Inuyasha halted abruptly, throwing the rest of the group off-balance. Kagome clutched at his shirt and looked up at his face, showing a mixture of fear, remembrance, and, predominantly, sadness. "What is it," she asked, worried for the pain in his eyes. He didn't answer; he pulled away, walking numbly down the street, between the debilitated and fallen-in shacks and shops. His feet led him to a faded, cracked bridge over a moss-covered creek. He put his hands on the side, his shoulders shaking fiercely. Kagome saw a tear roll down his face and she stepped over to his side. He said something, but she couldn't understand him, he spoke too quietly. Then, in a shaky voice he said, "This is where I lived as a child."
A shock ran through Kagome's body at his words. A memory forced itself into her mind, of Sesshoumaru's deceitful mimic of Inuyasha's mother as he tried to find the grave of their father, Inutaisho. Words left her, and she had no idea of anything to do to comfort him. He walked off the bridge, toward a very old-looking single house. His eyes caught something lying among the long grass, and he picked it up: a red ball. His hands closed around it tightly—it seemed quite small in his hands, though he held it much like a child would—and his body trembled. "This is where I first heard the word 'Hanyou'. I didn't understand why they hated me, why they called my mother dirty, why they hated her for loving a youkai and mothering a hanyou." He turned and looked at Kagome, his face streaked with tears. "They never even asked me how I felt about being who I was. They hated me for no reason." His voice choked off, and his claws bit into the surface of the ball.
Still, Kagome had no idea what to do, but her eyes welled up with tears for him, for the terrible ordeals he went through before he was old enough to understand. She just stood there, and it came as a complete shock to her when he dropped the ball and threw his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. Kagome sank to her knees, holding him close as he cried. Off on the sidelines, Miroku slipped an arm across Sango's shoulders, for she was beginning to cry as well.
Kagome ran a hand down the back of Inuyasha's silvery-haired head, comforting him as he cried. Somehow, the way he held her and shed his tears, he seemed to have reverted to a much younger age. He sobbed hard, each one racking his body, so very different from his usual, macho demeanor, that Kagome found herself rocking him slowly back and forth. "Ka-Kagome… I-I…"
"Shh-sh… It's okay, Inuyasha. It's okay." She hugged him tightly, then held him out at arms-length, looking into his eyes. "And it's okay to cry, no matter what you think people will think of you. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, you're Inuyasha. He stared at her through his tear-reddened eyes, looking so lost and so… childlike. "Inuyasha," Kagome said, "You've got to understand, humans fear and hate things they don't understand. It would scare someone, to see a child that never bandages a skinned knee, never cries over a bump on the head, because it would heal so fast. They wouldn't understand a child that has bigger-than-normal canine teeth and little white puppy ears. But, Inuyasha, you'll understand this: there are some people who do. Me, Sango-chan, Miroku-sama, we all care about you because of who you are." She used her thumb to wipe the tears off his face, then kissed his forehead. "Now, how about you cheer up? I've got chips!"
Laughing away the rest of his tears, Inuyasha wiped his face with his shirtsleeve and stood "Thanks, Kagome." He reached down, picked up the ball. "Here. Give it to Sota or something. I've gotta do something first, then we'll get going." He pushed the ball into Kagome's hands and, throwing his hair over his shoulder, climbed the creaky stairs and slipped around the corner, into the room his mother used to sleep in. There on the floor was the bamboo mat she used to sit on and hold him when he couldn't sleep. He lay down on the dusty, worn mat, curled up in a ball, remembering. He lay there for a long moment, then, whispering "Goodbye, Okaachan," stood and dusted himself off. Leaving the past behind was the hardest thing he could have done, but if he wanted to fight with his whole heart, he had to get this terrible weight off his chest. He left the room, sliding the balsa-and-paper door shut behind him.
A shock ran through Kagome's body at his words. A memory forced itself into her mind, of Sesshoumaru's deceitful mimic of Inuyasha's mother as he tried to find the grave of their father, Inutaisho. Words left her, and she had no idea of anything to do to comfort him. He walked off the bridge, toward a very old-looking single house. His eyes caught something lying among the long grass, and he picked it up: a red ball. His hands closed around it tightly—it seemed quite small in his hands, though he held it much like a child would—and his body trembled. "This is where I first heard the word 'Hanyou'. I didn't understand why they hated me, why they called my mother dirty, why they hated her for loving a youkai and mothering a hanyou." He turned and looked at Kagome, his face streaked with tears. "They never even asked me how I felt about being who I was. They hated me for no reason." His voice choked off, and his claws bit into the surface of the ball.
Still, Kagome had no idea what to do, but her eyes welled up with tears for him, for the terrible ordeals he went through before he was old enough to understand. She just stood there, and it came as a complete shock to her when he dropped the ball and threw his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. Kagome sank to her knees, holding him close as he cried. Off on the sidelines, Miroku slipped an arm across Sango's shoulders, for she was beginning to cry as well.
Kagome ran a hand down the back of Inuyasha's silvery-haired head, comforting him as he cried. Somehow, the way he held her and shed his tears, he seemed to have reverted to a much younger age. He sobbed hard, each one racking his body, so very different from his usual, macho demeanor, that Kagome found herself rocking him slowly back and forth. "Ka-Kagome… I-I…"
"Shh-sh… It's okay, Inuyasha. It's okay." She hugged him tightly, then held him out at arms-length, looking into his eyes. "And it's okay to cry, no matter what you think people will think of you. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, you're Inuyasha. He stared at her through his tear-reddened eyes, looking so lost and so… childlike. "Inuyasha," Kagome said, "You've got to understand, humans fear and hate things they don't understand. It would scare someone, to see a child that never bandages a skinned knee, never cries over a bump on the head, because it would heal so fast. They wouldn't understand a child that has bigger-than-normal canine teeth and little white puppy ears. But, Inuyasha, you'll understand this: there are some people who do. Me, Sango-chan, Miroku-sama, we all care about you because of who you are." She used her thumb to wipe the tears off his face, then kissed his forehead. "Now, how about you cheer up? I've got chips!"
Laughing away the rest of his tears, Inuyasha wiped his face with his shirtsleeve and stood "Thanks, Kagome." He reached down, picked up the ball. "Here. Give it to Sota or something. I've gotta do something first, then we'll get going." He pushed the ball into Kagome's hands and, throwing his hair over his shoulder, climbed the creaky stairs and slipped around the corner, into the room his mother used to sleep in. There on the floor was the bamboo mat she used to sit on and hold him when he couldn't sleep. He lay down on the dusty, worn mat, curled up in a ball, remembering. He lay there for a long moment, then, whispering "Goodbye, Okaachan," stood and dusted himself off. Leaving the past behind was the hardest thing he could have done, but if he wanted to fight with his whole heart, he had to get this terrible weight off his chest. He left the room, sliding the balsa-and-paper door shut behind him.