Work Text:
“You should talk to him, Inuyasha.”
“What?” Inuyasha’s ears flattened against his skull, his voice treading dangerously close to high-pitched with indignation. “Why should I say a goddamn thing to him?”
Kagome sighed, shaking her head in that way she did whenever he pissed her off. “Ignoring Sesshomaru isn’t going to make this go away, Inuyasha,” she explained patiently.
Inuyasha bristled at the sound of the bastard’s name, golden eyes darting balefully to the copse of dark trees just beyond their camp. The aura of powerful youki emanating from that spot had been pressing down on his shoulders for the past three days and he was sick of it.
He was sick of a lot of things, really - the stormcloud scent of Sesshomaru’s youki constantly making his nose twitch, the muted shift of silver hair over broad shoulders sending his ears swiveling at a moment’s notice, the weight of golden eyes piercing into his back while he walked or slept or ate, but especially while he fought.
But above all else, Inuyasha was sick of Tenseiga’s damn rattling.
The fucking sword couldn’t seem to shut the hell up, jerking about in its sheath the moment Sesshomaru drifted just a step too far behind their pack and practically vibrating whenever they found themselves in battle. They hadn’t come across Naraku or any of his puppets in weeks - Inuyasha’s ears flattened further as he was immediately assaulted with memories of their last encounter with the spider hanyou, the one that had started all of this - and yet Tenseiga writhed at Sesshomaru’s hip as though Inuyasha were standing before Naraku himself even when the opponent he was mowing down was some low-level nobody.
It was infuriating. It was ridiculous. It was… it was…
“I think it’s sweet,” Sango murmured, the firelight dancing across her face as she passed a polishing cloth over Hiraikotsu.
“Sweet?” Inuyasha blustered, gritting his teeth against the embarrassed flush that warmed his cheeks at the declaration. “Whaddya mean, sweet?”
Sango smiled, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Your brother is worried about you. I can’t say that I blame him, after - “ She shot a sympathetic glance at Kagome, who nodded even as a shadow of sorrow darkened her face.
“We all are, Inuyasha,” Kagome interjected quietly, plainly, and Inuyasha jerked his gaze to the flames sputtering in their campfire, unwilling to acknowledge the depths of pain in her gaze.
“I’m fine,” he muttered stubbornly, even as his heart pulsed hollowly within his chest. There had been a moment where he wasn’t, a moment of white-hot agony and then pitch black darkness, but he shook his head to rid himself of those memories and continued, “And I don’t need Sesshomaru or his fucking sword to play babysitter.”
He allowed his voice to carry on those last words, loud enough to reach the shadows that housed his brother, and ignored the pointed look Kagome sent his way in favor of shooting to his feet and wrapping a bracing hand around Tessaiga’s sheath.
“I’m gonna go bathe,” he bit out between gritted teeth, his ire strong enough to deter Shippo’s usual cracks about his hygiene, before stalking off in the direction of the hot springs the others had already made use of.
For a moment there was nothing but the muted thud of his bare feet along the forest floor to accompany him on his way to the spring, a blissful silence that allowed the hanyou to take his first deep breath in days, and then Inuyasha caught it - the muffled clacking of Tenseiga within its sheath, and the stormcloud scent of Sesshomaru’s youki growing closer.
Teeth clenching in abject annoyance, Inuyasha fought the urge to twist on his heel and demand to know what his brother was playing at. In fact, he very nearly succumbed to the urge, his claws creaking around Tessaiga’s sheath, before he was assaulted with the memory of golden eyes gone cold and still, the sword Sesshomaru had seemed to hate so much clutched within his claws and leveled at what had once been Inuyasha’s lifeless body.
Fuck. It was the only word that seemed to encapsulate everything the hanyou was feeling in that moment, all of the anger and confusion, the shame and disbelief.
He had died. It was the first time Inuyasha had acknowledged it, the first time he had allowed himself to, and even then it was only within the sanctity of his own mind.
He could still feel the sucking void in his chest where Naraku’s tentacles had nearly cleaved him in two, could still hear Kagome’s terrified wail when he fell. The pain had been excruciating, sharp but blessedly quick to pass into a numbness that had frightened him, and then there had been nothing. Nothing but darkness. Stillness.
And then -
Sesshomaru, golden eyes sharp and face - so often a placid mask or twisted in derision for his younger brother - locked in an expression Inuyasha had never seen before, their father’s blade leveled at his heart and Kagome and the others crying out in startled joy as they ran to reach him.
Inuyasha pressed a hand to his chest, the flesh beneath his firerat robe unmarred by the blood and viscera that had coated the ground upon his awakening. The steady thrum of his heartbeat was a reassurance and a reminder all at once, and despite himself, the hanyou could feel his ire draining as the realization of just how narrowly he had skirted death settled over him.
Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the bastard’s company, Inuyasha groused as he pushed through some tangled foliage and caught sight of the natural hot springs bubbling beyond.
