#anyway ill eat ill take aspirin ill go to bed finally

[ridiasfangirlings]

If Munakata got sick, would Mikoto visit him? What if it was Mikoto who got sick instead? Do you think they would help nurse the other back to health? I could only imagine them criticizing the other for getting sick lol

They might visit each other but not so much the nursing back to health I think XD Munakata getting sick would probably be somewhat surprising, he gives off the air of someone who never gets sick. Even so maybe he catches a cold one day and ends up having to go rest in his room (imagine Fushimi getting some level of satisfaction for once being the one who tells Captain he needs to go take a break and rest). Say S4 ends up clashing with Homra during this time and Mikoto's mildly interested noting that Munakata is unexpectedly missing, afterward he hears from Kusanagi that apparently the Blue King is ill. Mikoto snorts like who can even imagine that guy getting laid up with a cold. Even so he's intrigued now and decides to invite himself into S4 to 'check on' Munakata, he probably ends up wandering the building scaring S4 minions for a while until he finally finds Munakata's room, where Munakata is sitting up in bed wearing a loose kimono and reading a book while coughing quietly.

Munakata expresses surprise that Mikoto's here, Mikoto shrugs like just wanted to check and make sure you weren't playing hooky, so even a guy like you gets sick huh. Munakata primly says that he is not sick, he's merely a little under the weather. Mikoto snorts and puts a hand to Munakata's forehead, all you're definitely sick idiot, shouldn't you be resting. Munakata fussily slaps his hand away and states that he is resting, he's reading a book. Mikoto's like that's not really resting is it, have you even gotten your men to bring you anything to eat. Munakata states he's perfectly capable of walking to get food himself, Mikoto's like is that so and practically dares Munakata to get up and get his lunch. Munakata claims he isn't going to be goaded into anything by the Red King, so of course he tries to get up and ends up being a little dizzy. Mikoto's pretty amused when he gets to be the one who catches Munakata and pushes him back into bed, imagine Mikoto terrifying the kitchen staff as he goes to get Munakata some soup. Munakata takes the food but notes that Suoh's bedside manner is lacking, considering Mikoto all but tossed the bowl at him and made quite a mess, and Mikoto's like I thought I was being pretty good, I didn't dump it over your head.

Reverse situation, Munakata finds out that Mikoto is sick and immediately thinks that of course he is, that man probably did something reckless and endangered his health and now no doubt he is lazing around in bed making others take care of him. Munakata would never deign to do such a thing of course, he only wishes to be sure that this illness isn't affecting Mikoto's Weismann levels and that's the only reason he shows up at Bar Homra when it's mostly empty bringing soup and tea and aspirin. Kusanagi raises an eyebrow upon seeing him but lets him go up, where Mikoto figures he must be hallucinating because it sure looks like Munakata is here. Munakata takes a moment to kick him lightly in the head and takes his cigarette all a sick man shouldn't be smoking, Mikoto liked Munakata better when he was a hallucination.

Mikoto's surprised that Munakata decided to show up and play nursemaid, Munakata claims he didn't intend anything of the sort as he pulls out a thermometer and tells Mikoto to open his mouth. Mikoto says the thermometer won't help, his temperature is high always anyway, and Munakata sighs like I suppose I should have expected as much. Considering Mikoto's unstable Sword and the nature of his powers I wonder if it would make the room a little warmer, imagine Munakata just sitting there and quietly using some of his own powers to regulate Mikoto's temperature. Mikoto doesn't intend to thank him for it and Munakata says he doesn't expect any thanks from someone such as Mikoto, and besides for once Munakata supports Mikoto being lazy and resting. Munakata adds that he has brought tea and some fortifying soup, here is some medicine to take every three hours and also this is for your throat, Mikoto laughs like so you really are the school nurse and Munakata states he is simply making sure that Mikoto's illness doesn't lead to any problems for the rest of them that's all.

[cuddlepilefics]

13.    Christmas Lights

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregiver: Chan, Jisung, Felix

 Noone‘s POV.:

Stray Kids were on their long-awaited Christmas days. It was only for a few days but they finally had some time to relax. Being unable to travel home, Chan, Felix and Jisung spent most of their time in their rooms, facetiming their respective families. Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin had gone home to spent the holiday season with their families. Jeongin was supposed to travel home a day after them too but as the the day to get on the train home arrived, he woke up not feeling like himself. Afraid he might be falling ill, he didn‘t feel up to taking the long train ride and decided he‘d stay with his three hyungs at the dorm. He called his mother to explain the situation, who was understandingly worried but he assured her he‘d have his hyungs around him who‘d take care of him just fine. When Chan asked him why he wasn‘t heading out already during breakfast, the maknae explained that he‘d be staying back with them, so his hyungs wouldn‘t feel too lonely or homesick. Cooing at the concerns of their youngest, Jisung and Felix hugged Jeongin tightly, touched that he would choose them over his family.

After breakfast however, each member withdrew themselves to their rooms and computers. Not wanting to hang around Jisung while he was talking to his family, Jeongin tried to avoid their shared room as much as possible. He grabbed a book and made himself a home on the couch. The slightly off feeling he had had all day only grew as the time passed, so the youngest decided to just take a short nap in an attempt to sleep it off. That was his first mistake. When he blinked his eyes open about an hour later, his head was pounding, making it hard for him to even lift it from the pillow. Struggling into a seated position, his vision went black for a few seconds while the couch under him seemed to move. Jeongin took deep breaths to rid himself of the dizziness while tears sprung into his eyes. He was no stranger to migraines but having one around Christmas while being away from home sucked. The only thing he was thankful for was not boarding the train this morning, otherwise he‘d be stuck on a moving vehicle with a migraine.

Feeling safe to stand up after a few minutes, the maknae slowly made his way to his oldest hyung‘s room and knocked gently. Receiving no reply, he figured both Chan and Felix must be wearing their headsets as to not disturb the other‘s conversation. He knocked harder but after getting no answer still, he just entered the room, startling both of the Aussies. He could tell they were both a bit irritated at him for disrupting their videocalls but tried to not let it show too much. “What do you need?“, Chan asked, glancing back at his screen. He didn‘t even spare his dongsaeng a proper glance, otherwise he would have noticed the paleness of his skin, the slight pink rims around his eyes along with the held back tears of pain and the tense crease on his forehead. “Hyung, do we have any painkillers?“, the maknae asked, gaze turned to the floor as he curled his toes. “There must be some aspirin in the bathroom cabinet, why?“, Felix replied in a low voice, not looking up from his videocall. “I-I just have a bit of a headache“, Jeongin mumbled, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible since he didn‘t feel very welcome there with the cold treatment he was getting. “Just take an aspirin and lie down for a while. Remember to drink enough water“, Chan advised, nodding at his dongsaeng before turning all of his attention towards the screen again.

Fleeing the discomfort he had felt, the maknae shuffled into the bathroom, each of his steps, no matter how hard he tried to keep them light, sent shockwaves of pain through his skull. Before being able to even open the bathroom cabinet, he had to hold onto the sink as his head swam and his stomach churned. Keeping his eyes screwed shut he hovered over the sink, convinced he‘d lose his breakfast at any minute but unable to move over to the toilet. After what felt like an eternity of being frozen motionless in his spot, the nausea grew less intense. It was still lingering in his stomach but he didn‘t feel on the verge of throwing up anymore. He quickly went through the cabinet, finding the pills Felix had told him about. However he doubted he‘d be able to stomach them at the moment and instead shoved two of them into his pocket. He knew the pain wouldn‘t get better anytime soon, rather increase as time passed,  if he didn‘t take anything for it. Sadly, he was also sure, if he put anything into his stomach at the moment, it would come back up faster than he had choked it down. The maknae was in dear need for comfort from any of his hyungs but afraid of bothering the two Aussies again. That‘s why he decided to go to the room he shared with Jisung. He‘d have his hyung around and would be able to rest in his own bed rather than the couch.

The journey their was a long one, with his head hammering along to the beat of his heart as Jeongin dizzily trailed his hand along the walls for balance. As it was his own room, he didn‘t bother to knock but instead stumbled straight to his bed to sit down. The impact of letting himself plop down sent a sharp stabbing pain through his head and he saw bright flashes of light in front of his eyes. The sensations becoming to much, the maknae couldn‘t help but whimper, fighting back his tears. His distress went unheard by the rapper in his room who sat facing away from Jeongin with his headphones on. The youngest sat for a while with his face in his hands, debating whether he should approach the older or not, afraid he‘d get the same reaction as earlier. After a few minutes of sitting there, his wish and need for some support exceeded his anxiety hand he stood up on wobbly legs, tapping the rapper‘s shoulder. “Hm? What is it Innie?“, Jisung hummed, focus still on the videocall he had with his family, barely paying the maknae any mind. “M-my head h-hurts“, the younger mumbled quietly. “Aw, did you already take anything for it“, the older asked emotionless without looking up. “N-no hyung. My stomach f-felt off, so I didn‘t want to take the medicine“, Jeongin explained. “I don‘t know what you expect me to do, Innie. If you refuse to take medicine there is not much I can tell you. There are some crackers in the kitchen, maybe if you eat those first they‘ll settle your stomach enough for the pills. If you don‘t want that, just try to sleep it off“, the rapper glanced up shortly to shoot the younger a sad smile, despite sounding rather annoyed. The maknae nodded though his hyung was looking away and didn‘t see it.

