People Are People, an inuyasha fanfic

People Are People

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, nor the song "People are People." They belong to Rumiko Takahashi and Depeche Mode, respectively.

Crack!

When the whipping first started, the crack was all he could hear. It ripped at his ears as much as the leather ripped at his skin, welts and soon blood left in the wake. He could barely feel the pain over the sound, it seemed. He could barely see what was right in front of him; everything was dim, gray, numb, but there was noise.

But slowly, though he knew logically that it never lessened, it faded from his hearing. Instead, his thoughts became louder and louder, and the scene before him brighter and brighter. His sense of smell seeped back too, though the background of his blood was barely registered, his nose focused on the foreground of fear, pain, and blood lust from the man before him, and those around him.

He noticed the tiniest of details in the images his eyes supplied: the bead of sweat rolling down the man's temple, the way his pulse quivered in his throat, the white knuckles of both hands, the shifting of dirt as he pulled back and struck, pulled back and struck, pulled back and struck...

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Vaguely, as if it were an irrelevant and (rare) innocent comment from the monk, he heard sobbing, and smelled sorrow. But that was far, far from him now. In a separate world. Not in this world. Not with him, or the whip, or the man whipping him.

The mob ringing the post was mostly yelling and glaring and pumping fists in the collective self-righteous blood lust of mobs everywhere, egging on its auxiliary, its limb, to greater and greater heights. The limb fed off their frenzy, and followed the needs of the vulk, aiming lower, then higher, striking harder and harder.

Tendons stood out in the man's neck, and his eyes widened too far, and an insane grimace of pleasure or pain twisted his mouth. He sweated profusely, and he stank of exhaustion, but his adrenaline soared with the crowd's yells, and he whipped on, he whipped on, he whipped on!

Crack, crack, crack!

Inuyasha watched, silently.

His mouth was set like a line of quartz in a granite boulder: a little jagged, but mostly straight, and stark. His body absorbed every strike with an almost imperceptible ripple, but never a flinch. His body was very still. But his eyes...

His eyes bore into his assailant with all the power of the sun in the desert. They did not accuse, nor beg. They were not pained, nor fearful, nor sad. They did not flicker, or swing slowly about to take in the entire scene. No; they were fixed on the man, and pressed upon him in a powerful, authoritative way, for all that he was helpless and the man he looked at the one in power.

His thoughts were strangely calm, almost zen-like. Focused, collected, forceful. His mind was blank, save for the knowledge that the man in front of him was not a monster. This truth was all he needed, apparently, to keep his rage in check. And it was in the pursuit of communicating this truth that he stared. He sought for his eyes to say what his mouth could not, thanks to the same sutra that rendered him immobile.

Humans did not have the blood lust of youkai: theirs waned and crashed and burned, and the ashes of remorse often choked them. In a mob, it caught and spread and consumed like wildfire, but its power would still fade all too soon.

Inuyasha had merely to wait it out.

Crack—not a monster—crack!—not a monster—Crack!

Not a monster.

When he passed out from blood loss, the whipping continued, and though his eyes were closed finally, their gaze seemed burned into the skin of the man executing the whipping. A tattoo...a scarlet letter...the product of a red-hot brand.

"What's—what's going on over there?" Kagome asked, squinting in the dim light of dusk.

"I'm not sure..." Sango answered, squinting as well.

Unconsciously, the group adjusted their direction so that they could come to the crowd and see what all the commotion was about. They were tired from the long day traveling, but not nearly as tired as they might have been: Inuyasha had been snapping at their heels all morning, trying to make them go at absurd speeds, until everyone, fed up, gave him two options: desist, or go as fast as desired on his own. And to everyone's surprise, he chose the latter in an instant, racing away with anger in his eyes.

The group was a little surprised at his reaction ("We weren't going that slowly, were we?"), but figured it was simply an immature fit of temper brought on by his characteristic impatience, and did not change their pace.

And so now, hours after he'd left, they caught up with him.

