And so the final chapter has arrived. Before I begin writing a new chapter, I always go back and read the previous one, and that one had me on the edge of my seat. It amazes me when my own writing still leaves me in suspense, as if I don't know exactly what is going to happen. How insane is that? Well, you only had to wait three months for the last chapter-I know that sounds like a lot, but if you know my history, that's light speed-so I won't make you wait any longer. It's been an absolute joy writing such an in-depth fic, and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. I'm in college now and bursting with free time, so if you want something written, drop me a line. I always respond to fans (or at least I try my hardest). Thanks so much for all the support. I love you all!

This chapter is dedicated to Dyan-chan, a faithful reader who happened to discover we both attend UF and was brave enough to contact my erratic self XD. We're now very good friends, and I hope we stay that way until one of us inevitably bites the dust, bwa ha ha. Much love, babe. This one's for you.

By the way, I gave up a long time ago trying to write Sesshoumaru with one arm. For one thing, I always forget that he's supposed to have lost one. For another, in my sex scenes, it's a lot more fun if he has two XD. If you don't like it, get over it. It's just a story, and you know that if you ever slept with Sesshoumaru, you'd want him to have full use of all ten glorious fingers.

Present Day

The morning sunlight filtering through the trees was soft and gentle, like a mother's hand stroking her baby's cheek. It danced over rocks and leaves and springy green plants, climbing slowly westward. Every day, it made this tentative trek, seeking into all the nooks and crannies of the Earth. Every day, it discovered new trees growing, new valleys forming, new water flowing in the rivers. Every day, the sun was the first to wake up and see what had transpired in the hours it had been visiting the other side of the world. Today, however, the light stumbled upon a scene that certainly did not belong in the quiet forest.

Blood wasn't supposed to be that red.

Blood, fresh from the wound, was a shade of red akin to fire, not dark like the wine it was often compared to. More like holly berries-almost cheerful in hue. However, it never stayed that way for long. Dried and congealed, blood became a color like dirt mixed with oil. It was only beautiful fresh, and even then you had to have the stomach for it. The sun knew this well. It had traveled many a battlefield in its endless years and had seen enough drowned dirt to know the different shades of Death by heart. That's why it was such a surprise when its light fell upon a virtual ruby tucked into the roots of a tree.

Blood wasn't supposed to be that red, not when the creatures it belonged to had obviously been dead for many hours. The sunlight hesitated on this spot, skipping about the dripping crimson pool like a firefly caught in a jar. Elegant cuts of porcelain lay intertwined amongst the scarlet liquid: the limbs of the deceased. Locks of silver hair still fluttered in the breeze, though most of the strands were too weighed down by sticky mess to fly. The blood shimmered like a child's tears fallen on his newly skinned knee. It was beautiful, in a macabre way.

There appeared to be two figures wrapped within each other, but the bodies were so tangled, it could have easily been one. The fair coloring and elegance of the creatures suggested that two angels had lost their wings and tumbled from the heavens, clutching each other for comfort as they watched the ground approach.

Little red spots stood out against white skin like a color-inverted night sky. One of the creatures lay on his back, and a pair of golden eyes gazed lifelessly forward. The thick black eyelashes that ringed these golden pools were dotted with crimson beads, as if someone had dyed that morning's dew with rose petals. Three arms were spread out around the bodies carelessly. The sculptor who had made these marble figures had seemingly been distracted when he'd carved their limbs. One of the arms cradled a head resting upon a chest. The other arms caressed each other, their fingers laced with apparent care. The fourth and final arm was hidden beneath the body of the second fallen angel.

The larger of the two creatures lay upon the other, snuggled up with almost child-like innocence. His eyes were closed, but the other similarities between the two suggested that they would be gold as well if they ever opened again. The fair beauty of each was incomparable-especially in the pallor of Death-but their striking differences were still apparent. One faced upward, ready to ascend into the heavens or be dragged downward to Hell. Regardless of where he was sent, he was in the perfect position to thumb his nose at God. The other had placed himself on top of his kindred, as if he wished to use his final moments to immortalize his station. Even in death, he would not lie in the dirt with those lower than himself.

The scene was heartbreaking in its loveliness and seemed to beg for answers. Just what had befallen these two elegant creatures? How had they ended up in a pool of twining blood? What intrigues had lead them to die together? The wind rustling through the leaves carried these questions up and away to be buried in the darkest recesses of the forest.

