How Many Silver Linings in a Thunderstorm?

Chapter One: Living Nightmares

Hey everyone, Silver Linings is back, and hopefully MUCH better than ever!

Perhaps some of you are wondering why I deleted the original? I chose to kill my first truly successful chapter fic because it was crap. Yes, that's right, you heard me: it was crap. The writing (particularly in the beginning) was absolutely horrific, the characterization was terrible, the organization was nonexistent, and the plot was even more nonexistent than the organization. This is my most disorganized story even now, so even though I have resurrected it, don't really expect updates until I outline an actual plot. Sorry everyone, but for the sake of the art of writing and my self-respect, I refuse to post a story that I cannot be decently proud of.

(cough) Got unusually serious there. Anyway, here comes chapter one, the former prologue, extended so muchly that I thought it would make a nice first chapter.

Note: Those of you who are sensitive about molestation (that which is far more serious and hurtful than just Miroku's lechery), I suggest you do not read this, as harassment will come into play later in the story.

Japanese Word of the Day: hajimari- beginning.

Disclaimer: I own none of the Inuyasha characters, but for the remainder of this story, I shall be borrowing them and freely tossing them into emotionally scarring situations. Sorry, Takahashi-sama!

Another note: I re-posted this because of a few small errors that Ijust couldn't let lie. Nothing too major, 'cept I changed their ages and grades. No biggie.

-- -- --

"Where are they?"

Royakan stepped back and eyed his companions unsurely. They all seemed as uncomfortable as he did. It was strange how they could face the most venomous of prejudice every day, yet cower in the face of this little half-demon boy, his minuscule claws glinting as he clutched a bright yellow ball to his chest. His eyes were a less strident shade of yellow, more amber, and his hair was a glaring, silky silver color. He stood on the porch of Kaguya's house as confidently as if it were his own.

The boy's small white dog ears swung forward aggressively as he repeated, "Where are they?"

God, how he hated this job. "Um, kid, I…your…"

He slammed the ball down onto the ground, glaring impatiently at the crowd of casually dressed men as the ball rebounded to an inhuman height and continued bouncing away. "Where's my father and mother and brother? What did you do with Mama?" he snarled.

"I…kid, your Mama—"

"Her name is Mrs. Tsuki to you!" the boy interrupted with an arrogance rare to six-year-olds.

"Yeah, well…" Royakan looked helplessly back at his companions, begging them to help. They simply stared back at him and the few sheets of paper he held in one of his furred hands. Some friends you are, he thought resentfully, turning back to the child. After meeting that hostile amber gaze, he quickly dropped his eyes back down the papers.

Weird name… he silently commented, before sighing seriously. He slowly approached the boy, who watched him warily but did not move. The boy flinched slightly when Royakan put a hand his shoulder, but it was to be expected, the man thought sadly. What else could one expect from these poor half-breed kids? His own niece was a half-demon, and he thought she was the sweetest little girl who ever set foot on the planet, but not all people were as blessed in open-mindedness as his own family. It was only natural that a half-demon child should be afraid of the world around him.

Unfortunately, this made Royakan's job infinitely more difficult. He looked down at the papers again, more as an excuse to not meet those eyes that were entirely too knowing for a kindergartener than as a reminder of the boy's odd name. "Inuyasha," he began softly, "Your family…"

Royakan's hesitation only worsened Inuyasha's impatience. "Where are they? When are they coming home? Why did Miss Kagamino come and take me away from my house?"

"Your…your family isn't coming home," Royakan whispered.

The amber eyes blinked. "Why not?" Inuyasha demanded imperiously, anxiety flashing across his face. "Why aren't they coming home? Where did they go?" The fear grew until he finally looked down, his ears now drooping. "…don't they love me anymore?"

Royakan suddenly thought of his niece the last time he had seen her, crying as she watched him return to his car, asking tearfully if Uncle Royakan would come back. He had smiled and promised to be back soon, and he wished that he could do the same for Inuyasha. But…

"Of course they love you, kid. But…they can't come back anymore. Your parents, your brother…they're dead."

