These chapters will usually be shorter than the ones focusing on Sango and Miroku, but they may vary in length from time to time. They might also either reveal or withhold some important details from the readers depending on how I decide to write them.

Again, many thanks to the incomparable Sassybratt9791 for her amazing editing.

Kagome had read somewhere that the way movies showed unconsciousness was dangerous because they portrayed it as a relatively harmless thing—somebody would get knocked out by the bad guy or his henchmen, only to wake up perfectly fine hours later, or maybe just a little groggy—when in fact unconsciousness sustained for over a minute meant that the subject would most likely have brain damage.

In a way, Kagome was relieved; her being awake after what she hoped was a short amount of time most likely meant she hadn't suffered some kind of devastating injury. What was not good, however, was that her vision was blurry, her head and side pulsed in agonising pain, and her unbearable nausea hadn't lessened since the morning. She had a concussion, most likely.

Adding to her panic was that she had no clue where she was, nor could she identify the voices she heard faintly. Kagome tried to pick up the few details that she could in her state; from what she could tell, she was lying on a hard surface, with a strong vibration and the sensation of a few bumps jostling her making her guess at a van—the strong scent of petrol and the occasional street sounds confirmed it. The fuzzy outlines of a few people—definitely more than two—sat opposite her. Kagome supposed that meant another person was unaccounted for seeing as they needed someone to drive.

"...fucking idiot," she caught a rough voice saying.

"I swear I didn't mean—" someone else pleaded.

"Save it for later."

She could pick up the thick tension in the atmosphere even in her state, and wisely kept quiet. Kagome's hands felt numb and locked in the way that limbs that stay in one position for too long tend to feel—one was clamped firmly over her side, a little in the way of the intersection of her ribs and stomach, and she realised with a start that what little sensation she was regaining in her fingertips felt sticky and wet and smelled of iron.

She was bleeding.

Her moan attracted the attention of whoever those people were, and the rough-voiced one barked out a short order before directing another command to someone else in a lower voice. Kagome could barely discern their blurry forms, and a wave of nausea washed over her and forced her to squeeze her eyes closed to try and fight off the pain.

"—check her," she heard, right before a large, calloused hand belonging to an equally large and calloused man palpated her injured side tentatively before pressing down hard. The fresh sensation of hot, wet blood welling up and the spike of pain that followed made her gasp and then start to cry, prompting a round of curses and another order from the rough one. Kagome felt a wad of cloth being forced down on her wound to try and staunch the bleeding. The sensory overload, coupled with her fear, her inability to see properly, and her confusion over the entire situation, made her give in to her dizziness and vomit.

"FUCK!" The hand holding the cloth retreated, but a loud threat from the rough voice forced it back in place. Kagome felt a flurry of activity from where she lay, most likely from someone scrambling back to avoid being near her vomit. But throwing up had helped a little, though; in spite of the acrid stench and the bitter taste in her mouth, it was as if a giant weight had been relieved from her stomach.

"Clean that shit up," rough-voice growled and tossed his black hair. The person who'd argued with him before—certainly a contrast to the rest in his nicer wardrobe—began to protest before being quickly silenced. "I don't care about your excuses! You got us into this mess, so you're gonna be the one to get us out."

Kagome felt as though her head was a million times lighter, too. The shapes began to take on a more coherent form, and the metallic vibration of the car engine below running through her body was soothing. All she wanted to do was to give in to it, to lean into the exhaustion cradling her and sleep. Vomiting helped, but it left her feeling limp and weak, too. Kagome wanted to close her eyes and pretend she was having a nightmare.

She thought back to that morning when she was still at home and too ill to even get out of the futon to go to the toilet. Inuyasha, in spite of still being upset over the previous night's argument, fussed over her, and she remembered how he nagged her over breakfast to drink more tea and to take the ibuprofen her mother had sent last week. It had been so strange to see him off at the door instead of at the street corner they usually parted ways on when they left for work. She vaguely wondered what he was doing at the moment, and if he would come for her like he always did back when they were still in high school, young, cocky, and in over their heads.

Pain and fear paralysed her wounded body, and Kagome closed her eyes to the thought of her husband.

(*Inuyasha voice*) KAGOMEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I'm looking forward to writing more of these interlude chapters...they're so delightfully evil in ways that the "normal chapters" aren't!