The ground seemed to move under his feet as Jeongin fought his way to the kitchen with his head pounding with the rhythm of his heart. By now the pain had become unbearable and all he wanted for his hyungs to be with him and to tell him it would all be ok eventually if he just hung on a little longer but the maknae was on his own. In one of the drawers in the kitchen, he found the crackers Jisung had talked about. Tearing open the packaging, his stomach twisted at the sight of food. The youngest had to rest his head on the arms he had crossed on the counter, taking steady breaths through his nose till the nausea subsided a bit. He understood Jisung‘s line of thought, he had no right to ask for help from the others if he refused to help himself. That‘s why, moving as close to the sink as possible, he forced himself to follow Jisung‘s advice and nibble on some crackers after eyeing them distastefully for a few minutes. To his own surprise, the first two crackers did nothing. However, when he bit into the third one, he could feel his stomach rising up his throat. Luckily, he was already standing over the sink when the first wave shot past his lips. Sobbing, Jeongin clutched his pounding head, which seemed to explode from the strain of vomiting. His sobs soon triggered another gag, which brought up even more. Having no mercy on the young boy, his stomach kept expelling its contents till there was nothing left and the maknae‘s vision was clouded with black spots. All he knew was that if he didn‘t lay down immediately, he would pass out. So that‘s what he did, stretching his slender frame out on the kitchen floor, too weak to even call for help. Not that his hyungs would have heard his cries anyways, all of them being in their own little world, oblivious to their donsaeng‘s distress.

Jeongin didn‘t know how long he had been lying on the ground, he didn‘t know much at all. Between the ringing in his ears and the sparks in his vision, all he knew was that his head hurt and it hurt badly. All he could do was trying not to move while trying to breathe steadily as tears streamed down his face and the ground seemed to steal his body temperature from him. “Fuck, Jeongin, hey! Can you hear me?“, from somewhere he heard Jisung‘s voice and cried out at the loud noise. Trying to locate his hyung, he opened his eyes a crack, only to notice, there were no lights on and it was already dark outside. “Turn on the lights, so I can take a proper look at him!“, that was Chan, who had run in upon hearing Jisung‘s yell. Suddenly everything was bright, burning Jeongin‘s eyes which he barely managed to close in time before covering his face with his hands to block it out. He was too exhausted to cry, only small whimpers leaving his mouth.

Watching the maknae‘s reaction, Felix immediately turned the light off again, walking up to the trio on the kitchen floor. From his standing position, he saw what the other two didn‘t notice. The sink was filled with puke, next to it lay a cracker and two painkillers. Remembering their conversation with the maknae earlier, he was able to connect the dots. Gently pushing Jisung aside, he knelt down next to Jeongin and covered his ears before speaking up quietly: “I think he has a migraine. He told us about a headache, he threw up in the sink and the way he reacted to the light. It‘d only make sense.“ After checking the sink, Chan agreed, feeling guilty for misjudging the situation earlier. Jisung rubbed up and down his roommate‘s arm, trying to calm him down while Felix removed his hands, whispering into his dongsaeng‘s ear: “Innie, we‘re going to put you on the couch ok, you feel cold to the touch already. Just keep your eyes closed, we‘ll be careful.“

After carrying Jeongin to the couch, Felix left to gather some blankets. He couldn‘t imagine how long the maknae must have been on the floor for his skin to feel as cold as it did. Chan knelt next to the couch, carding his fingers through the sick boy‘s hair. “Innie, it‘s a migraine isn’t it?“, he hummed as quietly as he could. Nodding his head the tiniest bit, the maknae couldn‘t help the strangled sob that escaped his lips. The leader cooed, rubbing Jeongin‘s arm, at a loss how he could help the other. He frowned as he took notice of the small shivers shaking the maknae‘s body: “Do you know how long you‘ve been lying there?“ Jeongin just shrugged, all he knew was that the sun was still up when he lay down and now it was dark.

While, Felix had gone to collect a few blankets, Jisung had filled to hot-waterbottles and carried them to the living room. As he approached the couch, he placed one at his dongsaeng‘s feet and put the other in his arms, so the maknae could hold onto the source of warmth. Felix followed soon with the blankets, layering them on top pf the shivering boy and tucking in the sides to trap all the heat. Being exhausted, the warmth and Chan‘s hand in his hair managed to calm Jeongin down, despite the pain pulsating relentlessly. “Innie, we‘ll have to turn on the light again. We can‘t really see you, nor each other with how dark it is“, Chan explained carefully, not wanting to put the younger through this torture again but they couldn‘t help him if they couldn‘t see. “Hyung, what if we just turn in all the Christmas lights and maybe light a candle? It‘ll be dim but enough for us to see“, Felix muttered in a low voice. Barely able to register Chan‘s nod, he end Jisung started their task of switching on their Christmas decoration and lighting a candle on the coffee table. Soon their was a cozy ambience in the living room and the maknae dared to open his eyes. He was able to look at his hyungs without the light stabbing his eyes and he could tell they all looked very guilty. “Do you think you could stomach the painkillers now?“, Jisung whispered, holding the pills he had collected from the kitchen counter. Jeongin shrugged, still not fully trusting his stomach but he agreed to try when Felix promised to get a bucket, just in case.

Chan sat on the couch with Jeongin‘s head on his thigh, so he could continue petting his hair while the four of them waited for the painkillers to kick in. Felix had climbed onto the couch, squeezing in next to his dongsaeng while draping an arm across his chest. Jisung had pulled up a chair from the dining table and sat next to the couch, holding his roommates hand. He was the first to apologize for brushing the maknae off without giving him a proper look. Chan and Felix were soon to follow. The apologies brought their youngest to tears once again, as he remembered, how hurt and abandoned he had felt. However, being the pure child he is, he quickly forgave his hyungs, accepting all the comfort they were giving him now. He‘d rather get their affection late than not getting it at all.

When the pills had dulled the pain enough for his stomach to stop doing somersaults and he could get up without feeling dizzy, Jeongin allowed his hyungs to feed him some plain rice. He had barely eaten all day and what he had eaten, hadn‘t stayed in. Felix had offered to watch movies in the living room but got turned down, since the maknae struggled to look at a bright screen still. However, he also didn‘t want Chan to carry him to bed because he had fallen in love with the ambience in the living room. That‘s why the trio stayed cuddled up on the couch till late into the night when Chan took the sleeping Jeongin to his bed, letting Jisung slip under the blanket too so he could hold the youngest, before the leader tucked both of them in. Afraid to let their sick dongsaeng out of sight, the two Aussies shared Jisung‘s bed, falling asleep in each other‘s embrace.

[nebulousneuroticism]

Today was a pretty gross day.

I woke up for my meetings.  I was on time and able to talk, but during the last one, I felt so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.  Literally: they kept drifting shut.  So after that, I decided I should take a nap.

I got back into bed and rested my eyes for a bit, and one thing led to another.  I woke up periodically to check in with work, but not often enough.  I was just so tired.

I finally dragged myself out of bed at seven pm, groggy and headachey and kind of ill from too much sleep.  I guzzled some water and took some aspirin, hoping to rid myself of the headache, but had only limited success.  I felt a little nauseous, probably because of the headache, so I waffled on what to eat for a while.  I thought about ordering a pizza, but the thought made me want to vomit, so I eventually just made some pasta and frozen vegetables.

The food, I think, did the trick, and my headache subsided.  I spent a while unwinding, trying to get past my guilt for sleeping through work.  I watched the first few episodes of the new season of The Umbrella Academy.  It really made me want to go back and watch the first season again; it was just so so good.  Perfect levels of camp and humor and angst for me.  I’m looking forward to watching more of this season.

After that, I felt capable of trying to work a little bit.  I got only a few things done.  I need to be conscious tomorrow, so I can coordinate with people while they’re awake...  I feel so guilty when I sleep through the day like this.

I also did a little more work on the Dungeons and Dragons game for Thursday.  It’s almost done.  Just a little more to do tomorrow night.  It feels doable.

Anyway, it’s really really late now.  More like “early,” at this point.  And even then, not so early by some people’s standards.  And so the cycle will continue: I sleep too late, and then don’t get tired until even later, and then get even less sleep the next night.  Sometimes I wish the day were just a few hours longer.  It seems like the sum of the length of time I want to be awake and the length of time I want to be asleep is greater than twenty-four hours.

I feel a little less glum than I did early today, but I’m still feeling pretty glum.  I hope tomorrow is better.

[a-specialk-stuff]

Nobody talks about colitis. I have been battling this for 6 months. It started in the summer of 2019. I know I was under a great deal of stress because I was getting my new home ready for a party of 30. I remember feeling tired and my energy level was low. I figured because it was July and hot outside it was just from fatigue.  I was extending my patio, planting landscaping and power washing the exterior of my home. I am a girl who likes to do home improvements on my own. Fast forwarding to my party at the end of August, one hot Saturday, I remember waking up and feeling sick. I had a low temperature, was exhausted and just felt hot. I managed to get up out of bed anyway with the feeling that maybe I was just overworked. I threw on some clothes and went outside and sprayed down the trees and landscaping so we wouldn’t have mosquitoes at our party.  I started to feel a little better but my energy was still low so I went inside and took my shower and then ate some breakfast. I spent the afternoon greeting my family and friends and even had a drink or two. Early evening came as I was sitting out on the stoop I developed a headache. I went inside the home to take some aspirin. My friend said "your face is very flush, I think you should go lay down." An hour later my temperature was back. I was having severe cramping in my abdominal area and felt the constant urge to use the bathroom. I felt like I had to go to the bathroom almost every 20 minutes or so. I also lost my appetite. 