The few times he had been forced to inform children this young of their parents' deaths, they hadn't understood. The true extent of "forever", the true meaning of "dead", held little meaning in their young minds. They had cried to know that they would never see their parents again, but it took a long time for the fact that they were well and truly gone from this world to sink in, sometimes up to a year.

But the crushing expression of loss on this already unusual boy's face further set him apart from the other children Royakan had had to deal with. This child, he decided, was far too mature for his age, to be able to understand the reality of death.

"No…" he whimpered, every trace of imperiousness, of superiority, of suspicion, gone. His tiny clawed hands hung trembling at his sides. "Mama…Papa…Sesshoumaru…no, they're not dead! They're not dead! You're lying! They're not dead!" He flung Royakan's hand off of his shoulder and bolted off the porch, sprinting in the direction of his home. "Mama, Papa, Sesshoumaru, come back! Don't forget me! Come back!"

Royakan, a big demon, was caught off guard and stumbled backward, but managed to attempt a hasty grab at Inuyasha's red T-shirt. But even at age five, Inuyasha could already sprint as fast as any human adult, not to mention the fact that smaller demons tended to be faster than bigger ones, and evaded his grasp. "Catch him!" the demon shouted quickly.

His coworkers didn't need the order. The moment Inuyasha had moved, they had all swarmed forward, forming a wall between the child and the street. One man quickly grabbed Inuyasha around the waist and lifted him up. Sighing in relief, Royakan stood and walked over to the boy, who was shaking and crying and half-heartedly struggling against the man's arms. "Inuyasha, it's okay," he murmured, gently rubbing his hand up and down his narrow back. "We'll take care of you…it's okay."

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Inuyasha suddenly began twisting and clawing at his captor full force, screaming, "NO! MAMA AND PAPA AND SESSHOUMARU ARE GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ME! NOT YOU!"

The man holding him shouted and all but dropped Inuyasha to the ground, clutching the five shallow scratches in his shoulder. "Shit, those claws are sharp!"

Royakan snared one of Inuyasha's thin wrists and was almost jerked off his feet as Inuyasha, already as strong as a grown man and now fueled by desperation, bolted forward. "A little help here!" he shouted. In response, the others quickly grabbed on as well, one man catching the other wrist, others pulling at Inuyasha's shoulders, his waist, even his clothes. Even so caught, Inuyasha fought like one possessed, snarling and screaming for his family.

The sight they made had of course drawn a crowd, and many people stood on the sidewalk, watching the knot of humans and demons attempting to restrain one frantic little half-demon boy. Royakan, sparing a quick glance up at their audience, snorted and looked down. Had Inuyasha been fully human or even fully demon, at least some of those people would have rushed to intervene, assuming from Inuyasha's cries that he was being attacked. But no, the child's "filthy blood" obviously warranted no pity, no anxiety from these people, except concern that such a vicious little half-breed would hurt the humans amongst the struggling mob.

"Hold him still!" commanded a female voice from the house. Royakan turned and saw Kaguya Kagamino, one of the social workers who often took in orphans until they could be placed either with another family or in an orphanage. Her long, blue-black hair was clipped back on each side of her head with enormous, gill-like barrettes that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else rather than intimidating and regal as they looked on her. She had run out the house barefoot, carrying a syringe in her hand.

Now, she sprinted around the heaving knot of people and fought her way to Inuyasha. She grabbed one of his wrists and, being a demon herself, was able to hold it still long enough to prick him and quickly inject a small amount of clear liquid. Then, she stepped back.

Royakan, at first concerned for Inuyasha's safety, finally understood when the boy's eyelids began involuntarily drooping, his struggles weakening until almost all of the men had released him, leaving Royakan and a few others to restrain the rapidly tiring boy. Finally, the amber eyes closed, and the child slumped backward into Royakan's arms. Giving Kaguya a grateful glance, he informed her, "All of the Tsuki property has been granted to Inuyasha, since his parents both left all of their property to each other and the kids. But until he's old enough to take care of the company himself, Mr. Tsuki's assistant, Myoga, will be playing boss."

