Chapter Twelve — Pity


Kagome wasn't exactly sure how she had come to, at a distance, admire Devil Bats. She'd seen Hiruma Yoichi in passing, she'd met Sena by chance on that fateful rainy day and the Raimon Taro—or Monta—next. She didn't know them enough to be considered acquaintances, much less friends. She didn't even know of them—heard gossip from others mouths or something of the like—much less knew them.

But there was something about them that had her oddly transfixed.

Maybe it was Hiruma's boldness—loud, confident and in your face.

Or Monta's playfulness and attitude—always so jovial.

Or was it Sena's insecurity—kind and shy?

Kagome wasn't certain.

Maybe it was her longing for her near yet distant past. The fun and laughter mixed with the pain and sorrow. Of days spent in whispering forests and worn roads, of singing streams and rivers and rolling hills—of trilling birds and the laughter of fauna. Of days when it was body upon body and dirt piled high, of days where empty houses, not bustling hotels were there rest stops. Of days where children laughed and played to when they screamed and cried. The ephemeral beauty in a world of violent madness. When death threats weren't taken so lightly but at the same time were.

But times like those had long past.

The supernatural was nothing more than a myth—children's bedtimes stories, sowed to keep them in line—but the qualities of those beings had not faded.

For someone like her, stuck in the past, it was only a matter of time before she became involved with people that gave her a shadow of the same feelings she felt then.

She had missed out on so much—she missed them so much.

And when she saw Sena—Sena, who was weak in heart and fragile in mind—her heart ached.

Because she saw her little Shippo, still small and clinging to her in any way possible. Who missed his father and cried himself to sleep every so often and would cuddle into her when Inuyasha's taunts went too far.

She saw Inuyasha, insecure of his status as a hanyō—desiring to be more like Sesshōmaru, more like his father.

She saw Miroku, afraid of his destiny—afraid of the inevitability of being sucked into the black hole he used as a weapon.

She saw Sango, so young, so jaded. Who felt like a failure as a tajiya, a sister, a daughter and a comrade.

She saw Kōga, so hurt and longing for his kin—angry at himself for his brashness and foolishness and clinging to the jewel shards just to protect the family he had left.

She saw Kohaku.

She saw Jinenji.

She saw Rin.

She saw Kagura.

She saw Shiori.

She saw Ai, Asagi, Moegi, Dai, Roku and Shion.

She even saw Sesshōmaru.

She saw her friends—her family—her loves.

And she saw herself.

So scared and alone in a time she felt like didn't belong to.

(But she did, didn't she? She was born in this era.)

So she pitied him.

And maybe… maybe it was this pity—not love, not guilt—that compelled her to reach a hand out to him.

(She couldn't help anyone really. Not even herself.)