Not Beta Read, Checked for Errors. Just writing my heart out with this piece. Warnings and what have you are on my profile.

Chapter 4

His body felt heavy as he toiled over the papers at his desk. The smell of fresh ink burned his nostrils next to his warm sake. The pen toiled desperately across the sheet filling in the information and access needed for his region. Wispy strands of hair fell about his face onto his desk. His shirt and pants were wrinkled as he sat fighting a fight with his pen and paper…a far cry from the battlefields of blood he wondered. But this enemy could not be fought with such metal, stone, fire, force, anger, and poison. For it was all of these things already.

What had the humans done?

They know no bounds!

The numbers kept increasing. His mind running wild to various solutions and alliances. They were running out of resources. Youkai were falling alongside their human counterparts. This enemy did not discriminate. It cared not for kind, gender, ethnicity, class, religion, nor creed. If anything, this foe was equitable in its reach. His ears heard the muffled voices outside of his office door in the corridor. The news from the TV playing loudly in various rooms. Each one running through the body count…live on the air. In a span of a few weeks, the death toll had tripled. The world was in chaos. Politicians were eating each other alive leaving the people to slaughter. Great minds were working for a cure but were equally at risk and falling to despair. Isolation was key…or so he thought.

How did it reach them?

How did it reach his pack?

The crying grated his nerves. The scent of salt, sweat, and disease permeated the air and leaving phlegm to build in the back of his throat. A shout and cry interrupted his manic mood. The ink pen came to a stop on the paper. Citrine eyes looked towards the door waiting for the disruption and the hysteria. His taxed aura was already stretched from monitoring what was his. He did not need her to tell him what he already knew.

"Dammit." He muttered as his door flew open. A disheveled priestess stopped at the entrance. Her face was tear stricken. The dark circles and bags under her eyes spoke of weeks gone by without self-care. Gone was the sweet hopeful scent of lavender and ajisai. Smoke, oils, woods, and sickness coated her skin. Negligence. But could he blame her. His nose tickled as she looked at, searchingly. Oddly quiet for one so usually loud and dramatic. It was bothersome. The contrast. Testimony to the impact of their dire situation.

"Sessho-"

"I know." He interrupted. His cold detached voice leaving no room for further discussion. Not because he didn't want to aid her. But for the sake of their pack…he couldn't falter. He had to be strong. Strong for them all if they were to live through it. Well…live through whatever was left. Whom…ever was left anyway. He watched with a tilt of his head as the miko broke and cried in front of him. The onslaught of emotion, her reiki, and diverse scents plagued his sensibilities.

"Her fevers high! I tried…" She started…gasping…gulping for air…for something to hold on to. He watched her eyes flicker to his sword standing nearby against the wall. Their once messiah. The cure. There…sitting useless for once in their collective experiences and lifetimes. A sigh left his lips. The reminder gone from his brain before it could make it to his lips. There was no solution here. Not with his father's legacy.

His hand grasp the pen tightly in his fist. He gathered himself. Stood to his full height. His body went on autopilot as he followed the miko out into the hall and towards the opposite hallway. It was risky to have the sick be with pack. It went across his nature to be so far away from his. But what was he to do when they put everyone at risk? Annoyed. Frustrated. Angry. Bitter. Sad. Run amuck in his body. After surrounding himself with humans…he was able to identify them easily. And loathe them for what they brought him. Clouds that blocked his judgement.

The feint scent of himawari, oranges, sweat, illness, and disease grew with each step that he took. Tears masked it all as the woman leading him snuffled, doing her best to follow his lead and not fall apart. It was all he could do until his brother could do something about his mate. If he could do anything given his circumstances. He stopped having realized he was in the room. Masks and gloves were worn by everyone that was around. Sterile chemicals and acidic fluids assaulted his sensibilities. Machines and his doctors danced around the frail body withering on the bed in the corner.

His heartbeat wildly in his chest in tandem with the machine attached to the chaotic lifeline of the body. Dark hair was pulled up and plastered all over the pillows and bedding. His superior sight took in the sleeping woman's brow layered with sweat that dripped down the sides of her forehead. Her pale skin looked sunken into her bones. Her body had put everything into fighting off her illness leaving nothing behind to survive off of. Various youkai energy layered her flesh and circulated some of her blood. A small feat they discovered thanks to Inuyasha's and Kagome's union and brood.

"We need to get them ventilators."

"They're on the way." He growled lowly more to himself than anyone. Everyone else was silent in the room observing.

"You need a mask, Sesshomaru."

A growl ripped through his teeth at that. It was foolish. He did need to wear a mask. He needed gloves. He needed hand sanitizer and whatever else the health officials scrambled to gather together as a folly defense against this unknown perpetrator. Common sense told him he needed these things. He knew and he agreed. However, he couldn't put distance like that between himself and the woman lying helplessly at deaths door.