She nodded and reached out to ruffle Inuyasha's hair. "Thanks for letting me know. The poor kid," she murmured. "One hell of a troublemaker, but what more can we expect after the treatment he grew up with? His parents loved him madly, but from what I gather, his brother, not to mention the rest of the world, didn't treat him so kindly." Kaguya looked up a long way to meet Royakan's eyes. "Who's he going to?"

He cleared his throat and looked away. "Um…well, he's not going to anyone."

"What?" Kaguya glared sharply at him. "You mean you couldn't find anyone?"

Royakan self-consciously rubbed at the back of neck with one hand, easily supporting Inuyasha's weight with the other. "Well, Inuyasha's parents and grandparents were all only children, so his closest relative is something along the lines of a third cousin twice removed, and she first of all never met the kid, and she has three boys of her own. Friends of the family all declined, and since they were all rich…" He grimaced. "The administrative office couldn't help but accept the 'donations' they were offered."

The woman snorted in disgust. "So that means…"

"Yeah. He has nowhere to go."

-- -- --

"Mushin Papa?" the little boy said uncertainly. "Mushin Papa, did you go out for grown-up busy-ness again?" He steadied his foster father's arm as the man stumbled his way toward the kitchen.

"Eh…eh? M'roku? Oh, yeah, yeah, grown'p businesh. Real sheeryus shtuff…" Mushin scratched lazily at his belly, which bulged out of his unbuttoned shirt. "Real sheeryus…Mushin Papa went t'talk ter som'un…talk abou' you…" He reached down and ruffled the long, messy bangs that had fallen out of Miroku's small ponytail. "Don' you w'ry bout a thing, m'boy…Mushin Papa'll take good keer o' you."

"Yes, Mushin Papa," Miroku agreed wearily, steering the man toward a chair. "Mushin Papa, you hafta go to a conference with Ms. Tentori tomorrow. Don't go to grown-up business tomorrow, okay?"

"A conf'rensh?" Mushin repeated. "Why? 'M I in trouble?"

The little five-year-old boy dragged a chair over to the counter. He clambered on top and opened one cupboard, removing a brown coffee mug. As he crawled over to the sink, he answered, "No, Mushin Papa, it's a parent-teacher conference. Kindergarteners get those." Miroku smiled proudly as he filled the glass with tap water. Setting the glass on the counter, he climbed back down then took the glass over to Mushin. "Here."

"Ah, M'roku's a big boy, now, ishinee?" the man slurred, shakily accepting the water and raising it to his mouth.

"That's right," Miroku said self-importantly, taking what he clearly thought was an commanding pose. "I'll be a grown-up soon, too, then I can go with you to grown-up business, right, Mushin Papa?"

A deep frown creased Mushin's flushed face and gave his mustache an almost comical arc. "M'roku," he said as seriously as a drunk man could, "ah hope you never go do growned-up bus'nesh…bad thingssshhhappen when you do growned-up businesh…"

His words were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Miroku quickly ran to answer it, telling Mushin, "It's okay, Mushin Papa. If you get up, you might fall again."

"Okay…keerful, M'roku…bad thingsh can happen when strang'rs knock on yer door…" He took a long sip from his mug, staring after Miroku's back. "You otta 'member," he murmured.

The little boy paused in the middle of the living room, a small frown on his face. The fingers on his right hand wiggled and bent restlessly, rattling the blue beads that held an old-fashioned purple gauntlet around his wrist and arm. Yes, he remembered very well…

But the knocking sounded again, and he pranced over to the door. After few seconds of jumping and clawing at the just-out-of-reach lock mechanism, Miroku managed to unlock the door and heave it open. Remembering Mushin's warning, he cautiously poked his head out. "C'n I help you?" He craned his neck to meet the eyes of the solemn-looking man standing on the doorstep.

Some odd flicker passed across the man's eyes before he knelt down in front of Miroku. "Hello, my name is Mr. Seikai. Is this the home of Mushin Jin?"

"Yes, sir. Who are you, sir?" Miroku said earnestly, sounding amusingly like a protective parent.

The man laughed reluctantly, his thin beard bobbing up and down in the boy's eyes. "I was talking with Mushin earlier today, and we've decided that you, assuming that you are Mr. Miroku Katen, are going to come with me."

