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Tripitaka is gone when Monkey gets back to camp.
His stomach lurches. Seven hells, where was she? He’d only been gone an hour. Pigsy and Sandy had both yelled at him until he turned around and came straight back, narrowly avoiding a concussion from some ignorant villager in the process.
Maybe Tripitaka went to relieve herself in the trees? Except her bags are gone and he can see her footsteps, weaving unsteadily away from the campsite.
He follows them up to the road, calling her name, and finally spots a small patch of blue in the distance.
“Seven hells,” he hisses under his breath and runs to catch up “Tripitaka, hey Tripitaka!”
He knows she can hear him; he can see her shoulders hunch. But she doesn’t stop or turn around, just keeps walking.
“I’m sorry, alright,” he says, slowing to a walk once he’s close. “I know I yelled before –”
“Leave me alone, Monkey.” Guilt stabs at him at her choked-up voice. He really put his foot in it this time.
“I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” She doesn’t stop so he tries another tact: “Where are you going? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Look, just come back to the campsite for the night, and if you still want to go tomorrow morning, I’ll take you to a city or something.” And hopefully by then, she’ll have accepted his apology and not want to leave anymore.
“I don’t need your pity,” she snaps.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Just leave me alone!” She sucks in a gasping sob. “I’m doing what you want, I’m going, stop telling me how to do it!”
“What are you talking about?” Monkey stops, staring in perplexed amazement at her back. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Just stop it! I can get home by myself just fine! I’ve climbed the mountain a thousand times!”
“Mountain?” He jogs to catch up, stepping in front of her so that he can see her face properly. “Tripitaka, where do you think we are?”
“I –” She pauses. “Here. We’re here.”
“Specifically where’s here?”
He can see her casting around for an answer. “… the tavern?” She says like she’s guessing.
Part of Monkey relaxes, relieved that this is a situation he is equipped to deal with.
“You’re still blitzed, aren’t you.”
“No,” she says stubbornly. “I can handle my beer.”
“We weren’t even drinking beer. Back to the campsite.” He tries to turn her around, but she digs her heels in and shoves back at him, which is a bit like being attacked by a very small, angry kitten.
“Let go! I’m going home!”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He gives up on making her walk, bends down and hauls her over one shoulder. She squawks angrily as he starts back toward the campsite.
“Put me down!”
“Once we’re back at camp.”
She pounds ineffectively on his side. “I want to go home!”
“I told you. We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
She goes quiet, and that’s all the warning he has before she’s suddenly sick all down his back.
Getting them cleaned up is simpler than you’d think. Monkey strips off his armour and just hauls Tripitaka into the river with him. It’s cold and horrible, and he has to keep a good grip on her to keep her from floating off and drowning, but at least they don’t smell like vomit anymore.
Tripitaka ends up crying messily on his shoulder, which is just awkward during a half-naked midnight swim. Especially since she’s so blitzed he’s pretty sure she’s not going to remember anything come the morning.
He hauls her out when she starts shivering and dumps her on the grass to dry off while he builds the fire back up.
“Okay, so–” He looks up just in time to catch an eyeful as she strips off the last of her wet clothes. He hastily looks away. “Warn me next time.”
“I’m cold.”
He snatches up the blanket from Sandy’s bedroll and tosses it at her without looking. “Here’s a blanket, put it around you.”
She manages to do that without help, sitting down by the fire, and staring into the fire with the dull, distant expression of someone far beyond thinking.
He dares to think she’s sobering up until she starts crying again about having to leave, and he has to go over and assure her that no, no, he wants her to stay, of course he wants her to stay.
“Even if I’m a demon?” She sniffles.
“Yes, even if you’re a demon,” Monkey assures her patiently for the fourth or fifth time. “Because if you’re a demon, you’re doing a terrible job. The worst ever.”
She laughs, then cries for a bit longer, and finally – mercifully – passes out. He tucks another blanket over her and leans back against the tree to keep watch.
He only manages interrupted naps. Every time Tripitaka turns over her sleep, he bolts awake, certain she’s about to wander off again. She doesn’t wake though, and by the time the sun is peeking over the horizon, he dares to hope the worst has passed. He lies down on the bedroll next to hers and lets himself drift off.
He wakes up what feels like only a short time later but must be hours with her shaking him.
“Monkey, where are my clothes?”
“Hmm?” He lifts his head muzzily. “What?”
“My clothes. Where are my clothes?”
“Down by the river.”