He was being harsh, he knew. It wasn’t as though Sesshomaru was following them of his own volition, compelled by Tenseiga and its own strange whims, though why he hadn’t chucked the damn sword to escape its infernal rattling, Inuyasha didn’t know. It wasn’t as though he even wanted the fucking thing.
And what was the sword’s problem, anyway? It had never acted out in such a way so far as Inuyasha knew, kicking up a racket whenever their pack drifted a little too far from his asshole of a brother and practically becoming apoplectic when Inuyasha tossed himself into battle.
What the fuck any of it meant, Inuyasha couldn’t say. All he knew for certain was that he was sick of feeling like a trapped bug beneath glass, the weight of golden eyes a constant weight across his shoulders. He could feel them now, poised just beyond the circle of trees, and huffed a breath before twisting on his heel and calling out, “Oi! If you’re gonna kill me, now’s the time to try your luck.”
It was more than he’d said to Sesshomaru since he’d awoken, unbloodied and unmarred, and he wasn’t surprised when seconds after his voice had faded, a powerful surge of youki made his eyes water and his muscles bunch, the forest beyond exploding in a barrage of leaves and poisonous vapor as his brother burst from the foliage and leveled a blade at his throat.
Sesshomaru didn’t get far, Tokijin’s blade halting a hair’s breath from the vulnerable flesh at Inuyasha’s nape before Tenseiga practically convulsed, pulsing its displeasure for all to hear.
Sesshomaru’s eyes flashed at its impudence, his claws tightening around Tokijin’s hilt. He didn’t move to complete his strike, however, and Inuyasha scoffed, tilting his chin in abject defiance despite the murderous intent practically radiating from his brother’s frame.
“Well?” he taunted, his pulse kicking not in fear but in anticipation of the daiyoukai’s next move. “What are you waiting for?” At Sesshomaru’s continued silence, wreathed in steel and as sharp as the blade aimed at his throat, Inyasha’s impatience grew until he finally snapped, spitting, “What, can’t make a move unless the old man’s sword says so?”
A flash of crimson bleeding into his brother’s eyes was all the warning Inuyasha received before powerful claws wrapped around his throat and bore him to the ground, his spine and tailbone erupting with pain as they met the forest floor.
“Insolent half-breed,” Sesshomaru growled, knee buried against Inuyasha’s hip and silken hair fanning about the hanyou’s cheeks in a deluge of silver. “If you possessed half as much sense as you did arrogance, perhaps Naraku would not have bested you.”
The reminder of his failings only served to raise Inuyasha’s ire, and he bared his fangs in a snarl.
“Fuck you, Sesshomaru,” he snapped, pushing against his brother’s hold. It was useless, of course, Sesshomaru’s claws like an iron band around his throat, and in a fit of frustrated pique the hanyou wrapped his claws around locks of his brother’s hair and yanked until their brows were thudding together, golden gaze locked with golden gaze. “It was a lucky fucking shot and you know it.”
“You were careless.” Sesshomaru’s words overpowered his, disdain heavy in the narrowed slits of the daiyoukai’s eyes. “You have thought yourself invulnerable with Father’s fang since the day it was gifted to you, believing its power enough to compensate for your own recklessness, and were it not for this Sesshomaru, you would have reaped the consequences of your witlessness three days ago.”
His words rung with a truth that Inuyasha refused to explore too deeply. Maybe he had been careless once upon a time, relying more on the sword than his own prowess in battle - prowess that been limited to the use of his claws, fangs, and sheer wits for much of his life - but he had grown in both strength and skill since he first beheld the weight of their Father’s fang, and they both knew it.
“Hey,” Inuyasha barked, grinding his brow against Sesshomaru’s, the only petty irritant afforded to him by their current position. “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? I even bested you.” He shot a look at Sesshomaru’s empty sleeve and thrilled at the wrathful bloom of blood-red within the daiyoukai’s eyes, even as his voice box grated with the force of Sesshomaru’s grip around his throat. “And what’s it to you, anyway?! It’s not like you or the old man were there to teach me, I had to learn all of this shit on my own!”
Sesshomaru scoffed. “And what would you have done with my aid, whelp? Would it have tempered that impetuous nature of yours? Or would you have done as you always do, and disregarded everything I attempted to instill in favor of your own foolish pride.” At his hip, Tenseiga jerked fitfully within its sheath, though its incessant rattling paled in comparison to the blood rushing in Inuyasha’s ears.
He didn’t know if what he was feeling was dread or anger or something else altogether, but with each word that fell from his brother’s lips, his body tensed as though in preparation for battle, shoulders and hips aching with tension and claws tightening within Sesshomaru’s hair.
“Don’t bullshit me, Sesshomaru,” Inuyasha gritted out between clenched fangs. “Acting like you would have been so generous when you couldn’t even bother to acknowledge my existence back then.” He had always thought those old memories distant enough not to hurt anymore, but the long, lonely years after his mother’s death had left an indelible mark, an ache that lingered, and in a desperate need to cleave Sesshomaru in the same way Inuyasha had himself been cleaved throughout years of solitude and pain, the hanyou snarled, “I didn’t need you then and I don’t need you now, do you hear me? I was fine without you.”
