InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Sweetest Escape ❯ A Forced Hand (Ending 1) ( Chapter 24 )

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

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes:

 

 

Warning—Violence ahead (For the more sensitive readers out there.)

 

This story will have two endings. Why? Because, well…I just wanted it to.

 

 

 

 

 

Enjoy!—again, I'm not entirely sure that's the right word….

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 24: A Forced Hand (Ending 1)

 

 

 

 

 

The clothes flattened momentarily before fluffing back up—again. A hand splayed widely on the stack of shirts that had seen better days, pulling the canvas of the bag up forcefully. Two claws pushed through the bag's edge with a dull rip.

 

 

 

 

 

“Shit,” he whispered, pulling his nails out of the sizeable holes they'd made. He sighed softly, exasperatedly, blowing a wayward wisp of hair out of his face before giving up and zippering the bulging backpack shut with finality. The black bag bulged, making the zipper pucker, and Inuyasha wondered if it would pop open—most likely at the most inopportune moment.

 

 

 

 

 

He glanced around the sparse room—now even more bare with the lack of the odd article of clothing floating about. He wouldn't miss it. He probably would not even think about it ever again, save for the wayward thought or two. He would never think about this house again, or its lack of furnishings, and warmth, and love. If it ever did happen across his mind, it would be accompanied with nothing but nausea, a grimace, and a shudder.

 

 

 

 

 

His internal clock sounded, alerting him to leave the paltry sanctity of his room and head downstairs to cook his father's last meal.

 

 

 

 

 

Inuyasha skirted around the wall adjacent to the living room, wary eyes glued to the silent demon on the couch before him. The television, muted, flicked an array of colors over the pale man's face and hair, and bathed the room in a bluish glow. `Why is he watching the TV on mute?' Inuyasha thought edgily. The man stared straight ahead at the images that flittered across the screen, unmoving, unblinking. Inuyasha pulled his gaze away and edged his way into the kitchen, practically tiptoeing. There was no sense in upsetting his father before his departure.

 

 

 

 

He set to steaming some vegetables in a wok, working with methodically, yet with hands that trembled uncontrollably. Under his breath, he murmured directions to himself that he'd followed silently countless times before; somehow he couldn't seem to stem his need for verbal direction, now.

 

 

 

 

 

The rice boiled, the sound of the roiling water, and his knife hitting the cutting board with every slice through the chicken breasts, the only sounds throughout the house. His ears twitched wildly, wishing for only the tiniest hint of noise—the dead calm was unnerving. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth to prevent hyperventilating and focused intently on placing the cubes of raw chicken formulaically into the pan to keep his mind from wandering to places unsavory. A sharp clicking broke the near-silence as the fire under the skillet ignited, the pungent tang of gas polluting the air.

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you going somewhere?”

 

 

 

 

 

Inuyasha just barely managed to stop his knee jerk reaction to jolt in surprise to the low rumble of a question. He set the spatula down beside the stove and turned around. His father stood, seemingly casual, in the doorjamb that connected the kitchen to the outer hallway. He leaned against the frame, regarding the boy with a placid look.

 

 

 

 

 

“No,” Inuyasha said, clearing his throat. The man raised an eyebrow, akin to the very look Sesshomaru had given him during his interrogation those few days ago.

 

 

 

 

 

“No? You're not?” he asked. Inuyasha shook his head. “You're sure?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm s-s-sure. I'm…I'm not g-going anywhere,” he stammered.

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course you aren't,” he agreed, the tiniest hint of a seething bite seeping into his voice. “Because you would never do something so incredibly stupid as to try to leave, would you, Inuyasha?” he pressed. He stepped forward, and Inuyasha saw that his arm was bent behind his back. Did he have a weapon?

 

 

 

 

 

“N-n-no—”

 

 

 

 

 

“You'd never be so stupid to try and run away would you, Inuyasha?” he growled, coming closer to the boy. Inuyasha cringed, and instinctively backed up. His back was pressed flush against the stove. He groped behind him on the counter for some type of weapon of his own—something, anything, under the guise of steadying himself. His fingers fell upon a long smooth object with a knob at the end. The knife he'd just used to cut the chicken.

 

 

 

 

 

“No, Sir, I wou—”

 

 

 

 

 

“But you would be so stupid as to sneak around with some little whore behind my back. Wouldn't you, Inuyasha?” he bellowed, now impossibly close. Inuyasha shrank back, absolutely positive that his father could smell the pungency of his fear. He himself was drowning in the sharp, sour tang of terror that he was emitting. His fingers curled tightly around the handle. As much as he wanted to defend Kagome's honor, his anger and desire to retort was overridden by his terror.

 

 

 

 

 

“Answer me, you fucking idiot!” Inutaishou roared. The man's face split into a horrid mask, his nostrils flared and brows meeting lowly. “That's what you do? The minute I turn my back, you're out of the house?”

 

 

 

 

“I didn't mean to upset you!” Inuyasha cried finally. His chest heaved, and his heart knocked against his ribs so hard that it hurt. “I wasn't trying to…I didn't mean—I didn't think—”

 

 

 

 

 

“Damn right you didn't think. You never think,” the man spat. His arm dashed up quickly, and Inuyasha flinched, thinking a blow was coming. His father held up his bulging backpack, a small corner of a t-shirt poking through the edge of the zipper. He whipped the bag around, slamming it into the cabinets by Inuyasha's head, making him recoil. The cabinets clattered noisily, and one splintered with the force. “Were you honestly dumb enough to believe that you wouldn't get caught?” Inuyasha pressed further into the unyielding counter's edge with every sharp word the man shouted, his ears pressing flat against his head against the raucous noise.

 

 

 

 

 

“I—”

 

 

 

 

 

“Where are you going, Inuyasha? Hm? Where you runnin' to?” Inuyasha didn't answer. He wasn't sure how to proceed; some questions seemed rhetorical while others did not, and he knew that answering the rhetorical ones would only incite more anger in the man. “Are you deaf? Where the fuck do you think you're running to? Hm?” His eyes were piercing a hole through the cringing boy.