“Why are they by the river?”
All these questions are annoying. “You threw up on me, we went for a swim. Go back to sleep.”
He closes his eyes, and the next time he opens them, the fire is going and there’s a pot of tea brewing. Tripitaka is sitting next to it, wearing a too-big tunic and pants that Monkey takes a moment to recognise as his spare set.
“Why are you wearing my clothes?” He asks, sitting up and checking to make sure he has pants on.
“My clothes are wet and I can’t find my bag for my spares.” Tripitaka pokes at the fire, adding pleasantly: “If you hid it to stop me leaving, I’m going to be very angry.”
“I didn’t. I wish I had though. That’s a really clever plan.”
“Hmm.” She keeps poking the fire.
“Are you alright?” He asks after a minute.
“My head is killing me. And I had these really weird dream about me being a demon. Except I know it wasn’t a dream.” She’s very pale when she finally looks at him properly. “Monkey, how is this even possible? How can I be a demon?”
“Same as anyone, I guess.” He yawns. He’s feeling better about this whole demon thing, now he’s had some time to sleep on it. “You were born that way. No way to really tell without knowing your bloodline, but it does pop up randomly sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Might as well ask why some people have red hair and some people have brown.”
Tripitaka is silent for a while. Then: “What happens now?”
“We’ll need to find some place to stay.” Monkey starts hunting through his bag for his comb. “Get off the road for a while. Somewhere without people.” He looks up to see Tripitaka looking at him in blank incomprehension.
“Why?”
“For your – oh.” It finally registers that Tripitaka doesn’t know what to expect. That no one in this day and age knows what to expect. The demons had been thorough in their destruction of information, all the better to keep the human populace confused and docile.
He comes over and sits beside her. She gives him a wary look and he has a sudden flashback to sitting beside the Master as they had this very same talk.
“So the thing is.” He stops, trying to remember how the Master had put it. “So the thing is, right now you’re like a flower. You’re closed, waiting for the sun, and when the sun rises you’re going to open–”
The look on her face gets odder and odder as he goes on. “Are you talking about sex?”
“No!” Maybe he’d mixed up the talks. “This is a thing that happens to gods and demons. You get to a certain age and your powers awaken.”
She looks frightened. “What age?”
He stalls. “For gods, about ten or twelve. I don’t really know for demons.”
“Maybe I’m not a demon though. Maybe this is all a giant coincidence.”
Monkey doubts it, but decides not to argue. “Maybe we can ask Pigsy when he gets back. He’s hung out with demons. He might know.”
Hopefully he does, because the last thing Monkey wants to do is have to chase down some random demon and shake the facts of life out of them…
Tripitaka ducks her head, rubbing her eyes. “Do you think they will mind?”
“Of course not. You know what Pigsy’s like.”
“And Sandy?”
Monkey hesitates. “She might need a little time to get used to it, but she’ll come round.”
“Right.” Tripitaka picks listlessly at a loose thread.
Monkey tries to think what could cheer her up. “Would you like to go for another swim? Or I could make you some tea. Or if you want some time alone –”
“Do you mind?”
“Sure, I can go for a walk.”
“No, I mean about all this. Do you mind that I might be a demon.”
Monkey, never good with words at the best of times, fumbles for an answer. “Well. I – I mean, that is I– it’s not really –”
He sees the hope fading out of Tripitaka’s expression. She’s shrinking in on herself, and Monkey does the only thing he can think of to salvage the situation. She squeaks as he pulls her into a hug, and he recalls too late that he doesn’t have a shirt on, but pushing her away now would probably send the wrong message.
“I don't know, it could be fun,” he says into her hair. “You’re going to get powers. You might not be so useless in a fight anymore.”
“Monkey.”
“Okay, only mostly useless…”
She wriggles and he opens his arms, assuming she wants out. Instead she turns to embrace him properly, burying her face against his shoulder.
They stay like that for a very long time.
Eventually, Tripitaka says softly: “What if everything changes?”
They’re lying down, looking up at the trees. Monkey doesn’t really know how to answer her question, because he wonders that as well.
Even if her coming awakening doesn’t change her allegiances or goals, what else might change? The relationship between humans and gods is a very different one to that between demons and gods. This might be the beginning of the end; the closest they are and ever will be.
“Then we’ll work it out,” he says firmly. “You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”
She doesn’t argue. He’s not even sure she hears him, watching the sky with a distant expression.
But her hand is still holding his, and neither of them have let go yet.