InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Sweetest Escape ❯ Proposition ( Chapter 16 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, Rumiko Takahashi does.

Author's Notes: I don't know if I'll be able to sustain the 40+ page chapters that I was doing in chapters 12-14. I mean, I won't make chapters like 8 pages long like I did in the very beginning, but those mega-ones were a bit of a fluke—I kind of got carried away. I hope no one is upset by this. I end a chapter when it just feels complete.

Be aware that there is some violence in this chapter. I just wanted to warn you all, because I know some reviewers have told me that they can't handle that type of stuff. But, I think you'll be happy with what I did with it in the end (at least the first part), so I hope everyone continues to read.

Enjoy…if that's the right word.

Chapter 16: Proposition

He was late. Extremely late. And he hated it when he was late. Lateness meant less time with Kagome, and more time at home. But, it simply couldn't be helped.

“You're acting like you've never done this drill before! Get your sorry ass in there and make my damned dinner!” his father's angry growl resounded through the barren corridors of the house. Inuyasha jumped, dropping the gray polo he was just about slip on, and fumbling to put on a grubby t-shirt instead to finish his father's supper. He sighed wistfully as he plodded down the stairs; sneaking off to Kagome's would have to wait until his father's appetite was fed.

“What the hell were you up there doing, anyway?” the man growled from the adjacent room. He was sprawled out on the couch, tumbler of alcohol in hand, and allowing the television to watch him, as he was a few sips away from passing out.

“Nothing, Sir,” Inuyasha said meekly, as he retrieved the necessary ingredients for a basic meal.

“Damn right, nothing. You're head's full of nothing. And that's all you'll ever be: nothing,” the older demon slurred Inuyasha bristled. Kagome thought quite differently. And that was all that really mattered. `And you're nothing but a stupid old drunk,' Inuyasha spat in his mind. He would make something quick and easy. After all, Kagome was waiting.

Inuyasha put some noodles on to boil, and impatiently waited for the chicken breasts to brown. He dashed some salt over them and flipped them over.

“What the fuck are you trying to do, kill me with salt?” his father's voice boomed, much closer than he anticipated. Drunk and unruly as he was, the demon still managed to sneak up on him, and Inuyasha was always skittish when he was near; he jerked in surprise, his wrist hitting a bottle of seasoning, its contents spilling across the counter, and sprinkling onto the floor.

“Clumsy bastard,” came his father's derisive snort. He yanked a chair from underneath the kitchen table and plopped himself into it, slamming his drink down onto the table's surface pointedly. Inuyasha got the hint, and quickly refilled the tumbler with cranberry juice and vodka. `If I never make it as anything else in life, I could have a very promising career as a bartender,' Inuyasha thought. He wet some paper towel and set to work cleaning up his spill. “Idiot.”

“I'm sorry, Sir,” Inuyasha muttered.

“You waste food, and you expect `sorry' to make it better? Psh! Moron!”

“I'm sorry,” the boy repeated.

“You damn right, you're sorry. Real sorry. Nothing but sorry,” his father emphasized acidly. Silence stretched on as Inuyasha finished cleaning the counter, and moved on to tend to the floor. His mind wasn't there. He was miles away, already thinking about Kagome, her smiles, and all of the wonderful things she would make him feel. He was too preoccupied with thinking about his best friend to notice the pungent odor of burning chicken that tinged the air.

“What are you, fucking retarded? Get the damned food out of the pan, you twit!” his father bellowed, standing and snapping Inuyasha out of this thoughts. He jumped up and rushed to fill a mug with water before dousing the chicken with it, steam arising from the pan in a sweltering cloud.

“Fucking idiot!” the man griped. He swatted his son across the back of the head with a `thump'. Inuyasha shrugged off the small blow. It hadn't hurt, and he'd had much worse.

“I'm sorry, Sir,” he said again. It was his mantra.

“Dumbass, good-for-nothing, empty-headed…”

“It was an accident,” he murmured softly, scraping the burnt chicken from where it stuck quite obstinately to the pan.