 

 

 

 

 

“S-s-someplace better,” he answered waveringly. Inutaishou paused at that, before straightening his posture, a slightly amused and disbelieving look overcoming his features.

 

 

 

 

 

“Someplace better,” he repeated. “Someplace better. Huh.” He seemed to be mulling over the answer a great deal, his tongue running over his teeth contemplatively. Inuyasha regarded him warily, still secretly clutching the knife behind his back. “And let me just ask…what `better' place do you think you have coming, half-breed? Huh? What `better' place is out there for you?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm—”

 

 

 

 

“And if there is such a place,” he continued. “What makes you think you deserve it?”

 

 

 

 

 

“A lot!” Inuyasha shouted, finally. He still shrank back from the man, but his hand flipped the knife into a more readily accessible position.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hm. Like what?” Inutaishou prompted, a lazy, smug smile on his lips. Inuyasha fumed. How dare he? How dare he laugh when Inuyasha was so incredibly terrified? When he was so close to escape, when he was so close to being free of his tyrannical hold, how dare he smile?

 

 

 

 

 

“Don't do that!” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Don't—don't talk down to me! Not…not any more. I…I do deserve better! I…I deserve…more than this—I don't deserve to get hit every day—”

 

 

 

 

 

“You don't? Who says? You're nothing but a half-breed—a worthless, spineless, little freak—an accident. What are you worth?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm…more than that…” Inuyasha muttered, his brief moment of bravado quickly fading at the man's words. “I'm a lot more than that—I'm better than that,” he managed, his voice cracking.

 

 

 

 

 

“Really? You are? And who put that bullshit in your head, hm?” Inutaishou raised an eyebrow, smirking at the boy, who'd deflated like a pierced balloon.

 

 

 

 

 

“S-s-s…someone who loves me,” he whispered shakily. Inuyasha struggled to hold the man's calculating gaze, struggled to keep from looking down and submitting, groveling. He had no idea how he was going to get away anymore—it didn't look promising. Even drunk off of his rear, his father had the advantage in every other category, and Inuyasha felt so small and weak. Even drunk now, the man was managing to intimidate him into oblivion—he admitted to himself breathlessly that his chances looked bleak, and that there was no way he was getting out of that house.

 

 

 

 

 

Before he could draw his next breath, Inutaishou's hands shot out like bullets from a gun and wrapped themselves around Inuyasha's neck. He roughly yanked the boy forward and to the left, slamming him into the cool face of the refrigerator. Papers stuck to the surface fluttered from the disturbed rush of air, and Inuyasha gasped at the force with which his back hit the appliance.

 

 

 

 

 

“Someone who loves you, huh? Who, that little whore of a human girl? What is she stupid?” Inutaishou spat nastily, his face a scant few inches from his son's. “Or can she not see what you really are, huh?” While his grip was firm, it was not cutting off Inuyasha's air supply enough to have him choking. His eyes clenched shut and he struggled, quite aware of the razor-like claws that had grown a few millimeters in the preceding seconds; his father's eyes bled at the edges into a frighteningly bright shade of tanager red, the graceful blue lines that crested his cheekbones growing jagged and sharp.

 

 

 

 

 

“She gonna save you now? Is she coming? Is she here for you, Inuyasha? You gonna run to her now?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Please…please…” Inuyasha whimpered almost silently. He would appeal to his father's sense of selfishness; perhaps he could reason with the unreasonable—perhaps he could catch a break, a tiny break. “You…you could let me g-go—you could t-t-turn your b-back f-for five s-s-seconds and I'd b-b-be gone!” he cried desperately. “You'd never have to see me again! Never! I promise! I know how m-much you h-h-hate me—if you'd just l-let me g-g-go, I'd be gone—o-out of your life forever, I swear!” he pleaded. He was stuttering so badly. The grip around his throat increased to the strength of vice, and he struggled to draw in air.

 

 

 

 

 

“Drop the knife, boy,” the man snarled. Inuyasha didn't even realize the object was still clenched in his fist. He thought he'd dropped it in his rough transfer from the counter to the fridge, as he'd heard something clatter. It took him consciously feeling down to his left hand to realize that it was still there. He felt a tiny spark of hope.

 

 

 

 

 

“L-let…me go,” he choked out. “Pl-please…let…me go.”

 

 

 

 

 

To his great surprise, Inutaishou gave him a long, hard, slightly wavering glare before retracting his fingers, one by one, from around his neck. Inuyasha took a deep, shuddering breath as soon as he was able, and vaguely felt the tiny trickles of warm blood run down his neck and into the depressions of his collarbones. He was shocked out of his mind, and it took him a moment to gather his wits. He held the knife out before him with a ramrod straight arm, however shaky.

 

 

 

 

 

Inutaishou stood a foot away from him now—that wasn't nearly enough.

 

 

 

 

 

“B-back up,” he commanded shrilly, jerking the knife towards him. “To the left, too.” The man did as he told him, a complacent look falling over him. Inuyasha gulped audibly, and tried to control his fear to a non-perceptible level. “And…and t-t-turn ar-around.”

 

 

 

 

 

When Inutaishou's back was facing him, Inuyasha stumbled backwards a foot or two. He shakily regained his footing and bolted for the door, the few seconds that he was flying seeming like eternal minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

His fingers clumsily fumbled with the locks, slipping off of the metal and clattering against his claws. His breath had been reduced to shallow pants, hyperventilation fully setting in. He finally managed to rip the chain from its bolt and turn the lever-lock, twisting the knob with adrenaline-induced force and flinging the door open.

 

 

 

 

 

Cold air hit him in the face, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was in his pajamas, a thin t-shirt and thin cotton pants. He wore no shoes, and no socks, and he was likely to get frostbite running through the frozen, snow-covered streets. But all he could focus on was the fact that Kagome was sitting in her car not even seven blocks away, waiting for him, waiting to take him home.

