Finding Daddy

© Salome Wilde, 2008

Finding Daddy

IV

The trek back to camp was longer than anticipated, for Inuyasha walked slowly, scuffing his heels, very obviously not wanting to get there. He nodded appropriately when Miroku reminded him, several times, that the people he was going to re-meet did care about him, were his friends. But the nods were a child’s hollow obedience, not belief. So, they stopped while Inuyasha relieved himself. They stopped to pick berries when Inuyasha was suddenly too hungry to go another step. They stopped because he saw an interesting bug. They stopped to pull a non-existent thorn from his foot. And, against all odds, they arrived.

Kagome was the first to rise and come running toward them. Inuyasha immediately ducked behind Miroku’s robes, then peered out. “Inuyasha?” she questioned in a surprised-concerned voice.

Miroku fought an instinct to soothe and protect his vulnerable friend—but for Buddha’s sake, there was no danger here! “He…he was injured…and lost his memory,” he said, reaching an arm around to try to bring Inuyasha forward. But the stubborn dog was having none of it.

“Oh, Inuyasha,” Kagome gushed, “are you all right?” Sango approached now, an expression of concern on her face.

“The wound’s small—he’s fine—he just doesn’t—doesn’t know who he is—I mean—who he is now—” Miroku sputtered.

“I don’t understand,” Kagome said.

“Is this some sort of a game?” Sango asked, extending a warning finger at Miroku.

Inuyasha felt the tension rising and began to whimper in response. “Hoshi-Daddy-sama,” he whined, softly.

“Hoshi-what?” Sango snapped.

Before Miroku could explain, Shippo skipped over, tail twitching, followed by Kirara, giving a plaintive mew.

The crowd was too much for Inuyasha, who lost confidence that his Hoshi-Daddy could save him from the approaching “mob.” He took off into the woods, running dog-style, on hands and feet, as fast as he could go.

Miroku turned to follow, but Sango grabbed his robes and stopped him. “Hey, just a minute! What’s going on here?”

Everyone was staring at him now, wanting answers. But Inuyasha was alone, scared, and running blind. “He thinks he’s a kid again, okay? He doesn’t know who any of us are, but I…won his trust and brought him back. I thought he trusted me, but clearly he’s too afraid to trust anyone. I need to go get him.” He looked at Sango, whose hand was still clutching his garment.

Kagome spoke: “Go Miroku. Make sure he’s safe.” Not for the first time, Miroku was impressed with the miko’s calmness in the face of crisis. The same could not be said for Sango, who finally released his robes only when Kagome took her hand and removed it.

Miroku sprinted into the woods, feeling, for all the world, like a concerned parent…and, if he were honest with himself, something more. He called his friend’s name and followed the path he thought the inu most likely to have taken. After a time, he at last came upon him, crouched in a stand of dense bushes, weeping. The monk kneeled before the mass of greenery, arms open, and invoked the precious name tenderly: “Inuyasha?”

With leaves stuck in his hair and wide eyes red from crying, the boy-man crawled out and pressed his face into Miroku’s lap. To anyone passing by, the sight might have been absurd, even perverse: a dog demon with his rear high in the air and face nuzzling a monk’s lap while murmuring “Hoshi-Daddy-sama” over and over and having his hair stroked soothingly. But no one was passing by, and Miroku was simply glad to have found the poor, broken creature to whose care he was now entirely dedicated.

“It’s all right,” Miroku soothed, “I’m here. You’re safe, little inu. No one will harm you.” Inuyasha snuffled wetly into his thighs for long moments, and the monk allowed it, petting him affectionately and murmuring whatever words of comfort came to mind.

In time, Inuyasha rose, sat back on his haunches, and looked up at his savior. His nose was running and his eyes were puffy. “Hoshi came for Inuyasha,” he sniffed. “Even though he was bad.” He ducked his head again and reached around Miroku’s waist.

The impact of the head butt into his stomach nearly knocked him over. The ludicrousness of the child mind in that adult body was beginning to wear him out physically as well as emotionally. He took the arms and unwrapped them from his body. “Sit up and talk to me, Inuyasha. Everything’s all right.” Inuyasha held tight, and talked into Miroku’s groin. The sensation was uniquely disconcerting.

“Don’t make us go back,” his muffled little-boy tone in adult voice begged. “Please, Hoshi-Daddy-sama.”

