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[sickandvomiting]

[sickandvomiting]

I had such a good time!! Can’t wait to do it again 🤙

@sickandvomiting and I got to hang out yesterday and go hunting for these adorable bad boys!! 🤍✨ we found a few, and then came home and they cooked em up for me to try for the first time! 🥰🍄

I grew up hunting these guys, my brothers and dad LOVED them, but I was always such a picky eater I wouldn’t even dare touch them after they were cooked lmaooo - I just enjoyed scampering through the woods finding them 😂 BUT I must say… they were pretty fucking good 😋

Thanks again to G for an amazing day out in the swamp lands hahaha!! ✨

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Could not get this bit of dialogue out of my head (and I don’t even know what characters it’s for, it was literally just the dialogue and a scenario) so I turned it into a mini-fic. It’s not even The Content™️, I’m just in a dacry mood recently. Forgive any mistakes, I didn’t proof it very much and it is Not Well Thought Out

———

He rests his over-warm forehead against the cool toilet seat in his grubby apartment bathroom and closes his eyes. The bout ended awhile ago, but he hasn’t yet found the strength to peel himself off the floor, nor does he feel steady enough to guarantee his legs won’t buckle underneath him as soon as he’s upright. On any other day he’d have someone with him, wiping the bile from his chin, the tears from his cheeks, rubbing his back as he choked up what must be the 100th mouthful of sick this hour (by his own biased estimation). But today? He is alone. Not that it is anything other than his own fault, mind, but that doesn’t make the absence hurt any less. He screws his eyes tighter shut, tears burning behind the closed lids, yet refuses to let them fall. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. Let it pass. I did this, he thinks. It’s been four days. Four days since the argument. Four days since she swept out of their apartment, stone-faced but barely holding back tears. Four days since he ruined everything. The release is not deserved, in his addled mind. Besides, even if he did permit himself a few shuddering sobs, or (god forbid) to actually cry, there’s no one there to help him through it, and he doesn’t think he can get through that kind of thing alone. And right now he is so very alone.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Could even be days, for all he knows. He almost begins to doze off when a familiar voice startles him bolt upright. A voice he didn’t expect to hear again anytime soon, or perhaps ever, if there was any justice.

“Come here often, stranger?”

Stranger. He knows she’s… well… “joking” isn’t the right word exactly, but he can hardly think of a better one. Still, it hits a sore spot in him, and he swallows before turning bleary eyes toward her. He can hardly stand to look at her face for more than a split second. Can’t even look her in the eye. Useless, is what he thinks, but says instead:

“Oh yeah. Hang out here like this all the time, sometimes multiple times a day, ‘specially for the last couple.” He tries to effect a bright tone, but the raspiness of his throat and the guilt in his chest make it fall flat. “I’m one of the regulars, you know.”

“Yeah? Nice place, is it?” she asks, her own voice similarly flat, but betraying none of the emotions it concealed.

“Oh, the best. One of the hidden gems in this part of the city.” The distance this scenario puts between them is welcome, allowing him to engage with her from an impersonal context. “Great atmosphere.” He gestures weakly to the water-stained walls, dingy floor, and sick-splattered toilet. “And the constant buzz of activity really makes a person feel a part of things when they’re going it alone,” he adds, nodding toward a mouse hole in the wall, behind which faint skittering can be heard in the momentary silence between them.

“I can see why you like it.” She doesn’t move from her place in the doorway. A pause. The air seems to fizzle with unspoken emotion, but clings heavy in his throat when he starts to open his mouth to fill the silence. She beats him to it, however.

“So, you’re going it alone then, stranger?”

Stranger. There it is again. The pang of guilt accompanies it once more. They may as well be. He wouldn’t blame her one bit if she considered them strangers after what he said, but these thoughts barely have time it form before she continues:

“What’s been happening these past few days that brings you to this quality establishment so often? You don’t look too good.” Her face remains unreadable as his eyes flit up to take in any expression, any hint at all of what she might be feeling before darting away again.

“Oh, the usual. Working my day job at a little shop near here. Taking in the local pub scene. Exploring the gourmet cuisine offerings. Wonderful nightlife, this place.” The mere thought of the cheap booze and dodgy food he’d been filling the void with the last few days almost sends him reeling back over the toilet, but he manages to bite it back, forcing a tired half-smile instead.

“Oh? Seems like a lovely couple days, by all accounts,” she says. “So what’s got you looking so rough, then, stranger?”

“Well…” he pauses, emotion tightening the back of his throat. A small breath. He composes himself. “I, uh…” his voice starts to catch again, but he presses on. “I lost my best friend.”

The last word comes out strangled and terrible, and for the first time he looks her in the eyes. She holds his gaze, eyes steady and unwavering, until he takes a shuddering breath and breaks away, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder to brush away a tear that spilled out there.

“Oh?” Her voice is gentler this time. “I’m sorry. That sounds difficult.” She’s giving him an opening to talk about what happened without having to confront her, and he takes the opportunity gratefully.

“Yeah,” he laughs wryly, but the sound sticks in his throat and comes out as half a sob. “Yeah, I, uh… I said some things—awful, terrible things—and the second the words left my mouth I wanted to take them back.” A shuddering breath. “But I couldn’t!” Another strangled chuckle, and he shrugs his shoulders a bit. “Because you can’t, ya know? Once they’re out there—“ he gestures vaguely to the empty space between the two of them (it feels so much greater than the meter or two it is in reality) “—there’s no reeling them back in.” Tears start to spill down his face in earnest. A long pause. “I think I really hurt her.” His voice breaks badly, and he looks up once again to meet her measured gaze, if only for a second before a choked sob wracks his frame and his eyes flick down to bore holes in the grimy floorboards.

She stands unmoving, unspeaking, allowing his emotion to fill the silence. When she doesn’t respond, he continues:

“I just—“ He tries to regain composure, and fails. “—just wish I could let her know how sorry I am, but it’s not the kind of sorry that words could ever hope to convey.” He focuses on the floor between them, and one of his hands grips his thigh so hard he’s certain it will leave a mark. Another broken laugh escapes him before he stills and, voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper, adds “But she’s gone now,” allowing himself to re-engage in the context of strangers meeting. “And I don’t know what to do. And I don’t know what to say. And I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to talk to me again, but I miss her and I’m just… so sorry.” Another pause as his breath comes in shallow gasps around stifled sobs. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, she moves. Not toward or away from him, but she adjusts her position in the doorframe, shifts her feet a bit, and as he looks up in response, it’s her turn to get to know the floorboards.

“I think,” she starts hesitantly, “that she probably knows. And I think that if she were here, she’d probably tell you that yeah, it hurt. A lot.” Her tone is even, measured, but her eyes betray the pain behind the words. “But I think she’d also say that she cares about you, and even though she needs a little more time, she forgives you.” And for a second, their eyes meet again. Neither of them breathes, neither of them moves, until he turns away to scrub a hand over his face as the tears spill down his cheeks, and coughs harshly when a wet sob catches in his throat. He spits the salty phlegm into the soiled toilet water once the fit ends, and wipes the tears from his eyes again with his sleeve, sniffling.

She closes the distance between them and flushes the toilet, which he had neglected to do after his earlier bout of sickness.

“You know, I think she’d also say to take better care of yourself.” She pulls a handful of tissues out of the box on the tank of the toilet, and presses them into his hand when he reaches up to take them, using her other hand to hold his in place for a moment before releasing it with the tissues. He stares at her for a beat, not processing the fact that tissues had been passed during the brief contact. “And to blow your damn nose,” she added when he remained motionless, shocked by the gentle touch.

He comes back to reality with a soft oh! and rustles the tissues around as she turns on her heel to leave, but stops when she pauses in the doorway. She hesitates for a second.

“I missed you, too,” she says softly. “Don’t do it again,” before leaving the room without a look back.

He hears gentle clattering around their apartment as she starts to pick up the pieces of their life together, and he listens in silence, staying in his place on the bathroom floor a while longer before finally allowing the tears to flow unhindered as he leans back against the wall and brings a shaking hand to his face. He must doze off there after a good long while, because when he awakens he’s still there, slumped awkwardly and painfully against the bathtub, but there’s a blanket around his shoulders, and the box of tissues is on the floor next to him.

[sickandvomiting]

Next in my list of evidence for my questionable taste in characters (and one that recurs every six months or so when I go for a rewatch): Bernard Black

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Figured I would share one sketch panel of the strip I’m working on. As a treat. There are five more so it’s gonna take awhile to line and color everything (tbh I’m not sure I’m even going to color everything. we’ll see!) BUT in the meantime, have a Radio Sketch

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Boy howdy have I got something in the works that I think you’re all gonna enjoy (it’s emotional whump, but godDAMN drawing it has me 😍😭)

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Currently pinging between four fixations like a goddamn pinball and hoo boy do I want to make art about it but I don’t even know where to start. I have one bigger piece planned for HH, but approximately 1,000 other ideas and 0 time.

Historically have not done fanart because of the possibility of vanilla fanblogs seeing it and finding this blog, but do I sacrifice that for the Creation? Who’s to say

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Guess who has a new brainrot? (It’s me, I have a new brainrot.)

I just HAD to draw this scene from a YouTube video, especially after @illnessandinjury and I figured out we were in this shit together haha

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I feel like I need to draw new stuff just so people have something to interact with other than my shitty ancient art from like 2015 😭😭

[sickandvomiting]

k.avetham page commission for @imill, thanks a lot for commissioning me ✌️this was a lot fun, i gotta do more pages

check out my art commissions~

[sickandvomiting]

OKAY so what if David eventually found out that Jasper had actually died (he either runs into his ghost, or he found out when doing research to try and contact him [also I can’t remember whether or not he finds out in the show, but I don’t thiiiink he does?]) and it just absolutely WRECKS him. He spends every night awake, but it’s a very different kind of awake than his normal excited for tomorrow sleeplessness. This is the painful, soul sucking, energy sapping kind of insomnia, and the few minutes he is actually able to sleep are filled with nightmares. Maybe someone hears him calling out in his sleep (whether or not anyone actually goes to comfort him is up to you). This goes on for weeks, he’s hardly eating, but being David he just keeps pushing through it. In fact, hw throws himself into his work even more, both as a distraction and because of the guilt. He doesn’t want to take ANY chances of anyone else getting hurt on his watch. It starts to take a noticeable toll on his physical health. He feels sick all the time, constant headache, and then to top it all off he comes down with something bad. A bad flu, strep, noro, something else nondescript but absolutely miserable. High fever, chills, the works. Everyone has noticed that something is wrong despite his best efforts, but only once he‘s half delirious from fever does the truth come out.

okay but i loved this prompt??? she's been keeping me company the past few days it was sure fun to write! i'm still brainrotting really bad and it is not relenting!! this is another one where the pacing got kind of weird but i hope it's okay anyway!

