Chapter Text
Crack.
Macaque hears more than feels the swing of the staff through his face. His entire body is likely sore from the wild beating he just received. Macaque's voice was ruined from either pleaded for his life or the kick Wukong delivered to his throat, his fists bloodied from fighting, he knows he has multiple broken bones somewhere. Still, he feels the unshed tears in his now ruined eye slip out from under the weight of the staff more than he feels the searing pain. Only for another second does he focus on the tear, mingling with the blood on his face and stinging the new wound on his eye, before everything goes hazy and he slowly leans back. Wukong roughly, painfully, pulls the staff away with a hostile snort, bright red eyes never leaving Macaque’s broken form, watching him lay back dazedly on the ground. The wind howls in distress, but for once he can’t hear, the ringing in his ears is too loud.
He’s tired.
He just spent so much time searching for Wukong. His Wukong, his sweet peaches. He missed his friend, his other half, his partner, the unaware owner of Macaque’s heart. Yes, he tricked the stupid, stupid monk, but it was all to get his Wukong back, to get this damn monk to let Wukong go without dragging heaven back into it. He was left alone for so long. He heard of his beloved finally being released by the heavens, only to fall into the claws of some stupid fucking monk. Of course he would go this far for Wukong, it was nothing new. This monk was just another adversary in their way, he thought. So what if he deceived and hurt some monk disguised as Wukong, he just wanted him to get fed up and release him, Macaque did what he thought he needed to protect his other half.
But with the way Wukong reacted to Macaque’s little rescue, he would wager he probably fucked up when he pushed Wukong to his limit like this. He should have listened when his sister told him he was being reckless.
He’s just tired. He’s tired of having given and given and given- He fought for Wukong, waited for Wukong, traveled long and far for Wukong, and begged for Wukong. Begged for him to come back, to stay with him, begged him to listen, and just begged him to ‘please stop, Peaches’. So much good all that effort did him. He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s tired, he’s tired. If he wasn’t so tired, maybe he would still get up and fight. But again as previously established, he was tired. In another world, maybe he would have enough energy to get up and keep fighting Wukong, but in this universe he’s aware that if he agitated those red eyes any further, he would get another very final swing to the head, sending him on his way to Diyu. He doesn’t feel like risking that, he just wants to lay down.
He can feel the faint thudding of footsteps approaching and pausing for a moment, before he feels the thudding of two footsteps slowly disappearing. Even through his nearly unconscious state, he can practically feel the pity the monk had exuded, lingering heavily in the air and sifting through his matted fur. The monk can keep his damn pity, he didn’t want it. He didn’t need anything from someone who took his first love away from him so damn easily.
He wonders if Wukong would ever have gone this far for him. Probably not.
The wind is screeching, billowing in an unnatural and ever familiar pattern, he thinks, but he can’t tell. He’s too busy falling asleep, unbothered by the sudden weightless feeling underneath him. Gentle, elegant hands- capable of just as bloodshed and violence as he was- begin to delicately card through the bloody fur on his cheek, fingers shaking. Comforting strong arms wrap around his crumpled beaten form, and Macaque finally drifts into unconsciousness, whisked away in a violent gust of wind.
___
He’s surprised he wakes up again. He’s surprised he wakes up at all. He quietly slips into awareness, eyes- eye, singular- opening with blurry vision. No matter how much he tries to force his other eye open, he doesn’t feel like his damaged eyelids will obey his command. It takes him a second before he abstractly realizes his damaged eye won't open because of a medical patch placed securely on his eye.
Both sleep and his wounded state have him disoriented. Vision still swimming, he doesn’t know what time it is, where he is or how he’s even alive. Fuck. How is he alive?? He remains still as his vision adjusts more and his brain catches up with the past events. The fact that he had almost died, the shock coming from this realization freezes him completely still and forces the breath to hold in his lungs. He had nearly died. Dear Gods.
He suddenly has a new appreciation for the breath in his lungs and the blood pulsing steadily in his veins. He’s gone through hell these last few centuries, and now he’s so grateful that he’s alive, here at the end of it all.
His ears twitch at the familiar sound of chittering shadows, snarking at him surely, for putting himself in such a foolish position. He can’t help but silently agree with them; he was truly a love blind idiot.