“We must, Inuyasha,” Miroku said, with a smile. After all they had faced together—thousands of lesser demons, scores of undead mortal foes, dozens of yokai, many named nemeses, Naraku—it came down to one scared child-man afraid to meet the people in the world who truly cared for him. But, of course, he could not know it.

“They…they were loud,” he pronounced. “They were yokai…and human...and….” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The slayer…I could smell her…she was…she did not like me….” He swallowed, hard, making Miroku’s heart clench. “She loves Hoshi-Daddy-sama and can’t like me…bad hanyo me…. Please…don’t make us go back, Hoshi-Daddy-sama. Please?”

Miroku was stunned by the little speech. But there was no point in contradicting him, in trying to explain the intricacies of his relationship with Sango, in clarifying how the group came together and why they could call themselves friends, despite the differences. No, talking would not help, and this was a battle he could not afford to lose. He put a hand to Inuyasha’s face, firmly cupped his cheek, and looked into his innocent eyes. “Listen to me, Inuyasha. We will go back because we have to. I’ll protect you, I swear it. No one will harm you.” He lifted the damp bangs and pressed a kiss on his forehead. Poor confused thing: he had gotten himself so worked up, and there was no way forward but through. “I know it’s hard to trust, but it’s the only answer I have for you.”

Surprisingly, Inuyasha nodded. Inexplicably, the speech somehow reached him. “Yes, Hoshi-Daddy-sama. I will go back. I will be good. Even if the others all hate me, I know Hoshi-Daddy-sama does not.”

Miroku sighed, and lifted Inuyasha to his feet as he rose. Hand in hand, Inuyasha half a step behind him, the two men returned to camp once more. And this time, though he trembled and whimpered a little, Inuyasha presented himself to be introduced to the strange faces of a group of “friends” he was certain he had never met in his young life.

Sticking close to Miroku’s side and touching and holding onto him as often as possible, Inuyasha watched as the little band prepared the evening meal together. The strange girl with the short-short green loincloth kept smiling at him pityingly. Her look was a little bit like Mother’s, and he felt badly that she could not afford more clothing. He wonders why Miroku or the others did not get her some—they did not seem poor, but he did not want to ask. The slayer glared at him once or twice, and he was certain now that she wanted him to go away from Hoshi-Daddy-sama. He gripped tighter to his dark robes. He would not go away.

Watching Hoshi-Daddy-sama carefully skewer the long slender fish, he thought about the fact that he was not very good at cooking or serving food, but he could wash and dry the bowls and cups for Mother to put away. He frowned, thinking about the times he had broken cups when they slipped from his clumsy fingers. He looked at how big they are now. He was sure he would do better if only he were back home. And tears welled up in his eyes again as he wished that he had the chance to go back and say he was sorry to Mother now to make up for when he would run away and hide so he would not see her looking-sad face. She never punished him. He wondered if Hoshi-Daddy-sama would if he did stupid-clumsy-hanyo things like he always did.

The smell of rice and tea brewing made his stomach rumble, taking him away from his thoughts. He had not realized how hungry he was. In response to a whispered query, Miroku reassured him that they were happy to share with him. In addition to food and utensils he was used to, he also saw some he was unfamiliar with. The kitsune was pouring hot water into a strange white bowl covered with weird symbols and some kanji he could not read. The smell that came out of them as he pours was…amazing. He tugged Miroku’s robe. “What is it?” he said, pointing, mesmerized by the aroma.

The kitsune turned to him. “It’s ninja food, baka,” he replied. “Your favorite—ramen!”

Inuyasha lowered his eyes and pouted. How could something be his favorite when he did not even know what it was or what that word was. “Rahhh-men?” He tasted the word in his mouth. It tasted good. He would bet the good-smelling stuff would taste good, too. He leaned forward and saw a pile of noodles swimming in dark, rich-scented broth. He licked his lips. “May Inuyasha try the rahhh-men, Kitsune-sama?” he asked, in his most humble voice, releasing Miroku’s robes to bow low over his hands.

Shippo laughed at the sight. Inuyasha did not move. Shippo stared, cocked his head, stared some more. Then, Miroku watched a change take place in the fox’s face. “Wow, Inuyasha, you are so lucky! You get to enjoy ramen for the first time a second time!” the kitsune chirped, offering the bowl to Inuyasha. Oh, the wisdom of children, thought Miroku, smiling and nodding at young Shippo. Inuyasha looked to Miroku for encouragement, then tentatively took the good-smelling food gift, bowing his head in gratitude.