It was now September and I continued to try to enjoy my summer and I went on a vacation with friends. I didn't want to miss out on any other special events. I have to admit, it became so uncomfortable with having to make sure there was always a restroom near by. I also hatted worring about what I should eat or what will trigger a reaction. My symptoms remained the same but now I was constipated and I felt like I was having labor pains. I thought I was still dealing with the parasite.

I drove to Canton Michigan to paint my friend's condo mid October. I was looking forward to the change of pace and I love to paint and what made it even better my sister met me at the condo and we worked together for the week. I still was taking my medication to kill the parasite but it didn’t seem to work. I called my doctor and told him that I still had the symptoms and he asked me to stop taking the medication and sent me to go pick up a new medication. His new medication is what he referred to as a 1-2 punch. This means there were three pills that I took at one time to kill what was presumed to be the parasite that was causing the damage. I drove back to Ohio still with this illness. 

I had my annual follow-up with my gynecologist. I told her the symptoms I was having and it was unique because we discovered that my doctor had similar symptoms but not as bad as what I had. She went into great detail to tell me her symptoms and her treatments. We were leaning towards an IBS diagnosis baseed on this conversation. I have an excellent doctor. She called me on a Saturday evening to find out how I was feeling? I expressed to her that my condition seemed to have gotten worse. She had me go on a certain website and book an emergency colonoscopy with her doctor friend on Monday, a GI doctor. I met with my new GI doctor and she booked the colonoscopy that next Tuesday. When the test results came back it was determined that I had ulcerative colitis. It was a clear cut, classic case where the bottom one third of my colon was destroyed. I had several colonoscopies in the past. I neglected to mention that I have had these flare ups for about a decade off and on but these same symptoms usually disappeared after a few weeks. Apparently, you have to have the colonscopy in the middle of the flare up to really see what the issues are.

What is Ulcerative Colitis... The large intestine becomes inflamed and develops sores (ulcers), leading to bleeding, diarrhea, foggy like liquid, severe stomach cramping and loss of appetite. The inflammation almost always affects the rectum and lower part of the colon it’s been known to also affect the entire colon.  There is no cure and can usually be controlled.This can be categorized as mild, medium or severe. At first, we thought it was medium so I was given one steroid at a certain dose and after 2-3 weeks, my symptoms were not getting any better. My GI doc quickly realized I was closer to medium/severe and given that I had been bleeding and not sleeping for 3-4 months now, she changed my steroid to prednisone at 50 mg a day. She said "we have to put the fire out now then we worry about next steps." Prednisone was our hope to put the fire out. After many many weeks of pain, no appetite, bleeding and lack of sleep, the fire slowly started to go out. Prednisone can cause a increase of appetite, weight gain, swelling of the feet and hands, mood swings and acne. I haven’t experience any side effects whatsoever. This steroid is not the same type of steroid that is commonly used by bodybuilders. It took almost 8 weeks at 50mg to just quiet the fire. We could finally start talking about next steps....INFUSION! Given how bad my colitis was, my doctor thought this was the best treatment. There are other treatments out there. Every case is unique.

My treatment consists of something referred to as a Biologic treatment and with the use of IV infusions rather than pills or injectibles. The medication is called Entyvio. The steps are to front load the IV infusions with (3) infusions time incrementally over several weeks then every 8 weeks continuously.

For the rest of my life every eight weeks I will have to have a infusion. I chose this route because I don’t have faith with the medications that are out there at this time. Even though taking a pill is the easiest way to go I have to worry about the side effects and what these medications can do to your body. If the FDA approves a pill version of the Entyvio as opposed to taking an infusion every 8 weeks then I will look at that.

Because I just had my “front load “infusion, my doctor will now slowly take me off the prednisone while carefully monitoring my symptoms.  

To be taken off the prednisone is not something you can do overnight. My doctor will adjust my intake per week by minimizing the milligrams of the medication. I am someone who does not like to put anything in my body not even aspirin. I am very excited to be taken off the prednisone.

My next colonoscopy will be sometime in May or the beginning of June to actually see if the medications have helped the ulcerative colitis. I can’t imagine that the medications are not working because I feel totally normal without any signs of still having the disease.

My friends often ask me, "how did you get colitis?" When I asked my doctor I was told genetics and environment. Ulcerative colitis tends to run in families, suggesting that genetics have a role in the disease. A sibling or parent with inflammatory bowel disease may have either ulcerative colitis or Crohn’s disease.

People with ulcerative colitis will have diarrhea, blood and mucus in the stool and abdominal pain and pain in the rectal area. Some people have mild to moderate to severe symptoms. Some people may have flares. This is when the symptoms are under control and the colon is not inflamed. People with mild symptoms have no idea that they have ulcerative colitis and do not get treatment.

Though there is no cure and no one knows what brings on the ulcerative colitis, watching what we eat and if we exercise we can help control the ulcerative colitis!

Keep following my blog for updates on my journey.

[treya-barton]

Not sure if you're taking requests based on those starters, but if you are... "You've got a fever. Of course I'm not going anywhere." pretty please? 😍(Feel free to ignore this though)

This trip, which was supposed to be the sequel to the bestday of his life, was instead an utter disaster. It had started off well enough. On their wedding night they had spent a lovely time cuddling in the luxuryhotel room Rise had gifted them with, too tired to do anything more strenuousafter their long day.  They had woken up,nice and well rested, before heading out on the flight Yu’s parents had bookedthem for their wedding gift – a trip to Hawaii. Yosuke had been looking forward to it almost as much as the wedding since it would be his first timetraveling outside of Japan.  It was alsohis first time on a plane, and although he was a little nervous especially withit being a 7 hour flight, he didn’t let it deter his eagerness.  

Really, Yosuke should have been paying attention to thesigns early on in the flight.  Instead,he had been too busy staring outside the window as they flew into the sky,gazing out in amazement as they floated above the vast sea of clouds, feeling awethat something so large could feel as if it was weightless as it appeared todrift above the Earth.  He knew they wereactually flying at an incredibly fast speed, but it was hard to tell with theclouds drifting all around them.  He wasso enthralled by the sight, that he totally didn’t pick up on the fact thatseveral other people on the flight were sniffling, sneezing, and coughing.  Not that there was much he could do about it35,000 feet in the air.  By the time theywere about to land, however, Yosuke was beginning to pay better attention ashis head began to feel foggy, and he started to get a scratch in histhroat.  “When we get to the hotel room,I’ll probably need to drink some water,” he commented, not mentioning his othersymptoms to his partner.  Yosuke was toowrapped up in thinking about all the activities they had planned for the day toreally pay attention to his warning signs.

Yu, however, was paying much better attention, and had beenworried by the number of people wearing face masks he had seen on theflight.  While Yosuke hadn’t verbalizedhow he was feeling, Yu could tell he looked a little flushed and when hementioned needing water it definitely made him concerned.  Yosuke managed to maintain his high energylevel once they stepped off the plane, excitedly telling Yu that he couldn’t believehe was actually in another country as they headed to pick up their luggage, butit didn’t stop Yu from carefully watching him. Once they got into the taxi that would take them to their hotel, Yosuke definitelybegan to show signs of illness, and Yu could tell he was trying his best tofight it.  Yu waited until they wereactually in their hotel room to approach him, reaching up with a cool hand andpressing it against his forehead, holding steady when Yosuke tried to shy awaylast minute.  Yu frowned.  “You have a fever,” he said, going into his bagand searching through for the small box he had brought with first aidsupplies.  He always liked to be preparedand knew he had some medicine Yosuke could take.

“I’m fine!” Yosuke lied. “It’s just really hot here so I’m a little warm. It’s not a big deal –nothing a dip in the ocean can’t cure!”

Yu shot him a cold look, and Yosuke immediately snapped hismouth shut while looking guilty.  Hesighed and sat on the bed, starting to feel achy and chilly at the sametime.  “Dammit,” he said softly, acceptingthe bottle of water Yu handed him along with the packet of aspirin.  He popped the medicine into his mouth beforetaking a sip of the water and swallowing it down.  He really began to feel the scratch in histhroat after that and let out a light cough, before realizing just how foggyhis head felt.  He couldn’t take thechill anymore and crawled across the bed before sliding in under the covers, tremblinga little as he curled into a ball for warmth. “Dammit,” he repeated squeezing his eyes shut as he buried his head betweenthe pillows.

He suddenly felt a cool hand on the back of his neck beforeit carefully drifted to his shoulder and tugged gently until Yosuke was forcedonto his back.  Yu was kneeling next tohim and had pulled out a cool compress pack he had brought along.  He carefully placed it on Yosuke’s forehead.  His hand trailed along the side of his face,before feeling at the hair at the back of his head, noting that it was alreadystarting to get damp with sweat from the fever. “I can’t believe I’m ruining the honeymoon,” Yosuke coughed, and Yushook his head.

“I believe our vows included “in sickness”,” he gentlyreminded Yosuke, encouraging him to drink more of the water before he cappedthe lid and set it on the bedside table. “You are certainly not going out today though.  I’m sure later I can get room service to setus up something nice for dinner though. You should definitely sleep for now.”

Yosuke coughed again. “Take lots of pictures of the dolphins,” he said glumly, since they hadplanned on going on a dolphin watching boat tour that afternoon.

Yu stretched out next to Yosuke, reaching out and tiltingYosuke’s head until it was resting on his shoulder.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, runninghis fingers through Yosuke’s hair soothingly even though his locks were dampwith sweat.

“I don’t want you sitting around stuck here with me,” Yosukeprotested.  “I’m just going to fallasleep.  Go and make sure at least one ofus enjoys this trip!”

Yu shook his head.  “You’vegot a fever.  Of course I’m not goinganywhere,” he said firmly, and Yosuke pouted.