Miroku chose to ignore that last part and instead asked, "Oh, was you doing grown-up business w' him?"

Mr. Sekai blinked before his face saddened. "No, Miroku, I was watching him do grown-up business, and it's because of the grown-up business that you're going to come with me today."

"Why? Is grown-up business bad? Mushin Papa likes it. He comes home with his face all red like a strawberry and laughs and hiccups a lot. And he talks funny." Miroku giggled before suddenly sobering up. "But other grown-ups don't like it when he does grown-up business. They look at him funny, and they whisper, and they look at me funny. Mushin Papa met Ms. Tentori at Open House with his face all red, and she looked at me really weird. She asks me if I'm hungry a lot, and she checks to see if I'm hurt when I come to school."

"And are you hungry? Are you hurt?" Mr. Sekai murmured.

"Nope! I just had my dinner! Mushin Papa cooked it for me before he left! I can use the mike-er-wave all by myself!" Miroku proudly puffed out his chest. "And look at this!" He bravely lifted his left foot, displaying the bluish bruise spreading over the back of his foot and two of his toes. Mr. Seikai sucked in his breath, but Miroku, pouting and shakily balancing in as dignified a manner as possible, continued, "Dumb dictionary fell on it. But I didn't cry! It hurt, but I didn't cry!" He finally put his foot down, looking up at his visitor as if he were waiting for praise.

Mr. Seikai, taking the cue, nodded and said with just the right amount of awe, "My, you are brave, aren't you?" A thought seemed to occur to him. "Say, Miroku, what grade are you in?"

"Kindergarten!" he chirped in answer, wiggling his non-injured toes. "But I'm better than lots of my friends at reading and stuff! I can read third grade books, and I'm learning mult-fication!" He hung his head. "But I'm still not very good at it. I can't even say it right."

The man's jaw had stopped just short of dropping. "That's already very good, Miroku! Most first-graders don't even know what multiplication is! Are you learning by yourself?"

"No, silly! Mushin Papa is teaching me! He says I'm a very talented-ed student."

"Yes, I can see that," Mr. Seikai whispered. His face was troubled now, as if he were having some sort of internal debate. But finally, his face calmed once more, and he said gently, "Now, then, honorable Mr. Katen, may I have the honor of entering your home and speaking with your Mushin Papa?"

"Um…" Miroku suddenly shut the door and shouted at the startled Mr. Seikai. "Hang on! I hafta ask Mushin Papa if it's okay, first!"

"Wait, but…!"

Too late. Miroku jogged into the kitchen and announced importantly, "Mushin Papa, someone called Mr. Seikai is here! He says I'm going somewhere with him, and he wants ta talk to you!"

Mushin sat where he was for a moment, the mug halfway down from his mouth to the table. He gave Miroku a glance filled with so many emotions that the boy quickly pranced back into the living room. From there, he called out, "Should I let him in, Mushin Papa?"

He heard the sound of his foster father slowly pushing himself to his feet and shuffling after Miroku. "No, M'roku, s'okay, I'll get it. Lish-en, I wan' you t'go upshtairs and start packin' yer toys an' booksh and stuff, 'kay? Put 'em in that big ol' backpack I bought ya yesherday. 'Kay?"

Miroku, curious but still obedient, ran up the stairs to his room. It wasn't a young boy's paradise, with race cars on the walls or a huge chest full of toys. There were no superhero bed sheets or train play sets. However, the small wooden bed was still comfortable, the beige covers were warm, the collection of old model cars amusing, and the handmade shelf of discount children's books absorbing. The boy had no reason to want to leave, but he still began scooping toys and books alike into a huge blue backpack with childish enthusiasm.

Through his door, the voices of Mushin and Mr. Seikai were somewhat audible, and Miroku heard snatches of Mr. Seikai's accusatory but regretful words: "drunk as a bat", "using the microwave", "home alone", "warned you about alcoholism"… Mushin's words came in a low mumble, to which Mr. Seikai replied, "Well…mumble good heart mumble mumble mumble old habits mumble mumble smart kid mumble real friendly mumble will be taken good care of mumble visit mumble…"

More talking that Miroku couldn't understand, then footsteps began to ascend the staircase. He twisted around and grinned at Mr. Seikai, who stood just outside his bedroom door. "Can I come in?"

