#(think of it as him pulling a D.AMIEN)

[stageplayhero]

Your footsteps may lead you to a house out in the woods. Does this feel familiar? Biting cold, clouded sky, snowy ground. A once grand manor, left to decay.

Mark’s body moved on from it, but his mind never truly did.

It’s hardly an exact recreation. It does what it was made to do, regardless. The perfect hiding spot for a consciousness wishing to escape reality, and all the memories and the guilt that come with it. A place where you can loop without ever having to face your mistakes.

Taking a page out of the Seer’s book was drastic. He didn’t have any other choice.

That only leaves the body. The Entity.

THE ACTOR IS GONE. Lost. Not gone. NOW THE REAL GAME CAN BEGIN.

[ethereousdelirious]

Fandom: DDADDS Characters: R.obert & D.amien (S.mallmarch established relationship) Tropes: vomiting, fever, fainting, nausea from anxiety, mild humiliation, trying to hide an illness, C.hristmas, hospitals Summary: Spending the holidays with Damien’s family is harder on Robert’s anxiety than either of them expected. Unfortunately for Robert, his symptoms match up perfectly with the stomach bug that’s been going around as well. Note: There are some headcanons coming into play here, namely that R.obert has social anxiety and was abused by his family members in the past, causing him to have worsened anxiety around other people’s family members

It was too loud in here. Too loud and too bright, and starting to get too warm. Robert tugged at his sleeves, but they were already rolled up to the forearm and disinclined to go much higher. At least Damien’s family hadn’t been able to talk him into wearing an absurdly thick vintage Christmas sweater like the ones they were all wearing. Even Damien had abandoned his usual neo-Victorian aesthetic in favor of a dark green cowl neck Christmas sweater with reindeer dancing circles around the chest area.

Robert found himself staring at it more and more as the night went on. Damien was seated all the way across the table and seemed to be enjoying a conversation with his grandparents, a concept which was largely foreign to Robert. He had never enjoyed the company of his own family, nor had be ever anticipated sitting down for Christmas dinner with them.

But Damien’s family all seemed to like each other, and everyone appeared to be having a good time eating and talking together.

Everyone except for Robert, who was sitting there awkwardly, sweating under his long-sleeved shirt and taking occasional sips of his sparkling cider, which was starting to give him a headache. He wished he’d gotten himself a glass of water before they all sat down, but it seemed rude to get up now.

“Robert, dear.” Damien’s mom looked at him from several seats down. “Have some more ham! Damien mentioned it’s one of your favorites.”

“Oh, uh.” Robert smiled awkwardly, acutely aware of his shirt sticking to his back. “Thank you, ma’am.” He accepted the serving tray as it was passed down the line and took several slices. It would have been rude to refuse, but at the same time… He was going to have to eat all of this, not just the ham, but also everything else that had been pressed on him earlier in the evening, rolls and turkey and roasted vegetables. Not to mention dessert.

Robert’s stomach turned and he took another cloying swallow of cider, which seemed to turn to syrup in his mouth. His head pounded. It had been several days since he’d been anywhere even remotely near his comfort zone, as he was stuffed in Damien’s parents’ house surrounded by Damien’s relatives with very little privacy. He hadn’t even been able to catch Damien alone since they’d come here 4 days ago. Even now, he was too far away to hold a conversation with him without shouting, and there were so many people seated between them that anything he said would become an announcement.

Dinner passed agonizingly slowly. Robert managed to eat everything on his plate, which was then cleared away along with everything else on the table to make room for dessert. His stomach clenched at the thought of spending yet more time trapped in this folding chair, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with anyone lest they try to strike up a conversation with him.

He reached for his glass only to realize his cider was gone, replaced with a whole pint of eggnog. Alright. The glass was cool in his hand, which was a relief at least. The collection of bodies all in one place had his face and chest burning with heat.

“So Robert.” One of Damien’s… uncles? grandparents? looked at him. Robert took a quick swallow of his eggnog. His stomach tied itself into a hangman’s knot. “Damien tells me you whittle?”

“Yes.” His voice came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat. “Just little things, nothing impressive.”