“Just like your mother: stupid and worthless. Irresponsible and—”

“Please,” Inuyasha whispered, stressed. He gasped softly, despite himself. `Where did that come from?' he wondered. Talking back? `Am I insane?' His father grabbed his shoulder and roughly turned him around. Inuyasha cringed as the older demon's fingers pinched his already bruised flesh, his claws just barely grazing his skin through his thin t-shirt. The sneer his face wore was terrifyingly twisted, his fangs bared.

“What did you say?” came the slow, deceptively calm query.

“N-n-nothing,” Inuyasha stammered. The hands on his shoulders tightened.

“You said something. `Please.' Please, what, Inuyasha?” he demanded, shocking the boy. He rarely, if ever used his name.

“N-nothing, Sir, I swear—”

“Dammit, Boy, don't fucking lie to me! Please, what? Answer the damned question!” he bellowed, giving Inuyasha a firm shake.

“I just—I only—”

“You only what?”

“Please don't say things like that about Mom!” Inuyasha exclaimed. He clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide as saucers in his surprise. Reminiscent of the eye of a hurricane, silence descended upon the pair; it was only the calm before the storm. Inuyasha didn't know what possessed him to say that to his father. He wasn't sure if he'd been caught up in the moment, and under the duress of his father's intense coercion, he'd blurted out what he'd wanted to say, or if it was the discontent he'd always harbored, now straining to make itself known, courtesy of a certain girl. All he knew was that now he couldn't stop. Removing his hands from his mouth and letting his words take over, he continued.

“It's…it's just that…she really, really loved you! She did, I swear she did! And she was the best, and she would have never said any of those things about you! Never! No matter what, she would have never talked about you like that. And…and…and she's dead, and I think—I think she deserves to be treated with some respect!” His entire body trembled. `Have I been possessed?' he wondered. He figured that had to be the only way he'd ever have the nerve to say anything like that to the enraged demon before him.

“Respect?” the man enunciated slowly. Inuyasha closed his eyes and tensed, bracing himself for the flurry of fists that he was sure were about to crash into his face. “You want to talk about respect, half-breed? Here you are, getting smart with your elder!”

“You…you don't respect m-m-me…” Inuyasha whispered fearfully. He kept his eyes tightly clenched shut and barreled on. “Y-y-you h-hate me, and you t-t-treat me like crap, and…and you're…you're supposed to give respect t-t-to g-get it,” he said hoarsely, tremulously, pulling a quote he'd heard Kagome say once or twice when he would go to her after being hurt.

The loud clap of flesh against flesh bounced off the kitchen's walls as Inuyasha's father sent the flat of his palm across his son's cheek. Inuyasha's head snapped violently to the right, and his hand flew up to press against the corner of his mouth, where a fang had sliced him on impact. He shrunk away from the silently furious man, knowing he'd gone too far, and wishing he could retract everything he'd said.

“Don't you dare try to correct me,” Taishou growled, pointing a firm finger into the boy's face. His other hand kept an unyielding, bruising grip on his shoulder. “I am the parent. You are the child.” A temper he didn't know he had when it came to his father flared violently in Inuyasha, and his eyes widened incredulously, nostrils flaring in his anger.

“You are not a parent!” he cried gutturally. “You just hit me, and you call yourself a parent! You are not a parent! You…you're just…just my father—in name only! You don't love me, you don't like me—just the opposite! Th-there's no way you can say you're a parent. My mom was a parent—she loved me—I don't see why you can't—”

“That's enough!” Taishou yelled, infuriated. He shook the boy, grabbed his collar and slammed him against the refrigerator, shaking the great appliance with the force. “I don't want to hear another word out of you—”

“W-w-why not?” Inuyasha screamed. His hands pushed feebly against his father's bulky wrists. “Is it because it's the t-truth?” He jerked against the iron vice that was his father's grip, strained fruitlessly.

“Shut up!”

Inuyasha wouldn't shut up. Not even when Taishou cuffed him soundly in the mouth. Not when the man smashed his face into the linoleum floor, and he tried to scramble away; not when Taishou retaliated by raking his claws across his back and dragging him backwards by his hair. Not as he was kicked and slapped and used as his father's punching bag. Inuyasha couldn't stop himself; he wouldn't, he couldn't shut up.