The sunlight eventually moved on, spreading out to other parts of the forest. If it had stayed longer, it might have noticed a strange stirring in the bloody scene it left behind. At first, it could have been mistaken for a trick of the light, an illusion caused by the blowing wisps of hair. Gradually, however, it became very clear that one or possibly both of the marble-like bodies was moving, either by their own volition or some form of devilry. With a sickening sucking sound, the fourth hand finally appeared; it jerked into the air, standing straight up like a trophy, glistening with yet another coat of sparkling crimson blood.

The arm belonged to the second creature, and with its removal, a cavity was revealed in the chest of the first. The mystery of how the first creature had died was revealed, but that said nothing of the second. He stood-he was naked and clearly male-slowly, but not without a large measure of grace. His eyelids parted and revealed the molten gold eyes that had been expected of him. He stared into the bright sunshine, blinking as if he could not believe what he was seeing. An expression of astonishment crossed his face, and it did not seem to belong there. This was clearly not a man who often found himself surprised.

"Inuyasha," a word sparked from his lips and seemed to clear his head. This Sesshoumaru had survived. He glanced down and saw the body of his brother. It made him flinch inside to see what a mess it had become. Such beauty, wasted and rolling in the dirt. Sesshoumaru looked down at his bloody hand and saw that Inuyasha had one to match. He remembered well the cold and aching pain he'd felt when his baby brother had plunged his hand into his chest while their bodies exploded with passion for each other. He remembered the hazy feeling of his blood floating away, hot against his skin but so cold. He remembered the ache that had nothing to do with his injuries as he plunged his own right hand into his brother, digging deeply in until he felt the pulsing of half-breed heart. He remembered laying his head down and closing his eyes when the world was finally too bright and brutal to look at anymore. He remembered a murmured voice speaking words he barely understood….

But something had changed. Something had spared his life. He looked at himself again and once more at his brother, and that's when he realized it.

They'd been holding hands.

Sometime while the life had been draining from them, Inuyasha had pulled his right hand from the depths of Sesshoumaru's chest and twined their hands together. Sesshoumaru chuckled at the mirror imagery he and his half brother created. A hole in the chest, a bloody right arm, and a black heart beneath it all.

Apparently, Inuyasha's heart had been just slightly too tender for the job. He had lost his grip on Sesshoumaru's life, and it had slipped through his fingers. Sesshoumaru had survived and Inuyasha hadn't, a testament of pure strength against the diluted blood of the hanyou. These thoughts flashed through Sesshoumaru's mind as he reveled in his victory. He had made the mistake of underestimating the hanyou, but it had not proved to be a fatal one. Inuyasha had wanted to save his own life, but upon truly grasping that he would have to live without Sesshoumaru in order to accomplish that, he had chosen instead to succumb to death alone.

"Well, brother, it seems we have proven once and for all which of us holds superior strength."

Sesshoumaru knew they were evil words to speak before his brother's corpse. He knew he should be honoring Inuyasha's logic, his sacrificial nature. Inuyasha had understood that if he was going to die anyways, he might as well let his love live. He had spent the last of his strength expressing that love in words and twining fingers.

But Sesshoumaru was what he was. The immovable Taiyoukai might have craved his brother's flesh, might have desired his company, might have yearned to place the hanyou at his feet, but there were no true feelings behind these things. Selfishness and pride were all that fueled the demon. He was enraged that Inuyasha had managed to escape him after all, but the knowledge of what the hanyou had given in order to do so consoled him. Let this be a marker in the future for those who chose to defy him. Comply, or meet a swift end.

Sesshoumaru tilted his perfect nose to the air and sniffed. It would rain soon. Troublesome dark clouds had formed from seemingly nowhere and blocked the gentle morning sunlight. Mother Nature was coming to clean up his mess, just as a good mother should. Sesshoumaru gathered his fine clothing and slipped it on, not even having the decency to leave the murder scene before doing so. As he fastened his sword and the last of his armor securely around his waist, he cast one final glance at the body lying on the ground.

