare, seeing the graves of everyone she’d ever loved and then horrible visions of their deaths; and she watched him die before her eyes but she didn’t cry because it was a dream, it had to be a dream—
And then she’d seen Kohaku’s death scene and simply shattered, not just for him, but for every one of them. Including Rin. Because Rin was not everything…
But he was a hell of a lot.
Eventually, she recovered from that, though it took time and patience and months of nightmares that still haunted her. Because she was resilient, she could bounce back. So too, she recovered from his leaving, but like that week of living hell, she did not escape unscathed.
But then, no one escaped Adstringendum unscathed. She was just another victim.
Except that she refused to be a victim.
So she survived.
And in time she learned to smile again, for others’ sake more than her own, though with every loss it grew just a little sadder and a little more rare; and all the time she would talk to Kou, who became an embodiment not only of Rin but of everyone she’d lost, but mostly of Rin, because Kou was light and Rin was her light-bearer and her last reminder of him and if she was truly honest with herself she’d admit that Rin might be the one she missed the most.
(He wasn’t everything, but he was one hell of a lot.)
She’d talk to Kou like he was all she had left, because as a creature created of and born and raised in Adstringendum, she knew with a bittersweet certainty that he, at least, would never leave; and perhaps if she talked to Kou enough, he would be able to remember what she and all the others could not. And sometimes, when she was sleepy or stressed or just missing him a lot, she would slip up and call that kitten, that big, gangly, snuggly, unconditionally loving and stubborn, silly kitten, “Rin.”
And she would stop whatever she was doing and wait for the hurt to pass and scold herself because really, those names were nothing alike, how could she have confused them in the first place…
But the heart rarely followed logic.
Sango’s almost never did.
And she hoped that wherever he was, whatever happened, Rin’s never would.
Because Rin wasn’t everything to his big sister. But he was one fucking hell of a lot.
The message that, without fail, always started the merry-go-round that was far from merry. She would never forget the day she first saw it. May 25th. After days of searching and searching for her little brother, she'd finally sent the message and watched it bounce back.
Error: user not found.
She hated that error message.
And here it was again, with another little brother. One who was family not in name or blood or officiality, but for all intents and purposes, could be nothing less. And perhaps Kohaku would always be first, perhaps she would never call him her brother, but he was. He wasn’t everything, but he was a hell of a lot.
And that error message--how dare it. It wanted to tell her she was losing yet another important part of her life, part of her. No. She refused to believe it. It wasn't possible.
Rin was in the Wastes, being an idiot, worrying her sick without even realizing he was doing it, and soon she'd search for him and bring him back and scold him, and then he'd apologize and hug her and make her dinner, and everything would be okay, and she wouldn't break just a little bit more. Or maybe his PCD had broken and he'd been too distracted to let her know. Adstring had a way of messing with people...
But for now she had business to attend to, so she let herself be distracted by violence, blood and drama and desperation and stress, and that night after yet another close call with Naraku, she collapsed into bed and spared only the briefest of thoughts to Rin.
The next day, injured and beaten as she was, she saw Shima's post and her stomach churned. Her heart constricted. Because yesterday she'd called him and he hadn't answered and she'd gotten that damned error message. She'd promised him that they would fight Naraku together, and he hadn't answered. She knew, somewhere, that something was wrong, because there was no way he wouldn't have answered.
She'd always expected to end up breaking that promise. And now she was breaking because somewhere deep inside, she knew she wouldn't have to.
But Shima hadn’t checked the Wastes, had he? So Sango stifled the feeling in her gut and straddled a pregnant Kirara and scoured the Wastes that no one else searched, stayed there a day and a half and would have stayed longer if she hadn’t seen Bon’s post on the network.
Bye.
One single word. And when she heard that word come out of the mouth of that dejected mohawked boy, she nearly broke, too. Not one moment had she ever cried in Adstringendum; she’d come so close, so, so close, but she’d never cried.
She’d lost friends before, from her world, but she’d known that she’d see them again. She lost Naruto and it was a blow that left her reeling and numb, and then Bubbles, who was less close to her, but still precious. She didn’t cry for any of them because they were better off where they were, even if, for some, it meant she might never see them again. It was alright; they had other people to love and rely on and treasure.
They were friends—or family equivalent that she’d see again.
Rin was family in all but officiality and he was different; he was special because he needed her, because he was like her, and because she might never see him again and losing him would be like losing a brother all over again, except painful in an entirely different way because this brother would keep on living—without her.
Without her.
And he was different from the others, because she wasn’t sure that he was better off in his world (even if his dreams lay there) and she wouldn’t be able to come with him, to protect him, to make it safe like a big sister should. He was the son of Satan, for the gods’ sake; she knew how hard Inuyasha had had it, and Rin’s plight would be a hundred times worse, even with friends and family, because he wasn’t just a demon, he was the son of the devil.