“Leave me alone! Stop it!” he cried, attempting to kick against his assailant, yet hitting air.

“Stop it! Shut up!”

His conscious, self-preserving, fearful mind had taken a back seat to this raucous, ballsy, spewing alter-ego. He felt as though he were sitting back and watching while this entirely different person screamed at his father; yelled and balked, and questioned, bringing up every injustice that he'd always wanted to get out, but had been too afraid to breach.

“You remember…you remember your place, half-breed, you hear me?” his father spat; his voice sounded somewhat less vehement than normal. Inuyasha slumped in a boneless heap against the cabinets, his breathing labored, harsh, and shaky. Blood dripped in frothy bubbles from his parted lips, and he glared hatefully at the drunken demon that stood over him, slowly backing away, and grabbing for his drink. “I don't know where you get off—I don't know where you're getting all this from—but you'd better fix it, and stop it, before…before I get really angry. Then…then I'll really punish…you…” he said, somewhat weakly. He took a long gulp of his drink as Inuyasha's other-self stared daggers at his bobbing Adam's apple.

“You…you get your ass up and finish dinner,” the man ordered quietly. He took the vodka bottle from the counter in one hand, his tumbler in the other. He gave the trembling boy, who was coming back into his own mind, a long, strange, look before exiting the kitchen in favor of the living room couch. Inuyasha stood shakily, wincing as the gashes on his back protested as they were stretched. He trembled, feeling as though he were coming through a fog, and the things he'd shouted barraged his mind.

He couldn't believe the things he'd said! He couldn't believe…he'd had the nerve…

Inuyasha gulped and salvaged the parts of the chicken that weren't burnt, cut it into chunks, and made a hasty, simple soup with the over-boiled noodles. He served his father with a tentatively quiet approach, as always. The man watched him silently from the couch, looking at him as if he didn't recognize him. Inuyasha kept his eyes trained on his task, setting the soup onto a TV table in front of the man, and refreshing his drink.

“Is…is there anything else I c-can d-d-do for you?” he murmured. Taishou eyed him warily, leaning away from him and squinting.

“No. Just…get out of here. Get out of my sight,” he groused, digging into the food. Inuyasha ducked out of the room quickly. `You have no idea. I have no problem getting out of here,' he thought.

He swiped a towel over the gashes in his back as best he could, being sure that the bleeding stopped before slipping his polo on, followed by his jeans, and stuffing his feet into his shoes. He ran a comb through his hair and stuffed his bandana into his pocket. He locked the door to his room and pulled the window open, propping one foot up on the window sill. He looked towards the door, grimacing at the man who was not there. If his father bothered to check on him, he'd be in major trouble upon his return; it was quite likely that there would be a repeat of the earlier incident later that night. The bloody towel thrown across the bed might be enough of his scent to convince his father he was still home, and it might not. It all depended. Inuyasha growled to himself.

He cared. He truly did. But he wanted to get out. He needed to get out.

Clambering out of the window, he held onto the small ledge just outside his room, and shut the window as quietly as he cold with one arm. He let himself drop to the ground below, and took off running towards the bus stop.

Kagome swung the door open to see a winded Inuyasha panting on her doorstep.

“Sorry I'm late,” he puffed. She rolled her eyes and backed up to let him in.

“It's fine,” she said aloofly, closing the door and crossing her arms. Inuyasha gave her a knowing look.

“You don't think it's fine,” he accused, pulling at her wrists to uncross her arms. “Come on, I'm really sorry, I swear,” he insisted, giving her wrists a squeeze.

“You could have called,” she balked, taking her arms out of his grip. She wasn't really mad at him. But, well…she couldn't give in that easily, now could she?

“Yeah, I know, but my dad was all over me. It was hard enough getting out of the house,” he said casually with a shrug. He walked into the living room and to the couch, picking the remote up from between the cushions.

“Well, I hope you know that thanks to you, we're going to have to catch the later—” She stopped short as she entered the living room after him. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible clack.

“The later show? How much later is it?” Inuyasha asked, clueless, flicking through channels. Kagome didn't answer. She couldn't answer. Inuyasha turned to face her, muting the television and looking at her curiously. “Hey…what's wrong with you?” he asked. She said nothing. He stepped closer. “Kagome…helloooo? What's wrong with you?” He waved a hand in front of her nose.