 

 

 

 

 

He'd bolted two steps down the porch. The quickest two steps of his life. The feeling of overwhelming relief had just started to trickle over him.

 

 

 

 

 

A horrible burning sensation shot through his entire scalp, and he couldn't stifle the agony-filled shriek he emitted as his entire length of hair was forcefully ripped back, and his body was jerked to an abrupt halt, his back hitting hard upon the cement. The breath was knocked out of him, and he had to blink hard to clear the dancing spots from his vision.

 

 

 

 

 

Heat enveloped him as he was yanked up by the collar of his t-shirt and literally thrown back into the house, colliding soundly with the arm of the couch. His ears flattened quickly with the thunderous slam of the door, and he could feel the floor vibrate with the plodding of heavy footsteps. He scrambled to his feet, bumping into the arm of the couch and stumbling to the side, providing his father with the opportunity to grip his jaw tightly and lift him into the air, slamming him into the wall beside the television.

 

 

 

 

 

“You didn't really think you'd get away from me, did you?” the demon sneered viciously, looking up at the boy he held. “Then again…you don't exactly think things through.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Let me go! Leave me alone!” he cried, kicking wildly.

 

 

 

 

 

“Not a chance!” he roared. “You think you can get the best of me, boy? You think you can just run out on me? After all the shit you've caused?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I wouldn't be around to cause any more shit if you just let me go!” Inuyasha screamed. He was still afraid. But his trembling fear had taken a backseat to the pure adrenaline-fueled terror he was pumped full of now. He struggled wildly, his head thrashing from side to side. “Let me go you bastard! Let me go, I fucking hate you! I hate you, let me go!” he cried.

 

 

 

 

 

“You insignificant little fuck!” Inutaishou roared back. The far recesses of his mind whispered to him. Inuyasha's eyes darted to the closed door, its locks already undone. Ten feet. It wasn't that far. And yet, it was a world away. Could he make it?

 

 

 

 

Putting as much force as he could muster into it, Inuyasha swung his arm in an arc, and slashed the knife, sticky and gummy with chicken residue, across his father's face, from his right temple, and down to the left side of his chin.

 

 

 

 

 

A tiny corner of Inuyasha's panic-stricken mind managed to feel a bit of triumph at the sight of his father's face—bloody for once instead of his own. His eye was gouged, that much he could see, and Inuyasha hoped the eye would never see again. He longed to take another stab at him, two more times, three more times, unstopping until he felt sated. But there was no time for that.

 

 

 

 

 

He had to live.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

Kagome was scared. She didn't think she'd ever felt so afraid in her life as she did right then. She'd decided right away against parking in the lot of the grocery store. The light of day was fading, and the parking lot was growing dark and shadowy and intimidating. She opted for the well-lit gas station across the street with the kindly-looking attendant standing at the register. At least that place had a steady flow of traffic coming in and out of it. And she could see the parking lot from where she was, so when Inuyasha arrived, she'd know.

 

 

 

 

 

She wanted her mother. She'd wanted the woman to come with her, but understood the tumult of preparations that she had to take care of at home. She'd wanted anyone, really, to be there with her in the car.

 

 

 

 

She'd thought about asking Miroku or Sango to accompany her. If it hadn't been a school night, she might have called one or both of them. But then, she reasoned, she'd have to give a reason as to why they were hanging about a gas station at night, waiting for Inuyasha. He didn't want them to know. He hadn't wanted her to know. And in no way was she about to betray his confidence. She knew how embarrassed he was about the whole situation already.

 

 

 

 

 

“You're sure…” he'd begun, mumbling unintelligibly and ashamed.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sure what?” she'd pushed. Her mother leaned forward on her elbows across the table to catch his murmured response.

 

 

 

 

 

“You're sure I won't be…a burden?” he mumbled.

 

 

 

 

 

“Honey,” Mrs. Higurashi soothed, placing her hand atop his. “It's no trouble, I promise you. The only trouble is in you staying where you are. Don't you worry about anything,” she assured him.

 

 

 

 

 

One look at his face had told Kagome he wasn't all that assured. He'd insisted on going back to get his clothes and other belongings, against Kagome's adamant protests that he go straight home with them. He didn't want to `burden them any further', as he'd said. It was enough that they'd opened up their home, he'd said. He absolutely refused to allow them to purchase clothes for him.

 

 

 

 

 

What could she do? It wasn't as though she could pick him up and place him in her car. All she could do was to give him what was probably useless advice.

 

 

 

 

 

Kagome shivered, and burrowed deeper into her coat, up to her nose. Despite the car's heat being cranked up to full blast, she was still freezing, and she knew it had little to do with the frigid weather. She looked at the clock on her car radio again. He'd told her that it might be a while. But he'd also told her that he would try his hardest to meet her at ten. It was already ten thirty-two. She was worried.

 

 

 

 

 

Another glance across the road at the parking lot told her what she already knew; he wasn't there.

 

 

 

 

 

“Where are you, love?” she asked his absent person. “Please turn up soon. You're scaring me.”

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

An animalistic and enraged howl erupted from the gouged demon as blood poured hotly from the wound, spilling down into his open mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

“You little bastard!” he raged. “I'll kill you!” But Inuyasha had slipped out of his grip, as he'd recoiled in surprise. The boy was stumbling over himself, panicked and trembling. His fingers stretched to the limits of their capacity, reaching for the doorknob.

 

 

 

 

 

Inutaishou whirled around, recovering quickly from the shock of the bloody wound, and in one swift leap, bounded over to the terrified boy whose hand had finally fell upon the knob, twisting it.

 

 

 

 

 

He lifted his foot with purpose, and brought it down heavily upon Inuyasha's ankle, deriving a sick pleasure from hearing the crunch it made, and the scream of anguish that ripped from the writhing boy. He bent forward and yanked him backwards by the knee, getting caught by the knife he waved wildly at him.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm going to kill you,” he growled lowly, catching the flailing wrist in one hand and snapping it without interlude, the raucous cry that followed piercing his own ears. The knife fell to the floor with a dull clatter. He slapped him soundly across the cheek, his head flying to one side. “Shut up. I'm so sick of hearing your noise.” He grabbed the knife and the scruff of the boy's bangs, holding his head still. He held the blade against the thin skin of his throat, glaring at him through a bloody eye and a blood-red eye.