“You’re so stubborn,” he complained, and Yu grinned at him.

“I have to be around you,” he hummed, before kissing the topof his hair.  “Rest.  I’ll make sure when you wake up you’ll have somethingwarm to eat.  Hopefully by then you’ll behungry.”  Their last meal had been lunchon the plane; Yosuke had definitely been looking forward to eating somethingmuch nicer on the island.  

“If you’re going to stay here, stop hovering around mebefore I get you sick,” Yosuke replied, shoving Yu lightly.  “You’re crowding my space anyway.”

Yu didn’t want to leave his husband’s side, butknew Yosuke had a point and reluctantly got up and headed to the smallcouch.  He pulled out his phone tomessage the others and update Yosuke’s parents, while keeping an eye on thebrunet, not relaxing until his eyes finally drifted closed.  It was certainly unfortunate that Yosuke hadgotten sick on their first day, but Yu honestly didn’t mind spending timehaving Yosuke to himself, even if the other man was sleeping.  He watched his breathing slow as he fell asleep,occasionally interrupted by a light cough, before switching over to pull outhis kindle for some light reading as he relaxed.  He knew Yosuke would recover quickly – healways did – and be fine by tomorrow and that they’d be able to enjoy the restof their vacation as planned.  But fortoday he was content to watch over his husband and nurse him back to health.

[pigeonfare]

of ailments;

jason todd / reader

rating: teen and up

summary: Jason’s not the world’s best caretaker to the sickly, but he does the job quite nicely. Although, it might be said that he cares a little too much, and that’s a vice if you’ve ever heard one. You don’t particularly mind though.

word count: 2k+

author’s note: a short n corny sick fic that can also fit in the same universe as this soulmate au fic that takes place first

He had a bad habit of not using your front door like a regular person— or better yet, a decent human being. It’s unsettling, in retrospect, to realize how comfortable and accustomed you’d become to see him land on your balcony on lazy afternoons with a sort of nonchalance you could never understand, expecting to be invited in. 

“Keep them unlocked for me,” he’d requested once after you pulled open the door, and while you pondered on this, the retort came swift.

“Jason, we live in Gotham. Why would I want to keep any door unlocked?”

“If a criminal wanted to get into your apartment, trust me, a simple lock isn’t gonna keep them out.”

“That... really doesn’t comfort me. Just use the front door! Knock!”

“But don’t you think there’s something poetic about me, waiting for you out on your balcony on a cool, summer evening?”

“Poetic?” you had repeated, and your mind replayed how the glass fractured when his body came in contact with it all those weeks ago. The first meeting that brought everything together in the most surreal way. “Yeah, right.”

“You do think it’s poetic-- you just don’t want to admit it.” Jason then shrugged. “Whatever. You’ll come around eventually.”

Ultimately, you end up keeping the balcony doors unlocked, taking his word (albeit reluctantly) that you’d remain safe. He still knocked before he entered however, which was... considerate of him. Although on the more busy days, too distracted to notice the incessant knocking, his sporadic presence in your kitchen causes quite the fright anyway. 

Today was not that kind of day, however. 

You awake bleary-eyed to the sound of tapping after spending the entire day cooped up in your room, bedridden. Oh, no. That’s embarrassing. 

You pull yourself upright, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, feeling conflicted on whether to get out of bed and greet Jason, or let him see you in your most pure, miserably sick form.

You stick with the latter, pulling at your duvet with sweaty fingers. You hear his combat boots click on the hardwood floors and cringe at the thought of cleaning them. Again. And it’s not doing much good for your headache either.  At least you had the sick time hours to cash in.

Your eyes flutter open, hearing him call out your name out of the blue. “You there?” he hums out in a low tone.

As if it were a reflex, you open your mouth, prepared to croak out an incoherent noise. But then you think better of it and your breath hushes and wordlessly, you slip back under your covers to feign sleep instead. 

Did he often visit your apartment while you were at work? You always presumed he’d leave after realizing you weren’t there, but the combat boots don’t stop their shuffling.

To be frank, you partially do want him to leave, so he wouldn’t see you looking all snotty and weary like this. Not the greatest impression you wished to make, after all. 

Light in streaks peek through your blinds so you can only assume noon has struck already. Running a finger over your dark circles, you wonder about what kind of cracks he’d make at your condition if he saw you.

Guys like him probably fell ill once in every five years at the minimum, their immune system all jacked up. You wish you could relate.

Deep in your own thought, you don’t realize when the footsteps have silenced. Had he left? You didn’t hear the lock click behind him, either. You wait another moment and under the impression he’d left, attempt to sit up. With that said, it was also probably time for your to exit the your cozy haven and eat something. 

Attempting to slide out from underneath your covers, your leg catches on the edge of the blankets, dragging it down onto the ground. Consequentially, your knees buckle from the slip but you catch yourself before you make the ultimate fall by grabbing onto the edge of your nightstand. 

In this ruckus, your phone, that had been peacefully charging atop the nightstand, is knocked off, landing on the wooden floor with a sharp thud. The screen lights up at the impact, and you wince. 

You sigh, but whilst you lean over to swipe it up and plug it back in, something clangs outside your bedroom.

With a loud creak, your head jerks up to meet the wide gaze of Jason Todd, who’d pulled open the door with great gusto. This was definitely not what you planned.

“Uhh,” you say over the parch conditions of your throat. You tuck back your stray hairs with the other, unoccupied hand. “Hi.”

With furrowed brows, he grunts a clipped, irritated noise. “You... what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you reply hastily. But when you pull yourself upright, you’re hit with a wave of vertigo and shut your eyes tight. “I think I’ve got a cold. Maybe.”

“You think, huh? Hold on, I’ll-- I’ll get you a glass of water.” Jason slips away before you can protest. “I think I know where you keep your glassware.”

Tossing the phone to some corner of the bed, you sit yourself on the edge and mull over the situation with a sort of exasperation. You run your tongue along your bottom lip, and as you sit, you’re becoming increasingly more aware of your familiar surroundings. 

There’s a particular pulsing in your brain and as an effort to distract yourself from it, you open your mouth.

“Very chivalrous of you,” you say, loud enough for him to hear through the apartment. You listen to the clink of glass on the stone counter top. “To not enter my room when I’m not around.” There’s a husky rasp in the way you speak cannot be cleared away, so you let it tinge your voice helplessly.

He clicks his tongue as he reappears into view. “Should’ve told me you were sick. I would’ve gotten you some stuff.”

You only shook your head. “Already took the aspirin. I’m just trying to quietly sweat it out now.”

You admit you’re feeling hazy, but the way he stands at your ajar doorway, with his hand on the handle and looking in with a concerned countenance gives you a strange rush. You do your best to crack a small smile.

Walking over, he hands you the glass of water with a tilted, disapproving gaze. “That’s why you didn’t answer me earlier? Dummy. I’m not that much of a nuisance.”

“I never said that!” you protested, then take a swig before setting the glass aside. “I just don’t want to waste your time.”

Jason snorts. “You must really be sick if you’re saying this shit sincerely. Come on. Get back in bed.”

“No, what? I just spent the entire day lying down.” You pull yourself up again, and with a hand on his shoulder, try to coax him around. “How’s-- uh, how’s the team?”

“Changing the subject? Really?”

“Jason--”

“Oh man,” says Jason, suddenly pressing the large palm of his hand against your forehead.

You breathe in shallow takes, feeling his calluses fingers trail down the curve of your face, across your jaw, and down, down. They ghost over the column of your throat, and you swallow dryly. “What?” you ask.

“I think you’re flatlining. Sorry, babe— time’s up. Back to bed.” A frown tugs at his features but the gleam in his bright eyes say otherwise.

“Shut up,” you sigh, swatting his hand away weakly. It could’ve been worse. At the very least, you’ll be fit to work by tomorrow. 

At some point in all that you’d shut your eyes, so you snap them back open to squint up at him, but his gaze is vividly preoccupied with the movement of his fingers flicking the locks of hair out of your visage. When he finally reaches your puzzled look he pulls away.

“Rest, I’ll just--,” he gestures over his shoulder to the door. “Leave.”

“Already?” you ask, and purse your lips. That’s not what you meant to say, but it’s too late now. 

His strong gaze shifts back to you in an instant, and with his chin tilted upward, lets a crooked smile loose. “Didn’t you just want me out, like a few minutes ago?”

“I mean, I do,” you say with deliberation, not wishing to strain your voice any more than you already have. “I don’t want to get you sick either, that’s all.”

“You won’t. I don’t get sick easily. And besides,” he says, “I can always wear my helmet if it gets toxic up in here. Only if you really want me to stay.”

“I...,” you trail off, uncertain on how to reply momentarily, then cough. “Let’s catch up a little. Five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes? A little frugal with time, are we?” remarks Jason with a tinge of playfulness, and his arms drop to his sides. “It’s fine. Five minutes is plenty for a lot of things.”

“Jason.”

“Only joking about that bit,” he replies. “But I’m serious too-- I’ll leave when you fall asleep, how ‘bout that?”

“Promise?”

His grin widens at your gradual relent. “Promise.”

“Alright, but if I awake and I hear you going through my fridge, I’m not going to let you off the hook,” you say.

A brief, low laugh leaves him, and you feel the weight of his gaze search your face. Silence drifts in the space between you and him, along the layers of cotton, within the heat that radiates off his proximity. You shut your eyes as you sit, the feeling of congestion only worsening your overall sluggish mentality.

The shallow inhalations you take grate at your throat, and you reach over for another swig of water.

