Abandoned

by scribblemoose

Gojyo sat in the mouth of the tent, and looked out into the rain.

Not really rain. Just mist.

He hugged his knees to his chest, and rested his chin on them. He wanted a cigarette, but he only had three left, and he'd promised himself, not for another half hour.

It would have been easier to ration them if he could've slept. But he couldn't. Not after those particular dreams.

Not nightmares, of the kind Hakkai and Sanzo were prone to, although he had those too, from time to time. Blood and pain and burning hatred. These were gentler, ordinary dreams. The kind where you didn't know, for sure, if they were real. It had felt real.

It had felt too fucking real for his liking.

They'd been shopping.

His lips curved to a self-mocking smile at the thought. The great Sha Gojyo, companion of Sanzo and scourge of youkkai throughout the land, had been frightened by a dream about shopping.

He'd lost them.

One minute there had been noisy companionship: the monkey begging for someone to buy him noodles from a stall; Hakkai suggesting moderation before their evening meal; Sanzo ordering Gojyo to go buy him cigarettes and beer. He went into the shop and heard them whispering outside. Felt doubt crawl up his spine when he caught Hakkai whisper his name and snigger.

When he came out, they were gone.

They'd ditched him.

He woke up then, not in the cold sweat of nightmare but with a crawling, horrible anguish in his gut. The memory of his much younger self, walking the streets scrabbling for scraps of money as best he could leapt vividly to his mind and forced him out of bed.

Fuck it. He needed that damn cigarette. He pulled it out of it's ratting packet and lit it, took a long, deep drag and held it in his lungs, eyes closed, letting the comfort rush through him.

Gojyo had learned to survive alone; he'd had to. He remembered the first hand of cards he'd won. Something clicking into place like it belonged. Cards had bought him everything he'd needed: food, shelter, sex. Company, with no ties. Gojyo was a sociable creature at heart, and affection was a seductive prospect, but he took care not to let anyone too close. Painfully but safely alone.

No-one to hurt him. Hate him. Leave him.

No-one to live for. Not really live.

"Gojyo." A soft voice; gentle and so welcome that Gojyo felt a sudden lump in his throat.

"Hakkai?"

Hakkai draped himself across Gojyo's back, circling strong arms about him, and nuzzled into his neck. Gojyo smelt the outdoors-fresh of his hair, closed his eyes and drank it in; let Hakkai's body warm him.

"Awake?" murmured Hakkai, sleepily.

"Mm. Couldn't sleep."

"Dream?"

"Kinda... yeah. Not bad. Just... disturbing."

Hakkai just hugged him tighter, and wriggled a little, as if he were settling in for the night.

"Safe," he said.

Gojyo kissed his hair, and smiled.

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