Chapter Text
The light flashes so blindingly golden he nearly turns away, but he cannot, for inside that lays his treasure.
When the light fades he rushes towards the center of the platform with every ounce of strength he can muster. No less than everything would be acceptable. Nothing can be spared for the purpose of reaching that center and catching his treasure as it falls to the ground.
He does, through some heaven blessed mercy, and his treasure coos softly at him and reaches out towards his face as he bumps his forehead against his.
Behind him lays an object carrying a piece of one of the greatest, most terrifying forces to ever manifest on Earth or Heaven. A moment ago he was part of a group that, essentially, saved every realm in existence from fiery doom.
None of that matters, not a whit of it, because his child was giggling obliviously in his arms, his face stained by a bit of sot but otherwise utterly untouched. His treasure was in his arms, safe and happy. All else fell quietly by the way in comparison to that.
Well, almost quietly. Behind him he could hear Wukong wildly cheering at their success, putting his hand over the Pig’s shoulder despite the latter’s protests. He looks over his shoulder, sees the monkey king grin with all of his teeth, and every hair on his body stand up straight.
Of course he was cheering, why wouldn’t he? He won, hadn’t he? Despite his efforts to the contrary the True Fire was contained and the day was saved, once more, by Sun Wukong. And yet on his son’s face were a few black marks, he brushes them aside easily even as the child fusses from the attention, but a part of him knows that they could have gone deeper.
And in Demon Bull King’s mind a thought swirls like a tempest cloud, black and lightning infested. He thinks back to that moment, that split second that stretched out for him to something like a century, where one moment of ill placed jest nearly cost him his entire universe in more than one sense.
He grits his teeth. Snorts as he bunches up his shoulders. He tries to blow away the thought from his mind but it only swirls larger and darker and louder.
His brother, his sworn brother. His brother with whom he shared drinks and food and joy, his brother with whom he fought heaven with a bellow and a laugh. His brother. His brother. His brother.
His Brother who laughed, who joked, who jabbed and played and pranked, who never took anything seriously.
He turned around at the sound of footsteps drawing near to him. It’s Wukong, of course, with his hand in the air and his mouth still stretched out in that toothful grin, the monk’s group behind him still chatting away in mild relief. He’s laughing, airily. He carries his son’s small (so small so small) form with one arm while another hung limply at his side as the monkey approached.
Wukong slaps his limp arm, still grinning always grinning, “wow! Brother! That was a close one, wasn’t it?” He laughs breathlessly and wipes sweat from his brow, as if just finishing a harsh harvest. “Any closer and we really would have gotten burned eh?”
He slaps his arm again with a bellowing laugh, but this time it is not limp, because every single bone and muscle in Demon Bull King’s body has gone rigid and locked in place. His free hand balls into a fist so tight it nearly draws blood.
He’s joking. The thought storms in his head, and he’s so utterly frozen in outrage he can’t spare the strength to even try and blow it away. He’s joking after my son nearly died.
And then, another thought, quiet as a mouse, drills a hole straight through to his stomach and set it alight.
He’s joking like before. He joked. My brother joked. He joked while my son burned.
“…Brother?” Wukong’s words finally penetrate the iron heavy cloud of fury that blocked his ears, he’s confused, worried, the nerve of him. “…yeah, yeah I know my jokes are bad but-“
He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because Bull King’s fist flies into his nose so hard that blood flies out and knocks him back a couple feet.
Whatever conversation the monk was having with his three other guardians stops dead, the platform is silent. Even the Prince dares not comment.
Wukong looks more surprised than actually hurt, shock written across every feature.
Bull remembers the first time he saw Wukong, bellowing loudly and proudly in his giant form. Bull remembers telling himself that it would be best to ally himself with this loud monkey. Any fight he’d have with him would not be worth the trouble.
Now? Now the only thing keeping him from tearing the monkey limb from limb was that he needed both hands for it, and he was still holding his son.
“Brother!” Wukong shouts, having the nerve to be angered, if only slightly, “what was that for!?”
The very concept that he actually needs to explain himself is so galling it makes Bull sick to his stomach. “You are not my brother.” He says the words firmly, resolutely, they burn his tongue as they run across it for all the venom he covers them with, but he doesn’t care, “never speak to me, or go near my family ever again.”
Wukong balks, “what? DBK! C’mon what is this-“ He stops as his eyes land on Red Son, and he sighs heavily, holding up his hands in surrender, “okay, yeah, I get it.” He then smiles again and Bull King wonders if he’s always been this damn stupid. “But-it was a joke! You know how I am! I was just trying to-“
“My family is not something you can damn well JOKE ABOUT WUKONG!” Bull King bellows so loudly and so furiously his voice nearly gives out, “if you wish to make a mockery of your own family, feel free, joke about their safety and make a game out of their lives all you like,” his snorts again, his face twisting in a snarl, “but don’t you dare think to be how you are with MY family!” He stomps towards Wukong, his hoof cracking the stone under him, “or there will be CONSEQUENCES!”