He’s laying in a dark mahogany bed, covered in the smoothest violet silk. He feels his muscles still- sore and incredibly bruised- sink further into the mattress, thinking to himself for a moment, that the nest back at his old home was so much better. He snaps himself out of that thought immediately, agitation at his own weakness ripping through him making him sit up in the bed fully. He grunts at himself as best as he can with a dry throat, angry for having such weak thoughts after such a humiliating and very life threatening reality check.
He looks around, and notes the deep purple decor along stone walls and floors, accented by burning gold lighting the chambers. The Bull family Fortress. He exhales a deep sigh, he’s safe then. He moves to get off the bed when his six powerful ears pick up the sound of Princess Iron Fan moving nearly without a sound through the halls.
His sister, his amazing, wonderful sister. He suspects that the winds had called for her in his time of need. He takes a moment to mutter his appreciation to the wind.
She doesn’t knock as she enters, knowing that with Macaque she would never need to. His door will always be open to her, literally and metaphorically.
“You shouldn’t move so much. You need to lay back and allow yourself to heal.”
She speaks confidently, but her appearance is anything but. Her hair is frizzy and unstyled, and she looks as though she’s wearing very minimal makeup, only dressed in her silk sleeping garments. One may think looking at her like this that she simply just woke up. Macaque knew better though. The two siblings had always been especially loyal at heart, so he knows that her posture is crooked with worry, her eyes red and puffy from the fear of possibly losing family. Macaque would look the exact same if the roles were reversed. He feels as touched as he feels guilty.
“Sorry,” is all he can get out through chapped lips. She hands him a glass of water, which he drinks from greedily. “Little sips, please. Don’t choke. How are you feeling, little brother?” She asks, her voice a soft murmur that he hears perfectly. She comes to sit at the bed beside him, long legs dressed in sheer silk crossing elegantly. He hands the half empty glass back to her, and she holds it in her lap, all her attention on him.
It’s such a simple act- all she did was calmly come in with water, and patiently ask how he was feeling, and yet it felt like the world to him. He was broken into tiny, sharp, fine little pieces not long ago, and here she was, willing to pick up his pieces, proving to him she would always be there for him, always support him, and love him when he needed her. He felt the burning tears in his eyes and one wet sniffle was all it took for her to scoop him into her embrace. It was the most comforting hug of his life. She had his head gently cradled in her hands, one behind his ear and the other on the crown of his gauze wrapped head soothingly scratching at his fur below the wrap, and she slowly presses his wet face into her chest.
He should feel bad for the tears falling onto her collar bone, staining the expensive silk draped on her shoulders, but he just needs this, he needs her. By the way she holds him carefully and so desperately, as if he might break or might fall through her palms like sand all at once, he knows she needs him too.
When she speaks next, her voice wavers through the lump in her throat she tries to hold back, her inhale wet with the few tears she sheds for him in return.
“Please stay this time. No more monkey business. Come stay with your family, be with us.”
She pauses while he nuzzles further into her collar bone. She holds him with a firm grip as she continues speaking.
“Demon Bull King has already expressed that he would like for you to stay. You are important to us. We would do anything to keep you safe, Mihou. Please say you’ll stay now.”
He would cry harder, but the tears are drying up and Iron Fan has been so patient with him so far, so he does his best to stop the tears so he can speak.
“I’m staying, Tieshan. I swear, I’m never going to leave you like that again. I’m so sorry.”
“You should be,” she says, hand raking down through the fur on the back of his head, resting now on his neck.
“Gods, I’m so happy you’re alive.” Her voice is watery again, hands clutching him tighter, more desperate in her search for comfort. He pulls his arms around her torso, hugging her back just as tightly. He hadn't meant to scare her like this.
“I’m ok. I’m ok. I’m so sorry.”
They hug each other in silence, minus Macaque's soft purring. He watches his shadows climb at the walls out of the corner of his, hoping to grab his attention, scolding whispers he doesn’t bother trying to listen to right now. He can hear the wind faraway, brushing the fortress in a distraught yet calm manner, relieved that he's alive.
Moments, minutes, maybe hours pass by, the two holding each other, tears having since slowed to a stop.
Big, heavy footsteps sound through the hall, he doesn’t need six ears to be able to hear the footfalls of the powerful Demon Bull King.