His hand reached out to grab the womans. His aura pulsed sending more youkai towards her. Scanning her. Coming to grips with what he was feeling. A feeble noise left. An agreement. "Hn." But he wouldn't wear one. Not when she was so far away from him like this. Inu were sensitive beings. Pack youkai. Youkai of the senses and touch. She was already so far away. How could he put more barriers between them? He needed her to know that he was still here. Alive. As she should be. She should fight to be with them again. To be with him again. Like she always had.

"If-if they can't get her to breathe…on her own. She will need a tube-"

"I am aware, Miko." He again interrupted her. "As I am aware of my brother's circumstances." He said as he turned his head to look at the once fiercely standing woman…now trembling at the feet of this pandemic. How the mighty have fallen. Her teary eyes glossed over at the mention of her beloved. He wasn't moved. Not in a time like this. He couldn't afford it. He had already lost too much. And more was now on the line. More he thought once he didn't have. "We are facing the same troubles that plague others. Until we can get a cure or medical support, we will continue to use the methods we know. Unless you wish to convene to move our pack to the hospital?" He asked.

"No! But there's got to be something…"

"You and I both know where the line in the sand is drawn. We continue the path with what we have until we find anything more. We have already made the mistake of risking existing resources." He thinly hinted at the fringes of the pandemic when they thought they were immune. Lies they told themselves. They were humbled.

A whimper from the corner. A howl from the fields. Everyone was moving. Too fast. The talking. The tears. The magic. The scents. Medical jargon. Yips, language, and Pidgeon Japanese. Machines beeping. His body moved. The madness. Too much. His ears popped. White noise.

"No!"

"No!"

Sesshomaru sat up straight. Panting. Panic. Heart pounded behind his ribcage. Sweat coated his flesh. He felt hot. Too hot. His limbs. His toes. Cold. So cold. His pupils scanned the room seeing nothing but ghosts and mockery. His hands grasped the mattress beneath him. The furs he thought he laid onto were different now. The scent of his pack was mute. Sinking into the springs. Sinking into his thoughts. The weight of the world fell onto his shoulders. His body gave out and he immediately fell backwards onto the soft bedding. His head hit pillows.

A cool sensation brought him to center. He closed his eyes feeling cold wet fabric drag across his skin. He concentrated on the feeling. The cool air blew in from the windows. The signs of twilight. Its name rustled the trees, bushes, and flora in the distance. Crickets sang their night songs. He took a deep breath. Release. Then another one. Release.

Honey. Milk. Rain. Spice.

It was calm. He was calm. Everyone was safe. He was alone. He was not alone. His nose searched and found the reprieve. His soul ached. His body shivered. His instincts were muffled. Everything was wrapped in a fog. Almost everything. His mind focused on the coolness gently patting his forehead. Dare he say, tracing his birth mark of prestige and creed. So soft. Like her. If he could just reach it. He lifted a limp hand. Did it move? He couldn't tell. The fabric was gone. Water rained nearby. The cool wet cloth touched him again. His sniffed. Magic. His eyes opened.

Violet eyes glowed down at him. A face framed by a long mane in the darkness of the small abode. His eyes stayed locked onto the woman as her hands hovered above his sweaty torso. The shell from before glowing blue as it sat connected to his sternum. The veins and arteries connected to the shell, now embedded into his body…glowed blue as well. A series of networks working to keep him alive. His instincts railed. The need to growl, scratch, fight, and claw drove him slowly into madness. A foreigner was touching him. Had done something to him. She had no right. She was weak. He was strong. This should not be happening.

Kill her.

If he could.

But just like before…he couldn't.

Just like he couldn't when they got sick.

"Your fever hasn't broken yet." The magic woman muttered in explanation. Paying him no mind as he struggled internally to move his body to annihilate the gypsy woman. "You need to fight to live."

A growl managed to rip from his canines. "I'm here!" Was his only response.

Oshun looked down at the demon's face. Magenta markings ragged across his cheek. His silver hair looked so thin and unruly. His skin pale and sickly underneath the single light from a dying candle. His aura was erratic and oppressive as it bore down on her. Nothing like this she had ever felt. How monstrous his power was. How hopeless his aura felt. Combined to leave her dazed and depressed as she fought his illness with him. Her concentration moved slightly from healing to fighting submission.

"No, you're not! Fight!" She yelled angrily. "You want to fight so badly, fight!" Her magic intensifying with her passion. He was very ill. Possibly beyond her capabilities.

No!

She couldn't think like that. If she did, she risked her Baba coming up the mountain to help. And he was in no condition to fight this. This illness…it would kill him. Kill her joy. She couldn't have that. This life took her mother. It wouldn't take her father too.