“That’s not true!” Damien spoke up. Robert noticed a gentle pink flush over his cheeks and couldn’t help but smile at his obviously tipsy boyfriend. “Robert’s made some really cool stuff!”

“I like to make chains,” Robert said. Suddenly all the eyes at the table were on him. He swallowed hard against a wave of nausea that lapped urgently at the back of his throat before receding to something a little more manageable. “I think maybe--” he turned awkwardly, trying to get at his jacket, which was hanging from the back of the flimsy folding chair he was currently occupying. “Well.” He fished an unfinished chain out of one of the inner pockets and displayed it. “This sort of thing.”

Damien’s relative (had to be an uncle-- he was too young to be a grandfather) acknowledged this with a nod. “I’m working on whittling a chess set.”

Someone else at the table (Damien’s cousin, going by context clues) rolled her eyes. “Ugh, dad. You’ve been working on that chess set for like a year and a half now.”

Robert put his chain away. The conversation turned by degrees until he was fully out of it. He slumped back in his chair.

Damien’s mom brought out pie and pudding and fancy chocolates and suddenly Robert’s pulse was racing. He’d spent the whole day, the whole trip, really, sick with nerves, but Christmas dinner had pushed him over the edge. The heat vanished from his body in an instant as a cold shiver crawled up his back.

As calmly as he could manage, Robert stood up and walked to the bathroom. Saliva was already filling his mouth, but he couldn’t-- If this whole room knew he was about to be sick, he would die. The anxiety would eat him alive. So he walked. Slowly. Nerves jumping the whole way there.

Then he was safe behind the closed, locked door. He got to his knees in front of the toilet. Someone had left the lid up, so he leaned in. For a moment, nothing happened and he had a moment of panic thinking he’d be stuck in here all night and then everyone would know and feel sorry for him and--

His stomach clenched, the pressure coming to a painful head, and he dry heaved a couple times before finally vomiting. He sat back shakily, aware of the tears in his eyes and the string of saliva pooling onto his shirt, but unable to move. He had to go back out there and soon, or people were going to start to wonder.

Alright. Robert flushed the toilet, cleaned himself up, and resumed his seat. No one acknowledged he had been gone, which was a relief. But now there was a slice of peanut butter pie on his plate and oh god he had to eat that, too.

At least the nausea was gone, but it had been replaced by a feeling of empty heaviness  , like he’d been punched in the gut so many times his nerves weren’t working.

Damien caught his eye across the table and winked at him. Robert smiled back.

He took a bite of pie.

It was good, really good, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Eating in this state was extremely unpleasant, verging on painful but never quite crossing the line. The nausea didn’t resurface until he was almost done eating, but it came back with a vengeance, slamming him with a wave of painful stomach cramps. Robert grit his teeth and tried not to curl in on himself. It was just nerves. Just a whole lot of family anxiety and repressed trauma making his stomach go sour and his blood run cold. That was it.

When dinner was over and everyone had gone to bed, Robert was finally able to curl in on himself on the couch (his bed for the duration). His stomach hurt. Gone was the mere discomfort from earlier in the day. The cramps were near-constant, occasionally stepping off center stage to let nausea have a moment in the spotlight. He hadn’t vomited again, but he could sense it coming.

He moaned quietly and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Babe?” Damien hesitated near the armrest, concern painted on his face.

“Hey.” Robert looked up and smiled, happy for this stolen moment even if he currently felt like his abdominal muscles were trying to tear themselves apart. He patted the couch.

Damien sat down, still looking a little unsure. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great now,” Robert said. The living room was dark, illuminated only by the yellow lights that decorated the Christmas tree and windowsills. Robert was internally grateful for this. There was no way in hell he didn’t look like shit, and he didn’t need Damien worrying after him.

“You were really quiet at dinner, and i just wanted to be sure…”

Robert  shook his head. “Nah, you know how I am with… You know, families. It was just weird that nobody got drunk and started yelling at me, you know.”

In the dim light, Damien’s expression shifted to one of horror. He pulled Robert into a hug. “You're safe here.”

