( D i s c l a i m e r ) nope

( A u t h o r' s N o t e ) One-shot, Sango x Kohaku. I really like this fic, although it's probably not very good. I'm also excited to be contributing to such a widely neglected canon pairing, tee-hee. Constructive criticism encouraged, flames will be posted at my journal and laughed at for ages to come. At any rate, enjoy!

On the outside she is a slayer.

Her façade is practiced and perfected. Over time she has learned how to reach deep into her insides with nimble fingers and draw the curtains over her real self, shielding it from view. In the blink of an eye she is no longer Sango but some unknown terror, cold and merciless with eyes of stone. With an inhuman shriek the slayer flings Hiraikotsu exactly like her father taught her too, drawing on a knowledge long forgotten in her conscious mind, and from the inside Sango watches through the slayer's eyes.


On the inside she is a sister.

Her eyes are open wide but all they see is memories. She is nigh five and dancing around her mother's feet, aching to get a glance at her new baby brother. She is eight; Kohaku idolizes his big sister and follows her everywhere so, abashed, she runs far, far ahead leaving him alone in a meadow. She is ten and scared as she tends to his burning brow with vigilance while he shakes violently with fever. She is twelve and follows her father for her first hunt while Kohaku watches her leave with sad eyes as he clings to his mother's side. She is sixteen and clutches Kohaku tight to her chest, the taste of copper heavy on her tongue as she prepares to die with her brother.

She is all of these things and none of them at the same time. Kohaku – her Kohaku – has come back to her again.


In her heart she is a woman.

Everything she is – the slayer, the sister – is built upon the woman buried deep inside. A house cannot stand without its foundation, however shaky.

Over the years she can feel herself come into her womanhood. Bits and pieces of her slowly die and new ones start to grow and blossom in their places. She can feel the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts. It is impossible not to. Late at night they cry out to her, begging for attention and keeping her from sleep.

She is a woman even now as she holds her broken brother in her arms, feeling him slip away from her with every halting breath. Inside her, the sister cries and prays for Naraku not to take him again this time. On the outside, the slayer itches for blood and death – for vengeance.

If her brother leaves again, she knows she will surely die. She looks down into his eyes and sees the baby pawing at the air, trying to pluck the stars from the night sky. She sees the six year old boy with shining eyes full of admiration as his sister hands him an apple she plucked from the highest branch on the tree. She sees the eleven year old scared and cowardly in the face of his first battle. She sees Kohaku, and knows they are safe – safe for now.

Scared and tired, she pulls him to her chest like she remembers she used to in a childhood that is so far away it seems like it never happened. She reasons – she hopes – that Naraku can't take him from her as long as she never lets go. On the inside, the sister wants to hold him. On the outside the slayer does not want to see the loss of a trusted comrade, of a brother in battle.

In her heart, the woman wants to take him and burrow him deep in her flesh, cradling him deep inside her where not even Naraku can reach. In the dead of the night, she melds herself to him and he cries out in confusion and in a kind of pleasure that neither of them understands. She covers his mouth with hers and her soul reaches out for his, trying to swallow him whole.

Sango – the woman, the sister, the slayer - holds him tight and buries him deep inside her over and over and is content with knowing that no one can ever steal this away from her. In herself she's found a way to save her brother.

Tonight she's taken back a piece of him – the man. In the morning she'll take back the rest.