“I think David has rabies,” Nikki says. Max rolls his eyes. “Did he get bit by the dumpster possum again today?”

“I think it was the raccoon that lives in the supply shed.”

“It was both. I keep telling you, they’re not rabid. They’ve just tasted his blood.” 

“He’s been acting crazy all week.”

“He always acts like that.” Max does have to give her credit where credit is due, however: he has been especially annoying these past few days. By the time they’ve woken up, he’s had events and activities, several of them requiring hours of prep work and intricate planning, already waiting for them. 

“Then why isn’t he eating?” 

“He’s—oh.” Max glances over to David’s table expecting to watch him cleaning his plate as usual, but finds that he’s instead picking at it, shoving raviolis around the plate without actually taking a bite. His gaze is cast downward at the plate, almost sad. “Huh. Quartermaster probably poisoned him again. Just ignore it and eat slow. As soon as we’re done with this, we’ve got to do whatever dumb bullshit he’s got planned for us today.” 

He did indeed have some dumb bullshit planned. Activity after activity. Again. Even for David, this is getting to be a lot. It’s not even like they’re nearing the end of the summer. He’s not scrambling against the clock. There’s no camp inspection. No full moon. He can’t figure it out, but it’s getting to be a real pain in the ass. 

And once Max has noticed that he’s stopped eating, he can’t stop noticing it. 

It isn’t just breakfast. It’s lunch and dinner, too. David barely touches his food The few spoonfuls he does bring to his mouth are shaky and distracted. What gets Max isn’t that it’s happening, but how he’s trying to hide it. He pushes things around his plate before getting up and returning the whole tray to the kitchen. David is known for making a scene at the slightest inconvenience. It’s not enough to make him curious. Hell, it’s barely even enough to make him notice. But he’s always been perceptive to a fault, and if there’s a weakness being exposed here, he’s going to find it. 

It continues for a while. Enough so that all of the campers, not just the terror trio, are noticing. Still, it doesn’t appear to dampen his energy levels. In fact, he’s trying harder than ever to come up with new and creative ways to make them all suffer. There are no longer free days and quiet evenings. Gwen often needs peace and takes personal time to kick back and watch television or read a book instead of entertaining the children. That’s normal. In the past, the camp would have watched a movie during those nights. Now, though, David gives them no reprieve. 

The worst part is that they no longer get away with anything. They don’t have the time. When are they supposed to plan schemes with David constantly driving activities down their damn throats? 

“I think this is on purpose,” Max says, shifting in his life jacket. He hates the lake. Though David had given him the option to sit out kayaking, the only thing that sounded worse than being in a boat with Neil was being on the shore with David, so he’d just accepted the stupid vest. “Exhausting us until we’re too broken down to misbehave.” 

“Dude, I know David’s annoying, but I don’t think he’s, like, nefarious. I highly doubt he’s engaging in psychological warfare. If anyone were gonna take that route, I’d guess Gwen.” 

Max sits back against the back of the seat, pouting. Neil can paddle by himself, right? For now, he’s more focused on watching David. He’s calling out constant praise for the campers, but there’s an undercurrent of nervousness to it. One hand grips his whistle and his eyes are constantly sweeping over the lake as if he’s waiting for something to go wrong. By the time he calls everyone in an hour later, he’s practically twitching with anxiety. He gives each of them a high five on their way to go change for bed, which of course, Max intends to ignore. It doesn’t end up mattering, anyway, because Nurf hits his hand hard enough that he has to go ice it. 

That night, Max wakes around midnight with a full bladder. Though he knows he’s meant to take his buddy and does admit that it would be funny to wake Neil just for this, he decides ultimately that that’s stupid and he’s a big kid. He can walk to the bathroom himself. He’s just slipped on his shoes and rounded the corner when he sees something in the distance and freezes. 

Someone is sitting on the dock.

For a brief moment, that terrifies him, but just before he can book it back to the cabin and forget he ever saw anything, the figure shifts, and he realizes that he knows that stupid beanpole.

Fucking David is sitting by the lake at like two in the morning. 

He’s not really sure what to do with that. It’s been obvious that David has been getting up early and going to bed late to get their activities ready, but that only makes this stranger. It implies that he’s been up all night, or at least much of it. Max decides that sneaking up behind him might be fun.

“‘Sup, Camp Man,” he says loudly. He expects David to scream, but he doesn’t even flinch, just turns. 

“What are you doing up?” Max shrugs. 

“Could ask you the same question.” David smiles, and the crazy thing is that he doesn’t look any different than he has in the past week and a half. It makes Max realize that it’s not because he doesn’t look tired now—it’s because he’s looked exhausted for a while now. 

“Where’s Neil?” he dodges. “You know you’re not supposed to be out at night without your buddy.” 

“Chill,” Max rolls his eyes. “I was just getting up to pee. I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I’ll walk you.” Though Max could not find that more obnoxious, he doesn’t argue.

“Lurk out here often?” 

“Only when I can’t sleep. I like to watch the water.”

“That’s creepy.” David chuckles.

“Is it? I didn’t mean to give you a scare. I didn’t think anyone would see me.” 

David waits for Max to be done in the bathroom, then walks him back to his cabin. “Goodnight, Max,” he says. Though Max ignores him, he can’t help but notice that rather than in the direction of the counselor’s cabins, David once again takes off toward the lake. 

And he catches him again a week later, and again two days after that. 

And it continues. If anything, it gets worse. He skips his meals, drives them crazy with activities, He’s all but stopped sleeping. The most annoying thing about it is that he acts like nothing is wrong. If it’s pointed out, he changes the subject. When he starts to fall asleep sitting up, he grabs a cup of coffee and pushes on. The dizzy spells he’s starting to endure become frequent, but he writes them off as getting a little too hot under the gorgeous sun. 

The first day he shows up to the mess hall sick, Max is surprised. Over the years, he’s seen David sick once or twice, and though some times have necessitated running the camp anyway, he’s never acted like this before. Cagey. Evasive. When Gwen asks him whether he wants to go lie down and let her take over for the day, he asks her why he’d want to do that. She doesn’t dignify it with a response. 

The second day is a little worse. He seems slow. Even more upset than he’s been as of late. Like he’s truly struggling. But he doesn’t complain about it. He coaches archery camp like a true leader and only ends up pulling four arrows out of his arms and legs. Max pretends he can’t hear him scuttling away to cough in private. 

On day three, Max offers an olive branch. He tells David that if he admits he feels like shit, he’ll give him an easy day. 

“Don’t be silly,” he reassures. “You’re not getting out of knot tying class that easy!” 

He cites dry air for his worsening cough and nearly swoons from standing up for too long, catching himself on the side of a table before he can hit the ground. When he says he tripped, Max cinches his knot so hard David has to give him a new rope because neither of them can untie it. 

“He’s acting like a caged fucking animal,” Max complains over dinner. “Like a fucking gazelle that’s pretending not to be injured so it won’t get picked off by a lion. He cannot be that afraid of us.” 

“So what if he is? Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

He wants to snap at Neil for simplifying it because that not only isn’t true, but it makes him feel a little bad. However, there’s no way to do that that doesn’t make him look soft, so he drops the subject entirely to focus on bullying Space Kid instead. 

The next morning, David is late. They’re halfway through breakfast when Max finally gives up on him. 

“Did the idiot finally crash?” he asks, kicking his feet up on the table across from Gwen. She shrugs. 

“Haven’t talked to him today. Probably, if I had to guess. I think he was feeling pretty rough last night. Sounded awful.” 

Hadn’t talked to her today? That was fucking weird. This was David. If he died, he’d haunt the mess hall the next morning on time. Briefly, Max wonders whether they should be worried. After all, he’s been wandering at night. Maybe he’d fallen in the lake. Or been mauled by wolves again, this time too weak and ill to fight them off. 

Just when he’s thinking of suggesting they start digging a hole for the corpse, the mess hall doors burst open.

“Jesus Christ,” Gwen curses, massaging the bridge of her nose when she sees David stumbling into the mess hall, red in the face and dizzy. 

“Is he drunk?” 

“Good morning, campers,” he greets, his congested, raspy voice immediately giving away the true problem. “Sorry I’m late. Who’s ready for another delightful day at Camp Campbell?” He turns to cough into his elbow, deep and rattling. Gwen moves to stand, but Max stops her with a hand to her shoulder. 

“No, no. Let’s see where he’s going with this.” Apparently, she’s a little curious, too, because she sits back down. 

“Today, I thought we’d go on a nice, long hike, then cool down with a swim in the lake. We can top off the night with a big bonfire. How’s that sound?” 

The entire group has obviously noticed the state he’s in and don’t even respond, just glancing at one another nervously. 

“Uh, David,” Neil starts, “won’t that… kill you?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he says. “I just want everyone to enjoy the beautiful day outside!” 

“Well, I, for one think a hike sounds like so much fun,” Max taunts. “We should go.” David’s eyes sparkle. 

“Really, Max?” 

“Enough,” Gwen says. “We’re obviously not doing that. Take some cold medicine and go to bed.” 

“It’s not that bad. And Max actually wants to go for once!” 

“No, he doesn’t. He just wants to watch you faint and fall off a cliff.” 

“Not true!” Max says. “I’d also take falling in the lake and drowning.” 

“None of that is going to happen! Come on, I’ve already packed everyone’s lunches.” Gwen frowned. 

“When did you have time to do that? It’s 8 in the morning.” 

“I couldn’t sleep. We’ll get a move on right after breakfast!” 

In the end, nothing Gwen says has any sway on his determination. She ends up more or less following him as he leads the way into the forest. It appears as though he’s going whether anyone followed him or not. 

The day is hotter than Max had anticipated, and he’s beginning to regret volunteering. Even if it means he gets to watch David collapse and knock his brain loose on a rock, he’s not sure it’s worth it if it means having to hike. Honestly, he’d just been trying to call his bluff. Despite the fact that Max can hear him breathing from several feet behind, he’s cheerful to the point of annoying. It’s actually a little unnerving. Something is off about the whole thing. First, he stops eating and sleeping for weeks, and now he comes storming in with what Max is beginning to suspect is more than just a cold, acting like nothing is wrong. This is not the same David that Max has known for years. Max once saw him cry because he saw an especially beautiful butterfly. He wailed about skinned knees and screamed when Nurf punched him too hard on the arm. The only explanation is that he’s hiding something. And Max is going to figure out what it is. He trots a little bit to catch up with David, who’s been quiet for the past half hour. Probably because he’s trying his hardest just to breathe. 

“Did you kill someone?” David’s eyes go wide. He looks more horrified than Max had intended when he’d made the joke, his chest stuttering so hard that he starts coughing badly enough to have to stop and catch his breath. “Jesus. Relax. I wasn’t serious. What’s up your ass?” 