“Stop it,” you command (albeit in a mellow fashion) whilst swirling the the glass. “Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not,” you hear him scoff. Then in a slightly sharper voice after clearing his voice, he speaks again. “I wasn’t.”

You don’t respond to this, and you can’t stop the transitory twitch of a smile form at the corner of your lips either. 

“What were you going to do if I really weren’t home, anyway?” you ask.

Jason pauses before he speaks, and it’s a palpable pause. “I was in the middle of texting you when I heard you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I thought you were working overtime again. Realistically speaking, that’s probably a reason for your failing health too.” He tsked and you watch the way he shifts his weight from either foot. “Balance yourself.”

“I am not taking life lessons from a guy who goes out every Friday night actively looking for a brawl.”

“That’s cold. I swear my job is more productive than that, but... if that’s the case, how about we do something different this Friday night?” he muses, and you scoot over, offering him space to sit with you.

“And what would that entail?”

“I don’t know. What are your Friday nights like?”

“Mainly staying up until one in the morning, watching historical drama television.”

“Sounds disgusting,” he says. “I’m in.”

“Then it’s final! Can’t wait.”

“Only if you get better before then. Sorry, I just can’t see myself sharing popcorn with the ill.”

“Alright,” you say with a grumble. “But I can’t have you watching me while I sleep either, Edward Cullen.”

“That’s fair.” He withdraws off your mattress, and instead takes a seat at your desk. The wooden desk is littered with various trinkets you never bothered to clean up, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess any more than you do. “I’ll be right here,” he says. 

You dig out your phone from underneath the blanket folds and plug it back in to the charger. “You’re still watching me, Jason.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-- I’ve got other matters to take care of, too.”

“Fine. No funny business.”

“None whatsoever.” The smugness oozes from his intonations.

You turn on your side and don’t heed him any more.

By the time you reopen your eyes, the light scattered on the floorboards are no longer there and the sky-- what you can tell of it between the blinds at least-- has turned mildly gray.

The dizziness that was prevalent hours ago had mostly dissipated at this point, and you feel stable enough to stand up without a problem. The bed frame creaks underneath your movement.

But your attention is wholly on the man asleep in your swivel chair, breathing quietly with his hand supporting his head.

You think of waking him up and nagging about him breaking his oath, but after tracing his peaceful posture, it would seem almost cruel to do so. You huff, murmuring under your breath. “Other matters, huh.”

His bangs give him a youthful look, but the broad nature of his body says otherwise. You think that perhaps, if you and him keep these infrequent rendezvous up, you could fall in love without out the pressures of time. Or even, in spite of the pressures. Beneath the loose cotton of his sweatshirt, his chest rises and falls deeply.

You walk back over to your bedside to take the empty glass, your mind in a much more mellow state than before.

“You think I’d be used to all your staring by now.”

You startle, shoulders jumping. Glancing back at Jason, he’s watching you with a sort of lazy yet intrigued regard through half-lidded eyes, and you frown. “You were awake?”

“No. Just a light sleeper,” Jason says. He tousles his dark hair and suddenly the magic of youth is lost as he rubs his jaw. “Who can’t stay asleep if you’re looking at me like that.”

“Sorry, but,” you say, “you must know you’ve got the same problem, right?”

He shoots you an odd look, as if he understood nuances you never picked up on. “Guess we both have something to work on.”

When he leaves, he leaves through the front door this time. You don’t remark on the oddity of this and neither does he. You intended to offer him something to eat, to drink, but knowing that they’d just appear as futile excuses, you stay distant. 

With his hands in his pockets and one last glimpse into your apartment, he opens his mouth but you beat him to the punch. “Thanks for coming over,” you say simply. “Was nice of you.”

Jason blinks. “Yeah, of course. And, uh, get ready for Friday,” he says, taking a step backward. “I’ll provide the snacks.”

“I’ll provide the Netflix,” you promise.

He flashes a grin. “Fantastic,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

You run a hand over your face after you shut the door, and just laugh at the absurdity of it all. A gentle, pleasant laugh that erupts from the fluttering sentiments in your heart, and that runs through all your limbs.

“Oh, man,” you say plainly. “I’m screwed.”

[atc74]

Fast Cars and Freedom - Part 4

As the story of Dean and our reader evolves, I felt the aesthetic needed to grow as well. Catch up here.

Word Count: 3955

Warnings: Hospitalization, major illness, pregnancy, labor (not graphic) and so many damn feels. This is super flangsty. 

A/N: This was originally inspired by the song Fast Cars and Freedom by Rascal Flatts (duh) but has now taken on a life of it’s own, as so often happens. I am not sure how many more parts I will do, but I know it isn’t over just yet. If you have ideas for future parts that you think may inspire - send me an ask!

A/O/N: Previous chapters have all been from Dean’s POV, but to make this one work, it will be from our reader’s POV. Italics indicate flashbacks. Many, many thanks to my bestie @just-another-busy-fangirl for once again being the best beta ever. Thanks to @iwantthedean and @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ for their help with the medical stuff. It pays to know people, people! Love you girls!

“Do you remember the last time we were in this very hospital together?” Dean asked me, as I sat next to him in the waiting room. It was nearing midnight and our six and eight year old sons were asleep in the double chair in the corner of the room: Will on one end, RJ on the other.

We had gotten a call from Ellen, my step-mother, about two hours ago that my dad was being rushed to Sioux Falls General. We packed up the boys and drove to the hospital. I was tired, already eight months along in this third pregnancy, and rested my head against my husband’s shoulder as he held me close. He always has been my rock, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

“Yeah, I do remember, Dean. That was an awful night,” I recalled. “I still remember exactly what I was doing when you called me.”

“Y/N?!” Dean’s voice crackled through the old dorm phone, but I could hear the panic in it and my heart started to race.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” I shot up straight in my bed, knocking my books to the floor.

“Y/N, it-it’s Bobby. He had a heart attack. We’re at the hospital. I need you, Kid,” Dean’s voice broke as he tried to hold back his tears.

“Dean, take care of my dad. I will be there in three hours. I love you,” I told him, trying to keep myself and Dean calm, though I was breaking down on the inside. I had already lost my mom, but Dean had lost both his parents.

“I love you, Y/N. Please drive safe,” Dean insisted.

“I will, I promise.” I placed the phone back on the receiver and began to throw things in my bag. I didn’t need much as I still had clothes at home, but I needed my books. I put on boots, grabbed my cell phone and charger, a coat and my keys and I was out the door in under five minutes, running to my car.

Dean took good care of my car and I knew I could push her limits, but that didn’t stop her from protesting a little when I pressed harder on the gas pedal as soon as I hit the entrance ramp for I-29 South. I made what should have been a three and a half hour drive in a little over two and half. I pulled into the hospital lot and ran through the front doors screaming my father’s name at the poor woman at the front desk.

“Miss, please keep your voice down,” she scolded me as she looked at me over the rim of her glasses.

“My father had a heart attack and you want me to keep my voice down? Fine,” I challenged her, my voice at a lower decibel. “My name is Y/N Singer. My father is Robert Singer and you better tell me where he is right now or I swear to God I will smack those ugly ass glasses off your fat face!”

“Room 452,” she spat. I could still hear her as I headed for the elevator, mumbling under her breath about the disrespect of today’s youth.

I was out of the elevator before the doors opened completely, taking off at a run checking room numbers as I went. I wasn’t paying attention and I ran smack dab into someone in my hurried search. “Son of a bitch!”

“Y/N?!” the voice sounded familiar as I looked up.

“Sammy!” I wrapped my arms around him as hard as I could, not wanting to let him go. “Where is my dad, Sam?”

“Right here, Y/N/N,” his voice was soft and deep, calming me slightly as I entered the room. My dad was laying so still, a nasal cannula providing oxygen and wires sticking out from under the hospital gown. He looked so pale and small, smaller than I have ever seen him look before.

I stood frozen in place just inside the door just watching him breathe. I didn’t even register that Sam had entered the room with me, or that anyone else was there. All I could focus on was my dad.

“Kid, I am so glad you’re here,” Dean’s voice shattered the quiet of the room and the noise in my head and I threw myself at him, snaking my arms around his neck and burying my face in his flannel. It smelled of exhaust and oil, but the smell was so Dean I was comforted, not caring that it was dirty. I was home.

I felt his arms envelop me and I allowed myself to cry for the first time since he had called me. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to provide any words of comfort; he just held me like he knew I needed. I took what I needed from him for several minutes, before letting go and walking over to the bed, taking my dad’s hand in my own; they were always so much bigger than mine.

“Dean, what happened?” I asked, not taking my eyes off my father’s face.

“He was in the pit this morning, we had a few oil changes. Everything was fine, he came up more than usual today though. I asked him if something was wrong. He told me I worry too much and brushed me off. I found a bottle of aspirin in his office though. We had just finished up on the Sheriff’s cruiser when I heard him drop his wrench. I quickly ran down and he was on the floor. I threw him over my shoulder, hauled him up the stairs. Sheriff Mills was still there so she called it in and the ambulance was there real quick and they loaded him up. I grabbed Sammy and the Sheriff drove us here,” Dean recounted the events and I listened carefully.

“The doctor said he suffered what she called an NSTEMI heart attack, something about a blocked artery,” Dean paused as the door opened and a doctor peeked her head in.

“Ms. Singer?” the doctor looked at me. She was petite woman with dark brown hair and a kind face.

“Yes, I am Y/N Singer, his daughter,” I confirmed.

“I am Dr. Sullivan, may I speak with you in private a moment?” she looked between Sam and Dean before making eye contact with me once more.

