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âââ- How do you treat something like this.
It was almost impossible. As she had to turn to those he had elevated and send them, to all corners of the land. To bring doctors to offer treatment, oneâs that held talent and skillâŠ.and would not be missed when they didnât return. Each one, would try something different. A new remedy, a new treatment, each one a complete and utter failure. As they were removed and merely thrown to the growing horde being created out of desperation to go further, to go beyond, to tear this land to pieces, flip it upside down to find someone, to find anything to aid him.
Those that lasted the course, said it would get worse before it got better and in her rage she killed them. Muzan had not come this far just to revert back to how things once were. That was impossible, there were endless promises that were made to one another, that needed to be fulfilled always. They would not grow sick nor weak. As hard as it was, when they treated him, as much as he fought, they were only seeking out his interests, being forced as it may, they were seeking to make things better. As they were burning through medical minds and methods were becoming, more necessary to place trust in the others to try and find something, anything to create there own cure.
Tonight was going to be another difficult night.
It would not end well, but he needed to be treated and cared for.
As he was before.
Muzan-sama.â Gentle and soft, always when near him. âI am right here.â
His hands reached out for her, as she would take hold of them with one, and wet his head with the cloth with the other. To clean the gathering sweet from him and place it within the basin. None other were permitted to come anywhere near him like this. There were good moments, brief, and then there were the bad, and she could endure it all for him. To see him like this, to dread the thought of what it must feel like, the burns upon him and how, he was not healing. A cut would seal. A limb cut would return within a moment, but thisâŠthis was unlike anything she had ever seen.
âI could not trust the others, I did this myself, be angry with me later if you wish, but your well being is my only concern, always.â
Every other choice and option had been exhausted, unless the others found a doctor that held any worth, his research was the only thing to lean into and put it into practice. Against his wishes or not, this was going to happen. âOf course.â As another cloth was raised, to dry her hands as she breathed in for a moment and let go of his hand and pulled the sheet down further and parted ways with his robes to look upon the marks on him. âBefore we being, please drink, you will need strength for this.â As the small cup of crimson was lifted, her hand slipping underneath his head to guide it upwards as she placed it upon his lips and with a small lean forward and a tilt of his head, aided him in drinking.
âYou are in higher spirits today, your humor has been rare, please forgive me for this.â With the cup placed down and a small nod to him, she would take the lily balm and gently rub it over her hands and breathed for a moment. This was familiar, like before, but so much worse. As children, treatmentâŠat least in there minds, could be carried out through conversation, holding one another and making promises, this was reality now, the truth of the world and there was no one more trusting than them to carry this out.
âIf it hurts too much, please let me know and we can stop, but it will be better, to fight through the pain, it will not last long.â
âI would.. rather have you.. than any other,â the pain.. going in and out, sometimes there, sometimes not. Burning through him worse than a wildfire through a patch of dry, dead grass that hadnât been rained on in at least a year. At least he could breathe. That his wounds were... that his wounds were on the outside. It looked better than what heâd seen before, from what he could tell. But it was healing far too slow for his tastes.
Her hands, lifting the blood to his lips. Him drinking it greedily, as he was so very hungry. âMichikatsu-chan.. Iâm.. very.. hungry. Humans... bring me humans or take me to them. Iâm so hungry, Michikatsu-chan..â He grasped at her hand to keep her from pulling away. âThey will help. They will always help. I need.. them. How long has it been since Iâve eaten properly--?â His fangs. His throat burned with the blood that he drank. It wasnât enough. It was never enough. He could eat a cityâs worth. A villageâs worth. All on his own. If she would just let him.
He looked between her and it.
And then he shuddered as she pressed her hands to his chest.
The worse pain heâd ever felt radiated from her hands. He shuddered as he forced his body to remain still under them. No wonder heâd fought back when he was out of it--! A single touch was all it took to send him into a pained, writhing mass.
âGods, let it END--!â
Was that him, begging like a pathetic human--?
And then he felt her push him down and all he could do was rasp out his pain from a glass-laden throat. He understood why she didnât give him humans, now. To keep him weak so he couldnât kill her while she did that to him. He just wanted her off--why wouldnât she stop? Why did she keep doing this to him? All he wanted to do was to stand and eat and then lay next to her-- but instead all he got was this pain, this harsh, burning touch that burned him from the outside in.
He was fighting to stay conscious.Â
âP-please.. ask me.. before.. you do.. that..â
But he became lost to it. The pain.. he wasnât even him anymore. Torture. All of it was torture. He couldnât even see her. He didnât even know what was going on, only knowing pain. Only knowing that she was bringing him pain instead of comfort. He could barely grasp onto the fact that it was her, and that was the only reason why he tried to keep himself from fighting back as much as he could. But he could only do so much.
âMi-chika-tsu--â So weak, now. His eyes closed. âWhy? Why--do you torture me--? I.. tried.. to be a good Lord for you. If I was unworthy, you--should have told me. You can stop this, now. I swear, Iâll do better.. I donât even hate you. I deserve it.â
His hand grasped hers. He deserved this. Heâd killed and eaten his own family, villages worth of humans. He shook. All he wanted was to live. Were they right after all? Were they right to tell him to do so?Â
âPlease.â His eyes were clouded--it was obvious he wasnât seeing her--he wasnât seeing anything he was in so much pain. He yanked at her. The only reason why he thought he was dying was because he was in so much pain that it was the only conclusion that he could come to. He wasnât suffocating but it sure as hell felt like he was dying. As if ashamed, his head tilted down, his hair flopping over his eyes, and halfway over his face. âI--Iâm sorry. Please--donât leave me t-o die alone--â
Another shuddering breath. âIt hurts.. so much--â