She only stared hard at him, her jaw clenched so tightly that he could see the little balls of muscle working in her cheeks.

“Kagome, seriously, what's the dea—” He cut himself off as her wide, suspiciously shiny eyes snapped just to his right, and then back to his own eyes.

He frowned, following the line her gaze had made. He twisted his shirt around so that he could see the back and then stiffened. Glaringly bright against the drab gray of his shit, the gypsy-red blood oozed through the pores in the fabric, staining the fibers and slowly making a trail across his lower back. He dropped the edge of the shirt, and then dropped his gaze, unsure of what to say.

“Inuyasha…” Kagome whispered tremulously. “Inuyasha, lay down.”

“Hey, it's fine. It's fine, Kagome. Just let me borrow a new t-shirt, and we'll be all set to go, okay?” he said quickly.

“Inuyasha, lay down,” she repeated.

“No, it's fine, really. It's alright, it's no big deal, really,” he said brightly. “You don't need to do anything, so let's just—” Kagome's soft hands gripping his wrists firmly stopped his rushed words.

“Inyasha, lay down.” He stiffened, clenched his teeth.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Kagome. No.” He tugged against her grip, but was careful not to wrench himself out of her grasp; the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“Inuyasha—”

“No! I don't want you to see, okay? It's fine! It's no big dea—”

“Inuyasha! I'm not asking you! I'm telling you! Take off your shirt and lay down,” she commanded. Inuyasha opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him to the quick. “Souta, Mom, and Grandpa aren't here. So do it. Now.”

“Kagome…”

“I know you're strong. I know you heal faster than a human does. I know you can take more pain than a human can, and I know…and I know this isn't something you want me to see…but please. Please, let me do this for you, okay? You're not fine. You just aren't. You're hurt. It obviously just happened, and there's no way you're healed yet; just look, you're bleeding. Please. Lay down,” she implored, rubbing her thumb against the underside of his wrists as she spoke.

A frown darkening his face and drawing his brows together, Inuyasha pulled away from her and moved to the couch. He yanked his shirt over his head and purposefully threw it across the room where it landed beside the television. He'd relented to her; he would let her tend his wounds. Something in her voice and face had stirred him—but he didn't have to like it. He was just about to lay down when Kagome stopped him, returning from the bathroom with a first aid kit and towels.

“On the floor please? So I can reach you,” she asked quietly. He gave her a hard look; he didn't know why—he wasn't mad at her. He was just frustrated. Kagome spread a large towel on the carpeted floor beside the couch along with a throw pillow, motioning for him to lie down. Inuyasha settled himself on his stomach on the makeshift pallet, cushioning his head on the small pillow on his crossed arms. He waited, and Kagome soon returned with a large bowl of warm water which she placed above his head.

Clearing her throat, she pushed the heavy curtain of his hair to the side over his left shoulder. She let out a little shocked sound at the sight of his back; four slash marks starting from his left shoulder blade to his right hip, and another set of four stretching in the opposite direction, the eight creating four total jagged X's. Her hands shook. The blood oozed slowly and thickly from the places where the gouges were deepest, the shallower parts near the ends having begun to scab over already.

She dipped a washcloth into the warm water, and with the edge, she cleaned the dried smears of blood that caked on his skin.

“Wh…why did he…how…what did you…” she stammered, unable to finish her question.

“It was my fault,” Inuyasha murmured.

“Inuyasha, you can't really believe that!” Kagome exclaimed, her ministrations stopping for a moment. “You can't—”

“No, it really was. I…I said something I shouldn't have,” he muttered. He fixed his eyes on the smooth skin of Kagome's knees and right thigh, just perfectly in his line of sight.

“What did you say?”

“Well…he said I was irresponsible and stupid, just like my mother…and I told him that she deserved respect.” Kagome paused.

“He hit you because you told him to respect your mom?” she asked.

“No. He hit me because after he told me to respect him, I told him he had to give respect to get it,” Inuyasha snorted. “Then I told him he wasn't a real dad…then he got really pissed.”

