InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Spring Fever ❯ Contagious ( Chapter 2 )

A/N: Thank you inu-babe!

 

Chapter 2

 

Contagious

 

Sesshomaru's eyes snapped open and he sat up from against the tree with a start, the pale light of unbroken morning greeting him. His golden orbs opened even wider at the realization that he had fallen asleep. With a most unfavorable dream no less. Controlling his rapid breathing, he placed the back of his hand against his brow and felt that he was indeed sweating. ... Why?

 

Tenseiga hummed innocently at his side.

 

Sesshomaru's eyes narrowed with spite. His father's sword was as audacious as the demon himself had been, and didn't seem at all troubled in guiding its current master to dream two despicable things. Two very despicable and very frightening things. First that he was ill, and second that he very was human and very mortal. There should be no mercy for combining the two either…

 

Sesshomaru heard a yawning Jaken approach, and calming quickly he watched as the toad wearily bowed to his Lord.

 

“Is Rin fed?” Sesshomaru asked, standing. His voices had faltered slightly from his dry throat, but it went unnoticed. Perhaps he'd let them go fishing with Tenseiga then leave it in the bottom of the river to find its own way to the ocean.

 

“Mm, my Lord wants to leave early today?” Jaken asked groggily, resisting another yawn and rubbing his overly large yellow eyes.

 

“By late morning,” Sesshomaru replied, walking off. They had an appointment, so to speak.

 

When it comes to dreams, the bad thing is that you can't control them. To make them worse would be to have a usually inanimate object sending you messages while you slept. Come to think of it, he hadn't even planned on going to sleep that night…

 

The sword hummed again.

 

“You test your power, Tenseiga,” Sesshomaru quoted himself from yesterday, his tone of voice a deathly warning.

 

As he approached the village to get rid of the source of Tenseiga's pestering, sword seeming happy by this outcome and remaining quiet, last night's dream replayed itself vividly in his mind.

 

Quite possibly the worse part was his inability to see. He couldn't open his eyes the entire time, but could tell there were people around him, audaciously touching his face and shifting the blankets over his body, which was shivering from the immense heat coursing through it and erratic nerves. If boiling water could replace blood, it did, and it beat heavily against his ears and echoed in his mind, willing him to insanity of sickness. He wanted to leap into a lake in full nude and sink to the deepest, coldest abyss it could offer. But just thinking of it made the fever all the more unbearable, and his arm throbbed with a most urgent pain, churning his stomach which felt filled with shattered glass. Just breathing brought bouts of agony, and if it rendered him unconscious the next breath would most certainly jolt him awake, creating an endless and vicious cycle of hell and imprisonment in a body attempting to fight, but dying.

 

Sesshomaru had never been sick before, and never, ever, wanted to be.

 

But this girl could not possibly be suffering as badly as he had been in his own mind. No human would endure it.

 

He momentarily thought of Rin being sick like that, then forced the idea away and grapple quickly for something else to occupy his mind.

 

As he mentioned, the pain was not the only thing that was terrible about that dream. Along with lack of sight, he could neither speak nor move, and he didn't know who it was touching him. It was terrible to know you were so weakened that you would allow someone to lift your head for a drink. And what was worse is that they didn't, and he wanted them to. It felt like he had been staring at the sun for hours with an open mouth, and the thought of a quenched thirst seemed all too merciful for the present conditions. No, a dry tongue was fine. It would all quickly transform into sweat and insulate him even more anyway.

 

His claws dug into his palms for where these thoughts were going. How disgraceful. He was the Lord of the Western Lands, not an ill mortal about ready to experience his own mortality. He has lived through many generations of human filth, and would live for many more, and dreaming of being one of the blinks of a lifetime within his own was an utter waste of time and concern.

 

The breath of nature welcomed him and he balked, placing a hand over his stomach when the scent of illness hit him square in the face, announcing his proximity to the village where his half-brother stayed. It was more horrid than before and made him taste copper, his throat clenching and stomach quivering with anxiety. It was times like these he envied humans and their incompetence when it came to the senses.

 

Speaking of, his ears could detect agonized whimpering and frantic discussion, luring him to a destination. What he gathered before stepping out of the woods was that the fever had gotten worse and Inuyasha wasn't back yet from `Kagome's time'. What did they mean by that?

 

He was paused at the edge of the forest not ten arm spans from the nearest shabby residence, Tenseiga urging him on.

 

“You truly want me to go in there,” he addressed the blade, hearing the revolted ring in his words. It was confirmed, and Sesshomaru walked into the invisible circle of the village and towards the small house of illness like it was every day business in his own home… His huge, well maintained, illness free home. The only difference was his servants were temporarily grungy humans who gave up bowing for dropped their things with shock and running in the opposite direction like rats, and his mother was not keeping an annoying eye on every little thing he chose to indulge in. To think some wondered why he preferred the country side, it should seem obvious.