“I don’t know what you mean!” he says, aiming for cheerful but landing on nervous and jumpy. 

“Your camp activities have been even more annoying than usual.”

“I just want to make sure everyone has a great summer here.”

“You’ve been throwing away your whole meal every time we eat.” David rubs the back of his neck, beginning to evade eye contact.

“I just haven’t been so hungry—”

“I see you, you know. At night.” He freezes.

“What?” Max shrugs. 

“Sometimes I get up to pee. And you’re there, just sitting by the dock. Every night.” 

“You saw that.” A pause. “Right. There’s just been a lot on my mind. But it’s nothing you need to be concerned about.” 

“I’m not concerned. Just saying, if you’re gonna snap and kill a camper, I call dibs on the sweet release of death.” 

“You know that I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. Never. You know that, right?” As much as he wants to keep teasing him, it isn’t fun when David looks so genuinely crushed. Scared, even. He wants to break his spirit, sure, but not this way. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” He kicks a rock, now disappointed that torturing David has been ruined by David looking tortured. “Did you take something? Like medicine? You sound like shit and you’re acting crazy.” 

“It might be time for a break,” he admits. “Let’s all have some lunch.” 

Once again, David barely picks at his food. He crumbles his sandwich into little pieces and puts them back into the bag so it looks like he’s doing some business with it, but he never actually takes a bite. He pops a few grapes in his mouth and drinks water, but that’s about it. Gwen coaxes another dose of Dayquill down his throat. Every time she reaches out to feel his forehead, they have an argument that he ends up walking away from, leaving her angrier every time. Max sees his opportunity. 

“What’s with him?” he asks, and Gwen seethes. 

“Hell if I know. It’s like he’s actively trying to piss me off. He’s gonna get himself killed out here.” 

“Do you think he… I don’t know, did something? He’s acting all guilty.” 

“It’s David.” 

“Exactly. He might’ve stepped on a flower and tried to turn himself over to the cops.” 

“I don’t know. It feels… deeper than that. It’s been going on for a while; I know you kids have noticed. Something’s really eating at him, but he won’t talk to me.” 

They watch as David fumbles on his feet, teetering to the side so badly that Harrison and Nerris reach up their hands to catch him, but steadying himself and laughing it off. But his face is still pale and flushed. He coughs, this time for so long that he leans up against a tree. 

“Okay, campers,” he starts when he’s finished in a voice that is breathless and shot. “If we turn back now, we can manage a swim before dinner.” 

Though the lake is one of the more favored activities amongst the group, it makes them look more nervous than excited. David doesn’t even appear to notice, or if he does, he ignores it. Seems as though he’s been ignoring a lot of shit, recently. 

By the time they make it back to camp, David has already disappeared twice to throw up in the bushes, citing needing to take a restroom break. Some ungodly combination of heat, exhaustion, illness, and whatever else have made him so sick that Max can’t believe he’s even still standing by the time they reach the lake. When Max comes back from changing into his swim trunks, David is sitting against a tree, eyes fluttering between open and shut, with Gwen fanning his face. He’s careful not to rush toward the scene and give the impression that he cares, but his heart skips a beat. 

“What the fuck happened?” 

“He collapsed,” she says frantically. “He’s burning up.” 

“I just got a little overheated on the hike,” he replies lazily, his words slurring a bit despite the sunny smile on his face. “Nothing a dip in the lake won’t fix.” 

“You can’t seriously expect me to let you in the water like this. You’ll fucking drown.” 

“Here,” Max says irritably, shoving his floatie toward them. “Take a swim before your brain fries.” 

David does just that, listlessly floating around wherever the campers shove his inner tube. His face is resting on the side of it, eyes closed, when he floats toward the dock where Max has parked himself. He doesn’t swim.

“Hey, asshole. You still conscious?” He perks up and splashes a little lake water at Max, who kicks his tube away. “Stop that.” This close, Max can see that he’s shivering. “God, you’re a wreck. Why are you out here?” 

“We’re enjoying our beautiful lake.”

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying anything. It looks like you feel like shit.” 

“It’s just a little chilly in the water. I might come dry off. Maybe sit with you and Gwen for a little bit.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Max watches as David climbs the ladder onto the dock, then sits down heavily on the wooden surface, coughing horribly. Max winces. 

“Sorry. It sounds worse than it is.” 

“Right.”

For just a moment, probably unintentionally, David seems to let his guard down. The mask slips. He massages his temples, head resting on his knees. He’s running on less than nothing. If Max says anything, even makes a sound, he’ll put the wall right back up, so they sit there silently for a little while. After a few minutes, he rubs his hands over his face and sighs, which sets off another fit of coughing. 

“I’m going to start setting up for the bonfire. Gwen can handle dinner.” 

“No one wants to go to your stupid bonfire.” 

“That’s not true,” he defends. “Just wait until you see it. You’ll understand if you can see it.” Max doesn’t understand. Clearly, he’s fucking exhausted. Fucking sick. There’s anxiety all over his face. 

“You’ve been acting insane. What the hell happened to you?” David’s eyes flash with something—fear? Guilt? Both?--but he tucks it away immediately. 

“Don’t you worry about me, kiddo. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

As David wanders off, Max can’t help but let his mind wander. Something is wrong, and David is pushing up against his limits. Against anyone’s limits. There’s only so far even someone as resilient as him can be pushed, and there’s no way he’s not right up against that wall. 

Dinner is quiet. Though Gwen does little to supervise, instead engrossed in her book and her meal, the campers are tired from a long day. They’d be perfectly happy to be turned loose for quiet activities for the rest of the evening, but the obvious lack of a certain camp counselor made it clear that wasn’t going to happen. 

“So, he’s lost it, right?” Nikki asks. “Like, all his marbles?” 

“Beyond. If he’s not dead already. Haven’t heard from him in a few hours.” 

“So, what’s the plan?” Neil asks. Max frowns. 

“Plan?” 

“You’ve always got something up your sleeve to fuck with David. It’s the perfect time to create chaos and mayhem.” Max can’t argue with that because it’s true, but at the same time, there’s no way David is durable to withstand a scheme. 

“Nah. I think David’s got this one in the bag. We should just let it play out.” 

As Gwen leads them to the recreational area, he actually finds himself feeling a little anxious that David might be dead.Or injured. Otherwise incapacitated. Turns out, he’s sitting up on a log, guitar in hand, face gaunt and pale and tired. His posture screams misery, but he’s grinning. 

“Hi, kids,” he greets. That alone starts him coughing. He probably hasn’t taken medicine since Gwen made him do it before lunch, and it shows. They take their places around the fire. Max does have to admit, it’s pretty. It would be more impressive if David weren’t breathing so loudly. He starts the first chord on the guitar and Max winces. It’s off-key. None of his fingers are in the right place. He doesn’t even seem to notice, strumming nonsense notes after nonsense notes. Max throws a nervous glance to Gwen, who takes the guitar from his hands. 

“How about I do that,” she says softly. “You just relax a minute.” David nods. 

“Yeah, okay.” She begins to strum softly on the guitar, but draws the line at singing campfire songs. It seems to be the only thing that’s placated David all day. For a while, they just sit like that. Max even thinks David might begin to drift off as he makes unbroken eye contact with the ground, but instead, his eyes suddenly fill with tears. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to wipe them away so they just drip down his cheeks and onto his lap. With Gwen strumming away and the rest of the campers gazing at the fire, Max appears to be the only one who noticed. He scoots a little closer. 

“David?” he calls, one tiny hand nudging him by the shoulder. “Hey. Don’t, uh, don’t do that. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

“Sorry,” he says, sniffling then chuckling softly. “I’m just… remembering something.” 

Max hesitates. He lives for pushing David’s buttons. He pushes every chance he gets. In this moment, that feels like the wrong thing to do. He’s already so broken down. Max isn’t sure how close he might be to breaking completely, and now, looking it in the face, he finds that he doesn’t want it as much as he thought he would. He waits for David to keep talking, waits so long that he doesn’t think he’s going to. 

“Someone I cared about very much was—hurt. When we went to camp together. And it was my fault, and—”

“Wait, is this about Jasper?” David freezes. Another tear slides down his face. “You have to promise not to ask me how I know this. It’s a long story.” He nods. “He doesn’t… blame you for what happened. Any of it.” 

“Max, how—”

“I told you not to ask any fucking questions. I just know, okay? And if that’s why you’ve been destroying yourself for the past few weeks, then that’s stupid, because it wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was Campbell’s. You were ten. Let it go.” Then, David smiles. A real, genuine, if frail and exhausted, smile. 

“Thanks. That means a lot to hear.” 

“Whatever. This was an insane way of dealing with this, you know.” David coughs. It might have started as a laugh. 

“Probably.” He shifts so he’s lying down with his head against the log. “I might shut my eyes for a minute.” Max doesn’t say anything, just shrugs out of his hoodie and sets it over top of him. 

Another hour finds the campers bored and the fire dying. Without David adding more fodder to it—he’s been pretty well konked out for the better portion of the bonfire—it’s died pretty quickly. The night air off the lake is pleasantly cool, but David is shaking. 

Gwen sets the guitar down and stoops to David’s level, nudging him. 

“Wake up. I think it’s time to go inside. I can make sure this goes out all the way, but we should get you to bed.” David groans, one hand fluttering to his temple. 

“I’m not sure I can move,” he admits. It’s delivered lightly enough that Gwen rolls her eyes, but Max knows better. He’s been sitting beside him for the past hour as he’d cried deliriously and shivered even against the warmth of the bonfire. As she snakes her arm behind his back and lifts with her legs, Max is too slow to stop her before she’s hoisting him into a standing position. In seconds flat, he goes limp, dragging them both to the ground. She curses, tapping his cheek to get him to come around. 

“David. Hey, come on. I know you can hear me.” 

He groans, his head lolling to one side. That cough again, this time into his shirt, and it sounds undeniably concerning and goes on for far too long. She waits for him to finish and passes him her water bottle, forcing a few swigs. After a few minutes, she taps his face again from where he’s started to doze off once more. 

“Hey. Think you could stand if we go slow?” 

“I’m not sure. Still feeling a little out of breath.” Gwen massages the bridge of her nose. Max could swear David apologizes quietly. 

“I think it’s time to see a doctor.” To everyone’s surprise, David agrees, allowing himself to be ushered very slowly into the car and to the 24 Hour Urgent Care. The QM gets them all to bed, and by the time the kids are awake the next morning, the counselors are back. 

Four days pass without so much as a peep from David. Gwen spends a lot of her time in their cabin taking care of him. She’d explained when they’d gotten up for breakfast the following morning that David had walking pneumonia and would be abstaining from normal camp activities for a week at least, maybe two. Said he’d be in the cabin until the fever broke. Explained how important it is that they leave him alone until then and go easy when he returns. None of them had been expecting that. Even Max, despite how ill he’d seen him, had sort of anticipated he’d just bounce back. 