And sometimes she felt like she was the only one that didn’t matter to.
Yes, Rin was special.
That boy wormed his way into her heart before she even knew what to make of him; became family in all but title. She risked her life for him, trying to save him from himself, threw herself into harm's way for him (from him) and was eager to do it. She convinced him that no, he wasn't a monster, that he should forgive himself for his actions under the influence of Lucifer, that he could be anything he wanted to be--that he could fulfill his dreams, hopes, aspirations, because he was different from her. She comforted him when his brother, his father, and his teacher left, pulled him into her arms and let him cry when he needed it the most, helped resolve his ridiculous conflict with his brother because he didn't realize just how much he was taking for granted.
Rin was not everything to Sango. But he was a hell of a lot.
And with Bon’s final bye, different from Shima’s comical indifference, she knew it.
In silence she flew to the house. (Not ‘home’—never home; her only home was her world, her village, a destroyed and ruinous place where lurked memories she both dreaded and longed for. Adstringendum would never be her home because she wouldn’t let it be, because someday she’d have to go back, and while she wouldn’t be able to help becoming attached to the people here, she refused to let herself love the place.)
And she stayed silent, and locked herself in her room, and didn’t come out for the rest of the week. Because she needed to think, to feel, to wait out the tide of everything she couldn’t handle, and though she hated to be alone, though it hurt so much more that way, it was what she did anyway because she was supposed to be strong, invincible.
She’d never cried in Adstringendum. Let alone for herself. And she wouldn’t begin now. She’d simply add the pain, the dull acceptance weighing heavily on her from every angle, to the basket of woes she would never weep for individually.
And someday, when she finally broke, when she finally fell sobbing to the ground and couldn’t hold it in anymore, she would cry for him and for Naruto and for Bubbles and anyone else who’d left her by then; for her brother, her friends, for everyone. And maybe she wouldn’t cry for him the most, but she would cry one hell of a lot for him.
(He wasn’t everything. But he was a hell of a lot.)
Ironically enough, that shatter happened three weeks after he left, two weeks after the kittens were born (one of which she named Kou, “light,” for Rin—her “light-bearer”) when an event had her walking through a living nightmare, seeing the graves of everyone she’d ever loved and then horrible visions of their deaths; and she watched him die before her eyes but she didn’t cry because it was a dream, it had to be a dream—
And then she’d seen Kohaku’s death scene and simply shattered, not just for him, but for every one of them. Including Rin. Because Rin was not everything…
But he was a hell of a lot.
Eventually, she recovered from that, though it took time and patience and months of nightmares that still haunted her. Because she was resilient, she could bounce back. So too, she recovered from his leaving, but like that week of living hell, she did not escape unscathed.
But then, no one escaped Adstringendum unscathed. She was just another victim.
Except that she refused to be a victim.
So she survived.
And in time she learned to smile again, for others’ sake more than her own, though with every loss it grew just a little sadder and a little more rare; and all the time she would talk to Kou, who became an embodiment not only of Rin but of everyone she’d lost, but mostly of Rin, because Kou was light and Rin was her light-bearer and her last reminder of him and if she was truly honest with herself she’d admit that Rin might be the one she missed the most.
(He wasn’t everything, but he was one hell of a lot.)
She’d talk to Kou like he was all she had left, because as a creature created of and born and raised in Adstringendum, she knew with a bittersweet certainty that he, at least, would never leave; and perhaps if she talked to Kou enough, he would be able to remember what she and all the others could not. And sometimes, when she was sleepy or stressed or just missing him a lot, she would slip up and call that kitten, that big, gangly, snuggly, unconditionally loving and stubborn, silly kitten, “Rin.”
And she would stop whatever she was doing and wait for the hurt to pass and scold herself because really, those names were nothing alike, how could she have confused them in the first place…
But the heart rarely followed logic.
Sango’s almost never did.
And she hoped that wherever he was, whatever happened, Rin’s never would.
Because Rin wasn’t everything to his big sister. But he was one fucking hell of a lot.
no subject
[She's decided to get some fresh air, and has picked out her favorite spot in the city--a clearing where lilies tend to grow in the spring--and she's brought along Kirara and Kou, her only certain and constant companions.]
[And she sighs up at the sky, snuggled up against the side of Kirara's transformed self, letting herself shiver a little bit because it may be spring but it's still a little chilly. The lilies haven't yet begun to bloom and she wonders whether their sprouting will make her smile or ache. Some days she can't distinguish which is which anymore, and some days they seem to go hand in hand.]
[Kou, always big for his age, is curled up on her stomach, fast asleep. Sango is almost there herself. There's nothing to see in the sky in the clouds but faces of people long gone, so she closes her eyes, but they're there, too, and she can't escape the past or the future...]
[So she'll have to be satisfied drifting along the current of the present.]