Title: Sol

Rating: PG - 13

Summary: Sango/Kohaku Everytime he fought, his blood was red.

Spoilers: None. Set Pre-series.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Inuyasha.

Author's Note: This drabble has been bubbling for a long time... for like, months. And honestly, it was for nothing more than to satisfy my own little Sango/Kohaku cravings.

Warnings: Erm - Kohaku-sufferitis, angst, and incest. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. But maybe.


On the first day, he coughed.

It was small, insignificant, but she was watching him, and it made him weak.

He smiled and he blushed, but she merely turned away, picking the rice off her fingers.

His mother smiled, rubbed his back, and walked away.

His father told him not to fail.

He said yes.


On the second day, he was tired.

She was there again, watching him, and he was weak, but there were black rings under his eyes and she was disappointed.

There was rice, and it was on her fingers, and he smiled and he blushed and he said I'm sorry.

His mother smiled, rubbed his back, and walked away.

His father frowned and said not to fail.

He said yes.


On the third day, he collapsed.

The sun was hot, and he was sweaty; he thought he could make it.

But he was wrong, and he was coughing; and he was weak again.

She watched him longer, this time, and she was disappointed, but she turned away and once again he said I'm sorry.

She nodded, stood up and walked away.

His mother smiled, rubbed his forehead, said I love you.

His father frowned and told him to work harder.

He said yes.


On the fourth day, he bled.

She was angry, upset, confused, but she still watched him, and he was still weak; he wanted to make it through.

She pretended she wasn't offended, but the bowl fell from her hands, and there was rice in her lap, and his father scolded him.

You will not fail.

He said yes.

His mother frowned, wiped his brow, and said they will heal.

And he believed her.

She kissed his head, and walked away, but she told him to get better.

He tried to smile.


On the fifth day, he was stained.

She was still angry, disappointed, and she pitied him, but she stayed by his side and she watched him, and he had never felt so weak.

He struggled, but her hands were there and he was being held down and she told him to stop it.

He refused to say no.

His head burned and the bandages were black and he was frightened, but she leaned down and she held him and she told him it would be all right.

He tried to believe her.

But the bandages were still black, and his head was still burning, and he could still see the rice stuck to her fingers and it made him angry.

Stop it, he said, and she was moving away from him, picking the rice off of her fingers, leaving.

The bowl was shattered, and he was sorry, but there was no one around to hear him.


On the sixth day, he screamed.

The rice was on her fingers, and she was still disappointed, but her hands were on him again, and she was holding him down, and he wanted to say I'm sorry.

But she was frustrated and she was pushing painfully against his chest.

The bandages were black, but her hands were red, and for that he was scared.

His mother was there, and she was trying to soothe him but the cloth was freezing and cold and he wanted to get away from it.

His mother told him to stop.

He refused to say no.

His father said you will not fail.

He tried so hard to say yes.

His father left and walked away.

But she was still there, and she was still disappointed, and the bowl was shattered on the ground, cutting her, but she was still holding him.

He wanted so badly to say I'm sorry.

Her arms were heavy and light, and she pressed her forehead to his and told him to stop it.

He told her no.

She tried not to cry.


On the seventh day, he was silent.

There was a bowl in his room, and it was broken, but he didn't mind because she wasn't there.

His mother had told him that they would heal and he believed her.

His father had told him not to fail and he tried his hardest not to.

But the wound was deep, his bandages were black, and there was fear inside of him, coiling into a tight ball in the pit of his stomach, making him want to retch.

There was rice, and it was good, but he couldn't see her, so it didn't matter.

It was stuck to his fingers though, and it infuriated him. He wanted to say sorry.

No one was there; it made him want to cry, but he ate his rice and pretended that it was all right.

His head burned, the cloth was freezing, and he tried to deal with it all.

Because she was back, and she was watching him, and she was making him weak.

He wanted her to stop, but she wouldn't. She would clean up the shards; she would turn around and walk away and pretend to be all right.

I'm sorry.

She moved quickly, efficiently, and then he was in her arms, and she was crying and she was telling him to stop it.

He told her yes.

You have thirteen freckles, she had told him, and slowly, she was kissing each one of them and telling him about Midoriko and promising that she would be as strong as her.

He asked for forgiveness; she told him no.

He told her sorry; she kissed his freckles.

She told him to stop, and he remembered.

The bandages were black, and her hands had been red and he had been scared.

But she was holding him, and she was kissing him and she whispered I love you and he remembered.

His father told him not to fail, but he did.

Because every time he fought, his blood had been red.