As much as he finds it annoying to do so, considering Gwen’s activities are limited to arts and crafts and halfheartedly bullying one another, he leaves David alone. 

Five days after he collapsed in front of everyone, David comes to lunch. He’d sat out breakfast, but apparently feels good enough by the afternoon to join them. Despite that, Gwen hovers as if waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

“Hi, campers,” he greets. He still sounds sick—congested and raspy—but looks better. His face isn’t so gaunt or haunted. He’s gained a little color back and looks like he’s eaten and slept. “I missed you all!” 

“It’s not mutual,” Max says. It feels good to do that. To be able to fuck with him again. David ignores him like he usually does. 

“I’m doing better, but I’m still feeling a little weak. Tonight, I thought we’d watch a movie.” The relief that spreads over the group is palpable. A movie. Not a hike or a swim or a relay race. Just a movie. They get the projector working and David sits back at a table against the wall. Every once in a while, the cough still sounds awful, but it’s definitely not as soupy as it had been before. Since Gwen hasn’t had a minute’s break in the past week, David tells her that he can handle the campers and gives her the rest of the day off. Max approaches the table and is greeted by a warm, wide smile. 

“Why, hello there, Max! What can I do for you?” 

“Gwen said you have pneumonia,” he says. David nods. “Sucks.”

“It sounds worse than it is.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that.” 

“I’m over the worst of it. The fever broke yesterday morning. Just going to have to take it easy for a few more days. Then we’ll be back to business as usual, and I have some fun plans for us all!” Max’s scrutinizing gaze doesn’t lift, and David squirms against it. ”Something else on your mind?” 

It’s hard to find the words to articulate that he somehow felt concerned about someone he claims to not care about, fear in place of contempt. Anger is predominant, sure, but that’s because that’s easier to process than anxiety. Not because David necessarily deserves it. In fact, he really doesn’t. He’d gone through something tough emotionally, dealt with it privately as best he could while still having to work round the clock, then gotten seriously sick. By all accounts, he’s had a horrible past few weeks. Yet he’s standing here in front of him, smiling and attentive. 

“I’m glad you’re fine now,” he mutters. David’s eyes nearly tear up, but he manages to keep himself in check, likely because he knows how rare—and hard—this is for Max. 

“Thank you. You know, we might be watching movies for the next few days, so if you have any requests—”

“Evil Dead.”

“No, Max. Why have you seen The Evil Dead?” The question is rhetorical. He already knows. He just runs around unsupervised. “Try again.” 

“Fine. Maybe… Coraline.. I like that one.” David grins. 

“You’ve got it, buddy.” 

They do watch Coraline the next day. While David has to cover his eyes during the scene with the monstrous Other Mother, whatever nightmares Max might have doomed him to don’t appear to keep him up, because when Max goes to the bathroom that night, there is no one by the dock. 

[sickandvomiting]

Damn y’all know that thing where you draw something, you love it, then you go back to admire it and you’re like oh. Actually. Not Good. That’s hitting hard rn but it’s too late to go back now 😂

[sickandvomiting]

I come bearing one single original post bc @taylortut has A.) reinfected me with David brainrot, and B.) written an amazing fic based on a prompt I sent sooo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[sickandvomiting]

Another David prompt: I’m in love with the idea of him getting sick, then somehow ending up with hypothermia. Maybe something happened where he ended up in the lake (I’m leaning toward rescuing a camper or like diving to find something that is really important to someone, ya know, noble David-y things). He was already feeling like shit and his fever was actually really high before he went in, but the water was too cold, no one can tell how bad it after the fact because of the hypothermia, but as SOON as he gets warmed up again, his temperature goes through the roof. Could maybe throw in some near drowning/delayed drowning/pneumonia for flavor ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this prompt literally got me through a day of accessioning samples at my new jobs for 5 hours straight without earbuds so thank you for that

“Remember, campers, if you’re throwing snowballs, there should not be rocks in the middle,” David said, his cheek still stinging from where Nurf had pelted him in the face with one. 

“Stop throwing shit at David,” Gwen added. “You know he’s only out here so you goblins can have a snow day.” 

“Aw, Gwen, don’t say that. I want to be here!” 

She rolled her eyes, shoving a thermos full of tea in his face. David had been shivering since this morning, even before they’d come outside to let the campers enjoy the snow. At first, she’d thought it was because he seemingly only owned one outfit and it was not built for cold weather, but by the time breakfast was finished, he’d started complaining of a headache. When the kids asked them to wash their dishes, he’d actually refused, which was unlike him. When she’d asked about it, he’d told her that he was feeling a little shaky. After declining to eat something despite his constant emphasis on eating a healthy breakfast every day, she’d teasingly asked what was wrong and ended up with a real answer. It was beginning to add up.

“I’m just a little slow today. I feel all achy,” he’d replied. Gwen had frowned. Chills, a headache, no appetite, and aches?

“It sounds like you’re getting sick,” she’d said. He’d insisted he was fine, but a rough cough a few minutes later had confirmed her suspicions. “Maybe you should take the day off and rest.” 

“The kids said it would be fun to play in the show,” he’d argued. “When do they ever have fun without arson? They would be so disappointed.” It was true, but it wasn’t worth risking his health over it. 

“They’ll live.” David hadn’t considered sitting the day out, not for a moment. It didn’t matter that he was suffering from what Gwen was beginning to suspect was the flu. Come hell or high water, he was going to give the kids a special day. 

“It’s not that bad. I’ll just take it easy once they’re all dressed for the cold and happily playing in beautiful Mother Nature.” Gwen had shrugged. 

“Your funeral.” She’d taken a long sip of coffee and opened up her phone to read the latest celebrity gossip. After breakfast was over and the kids had been successfully scolded for asking the counselors to rinse their plates, they’d started layering clothes and putting on coats and hats. David had personally ensured that each and every one of them was ready to play out in the cold. He was slow and sluggish on the walk to the lake, once even pausing to dizzily lean against a tree. However, he’d ignored all her pleas for him to go back to bed. Despite his wishes, Gwen told the campers that he wasn’t feeling well and to go easy on him. The betrayal had upset him, but he supposed that it was fairly obvious, anyway, given the unrelenting cough. 

Now, sitting together on the picnic bench, Gwen was much more worried about supervising David than she was the children. When he’d started sweating despite the freezing temperatures, she’d reached out to feel his forehead and found it hot to the touch. 

“David, come on. You’ve got to be miserable.” 

“I promise I’m feeling well enough to be part of the fun.” He didn’t look it. Everything about him screamed illness, from his disheveled hair to the pallor of his face. Normally, he’d be out in the snow helping them build igloos and snowmen, but instead, he watched from the sidelines. That was, until he saw Nikki step foot on the frozen lake. 

“Campers, please stay away from the lake,” he called. “It’s not safe.” She hadn’t even acknowledged his warning, venturing even further onto the solid surface. “I’m serious, Nikki. Please come off the ice.” 

“Why?”’ she’d asked. “Watch this!” She did a spin, which ended with her even farther from the shore. He stood and crossed toward her, ignoring the rock-filled snowballs that hit him all over his face and body. The spin made her dizzy, and before David could get to her, she fell on the ice hard enough to crack. Panic swept over her face. 

“David!” 

“It’s going to be okay. Come toward me, Shuffle your feet like a penguin.” She tried, but the crack only deepened the closer she came to shore. “Come on. You can do it.” 

But she couldn’t. Not seconds later, the ice beneath her feet shattered, sending her straight into the water below. 

“Oh my God,” Gwen shouted. By the time she could run from the bench to the lake, David had already jumped in after her. They stayed under the water for a long minute. The commotion had attracted the rest of the campers and they watched in shock, waiting for them to emerge. Finally, David broke through to the surface with Nikki in his arms. He handed her off to Gwen, who immediately took her and held her icy hand as they watched David struggle to get out of the ice. Even the campers who would normally have found this funny weren’t laughing, especially knowing that David wasn’t a strong swimmer. It took a few tries, but eventually, he managed to get to the surface where a few of the campers had pulled him to the shore. He’d already been coughing all day, and the sound of him hacking up a lung was bad enough that Nerris started to pat his back. 

“David, can you walk?” Gwen asked. He nodded, still choking on lake water. Pulling himself to his feet was a lot harder than it looked, but he didn’t want to lean on Gwen. He didn’t want to lean on any of them and get their clothes wet in this cold. Gwen carried Nikki to her cabin to change while David headed with the campers to the mess hall to meet her when Nikki was dry. He’d encouraged them all to go ahead of him rather than slowing to his own pace. By the time he made it to the mess hall, Nikki was wearing a new change of clothes and shivering under a blanket with a warm water bottle, the campers huddled around her like penguins. 

“Go change,” Gwen commanded, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t begin to think about himself at a time like this. Still sopping wet and shivering fit to fall apart, he stooped down in front of her, checking her over for—well. He didn’t know exactly. He figured he’d know if if he saw it. Nothing seemed to be terribly amiss that couldn’t be fixed by the hot water bottle and the body heat of the campers. 

“Are you okay?” he demanded frantically as Gwen draped a blanket over him. 

“I’m cold.” David shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and set over her own. 

“David, you need that,” Gwen argued. 

“I’m going to make her some hot chocolate,” he said through chattering teeth. “You keep an eye on her.” She called his name as he turned, wanting to argue, but he was already pushing through the doors into the kitchen. Moments later, with shaking hands David brought out a single mug. 

“You couldn’t have made one for yourself, too?” she asked. Gwen reached out to feel his forehead again and found that the heat had been replaced with an icy chill. “Sit down. You’re freezing.” Any blankets she attempted to give to him ended up on Nikki’s shoulders as she spent the next half our warming up. His clothes were beginning to dry, but God, did he want to go change them. He couldn’t. What if something happened while he was gone? 

Eventually, he did accept a hot water bottle and a single blanket while he waited and watched as Nikki slowly gained her strength back. The headache from earlier was beginning to return full force now that the adrenaline had worn off, and he sat quietly massaging his temples. 

“David? You okay?” Gwen asked. He gave her an unconvincing thumbs up. His biggest problem was not his freezing hands and feet. He should have stopped her. Should have grabbed her and dragged her back to shore before the ice broke. He was a terrible counselor. Tears burned at the back of his eyes but didn’t surface. This was his worst nightmare. Something awful had happened at Camp Campbell once again and he’d been powerless to stop it. Apparently at some point during his thought spiral, Gwen had snuck away and come back, because she tapped him on the shoulder with a change of dry clothes.

“Go change.” Gwen led him to the bathroom with a steady hand and waited outside the door while he dressed. He’d never taken the time to appreciate clean, dry clothes before, but they were heavenly on his chilled skin. As soon as he was fully clothed again, he opened the door. 

“How is she?” 

