Saiyuki Fic, To Every Thing There Is a Season

[yma2]

Here's the other one off fic I wrote whilst offline. I'm quite chuffed with this one, though I doubt as many of you will read it.
It's a Saiyuki fic, and I really would appreciate a bit of feedback here. If only to tell me what com to pass it onto. Heh.
At any rate, here it is. Enjoy.

Title: To Every Thing There Is a Season
Fandom: Saiyuki
Rating: PG13.
Warnings: Some swearing, not much else.
Summery: Goku's life is a cycle, this is the tale of the seasons of his time with the Sanzo Party.


January’s snows coat the ground and the world is a blank page.
From his cell he longs for something to mark it, some errant creature to walk across the barren plane, writing a story across the ice.
Last spring a golden bird came to his side, and for a while he was not alone.
But he bird is dead now, lying in the snow hardly a fingers breath from his reach. He could not cradle its body, could not touch it again.
Now its frail form is covered by the snow and lost to sight and he wonders… wonders if it ever existed at all.
He wants to call out, to scream to yell just to hear the sound of his own voice. To hear some sound.
But then the fear overcame him. The fear that, upon calling, he would hear no sound. That even the yells of his own voice, the proof of his own existence would be swallowed, smothered by the snow.
He fears to call out for fear of hearing no answer, not even echoes.
So he sits silent, at one with the barren stone and empty snow, awaiting the spring.

The snow has almost all melted by February, leaving the detail of brown and black rock behind.
There is a feeling of expectation in the air he cannot put a name to. It’s primal, powerful, delicate, he dares not name it aloud, for fear it should break upon his tongue so he screams it with his soul.
Then one day, in the middle of the cold and grim winter, the sun rises.
He watches it ascent, brilliant gold upon the mountain, pushing past clouds and rocks, the world coming alive in its wake.
When it finally reaches the summit, he sees that this year the Sun has come as a man. His hair a shining gold, robes glowing white. He’s warm this one. Not gentle warm, but hot warm, he can burn the skin or blind the eyes if looked at too long, but his own eyes temper this, for they are cold, hard and sad.
‘Shut up,’ says the man (or is it a boy? He can’t be much older than early twenties.) ‘You’re annoying me.’
‘But I wasn’t yelling,’ protested the Monkey, who stares at him with wide, golden orbs.
The exchange continues and, eventually the sun-man holds his hand out, and Goku takes it, drawing himself into that distant, searing warmth.
Lingering upon Sanzo’s robes he thinks he catches the faintest scent of cherry blossom.

March brings rain and new friends.
Sanzo is quiet during the rain, as if shrouded by some dark mist. He hides in his own gloom and Goku cannot reach him.
So he runs and causes mayhem, relishing his new-found freedom. Rain never bothers him, it’s wet and alive and fresh. He can breath in the rain, the snow stifles.
Rain brings them Gojo and Hakkai in an odd, roundabout way. The world needs the rain, Goku reflects. It’s bad at first, but after the tremulous springs of new trees and flowers are sure to grow.
Gojo reminds him of summer, lazy and wilful, seductive and tiring. Goku likes the hot summer but thinks it is best enjoyed with a cool river to hand, and the half-kappa always gets pissed when water is mentioned. He hides behind his crimson hair as much as he tries to hide it, and Goku doesn’t understand this. But the others do, so it must be OK.
The one who is now Hakkai is more like Fall, his hair falling like dead leaves across his face. He’s gentle and quiet and fruitful, thoughtful and peaceful, the gentleness of his smile hiding the season of death that is to follow.
Death and loss is wreathed about that smile, so empty and foul, like a rotten fruit, still clinging desperately to the dying tree.
But Goku doesn’t say this. Because Hakkai is a good person, and it’s not his fault that he’s a murderer.
He will always remember, though, that sunrise. When they walked out together for this first time, Gonou dead but Hakkai alive and as the blossoms spun around them, Goku knew it was finally spring.