He shimmies his large form through the doorway and comes to stand awkwardly next to the two embracing siblings in the room, fingers fiddling subtly with his tail. The king looks like he wants to speak but is hesitant to interrupt such a tender moment. His awkwardness right now would make Macaque laugh if he wasn’t feeling so vulnerable at the moment. Iron Fan is the first to pull away, Macaque watching the way she effortlessly pulls her composure together again. Within a few moments she looked as if she was hardly crying at all red face cleared and not a single tear track to be seen.
“My queen,” Demon Bull King's eyes brimming with affection at her and some mild excitement when he looks at Macaque, “Have you told him the news yet?”
Macaque tilts his head, “News? Did something happen?”
Princess Iron Fan smiles serenely, like she’s going to unveil some enormous surprise, and Macaque’s interest increases tenfold as she stands, hands caressing her belly and–
Wait…
Wait.
Wait a damn minute.
Macaque was doing his best not to jump to conclusions, mind racing a mile a minute, but he found it so hard not to when she smiles like she’s going to say what he thinks she is, what he hopes she’s going to say and-!
“My dear Mihou… You are soon going to be an uncle.”
The words barely make it past her lips before he’s up like a shot, wounded eye and head be damned, grappling both of these massive destructive demons in an excited hug because holy shit he’s going to be an uncle!
The momentum from the leap he takes swings them all around once, twice, the breeze brushing by in a giddy attempt to be included in such a joyous moment, “You’re having a baby!!” Macaque breathlessly laughs in astonishment, his feet touching the floor once again, and while Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan aren’t as astonished for obvious reasons, they still join him in his delight.
___
A century passes, Macaque still happily living in secret, for his protection, with his family in the Bull family Fortress.
He had finally met his nephew, a sweet, soon to be menacing little fire demon named Red Son. Macaque held him after his birth, the baby who had just met his mother and father now meeting his uncle at last. Macaque held back tears looking at this sweet precious bundle, with soft skin and even softer little calf ears, and big doe eyes looking up curiously at Macaque. He’s so amazed by the little life in front of him, that he almost doesn’t notice the tiny, uncoordinated baby hand reaching out to pat him on the nose with all the force of a feather. He broke his gaze from this little miracle to look up at his family- his sister and brother in law, with stoic yet proud and such affectionate expressions on their faces, and nothing in the world could take this moment away from him.
Not when they inevitably discover the dangerous flame dancing through his little body.
Not even when the mother and father decide to set out to extract the age old fire and seal it away, no.
This moment is a treasure, an unbreakable, unstealable treasure, a treasure he greedily burns into his memory, and he gives a loving smile to the little calf in his hands despite the inextinguishable flames threatening him from beneath the infant's chest.
___
Red Son grows up to be a wonderful demon. He commands all the same respect and confidence much like his own parents, a being that is just as proud as the family that raised him.
Now to be fair, Macaque himself didn’t do much of the raising, only assisting Red Son's parents when he was asked. Macaque is aware that they’re trying to raise a prince, which certainly calls for discipline, whereas he knows he would likely ruin that princely attitude in the making if Macaque called any shots in Red Son’s parenting. Plus, it’s work to raise a child, and if he can avoid doing unnecessary work, then he gladly will. His sister and brother in law have things under control anyway. He stuck more to being the best uncle figure he could be for Red Son. Macaque was an extra shoulder for the prince to lean on, and a partner in crime when he so needed it, much to the parent’s irritation. Macaque enjoyed the intelligent mind of the little 100 year old demon, so full of determination and potential.
It feels like only yesterday he constructed his first gadget, a clever device that temporarily tricks victims into believing they are someone they are not. Red Son used that gadget to cause the servants grief, making them believe they are the Demon Bull King or that they are grand magicians, or characters from plays that Macaque reads to Red Son, and Macaque could appreciate the mischief it would cause at the royal couples’ annoyance. They were tired of having to deal with squeaky voiced demon servants impersonating the king himself, both royals rolling their eyes at the somewhat common occurrence and telling Red Son it was unbefitting behavior of a prince, while Macaque would clap Red Son on his little shoulder and tell him just how proud his uncle was.
They do grow up so fast.
