Artificial Love

Artificial Love

Hello all! I’m back! I want to thank you all for being so kind and patient waiting for this chapter. Especially after I went all evil and killed off Miroku. But all is not lost! I have returned and there is more story. This chapter is still angsty but soon the mood will lighten and it will be mostly sunny with just a slight chance of angst. There will be, I believe, at the most two more chapters of this story, so enjoy it while it lasts!


Disclaimer: The state wont let me adopt Inuyasha, so sadly, I do not own him. Something about murderers not being fit parents, and being on the run from the law not a safe environment or something... Bastards. My evil plans have been thwarted yet again!


Chapter 10: Shoot Down my Hopes

As Inuyasha walked with Miroku in his arms, the monk seemed to grow heavier with each step. Maybe it was the weight that was finally beginning to press down, vice like, upon his soul. Maybe it was the fact that feeling so much emotionally was beginning to drain him physically.

Whatever the case, he pressed on through the dense lush foliage of the summer day and the birdsong that was slowly returning to the forest surrounding the ravaged, wind torn piece of land at his back.

The warm sunlight and the bright twittering happiness of the day mocked his injury, and so he ignored it as he passed. As he pressed on yet further and reached a circle of gaping mouthed, wide eyed friends, that were ever so quick to comfort.

This too, mocked him, with greater intensity than the all around cheerfulness of the day had. Who was he to receive comfort? He, who could no longer comfort his love, his beloved? He who could not stop his love from pain, from a cruel and unforgiving death at his own hands? Surely not.

He could not accept the soft words, the gentle measured assurances, so he passed through them. Did not answer when they changed tune, at first to worried inquiries, then angry questions. Demanding answers and receiving none.

He pressed on, for that was all he could do , all that his splintered mind, and fractured heart would allow of him. His friends could not be expected to know the depth of his loss. Could not fill it up or repair it, so he left them in search of one who could, although it was dubious as to whether he would.

Sesshoumaru.

It was Sesshoumaru’s sword, the one his brother despised, felt such shame in, that would be the key to making himself whole once more. If his haughty, cold, uncaring brother refused to help him without reward, he was sure that the tetsaiga would be a fair enough trade. If it was not enough for his DEAR brother to receive their fathers sword, then he would gladly throw his life into the dealings. A brothers life, a fathers sword, how could the mighty Sesshoumaru refuse such a bargain?

While Inuyasha stumbled onward, he hummed a lilting disjointed tune from his childhood. Though the pain that he unconsciously infused into each note somewhat canceled out the effect of calm that it always used to bring him, the snippet of melody that flowed through his head came attached with memories of a past forgotten. Not the pains of his past, but the joys of his youth. Joys, that although Inuyasha could not comprehend how, seemed always to be intwined with memories of his elder brother.

There was, after all, a time when he did not hate Sesshoumaru, was not hated by him. Times forgotten, in lieu of this heated blood feud that neither could seem to escape from.

As if Inuyasha’s vague remembering had summoned him, Sesshoumaru’s scent hit the hanyou’s nose. He raced towards the source of that scent, that peculiar fragrance that inspired immediate hate in him, but long ago had made him smile and laugh, and came face to face with his brother. His half brother. The half brother that now harbored a deep hatred of him. Desired to kill him. But was he not also the same brother that he had admired as a child? The same brother that had protected him, played with him, endured his presence even when that very presence caused him to be ridiculed constantly? What had inspired Sesshoumaru to hate his own brother so? Even Inuyasha did not know for certain.

“So, brother. You have come here with your dead mate.... Presumably you wish me to revive him?”

Inuyasha gave Sesshoumaru a hard, wary stare, searching his eyes, trying to find a trace of mockery there, so that he could happily rip it out. Any excuse to vent his anger, and hide his sorrow.

“Yeah...” he replied, syphoning all of the hostility from his voice. He was, after all, asking a favor.

A small cold grin appeared on Sesshoumaru’s face, his eyes like bits of hard opaque stone for as much expression as they offered.

“I’m sorry Inuyasha, I cannot do that...” he stated, raising his hand as Inuaysha’s mouth opened to protest. “You are very rude, little brother. Do not attempt to interrupt me. The monk cannot be revived, because his spirit is already gone. Retrieving it, would be beyond my relatively useless swords power. Though, I don’t understand why you would think that I would aid you in this little endeavor of yours to begin with.”

“I don’t know why,” Inuyasha spat out angrily, still cradling Miroku in his arms. “I just thought...”

He huffed impatiently and felt his anger override the false politeness that he had tried so hard to muster, calming himself, he took a breath. “Nevermind.”

As gently as he could in his frustration, he placed Miroku on the ground at his feet and kneeled beside him. “There’s no way then...”

“No. Even if there were a way. Even if it were an easy way. I would not help you.”

Inuyasha slumped almost imperceptibly over Miroku’s still form. Anger, more than sadness, contributed to the hard lump that caused his jarring retort to stick in his throat, and he dug his claws into the ground, resisting the growing urge to simply attack his brother. His fists tightened around the dirt in his hand as if he were attempting press the course grains into diamonds. His arms shook with the force of his rage and he set his pain aside. Why not fight? What did it mater if he lost? What did he HAVE to lose? Surely not his life, for it was gone with Miroku’s. Surely not his soul, for it was shredded to uselessness.