April is a fine month, and though it is no shorter than any other period it seems to pass a little too lightly for Goku’s liking.
It is at the end of April that he leaves his home.
He thinks that if he’d asked to stay, Sanzo would have let him. But home is wherever Sanzo is and he thinks it would be cold without him.
It will be good to be away from the mountain, at any rate. He hates looking out on that foul place, a reminder of his imprisonment.
Sanzo says they’ve been sent to retrieve some scriptures from the west. Or is that give away some scriptures? Maybe it’s to stop the Minus Wave? Goku isn’t sure, but he doesn’t much mind.
Sanzo’s wants him to come along. That’s enough.
The only problem is that, this time, they’re bringing the Hakkai and Gojo along too. Which is good, but he’s not sure how they’ll get on.
Hakkai and Gojo get on pretty well, and Hakkai gets on well with everyone, on a surface level at least.
But Sanzo doesn’t get on with anyone, not even him. And Gojo’s certain to cause trouble. Dumb kappa.
Spring is in the air.
And so is trouble.

Sometimes Goku thinks that, if he were to be reincarnated, he’d like to live, for a little while, as a Mayfly.
Such things only live one month, but oh… with but one month how they must live!
That one month is all they know, after all, bright and beautiful.
May, the season prelude to summer, bright and red it is; like the blossom of blood and wildflowers and all other, wild, living things. Red like excitement and passion and luck. Red, like all the things they live for, out here on the road.
Red, like the burning cherry on the end of Sanzo’s cigarette. Hot, dangerous, addictive.
He will think back on that season of crimson, recall the endless armies of Demons and assassins. He’ll recall the days spent arguing in the jeep, the nights spent playing Majong. Recall the grand meals and the days they went hungry. Recall the times laughing and racing in the sun together, and the evenings when Sanzo’s dull form was shadowed by drab moonlight as he watches the rain fall.
When winter approaches he’ll think back on this and he’ll ponder on how good it would be to live as a Mayfly, living the best and only days of his life.

India is just as exciting as he’d hope it would be, full of exotic fruits and spices and people, though the June sun is too unyielding for his tastes.
He forges his way across that continent with Sanzo and Hakkai and Gojo, and there is not much to be said that has not been said before.
Except, perhaps that at the end of it all, they won.
When it is all over he turns again to the west, even as the others turn east.
He doesn’t understand. Why? Why must they retrace their steps? Isn’t that wrong? Better surely to carry on. If the world is round then surely they will return to their home that way. Everything goes round in cycles.
‘Foolish monkey,’ sneers Gojo, ‘that’d take us four times as long. You wanna spent the rest of your life tramping about?’
‘Yeah,’ says Goku, and the others look at him in astonishment.
He turns his gaze to Sanzo, does he not understand?
Sanzo meets his eyes, for a moment perhaps he sees something there, understanding, accord, and a spark of something else.
Then; ‘We head back east.’
And just like that Sanzo turns away from him, towards the rising sun. And Goku can do naught else but follow.

The trip home is long and Goku tries to make it longer. Drawing out the last of the season he makes the most of what is left of the trip. It seems, though, that the life of the journey is gone and there are no more assassins or demons to fight.
A sort of lazy peace has settled across the land and though Goku takes some pleasure in this, he misses what went before.
They reach the temple in the month of July, and their passage is marked by a carpet of blossoms the priests have set before them.
Sanzo steps on them unmercifully, ignoring all praise and heading straight for his office.
Goku follows but stops when the door is slammed in his face. He is hurt, but Hakkai puts a comforting hand upon his shoulder.
‘Don’t worry, Goku,’ he says softly, ‘Sanzo probably just wants some time on his own. He’s spent a long time in our company after all.’
Goku nods and tries to look up-beat.
‘We should be going too,’ says Gojo, ‘who knows what kind of mess our place is gonna be in. Jeeze, it’s probably been robbed and cleaned out already, if it ain’t been burned down.’
‘Now, now Gojo,’ chuckles Hakkai, ‘it’s not like you to be such a pessimist. But we should be off. Goodbye Goku, see you soon.’
‘Goodbye,’ says Goku, feeling that there should be something more to this. Something more flashy and dramatic to this ending. Though it’s not an ending, they don’t live that far away really and they’ll still visit. But it seems like the end of the journey has crept up on them and he wonders, as he watches them leave, what is to follow?
He stands there a moment, pondering. Then remembers that Sanzo’s hermit-like ways have never stopped him before, and so carelessly pushes the office door open.
Sanzo sits at his desk writing, not even casting an eye up at the monkey as he enters.
‘Sanzo…’ says Goku.
‘Shut up,’ replies the priest automatically.
‘Sanzo,’ Goku says again, ‘what should we do now?’
There’s a pause, a moment’s hesitation unusual from Sanzo, before he replies, ‘How the hell should I know?’