“Dr. Sullivan, my father is Sam Winchester’s legal guardian, same with his brother, Dean, when he was a minor. They’re family; whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them,” I answered calmly, more calm than I felt.

“Ms. Singer, based on his blood work and the electrocardiogram, your father suffered, an NSTEMI heart attack, or non-ST segment elevation myocardial infarction. I have already given him some nitroglycerin, which will relieve some of the chest pain and improve blood flow. I will also be prescribing a blood thinner and a beta-blocker,” she informed us.  

“When can he go home?” Dean probed the doctor. He wanted out of this place as fast as possible.

“I would like to keep him a couple days for observation. What type of work does he do?” Dr. Sullivan inquired.

“He is a mechanic; owns his own shop. Dean works with him,” I replied, already flying on autopilot.

“Ms. Singer, Mr. Winchester, I am also putting him on light duty restrictions, which means for the next month, paperwork only. He can still drive, but nothing more strenuous than replacing a wiper blade or headlight. He also needs to follow up with his cardiologist in a week. Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Sullivan asked.

I looked to Dean for confirmation and he shook his head. “Not at this time, Dr. Sullivan. Thank you for taking care of my dad.” I smiled, looking her in the eye. She returned it and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

“I am going to get some coffee. You guys want anything?” Sam asked us.

“Yeah, coffee would be great, Sammy,” Dean replied.

“Yes, please. And thank you, Sam,” I smiled at the not so little boy who had become my family.

“Since when did he get so tall? I was just home two weeks ago!” I exclaimed when he left the room.

“Since when does driving safe mean ninety the whole way?” Dean ignored my question, raising his eyebrows.

“Since you take good care of my girl and I know she can handle it,” I replied nonchalantly.

“I will always take good care of both of you, you know that, Kid,” Dean pulled up a chair next to me, pulling my free hand into his lap and holding tightly.

“When school is over, I am transferring, Dean. I can’t be that far away if something happens. I need to be here for him,” I sniffed, swiping at my eyes in frustration.

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N. I can take care of the old man and Sammy,” Dean assured me.

“Babe, I know you can and it isn’t that I don’t trust you to do it. But what if something worse happens and I am not here? I’m too far away. Besides, finals are next week and then I am home for the summer anyway. I need to be home with my boys,” I admitted. “I need to make sure you are all eating healthy and not gorging on junk food all day! ”

“Hey! Sam makes us eat vegetables!” Dean joked, cracking a smile for the first time since I arrived at the hospital and it made my heart melt.

“Thank you for being there for him, Dean. And for me,” I rested my head on his shoulder and he held me tight. Moments later, a knock at the door brought us back to the real world.

“Hi there. I am Ellen, and I will be looking in on your dad for the next couple of nights while he is here. I just need to check his vitals and I will be out of your hair,” she was an older woman, about Dad’s age if I had to guess. She was pretty with light brown hair and eyes that lit up when she smiled at us.

“Will ya idjits just go home so I can get some rest already? Ya done nothing but blabber since ya got here. Quit yer fussing and git,” Dad opened his eyes and glared at us.

“Now Mr. Singer, is that any way to talk to your children?” Ellen teased.

“Well hi there. You can call me Bobby,” Dad smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Alright, Bobby. How are you feeling?” Ellen asked as she checked all the monitors.

“Like I could use a nap and these brats won’t stop running their mouths,” he scoffed.

“Well, how about I kick them out since visiting hours are over anyway?” Ellen gave him a smile.

“Yeah, then you and I can have some alone time, get to know each other?” Dad winked at her.

“Dad! You could have died today and you’re flirting with your nurse?” I blurted out.

“You only live once, Pumpkin. I ain’t wasting any more time,” he declared.

“Robert, let’s get you better, first. One step at a time, okay Cowboy?” Ellen laughed and we joined her, not noticing the perplexed look on Sam’s face when he returned with the coffees.

“What’d’I miss?” Sam asked.

“Bobby flirting with his nurse and she is giving it right back,” Dean answered.

~*~

The next few months were hard on all of us. Dad stayed in the hospital two days, and I stayed home two more after that. I had been communicating with my professors so I didn’t miss anything and aced my finals the week after that. Dean had driven up with Dad’s old pickup and together we packed up my dorm room.

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Dean opened my car door for me.

“No place I would rather be,” I kissed him passionately before climbing in and starting her up.

Sam was working at the county library full time that summer and Dean hired someone part-time at the shop at Dad’s insistence.

“Boy, I ain’t gonna be around forever! It is about time you start learning the ropes around here,” Dad told him one night at dinner about a month after his heart attack.

“Bobby, you aren’t ready to retire yet,” Dean protested.

“No, I ain’t. But I kinda like this light duty thing. So you’ll run the shop, I continue to do the books and help out from time to time. But you gotta hire someone that can help out and operate the flatbed. I am too old to go out and tow wrecks and junkers in the middle of winter,” Dad added.

So Dean hired a man named Nate Williams. He was a local, married with two small boys and was looking for something less stressful than the dealership he had been working at and he would be getting more hours at Singer’s.

~*~

“It’s official. I will be a South Dakota State Jackrabbit come September!” I laid my admissions papers and transfer documents on the kitchen table.

“Pumpkin, that is still an hour away,” Dad grumbled as he picked up the papers, shuffling through them.

“I know, Dad. But the good news is I have been taking extra credits each semester anyway, so I only have three more to go. It is worth it if I get to be home with you,” I was sweet talking him and he knew it, but let me get away with it.

“Well, you are on dinner duty. Sam is at the library and Dean is in the shop,” Dad said as he stood and walked to the stairs. “I got me a date!”

“With the pretty nurse?” I presumed.

“With the hot nurse!” Dad corrected, laughing as he continued upstairs. “Don’t wait up!”

~*~

I heard footsteps and I lifted my head from it’s perch on Dean’s shoulder, opening my eyes. My vision was blurry, but I could clearly hear Ellen’s voice as she whispered my name. I rose from the chair so quickly I startled Dean.

“Ellen!” I called out to my step-mom of thirteen years as she greeted me, hugging me tightly, despite the bump between us. She lovingly rubbed the swell of my belly.

“How is my granddaughter doing?” she smiled, her eyes lighting up, despite how tired she must be.

“Already giving us a run for our money,” I replied truthfully, rubbing my back. “How is Dad?”

“He is resting. They have already done the bloodwork and everything. They want him to rest first, but have already given him everything they did last time, but this one was different, Honey,” Ellen blinked back her tears.

“Worse?” I feared.

“Yeah, Baby. It’s what they call “the widowmaker” but somehow, through some grace of God, he made it. He will have to have a bypass this time,” Ellen elaborated.

“Ahhh oooohhh nooo,” I doubled over, clutching my stomach.

“Y/N!” I heard Dean and Ellen call for me at the same time.

“Oh shit, Dean, her water broke. Get a wheelchair!” Ellen commanded, staying calm, all her years of nursing paying off twice in one night.

“Dean, it’s too early,” I cried. “The boys!”

“There’s an extra bed in Dad’s room, I will bring them with me. You two go!” Ellen waved us off as another nurse escorted us to the maternity ward.

I was scared and nervous. I had both my boys at the specialty birthing hospital and my doctor wasn’t here. What if something went wrong? It was too early.

“Kid, I know what you are thinking and it’s going to be just fine. It’s not all that early, just three weeks, and Will was two weeks early. She is going to be just fine; perfect like her Mama,” Dean murmured words of encouragement the entire trip up to the eighth floor.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester. Little one can’t wait, huh?” the doctor greeted us, a warm smile on his face. “I am Dr. Fisher. Let’s get you into a room so we can see what is going on in there, okay?”

“Dean…” I cautioned my husband and he just followed the nurse into the private room.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. Here is your gown. Just go ahead and get changed and I will be back with the doctor in a few. I am Ana by the way,” she called out as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Who are these people? Why are they so chipper? It is two in the morning!” I practically screamed at Dean.

“Baby, I need you to calm down just a little, okay? Let me help you change and into bed. Then I will call Ellen and tell her what room we are in,” Dean was calm and it was starting to piss me off. This baby was three weeks early and I knew enough to know it was probably due to stress and my dad, but we were not ready just yet for her. We hadn’t even picked out a name yet.

“Yeah, okay, let’s do this,” I breathed out as another contraction hit. “Ahhh fuck!”

“Okay, kid. In and out; slow breaths. You can do this,” Dean breathed right along with me.

I looked up into his bright green eyes that I have loved for so many years. I was impressed that he remembered the breathing exercises from our birthing classes over a decade ago when RJ was born. The contraction passed just as the doctor knocked and walked in.

“Mrs. Winchester, I want to get you hooked up to the fetal monitor and see how your little trooper is doing and we are going to get you examined, too,” Dr. Fisher explained.

“Y/N, please,” I breathed out, feeling another one coming on and gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

“That is two minutes apart Doc, we don’t have time for this. She is coming now,” Dean relayed to the doctor.

“Right, let’s take a look, shall we?” Dr. Fisher covered my legs with a sheet. Ana was right there and pulled out the stirrups and a portable lamp.

“Y/N, I am going to need you to push when you feel the next contraction, alright? I can see the baby’s head, so this is going to be quick,” Dr. Fisher was suddenly all business and that actually calmed me down. I needed no nonsense at this point, not someone trying to my best friend; he was already here.

“It’s coming!” I shouted and squeezing Dean’s hand once more, I beared down as Ana counted.