Miroku nodded and continued trying to cram one of his newest books into his backpack. "Mr. Seikai, am I goin' with you somewhere?"

"Um…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes…yes, you are. You see, Miroku, you're moving again."

A chill ran through the little boy and he suddenly dropped the backpack, spilling half of its badly packed contents. He stared openmouthed at the man before whispering, "Did…did the bad man get Mushin Papa, too? He got Grandpa, and then Dad made me move here, and the bad man got Dad…is he gonna get Mushin Papa?"

"No, don't worry, Miroku, the bad man isn't getting Mushin Papa. It's just hard for him to take good care of you because," Mr. Seikai's calming eyes hardened, "he's so busy with 'grown-up business'."

"Oh…" Miroku calmed slightly and slowly knelt to start picking up the toys that had fallen. "Mr. Seikai…where am I moving to? The bad man won't get me, right?"

"That's right, Miroku. We're taking you to a place where you'll be so well taken care of, the bad man will never even get close to you."

-- -- --

"Kuranosuke and Sango sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" The kids in the four back seats of the bus chanted loudly as the girl and boy in the two seats in front of them pretended to ignore them. "First comes love! Then comes marriage! Then comes baby in a baby carriage!"

"Sango, you like strawberry, right? You want this candy?" The boy, his hair drawn back into a ponytail with neatly curled bangs left to fall in his forehead, offered his friend a Starburst. "I saved some of my lunch."

"Pink!" Sango squealed, taking the rose-colored square and popping it in her mouth. "Thanks, Kuranosuke! It's my favorite color!" The last sentence, Sango didn't seem to realize, was entirely unnecessary, as her hair tie, sneakers, and backpack were all pink, all the exact same shade as her strange magenta eyes. Many people had mistaken the little girl for a demon because of those eyes, but she was the furthest thing from one.

Sango Chikara, the five-year-old bookworm who sat swinging her feet and chomping happily on a pink fruit chew, was a demon slayer.

For centuries, her family and others like it had enjoyed one of the highest positions in society: keepers of the peace, guardians against the barbarian demons. Then, about ninety years ago, it had been declared illegal to kill a demon for any reason other than self-defense, as steadily civilizing society began to open its arms more widely toward the outcast species that had been both predator and prey of the human race. Yet the demon slayers remained. Some had stayed to keep the more traditional-minded demons in their place. And some degenerated into behavior no better than that which had justified their own hunting down of demons.

Gangs sprang up. The proud demon slayer line became corrupted with intimidation and the dishonesties of common street hooligans. It was slayer tradition that very child would be carefully "bred" and brought up to carry out the honorable tradition of guarding the human race against demons. Demon slayer blood was precious, and yet for the first time, a significant number of parents began to disown the carefully reared heirs to the demon slayer race. Their numbers began to dwindle, and the final blow fell upon their proud race with the Demon Rights Movement of the 1970s. Demon slayers came to be known as the worst of those biased against demons, and fell unbelievably out of favor with the general public.

But their pride remained, as was evidenced in little Sango. A kindergartener who devoured books like sweets, she possessed pure demon slayer blood and already had the training to knock out a full-grown man. She was easily the most athletic in the class; she had trained with traditional weapons like swords and weighted chains since she was three. She eagerly awaited the day she could begin to use her favorite: her mother's Hiraikotsu, a giant boomerang that had been passed down the female family line for almost a century.

Yes, Sango was intimidating. Yet sitting on that bus with Kuranosuke while her classmates chanted at her back, Sango felt little more than the childish thrill of friendship, the passing exhilaration of flavored sugar in her mouth. Her odd-colored eyes held no malice when she looked upon demons, and her physical training had done nothing to harden her naturally sweet personality. And so when she got off the bus that day, chanting "Sticks and stones" at the persistent children in the very back, the little girl's only thoughts concerned whether or not she should tell her father of what had happened with Kuranosuke today.

