（最游记同人）镜里镜外(33)

Gojyo grit his teeth. Man, it was starting to hurt.

Tenpou could only stare dumbly at the scene. Goku had known. But the longer he thought about it, the more he found it less surprising. The boy had always been more perceptive than they all thought and it was a grave miscalculation on his part that he could hide this secret from Goku for very long. And it was more than he deserved from somebody he supposedly abandoned...or will abandon sometime.

While the two grappled, Tenpou briskly got up and went for the door. He needed to feel the wind against his face again. Goku and Gojyo didn't notice the lack of presence until wood slammed against wood. "See what you did!" shouted Goku before he went to follow. The half-breed caught him by the collar.

"Oi. Goku..." he said, thoughtful this time. "How long did you know about him?"

"I guess...I guess I never totally completely forgot." the boy replied, looking at his wrists as if expecting his gauntlets to transform before his eyes.

"And you're not in the least worried about Hakkai?"

"Why should I? Hakkai's the one who always knows his way around. He'll find his way back, but Ten-chan...Ten-chan seems really lost around here."

Why was it so easy for him to grasp the concept of the two of them switching? Gojyo could only wonder.

The reincarnation part...the half-breed could accept, although he preferred not to linger on it. Enemies have called him Kenren Taishou before. Homura did. Those soldiers in the tower did. But he never really accepted the idea. Neither could Sanzo, and he was supposed to be the closest to heaven any mortal could ever be.

But Goku was over five hundred years old. He never died. He knew ALL of them. So could it be that somewhere in that ape brain of his, he never registered the difference between Hakkai and Tenpou, between Sanzo and Konzen, between me and...

"Saru, you stay here and wait for Sanzo." Gojyo got up, headed for the door and left before Goku could argue.

...as if there never really was a difference in the first place.

****

Goku stirred, opened his eyes. Couldn't sleep. Maybe sleeping on his left side. Nope. Right side. Nope. Back? Nuh huh. The mattress of his little bed creaked, incessantly as he tossed and turned because something tickled his nose like an itch he couldn't scratch. Left, right...back...stare at the ceiling...

"Will you just go to sleep bakasaru!" Konzen roared, shooting up in bed with obvious frustration. Even in the darkness his hair seemed to shine unnaturally.

"But I can't, Konzen!" he replied, big-eyed and tucking his legs up beneath him. The ever-present sound of clanking chains accompanying his movement. Konzen never admitted it, but he knew that if he heard them nearby, things were relatively good. And Goku was safe. Hell if he'd admit it.

"It's easy. Just close your eyes and shut up!"

"I'm worried about Ten-chan." That was about the hundredth time he'd said it in the past three days.

"Tenpou doesn't need people worrying about him." the Kanzeon's nephew replied, a bit more subdued. "He can take care of himself, despite all the trouble he causes."

"But still..."

A vein popped out. " .What?"

"Feels like wolves."

"Wolves? What are those?"

"Big hairy monsters that walk on four legs with really scary yellow teeth. Whenever I smelled them around...or thought they were nearby, I had to climb into a tree...all the time because they can't climb."

"Sounds like youkai to me."

"Wolves. Are there wolves in heaven, Konzen?"

"Sure. They're called politicians."

"Konzen!"

A sigh. "Goku...just go to-"

But a shrill cry shook the night, piercing the walls around them, right down to the marrow of their bones. The first was followed by a second, which was then followed by another until a whole grotesque chorus of fierce wails arose, like a wave gaining momentum...

Konzen tried to switch on the light, but the moment he did, the bulb shattered, raining down on them in shimmering pieces. The glass of the window cracked. And a cold wind...

****

The cold wind bit at Tenpou's neck and he hunched over to pull his collar up. It was a futile attempt at warmth, yet he didn't mind because lately, the term 'futility' had made itself a permanent and cozy niche in his mind.

You will fail.

You will die.

You will sin.

You will cry.

You will turn into your own victim. Quietly, the metal cuffs seethed as the gusts picked up. They were coming. The sun was setting as he prepared himself to kill for the first time. Taking a life seemed so clinical, the written word making the act seem an act and nothing more than an act. The word nothing more than a word, but as there had always existed an incongruity between words and actions, actions and thoughts, surely the deed must carry with it a heavy burden, to a certain extent a specific type of trauma that comes with the pinnacle of immorality.