“Warming up, telling everyone she saw piranhas in the lake. She’s okay, David. Relax.” 

He couldn’t. All he’d wanted to do was give them a fun day in the snow, but he’d ended up putting them in danger. Tears sprung to his eyes again and this time, they brimmed to the surface. He wiped them away with the palm of his hand, but not quick enough for Gwen to miss. She placed her warm, warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Why are you so upset about this? Bad things happen to this camp all the time.” 

“That’s the problem,” he lamented. “I’m—I didn’t—”

“Look. It’s nothing you did or didn’t do. I think you’re getting a little overemotional. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

He nodded without even thinking about it. Moving hurt. His lower back throbbed in the way it always did when he spiked a fever, which made sense considering that his temperature was rising again. After a while, Nikki began to feel warmer, enough so that Gwen was convinced that she just needed some quiet, rest, and a thick layer of blankets.

“Gwen is going to take Nikki to rest in bed for the evening. How about we make some get well soon cards for her?” David announced.

Though largely morally opposed to arts and crafts, the group didn’t put up much fuss, so he trekked off to the supply closet and gathered everything he could think of to use. The load wasn’t terribly heavy by any means, but his arms felt weak and shaky. He was so tired. Crossing the threshold into the cafeteria, they finally gave out, sending everything clattering to the floor. 

“Oh, gosh darn it.” He bent to pick them up, but his movements were clumsy and awkward, almost drunken. Dolph crouched beside him and took a fair handful of things, for which he was grateful. When he stood, his vision swam before him so badly that he almost dropped everything a second time. He blinked away the black spots to see over a dozen eyes staring at him. Apparently it had been a long dizzy spell. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’m feeling a little lightheaded.” He set the craft supplies on a table unceremoniously and stepped back. “Have at it, kids. It’s all yours.” Everyone crowded around the supplies and began to dig. Everyone except Max, who instead decided to approach the table at which David had parked himself.

“I bet you feel good about playing hero today,” he taunted. David understood why he was angry. Nikki was his best friend, and he’d let something bad happen to her by being careless.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I feel terrible that this happened.” 

“I bet you regret that fun little camp activity.” 

“Of course I do. I wanted for you kids to have fun and you,” he stopped, sniffled against the tears that sprung once more to his eyes, “someone got hurt.” Max was apparently caught off guard by the earnestness of his response. He stepped back. 

“Don’t fucking do that. It’s not like you did it on purpose.” 

“It happened under my watch, Max. I’m—” he stopped himself before oversharing, before telling him that he was wracked with guilt he couldn’t reconcile, “sorry. I’m sorry. You should go catch up with your friends. There’s still plenty of construction paper.” 

Max didn’t move. Whether it was what he said or the fact that he was still wiping at tears before they had a chance to trail down his cheeks, he wasn’t sure, but something in him shifted. 

“David—” 

“Please, go have fun. I’ll be over here if you need anything.” 

Two hours later, Gwen had already piled several blankets over David because he hadn’t stopped shivering. Not at all today, really. Nothing was working. Not the hot water bottles, nor the hot tea she’d made him, nor the heat of the mess hall. The thing that worried her, however, was that he was seemingly becoming more anxious with each minute that passed. She understood that he’d been a bit shaken up, but by the time they finished making cards, he was absolutely twitching. Every move they made seemed to have him on edge. And the cough was getting bad.

“Hey,” she said, reaching her hand out to nudge him, “you don’t really seem like you’re doing good.” 

“I’m fine,” he replied through chattering teeth. “Just not feeling so well.” She pressed her hand to his forehead and frowned. The chill had once again given way to heat, this time concerning rather than bothersome. 

“You’re really burning up. Go back to the cabin, take some ibuprofen, and lie down. Your fever is spiking.”

“I have to make sure the campers are safe,” he insisted. In his eyes was a feverish desperation, panic. “I can’t leave them.” 

“I’ll be here. Don’t worry about them.” 

“Something could happen.”

“The kids will be fine. I’m watching them. You’re the one we need to worry about.” 

“If anything happened to them I’d—I’ll—” He trailed off, his eyes filling with fresh tears, and Gwen sighed.

“Okay, okay. Don’t get all worked up. I’ll get you some meds. Hold tight, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Watching the campers was harder than it looked. He felt like he was trying to observe through dirty glass, a haze that settled over top of his consciousness and sat there, distorting it. Every move captured his attention and sent his heart rate spiking. He blinked. The next thing he knew, Max was standing in front of him. 

“Slacking off again? What is this, the third time today? I lost count.” David felt as if the comment were hostile, but honestly, none of the words were really landing. They washed over him like a wave and he felt as though he was in the bottom of a pool, looking up. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, because no matter what Max had just said, that was probably appropriate. His head was pounding, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try to relieve the pressure. Max frowned. 

“What the hell is the matter with you?” It took all his energy, but he managed to pull the conversation into focus.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just trying to make sure everyone is okay. And safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you kids.” It seemed as though Max had been stunned. Chalk that up to the list of things he’d done wrong today. 

“Does Gwen know about… all this?” 

“I already messed up,” he continued as if Max hadn’t spoken. “I’ll do better.” 

“Are you still feeling sorry for yourself about that shit? Let it go.” 

“Max, leave David alone,” she commanded as soon as she was within earshot. “I told you this morning he’s sick. He’s not in any shape for you to start your bullshit with him.” 

“He seems kinda out of it,” Max admitted. 

“Yeah, I don’t think that dip in the lake did him any favors.” She turned her attention back to David and shoved a thermometer and some pills into his hands. “Do this before you take those.” 

“I… what?” She rolled her eyes and took the thermometer from his hands and shoved it in his mouth. 

“I can’t see the campers,” he panicked, trying desperately to look around Gwen. 

“The campers aren’t going anywhere. You’re out of your mind. Stop talking.”

“Why is he so freaked out?” 

“I think he’s a little sensitive from the fever. And he took Nikki’s fall really hard.” The fact that David was sick enough to be running a fever surprised him. He’d assumed that he was being dramatic about a stupid little cold. Looking him over, though, it made sense. He looked like a wreck. A shivering, miserable disaster. 

“Why the fuck was he outside in the cold all day?” In addition to the fall through the ice, they’d pelted him with snowballs. Relentlessly. And he’d just taken it like it didn’t bother him more than a small “owie” every once in a while.

“Why do you think?” The thermometer beeped, and when she glanced at the screen, she had to take a steadying breath. “Okay. This is going to be fine. It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would just go lay down.” She tapped his hand and shoved a glass of water into the other. “Meds. David. Now. Before we have to put you in the shower.” 

Before he could bring the water to his mouth, he buried his face in his blanket and coughed, deep and low. It went on for an amount of time that made Max uncomfortable. Gwen, too. 

“You sound like you swallowed half the lake.” She tapped the hand that held the pills as if to remind him what he was doing. “They’ll help.” Obediently, he obeyed, swallowing the pills and grimacing against a painful throat. “Are you really sure you won’t go get some sleep? I can handle things here.” He shook his head vehemently. Max wasn’t so easy to placate, however. 

“We’re better off if you’re not making Gwen babysit you. You’re making yourself everyone else’s problem.” 

“Max, don’t make this worse,” she pleaded. “He’s already having enough anxiety.” He’d only been trying to help, so he rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying when you end up in the hospital.” Gwen looked to David to see if that had elicited more tears, but he appeared as though he hadn’t even been listening. 

She sat with him for the next hour and a half, patting his back when he coughed and forcing him to drink the tea she’d made. He was listless but agitated, his limited and hazy focus 100% devoted to watching the kids. When it was time for dinner, Gwen left him alone with a command to get her if he needed her. The fact that he didn’t even make an attempt to get up to help worried her, but there was no way around it. She needed to feed the campers. After ensuring that everyone had her food, she took a plate to Nikki, leaving the group functionally unsupervised. Luckily, they were preoccupied enough with food that they didn’t seem to get up to too much trouble. David was trying to force himself to stay awake at the table in the corner. 

Even despite everything that had happened that day, or perhaps because of it, the children were out of control. They required Gwen’s constant attention.David’s illness had all but drifted from her mind in favor of putting out fires, some of them literal, all over the mess hall. That was, until she heard his voice, raspy and dazed, from across the room. 

“Gwen,” he said, one arm guiding himself along the wall, “I’m going to go lie down. I feel woozy.” That was concerning. Deciding that he needed to leave, and so suddenly, had to mean something awful was happening. 

“Let me walk with you.” 

“No!” he exclaimed. “Stay here. With the campers.” She knew that she wasn’t going to win this one. If she tried to follow him, he’d just come right back inside. Without another word he threw open the doors into the freezing cold evening air.

“Max,” she commanded. “Walk David back to the cabin. Come get me if something happens.” 

By the time Max could whine, then get up and out the doors, David was throwing up in the bushes. He winced. 

“Jesus, David.” He stood aside until he finished, stumbling forward and catching himself with his hand on a tree. There, he sunk to his knees. “Hey. Asshole. You can’t stay out here. You’ll freeze. And I want to go inside, so let’s keep it moving.” David looked up at him for the first time, his face displeased. 

“Go back in,” he said. “It’s cold.” 

“Yeah, which is why you need to get a move on.” David nodded, using the tree to get to his feet where he wavered so badly that Max thought he was going to fall entirely. He walked in a weaving line all the way back, then sat heavily on the edge of his bed, staring at the ground. Max decided to give him a moment. If the guy needed to remember how to get in his fucking bed, then he had to go get Gwen. Suddenly, David bolted to his feet and straight to the bathroom, not even coherent enough to shut the bathroom door, and coughed up whatever last few sips of water he had left—because he certainly hadn’t eaten anything all day—into the toilet. Max hovered in the doorway, now beginning to feel genuinely frightened. 

“What’s going on?” 

David groaned. “Medicine on an empty stomach,” he replied. “Just a little queasy. S’fine.” 

Max’s eyes were drawn to the flu medicine on his bedside table, accompanied by a handful of cough drops and a mostly-full glass of water. Shit. He truly had been sick this morning. Really sick. And now, it was out of control. 

“I’m going back to the mess hall to get you something to eat. You need to take something.” 

“Don’t go out in the cold for me,” he said. “I can get it myself.” 

“Uh, no, you really can’t. What could you hold down?” David thought about it. The idea of any food was repugnant, but Max was right. He’d already made himself someone else’s problem. He had to eat something. For Max and Gwen.

“Maybe a few crackers.” Crackers were safe. Bland. He could probably manage to force a few down. 

“If you wander off, I’m not searching for you,” he warned before heading back out into the freezing evening air. In the meantime, David allowed himself a private moment to wallow. He hadn’t been able to get warm all day. He stole every blanket from his bed and wrapped it over his shoulders, but it didn’t help. The soreness of his muscles was only exasperated by the constant shivering. He coughed once again into his blankets. If he could keep the medicine down, then maybe his head would stop pounding. 