"Miroku, I think I smell Inuyasha! Do you see him?" Shippou asked excitedly from Kagome's shoulder. Miroku, being the tallest present, had to be able to see over the crowd, right?

"I'm... I'm not sure..." Miroku answered offhandedly, trying to buy time. That can't actually be our hanyou—? he thought, but as they moved closer it was undeniable. How did this happen? And what happens when the girls—this situation requires such delicacy, but they'll simply react with their instincts! he thought hurriedly, trying to come up with some solution before Kagome or Sango noticed—but he was too late.

"Miroku! I see Inuyasha! And they're...they'e whipping him!"

People are people, so why should it be

You and I should get along so awfully?

"What! Shippou, what are you talking about—you can't really mean that?" Kagome cried out in disbelief, no control to her reaction whatsoever, just as Miroku had feared.

"Shh! Kagome-sama, if they hear you disagreeing with them, the mob might turn on us! Best we leave now, and come back later and untie him—" Miroku rushed to explain, but she wouldn't understand.

I can't understand

what makes a man

hate another man

help me understand

"What! We can't leave! How could you say that?! We have to save him—!" Kagome shrieked, incredulous, until Miroku covered her mouth with his hand.

Sango had been on the verge of agreeing with the miko, loudly, until she saw the look in Miroku's eyes: hard, serious, and desperate. He looked up to her next, as if to ask what she would do or say. She shook her head silently, and moved to leave, muffling Shippou before he could call attention to them as well. The looks they got already were worrisome, though most of the mob hadn't noticed them.

It was Kagome's sobbing that Inuyasha smelled, and the group's sorrow he smelled.

People are people, so why should it be

You and I should get along so awfully?

"Shippou, if you can't be more quiet, you will have to leave the village now," Miroku hushed him, his tone angry but his eyes worried. If we're caught...

"Miroku-sama, I see him!" Sango whispered, stalking silently ahead. Her black tajiya outfit came in handy when stealth was in order. And if ever it was...

"How, how is he?" Kagome murmured, following a few meters behind. If anyone here is more worried than me...

I can't understand

"He's...he'll be fine, Kagome-chan, don't worry," Sango assured her, without looking her in the eye. But no one's fooled...

"T-that bad?"

what makes a man

"He will be fine, Kagome-sama. Just focus on that." Miroku put a hand on her shoulder, and looked her in the eye, seriously, when Sango couldn't respond. He had better be...

hate another man

She looked at him for a moment, looked as if she would say something more [help me understand], then bit her lip and nodded bravely, and moved on. From shadow to shadow, the group crept from their cozy inn to the center of the village, where the whipping post stood...

Oh, Inuyasha...Kagome barely contained when she saw him. Similar thoughts burst forth in the minds of the rest.

Tight-lipped, the group took in the sight before them for an instant: dirt sticky with dried blood, moonlight painting shredded cloth and skin white, shadows cloaking the rest, inciting fear to fill in the details—and then they moved.

Kagome and Miroku stepped forward to evaluate the sutra and Sango to examine the knots binding his wrists to the post. Shippou and Kirara slunk away to stand guard.

So we're different colors

They hissed at the closer view of his wounds, trying to ignore them and failing.

And we're different creeds

Distracted by the blood and the thought of infection, Kagome forgot caution and tried to remove the sutra by hand. "Ahh! Itaii!" she yelped in surprise as it shocked her and she fell on her rump in surprise.

And different people have different needs

Miroku froze, as did Sango. Did anyone hear?

It's obvious you hate me

Though I've done nothing wrong

A few minutes passed without movement or sound. Just tense listening.

I never even met you

So what could I have done?

But they heard nothing, and with sighs of relief all around, returned to their work. Miroku inspected the sutra with much more care and Kagome assisted with a lighted arrow tip, so he could see the damnable thing. Sango pulled out a knife and started trying to saw through the rope binding the hanyou, the knot impossible to untie in the dark.

They focused as best they could, but in the back of their minds the disbelief ran rampant. The confusion, the fear, and the anger mixing and reforming, melding and solidifying into new alloys of greater strength but greater bitterness, only to be melted down again for the addition of more impressions and ideas, some philosophical, and some vengeful...