 

 

 

 

 

“Now what are you going to do, huh? You got any more little tricks? Any more moves?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I…I—I—p-p-please,” he begged. “Please…” Tears stung his eyes and pooled over, splashing down his temples. “Please, I just wanna go, please—” A crippling blow to the belly cut off any further entreaty.

 

 

 

 

 

“Shut. Up,” Inutaishou ordered in a voice that booked no argument. `No, no, no, no,' Inuyasha thought. He was so close to giving up—so close to just accepting whatever was coming. `I can't just…' He had so much to look forward to…`Kagome!' he cried out in his mind. He silently called out to her over and over and over again.

 

 

 

 

 

Fighting the paralysis that had momentarily overtaken him, he jerked his good arm upwards, and sunk his claws deep into the flesh of his father's hand, making him recoil and hiss in pain, the knife falling once more. He tried to hobble away, his broken ankle killing him. He vaguely heard the knife clatter away somewhere as his flesh tore from behind, the claws of a partly transformed and enraged dog demon ripping into him.

 

 

 

 

 

He couldn't even cry out, he was too overwhelmed by pain, and so, only a small grunt escaped him when he was pulled back onto the ground, the back of his skull connecting the corner of a small end table. A jolt of fierce tingling shot through him, and he felt weak, and strangely languid.

 

 

 

 

 

He succumbed to the devastating feeling of helplessness that had been hovering over him, unable to make himself care that tears fell from his eyes unchecked, or that his vision was wavering dangerously, fading in and out from oppressive black, or that his hearing was strangely muted.

 

 

 

 

 

He was vaguely aware that there was a long gap of time from which he could remember nothing, only that his father was waging a horribly unmatched war with his limp body, and he was powerless to stop him.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

After what seemed like forever, he only became fully aware again when he heard the creaking of the door on its old hinges, and the protesting rumble of an engine. He mentally felt out to every extremity of his body, nauseous from the throbbing pain that was present everywhere, the metallic tang of blood in the air, and the pungent odor of something burning. To his disgust and chagrin, the nausea overcame him all at once, and he fought to turn his head to the side as vomit choked him up. He coughed violently, emptying the paltry contents of his stomach onto the floor, surprised at the massive pain in his throat as he did so.

 

 

 

 

 

His body relaxed after his choking spell, and the muscles in his neck went limp.

 

 

 

 

 

He was sleepy.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

The little green display flicked. `10:47,' it read. `Okay. Give him one more minute,' Kagome told herself. She'd been playing the `One More Minute' game for the past ten, and she was getting sick of it.

 

 

 

 

 

“Screw this,” she muttered, turning the key into the ignition. It wasn't like Inuyasha was a shining example of punctuality. He wasn't. He never had been. But the fact of the matter was that it was late, she was scared, and she wanted him there with her. Now. She knew Inuyasha's position on this; he wanted out of that house. There was no way he'd stay any longer than necessary. And that was what scared her most.

 

 

 

 

 

As she pulled out of the gas station in the direction of his house, she worked out her plan. She'd just drive toward his house, hoping to run into him on the way. If she didn't, she'd drive past his house, around the block once, maybe twice. Just to see if there was any activity. Anything.

 

 

 

 

Trepidation filled her gut as she drove the few blocks, not seeing a tall huddled figure on the sidewalk. She'd been hoping so much to find him somewhere along these streets…

 

 

 

 

 

She turned down his street, praying that at any moment, she would see him, black hoodie coated with the soft white snowflakes that fell into the quiet road, already graced with a covering. It was so silent. It made her shake.

 

 

 

 

 

Her stomach bottomed out as she passed his house. The door was open, a black rectangle perhaps about a foot wide boasted entry inside. `Oh, no…' she thought. `No. There's nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong…' she murmured to herself over and over. `He's fine. He's just fine, Kagome.'

 

 

 

 

 

She parked a few houses down, shutting her lights off and waiting, her gloved fingers crossed. She whispered a prayer. `Come on, Inuyasha…come on, please.'

 

 

 

 

 

The stillness amplified the thunderous beating of her heart, and the dark rectangle left by the open door tempted her.

 

 

 

 

 

“Please be okay. Please, please be okay,” she whispered desperately, the tiniest hint of a sob working its way into her voice. He had to be okay. He just had to be…

 

 

 

 

 

She got out of the car. She knew it was stupid, dangerous, reckless, and Inuyasha would probably scream her ear off for doing it, but she felt she had to. She couldn't help it. Some deeply rooted instinct was telling her…was guiding her…

 

 

 

 

 

There was no car in the driveway. The house had no garage, that much she knew from her previous visit. `There shouldn't be anyone home,' she reasoned as she haltingly approached the property. Her own breathing was deafening to her, and she tried breathing through her nose.

 

 

 

 

 

Her hand was trembling with all the force of an epileptic seizure when she pushed the door open, the tremendous groan it gave scaring her out of her skin. The house was dark and marred with shadows from the pale glow of the moon shining through a few windows. Despite the darkness, it seemed foggy, and her eyes stung. There was an insistent beeping echoing from somewhere deep in the house.

 

 

 

 

 

The noxious smell of vomit and blood hit her senses, and she grappled desperately along the wall for a light. Finally hitting upon a switch, a single, bare lightbulb blinked on above her head, casting tawny shadows across the slats of wood.

 

 

 

 

 

She screamed. She regretted it immediately. She was sure it didn't help. Quicker than ever before, her cell phone was ripped from her pocket, and her fingers flew across the keys, dialing the number for emergency.