Max barged back through the door and shoved a sleeve of Saltines into his hands. His shaking hands struggled so badly to open the package that Max had to do it himself. He waited as David managed about three before his stomach raised a white flag. 

“You’re an idiot. Any normal person would have just stayed inside when they were sick.” 

“Max, I want to ask you something.” He nodded. “Do you feel safe at camp?” 

The question blindsided him not for the first time that day. Normally, he’d come up with a quip, some scathing remark that would leave David sad and defeated. He didn’t want to do that now. 

“Yeah. I guess I don’t really think about it.” 

“I want you kids to feel cared for. That’s my first priority.” Max could have kicked him in the shins. 

“We know you fucking care, David. You—if you repeat this to anyone I will murder you—you care about me more than my actual parents. It’s annoying how much you care. Taking a few sick days isn’t gonna. Like. Change all that.” 

“My parents were like yours,” he admitted. “Didn’t really take care of me. Or want me around. That’s why I—I want to give you all a few good months. But I know you don’t want to be here.” He wouldn’t have expected that. That sweet little Davey’s childhood was so bad. It made his heart hurt. It almost made him regret all his complaining about camp activities. Almost. 

“It hasn’t… totally sucked. All the time.” He took the flu tablets from their blister pack and set them in David’s hand. “Take those whenever you want. When you feel like you’re not gonna hurl them back up.” 

David could make no promises at all, really, but he hoped that the crackers were enough and swallowed the tablets with no fuss. Max hopped up to the foot of his bed and kicked back against the bottom baseboard. 

“You don’t have to stay here,” he said. “I’ll be fine on my own.” 

“Oh, yeah, like when you were fine to spend a day frozen outside with a fever? Like when it was fine that you dove into the lake after Nikki and didn’t warm up afterwards? Like when it was fine to walk back to the cabin alone even though you were puking in the bushes? Fine like that?”

“Right. Sorry.” He wanted to argue, but he was simply too tired. Rather than worrying about fighting with Max, David took the covers and comforter form his shoulders and threw it back on the bed in a pile. When his movements were too clumsy to properly lay them out, Max took charge, flicking the pile of blankets once in the air before allowing them to come down perfectly on David’s bed. “Thanks.” 

Lucidity waxed and waned. He managed to fall asleep, but it was fitful and uncomfortable, and he was rarely still. Max sat with him like that for over an hour before Gwen came back. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I put the rest of the campers to bed so I could deal with this. How’s he doing?”

“Not great. He’s been… I don’t know. Sad, I guess.”

“I think today was just a lot for him. He’ll be okay.” She took the thermometer and popped it into his mouth once again. They both waited in silence until it beeped. “103.4. It’s starting to come down.” Max grimaced at how high it must have been before. “I’ve got him from here. You should go to bed.” Max didn’t move. “Something wrong?”

He couldn’t say it without sounding like he cared. He wanted to know if the way they talked about the camp really bothered him that much. Whether she knew anything about his childhood. If there was something under the surface of cheer that someone should be worried about. 

“No. Just remember that if he dies, you’re in charge.”

“I’ll take good care of him.” She smiled at him as he hesitated in front of the doorway. “He’s going to be fine. I promise.” 

“You act like I give a shit,” he said, slamming the door behind him as he ventured once more out into the snowy night to get to his cabin. Neil was still awake (obviously; it was only like 7:30) and reading a book. 

“How’s David? Did you kill him?” 

“Nah. He’s pretty bad off. I’m gonna let nature run its course. Survival of the fittest.” Max hopped up onto his bed and took off his hoodie, crawling beneath the covers. He turned on the pink Nintendo DS he’d stolen from David’s room and turned it on, rolling his eyes when Cooking Mama showed up on the screen. Whatever. It was better than nothing. He stayed up far too late perfecting each recipe and trying to beat David’s scores, turning all his bronze medals to gold ones. That would show him. 

The next morning, he woke on his own time without the daily trumpet. Neil had already left the cabin for breakfast, so he followed suit. Apparently, he’d slept the latest of all the campers, because everyone else was already eating. 

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” Nikki said. “We got you breakfast in case they ran out.” Max looked at the table to find a tray filled with four bananas. “They were already out.” 

“Thanks,” he said dryly, All he really cared about was coffee, anyway. On his way to fill his mug, he passed Gwen’s table and sat down before her. She rolled her eyes. 

“What do you want, gremlin?” 

“Did he pass quietly in the night?” 

“He pulled through, unfortunately for you. I don’t think he’ll be out of bed much for a few days.” Predictable and surprising at the same time. 

“At least he’s not out here acting like a rabid animal anymore.” 

“Yeah, he wanted me to tell you he’s sorry for that. He doesn’t remember much of it, but he knew he upset you.” 

“He didn’t upset me. I cannot emphasize enough how much I don’t care.” 

Well. That wasn’t going to stop him from telling David as much. As soon as breakfast was over and Gwen had her back turned, he snuck away. He threw open the door hard enough that it slammed against the back wall.

“Wake up,” he demanded. David sat up in bed. Max had half expected him to be awake and making friendship bracelets or something. 

“Oh, Max,” he greeted quietly, his voice shot from coughing. “Does Gwen know where you are?” 

“Does she give a shit?” David frowned. 

“You seem angry.” 

“I wonder fucking why.” 

“I wanted to talk to you about that. Wanna have a seat?” He gestured to the desk chair across the room, but Max climbed back up to the foot of his bed, and he didn’t argue. “What happened yesterday shouldn’t have happened. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around. Ever.”

“That’s the problem. You almost took care of us to death.” David rubbed the back of his neck, coughed into his elbow. It still sounded awful. 

“I didn’t mean to do that, but I ended up being neglectful to you kids. And I owe you an apology.” The use of the word ‘neglect’ made him cringe. 

“Don’t—say that.” 

“Say what? That I’m sorry?”

“No, the—you didn’t—you don’t neglect us. It’s not the same.” 

“Oh. Of course not. I shouldn’t have used that word with you.” 

“Not with—do you even remember what you said yesterday, dipshit?” David looked so small, so pale and confused that he almost felt bad for picking this fight, but he couldn’t stop. 

“I guess I don’t, because I really don’t understand what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re not your fucking parents.” David was silent for a very long moment, and Max didn’t want to let him off the hook by saying anything else. 

“I told you about that?” 

“Not really. You mentioned it.” 

“Oh.” David looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry. It's been a while since I thought about it. I guess the fever brought it up. Please, just forget all about it.” 

“Does Gwen know?” 

“No one really does. I don’t talk about it. It’s in the past.”  

“Clearly not, because you ran yourself into the fucking ground about it.”

“We all have stuff, Max. Again, this isn’t something you need to worry about.”

“Whatever. Just don’t go thinking you’re scarring us for life if we don’t always want to do your dumb camp activities. Some of us get more attention here than anywhere else. You’re a fucking lunatic, but you’re a lunatic that. Loves… us?” David broke into a grin, his eyes practically sparkling with excitement. “Anyway, remember that even if you repeated that, no one would believe you.” 

“I won’t say a word; don’t worry.” 

“I… won’t either. About your shit.”

“Thank you.” He coughed again. “You should probably get back to Gwen before she thinks she lost another camper.” Max smiled a little. Just a little. 

“Go take another swim, camp man.” David laughed a little as Max left the cabin. Now that he knew the campers actually liked his activities, he could start planning even more.

[sickandvomiting]

Izzy Fever Whump 4 (technically 5)

Did I already write "Izzy wakes up from fever induced nightmares to state Ed never cared about him" in the previous fever whump (modern au not counted)? Yes. Did I write it again? Definitely.

Izzy's a bit of a mess in this one. Just feeling low and bad and down and, you know, it takes time to recover from life changing, traumatising events and to rediscover your selfworth and to find security in it if you've lost it. He's struggling a bit. Or a bit more. There's some angst. The fic is from Izzy's POV so his thoughts and ideas are voiced to the reader.

CW for some description of canon typical violence (in a dream) and for some suicidal ideation (...I guess that's also canon typical? and more "through inaction, this could end" than "I could take action to end this").

~

This time Izzy tries to ignore his symptoms at first. It's not so bad, just a runny nose and a sore throat, a headache and sore muscles, feeling chilled and hot and dizzy all at once… It wasn’t so bad <i>at first</i>. Izzy can tell it's not your usual cold that's come over him, but as it happens, he hardly cares. He knows he should care, that on a different day he would care, but it's one of those days when he would anyhow prefer to drown himself in a cask of rum.

It has to be noon by the time Izzy figures he won't be able to just push through it. He's dizzy, unstable, and the hot midday sun shining above them does nothing to help. Izzy grabs the railing for support, leaning heavily against it and staring at the ocean below. He's keenly aware of how easy it would be to fall over, how he might stumble into the waves below if his arms gave in under him. Would it even matter? Maybe it would even be for the best.

“Izzy?” he hears the bright voice of Lucius call out to him. Confused and vaguely worried. Izzy doesn't respond, and Lucius calls out again with more urgency and a whole lot of added worry: “Izzy? Are you okay?”

Lucius’ steps approach him, and Izzy feels tempted to accept the worry or care or whatever it is the boy's about to offer him, but the bitter thoughts that have been plaguing him again make it difficult not to deflect it. The crew has been kind to him, accepting of him, hell they've even cared for him since… since. He knows this, but it's difficult to accept it on the low days. What does he matter, really? The ship doesn't need him, the crew doesn't need him, and his captain sure as hell doesn't need him.

“Fuck, you look terrible”, Lucius says right next to him. “Like. Sick terrible, not terrible terrible.”

Izzy swats off a hand that moves towards him.

“Let me fucking be”, Izzy grumbles. He stares at the waves for a moment longer before pushing himself away from the railing. He's unsteady on his feet yet somewhat able to keep his balance as he waits for his head to settle. He can see Lucius shifting in place next to him, obviously uncertain whether or not he should move to take a hold of Izzy for support. Izzy does his best to glare at him.

“Mind your own fucking business, Spriggs”, Izzy says, pushing past Lucius to walk away. He can barely keep himself upright and on his feet, and the way his vision's growing foggy makes him feel certain he'll pass out sooner rather than later if he stays on deck.

And so Izzy heads below deck, giving any crew members who dare to look at him with too much concern, or for too long, or just look at him, the same glare he'd given Lucius. He suspects he's a little too out of it to manage a proper glare, but it must get the point across because no one approaches him or says anything. Izzy makes his way to his own cabin, walking along the walls once he's out of anyone else's sight. They've seen him low, they've seen him a mess, but they don't need to see him leaning on walls to keep from stumbling on the floor.