"Ah! This part is to silence him...I can undo that, at the very least," Miroku realized, half-pleased with the progress. Swiftly, he muttered a prayer and traced his right index finger along the top character on the sutra, in the opposite directions from which it had been written—and it disappeared.

"Good, Miroku-sama! Now there's only two more!" Kagome quietly cheered him on, her optimism superficial, but how much better could she do in such circumstances? They could hardly whisper a few words and trace Inuyasha's wounds in opposite directions from how they were inflicted and make them disappear.

"Right..." he sighed, peering closer at the sutra. The characters were severely stylized, but he was almost positive the one part meant 'still'—but then what was the rest? 'Weakness looked different, as did 'immobilization', and 'energy-devouring'... No, he'd seen this before. Where? What did it mean? He gritted his teeth, the memory so close, so close!

And shoved irrevocably away by Kirara's warning hiss and Shippou's yelp: "They heard! They're coming!"

People are people so why should it be

You and I should get along so awfully?

"What! Wait, what—what do we do?" Kagome muttered, trembling. "We can't leave him! Not to those—those—those monsters!"

"They're... They're not..." a voice rasped, barely a breath. None heard.

Miroku made a split-second decision. "Kagome-sama! Quickly, before they get here! Collect all your power into the tip of that arrow—we'll just blast the sutra off—there's no time to figure it out now!"

Sango was of a slightly different opinion. She sawed more quickly now, but focused on everything around them, readying herself to fight. Miroku had been right earlier that day, but now—now was too late to wait. This needed to end.

Now you're punching and you're kicking

and you're shouting at me

"No... You idiots... Just leave... They're not monsters... They won't kill me, but they could you—get out of here," Inuyasha managed to say loudly enough to be heard.

Everyone froze, and stared at him, wondering if they'd heard right. How could he be conscious? And what on earth could he mean? What was wrong with him?

I'm relying on your common decency

So far it hasn't surfaced

But I'm sure it exists

It just takes a while to travel

from your head to your fist.

But too much time had passed; with a thunder of pounding feet and angry yells, the mob, only slightly reduced, stormed down upon them, and leaving wasn't an option. The few members still in bed were more than made up for with the greater lust afforded by the darkness, the sinful influence of shadows as potent as any lost member if not more...

"Idiots, get out of here now. I'll be fine, these people... They're people. People are people," Inuyasha grunted, not making much sense except to himself. His voice was strangely calm, his expression as still as before, almost... Almost peaceful...

Miroku flinched, struck by a thought that snuck up on him. Peaceful... Peaceful!

"No, Inuyasha! We are not leaving you, these are not people; they're your would-be killers!" Sango muttered at him, even as she readied the Hiraikotsu.

"Kagome-sama! I know what the sutra's trick is! Repeat after me:" and he supplied a prayer made up on the spot, for as far as he knew, no one else had ever written a counter-spell for a sutra blessing—or, in this case, forcing—peace.

Purple and pink energy glowed brighter and brighter from the sutra, and Inuyasha would have shivered, if he could. All that spiritual energy was... Uncomfortable, to say the least. But he had other things to worry about, like Sango escalating the situation.

"Sango, don't you dare fight them. It will just make everything worse, and you know it." He spoke with conviction and collection, so differently from his typical hot-headed behavior that she wondered for a moment if he'd hurt his head as well.

"What else am I supposed to do? Let them come and attack us?!" Her incredulous tone made her opinion of that notion clear.

"Let them move first. Chances are, they won't."

"Oh, and you know this from experience?" she snarled without thinking, but she did lower the Hiraikotsu.

His eyes darkened noticeably, and he merely said: "Yes."

The thought of past mobs and whippings now clawing at the air, Sango felt some remorse. But her frustration was stronger. The mob was getting closer by the second, jeering and sending tendrils further and further forward before drawing them back a bit and seeping forward to meet them, ever closer, ever closer...