It amuses him, now, to steal the first of August’s fruits from the temple gardens and bait priests. It seems the only combat he can partake in.
Sanzo still does some small mission of course, and sometimes he goes out with Hakkai and Gojo on little excursions but none are ever so exiting.
So he steals apples and laughs when Sanzo scolds him. He’s always waiting for Sanzo to announce another trip to the north, or south, or east. Another god-given quest of some sort. Though he knows that such things only happen once a life-time, that his hopes are in vain.
Even when he suggested it to Sanzo the priest had snarled, ‘Like hell would I do that. I finally settle down were there’s enough smokes and food and you want me to go on another damn quest? As if my sandals could take any more of the road! I was stupid enough to go on the last one.’
This last part hurts Goku, and he knew that Sanzo recognised this for, though he did not resend it (he never resends anything, nor regrets. Sanzo seems to know no other way than forward), he never spoke it again.
So they remained at the temple, Hakkai and Gojo visiting so often, the hum of life passing them by like sleepy bees.
So he baits the priests and steals apples, so he runs across the meadows and climbs the tall trees.
And when the leaves begin to fall he does his best to ignore them, or else pretend they are cherry blossoms.

The rains of September keep Sanzo inside and irritable.
He rarely leaves the temple now, dishing out missions to other priests or to Hakkai and Gojo. But they do not as often accept these missions now. Gojo in particular calls off, saying he is too tired, or has other business. Once Goku overheard Sanzo and Hakkai arguing and though he could not make out the details, (an acolyte found him and chased him off,) he understood it had something to do with Gojo. Something about him being unfit for such tasks.
Which was odd, because he’s pretty sure Gojo was in good health. Sure, he didn’t go out as much either, but he went out more than Sanzo and he still laughed and flirted, drank and smoked.
Smoking was something Sanzo was trying to give up.
Or rather it was something the acolytes of the temple were trying to make Sanzo give up.
Of course, as Sanzo’s best friend (though he’d deny it) and faithful ally, Goku does all he can to aid his priestly companion.
This includes stealing confiscated cigarettes and hiding them in places Sanzo is sure to find, but the acolytes will never think to look.
Such places include, in this case, Sanzo’s morning cup of coffee.
Goku watches with a pleased grin on his face as Sanzo grimly fishes out the soggy cigarettes from his coffee, to the shock of a watching acolyte.
‘What is this?’ he growls.
‘Your morning cigarette and coffee, Sanzo,’ says Goku happily.
‘What the hell are you trying to do to me Monkey?’ snarls Sanzo, throwing the cup at Goku, who dodges it and hears it smash against the wall behind him, ‘drive me absolutely fucking insane! It’s not enough my subordinates are trying to take away everything that keeps me going! But that you should join in! Die!’
He draws out his gun and shoots, causing the acolyte to duck for cover and Goku to madly dodge, avoiding the bullets as best he can.
Only four rounds in and Sanzo has stopped. The gun falls from his hands as he gasps, clutching his mouth falling into a coughing fit.
Goku has seen such things before, even on the road to the west. But recently they’ve become more frequent, and the cowering acolyte abandons his shelter to give aid to his struggling master.
‘Sanzo?’ asks Goku, nervously.
‘Be quiet!’ commands the Acolyte, who is trying to get Sanzo to sit down, ‘Haven’t you caused enough damage? Master Sanzo is far too old for such tom-foolery. He needs us to help him maintain his health, not to encourage him with his bad habits!’
Sanzo tries to say something then, but his protests are stopperd by his incessant coughing.
‘But I’m only trying to help!’ snapped back Goku, ‘Sanzo’s always smoked and shot and sworn! It’s who he is!’
‘He’s on old man! And your tricks will lead him to an early grave!’
‘Old man? Sanzo isn’t old.’
‘Of course I am, stupid,’ said Sanzo, his voice raspy from coughing, ‘don’t tell me you’ve not noticed.’
Goku blinked.
‘But… Sanzo… you can’t be old.’
‘Of course I can! I’m old and I am probably dying. So kindly leave me my cigarettes and let me live as I want!’
‘But sir-‘ begins the acolyte, even as his voice is drowned out by Goku’s protests.
‘Dying! You can’t be dying! You can’t be old!’
‘Of course I can. Do you think I was immortal or something?’
Goku looks at Sanzo and said, quite softy. ‘No but… but… I am.’
And Sanzo turned to Goku, and Goku gazed at Sanzo. He saw the crinkles of his eyes, the dullness of his hair. The faint shake of his hands and the lines, deep and long, around his scowling mouth. He had never quite seen those before and it seems, just then, as if he was looking at the face of a stranger.
With a little gasp, a widening of the eye, and a single step back… Goku turns and fled.
Out the office he ran, out of the temple, out across the gardens, out, out away from mortality, out into the dying wood.