 

 

 

 

 

She wasn't even sure of what she'd said, or even if it was coherent. She didn't know if her voice was even enough for the operator to understand what she'd said, or if she'd given the street address numbers in the right order. She prayed she did; but she wasn't sure. She was fairly certain that she'd managed to communicate all of the important information: there was a boy bleeding very badly on the living room floor of his own home—he was very badly injured, and no, he wasn't moving. Was there anything else wrong? The operator wanted to know. Would she need anything other than an ambulance? The operator could hear the beeping. Kagome rushed towards the back of the house, blinking against the smoke that she could now see— the stove was ablaze—no, it was something in a skillet, flames licking viciously against the melting plastic blinds that shaded the window behind them. The kitchen was on fire too, she yelled. The fire alarm continued to beep insistently. Please, please bring help soon. She was terrified. Please don't let him die, she begged.

 

 

 

 

 

Kagome approached the prone body on the floor slowly, unable to stem the torrential flow of tears from her eyes as she scanned him. He was almost unrecognizable, his face swollen, red, and streaked with blood. Gouges marred the flesh of his back, visible to her through the torn shreds of his shirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She pushed aside the revulsion she felt upon looking at the puddle of vomit and blood near his head, and rushed towards him. Falling to her knees by his side, she tried to locate an undamaged area that she could nudge. Pressing her fingers just under the curve of his jaw, she almost wept at the feel of a faint, but distinct pulse.

 

 

 

 

 

Afraid to hurt him, yet wanting to relieve him of the hard floor, she pulled him into her lap, gently as she could. She shrugged out of her coat, draping it over his almost naked upper half. His body was limp and heavy in her arms, sticky with blood and plastered with his own hair. She sobbed, cradling him against her securely, and tucking the thick jacket down around his chilled flesh.

 

 

 

 

 

His head lolled back, and she reached under it to support it with her forearm. She almost vomited herself when her fingers came back sticky with thick blood. She trembled all over, wiping her fingers on her jeans and tenderly brushing his matted bangs from his pale face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Help is coming,” she whispered tremulously. “Please just hold on for a little longer. Help is coming.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kagome gasped, relief flooding her like a tidal wave when his eyelids twitched, slowly cracking at intermittent periods. He looked up at her for a moment as though he had no idea who she was, through bleary golden eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“Inuyasha,” she murmured tearfully. He continued to stare at her, his brow wrinkling slightly, then he smiled weakly, his chapped lips jerking to one side a bit.

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah…al…almost,” he rasped, barely audible even above the stillness of the room. Kagome's tears doubled in their intensity and number, and she was almost choking with the force of them. Almost…it covered so many things. He'd almost made it out unscathed. He'd almost attained his freedom. She'd almost reached him in time.

 

 

 

 

 

“No!” she shouted, regretting it yet again. She found she was unable to help the volume of her impassioned cry, however. “No, Inuyasha, don't say that! Don't you say that!” she rebuked sharply. His gaze had dulled, though he still kept his eyes focused on her. “Help…help is coming, alright? I promise you, help is coming, Inuyasha! An ambulance is on its way right now, okay? Okay? They're gonna hel—”

 

 

 

 

A raucous cough tore from his throat, his chest almost going through spasms. Her stomach bottomed out when she saw the flecks of blood that splattered his dry lips, a trickle of it running from the corner of his mouth when the coughing spell ceased. He was bleeding internally. Blinking through blinding tears, she pulled the cuff of her shirt down over her palm and gently blotted away the blood that dribbled from his mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

“I love you, okay?” she whispered. “I love you, Inuyasha. So much.” Her heart felt as though it were ripping when he blinked for a long time, twin tears managing to squeeze from between the closed lids and run down his temples. She sniffled helplessly and held him close, rocking him back and forth, even when the little remaining warmth drained from him. Even when the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest stopped. Even when the faint flutter of his heartbeat ceased to be felt.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

Her nose wouldn't stop running. With a frustrated grunt, she flung yet another wad of scented tissue into the wastebasket, the tiny ball bouncing off of the others that already overflowed the small silver cylinder. Her balled fists pressed hard into the unyielding porcelain of the sink, her knuckles white, her fingertips and palms red.

 

 

 

 

 

“Screw the fucking mascara,” she muttered to her reflection, blotchy and pale. The haggard girl that stared back at her seemed to snarl, and Kagome quickly looked away. She scrubbed at the running black goop with yet another tissue, balling it up and hurling it at the toilet needlessly. A soft knock on the door made her jump, and she pressed a hand to her racing heart.

 

 

 

 

 

“Kagome? Sweetheart, are you ready? Everyone's waiting,” her mother called gently. Kagome fumbled with her makeup bag, stuffing the pencils and colored powders back into it and zippering it shut, shoving it into the cabinet above the toilet.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'll be out in a second,” she responded shortly, smoothing her dress against her thighs, collecting her self with deep breaths. With a heavy sigh, she popped the lock and opened the bathroom door, relieved to be the only occupant in the hallway, her mother having gone.

 

 

 

 

 

Her steps measured and her pace slow, Kagome padded her way down the hallways of her home. She slipped on the black patent leather shoes waiting for her beside the doorway, and made her way outside, shivering at the brisk weather.

 

 

 

 

 

A small group of people milled about under the God Tree that shaded most of their backyard, their chatter low and somber. There were eight chairs. Exactly eight. One of them was for herself.

 

 

 

 

 

Anger filled her throat like hot bile, and she swallowed hard to keep herself from screaming. `I shouldn't be here,' she kept saying to herself. `I should not be here! This is wrong! This is unfair!'

 

 

 

 

 

Tradition was thrown out of the window. For so any reasons, she was unable to give him the proper rites he deserved. She couldn't give him a traditional Buddhist style funeral. His body couldn't be cremated and prayed over, and made sacred in the usual way. She had no idea where his body was.