With an anticlimactic lack of explosions or sounds or other obvious signs of capitulation, the sutra crumbled into dust and fell away.

Able to move once more, the hanyou immediately ripped his sawed-in-half rope apart, stood with authority in his gaze and gait, then collapsed, cursing as the pain hit him like a brick wall.

Well. There was no way they could fight in this condition. Practicality won over Sango's desire for vengeance, and in seconds Kirara bore them all away, far away from the mob and its shocked, indignant yells as its target was stolen away so suddenly and unfairly.

The cool air whipped through them like a bath, cleansing memories and fears and anger; they were safe. All of them.

I can't understand

"Inuyasha?" Kagome dared to ask. With firm hands from too much practice, she tended to his marred flesh.

"Yeah?" he answered gruffly. His eyes were closed, his expression unreadable.

Without meaning to, the rest of the group leaned toward the duo a little, listening. Miroku sat with crossed legs and closed eyes, feigning meditation; Shippou cuddled with Kirara, faking sleep; Sango quietly but intensely sharpened her katana. A day had passed since they'd first come upon him in the village, night had fallen again, and the firelight made for stark shadows and mysterious expressions all around. Kagome continued cleaning and changing Inuyasha's bandages, oblivious to the interest of the rest.

what makes a man

"You said," she paused, "something odd last night."

"What?"

"You said," she paused again; perhaps she was nervous about asking? Well, who wanted to remember last night? "That the villagers weren't monsters. Even after they treated you so awfully, you defended them."

hate another man

"You kept me from fighting them." Sango's eyes were as hard as the steel in her hand and tone.

Miroku looked at her surreptitiously, through his lashes, not entirely surprised. His gaze returned to Inuyasha after a moment, wondering how the hanyou would answer. He had attributed Inuyasha's strange behavior to the sutra—not only did it make his limbs still and 'peaceful', but his thoughts and emotions too. The effect should be gone now, though...

help me understand

"Yeah. That's because it wasn't worth it. And because they weren't monsters," Inuyasha answered with his typical loquacity. His expression didn't even flicker.

But Kagome felt his muscles tense under her fingers at Sango's words. Gently, she asked: "I can see how fighting them might be a waste of time, but why were you so verbally kind to them?"

what makes a man

He raised an eyebrow at her awkward phrasing, but it had the desired effect. "They were scared of me. I could smell it. The entire time. From what they shouted about, I figure some real monster did attack them not long ago, and they were scared as hell that I would do something worse. That's why they had such strong sutras to begin with, and the ambush ready—they were scared. They were only protecting their own. I might have done the same, if I were that weak."

"But—but even so, what they did was monstrous!" Sango hissed, eyes flashing. How could he say these things! He was practically excusing their treatment of him!

hate another man

Finally, Inuyasha reacted in an obvious way: his eyes flew open in a hard, though not incriminating, stare directed at the slayer.

"Yes. What they did. But one act does not make a monster, or else I would be too, wouldn't I?" Inuyasha pointed out softly.

Kagome couldn't make out his emotion; he wasn't angry, which was a surprise, but he certainly wasn't scoffing or sad or remorseful—just very serious, and sincere. Sincere in a way she wasn't used to from him, except on very rare occasions, and then usually mixed with fury or guilt...

"People are people. I was relying on their—their common decency—whatever—to wake up and let them see what they were doing. Remorse is enough punishment for a sane person. I know that."

help me understand

"Were you just going to wait while they whipped you until that happened?!" Sango rejoined, her incredulity only growing.

"Yes. It's not like I couldn't take it."

"Inuyasha!" Kagome gasped. She'd thought something like that might come out of his mouth, but still...

"What? When they woke up from that—that blood lust—seeing me, and knowing what they'd done—it would stop them from ever doing something similar again. Isn't that worth it?"

"But... What if you had died, waiting?" Kagome asked quietly—it was the question on everyone's mind.

help me understand

I can't understand

what makes a man

hate another man

help me understand

"That wouldn't have happened." Inuyasha's voice brooked no doubts.