“You said that?” Kagome asked softly. She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her mouth; he'd never given her any inkling that he ever stood up to his father. The fact that he'd said these things…he was getting braver.

“Yeah…pretty stupid, huh?”

“No. No, not at all,” she insisted. “I think…I think you were very brave,” she said gently. She ran one hand over the crown of his head, the tip of her middle finger brushing just barely against the base of his left ear, which flicked her way in response. With a soft smile, she ran the nail of her index finger against the back of the intriguing piece of fluff, biting the inside of her cheek at its cuteness when it cocked back against her finger. She rubbed her knuckle against the soft fur for a long while before he turned to look at her, looking embarrassed, and turned away again. Kagome resumed her task with a blush.

“Inuyasha…there's something green in these…” she said, puzzled.

“I know.”

“What is it?”

“Poison…”

“Oh…Kami,” she croaked. Finally, the tears she'd managed to keep at bay found their way down her cheeks and pooled under her chin. She bit her tongue, trying not to cry aloud, knowing how it upset the boy before her. It didn't matter; he sat up quickly, whirling to face her.

“Hey! Hey, what're you doing?” he asked, panicked.

“I'm sorry…” she whispered, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands and sniffling. His face wrinkled in confusion; he didn't know what to do when she cried…

“C-come on…come in, Kagome…don't…don't go and cry…it's alright. Really, it's alright…” he said gently, awkwardly. He reached out an awkwardly patted her thigh, and then allowed his hand to rest there for a moment longer than necessary once he recognized just how soft and smooth the skin actually was to the touch…he yanked his hand back with a blush when he realized he'd lingered.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated. “I just…how…how do you stand it? How do you take that all day, everyday, Inuyasha?” she asked, drying her eyes with the edge of her t-shirt.

“I don't know…I just do…”

“Are you so sure that adoption or a foster home would be so much worse than this? Would it really be so bad?”

“Kagome, not again,” he groaned.

“Yes, again! Inuyasha, this entire thing is ridiculous! He has no right to treat you like he does! At least with an adoptive family you could—”

“At least at home I'm not moving around all the time. I've got some kind of stability,” he argued.

“Inuyasha, getting beaten every day in your own home is not stability. I don't care what you say, that's not stable. Yes, in the foster care system you might move around every once in a while, but at least you have the chance to be safe,” Kagome argued back.

“What if they moved me far away? Huh? Then what?” he said hotly.

“The farther the better! The farther you can get away from that nightmare of a house, the better it will be for you!”

“Not if I get moved far away from you!” he exclaimed. His face heated up and he dropped his head, his thick fringe of bangs hiding his face from her view. “Then I wouldn't have any friends,” he muttered.

Kagome's heart warmed at that, and she gave the top of his head a sad smile. With cautious hands, she touched his chin and cupped his jaw in her palm. She felt a shudder pass through him at that, and brought his head up so that she could look into his eyes. The heat of his blush warmed her hands. He seemed to want to look everywhere but her eyes.

“Have…have you thought about maybe…moving in with a friend?” she asked, her voice almost silent.

“Yeah, right. Like who?”

“Like…me.” There. She'd done it. She'd breached the subject. His wide, astonished golden eyes snapped to hers.

“What?”

“Just…hypothetically…what if you came to live with me? What do you think about that?” Kagome bit her lip. Inuyasha's face fluctuated between utter shock and confusion to absolute sorrow.

“I…I couldn't…” he whispered, shaking his head, still held gently between Kagome's soft, cool palms.

“Why not?”

“I could never do that…I could never do that to you and your family, Kagome.”

“What do you mean? What would you be doing to us?

“Everything…everything would be horrible for you…”

“What do you mean by that, Inuyasha? What would be so horrible for us? I don't understand—”

“How do you think my mother died, Kagome?” he blurted. She frowned, a cold feeling of trepidation and wariness seeping into her stomach. He sighed, leaning into her hand. “She died because of me…Because she kept me…”

“Mom, the storm's getting worse,” Inuyasha said, standing at the foot of his mother's mahogany bed frame, blocking her view of the television.

“Yeah, I know,” Izayoi responded. She patted the spot on the plush, queen-sized bed next to her. Inuyasha frowned.