The old and the new was combined. Old magic. New magic. Old medical apparatus and new ones. Passed throughout the African diaspora. This would work. It always worked. It had to work. Oshun poured life into him. Like her name she gave nourishment, purity, and healing. The language of her teachings left her mouth as she engaged with healing his body. If she could fix the problem…the rest would follow. But…

"Dammit, Dog!" She yelled frustratingly as his eyes rolled back into his head. She thought she had him through the fever but something happened. His mind. Oshun stood up and immediately dug through her things. She rambled a few more times before finding vials and a syringe. She measured and administered the medicine. But his mind. The body would always follow the mind. She watched the shell pulse. More blue light filled his veins highlighting his body's battlegrounds.

"Fight! I can heal you but I need you to want to be here!" Oshun muttered, looking down at the Inu Youkai. Underneath the single light of the candle, he looked like everything they tell you about in myths, legends, and folklore. His eyes were closed now. His body having simmered to a restless sleep. Long strands of hair stuck to everything. His bangs seemed perpetually attached to his forehead with the adhesive of his sweat acting as the glue. Colored markings told stories of his kind. His body revealed the muscled planes of his torso. A Warrior's body. His face was enchanting. Different. Very different from the men in her circles. Contrasting. The sun at once absorbed into his skin. She could tell from a few sun lines that managed to linger. Different from the loving embrace and kiss her and her people received from the bright star. Handsome she acknowledged. Different followed suit. What was his purpose?

He was the furthest from her people she had ever laid eyes on. How on earth he found himself halfway around the world seeking refuge and reprieve? And with her father of all people. Surely, he knew those within his community that offered sufficient care. Then again, her father was the Great Beginning, Obatala. Her mind went to how she first found him.

On the brink of chaos and self-destruction.

Her eyes widened at this. Pity morphed into determination. Her magic intensified. Pride aside, she stood up and went to the living space. Immediately, she prepared another fire in the furnace. The living space went aglow in fire light. It danced creating shadows and bouncing light off of her brown skin. She went to work creating an odd mix of herbs and Vics, creating an inhalant cleanser that permeated the space. She had long sense replaced his furs with a mattress. Now, to her chagrin…they were needed. She went for the piles of thick furs he had and remade them into a sleeping pallet in the living room. "Father God…heal this being and keep my neck protected." She prayed. She poured libations. She thanked. Repeat.

Oshun prepared the space like the bedroom. He needed comfort. He needed remembrance. He needed life. She took the pot off the fire and brought it into the bedroom. She set it cautiously in the side near back wall close to his head. She took the cool wet rag she had been using to help alleviate his fever and touched his nose and ears. She monitored the blue veins carefully. A slur of curse words fell from her lips. His aura wavered. Did her father feel it? Feel his strength? The dowsing?

"Fight. You must fight! You can't just show up in people lives with your bullshit." She muttered angrily. She quickly began taking off her rings. Bracelets. Amulets. And laid them down carefully next to her side in order. "So help me, if you die you will not take my father with you. That foolish man." She croaked on the verge of tears remembering her own pain of loss. Her parents gave and gave until they had nothing left. She wouldn't risk her father coming to save a dead man and to die trying to save him out of cosmic duty.

Fuck that…

They had doctors that swore oaths to that right? Why sacrifice especially for those that don't care or take heed? And her father was a healer. A leader. A cosmic giant. He will not falter at the whims of some manmade error in judgement nor some sick dog on their doorstep.

Oshun shifted his blankets around and tucked him in. She made peace with her next motions as she settled next to his side. She nestled her body close to him. Free from shame or wayward thought. What needed to be done was at the forefront. To heal his body. She needed to heal his mind. To heal his mind, she had to confront his nature. To do all of this, she needed to see what drove him here. To their sugar shack in the mountains. To her father's throne.

Oshun listened to his rapid heartbeat. His sweaty body connected to hers as she wrapped her arms around him. She lay her head next to his and hummed a prayer and a spell. The cowrie shell lit brightly as energy poured into the Inu's chest. The tenants of his soul. Ancient wisdom and ancestral energy gathered within. The singing of her mother filled her as she listened to the Inu's breathing pattern. Already, she could feel his lungs slightly strengthening. She just needed him to try. To push his body into healing instead of this pendulum comatose state he's been in.

No matter…she would help him. She would make him see reason and push on. She listened to his heart. The echoes of emotions that sounded off the walls of his psyche. Her eyes grew heavy from the sound. The warmth of his heated body lured her into paralysis. The spell working to quickly to meld them.

Disbelief. Pain. Grief. Tiredness. Weary.

"How strange…" She muttered drowsily. His feelings were intensifying, yet she couldn't empathize. The synergy was too real. Fear crept inside as she slipped into slumber and tumbling towards unknown territory. Fear that those same emotions were reflected deep within herself. How can the sick…heal the sick?