Macaque had allowed himself to grow complacent in their lovely little family, growing so used to being the playful devious uncle to a proud nephew, a brother to a graceful yet deadly sister, and a brother in law to a strong commanding king. He allowed himself to believe this slice of heaven was his, just his, that it was untaintable, that he could protect it. He was wrong.
The family was broken when the Demon Bull King was locked away. It reminded all three of them that while this was their own slice of heaven, they were not as untouchable as they felt. His old wounds were ripped wide open, but he suppressed them to the best of his ability. His family was a wreck, he couldn't afford to waste time feeling sorry for himself when they needed him. Not when they were so broken. He watched his sisters’ pride wilt, just enough that it hurt him to see her in such a way, rarely bothering with her appearance. Princess Iron Fan was only slightly more irritable, snapping at servants asking redundant questions and sometimes even at Macaque. She was quick to apologize, but he felt that she didn’t have to. He understood how it felt to lose like this, lashing out was completely understandable. Red Son was so distraught with his father being locked away he didn’t leave his room for a year. He stopped creating and tinkering for two more years. Macaque missed the sounds of the genius tinkering away.
He wished he could bring himself to hate Wukong even more than he did for this, but he couldn’t. Because really, it wasn’t his fault they got too cocky. Macaque knew better. Even heaven wasn’t untouchable, as he of all people knew.
Despite the loss he felt, Macaque was there to support his sister and nephew. He would bring them both meals, smaller meals if they seemed to struggle to eat, would regularly bring water, would close their blinds and curl up with both of them under many warm covers until they fell into a restful sleep, and occasionally provided distractions when they seemed open to it. He listened to them when they reached out to him, and Macaque would cry with them when they cried. He did his best to make sure they were cared for in as many ways as you could count and tried hard to keep them together in the king's absence.
And 50 years passed and while they were no means perfect, or back to normal, they were able to function once again. Princess Iron Fan saw to ruling the kingdom with as formidable a hand as she once had, not letting any enemy take any more chances with their family. Red Son swore vengeance on the Monkey King, and while Macaque was wary of the revenge the demon sought for a king that could bring the heavens, and himself, to death’s door, this new purpose led to Red Son devising plans and creating again with renewed vigor. Macaque didn’t have the heart to stop him, just glad to have his nephew creating again.
As for himself, he didn’t hold himself with any new purpose besides brutally and violently crushing all and any that threatened his sister and nephew. He focused more on finding ways to distract himself from the cutting painful edges of old memories and pain, directing his energy towards ensuring his family would be safe and unchallenged at all times. He would whisper to the winds and the shadows, asking them to report anything unusual back to him the minute they found a possible cause for concern. Princess Iron Fan would always tell him how unnecessary it is that he spends all the extra energy on lookout when she says she has it under control, but Macaque knows you can never be too safe. For many many years the winds and shadows only reported minor things, things Iron Fan has certainly already taken care of and posed no threat, or things she decided to let him handle, for his enjoyment. She was ruling her husbands’ kingdom quite well, and Macaque would gladly tell her so.
250 years later however, and the wind bursts through the windows frantically. Macaque was on the chaise lounge in the room that his sister had gifted him long ago, reading a- frankly, awful, he’s not sure why he’s so invested- play script, when the windows burst open and the winds send him on high alert with how frazzled they seem. He jumps to his feet, his shitty play being tattered and ripped in the unforgiving current of the wind.
“What?? Where's the fire, what’s going on?”
‘Follow, follow, you must follow,’ The shadows cry. Macaque is running after the shadows with the winds at his heels, no further convincing needed. He darts through the dark halls, asks the wind to mind the torch fires please, he needs to see, and nearly crashes into Princess Iron Fan in his mad dash.
“Mihou- What-”
He tries his best not to sound as frantic as the wind felt when he says, “Shadows, wind, hurry, follow me-”
And just like himself, Iron Fan is kicking off her high heels and sprinting through the air without needing to be further convinced. They both had much reason to trust the winds, which never steered either of them wrong.
The siblings dart through the fortress halls, out the main hall, and are soon hurrying out into the kingdom. The shadows led Macaque and Princess Iron Fan, at last, to an area just shy of the kingdom’s borders. They ignore the beaming of the sun, the heat on their skin and the sands grazing their skin, instead taking in the sight before them. They both stare in shock, catching their breath, at the gurgling bundle wrapped in cloth in a basket at their feet. Princess Iron Fan snorts haughtily, clearly unamused.