“Mom…I'm a big now…” he complained.

“If you're so big and bad, why are you in here complaining about the storm, hm?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Inuyasha bit his lip and looked out of her window; through the gauzy curtains he could see the knotty branches of the oak tree bending violently in the gale-force winds, the tips scratching ominously against the glass. Lightning illuminated the darkened room for a split second, casting the tree branches' shadows onto the carpet, followed by the cacophonous sound of thunder.

“Is nine too old to tuck down in bed with dear old mom?” she teased him. Inuyasha considered this. He could go back to his own room, where his window gave him an all-too-perfect view of the trees thrashing back and forth and the torrential rain showering the street, and the lightning flashing…or he could stay safe and warm in his mother's soft embrace and watch TV.

Choosing the latter, Inuyasha kicked off his Power Ranger house slippers and clambered across the vast bed to hunker down under thick, downy comforters next to his mother, snuggling securely into her side.

“You're not old,” he told her, his voice muffled from where he'd tucked his face into the softness of her stomach. He inhaled deeply, soothed by the easy, warm scent she had. She chuckled a bit, his head bouncing from the movement of her stomach as she laughed.

“Well, thank you very much, Sweetheart,” she said lightly. “Come up here,” she grunted, pulling him up against the pillows, her hands under his arms. Inuyasha giggled as she poked him, finding a ticklish spot of his, and gave his ears a gentle rub. “My, my aren't you getting heavy.”

“It's all muscle!” he proclaimed proudly, pulling back the sleeve of his pajamas and flexing his arm. “I'm a man!”

“Not yet you aren't!” she laughed.

“Yeah, I am!” he insisted, flexing the tiny arm again for emphasis.

“Well, if you are, you're a very, very small man. You're even small for a nine-year old, so what do you say we get some height on you first, hm?”

“Okay,” he said, a mock-pout on his face. Izayoi laughed at his antics and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears, and pulled his small body close to hers. “What're you watching?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” she said with a yawn. “I'm kind of letting the TV watch me. I was halfway asleep.” Inuyasha gave her a sly smile and slipped the remote out of her hands.

“Let's watch something good, then,” he said, flicking through the channels.

“Okay. You pick, I don't care,” she told him softly, sleep almost claiming her again. She laid her cheek against the top of her son's head, the soft, white strands of his hair tickling her neck and nose. She smiled, shaking her head as he settled on a rerun of a cartoon show that even she'd seen ten times, so she knew he had to have seen it at least twenty. With the small child who'd become her entire world in her arms, and the warm blanket shielding them both from the chill of the night, Izayoi allowed sleep to claim her quite completely.

A loud, insistent banging on the front door downstairs woke her with a start, and she and Inuyasha jumped. He turned in her arms to look at her.

“Mommy?” he whispered.

“I don't know, Honey,” she answered his unspoken question. She heard shouting. Inuyasha gasped softly, his ears flattening, having picked up what she couldn't.

“They're saying bad words, Mommy,” he murmured, his small hands clutching the folds of her pajama top. Izayoi paled as the banging became louder, more insistent, more adamant. She got a very, very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Bile rose to the back of her throat, and she struggled to keep her dinner.

“Inuyasha, Sweetie, get in the closet,” she instructed him swiftly. His golden eyes widened in alarm.

“What? Why?” he asked, panicked.

“Just do what I say, Sweetheart, and get in the closet,” she said firmly. She pushed him out of the warmth of the blankets and ushered him quickly into the small closet, settling him in between the material of her dresses and coats. “Stay here, Baby, okay?” He nodded, terrified. They both jumped again at the distinct sound of splintering wood reached them.

“Mommy!” he whimpered.

“Just stay here, Inuyasha, okay? Stay here, my baby,” she repeated, voice trembling. She grabbedhim roughly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I'll come for you.” Then she shut the door, enshrouding the boy in darkness. The sound of his harsh breathing filled the small space, muted and flat. He could hear his heart beating way faster than it should have been.

He could hear the thundering of footsteps pounding up the stairs, getting closer and closer. Where had his mother gone? He couldn't hear her footsteps, even as he strained. A small whimper tore from his throat as the door to his mother's bedroom crashed open, and the angry voices of men became clearer.