He might call Kuranosuke my boyfriend…again Sango ran over that thought with distaste, sticking her thumb on her nose and wiggling her fingers at the classmates who were pulling their own faces at her as the bus drove away. Kuranosuke is my best friend, but boys still have cooties!

Sighing, she adjusted her backpack, pink dice key chains rattling against the pink denim, trotted up the driveway, and hopped energetically onto the porch. Besides the fact that her balance was perfect and her landing stance momentarily wary and poised for action, she alighted on the oak boards as any female kindergartener might, giggling and attempting a ballet-esque twirl at the end. She then gave the empty street a skirt-less curtsy and giggled again.

Sango's mouth suddenly pursed. What would Father say if he saw her? That she was acting like a real girl (ick!) again? With that thought, she straightened, her eyes alert, her chin up, shoulders back, muscles slightly tensed, taking the stance of the ever-watchful demon slayer.

Marching purposefully to the front door, Sango reached to her neck and pulled a small necklace out from the inside of her shirt, from which hung a silver house key. Father never came home before six, and only after he picked Kohaku up from the nursery. So ever since Mama had died last summer, Sango usually stayed at home alone in the afternoons.

She stuck the key in the keyhole and turned it and the doorknob all at once. As she opened the door, key still firmly inserted in the doorknob, Sango was as always forced to trot as close to the door as possible so her necklace wouldn't get jerked off of her neck. Once the door was open all the way, Sango had had to dance after the doorknob and turn so she was facing outside. She removed the key and closed the door, then dropped the cold piece of metal back down her shirt. Then, she turned around.

Eh? Why are Father's shoes still here? And why did he leave Kohaku's bag here? Sango eyed the big white and navy blue sneakers and the green and blue-striped baby bag. Then, she shrugged and forgot it. The hallway was, as always, dark, and she quickly flipped on the lights. Once the shadows had been dispersed, she happily shuffled her socks along the slippery hardwood flooring and headed toward the kitchen. What'm I gonna eat for a snack today?

Now, even though Sango's father worked almost all day then came home to two young children, he somehow managed to keep the house quite neat. Thus, Sango was surprised when she noticed a broken plate lying in the entrance to the kitchen. Father would never leave something lying about like this!

The little girl continued curiously into the kitchen. "What the heck?" she exclaimed, glancing around the messy room. Since when had Father ever left for work with the kitchen looking like this? A bowl of cereal was upturned on the simple table, and two small puddles of spilled milk had formed on the table and the floor. The spoon had been kicked almost under the refrigerator, and the drying rack for the dishes had fallen to the floor. Sango stepped gingerly around the broken shards of porcelain and the few intact plastic plates and peered into the sink. There was her plate, complete with crumbs from her morning Pop-Tart! What on earth would have made her father leave things in such disarray?

Sango continued around the table, and stared at the floor in surprise. There in the middle of the white tile was a huge stain of blackish-reddish brown. Even more strangely, there were marks that made it look like something had been dragged from the middle of that stain into the hallway that led to the bedrooms. The young girl knelt and touched the stain. It was dry, and slightly crumbly, and for some reason, it gave her goose bumps.

Nevertheless, she stood and followed the trail of red-brown spots, pacing through the hallway and toward her father's room. As usual, his door was closed, and for a moment she hesitated, remembering her father's rule that she stay out of his room unless she badly needed to talk to him. But curiosity won against caution, and she reached up and turned the doorknob.

"…Father?" Why was he home so early? He lay sprawled haphazardly over the bed, both legs dangling onto the floor, his arms lolling in very uncomfortable-looking positions. Why would Father ever sleep like that?

"Father?" she asked again, stepping toward him, ignoring the rust-colored discoloring that covered the blankets. "Father, why are you home early? Where's Kohaku?"

Another step closer, and she had her answer. Her one-year-old brother was lying beside him, also covered in that auburn layer of…something. "Why are both of you home?"

Icy fingers danced up and down her spine, and she lunged forward, desperately grabbing at her father's arm for the protection she suddenly needed against this new, lost feeling. "Father! Father, come on, wake up, I want you to answer me! Father!"