Fifteen minutes later, our daughter made her debut into this world, screaming her little lungs out, at 2:35 in the morning. She weighed a respectable six pounds eight ounces and was 20 inches long. After the doctors and nurses left, I closed my eyes and thought about all that had happened in the last five hours: I thought my dad was dying, then my daughter was born. Emotions were running at an all time high and I broke down. Tears of relief flowed freely as I looked over at my husband, cradling our newborn daughter in his arms, cooing softly to her just as he had done with both our boys. I could tell my the look on his face and the tears in his eyes, she already had him wrapped around her little finger.

“Hey, Handsome,” I whispered and Dean looked over at me, a look of concern crossing his features.

“Hey, Kid, what’s wrong?” Dean asked as he rushed to me, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, one arm supporting our baby, the other wrapped around me.

“I’m okay; I’m happy, Dean. My dad is okay and our baby girl is here. I am relieved that everything worked out today; it is just a lot to take all at once,” I confessed.

“I know, Kid. I know. Look at our little girl, Y/N; she is perfect. You did good,” he looked down at me with so much love in his eyes.

“We did good, Dean. Now we just need some rest, but first, pass me our daughter, let’s see if she catches on as fast as her brothers did. Oh God! The boys! We need to tell everyone!” I gasped.

“We will. Let’s get some sleep first,” Dean kissed me and we both gazed down at our baby girl as she latched onto my breast and started suckling. Time seemed to pass quickly as she fed and soon Ana was back with a bassinet to take her to the nursery. We kissed our baby goodnight and then Dean stretched out on the sofa while I curled onto my side and slept.

~*~

Morning came quickly and before I was even finished with breakfast, a nurse was back with our daughter and the phone was ringing. She passed Dean the phone and me the baby for her morning feeding.

“Yes, Ellen, everything is just fine. We will be down in a an hour or so. I will, Okay, love you, too,” Dean placed the phone back on it’s cradle and just laughed.

“She can’t believe we haven’t brought her down yet. The boys are bouncing around and your dad is awake,” Dean relayed his conversation as both you and the baby finished your meals. “I also called Sammy, asked him to run by the house and grab the bags, he should be here any minute.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. “Is that my beautiful niece?” Sammy’s voice filled the small room.

“Hey, Sammy, come meet her,” I smiled up at him, and passed her to Dean, while covering myself back up.

She looked even smaller in her uncle’s large arm than she did in Dean’s. “She is going to be so spoiled forever.”

“Yeah, she is,” Sam replied, a stupid grin etched into his face, making his dimples pop even more than usual.

I eased myself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Although I wasn’t as sore as I was with either of the boys, I still had some discomfort so the leggings and flannel I pulled on felt like heaven on my skin. I quickly brushed my teeth and hair, washed my face and was ready to head down to see the rest of our family.

~*~

“Knock, knock,” Dean rapped on the door of my dad’s room before pushing me through the opening. I was immediately swarmed by Ellen and both our sons, gushing over the newest addition to our family.

Dean and Sam made their way to Dad’s bed, greeting him with a handshake and a quick hug. Ellen pushed me closer and I eased myself out of the wheelchair. I rested my behind on the edge of Dad’s bed. “I would like you to meet your granddaughter,” I passed him the sleeping pink bundle.

“Hey Pumpkin, you can call me Papa,” Dad was already smitten with her and I couldn’t blame him really; we all were.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! What’s her name?!” Will started jumping up and down.

I looked over at my husband with raised eyebrows. He replied with a shrug.

“Boys, meet your sister; MaryEllen Grace Winchester; she is named after your grandmothers,” I announced and looked over at Ellen. Tears sparkled in her eyes and she wrapped me in a hug, holding tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I told her, my face buried in her hair.

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[resplendentgoldenwings]

All That Remains, Chapter 8, Six Weeks

rating: teen

characters/pairings: Iris West, Francine West, Cisco Ramone,  WestAllen

warnings: grief, suicidal ideation

summary: Iris struggles through her first month without  Barry, all the while unaware of a little surprise that Barry has left her. angst, h/c

beta: asexual-fandom-queen

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Six Weeks

Iris surveyed  Barry's apartment. It wasn't like the cozy two bedroom place she shared with her best friend, Linda. Barry's place was spacious with hardwood floors, recessed studio lights, bay windows, two bedrooms and a nice long hall. Light and air flowed through it making it an easy, cheerful place to be in.

It was beautiful she'd helped Barry with some of the decorating, creating a whole pin board of ideas when working on her thesis got to be too much, helping him select plants, art and rugs. Iris felt as comfortable here as she felt in her own place, even now.

Now she surveyed the space considering the chores that needed to be done.

There was a stack of mail, about a week's worth, sitting on the table next to the door; his answering machine flashed seven messages -only Barry Allen had a home phone and an answering machine in 2015 and his plants needed watering. She kept her eyes away from the mantle and the far living room wall. Both were decorated with pictures of them, pictures of a life that was over.

After the wake, Linda had brought her here. Drunk and exhausted Iris had collapsed into Barry's bed, falling asleep in seconds. She'd woken to a dry mouth, headache, a glass of water and two aspirins on the bedside table. She'd gulped down the water, taken the aspirins and listened to the sound of Linda getting ready for work.

   When the other woman had knocked on the bedroom door, Iris had feigned sleep until she left.

   Linda was already doing plenty by staying here at Barry's, with her. She didn't want to distract the fledgling journalist from work as well, the other woman hadn't even completed a full year at CCPN.  Iris didn't want her best friend worrying or distracted at work, not at her dream job.

Iris picked up the stack of mail. Electric bill, gas bill, phone bill, junk, junk, she froze at the next:

A large, thick, creamy colored envelope addressed with a fancy curling script and wedding bells, addressed to Mr.Barry Allen and Ms.Iris West. The return address brought a lump to her throat: Canon Photographers. Her hands started to shake, and she dropped the envelope into the wastebasket.

She knew there were appointments that would have to canceled, but she couldn't deal with that now.

Instead, she hit the play button his answering machine.

"Hi, this message is for Mr. Barry Allen, I'm calling from the Garfield Conservatory. You contacted us about hosting your wedding on May 12th, 2016-" Iris hit the fast forward button as tears sprang to her eyes. She sighed with relief when the next message was about a dental appointment; she could call and cancel that. She wrote down the number, and the third message started. Another wedding photographer, the message was short, finished before she could hit fast forward. The fourth was also about the wedding, as was the fifth and the sixth and even the seventh.

Iris found herself rooted to the spot, listening as friendly, chipper people offered to help arrange a future that no longer existed. Listened as she started to tremble, as her grief surged, heart breaking with this fresh reminder of future charred beyond recognition in a matter of hours. Each message calling up the agony sitting just below the surface of a skin stretched too thin. Pulling at her until it poured forth in a keening wail.

They had both been eager to plan the wedding. The date, that was easy, May 12th the date of their prom, their first kiss, the day she'd confessed she still loved him seven years later and he said he'd still felt the same. The day they'd come back to this very same apartment and made love for the first time, the day he proposed. The perfect date for a spring wedding.

"Oh God." Why had they waited so long? Why had she ever thought it was ok to delay until after college? She could have switched schools, canceled her gap year, finished grad school faster. Why had she ever waited? Why had she ever believed she had time?

"Oh, Barry."

She sobbed his name and sank to floor, one word expressing so much grief,

Francine came by with lunch and found Iris asleep on the floor exhausted by her misery. She let her mother coax her into eating a meal she barely tasted and then bed. The last thing she heard as she drifted into sleep was her mother's voice, heavy with sadness as she made the first of many phone calls.

The next, two weeks passed in a haze of grief.  She spent more time alone in Barry's apartment than any of her family and friends wanted. She couldn't work. The thought of her meta-human blog her ill. She couldn't imagine putting together a pitch, contacting magazine publishers or  looking for story ideas. Her mind couldn't fathom it. After a week she tried going to Jitters for work, but Barry's ghost was there waiting for her.

She could see him, sitting at his favorite table, savoring the warmth of the late afternoon sun on a fall day as it warmed his lean frame, a Flash and apple turnover sitting on the table before him. The same Barry she had always known, long and lean with the same dark hair and green eyes, but a man rather than a boy, handsome and charming, her man.

Barry's ghost was everywhere in Jitters. She couldn't just curl up with her memories and let them hurt her if she was there to work. Iris never made it past the front door.    

She'd never known that a life could be completely consumed by pain. She'd scoffed at the idea of dying from heartbreak, but when you woke sick and crying every morning spent the day holding back tears, went to bed the same and woke to do it all again, well it didn't seem so impossible.   

She wore his favorite pullover, slept in sheets rapidly losing the mingling of their two scents, and tried not to cry. Linda spent the nights there with her, being a true best friend and Wally came to visit during the day when he could, Joe came by in the evenings.    

At the end of two weeks, Henry came and packed up Barry's things.  Iris wanted to help, but she couldn't. It had been Barry's apartment, but their home as a couple.   

They'd first made love in his apartment. She could still recall his lips, his touch, the flush of heat through her body as his hands moved over her skin, the unexpected, but not unpleasant stretch of him inside and the way her pleasure had rung through the halls unmatched by anything she'd experience before enriched -not by any special expertise, but by the depth of feeling they had for each other.

On Saturday mornings they cuddled on his couch and plotted their future together. In the evenings after a long day at Jitters she'd be at the kitchen table writing pitches for articles. When she felt too tired, too drained to write Barry was there to keep her company  or bring her a cup of coffee to keep her going. "The world news Iris West's voice." He'd said that to her after a series of especially painful rejections.    

They'd spent a weekend in his kitchen making ravioli from scratch, pasta and all. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been made with love.  

She could sit at his dining room table, close her eyes and see his warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. There had been times when she'd teased him about the crow's feet destined to grow around those eyes, but she loved that smile.  