"You don't know that!" Kagome responded heatedly.

"They stopped on their own, didn't they?" he pointed out.

"They only stopped for the night!" Sango burst in.

"But it was enough. I would have gotten free—" Inuyasha was cut off by the surprise explosion from Miroku.

"How!? You were immobilized! You couldn't even call for help, let alone help yourself!"

The two men looked at each other a moment, the monk on his feet, hands fisted at his sides, expression incredulous beyond Sango's even; the hanyou sitting quietly, evidence of his recent abuse exaggerated in the yellow firelight, eyes serious, not backing down.

"I sensed someone coming. The scent was not one of yours; it was one of the villagers. He was twenty feet away from me when you showed up, and then he retreated. He wasn't in the mob the second time, that night, though he was in the first one. He reeked of remorse."

Inuyasha spared a glance around at them all. When no one spoke, he continued.

"It's pretty obvious, inni't? He was coming to free me."

Everyone stared at him, not sure if they could believe him or not. His voice was as serious as it had ever been, and they all knew how not given to deceit he was. But even so... He was acting so out of character, being so calm, never getting upset at their frustration—was something wrong with him?

"Do you still have another sutra on you? Kagome-sama, if you please, check just in case we missed one," Miroku said with typical business-like calm after a minute or so.

"What the—get your hands off of me! I do not have another sutra on me! Don't you believe me?!" he growled, slapping her hands away, embarrassed and annoyed. In exactly the right, Inuyasha way.

"What's with the interrogation, anyway? I'm the only one here who's ever been whipped before—it's not like you would know what it's like, or how much I could take, or any of that. Lay off. You don't know what you're talking about," he grouched, temper finally sparked.

And so the subject was abandoned, with the group a little wiser and Inuyasha back to normal.

I can't understand

"So, you filthy hanyou, how do you feel?"

For a moment, lost in a smog of pain and scattered images, sounds, scents—memories—Inuyasha thought the speaker was his brother. He opened his mouth to speak, to curse him to his grave and beyond, but nothing came out. The speaker let go of his ear though.

The sharp pain of his ear threatening to tear leeched away, replaced by a steady throb that echoed throughout his body. He gritted his teeth, breathed in heavy hisses and puffs, and forcibly pulled his mind away from his body and the pain crippling it.

"I forgot," the man said softly, "you can't speak right now, can you?"

As stupid as it was, considering his situation, Inuyasha couldn't help but wonder: what's up with this guy? He cracked open his eyes, against his better judgment.

"But I don't need you to tell me to know how you feel right now," he amended with a snarl and a twist of his face, his body whipping back to face Inuyasha.

Somewhere, along the back wall of his skull, it registered that he knew this man's scent. And the scent of the sweat and blood staining his clothes still.

And yet, all Inuyasha could think of in response to all these stimuli was: you reek.

"Oh, yes, I know all to well what you feel right now!" the taller-than-average human rubbed in his face, eyes too wide again, his breath heating the inch or so of air between them.

"You're aching, wondering what happened to you, not remembering properly. You feel faint—blood loss. Angry—the memories are ripping at you! Of your weakness, of your failure, of the monster that did this to you—"

His voice, rasping with his dry throat, soft but intense, pierces the smog hanging just behind Inuyasha's eyes. Realization steals upon the hanyou like an egg cracked over the head of a first piece of evidence, and an inexorable flow of further connections dripping, slowly, down.

Perhaps the abrupt end to the monologue and the stricken look the man tried to hide had to do with a connection of his own?

Trying to collect his supports before they disappear, the man's eyes widen again, and, scent suddenly drowning in grief and pain, he convulsively shoves Inuyasha against the post by his shoulders, and stares up into his eyes in a way that suggests that Inuyasha can answer in the kami's place.

"Do you know what it feels like to wake up and know your beloved, your only, your precious—she's dead! A monster killed her, an insane beast, a hanyou whose blood boiled and filled his head and eyes—do you know what I would do to keep that from happening again? Do you know!?"