Had his arms ever felt so cold, or so stiff? "Father, why are you ignoring me?" She shook his arm as hard as she could, ignoring the stain, like the one in the kitchen except redder and slightly wet, which smeared over her fingers. "Father? Father! Father, answer me! Father, wake up, please wake up!"

-- -- --

"Come on, Kagome, we're going to be late for the Open Arms banquet!" A brown-haired man rushed past the girl's bedroom door, fiddling haphazardly with his cufflinks and glancing around in agitation. "Honey, where's my tie?"

"First off, Kureno, it's the Children's Breadbasket we're going to tonight, not Open Arms. And your tie is on the couch, exactly where you left it." The woman, with raven-black hair like the girl's, paused to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear. Then, she smiled at the girl. "So, Kagome, how do you like your new dress?"

Kagome Higurashi gave her a gap-toothed smile and twirled around. "It's my favorite color!"

The woman laughed. "That's right! Suddenly, it looks like I have a little yellow butterfly for a daughter!"

The little girl halted and primly smoothed down her lacy saffron-colored dress. "No, mommy, I'm a daff…daffy…"

"Daffodil?" her mother suggested with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah, a daffodil! I'm a good little flower and I'm gonna stay in one place all night!"

"That's my little daffodil," Mrs. Higurashi said approvingly. She stood, tugging at the hem of her baby-blue silk blouse. "You're such a good girl, Kagome. I'm glad you're mine."

Giggling, Kagome hugged her mother's sapphire skirt-covered legs. When she opened her mouth to reply, her father suddenly burst into her room, breathlessly fumbling with his tangled red tie. "Come on, come on, Hana, Kagome, we're gonna be late!"

Hana Higurashi sighed patiently and walked over to her husband. As her hands took over the task of properly tying his tie, she gently responded, "Kureno, honey, relax. We still have a few minutes before we need to get out on the road."

"Okay…" The man took a deep, calming breath. "You're right, Hana. It's just…you know how I am about being late."

"Daddy, Daddy, look at my dress!" Kagome interrupted, unable to hold back any longer. She flounced up to him and stood stock still, her whole body trembling with suppressed energy.

He looked down at her in slight surprise, then grinned. "You look beautiful, Kagome!" Just as his wife finished with his tie, Kureno swooped down on his daughter and scooped her into his arms. Standing, he laughed as Kagome giggled happily. "Just think how jealous of me all those other men will be! There they'll be, all single and thinking they're so great, and then I'll walk in with the two most beautiful girls in the world, one on each arm!" He slung one arm around his wife's shoulder. "Am I not the luckiest man in the world?"

Hana smiled and kissed his cheek. "Indeed you are. Come on, honey, let's get going. Kagome, do you have something to keep you busy while we're there?"

"Yup!" Kagome wriggled to signal to her father that she wanted to get down and, once he'd set her down with another hearty laugh, raced to her Playskool desk and picked up a coloring book. "See? It's my lance-ape one!"

"Landscape," her father corrected with a smile. "I'm surprised, Kagome. Not a lot of girls your age are interested in landscapes."

She selected a 64-pack of well-used crayons and replied, "But they're pretty! I'm doing my favorite one today!" The little girl suddenly found it necessary to flip her coloring book open and proudly display a boldly outlined sunset over a mountain lake. "I'm gonna make it look like the one we saw at the mountain hotel place with the big strawberry cheesecake."

"'The mountain hotel place'? Oh, you mean the Birthday Child convention, right honey?" Hana looked over at her husband. "Right? The one where they send kids care packages on their birthdays?"

Kureno nodded, staring thoughtfully down at his daughter who was so avidly studying her next masterpiece. "Yeah…" he agreed vaguely. Then, he met his wife's gaze. "It's amazing, isn't it? I have never met anyone as captivated by art as Kagome is, and she's only five. She'll be a force to be reckoned with when she's older."

Both smiled proudly down at Kagome. Hana suddenly asked, "Kagome? How would you like it if we got you a paint set?"

"A paint set?" Huge gray eyes tore away from the coloring book to Kagome's parents.