Izzy collapses on his bed fully clothed. He barely has the energy to take off the hoof, and he certainly wouldn't bother if keeping it on while lying down and trying to sleep wasn’t more bothersome. He doesn't fall asleep, though, not for a good while at least. He just lies there not quite awake either, thoughts swirling around his foggy head as he shivers and coughs and sniffles his way through the following hours.

He doesn't hear the approaching steps, doesn't register the sound of his door opening, but the voice of Stede fucking Bonnet calling out his name, careful and uncertain rather than the usual perky, sing-songy thing certainly gets through to him. Izzy groans. Fucking Bonnet, dares to disturb his wallowing and pull him back to some kind of awareness.

“Ahh, you are here, thank God”, Stede says. “I wasn't sure where to find you. The crew said you had been in a dark mood and probably down with some nasty bug on top…”

Izzy buries his face into his pillow when he hears Stede step all the way inside, close the door and take the first of the few steps needed to get from the door to Izzy's bed.

“Fuck off”, Izzy says.

“Oh. You do sound… unwell”, Stede says. As if he needed more evidence to back up whatever it is the crew had said beyond Izzy lying in his bed in the middle of the day. Izzy twitches when Stede's hand touches his neck. “And that's definitely a fever. You should have said something instead of retreating to your bed all by yourself.”

“What for?” Izzy asks, then coughs.

“So we could help you? Help you feel less like shit”, Stede says. His fingers press back into Izzy's neck. “And, frankly, make sure that fever won't take you.”

Izzy stares into the void inside his head, trying to make the words make sense. Yea, he's got a fever and he can tell it's too high for any comfort. To have the fever take him, though? That's certainly an idea. Izzy doesn't exactly mean to voice his thoughts, how he feels insignificant or how he doesn't really get why the crew would care, but the words leave his lips before he can stop himself.

“Why would any of you care?” Izzy asks. He's turned into a burden, hasn't he? Now more than before, when all he can do is lie in his bed, too fevered to get up. He's vaguely aware of the way his eyes are wetting with tears.

Stede stays silent for a long moment, so long that Izzy starts slipping out of consciousness again.

“Izzy.” Stede says. He sounds so uncharacteristically serious Izzy's suddenly alert again. “Why would we not care?”

Stede still sounds solemn, like the question he asks isn't the one actually on his mind. Like maybe he's caught up with where Izzy's mind has gone. Izzy feels self conscious, but there's also a certain relief to the idea of having someone be aware of what's going on inside him. The tears are back in his eyes.

“I can tell there's a lot to be talked through here”, Stede says carefully. His hand is on Izzy's shoulder, coaxing him to turn around. “But I think it might be better to leave the talking for when you are… less sick. For now, lets skip the whys and focus on how we can help you with the fever and all that, hmm?”

Izzy moves according to how the hand on his shoulder guides him, turning on his back and more or less facing Stede. Izzy feels conflicted looking at the man, both secure and annoyed, comforted yet like he shouldn't trust that feeling. He opens his mouth to argue, but Stede cuts him off before he gets to say a word.

“And if you are going to ask why would you care, that's also something we can discuss later. For now just trust me, all right? Can you do that for me, Izzy?”

Izzy closes his mouth only to open it again to accommodate the illness. He's not that congested, but also he is, and how much the slight obstruction makes him feel like he's not getting enough air is only made worse by the fever and the way his whole body feels. Can he do that, trust Stede? Fuck if he knows.

“Can you?” Stede asks again when Izzy doesn't respond. ”Be good to me and do as I say. Please.”

Izzy swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat, tries to blink away the tears burning his eyes. Stede makes something soften inside him, makes the edge of the bitterness give way for something else. Whatever Stede is offering, Izzy finds himself wanting it. He gives a small, jerky nod, but it's all Stede needs.

“Thank you, Izzy”, Stede says, touching a gentle hand to Izzy's arm. “Now I don't think it will do you any good to stay in your leathers. What do you usually wear to bed?”

“Just my underwear “, Izzy says. Stede purses his lips.

“I'll grab you something comfortable to put on when I go and get you other things as well. For now just… let's take these off”, Stede says. He tugs at Izzy's vest when he says “these”.

Izzy moves to sit up, shaking as he pushes himself off of the bed. And while he knows he could make it all the way up by himself, he doesn't resist when Stede's hands grab him and hoist him up. Sitting up makes the world grow distant for a moment. Stede's pulling his vest down from his shoulders by the time he's adjusted to the position.

“I can undress myself”, Izzy says. His mouth feels clumsy, tongue not quite knowing where to go, and he can't be sure how articulate he manages to be.

“I know you can, Izzy”, Stede says but shows no sign of letting Izzy take over. “But you don't have to, and I think I should show you all the ways a person can care for another. Might do some good.”

Stede finds Izzy's eyes with his own, a slight but warm smile shining on his face. Izzy can only stare at him. Stede undoes Izzy's cravat with care, wrapping Izzy's ring securely in it before putting it aside, then moves on to Izzy's shirt.

“You can lie back down now. It's easier to pull of the leather pants when you aren't sitting on them”, Stede says after a moment. Izzy's happy to be horizontal again, and he doesn't even mind it when Stede pulls off his trousers for him, or when Stede pulls the thin blanket he has piled in the foot of his bed over him. Or when Stede places his hand on Izzy's blanket covered arm for a moment.

“I need to leave for a moment, okay? To get you something to drink and to see if Roach has anything for the fever”, Stede says. He squeezes Izzy's arm. Izzy blinks. “I'll be back soon. You should try and sleep while I'm gone.”

Izzy just nods again. Then Stede's hand is gone, and Stede is moving, and Izzy catches himself almost whining for him to be back. The tears are flowing as soon as Stede's left the room and Izzy buries his face back into his pillow. Stede's being so gentle, so explicit with his intentions Izzy struggles to take it all in, but he's desperate for what he's being offered to be genuine, for Stede to really care if even a little. He still fears it's an act.

Izzy manages to doze off and, when he wakes up to the sound of his door closing, he feels just a tad bit less like the whole world is against him. His head is clouded by the fever and he feels maybe half conscious, but he's eager to have Stede back and to get more of whatever Stede is planning to offer.

Only it's not Stede who he sees when he opens his eyes.

“Oh he really wasn’t lying… you look like shit, Iz”, Ed says, and suddenly Izzy's mind is clouded by more than just the fever. He can't help staring as his heart pounds and skin prickles. Ed must notice something because his expression shifts. He still reachest out a hand, palm turned away from Izzy, and touches the ungloved backs of his fingers to Izzy's cheek.

“Shit, Iz, you're burning up.”

Izzy has to swallow against the new lump in his throat, take a deep breath to try and calm down the nervous tremble inside him. He only manages to make himself cough.

“What the fuck do you care?” Izzy asks. It feels different to ask that from Ed than it had felt to ask the same from Stede. There's an ache inside him that hadn't been there before, a pain more deeply set than the bitter thoughts and bad mood he had been dealing with. And fuck, he's already over this, over the yearning and over the shit that happened while Stede was gone, so why does his body ache for more touching while his brain is screaming for him to flee?

“Just let the fever fucking take me, save yourself the trouble”, Izzy says. Ed just looks at him, expression impossible to read. “You shouldn't linger or you will be next. Would kinda ruin things, wouldn't it?”

Izzy has to cough, the fit coming on hard and sudden, making him cough and cough and then cough some more. His chest and throat burn with irritation.

Izzy doesn't mean to flinch, or to squirm away from Ed's touch when Ed lays a hand on his back, but fuck he can't control the reaction. His skin prickles, it both itches and burns but most of all hurts. Maybe the fever has him too sensitive to touch, or maybe it's a memory carved in his flesh, but Ed's hand on his back feels painful. It feels unfair, even more painful inside his head, to not be able to take Ed's touch of all people. To both Izzy's relief and grief, Ed takes the message of him spasming away from the touch and retrieves his hand. Izzy wraps his arms around himself.

“Izzy, I…” Ed begins, but Izzy can only guess what it is he wanted to say because he never finishes. He stands there in silence, as Izzy stares somewhere beside him.

“I'm back!” Stede announces as he enters the room, breaking some of the tension as he enters. He freezes by the door, though, when he sees Ed and takes in the scene.

Ed sighs, piches his nose and moves to leave.

“I can't fucking do this”, he says as he pushes past Stede. Izzy stares after him, fingers digging into his arms.

Stede stands there for a moment longer, also staring after Ed, before he sighs and shakes his head. He closes the door and crosses the room to Izzy's bed, placing a tray down on the floor beside it.

“Did something happen?” Stede asks, his voice gentle and quiet. Izzy shakes his head. Nothing had happened, right? Not this time.

Stede leaves Izzy's bedside to take the single chair Izzy has in the room. He moves it beside Izzy's bed and sits down, bending down to grab something from the floor.

“Time to sit up again”, Stede says. “I have a nightshirt and some water.”

Stede helps him up again, wrapping an arm around him to hoist him up. Izzy has to conclude that, while his skin is sensitive from the fever, Stede's touch doesn't come with the same prickling pain Ed's had. He's just a fucking mess then, isn’t he?

Stede helps the shirt on him, holds a mug up for him so he can drink some water. His eyes are nailed on Izzy's face, expression both worried and calculating. Izzy averts his eyes, keeps his gaze at everything but Stede.

“Roach had brewed a pot of tea for you before I even got to the galley”, Stede says, reaching down for his tray again. “It's a herbal tea. Should help with both the cough and the fever.”

Stede presses a cup to Izzy's lips. The liquid is sweet with a bitter aftertaste. Stede puts the cup back down when Izzy pushes it away.

“Poor darling”, Stede coos when Izzy curls up under the blanket again. His hand is on Izzy's face, smoothing back his hair and casually feeling his forehead and cheeks. “Your fever's really high, isn’t it? No wonder you are so… tame.”

“I'm not fucking ‘tame’”, Izzy grumbles.

“I just called you a ‘poor darling’ also and you didn't even threaten me, so…”

Stede smiles at him, brushes his fingers over Izzy’s cheek before grabbing yet another thing from the tray. A wet rag, Izzy figures as it's placed on his forehead.

“Just so you know, I can see something happened while Ed was here. You don't need to tell me, but I'm willing to listen if you want to share”, Stede says. He sounds so genuine, voice a soft rumble lacking its usual flare, that Izzy almost breaks down right then.

The tears that dutifully stayed away earlier when Ed was still in the room well up, rolling down from Izzy's eyes freely. He takes in a shuddering breath, tension releasing to make room for proper crying. He manages to nod amids the eruption of feelings. He's absolutely not ready to talk, but Stede feels secure enough for him to consider it.

Stede doesn't push it, for which Izzy is intensely grateful. He merely sits there, a hand on Izzy's shoulder, and waits for Izzy to ride out the release. When Izzy calms down, feeling exhausted and numb, Stede has a handkerchief ready. He gently taps Izzy's eyes and cheeks and the bridge of his nose and everywhere else where the tears had gotten, and even wipes Izzy's nose. He allows Izzy to take the handkerchief from him so Izzy can take care of the rest.

