Chapter Text
Wukong tried not to regret associating with those possessing mortality. It wasn't that their company was terrible or mortality automatically granted you a curse that caused your existence to be troublesome, that applied to everyone. But it was the fact of their mortality, in and of itself. Before he met them he was never the type to cry over someone dying, or at least he thought he wasn't, it's been so long that he can't remember if that was something he thought. He should have kept that journal. But when it came time for the first one of his friends to go he proved himself wrong.
He had screamed and cried and cursed and punched and mourned in a way that he wasn't aware he was capable of. He hadn't expected it, a part of him has assumed that his master would remain with him forever. He thought that he had all of the time in the world until he didn't. He should've spent more time with him, made more memories with him, been around him but he wasn't. Maybe if he had Tang could've lived a little longer. It would be nice to be able to say that he hadn't made the same mistake with Wujing or Bajie. But he froze and no matter how much he beat himself up over it he couldn't bring himself to be around them that much. The wounds were just too fresh. The last real-time he had spent with them both was at his master's funeral when the monk was lowered into the ground and the people who knew him exchanged stories and burned incense around his grave. It had been some time since the brothers had seen each other since the journey, but it wasn't awkward they were too distracted grieving to even think of that.
Wukong had showed up right before the beginning of the service and stayed near the back of the crowd not wanting to cause a scene at his master's funeral, he'd done enough of that when he was still alive. However, his secluded place in the crowd didn't stop him from getting the usual looks of terror and he was starting to think a few of the monks were actually going to start throwing hands until an ancient-looking man started walking over to him. The man was bald with a white beard that stretched down to his knees, his back was hunched making the already frail, bare-bones man who looked like he was going to get blown away by a gust of wind any minute now look even smaller. The abbot, Wukong assumed he was, waved a dismissive hand towards the crowd causing them to hesitantly turn away. "You're Tang's disciple correct?" Wukong's eyes widened slightly in surprise; he wasn't expecting anyone to recognize him. "He wrote about you and the other disciples in the letter for the funeral preparations:: he'd been sick for a while." Sick. So it was an illness that finally did him in. Wukong found that fact ironic; his master had survived getting some new disease every other month out in the wilderness but had been beaten when he was surrounded by attentive servants and doctors.
The monk beckoned for Wukong to follow after him before leading him to the front of the crowd where he found his brothers. Wuneng looked over at him and gave him a grunt of acknowledgment before turning back around to stare at the picture of their master that had been placed front and center. Wujing was much more affectionate with his greetings, hugging his elder brother before exchanging greeting words with him. Wukong could never really recall what he said to him, after the abbot walked to the front of the crowd to begin the services he blanked. One moment they were standing in the graveyard and the next thing he knew they were sitting around tables and telling stories, and he sat not sure how he got there. Wujing put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if he was okay, and Wukong just stared at him and nodded. Wujing hesitantly took his hand off his shoulder, not quite believing him but not quite wanting to dig into the wound just yet. He could recollect more of the rest of the night after that, it was a blur of sharing stories, tears, and laughter. He may have told a few stories himself, his mouth moving on its own, but maybe he didn't. After they'd shared stories till the sun rose and people started heading out Wukong got up and followed suit. He was about to pull out his cloud and head back to Flower Fruit mountain or just drift aimlessly until he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It was Wuneng this time "Are you okay, Wukong?" He didn't call him elder brother. "I noticed that you seemed a bit off in there." Wukong stared at him for a moment.
Bajie and he had never really had the best relationship; they started off on the wrong foot at the beginning of their journey and only started to make amends towards the very end. Either way Wukong should've felt moved by this. Wukong stared at him blankly for another moment before saying "Me? I'm fine, don't worry about it. Just grieving is all." Neither of them really believed that.
It was fine right? Master Tang was a human but his brother's were powerful demons for Buddha's sake, they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.
Wujing died a few years later.
He was buried and that was the end of that. That was the end of Wujing.
Bajie insisted otherwise. Wukong had noticed, in his visits to Wujing's grave, that Bajie had made a ritual out of burning incense, saying a prayer, and pouring a cup of his favorite drink. Wukong hadn't said anything to him the first couple of times he saw it while visiting.
"Never thought I'd see you praying of your own free will." It was the first he'd said to him in months. Bajie didn't respond to him until he finished the prayer.
"I didn't think I would either." The before the journey was left unsaid but it was like it had left his mouth anyways. "I've seen you around here from time to time." Bajie continued. Wukong hummed in response. "I haven't seen you at all outside of that."
Wukong paused. "Yeah and? It wasn't like we were seeing each other much before."
"You know that's not the point."
"Then what is the point, Bajie?" Wukong snapped, causing Wuneng to jump and Wukong's fists to curl.
"Because everytime I come here Wujing's still dead."
Bajie went silent for a moment.
"I know and we can't change that, but still I'd like to spend more time with the people I care about before we join him."
The Monkey King rubbed a hand down his face, and with his eyes burning and nose running he asked Wuneng. "Why? So that we can cry over each other when we die? So I have to stick out the rest of eternity mourning because all of my friends are dead?" Bajie reached a hand out for Wukong only for him to slap it away. "No! I don't want to do that! I don't want - I don't want..." Getting ccut off by his own sobs The Monkey King wailed into the night as Bajie held him.
Wukong did end up spending more time with Bajie after that. Whether it was burning incense before graves, drinking together, or visiting places they seemed to frequent each others sides. After a while Wukong felt like he was more in the present, more there, he smiled more too and started teasing Bajie again. He'd even dragged him out to some parties which they were almost always kicked out of for "The excessive amount of goats they let loose" There was definitely an improvement in the Kings help which all his monkeys were glad to see. One of the monkeys named Fig was especially glad to see this and often brought peaches to Bajie whenever he visited as a way of thanks. She was one of the oldest monkeys there and had seen him through for most of his life and had therefore formed more of an attachment to him than the others.
Wukong and Bejie had grown especially attached to her and had just returned to Flower Fruit mountain to celebrate her 900th birthday when a monkey shyly walked up to wukong and asked to speak with him in private. They walked a good distance away from Bajie before the monkey whispered something to him.
Fig had been murdered. It wasn't some in-kingdom scandal that involved monkeys murdering each other. Some random god who had a beef with Wukong had killed her in his anger before fleeing the mountain. She had just been out picking some fruit for Bajie's next visit.
BAjie and Wukong mourned her together. Wukong was in charge of planning her funeral while Bajie was silent for a few months. He tried to help him in the way he did for him but nothing seemed to work, Bajie needed time. So Wukong gave it to him.
A few months later he learned that Bajie had passed away. He hit walls, banged up rocks, and destroyed trees. Of course Bajie died the moment he was stupid enough to leave him alone. Of course he hadn't been smart enough to realize that leaving his friend alone would only lead to his demise. He just ccouldn't seem to be able to keep the people he loved alive.