"Yes, a bunch of beautifully colored paints, and lots of paper, too. That way, you can make your own pictures."

Something very fizzy exploded in Kagome, and she shrieked and hugged her mother's legs. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, can I get one? I promise I'll be a good girl, if I just get a paint set! Please?" She hit first her mother and then her father with her most carefully cultivated angelic look, and was rewarded with Hana's approving laugh.

Kureno joined in their amusement, herding both females out of Kagome's bedroom as he added, "First thing tomorrow, we go shopping for Kagome's new paint set! But, the first thing we need to do now is get on that car, or we'll be late, and I mean it this time!"

A few hurried but content minutes later, the Higurashi Lexus was backing out of the garage with all three members happily strapped in. Hana had thrown on an elegant, Chinese-style jacket of black silk over her outfit to ward off the springtime chill. Occasionally glancing down at the driving directions Childrens' Breadbasket had provided to its invitees, Kureno maneuvered through the streets beginning to swell with rush hour traffic. A light thump, thump, thump resonated from the backseat as Kagome absentmindedly kicked her little white dress shoes against the seat and examined her coloring book.

Kureno suddenly stepped firmly on the brake, and the car slid to a stop just as the light turned red. "Kagome," Hana asked, twisting around to look at her daughter, "are you all right back there? You're awfully quiet."

"Yeah, I'm just picking what colors I'm gonna use. The clouds were pink and yellow, right?"

"I think the ones further away from the sun were a little purple, too, Kagome," her father added thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and watching the cross-traffic. "Geez, this must be the longest red light in the city."

"Well, maybe if you stop watching the lights like a hawk watches a mouse's burrow, it'll finally change," his wife advised with a laugh. "You know the old saying: the watched pot never boils."

He turned and gave his wife a smile. "Now, don't you go spouting clichés on me, Hana."

Beep beep!

"Ah, shoot," Kureno grumbled, sparing the now-green traffic light one quick glance and stepping on the accelerator once more.

Kagome had looked up when the car behind them had honked, and now she watched as they advanced into the intersection, Mommy getting ready to say something witty to Daddy—

Wait, the light was green…

So why was a car zooming down the cross-street…

"Watch out!" Mommy suddenly screamed, reaching out for the steering wheel…

What was that word Daddy just said? She'd never heard it before…it sounded like "o-shit", whatever that meant…

The steering wheel was turned all the way, and the car was turning, but it was still going further into the intersection…the tires were squealing…Daddy was saying more new words and said something like, "We're skidding!"

And the car was still coming, and Kagome could see the lady driving it…she had her hair up in a ponytail or something…why wasn't she slowing down…why was everything moving so slowly…

I want my paint set to have a color just like that car, all dark green and sparkly, she thought.

Suddenly, everything happened all at once. Kagome's eyes widened as her mother screamed and the car kept coming and her father jerked at the wheel and the car got closer and suddenly she was screaming and then…

And then there was nothing.

(end)

-- -- --

And so ends chapter uno of How Many Silver Linings in a Thunderstorm, Silver Linings for short. Wow, this is just barely fourteen pages long…I haven't written so much in a long time.

Anyway, readers both old and new, let me know what you think about this chapter. And please, no rants about what an evil bitch I am. I am already perfectly aware of my literary sadism; I'd much rather you guys spend your typing time either complimenting or criticizing without angry ranting. This chapter is sad and evil and all…but there will definitely be lighthearted moments.

By the way, if you guys are confused about stuff, feel free to ask me, but some things are meant to be kept under wraps until the plot calls for their unveiling. "The bad man" will remain unidentified. Royakan, Kaguya, and Mr. Seikai (anyone recognize him as the monk Kikyo kills in manga volume eight?) will likely play either minimal or nonexistent roles for the remainder of the story. I just picked random people to stand in as social workers, so…yeah. If anyone has questions about the whole demon slayer history thing, I'll be happy to explain it in the opening author's note of chapter two, but make sure you ask for an explanation, or else I won't bother! Um…they're all in some random country that I will name later, where Japanese names and American customs are the norm.

If I've missed anything, let me know, and I'll either reply to your review or answer in the next chapter. Until then!