 

 

 

 

 

The ambulance had arrived several minutes after he'd taken his last, labored and ragged breath. She was inconsolable, kneeled there on the floor, hunched over his shell and sobbing. The paramedics had had to forcer her away from him so that they could make sure that he was gone, checking his pulse and vital signs needlessly. They'd taken his body, presumably to the morgue. They'd been cruel. Unnecessarily so, she thought, telling her that only the immediate family would be made aware of the whereabouts of his body. She'd tried to tell them that his father and brother would pay them no mind—that she was his immediate family. She was ignored.

 

 

 

 

 

She tried to remind herself that the body wasn't truly Inuyasha; that her Inuyasha was somewhere better, someplace safe. She tried to tell herself that, and believe it when she felt herself slipping into a dark place. Even still…she wanted to give him a proper farewell. He deserved at least that. She couldn't even give him that.

 

 

 

 

 

Instead, in their desperation to at least commemorate his all too brief life, Kagome and her mother had had to fashion a type of westernized memorial service, with no body, hardly any guests, and no idea what had happened to the boy's body in the end, no matter how many calls Kagome made to local morgues and hospitals. No matter how many calls she made to his former home, wondering if perhaps his father would tell her something. No matter hard she tried.

 

 

 

 

 

If that hadn't been enough, she was even unable to get a few Buddhist monks to officiate the service and pray. No monk wanted to service a makeshift funeral for a hanyou. Surely it was a disgrace and an insult to the gods to ask them to bless such a mishmash of a departure ceremony.

 

 

 

 

 

She looked away from the framed portrait of the smiling face she loved so much. There was no way she'd be able to make it through her brief speech if she had to look at the image of those sparkling golden eyes the entire time. She was barely standing as it was.

 

 

 

 

 

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he'd departed, and yet it still seemed to fresh to her. The whirlwind of frantic yet fruitless phone calls she'd made, and the hodgepodge funeral she'd had to throw together had dizzied her, and left her in a drained state, mentally, emotionally. Three weeks of reliving that night over and over, giving the police her statement over and over, needing him more and more with each painful passing moment, yet realizing that she'd never have him again. Three weeks of a wound laying open and raw, never healing, never easing. Three weeks of feeling as though she'd hit a brick wall.

 

 

 

 

 

The small gathering of people followed an unspoken reply for them to be seated as she took her place at the small podium in front of the God Tree. Her breath frosted in the air before her, and her fingers clenched the edges of the podium in a vice grip as she opened her mouth to speak, leaning towards the microphone.

 

 

 

 

 

“G…Good afternoon,” she began quietly. Her voice sounded strange; hollow, flat and tinny. “I want to…thank you all for coming. You didn't have to,” she whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

Her eyes scanned the handful of people in attendance, nodding inwardly at those she knew she could count on to pay their respects: her mother, of course. Souta, sitting the front seat, tearful and red, her grandfather, solemn. Sango and Miroku, looking uncomfortable and confused, as though they weren't positive that what was going on was a dream. They'd had to find out…she supposed that this was the worst way. Mr. Gamyuo Oichi was there, sitting straight-backed and silent, his face stony and stern. Lastly, and most surprisingly, his older brother sat near the very close back, prim and proper, brushed, oiled and manicured. He stared at her intently as she fumbled to get her speech underway. She became flustered. His face expressionless and unreadable, he continued to brazenly stare at her, as though she were being caught in the act of committing some horrendous crime. In fact, he almost looked a bit…bored. Fury filled her mouth like hot spit, and she found herself angry enough to scream. How dare he stare at her like that? How dare he just…just sit there? With his own little brother dead? Did he know where Inuyasha's body was? Did he even care? She burned; she wished she hadn't been able to get into contact with him and invite him.

 

 

 

 

 

Her mouth gaped open for a few moments as the small practiced speech she'd prepared flew from her head, leaving her with nothing. “I…I…I have no idea what to say…” she choked with the realization, her vision succumbing to the film of water that had arisen. “I'm so sorry…” A hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she was hot with embarrassment at having forgotten her words, prickled with anger at having to have words to say in the first place. “I'm so sorry,” she repeated.

 

 

 

 

 

Mortified and hurting, she willed her legs to move and pump, taking her away from the small gathering, ignoring the surprised and sympathetic murmurs she could catch coming from the group. Her mechanical and jerky movements didn't cease until she was beside a small copse of trees, stripped bare and dry by the winter, now twisted and dead-looking. She almost collapsed among the small gravestones, amongst rock memoirs to those ancestors long past and prayed over. She toddled over to the newest addition to the rock garden, the earth still freshly overturned from when it was laid into the ground. The dark obsidian stone gleamed dully in the gray light of the morning, the ash-colored characters that etched out his name seeming jagged and harsh to her eyes. The sweet scent of lilies wafted up to her nose from where she kneeled beside the small monument, the lilies she'd placed there herself the previous evening. She vaguely heard her grandfather apologizing for her abrupt departure, and beginning a prayer.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm sorry,” she apologized hoarsely to him, swiping at her nose with her bare wrist. She shivered. She wished she'd been sound of mind enough to have carried her coat with her outside. “I didn't do you justice at all. This…this damned circus act,” she spat bitterly. “It's all just a joke. A sick joke.” She shuffled closer to lean her left side against the stone. A farce was all it was. There was no pot of ashes buried before the headstone, the dead, matted, and yellowed grass lay untouched before her feet.