Robert allowed himself a moment or vulnerability in Damien's arms, deciding not to mention how being all this familial love had him anxious to the point of nausea. “Thanks. I… You're the best.”

Damien let go of him and leaned back. “I know it's silly because you're right here, but I miss you.”

“I've been missing you, too. It's hard not having any alone time.”

Damien smiled mischievously. “We're alone now.”

Robert leaned back and raised his eyebrows suggestively, ignoring the stab of pain in his middle. “On your parents’ couch? You dirty dog.”

Damien's cheeks went darker pink and he laughed a little. “I'd better get to bed before I make any…” his gaze lingered on Robert, “questionable decisions.”

“On your parents’ couch.”

“Stop saying that!” Damien smiled. He leaned in and kissed Robert on the cheek. “Good night.”

“Night, babe.”

Damien left. Robert counted to 60 before rushing to the bathroom to pray to the porcelain god for the second time that evening. Then the third and fourth.

He fell back from the toilet, groaning.  His stomach clenched as though it knew it was empty and was now trying to turn itself inside out. Robert coughed and sank to the floor. His sweat-soaked hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it to the side with a shaking hand. The possibility that this was more than just nerves loomed large in his mind, but he forced it away. He was not sick in a house full of strangers. He wasn't. He couldn't be.

Most of Robert's night was spent in the bathroom, either curled up on the floor trying to sleep or hunched over the toilet praying for death. In the early hours, he forced himself to go back to the couch. It had been a long while since he'd done anything but dry heave and he didn’t want to be caught in here when people started to wake up.

On the couch, he managed to drift off into a light, fitful sleep before Damien's family members woke up and started to clatter around in the kitchen.

Sick of lying there on a couch too short for him under a quantity of blankets that seemed both too much and too little simultaneously, Robert went to join them.

Damien was still asleep. Robert didn't care. He bid Damien's parents good morning, accepted a cup of juice from Damien's father, and parked himself at the table.

“Did you sleep okay?” Damien's mom asked. “You look a little tired.”

“Oh, um,” Robert rasped. He took a drink of orange juice. “Yeah, I had a little insomnia last night.”

“Eat a little too much?” Damien's dad winked. “Me too.”

Robert laughed awkwardly and took another sip of juice.

“I know you're not one for breakfast, but I'll set aside some pancakes for you in case you change your mind.” Damien's mother came around to the table and set a cup of coffee in front of Robert. “A few of us were planning on going to the mall after breakfast. Damien thought you might want to join us?”

Robert was silent for a moment, his head fuzzy and slow. “Yeah, sounds great,” he said after a moment's silence. God, he was so tired. He finished off his juice, then took his mug outside for a smoke. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday and the cold breeze bit right through his shirt. He shivered and lit up a cigarette.

He had planned to hide outside for a while, savoring his coffee and smoking in the driveway, but he was way too cold. He downed his coffee so fast he blistered the roof of his mouth, put out his cigarette, and retreated back inside to the couch still clutching his empty mug.

There he sat, shivering compulsively until someone took notice of him and he was forced to act like he wasn't dying until their attention faded again.

Damien came in after a while and Robert scurried off to the bathroom to try to clean himself up. If he looked half as crusty as he felt, it was a wonder that Damien's mom hadn't thrown him out onto the street.

The bathroom, at least, was clean and quiet and gave no indication that Robert had been up all night puking.

He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth twice, and came out sweating under the shower water that still dripped down his neck.

“Morning, babe!” Damien smelled the cigarette smoke on his breath and opted to kiss Robert on the cheek instead of the mouth.

“Mornin’.” Robert sat down beside Damien at the table, pleased to find that someone had refilled his mug with more coffee and set it down right next to Damien.

In the light of day, with a little caffeine in his system, Robert found that he was feeling better. The headache that had kicked up in his head around midnight had faded from gut-wrenching to a mere annoying pulse every so often. The nausea in his belly had gone completely, replaced with a sort of leaden numbness. He didn’t feel great but at least he could function.

-

Robert was dying.

Robert was dying in a shopping mall.

It was lunchtime and their party (Robert, Damien, Damien's mom, Damien's aunt, and 2 of Damien's cousins) had stopped by the food court.