 

Another woman spotted him, smelling of caked on filth and looking the part, and fled. Disgusting.

 

As he approached the location he heard a wooden utensil drop inside, and before he was even twenty feet away from the steps the monk and slayer barged out, weapons in hand.

 

It was delightful to see how wide a humans eyes could open. They seemed even more shocked than his most recent.

 

“S-Sesshomaru?” the monk asked, completely dumbfounded.

 

“What do you want Sesshomaru?” the slayer demanded. “We are dealing with a sick person, this is no time for a fight.”

 

Well, at least she knew he was honorable enough to not make attacks on the weak.

 

“The miko is ill,” he stated, not really knowing what to say. The situation was odd for both parties, and a very broken sword was going to be the result of the encounter.

 

He expected them to attack, but instead they shared a glance, looked at him, then at one another again. The monk shrugged, and they stepped aside.

 

They MUST be desperate to allow him, a demon lord, in so easily. That or planning to stab him in the kidneys, but they'd die before shifting to make the move. He brushed the `door' aside, and was nearly floored by the odor which attacked his sensitive nose all too happily. He looked down at the young woman laying on the floor near the two water buckets, one completely empty and the other with about four inches remaining. She had a thin blanket over her, and it was damp in places from perspiration.

 

His dream started to plague both his mind and body as he watched her laying helplessly on her back, unable to move and panting frantically, throat obviously dry inside from a night of laboring for air, and she covered in a sheen of sweat with eyes wincing, silently begging for help. She took an especially deep breath and a ragged cry interrupted it.

 

He stopped looking at her to cease feeling sick. The sight was so familiar it was enough to haunt, and that was remarkable to bring about in himself.

 

This was ridiculous. Perhaps he should just kill her and end matters there. However, there was still the matter of the Jewel, which sat on a small cloth near the corner of the room, far from the miko and under a layered barrier. Its contents swirled darkly, calling out to the weak with tantalizing promises of power. It was a completed Shikon no Tama now, and waiting to utilize its powers.

 

“I don't know what brings you here,” the monk began, suddenly snapping Sesshomaru's attentions away from the calling Jewel. The slayer was at the miko's side and drew from the bucket a rag, squeezing it and settling the cloth over the girl's forehead. “But if it is not to help, then I will ask you to leave.”

 

“How long has she been like this?” Sesshomaru asked, trying to sound perfectly normal as he became aware once more of the atmosphere and his stomach began to leap with sickened giddiness.

 

His question seemed to take the humans aback. And it should. The only reason he gave them any of his attention was because of that infernal sword. Of course he wasn't wanting to help, nor sympathizing with the girl, who was miraculously still alive and probably needed to have those buckets filled and upended over her immediately…

 

“She passed out early last evening,” the slayer informed. “This is the worse she's been, and it started when the stars were beginning to dull.

 

That time span made him want to cringe, but he quickly collected himself and suppressed all unneeded senses; primarily smell and compassion. Why did Naraku leave them with this? If he hadn't shot the tainted Shikon into Inuyasha's sword this wouldn't be happening. And if it were happening to anyone, anyone, other than the protector of that forsaken Jewel he was sure to never be involved with such unimportant matters no matter how much the sharpened rod of metal and power strapped at his side griped over it. But, it was the miko, and since he nor anyone worthy enough would make the wish and destroy the Jewel without becoming tainted, it needed a protector. A very not dying protector, and if she died then he was stuck with miko recruitment duities in his terrain to watch over the dangerous artifact, and that did not sound delightful in the least.

 

This was sure to give him a splendid headache. “Then why does she remain here in her condition?”

 

They blinked at him.

 

“Submerge her in the stream and let her drink to reduce her temperature.”

 

The humans were quite surprised.

 

“Then she could die of hypothermia,” the monk stated.

 

“'Could' is a better outcome than `will', in terms of this fever,” Sesshomaru informed. Why was he there… Did he have to be there? His sword was going to regret this. This was the most he's spoken to humans on any given day, and that's counting with Rin. That little joyous chatter box could supplement his need to talk just fine. Also, these were the companions of his embarrassment of a half brother, he should never need to or indulge talking with them.

 

That headache was starting to prick itself a nice spot right between his eyes.

 

“Our thanks,” the monk stated a little while later, standing next to the daiy?kai as the slayer carried the miko into the stream. “I can't see a reason for you to try and harm us, so thank you for your assistance.”

 

The gratitude was given. He was free.

 

Tenseiga became alarmed when Sesshomaru walked away, but what else could that sword want him to do? The miko was not his friend, and even for a friend he would be hard pressed to show bed side manners. He was an aristocratic assassin, not a caretaker, and if nature claimed the ill female that instant he wouldn't even bat an eyelash over it.

 

He felt the eyes of the humans on him as he took his leave. Hopefully it would be a last.

 

A/N: I'm going to gradually get into longer chapters. :D