 

 

 

 

 

“I didn't know what to say,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “In front of them…how could I really know what to say? I…I know now. I know now just what I'd say. What I'd tell them about you…” she trailed off. She allowed her head to drop against the cold stone, pressing her forehead into it as though she were pressing into his hand. “I'd tell them…I'd tell them everything wonderful. About…about how amazing you are. About how sweet and talented…and brave. It's just what I'd tell them…if I were brave enough to really get up there and talk…”

 

 

 

 

 

She gave a short, choked laugh, brushing away her tears as a happy thought flitted through her head. “I'd tell them how you were a comedian…even when you didn't know it, or didn't mean to be. Or about how flustered you'd always get at the littlest things…” she chuckled. “About that little ticklish spot just at the nape of your neck,” she grinned letting her eyes slip shut. Images of him danced on her eyelids: his peaceful and slack expression as he slept, the shock written comically on his face at his birthday party, the secret smile he wore when they would sneak quick kisses in the alcoves of the hallways at school, the adoring look he took on when he allowed his gaze to linger on her for a while…

 

 

 

 

“Or maybe…maybe I'd just keep it all to myself…” she mused. “Maybe I'd just keep it all to myself, and…and have you to myself. At least my own personal you. You would've touched so many…the way you touched me…”

 

 

 

 

 

“Excuse me,” came a deep voice, startling Kagome out of her whisperings. She straightened up immediately, standing to face whoever had come around. The invisible montage of her peaceful reverie was broken as her eyes fell upon the perfectly polished image of his older brother, looking down at her, a slight curiosity in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

“What do you want?” she asked. If she sounded snappy, she hadn't meant to…much.

 

 

 

 

 

“Kagome Higurashi,” he stated, eyeing her in what she felt was a snobbish appraisal. “So you're the one he risked it all for, hm? Did you convince him? Hmph. Foolish boy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Immediately, Kagome's temper flared again, her eyes widening at his nerve.

 

 

 

 

 

“Excuse me,” she began hotly. “But the greater risk was in him even being in that hell hole in the first place, as is clearly demonstrated by the reason we're both here today by his headstone,” she hissed. “And furthermore, Inuyasha was not foolish. I don't care who you are, brother or not, you did not know him like I did, and you have no right to speak about him with anything less than the utmost respect.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Is that so?” Sesshomaru asked, raising one thin eyebrow.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes, that's very so,” she snapped. “And if you don't like it, you can leave. You won't be missed, at least not by me.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru held her angry gaze for a long while before giving small, low chuckle, shaking his head.

 

 

 

 

 

“You're a little spitfire,” he muttered under his breath. “Okay, I'll play it your way. I'll abide by your rules.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kagome squinted at him, her hands curling into fists in her ire.

 

 

 

 

 

“Don't patronize me,” she snapped. “I'm not—”

 

 

 

 

 

“Kagome,” her mother called to her, hurrying over. “Are you alright, Honey? I know it was hard,” she sympathized, taking Kagome into her arms in a brief hug.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm okay,” she lied, returning the embrace and silently thanking the woman for her impeccable sense of timing.

 

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Shibasawa,” her mother greeted with a slight nod. “It's an honor to have you at our home,” she said graciously. “I hope the headstone is to your liking? We plan to also have one erected close to his mother's burial site…perhaps you could have some input on that decision, if you wish.”

 

 

 

 

 

“He doesn't care, Mom,” Kagome said forcefully. “He doesn't even—”

 

 

 

 

 

“Kagome, Dear, shh,” her mother whispered. “I'm sure there's no apathy where Mr. Shibasawa is concerned. I'm sure he cares.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course,” Sesshomaru said. Mrs. Higurashi nodded understandingly, and turned back to her daughter.

 

 

 

 

 

“No, Kagome, why don't you go and get some rest, hm?”

 

 

 

 

 

“But Mom, I didn't get to show—”

 

 

 

 

 

“I know, Honey. I'll handle it, alright? You go rest, okay, Sweetheart?” Kagome hesitated before nodding, and murmuring a small thanks to her mother. She gave Sesshomaru one last look before shuffling off towards the house.

 

 

 

 

 

“Poor girl's been running herself ragged,” Mrs. Higurashi said, shaking her head as she gazed after the girl. “Forgive her if she was abrupt or rude. She's not normally like that at all. It's just that…well. They were very close, your brother and her. Very close,” she explained with a sad smile.

 

 

 

 

 

“I can see that,” Sesshomaru nodded, his eyes flicking to the headstone, then to the ground a foot in front of him. “I don't quite understand it, but I see.”

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Higurashi was taken aback at the subtle jab he'd taken at the deceased boy and her daughter, and she had to force a polite and hospitable smile onto her face.

 

 

 

 

 

“Is there anything I can help you with? Anything I can get for you? Some food and drink perhaps?” she offered through a tight and strained visage.

 

 

 

 

 

“No, no, thank you. I have a flight to catch shortly anyway,” he brushed off, straightening and clearing his throat.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh. Then you're off? So soon?”

 

 

 

 

 

“It's the life of a businessman.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes, yes, I see. Well…even though I know you must be in an awful rush…could I bother you for a few more minutes of your time?” she asked.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm afraid I must be—”

 

 

 

 

 

“It won't take long. I promise.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh…alright then. I suppose.”

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Higurashi walked in silence as she led the tall dog demon into her home, and down the stairs into the basement. She flicked on the lights as she descended the steps, the fluorescent long bulbs blinking to life in the small anteroom in which they found themselves. She bristled a bit at the man's perusal of the room, his body language dripping with disdain and judgment.

 

 

 

 

 

“In here,” she prompted, motioning towards a small alcove near the head of the space, packed with stacks and stacks of long rectangles. He moved towards the area, his brows creased.

 

 

 

 

 

“What is all this?” he asked. Mrs. Higurashi smiled softly at the man's back, nodding her satisfaction as he crouched to lift one of the stacks, the room suddenly brightening the with the brilliant array of colors that was exposed.

 

 

 

 

 

“It's what he loved to do,” she murmured. He moved slowly, setting the canvases up and propping them against the wall as he examined each one of the stack he held. “Kagome thought you should know…she wanted you to see. He was…he was very talented, wasn't he?” she asked. Sesshomaru made no comment in response. Mrs. Higurashi moved toward a specific stack herself, pulling out a certain canvas. “She wanted you to have this,” she said softly, offering the canvas to him like it was made of the most fragile glass. “She hoped…She hopes you'll keep it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru took the proffered piece, his eyes running over it, his mind galloping relentlessly at the break of a certain realization that he knew he was unprepared to have fifty minutes before a flight to a meeting in Hong Kong.