“Leave this place!” he heard his mother yell. He cringed. He'd never heard her sound like that: so angry and commanding.

“Where is the half-breed?” a deep voice demanded to know.

“There is no half-breed here. There's only me and my son in this house,” Izayoi said firmly. “Leave.”

“No, no, no, Ms. Chikamatsu, I don't think we can accommodate that request,” came another voice, low and slick. “You've got to give up the boy.”

“You have no right to come into my home and demand my son—”

“And you have no right to expose our children to that filth,” came yet a third voice. Inuyasha struggled to keep quiet, clasping his hands over his mouth. They were talking about him, there was no doubt about it.

“My son has the right to go to school wherever I may choose to send him! He has the right to an education! You have no right to tell me that he doesn't! You are not the authority, here—”

“And from the looks of it, my Dear,” said the second, slick voice, “neither are you.”

Inuyasha heard a `click' sound. There was no mistaking what that was. He was only nine, but he certainly knew the sound of a gun when he heard it, though he'd been unaware that his mother kept one. The firing of it was unmistakable, as was the cry of agony from a wounded person. He just prayed, just prayed that his mother was the one holding the weapon—

“You stupid, bitch!” the first voice raged. “She fucking shot me! She shot me!”

“Who knew she had a fucking gun?

“All of you freeze, or I'll shoot the rest of you. Fatally,” Izayoi said coldly. Inuyasha held his breath, and time seemed to stand still.

“My side…my side!” the wounded man groaned. He was ignored as the tense standoff dragged.

Inuyasha couldn't tell what happened next. He couldn't follow all of the voices and noises as they melded together in a confusing jumble of piercing scrapes, dull thuds, hollow crashes, screams and bellows. His eyes stung so badly that his head began to ache. The tears welled in his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks in big, fat drops. `Please be okay, Mommy…Please, please be okay, Mommy,' he repeated in his mind like a mantra.

Suddenly, the sounds stopped. There was complete silence for twenty three seconds, and then he heard a shuffling that grew quieter and quieter. Inuyasha waited, petrified, in the closet for another two minutes before he cautiously pushed the door open.

The surreal, macabre sight that greeted him when he opened the door forced him to vomit straightaway, adding to the barrage of smells that assaulted his delicate nose. Feathers from his mother's pillows dotted the air, lazily spiraling towards the floor. Some stuck to the comforter, some fell to his mother's desk and onto the television, where his cartoon was still playing, the jingle music providing a morbid juxtaposed background to the gore around him. And some of the wayward feathers fell into the puddles of blood that dotted the carpet, staining the ivory color of it.

Inuyasha knew the scent of blood. He knew the scent of his own, of a few of his classmates, and especially of his mother's. He'd gotten quite well-acquainted with the unpleasant, metallic scent when she'd accidentally sliced her finger while cooking. Then, she'd bled for only a little while, shedding only a few drops. He'd still been afraid.

That compared nothing to the overwhelming, crippling fear he felt now, as he stepped around the foot of the bed, to find his mother's broken body sprawled out in front of her nightstand. He screamed, recoiled, fell back onto his bottom and scuffled away, his tears coming in full force now.

She shuffled a bit, groaned, and her hand twitched. Inuyasha, choking back his fear and another round of bile that threatened to spill forth, crawled towards the mortally wounded woman, his stomach roiling at the smell of blood that covered her, leaving him no hint of her true scent. His pinky finger brushed something, and it clinked, rolling against its twin. They were pointy, hollow tubes of some sort, still warm. Gun shells…her blood hadn't been the only blood spilled. The scents and these shells told him that much.

“In…u…ya…” her feeble, dying voice called him. She strained to reach for her baby. Inuyasha crawled closer to her face, breathing through his mouth in short pants. Sobs overtook him, wracking his small frame as he came upon her swollen face.

“M-ma…Mommy…” he choked. He was afraid to touch her; what if he made things worse? “I…you…a doctor! Mommy, y-y-you need a d-d-doctor,” he stammered. He started to rise, started to run for a phone. Her weak protest ceased his movements.