A strange mood struck him as he realized this was the last time he would ever gaze upon the rough but angelic features of his half-brother: the man who had stirred such fire from the depths of an icy heart. He considered the body for a moment and then leaned carefully down, passing his fingers smoothly over his brother's still-soft eyelashes, wiping the blood from them. He slid his fingers once more over those blank eyes-still beautiful in their vacancy-and closed the lids. If nothing else, he could offer his brother a chance to sleep in peace. He would leave this forest and never set foot here again.

Nature could do with the body as it pleased. It held no use for Sesshoumaru any longer.

With that, the Taiyoukai sprinted off, graceful as an elk and a hundred times as swift.

Moments later, a soft pattering of rain fell from the sky. It started slow: the drumming of God's impatient fingers on the ground. The blood was driven into the dirt and then slowly cracked away, dissolving under the mystical power of rain to wash away even the most grievous of sins. Like a healing salve it fell, sweeping away the sordid mess of Inuyasha's death in trickles and streams.

Only the body remained unmoved, as if determined to stay right where it was until the ground inevitably swallowed it up.

The falling rain carried a song with it, immersed in the mindless rhythm it beat upon the ground. Contrary to the lies Sesshoumaru rehearsed in his head, the Taiyoukai was not the victor here. It wasn't a matter of "victory" at all. The fight between the two tragic brothers was so small, smaller even than they were themselves. Inuyasha's death had not tilted the world on its axis. It had not made the stars shine any brighter or dimmer. Its impact would be felt by only a handful of the limitless souls in the universe.

But Inuyasha did not die for them, the world, or even his brother. He died for himself. In the final moments before the darkness enveloped him in its peaceful chill, he had come to an important understanding that most creatures would never be blessed enough to grasp. Hating his brother was pointless. No matter the terrible acts inflicted upon him by Sesshoumaru, hate would solve nothing. It was the purest and most vile of all diseases, and Inuyasha had been subject to its parasitic nature for far too many years.

His emotions were meant to be a tool to hurt those who hurt him, but every time Inuyasha lashed out, he hurt only himself. He saw his emotions as a mirror: what he gave out was reflected back at him with equal intensity. During his life, when he was dissatisfied with being a half-demon-with the meager strength and impure blood that his birth granted him-he had hated his brother's purity. When he'd finally learned to move past his pride and love his brother for all that was beautiful about him, he had been granted the greatest blessing of all. He had been granted freedom.

Though he was not quite selfless enough to forgive his brother for years of mistreatment, he had understood the fleeting nature of life. He'd had the chance to switch his own life out for his brother's, but in the end he had chosen to die in Sesshoumaru's place. There had been a fleeting moment, just before his heart stopped beating, when his hand had settled on Sesshoumaru's wrist, just above where it dove into his chest. He could have pulled his brother's weakened arm away. He could have healed and woken up the next day to find his friends waiting for him. He could have started his life anew, without the weight of Sesshoumaru's impossible demands. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd pulled his other hand free, wound their fingers together, and fallen into blissful sleep.

Death was not an escape for Inuyasha; it was a step towards healing. He'd released the last of the hate in his heart, and with its burden missing, he'd found the strength to pull his hand from Sesshoumaru's chest and forgive him. He'd realized that if someone had asked him to take all of the beatings he'd received again in order to make his love happy, he would do it. No amount of pain was more important to him than the forgiveness he'd felt in his heart.

Peace had settled over him like a lover's embrace and rocked him gently to sleep.

The rain wept for the callous soul of Sesshoumaru. He would spend a lifetime wandering helplessly, restlessly, unable to find content in a world that he considered so far below himself. How could a creature of such excellence ever be satisfied with this simple world? How could he ever be satisfied with the people in it, even a creature who loved him so much he was willing to die to leave him content in his own egoism?

Inuyasha had sought to fill Sesshoumaru's heart with warmth; instead, he'd found the wisdom to fill his own.

Sesshoumaru would never understand the fortune he had overlooked. What he perceived as weakness was the greatest strength. What he saw as pointless sacrifice was really freedom in its purest form. Inuyasha was now liberated from the tyranny of his unfortunate life. He would never be beaten again, never suffer, never hate the parts of himself that were precious simply because he was told they were worthless.

Inuyasha had appeared to Sesshoumaru as a burden: bad blood to stain his purity and a weak heart to infect his strength. But in the end, Sesshoumaru had been the burden, one just heavy enough to force the pain from Inuyasha's soul.

Inuyasha could rest now. He was free.

The End.