 

 

 

 

 

“I'll leave you to yourself,” Mrs. Higurashi said softly, excusing herself. “If you need anything…just call.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru heard her footsteps quiet as she went up the stairs, and he waited until he was satisfied that she was a decent ways away to lean heavily against the wall, portrait in hand.

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru stared down at the picture in his hands, and his own likeness seemed to swim up at him as if through a haze. His chin was propped up in his hand, between his index finger and thumb, and he was leaning on a table, staring out to somewhere…there was a slight smile tugging at his lips. Sesshomaru looked at it and looked at it until the pose, expression, and clothes he was wearing triggered his mind into a memory. He was sitting at the head table on his wedding day.

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru frowned and threw the canvas away from him. A corner of it caught on the carpet, and it skittered to a stop, falling face down. He crossed his arms, frowning slightly, his mind a mile away.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn't something he was able to readily identify with, regret. Sesshomaru had never quite felt anything so queer, so disjointed, so…humbling. He wasn't sure of how to go about getting rid of it, either, and so, he wasn't ready to go back upstairs and face the household. Would it show on his face? Would the ugly feeling break his mask?

 

 

 

 

 

The odd feeling only spread, did not diminish, as he thought on. There was so much, he realized, that he hadn't known about the boy. It wasn't only the hidden affinity for art that Sesshomaru realized he'd overlooked. It was everything. It was all of him. He'd overlooked, he realized, an entire person. And it was too late to do anything about it.

 

 

 

 

 

As a business man with a lucrative entrepreneurship going, Sesshomaru had always trained himself to examine all options, to leave no opportunities unexplored. He'd always succeeded at that. His tenacity in going after new business ventures and seeking new clients, and researching bigger, better, and more innovative ways of marketing had benefited him, his company, and his clients. He'd always examined all of his options, and he'd always profited from his explorations.

 

 

 

 

Yet as he stared at the overturned canvas ten feet away, and listened to the quiet, mournful murmurs overhead, he could not help but feel as though he'd overlooked or even quite possibly ignored, one thing, somewhat atypical of him. A tiny part of him nagged and beckoned; perhaps…perhaps he'd missed out on something valuable? Something worthwhile? Meaningful?

 

 

 

 

 

He cursed the boy. He cursed him three times, and then once more for good measure. How dare he make him think this deeply on him? How dare he cause him to dwell on things he couldn't change? How dare he cause him to realize regret?

 

 

 

 

 

“He was really talented,” came a voice, and Sesshomaru worked to school his face back into submission, should it have happened to fall out of order in the least. “But I'm sure you can see that. Even if you don't want to admit it.” The human girl descended the stairs, her face red, her eyes watering.

 

 

 

 

 

“Where is all of this from?” he demanded, his hand waving toward the alcove.

 

 

 

 

 

“He had a little flat. Down in the industrial area, in a warehouse. It was his studio,” she explained. “Had a lot going for him…” she continued. “Gamyuo Oichi gave him a full scholarship to go to Tokyo University this fall,” she told him, her voice cracking considerably as she spoke. Fat tears left wet tracks on her cheeks, and she viciously scrubbed them away. “He was really proud. He swore up and down that you and your father would be proud of him too.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I need to go—”

 

 

 

 

 

She bent to pick up the discarded canvas. She turned it over in her hands, her mouth jerking to one side. “He really looked up to you. Did you know?” She gave a short, loud laugh, half choked with a sob. “He almost wanted nothing more than to make you proud of him.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru's lips smoothed into a thin line. He was ready to leave. He didn't want to stay around and hear any more of this. He pushed past the girl.

 

 

 

 

 

“Can I just ask you one last question?” she asked, just as his foot hit the first step. She took his pause as compliance. “Do you…do you even feel anything right now?” she asked, half pleading with him. “He was…he was your little brother…I mean…don't you feel any regret at all? Don't you regret that…that you didn't get to know him?”

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru didn't move and didn't respond for a very long time as he pondered that question. His hand clenched the railing tightly, and he considered ignoring her.

 

 

 

 

 

He'd done too much—or perhaps not nearly enough—to Inuyasha for any acknowledgement of wrongdoing to make a difference now. What good would it do? I wouldn't bring the half breed back. It wouldn't stop their father from having been drunk and violent. It wouldn't bring the old man close enough for Sesshomaru to keep tabs on him. He had no idea where the man was. His small token of a coin's worth apology wouldn't take the sorrow off of that young girl's face, nor would it heal her. And it wouldn't make him feel as though he'd done something worthwhile. In face, Sesshomaru reasoned, it might even be insulting.

 

 

 

 

 

“I make no regrets known,” he said shortly. Her tiny gasp and small choked cry confirmed what he knew; she was inconsolable, whether he was regretful and penitent or not.

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you…do you at least want your portrait?” she hiccupped. “I think…I think he really would have wanted you to have it. Please take it. Please take it, just for him.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru considered this. He could walk away, keeping up the appearances that he didn't care, when in fact, for the most part, he didn't. However that tiny part that showed some type of unreasonable and unquenchable pity for his deceased half-brother who'd never had a fighting chance forced his hand. His sense of honor sounded its bells, further rubbing in his negligence, further taunting him with the fact that he'd allowed such harm to come to the half-breed without so much as a second glance at the boy. His conscience tormented him into a silent admission that he'd been irresponsible, apathetic, and unnecessarily cruel to what was essentially a child.

 

 

 

 

 

He turned around, quickly snatched the canvas, and exited the house.

 

 

 

 

 

He felt he was unforgivable.

 

 

 

 

 

PLEASE READ ME

 

 

Author's Notes:

 

 

And that is the end. Seriously. Of Ending 1. I'm so sorry.

 

But.

 

Like I said before, there will be another ending, and I promise this one will be a happy one! It's just that when I came up with this story, this was how I first imagined the ending, and I didn't want to just let it go. But I'm a sucker for happy endings, so I'm definitely writing one! Stay tuned, and don't leave me just yet!

 

Wowzer313