Wukong can only blink at him at a loss for words, he looks between Red Son and the Bull King, his smile finally wiped from his face.
Bull prepares a breath to continue his tirade, but Red Son fusses in his arms, and suddenly whatever else he had to say was inconsequential. Wukong heard him.
Still, as he turns away from his-from the Monkey King with a quick and dismissive snort, he adds one final decree. “You will never speak to me or my family ever again.” This time his words are cold and quiet, so sharp they nearly cut apart his mouth as they leave it, but again he does not care.
He spares but a moment to pick up his piece of the Fire, not willing to shirk his duties no matter his anger, and then begins the long and quiet walk home.
Behind him is Wukong, who can faintly smell a hint of ashes in the air, and isn’t sure why.
_-_
As he walks the mountain paths towards his home, the roaring inferno in his head had cooled down to an ember lit pyre. But still, however weakly, it burned. His thoughts move between the look on Wukong’s face, so shocked and dismayed, and thoughts of his son, so small and burning, and every swing of that pendulum adds fuel to that fire before dousing it, again and again.
His brother had committed the ultimate betrayal, mocking the sanctity of his family, making light of his son’s life…but a brother he was. Was. No longer. And the more Bull’s mind lingered on that past tense the more he could feel the weight of his words settling on his own shoulders.
Just as that weight began to feel unbearable, he caught sight of his castle’s gates, looming large in the horizon. He quickens his pace, leaning down to cradle his child, who had fallen asleep a while back, “we will be home soon,” he vows into his child’s tiny tuft of flame red hair. “Your mother will want to see you.”
His son mumbles happily in his sleep, not caring for whatever his father had to say.
Bull had to begrudgingly admit, it was good to see him take after his mother so soon.
“Who goes-my lord!” He hears the shout from atop the battlements, one of his many soldiers having spotted him long before he reached the gates. He snorted, he would need to double their training if it took them that long to distinguish their lord from a stranger. “Open the gate! The lord has returned! The lord has returned!”
Slowly, grindingly, the heavy iron gate pulls aside for him, and on the other side he could see his soldiers standing at attention to flank him on both sides as he entered the courtyard.
And in the center stood the one figure who could calm his raging heart. She stood tall and regal as ever, but even from this distance he could see her fidgeting in worry. He hurries his steps as much as he could without waking the boy, and soon they are together again.
“Husband.” She greets, respectful and calm, but her voice trembles in key places, and he wishes for nothing more than to gather her in his arms to assure her. But that is best saved for when they aren’t surrounded by over 5 dozen possible voyeurs. “Was…was your mission a success?”
He kneels to her, a gesture he offers to nearly no one, and hands her their child, who was slowly beginning to stir from his slumber, as if sensing his mother near.
He opens his eyes with a yawn, and reaches towards the majestic and powerful Princess Iron Fan with a barely intelligible babble of “mama.”
She melts as ice in a furnace, rushing towards her son and all but snatching him from her husband. She holds him close, clings to him tightly and sways with him regardless of all the soldiers watching her. Bull King sends a modest glare at each line of his troops to make sure none of them think to be stupid enough to interrupt her.
“You came back to me.” He hears her whisper as she presses her forehead to her son’s, “didn’t you? Yes, yes you did.” Her voice wavers again, nearly wet, “you did, you came back to me.” She looks up at Bull King, her make up lightly smudged and beginning to run down her face as she smiles an unparalleled smile, “you brought him back to me.”
“There does not exist a world where I do not.” He states, his voice iron and his words law. He raises from his kneel and puts a gentle hand on her back, leading her towards the nearby door to the castle proper, “come, my princess, I’ve had a long day,” he laughs lightly despite himself, “all us, I think, have earned some respite.”
He walks all the way to the door, putting his free hand on it before turning around, seeing his soldiers still at attention. He lets out a mildly impressed snort, it was good to be home.
“As you were.”
They scattered like mice, and Demon Bull King turns his full attention to the only two people in the universe who matter. He closes the door behind them as they enter the castle, and begins walking beside his wife toward the bedroom.
Iron Fan’s attention is devoted entirely to their son, mumbling and humming nonsense to him and rocking him back and forth to attempt and get him back to sleep. The boy seems determined to stay awake and play with his mother, however, and keeps giggling and pulling at her long, ebony hair.