“This? Winds, are you serious? It's merely an infant. This was clearly a waste of time.”
While she angles her shoulders and crosses her arms with an air of disinterest, Macaque stays rooted, but is just as miffed as his sister, rolling his eyes.
“What the hell? What, was the baby gonna burp us to death? Suffocate us in drool?”
“Oh please, this thing is too small to even think about murder, I mean look, it looks like it could barely hurt a fly. Really Macaque, you didn’t think to ask what was oh so important before dragging my perfect self away from my duties,” She turned to snap at him, hands now on her hips sassily.
Macaque immediately rises to her sass, clutching his red scarf in offense, “Excuse me? I didn’t think to ask because clearly I didn’t think it would lead us to a goddamn baby, of all fucking things, you don’t get to blame me for this when you followed me, so get off your high horse, your ass is not perfect so you can-”
“My ass, NOT perfect? MY HIGH HORSE?? My high horse is well deserved, you obnoxious cretin of a little brother, I have felled entire kingdoms with this ass alone-”
“Puh-lease, the only thing your ass can fall on is–”
Their bickering is interrupted by the baby wailing, loud and shrill. The child, assuming it’s a human child, looked to be no older than a few months, cries out a piercing echoey sound, and while they didn’t know why it sounded like that, they knew enough about babies to know that wasn’t normal baby behavior. His ears hurt. Maybe the wind had reason to be concerned after all.
“Um… What..?” Macaque looked to the puddle of shadows swirling impatiently on the ground.
‘Baby. Protect.’
Macaque was immediately backtracking, holding his hands up defensively, Princess Iron Fan looking to him for some kind of explanation, “Okay wait, hold on- are you asking us to take this thing in? Because we don’t know if we can just take the damn thing,”
Princess Iron Fan chimed in her support, now gathering the situation, “And we don’t know how Red Son would take the development, we hardly have time for a child right now.”
“Exactly, so instead of us ‘protecting’, why don’t we just find the par-”
He’s interrupted by shadows hissing, dangling shadowed limbs over the baby as a happy distraction, ‘No. Keep baby. You keep baby.’ And Macaque begrudgingly accepted his fate when the baby had the audacity to look at him and coo at his shadows. His right fist on his hip, he lets out an exasperated sigh, lifting his head towards the sky and dragging his left hand down his face, letting it fall against his thigh with as much attitude as he can muster, before tilting his head slightly to send his sister a look™.
“...Brother.”
Macaque, holding eye contact with her, takes a step forward, resignation to his fate seeping into his soul and reluctant determination forcing its way onto his face.
“You’re not serious,” She bargains.
He quirks his eyebrows at her, stone faced, sending a look so serious that she would know that he’s serious, because unfortunately, he is serious. He doesn’t feel like arguing with his shadows over this, knowing it would be a lost cause. Plus, it’s a defenseless, abandoned baby.
He steps forward, still looking at her, and slowly bends down bit by bit towards the handle of the cradle.
“Mihou, think before you act for once, please-”
His hand inched closer to the handle.
“A baby is a lot of work, think about all the responsibilities, think of all the incessant crying, brother, you don't have to do this-”
The hand grows even closer to the handle.
“Brother I swear to you, you will smell like baby shit and vomit for months, years even-”
Almost grabbing the handle now, he can feel it brush against his fingers.
“Goddammit you fool, Liu Er, so HELP ME, DON’T YOU DARE–”
She didn't get to finish her angered bargaining, Macaque had already snatched the baby basket.
“UGH, you insufferable baboon. Fine. I will have no part in the parenting of this creature.”
Macaque grumbles shortly at the ancient winds and shadows both of which felt all too smug, twirling together in their victory, his shadows echoes voicing ‘Fate, yes, fate,’ deliberately ignored. “Fate” his (perfect) ass. He marches with confident strides past his disappointed sister, despite not actually feeling confident in this decision, and pretends he’s even more confident when he replies, “That’s fine. I can do this,” Even though he really doesn’t know if he can do this. He doesn’t know the first thing about babies. Whose baby even was this? His now, finders keepers.
The baby doesn’t cry once all the way back to the fortress. His ears remain unharmed, so far. It boosts his confidence in his decision a little. Maybe this won’t be that bad.