The assorted smells hit Robert like a punch to the stomach. He staggered, nearly tripping over a wayward chair.

“I'll get us a table,” he said, taking the bags from Damien.

He wandered over to the first empty table he saw that would be big enough for all of them and collapsed into a chair. His vision blurred and his head spun, sparking a wave of nausea so vicious as to be painful.

Robert gasped for breath, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. He sat there and tried to collect himself and just couldn't. It was all he could do to not hunch over and start gagging, though he doubted anything major would come up. He hadn't eaten since last night, and it was afternoon now.

Damien's voice pierced the haze in his head but Robert couldn't make sense of the words. “Babe, do you have change for-- Hey. Are you okay? Robert!”

Robert looked up. Damien. Damien wanted something.

He half-rose and the world tilted sideways. He couldn’t feel his fingers or hear the din of the mall over the roar in his ears or see anything but Damien's face as his vision tunneled.

He blinked to clear away the black spots but they only multiplied in number until his whole vision was nothing but black.

It was over. Robert had made it back home to his bed, lying comfortably on his stomach with his face pressed into hard, unforgiving tile.

Wait. That didn't track.

He was on the floor somewhere. The mall. His eyes flew open. The sounds and smells of the food court hit him in the back like a sneaker wave and he couldn't help but gag, his muscles rending, pulling his knees in toward his chest.

“Robert!” Just from his voice, Robert could tell that Damien was near hysterics.  “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

Much as he wanted to answer, Robert just couldn't. The stomach cramps that had plagued him throughout the night were back with a vengeance and it was all he could do to not cry out in pain. He closed his eyes.

Dimly, he was aware of Damien talking, but not to him. No god no god no. He had made a spectacle of himself and was drawing a crowd. This was so much worse than simply admitting he was sick to Damien's whole family. Fuck.

He tried to sit up but his whole abdomen cried out in protest. He let out a harsh exhale.

“We're calling an ambulance, okay?” Damien said to him. “It's gonna be okay. It's okay.” He brushed Robert's hair out of his face.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Damien was crying and Robert was face down on the dirty tile floor of a shopping mall surrounded by onlookers and Damien was crying and Robert's head was so fuzzy and his whole body was hot and Damien was crying and he couldn't move a muscle or do a damn thing but curl up against the pain that laced from his stomach to his chest, up his neck to his head.

“M’okay,” he rasped. “Help me sit up?”

He pushed himself up onto one arm and Damien hauled him into a sitting position with some difficulty.

“Babe, I'm fine.”

Damien looked at him in disbelief. “You can't even sit up on your own.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes.

“Hey, Dames?”

“What?”

“I don't feel good.”

“I know.” Damien sat down and let Robert's head fall onto his shoulder. “You're burning up!”

“Yeah,” Robert agreed. He closed his eyes.

-

“Why didn't you say anything?!”

Robert ignored the question. “This is the first time I've been in a bed for a whole work week. Don't ruin this for me.” He scratched at the tape holding his IV line in place, then held it out to Damien. “Think I'm allergic to this stuff.”

Damien dropped his arms helplessly to his sides. “What's wrong with you?”

“Um, some sort of virus, I think the doctor said. Weren't you listening?” When Damien just stared at him, Robert scooted over and patted the empty space on his hospital bed. “Got you to stop crying,” he said with an uncharacteristically gentle smile.

Damien laughed in disbelief and sat down beside Robert. “But seriously. Why didn't you say anything?”

Robert shifted uncomfortably. “I was anxious. I thought maybe it was all in my head, you know? Like stage fright, except the audience is your boyfriend's whole-ass family.”

“You can't anxious yourself into a fever of 101,” Damien said. He wrapped his arm around Robert's shoulders. “I was so worried about you. I wish you would have said something.”

Robert swallowed, confident this time that it was truly just nerves making his stomach thrash. “I… Dames. I'm sorry.” Despite himself, Robert yawned. He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open.

Damien noticed this and hopped off the bed. “Get some sleep, babe. I'll be right here when you wake up.”

Robert smiled and closed his eyes.