In a new, and yet timelessly familiar surge of rage, he swiftly attacked Sesshoumaru, not even bothering with tetsaiga. Did he not, in the back of his mind, wish to lose?

Sesshoumaru fluidly countered every advance that Inuyasha’s fury blinded mind could come up with, and in his growing frustration The hanyou drew his fathers sword with exponentially swelling aggression. Sesshoumaru deftly knocked his hand away and pinned him roughly to a nearby tree.

During the fight, Inuyasha had let out all of his rage, draining it into is attacks, letting it take complete control. His face was still contorted with it. His body shook with it. And hate fed tears trickled glistening down his burning cheeks.

The moonbeam hued brothers simply froze for a moment, still raging a battle with their eyes and their wills, and Inuyasha ceased to struggle in his brothers grip, hoping for the end of all of his pain to come in one swift strike from Sesshoumaru.

Inuyasha’s hard gaze, full of hatred and untapped wells of anguish, was enough to provoke Sesshoumaru to an attack.

As Sesshoumaru’s clawed hand drew back, hissing with poison enough to bring even the strongest demon to an untimely demise, the anger fell from Inuyahsa’s battered and weary face. A sorrow, a joy, maybe something of a quiet desperation settled there amongst the tears, and a small smile, genuine in it’s warmth tugged weakly at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you, brother,” Inuyasha whispered, childlike, from his prone position in Sesshoumaru’s rough grip.

A tear from Inuyasha of heartbreaking happiness landed on Sesshoumaru’s clawed hand, making his poison hiss in anticipation, but the pureblood demon let his claws fall. Memories of happier times flooded his vision, making it for a moment impossible to move, to even breath, as his memories enveloped him with emotion.

When Inuyasha was young, when he had no care for the politics of the world, the love of his father, or the wishes of his mother, he and hs younger brother had been inseparable. He had taught him, protected him, loved him.

The world had corrupted Sesshoumaru. He had let it mold him, HIM, the lord of the western lands, to fit it’s wishes.

A faint pity found it’s way into his chest for his brother. Clearly, Inuyasha wanted to die. Why now, was he unable to grant him his wish? Why now, did he want Inuyasha to live?

Sesshoumaru released his brother and backed slowly away, trying to regain his composure after such a significant realization had come to him. Inuyasha merely sank to the ground, his eyes blank, the look of a disappointed child on his still wet face.

How cruel was this life, that by his hatred towards his younger brother vanishing, he was forced to cause him more pain.

Unable to help Inuyasha, and still shaken by his newfound understanding, Sesshoumaru left, formulating excuses for his immediate departure. Jaken was not to be trusted with the care of Rin, and he had much business to attend to.

Inuyasha sat against the tree as if stunned. His eyes bleary and confused, yet pointed in the direction of Miroku’s lifeless body as if waiting for him to get up. It was impossible to tell if he noticed when the rest of the group found him at last. Or the journey to Mushin’s temple, riding miles over the green earth atop the soft warm back of Kirrarra. He did not move unless guided, and refused even the smallest amount of sustenance.

After they had arrived at the temple he still would not speak. The only sign of life in him was a single tear that he blinked away as they buried the monk.

For three days he sat motionless, his mind in too much of a jumbled confusion, overloaded with too much sorrow, to move his body. His friends looked on, powerless to help, afraid to try, only too make things worse. Inuyasha sat, and stared, trying to see past the image of Miroku that had burned itself into his eyes like a brand. Trying to find his way back to the world of the living, in which he no longer felt he belonged.

In the middle of the third dark night, full of the unearthly chill that only Inuyasha felt in the summer heat, he regained some control of his mind. Enough to stand. To walk slowly away from his friends and all of the painful memories that they brought. At that point in time, his past was too much to take. He saw Miroku everywhere. If he could get far enough from the memory of Miroku, perhaps he would be finally able to come to terms with his death.

In any event, he left all that he knew behind in favor of a new existence. If he was to live with any trace of his sanity, he had to stop living each day searching the sky for Miroku’s face.


There ya go! I’m so excited about this fic, because it’s finally coming to an end. Not that I want it to end, I just like the ending! It’s such a cuteness 0.0 But you’ll just have to wait and wonder, about what it is. Only I know what it is and I’lll Neeeveer teeelllll!


Inuyasha: You so stole that from a movie

Immortality lost: So? You don't even know which one.

Inuyasha: Ummm... Do you even know?

Immortality lost: It escapes me at the moment, but we’re supposed to be doing a skit here! Focus, man, FOCUS!

Inuyasha: Oh yeah... Can’t I take the day off like Miroku? The readers can just pretend that I said something funny. (puts face up to screen and gives readers the puppy eyes) You’d do that for me, wouldn’t ya guys? You all love me right?

Immortality lost: Yeah, between the fic and Miroku you’ve got a lot on your plate. I feel for ya man.

Inuyasha: That punk doesn’t even have to work! He mauls me every night, and then he has the whole day to rest up and laugh at me!

Miroku: (falls through the door with a glass to his ear) Punk huh! Maybe I just won’t MAUL you for a while then, you should like that, right!

Immortality lost: yeahhh... I’m gettin the hell outta here. (turns to readers) you guys should too... unless you like pain or somethin... you could just be freaky like that... (ducks flying lamp) You’re on your own! See ya next time!