InuYasha Fan Fiction / Crossover With Non-anime Series Fan Fiction ❯ Endless Sleep ❯ Miroku ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: The characters of Inuyasha and The Sandman belong to Rumiko Takahashi and Neil Gaiman, respectively. I'm not profiting from writing this.

Author's Note: This is an Inuyasha crossover with Neil Gaiman's Sandman series (mostly crossed with the story from the book The Dream Hunters).

Endless Sleep

 

By Starzki

 

-x-

 

Events have completely shaken me. I know I will not be able to convey what has happened to anyone's satisfaction, especially not my own.

 

How it happened is largely unimportant. Just details. I had made an enemy a long time ago, in my philandering days.

 

An enemy with a long memory.

 

An enemy with a friend who was owed a rather large boon from someone quite powerful.

 

However, the only detail truly important to me is that this enemy waited until just this week to exact his revenge.

 

My desire for a son was well known, so this man decided that taking him from us was the best way to get back at me. His friend collected on the favor and our innocent son, barely old enough to walk, fell asleep one night and did not wake up. He slept on and on and no one could wake him.

 

The only reason we even knew about his plan is because he came to our house to brag. He had caught Hatchi and forced him to confess my whereabouts. He had carried out his plan. He came, dragging Hatchi, to gloat.

 

Angry though I was, I could not blame Hatchi much. This old enemy was as ruthless a man as I had ever known.

 

“Your son will die after three days of sleep,” we were promised. He noticed the blade in Sango's hand only a second before it was at his neck and only smirked more broadly. “If anything happens to me, the little girls will be next.”

 

Sango seethed as the man strode away. “If our son dies, he dies, too.” She spit out every word, deadlier than a viper. She gathered the girls and left to seek counsel and comfort from our friends.

 

It was bad luck that this man had discovered Hatchi and had found me. But, as is the way of the universe, a small piece of good luck followed the bad and saved Sango and me from complete despair.

 

Hatchi stayed with me and my son, apologizing and prostrating himself to me. I had my own guilty conscience to deal with. But as Hatchi tried to calm my raging, he made a chance comment about an old fairy tale he had heard.

 

“Your son's sleeping sickness reminds me of the tale of the King of All Night's Dreaming...”

 

Sango, comforted by Kagome and Shippou, suddenly remembered our traveling days and a story that Shippou had related around the fire about a distant relative of his.

 

“Shippou,” she said, “tell me again the story about the white fox and the monk.”

 

We heard the tales. We remembered the myths.

 

Sango and I sought each other out, revelation alight in our eyes. We discussed it for the rest of the day as we returned home to care for our children, both the sleeping and those who were awake.

 

Sango talked about how the mightiest demon hunters in her village discussed legends of ancestors who had gone to sleep to catch Baku, the mythical beasts who ate dreams and nightmares. It was said that if a warrior caught one, they would have power within another person's dreaming, which would be a fearsome weapon, indeed. However, there were no tales of anyone in Sango's village who had ever managed to catch the beast with an elephant's head and tiger claws, let alone enter another's dreams.

 

“May the Baku eat this living nightmare, once it has passed, too,” she whispered.

 

I spoke of Mushin's drunken description of how he once dreamed that was called to the grand palace of the King of All Night's Dreaming. He was called in order to properly serve sake to the King and his guest, Susano-o-no-Mikoto, the storm god himself. As he told the story, Mushin had wiped tears from his eyes and roared his frustration at his inability to remember their conversation. He had, however, managed to palm a cherry pit from a plate as he cleared it away. He had awoken from this dream with the pit in his hand.

 

Years later, I won that cherry pit from him in a wager. If memory serves me, it was probably the only bet I have ever won fairly.

 

I pulled it from the inner lining of my robe, where I have kept it ever since, and gave it to Sango. “This is yours now. It seems an ordinary enough thing, and Mushin may have lied to me about the dream, but I have always sensed a kind of power, however small, coming from it.”

 

Though unconventional, the stories and myths were what we had to comfort ourselves that there was something we could do to save the life of our son. We would have to try.

 

After the girls fell asleep and we again made sure our son was comfortable, I laid with Sango and held her close. I stroked her hair. Her worried eyes searched for comfort in mine. We talked. We planned.

 

“Tomorrow, I will take the children to Kagome and Inuyasha.”

 

“Tomorrow I will fast and cleanse and purify myself. I will prepare for meditation.”

 

“Kagome's baby is not due for at least three more months and will be happy to help how she can.”

 

“If I can meditate deeply enough, I can help guide you through Dreaming.”

 

“The girls will be good, I know. And because he is sleeping...” Sango choked on his name, but continued, “He will also cause them no trouble.”

 

“I will anchor you so you do not get lost.”

 

“I will sleep. Then dream. Then fight.”

 

“I will be awake, but dream with you and you and you will seek the King of Dreams.”

 

“We will save our son.”

 

“We will save our son.”

 

That night, we did not sleep.

 

TO BE CONTINUED...