If literally anyone else had tried touching her like that, they would be a stain on the floor before they could finish their next thought. But Iron Fan merely laughs as he goes at it, merely pushing his little hands away as gently as she could.
This image brings some peace to his heart, dousing the ember until it is barely a glowing flint, and he tries to push aside his thoughts on Wukong for now.
The distance to their bedroom wasn’t very far from the main entrance, but both of them took their time. Took turns poking their son’s cheeks and marveling at him, at the fact they could still hold him at all.
But soon they reached it, Demon Bull King locking the door behind him as Iron Fan gently placed Red Son in his crib, the boy finally settling down as he was covered and his head hit the pillow.
The couple took another moment to simply…watch. Bull could feel his shoulder tensing as his eyes scanned his son for any sign of fire, for the tiniest hint of heat. Iron Fan was much the same, her spine ramrod straight as she stared intently at their child, though he could not see her expression from where he stood behind her.
Eventually, Iron Fan let out a breath, and undid her hair, letting her ebony locks cascade down her shoulders. She turned around to look at him, “come, husband.” She beckoned him with an outstretched palm as she made for the bed, and he followed her lead without complaint. He reached out for her hand, so much smaller than his, and her grip on him was tight and warm.
Soon she led them to the foot of the bed, sitting down with a weary sigh with him following suit. She looked up at him, her eyes shining in adoration, and reached towards his face. Again, he bent down to her, no thoughts of position or power on his mind except for the power she held over his heart to make him so easily subservient.
Soon her hand cupped his cheek, and soon after his lips met hers. There was no rush, no passion, no heat. Just love, old and comfortable and relived to be able to continue as it had for the past few centuries, and for many centuries more with any luck.
Soon, too soon, the kiss ended, and she pulled away to look at him. She scanned him, her gaze searching, for what he didn’t know, but not long after she found it. Her eyes sharpened as she let out another sigh, “what did he do?”
He blinked at her, still, even after all these years, astonished at how easily she could read him, “what?”
“Wukong, what did he do?” She chuckled exasperatedly at him, the sound fond, “whenever you get that look on your face, it means that thrice damned monkey did something idiotic.” A scoff, sharper than iron, “Again.” She used both of her hands to frame his face, too small to properly accomplish the task but too strong willed not to give it a try, and gave him a harder stare, “so? What did your fool of a brother do this time?”
“He is not my brother.” The words leave him on instinct. Harsh and uncompromising. Iron Fan’s eyes widen in shook. He himself is just as surprised, but the words he spoke came from deep within his heart, and could not be denied. “Not anymore.”
As he spoke, his eyes shifted to Red Son without him noticing, and Iron Fan followed him. She looked between her son’s sleeping form, and her husband’s unwavering glare a few times, before her eyes widened again, this time in outrage.
Her lips closed in a firm line, her bones locking in place, before she once more settled her gaze on Bull, her eyes solid with fury. “What.” She spat the words one at a time, as if exerting control on each of them, and they landed on the ear like nails impaling wood. “Did. He. Do?”
Bulls takes a breath, remembers his brief but explosive clash with Wukong, and explains.
If his own anger with the Monkey King could be described as fiery, then Iron Fan’s is nothing less than volcanic.
She quakes with the restraint she has to employ not to explode in sheer rage, she bites her bottom lip so fiercely it bleeds. “Rotten, rock brained, worthless..!” She takes deep, shuddering breathes to take back some control, fists shaking at her sides, “He is no longer welcome here.” She commands, her words slicing the air as she seethes, “You did well to cut ties with him, husband, the nerve of that puffed up Pi Ma Wen to make a farce of our son’s life!”
He did well. His own wife had said so. And her words are the only ones he holds in equal esteem next to his own. He feels the weight on his shoulders lighten, ever so slightly, as she continues her tirade, pacing back and forth while attempting to be as quiet as possible, as to not wake their son.
Eventually she huffs out what is left of her ire, walking to her mirror so she could remove her makeup, leaving him to watch over their child, still blissfully ignorant of what he had nearly lost, and what he did lose.
He thinks of the monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain, who burst in cheers whenever he came for a rare visit. “Uncle Bull!” they would shout, loudly and proudly. He thinks of Wukong introducing himself to his infant nephew, making faces and odd noises while Iron Fan tutted disapprovingly to the side.
“No more of that.” He muttered to himself, shaking the thought out of his head. He leaned down till his face was level with his son’s. “Your family is here, little one.” He whispered, vowed. “We are with you, and we shall always be.”
He had done well. His choice was right, no one in this realm or any other would dispute it.
His family was here, with him, and nowhere else. No matter how and to where his foolish heart tugged at him.
The fire on the bridge did not start on his edge, he simply saw no reason strong enough to douse it.