There is no time in the wild. Not day nor week nor month nor season it seems. There are but cycles and the meaning of those, the impending doom of the emptying hourglass, is swiftly lost.
So Goku spends his time, dancing through flower petals or scattered leaves, sitting under the blistering sun, or freezing snow.
The animals keep him company, and when they grow boring he visits near-by villages and towns.
Sometimes he is lonely, or fears to be alone. But it is different to his cave. He knows that he can return to civilisation any time and that the others will (will!) be there for him. He has not been gone long, after all. Not long.
One year, when the cycle of cold is starting, (October, though he does not know it), he meets Hakkai.
He spies him in the morning, wandering through the trees, the leaves falling and dancing around him. Goku calls out and races forward, pleased to see the smile of joy crossing Hakkai’s face.
‘Goku!’ he says, ‘Where have you been!’
He is the same as ever, with nut-brown hair and hidden green eyes, so that Goku does not hesitate in replying. ‘Sorry Hakkai! I was just having so much fun! Hay, there’s some really great fruit a little way away, sweet and juicy, d’ya want some?’
Hakkai looks at him, concerned, ‘It’s been ten years.’
Goku’s face falls, and he considers, ‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘I lost track of the time’
A soft hand is upon his shoulder, ‘You haven’t changed,’ his friend says fondly.
‘Neither have you!’ is the reply. ‘How’s Gojo?’
‘Good, good though… still drinking and smoking and womanising though having less success. He’s getting older, his hair’s thinning it. You should see it, Goku! Remember how he used to call Sanzo baldy? It seems the shoe’s on the other foot now.’
Goku looks down, his eyes caught upon the earth. Hakkai’s forced merriment flitters away like some aged, broken butterfly, uncaught. Unwanted. ‘Why… I thought…?’
‘He’s only half demon, Goku. Not like you and me.’
‘But then he’ll… what’ll you do when… after?’
Hakkai shrugs, ‘I don’t know,’ he says cheerily and Goku wishes he could wipe away that empty, hollow, rotten grin. ‘Sanzo is still at the temple,’ Hakkai adds, ‘the same as ever… more or less.’
‘That’s good,’ says Goku. It is one of the rare examples where he does not say all that is on his mind.
‘He misses you, though he’ll never admit it. You should visit him.’
Goku shrugs, he still does not meet Hakkai’s gaze. There’s too much death there.
So Hakkai turns instead to the forest. They stand in silence together for a while, until at last Hakkai speaks.
‘The world is beautiful at this time of year,’ he lifts his hand and plucks a dying leaf from one of the trees, admiring it’s colours, green, golden, red and brown. ‘Though it is the end of the year I think… I think that if I were to turn my head away now I would regret not seeing its passing. For every season has a time, and their beauty remains in memory.’
Goku raises his head, and solemnly watches the vibrant leaves tumble around them.