Inuyasha knew the flavor of that desperation all too well. Too many of his silent vows smacked of it. He knew enough to know just how much he didn't know, and didn't want to.

As if realizing that he was touching another one of these monsters, or perhaps for some other reason, the man staggered back, staring at his hands as if they were stained with his daughter's blood, rather than Inuyasha's.

After a moment of unintelligible murmurs, he looked up at Inuyasha again, his expression pathetic, a whimper an inch from leaving his lips.

"You have to understand! I couldn't let it happen again! I couldn't! No, not again, not again!"

And as if through divine inspiration, Inuyasha saw into this broken man. A good man, who loved his family dearly, strong physically, forced to face his own moral weakness. Seeing the grinning, ravenous other hanyou with his daughter's blood on his lips and attacking and whipping and, now, seeing his daughter before she died, again.

This had nothing to do with Inuyasha. He pitied the man.

What compelled the next act, neither knew, really. But, eyes now hooded, defeated, tears hidden by the dark, ten trembling fingers fumbled at the knot tying Inuyasha to the post.

help me understand

"How did you know, among all those different villagers in the mob, that the scent was one of theirs?"

Inuyasha shook his head, and filed the memory away.

Somehow he'd known Kagome would realize something was not quite right with his testimony. Too many holes, and he had always lacked the ability to deceive people. A miracle Miroku hadn't figured it out, really.

And so, resigned to explaining more, he dropped out of his tree and leaned against the trunk to talk with her.

"Don't tell the others," he cautioned, eyes hooded, sniffing to check none of them were close enough to hear. "But I know I was right because I knew his scent better than any of the others in the mob. Because he was the one, the only one, that whipped me."

Kagome stared at him a moment, eyes huge and eyebrows soaring. And with her typical mix of innocent prods and understanding, un-pushy silences, she managed to tip the cup that held the raw, steaming memory of the last night over completely, and Inuyasha, as usual, felt a mix of relief and confusion after spilling.

Kagome went back to sleep after that, and Inuyasha back to his branch, and the subject really was abandoned—though in every village with a whipping post or prejudiced villagers afterward, the memories would return, fresh as yesterday's... Because no amount of talk and memory spilling can explain what makes a man hate another man.

A/N: Never having written a songfic before, I wasn't exactly sure how to go about it. I've read some, and I knew that to just stick the lyrics in a block in the middle somewhere always annoyed me, so I tried to weave them in where appropriate… I hope that didn't just make it more annoying… Ah well.

Oh, and some specific notes of clarification: 'vulk' is German, and has to do with Hobbe's Leviathan, and the Nazis. Basically, the 'vulk' is the Leviathan which is the country in question which is made of all the people within it. And I vaguely remember the Nazis using the term. And I've just always thought the term fit very well with mobs, especially racist ones, as mobs behave like a single monster, and yet are made of many different people… I'm being condescending, aren't I? My apologies, I'll stop explaining excessively.

A scarlet letter, of course, is the mark of an adulterer in the Pilgrim societies of very early Massachusetts, a tattoo can be a mark of a gang or another Nazi reference, and the burnt product of a hot iron brand is what was often used to identify pirates and slaves. Hurrah! I may have had more cross-meanings swishing about my mind when I came up with those terms, but I don't remember them. Apologies to anyone who's insulted that I would explain these things as they should be obvious. I just try not to make assumptions.

And, I fear it's against the rules of songfics, but I listened to a lot of different songs while writing this. I mean, I did listen to "People are People" a good fifty times at least, I'm sure, but I also listened to Swedish rappers Frispråkarn, Maskinen, and Asafi and Filthy, and the Swedish swing/jazz/hip hop band Movits, and the Nigerian (correct me if I'm wrong) artist Fela Kuti, and Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, of course, for good measure.

I know, I'm insane. But it is easier to write with music in the background in a different language, because that doesn't distract from the writing as much. If that made any sense…

Anyway. This was a gift for inugomefiend. Not sure how well it came out, but I do like some parts of it. I hope you do too. Any reviews shall be appreciated!