“N-no…” she managed to say. She shook her head, and her busted lips turned up into a weak smile. “I…” She couldn't finish. Her right hand shakily came up to rest against her bosom, right over her heart, before she pointed a trembling finger at the child who leaned over her, his tears falling onto her chest through the V-neck on her night shirt. They collected in the hollow of her throat. “Love you,” she whispered. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Mommy! Please—” He pressed a small hand against her forehead.

He could tell the exact moment that she was no longer with him, for her last smile faded, and her eyes glazed over, and the stomach-churning, nausea-inducing stench of death claimed her…as he sat beside her, watching her, unable to do anything but stay with her and sob his heart out, her creamy complexion slowly turned an ashen, frightening hue as the blood drained from her.

Weak from exhaustion and emotional draining, Inuyasha collapsed, unconscious against the woman's form, unable to force himself away, even from the unsettling stench of her death.

When he came to, there was a police officer standing over him, her face caught between sympathy and revulsion at the corpse on which he lay. There officers all around, cameras flashing, little yellow cards with numbers propped up against various objects. He was confused, and tired, and sick, and heartbroken. She held out a hand, which he hesitated to take, his tears coming anew.

“Come on now, little one,” she said in a flat voice. “We're going to have to find you some place to stay.”

“Inuyasha…”

“I couldn't do that to you…not to you and Souta, and your mom, and your grandfather…it wouldn't be right…”

“I…I don't think that would ever…happen,” Kaogme said, though she knew she sounded less sure than she really felt. She turned his face towards herself again. “Listen to me, Inuyasha. I…I can't just stand idly by while you get hurt like you do. That…that wouldn't happen—”

“How do you know?” he cried out. “How do you know? Do you know how much trouble I'd cause for you if I lived here? I've already put you in a bad situation by staying around you! If…if I weren't such a selfish bastard…I'd leave you alone…But I can't. `Cause I need to be around you, Kagome. I need to be near you. I…I'd make things so much harder for you than they already are…” he choked mournfully, shaking his head. `Kami, but please, save me,' he pleaded silently with her. `Don't give up on me, please. I'm almost out. Then everything can be normal.'

Kagome's heart ached for him.

She brushed his untamed bangs away from his forehead, the hairs flopping down into place no sooner than she'd removed her hand.

“Look at you…” she murmured, caressing the side of his face. Her fingertips brushed over his cheek, one finger gently tracing the line of the cut at the corner of his lips, and he leaned his head heavily against her hand. “You're all bruised…” Scooting closer so that her closed knees were wedged between his open ones, Kagome moved her face closer to his and tenderly nuzzled the marred flesh of his left cheek, giving the affection-starved boy the care he so desperately craved and so obviously needed.

“Kagome…” he moaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh, Kagome…”

Her eyelashes tickled him; her breath fell on him in warm puffs, and sent shivers down his spine, his arms quickly covered in gooseflesh. He thought he might lose it when the soft touch of her lips glanced against his cheek, once, twice, three times. He couldn't breathe. He thought to kiss her back, but found that his mouth and lips were quite dry, and he doubted his kiss would be as nice as hers. He couldn't deny that he wanted to, though—very, very badly.

“I'd take good care of you, Inuyasha,” she whispered.

He gave a violent shudder as her breathy whispers swept lightly across his face and onto the tender skin of his neck. He swallowed thickly, his stomach erupting in a horde of butterflies. `Does she know?' he wondered through his mind's haze. Did she know that she was making him quite dizzy? Did she know how strongly the potent, concentrated scent of her was affecting him? Did she know just how much he wanted to say yes? Did she know just how hard he was falling for her? Inuyasha clenched his eyes shut as he admitted it to himself. She had to know. She had to. “I promise you, you'd be safe. You'd be safe with me.”

Author's Notes:

Does anyone know that song “Slow Me Down” by Emmy Rossum? This story reminds me of that song. I like it. If you haven't heard it, listen to it. You can find it on YouTube, I think you'll see what I'm talking about.

As a matter of fact, listen to it and reread the fluffy Inuyasha-Kagome scene when she's holding his face. I listened to it while I wrote it. It was very calming. I really like this chapter.

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