“You were dead without me.” The words lingered in the air with all of the force of a sword strike. Inuyasha stilled beneath the weight of them, beneath the cold, hard look in Sesshomaru’s eyes - a familiar look, the same one Inuyasha had witnessed upon his awakening, when his firerat robe had been damp with blood and Naraku’s tentacles punching through his chest had been his last - his final - memory.
Your brother is worried about you, Sango’s voice echoed within his head, and Inuyasha swallowed against a mouth gone bone dry.
“Yeah, well,” the hanyou fumbled gracelessly, the anger leeching from his voice to leave only confusion and a muted sense of shock in its wake. “I thought that was what you wanted.”
Sesshomaru’s eyes flashed. In the next moment, his claws had disappeared from Inuyasha’s throat and his weight had vanished from atop Inuyasha’s body, his back turned to the hanyou and Tenseiga suspiciously silent at his hip.
“Wasn’t it?” Inuyasha uttered faintly, more to himself than to Sesshomaru.
It didn’t seem to matter, as his brother made no attempt to acknowledge his question, choosing instead to shoot a placid, gold-eyed glance over his shoulder and order, “Bathe, if that was your intent.”
While he would have once bristled at such a command, particularly one from Sesshomaru, Inuyasha was too flustered by his own spiraling thoughts to do anything but comply. His body moved by rote, discarding his clothes and Tessaiga’s sheath on a flat rock by the spring where he could keep an eye on them, and then sinking gratefully into the steaming water. His newly acquired aches from Sesshomaru’s rough treatment prickled at the heat before settling into a soothing numbness, and despite the weight of the daiyoukai’s youki continuing to bear down upon his shoulders, Inuyasha closed his eyes and sank into the water up to his nose, ears twitching as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.
He guessed it made sense, in a mystifying sort of way - Sesshomaru would not have used Tenseiga to bring him back if he’d actually wanted Inuyasha dead.
Right?
Bastard just couldn’t accept the honor going to anyone but him, Inuyasha thought uncharitably, but the accusation fell flat even in his own head.
Rubbing idly at his skin to rid himself of the dust and grit from days of travel, Inuyasha spared a glance at his brother. Sesshomaru had settled against a nearby tree, arm resting on his raised knee and eyes closed, seemingly without care for the hanyou currently studying him.
You were dead without me.
Inuyasha swallowed, hands stilling beneath the water and ears flattening against the top of his head.
“Why do you care?”
It was only as Sesshomaru lifted his head that Inuyasha realized he’d spoken the words aloud. Silence settled between them, save for the muted lapping of the water against Inuyasha’s skin and the faint breeze ruffling the canopy above. With the daiyoukai’s golden gaze locked with his, Inuyasha found it impossible to hide the depths of his confusion - his hope - and his breath caught in his throat as Sesshomaru stood, having seen it all for himself.
Vulnerable as he was, Inuyasha remained still, mutely watching as Sesshomaru rid himself of his armor, his swords, his clothes. The magenta stripes on his cheeks and wrists extended to his hips and ankles, Inuyasha couldn’t help but notice, every other inch of him covered in pale skin and corded muscle, and as he submerged himself within the spring, Inuyasha found his breath sticking in his throat, that stormcloud youki overwhelming his senses until he could scarcely form another thought.
He should have vaulted from the water as soon as Sesshomaru made his approach, should have grabbed for Tessaiga and run the blade through his brother’s belly, should have done anything except allow himself to be pressed against the slippery stone and kissed to within an inch of his life, Sesshomaru’s fangs pricking his flesh and the daiyoukai’s hips slotting firmly between his.
Something tight and hot in his chest - something that had nestled there as soon as he awoke with Tenseiga pointed at his heart - unfurled and dispersed like grains of sand in a windstorm, his claws lifting to wrap around Sesshomaru’s biceps and his head tilting to better the angle of their kiss.
Sesshomaru tasted like rain, like electricity and ozone, and despite the flush it brought to his cheeks, Inuyasha pushed himself onto his toes to chase for more. Sesshomaru’s hands clenched around his hips to steady him, claws sinking into his skin, and though Inuyasha waited for his instincts to scream at him to extricate himself, to see sense, to flee, because surely they would with Sesshomaru this close to so much vulnerable skin, they never did. His mind was silent, his instincts quelled.
His heart, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast. It raced with every brush of his skin against Sesshomaru’s, with each catch of fang against his lip or rasped breath from his brother’s throat.
His brother, whose accusations of recklessness and impulsivity had drawn such ire from Inuyasha, indulging in an act far more careless than Inuyasha had ever dared. He would give Sesshomaru shit for that later, after they had untangled whatever the fuck they were doing here. This wasn’t death, and it couldn’t be undone as easily as Inuyasha’s had been, cleaved in two by a single sword stroke.
But there would be time, Inuyasha decided, claws delving into his brother’s hair, to worry about that later.
Tenseiga had made sure of that.