Goku returns to the temple not long after. It is November and the first frosts have come.
Sanzo’s hair is moonlit silver now, his face a tapestry of lines and emotions. He carries a stick, to aid him in walking and beating the unwary acolyte… or anyone else for that matter. He smokes only five times daily and his hand shakes when holding a pen or gun. He prefers hot sake to hot milk, and he occasionally forgets where he is, or what he is doing. He often coughs into a cotton handkerchief and is scolded if he goes out without wearing a warm cloak. His eyes have not changed though and they glare and Goku unmercifully as he returns.
‘About time,’ Sanzo snaps, ‘where have you been anyway?’
‘Outside,’ says Goku. ‘Sorry Sanzo.’
‘Bah! Come on in, stupid Monkey.’
Goku smiles and obeys. They sit together in the study and they do not speak much, nor quarrel. It is a good silence, a comfortable silence where sound is not needed because thought fills the air so heavily.
In this silence they sit and watch the solemn beauty of the years first snows descending upon the land.

The year is almost at an end, December has arrived.
Goku is in Sanzo’s room. Winter has taken its toll on Sanzo, he cannot leave his bed and so they watch the wintry scene outside.
It is bright in the temple gardens, and the cherry trees are wreathed with snow. The sky is a pale grey, the clouds allowing the snow to continue falling whilst the sun shines so brightly that the entire scene seems to glow.
Sanzo’s shaking hands work quietly upon a piece of orange paper. Folding, refolding, turning patiently until an orange origami plane lies upon his lap.
‘Open the window,’ he commands croakily.
‘But Sanzo,’ Goku starts to protest, ‘it’s cold!’
Sanzo’s glare swashes the Monkey’s arguments, and he reluctantly does as he’s told, wincing as the freezing air enters the room.
‘Watch, Goku,’ says Sanzo, lifting the delicate plane with the tremulous fingers that once held a gun so steady.
He flings it out of the window, out into the snow and it sails across the steel sky, dancing through the snowflakes, a picture of perfect simplicity; golden-orange against grey against white… bright and perfect and so transient.
Goku wonders if he has ever seen anything so perfect in his life.
‘It’s flying Sanzo!’ he cries joyfully, ‘flying across a cloudy sky! It’s flying!’ He turns to Sanzo and sees a sight to match perfection.
‘Yes,’ says Sanzo, his eyes lost in the flight of his creation, ‘it is.’ He smiles, and in that smile, pure and simple, is a light which turns his hair gold again. So warm and bright and beautiful is it that Goku turns away, tears stinging his eyes, as if he has looked straight into the sun.
The plane continues its flight a little longer, playful amongst the snowflakes and the wind. Until an errant gust catches it and it falls, flutters down, landing delicately in the deep drifts of snow.
Goku turns back to Sanzo, about to say some hollow, silly thing.
Sanzo’s eyes are closed, his perfect smile is gone and in its place peace rests, his serenity not even disturbed by the rise and fall of breathing.
After a moment Goku gets up and pads outside, across the snow to where the simple paper plane lies.
He picks it up, cradles it in his arms, taking comfort in its existence, and stands alone in the white waste.
Just last year (it seemed…) a golden boy came to his side.
Now he is dead, and Goku holds his dreams in his hands.
He opens his mouth to say something, but the words catch on his tongue.
He is afraid that the snow will swallow them up, that upon speaking he will not hear a sound, not even his own voice.
So he remains silent, at one with the bight paper and brilliant snow, awaiting the spring.