Izzy blows his nose and coughs, the crying having both loosened up the already accumulated congestion and having inspired his body to produce all the more mucus. He coughs long and hard enough for Stede to help him halfway up so he can have a few long gulps of water. It helps him calm down his throat and lungs enough to be able to catch a breath. He sighs as he settles back down. He's so fucking exhausted, already drifting off despite the aches and itching and discomfort that have kept him from getting proper sleep so far.

“I'm gonna sleep”, Izzy slurs. “Talk later. Maybe.”

Izzy doesn't know if Stede responds in some way. He's pulled into the dark void of unconsciousness as soon as the words leave his lips, but that nothing quickly turns into restless dreams. Everything's twisted and blotchy, the dreams flashing in and out and offering him both distant and fresh memories and things that could just as well have happened, but which don't quite match what happened. He's on the Queen Anne, limping his way through deck after a raid. He took a blow to his side and it's sore, but he's good about it and doesn't let it bother him. Suddenly Ed is in front of him, looking down at him with sympathy at first, but the dream is fast to twist his face into a cruel smirk. Ed's hand reaches for his neck, and suddenly he's on Hornigold's ship, shuddering under a blanket and delirious with a fever. Ed’s holding him tight, breathing loud right next to his ear. In Izzy's memory Ed had whispered words of encouragement to him, all though he can't remember much about the whole thing. I should have let you die here, the dream Ed whispers instead.

Izzy’s thrown on the Revenge, into a version of reality that's perpetually shadowed by dark clouds and that reeks of blood. Izzy's on the floor, back against a wall, with Ed looming over him. In reality Izzy hadn't resisted when Ed cut off his toes, he'd been good and taken it well, but his brain is screaming for it to end, the dream version of him begging Ed to stop. Ed doesn't, and there's a flash of pain that takes over and defines the rest of his dreams.

Izzy’s pulled into consciousness by Stede's firm but careful touch. Izzy's heart is pounding and he gasps for breath, feeling alarmed and on the edge. His throat feels like he's been screaming.

“Shh, Izzy, it's all right”, Stede says, releasing one hand to place a wet rag on Izzy's face. “It was a dream. You are safe.”

Izzy stares at Stede, trying to parse what's real and what's not, but his brain feels all the more sluggish. Fucking fever. Fucking brain frying disease.

Worst of all, and Izzy fully blames it on the fever as well, he wants Stede to hold him. Stede has been nothing but gentle, has somehow managed to make Izzy feel secure despite him having felt so fucking worthless recently. He needs to know how it would feel like to be embraced by that gentleness and security for once. He can't bring himself to say it, but he does lean into Stede's touch. He's practically aching to be touched.

“Is this good?” Stede asks, clearly referring to his hand on Izzy's shoulder. Izzy nods, but there has to be something hesitant to him, because Stede continues: “Do you want less? More..?”

Izzy is slow to react and again only nods. Stede's brows furrow and he hesitantly repeats “More?”. Another nod. Stede doesn't give him more immediately, though.

“I'm not sure what your boundaries are, I have to admit”, Stede says. “Are you fine with being hugged? Do you want a hug? I know I enjoy a nice, tight embrace when I'm feeling bad, but… we are quite different, aren't we?”

Izzy takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his mind and to push past that part of himself that wants to take away his words. He hums and presses his eyes shut tightly, easing himself into saying: “I want that”.

Stede goes for an awkward, leaning over Izzy’s bed to hug him -hug and Izzy rolls his eyes even though it hurts.

“Don't fucking half ass it”, Izzy says. He shifts on the bed, making room for Stede to lie down.

“Oh.” Stede sounds surprised but he doesn't hesitate to kick his boots off and lie down in the space Izzy made for him. Izzy turns on his side, his back pressing into Stede as Stede pulls him into an embrace.

“Is this good?” Stede asks.

“Tighter”, Izzy mutters.

Stede is soft and warm and human. Izzy hadn't realised just how much he needed someone to hold him, but now that Stede is there, strong arms pulling Izzy into his chest, soft stomach pressing into Izzy's back with every inhale Stede takes, face touching the back of Izzy's head… Izzy feels like he's never been touched like this before but it's the one thing his body and mind have been screaming for for ages. Izzy melts into the touch.

As comfortable and secure as Izzy feels, it still takes a good while for the tension and discomfort of the dreams to pass. Izzy keeps staring at nothing, hardly blinking even though his eyes are dry and burning.

“He's never given a fuck about me, has he?” Izzy mutters after a long while of silence. Stede shifts behind him.

“I don't think that's true, Izzy”, Stede says.

“What the fuck do you know.”

Stede's hold of him tightens, not by enough to become uncomfortable.

“I dare say I've learned to know him. We've… talked, all though he is reluctant to discuss a lot of things”, Stede says. He's silent for a moment before he adds, sounding solemn and thoughtful: “And I've seen the two of you. I saw how you were before… before.”

Izzy blinks tears away from his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddery breath.

“He has a terrible fucking way of showing it, then”, Izzy says. The tears still sting his eyes and his throat feels tight, the words coming out every bit as bitter as he feels. It's not like Ed is incapable of showing he cares, of being nice and fucking tender. He's just selective with who gets to receive that, Izzy supposes, and Izzy himself doesn't deserve the kindness. He's not kind enough himself, not soft or tender or good at showing he cares. Too stained ans defiled by decades of a life with no room for such things. Spreading his fucking taint where ever he goes, to everything he touches. He can't really complain about how he's treated if he's the actual problem.

“He… has certainly had some issues with expressing his feelings”, Stede says. Every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. “He's working on it, though. Learning how to process what he's feeling and how to express it.”

Izzy huffs, accidentally sending himself into another coughing fit.

“And how long will that take? Years? A fucking decade?” he asks. “I'm not going to wait around for him to be ready, I've already given him my whole fucking life. Too bad it was a shitty fucking life to give.”

Stede is silent, his hold of Izzy strong. Izzy doesn't expect him to say anything even if it would be typical of Stede to say a whole lot of things. Izzy coughs again, focuses on how Stede feels against him, Stede's fingers digging into his skin in a way that's decidedly not painful. His own touch feels so different, and Ed's touch is a whole nother thing

“It just hurts.” Izzy says. “I’ve moved on, but it still fucking hurts. His touch fucking hurts.”

“He didn’t touch you in a bad way, did he? When he visited you today.”

Izzy shakes his head.

“No. He put a hand on my back and it… well, it fucking hurt. I thought maybe it's the fever. My whole fucking body aches so it would make some fucking sense, right?” Izzy says. “But then shouldn't every touch hurt the fucking same?”

“It doesn't hurt you when I touch you.” It's not a question but a statement, and Izzy shakes his head again. He doesn't tell Stede just how much it doesn’t hurt.

“Do you want me to talk to him? Should I ask him to drop by again later?” Stede asks.

“Fuck no”, Izzy responds before he can really even think about what he should say. “I… My head feels like a fucking mess. Just… fuzzy. I don't want to see him when I can't fucking think straight.”

He doesn't want to see Ed after the earlier. Not when he feels so fucking rotten anyhow, when it's hard to stay focused and awake. Not when he knows he's barely lucid and can't be certain he won't mix dreams with reality.

Stede's hand moves up, brushes Izzy's hair aside and feels his face. The wet rag has slipped off, Izzy realises.

“Mm, well, you do have the grippe, dear. That tends to fuck with the head a bit, doesn’t it?”, Stede says. Izzy hums. He would know, wouldn't he? “Perhaps when your head's a bit clearer?”

Izzy only grumbles. He doesn't really want to think about it now, he'd rather forget about Ed all together if this is how it's going to be. He's not going to forget, though, as much is clear.

They lie in silence for some time, Izzy falling slowly back towards sleep as he relaxes. With his mind calming down and not filled with unsavory thoughts, he's all the more aware of how he's feeling physically. Stede's moved the wet rag back on his face and while it offers some comfort, he still feels too hot. His head aches, his joints ache, his fucking muscles ache. Even his stomach aches a little, if not enough to make him worry where that's going to lead. His throat burns and nose feels wrong and he finds himself thinking how not being knocked out by the fever and too delirious to tell what's happening is somehow the worse way to have this fucking thing. The previous couple of times at least had him too out of it to really feel the worst of it all.

“I'm overheating, move”, Izzy mumbles, his lips sticking together and tongue refusing to move with any dexterity. He tries to lick his lips, but his mouth is just as dry.

“I think you are also dehydrated”, Stede says as he lets Izzy go and sits up. Izzy shivers when air hits the parts of him Stede was pressed against. “Come on, I'll help you sit up so you can drink some.”

Stede's arm slips under Izzy, and Izzy does his best to push himself up. His arms shake with the effort even though Stede does most of the job for him. Izzy manages to stay sitting up as Stede reaches down to where the tray is to grab Izzy's water.

“I know you must be thirsty but drink slow or your body might reject it”, Stede says as he helps the mug to Izzy's lips. The water tastes sweet and it brings with it such relief Izzy would like to gulp it down greedily. Stede makes sure he can't, though, and so he takes small, careful sips to down the water with the patience his body needs. Stede pours him a bit more when he's done with the first mug, then helps Izzy lie back down.

Stede wets the rag again and puts it back in its place on Izzy's forehead. Izzy closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of Stede's hand on him as Stede feels him for the fever.

“Feel like fucking shit”, Izzy mutters.

“I know, dear”, Stede says. His hand leaves Izzy's body and Izzy hears the sound of water splashing and dripping. “I think I will try and cool you down a bit.”

Izzy jumps a little when Stede presses another wet rag on his neck and wipes a line down to his chest. Stede repeats this several times, wetting the rag again when it warms up too much, before slipping his hand under Izzy's shirt to do the same for his sides, then his stomach. Izzy doesn't know how long it goes on, but after the initial shock it feels surprisingly nice.

“Try and get some more sleep, dear”, Stede says when he finally puts the second rag away. Izzy hums. It's not like he has try much, he's anyhow barely awake. “I'll be here when you wake up, or if you need something. Everything's going to be all right.”

Stede's fingers brush through Izzy's hair and Izzy feels himself melt into the touch. He's not entirely convinced everything's going to be all right, but right now, lulled by Stede's care and affection, as comfortable as he can be circumstances considered, he's willing to not entirely disregard the idea either. At the very least, he feels safe enough to let sleep take over again.

[sickandvomiting]

i keep forgetting to post my done commissions, so there's a few to go y'all 💀💀

thanks a lot to @imill for commissioning me 😊

check out my art commissions~

[sickandvomiting]

Hey, do you like coffee?

I do!! (Is this a pun? 😂)