She couldn't help Henry pull it all apart.

So instead Henry sent several boxes of Barry's thing to the apartment she shared with Linda.

Francine came by daily, made sure she ate and showered and she did eat and shower because she didn't want her mother to fuss. She watched What Dreams May Come and cried. She watched The Constant Gardener and felt a cathartic longing when Justin Quayle was finally executed by the same men who'd murdered his wife. She watched Singing in the Rain hoping to feel Barry's presence and was angry when she didn't.   

Iris fought with her mother that day.   

She uploaded every picture of Barry from her phone to her computer, sent them to the drug store to be printed with duplicate copies. She backed up every picture she had of him or the two of them together to an external hard drive. She had four voicemails from him, Iris recorded them into one long message and played them on loop until she fell asleep at night. She did all this while wearing his favorite shirt and wrapped in his too big bathrobe though his scent had long since faded from them.  

When she went to the drug store to pick up her pictures, Iris dressed in all black –not that it meant anything anymore- and glared at everyone who spoke to her or looked at her.   

The cashier at the drugstore, a cheerful young woman with a pleasant smile,  commented that the guy in her pictures was cute and asked if Barry was her fiance.   

"He's dead," Iris growled before snatching her pictures and felt some satisfaction at the devastation on her face.  She tried to take off her engagement ring, put it on a chain when she got home, but couldn't.

She spent a lot of time asleep and chalked it up to depression.   

She spoke to her family and friends, but they all seemed so unbothered Iris kept her misery to herself. She talked to Henry and sometimes her mother. Henry, because he was about as miserable as she was and she couldn't bring him down any further.  She talked to her mother because well, her mother was a therapist and had been depressed for years herself.   

She received a card from Malcolm after two weeks telling her to hang in there, and he called her once a week just to see how she was. He didn't try to pressure her into doing anything or being anyway. He just checked on her, it was nice. She didn't mind talking to him about Barry. He and Barry had been casual acquaintances. She couldn't hurt him with her memories, unlike Wally who thought of Barry like a brother or Joe who'd been delighted when they'd learned that Barry would officially become a part of their family.

A 30,000 check came from the life insurance company. Francine paid her bills out of it.

Cisco appeared on doorstep. His hair lank, face gaunt,  circles under his eyes -heavy and black, mouth a tight miserable line.  Guilt surged, he'd meant what he'd said when he called Barry best friend. He'd found some of Barry's things at the lab and decided to bring them over.   

She invited him to have a seat, talk to her about Barry. Listened to him talk about The Flash and enjoyed it, memories that weren't hers, memories that didn’t hurt.   

"He was my good friend," Cisco finished.   

"Best friend," she corrected gently and was surprised to see him smile. "Caitlin really was just trying to help wasn't she?"   

Iris looked away as she asked that.   

"Yeah. Barry would be in a lot of pain sometimes, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, lacerations. He wasn't in any danger, but it was hard to watch-"  

"-I remember."   

And she did, Barry unexpectedly insisting that they stay in some nights, or cuddling up to him only to have him wince away and blame any injury on clumsiness. She'd almost started to worry and then it mysteriously it stopped.   

Guilt washed over her.   

"I owe Caitlin an apology."   

"She'll understand."   

She wrote Caitlin a long email apologizing for taking her anger out on the other woman.   

Caitlin wrote back: 'My fiance died in the particle accelerator accident. I know how hard it is, I know how you feel.'

The guilt she'd been feeling surged at that response. Caitlin had known Barry for two  years, been his main doctor during the coma, she would never hurt Barry. Cisco and Caitlin really did just want to help. The guilt was a pleasant distraction from her grief and Iris started planning something she could do to thank the two scientist.

At the end of that first month, Iris looked at herself in the mirror and saw her chin and cheekbones standing out at sharp angles, her color ashen, and hair that looked like straw. She'd been sleeping too much, not eating enough, not exercising and not getting enough sunlight.   

She considered doing a face mask, deep conditioning her hair, taking a walk. She looked like she was falling apart. No wonder her mother came to see her every day.   

Iris told herself to shower, dress, do that face mask and a miserable angry part of demanded to know why and then proceeded to tear through every answer that she had. Reminding her that there was no point, that nothing felt good or right anymore. Barry was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Making herself look perfect wouldn't bring Barry back, just like it hadn't helped her mother when she was a kid. Barry would always be dead and she would always be miserable.  

By the time that miserable angry part of her was done Iris was crying as if she'd only just found out. She put on Barry's favorite top, wrapped herself in his robe, plugged in her  earbuds crawled into bed and put on her recording of his voice.   

She tried it again in two weeks and actually managed to eat breakfast, which she threw-up. The same thing happened the next day and the day after that. The third day she threw up her lunch too. When she heaved up the breakfast bar Linda coaxed her into eating on the fourth morning the other woman looked at her with worried frown.   

"Iris, I don't know how else to say this so I'm just going to spit it out. Are you pregnant?"  

              "What?"   

"You've been throwing up, you're tired all the time and you look terrible."   

"Gee thanks. I'm just nauseated from not eating right."   

"You haven't been in our stash." The two friends shared a collection of sanitary napkins, tampons, and panty liners, Linda was right she hadn't been in it. Barry had been gone for more than a month and she hadn't had a period.   

"I'm stressed, stress changes your period."   

Linda took a deep breath.

"Let me see your phone."  

          It took them several minutes to find her mobile. She'd let the battery run down and misplaced the charger. Linda went into the living room and plugged it in there setting it down on the coffee table.

"Linda I'm sure it's nothing. I don't want you to be late for work."  Iris sat down on the couch, and Linda sat down beside her.

"I already told them I was coming in late today."   

"Alright," Iris said with a sigh.

"I know how unhappy you are. I see it, but if you are pregnant you have to face it sooner or later and sooner is always better than late with pregnancy"

"Except I'm not. We were always careful; we always used condoms."

"You know condoms aren't 100% and I know you aren't on the pill."

"Well, we didn't just use condoms. I tracked my period; we didn't, you know, have intercourse if I could get pregnant."

"Never, not even once?"

"No, we-"

-Except for May 12th, the day Barry proposed had fallen into that fertile period.  She'd wanted him so badly. They'd used condoms, but as Linda had pointed out, they weren't 100%.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Iris pressed her fingers to her lips.

"What is it?"

"My period was already a few days late, before- before everything. I-I just forgot about it."

Linda put an arm around her shoulders, and they both stared at her phone waiting. When that first sliver of red showed in the battery, Linda snatched up the phone powering it on, and Iris gripped her friend's arm.

It had been a month and a half since Barry...and she had already been late. That was two and half-months. Stress didn't do that.

She thought back over the past six weeks, the morning nausea, the constant state of exhaustion, her breast- she touched them gently now over her shirt- they were tender...Iris felt a strange crawling sensation in the back of her head, and her shoulders began to rise, meeting the heavy sense of dread settling over her.

Her phone finished booting, and she watched Linda's thumb come down on the little flower icon for the period tracker.

"76 days late."   

Iris felt her eyes go wide and then she started to cry.  Linda's arms came around her around her.

"It will be ok. We're going to take care of you."

At that moment Iris West felt many things, but none of them was ok.

A/N- Alright so we’re finally gettng to the meat of part one. I’m super excited about the remaining chapters. 

Thanks everyone for reading. Please take a  moment to comment and if you like this fic give it a reblog. 

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Nursing a Sick Bird

Batfam Week Day 4 is Hurt/Comfort. I’ve never done one before and I honestly don’t think that what I wrote is what is expected but oh well. So here, have sick Tim with big brother Dick. (Also I personally headcanon @audreycritter‘s wonderful OC Dev to be the family doctor in this but since he’s not mine and not DC’s I’m not going to play with him. So insert your favorite doc here!) As usual you can also read it here on my ao3. Rating: G Words: 2,254 Gen

Tim blamed his lack of spleen for these situations. With a weakened immune system he needed to take special care with his health, including a mix of vitamins and medications with his morning coffee. He visited the family doctor once a month to ensure that the balance was correct and to evaluate his blood work for any red flags. Sometimes though that wasn’t possible. Like right now.

He’d been curled up in bed for about a week, moving only to go to the bathroom and get himself a glass of water from the tap there. He had set his phone down on his nightstand without plugging it in to charge. That first day he ignored its incessant buzzing until Tim assumed the phone died as the buzzes had finally stopped. That first morning he hadn’t wanted to move. Aching all over and drenched with sweat, despite having kicked his sheets and comforter to the floor.

Now he forced himself to his feet, shuffling towards the kitchen and having to stop halfway. Sliding down the wall in the hallway Tim leaned his head back. This was the most movement he’d done in days and he felt like he wanted to puke. He knew that this was a gnarly case of the flu but he felt too bad to even call the doc, even though not doing so was only worsening it. Pushing himself to his feet Tim managed to make it as far as the island, where he bent to press his hot cheek against the cool counter. Taking a few breaths to steady himself Tim made a last push to the cabinet where he kept a stockpile of saltines.

Grabbing a box he stumbled to the couch that he then collapsed on. Tim made the executive decision that after so much work he earned a nap. Setting the box on the floor for later he rolled onto his side and promptly fell asleep.

Tim awoke to an earthquake with a jackhammer working on a slab in his temple. With a groan he opened his eyes to see Dick’s worried face swimming in front of him. The earthquake suddenly stopped as relief flooded Dick’s features. Tim realized that the shaking was just Dick trying to wake him but the construction crew in his skull was making it hard to think straight.

“Tim? Timmy? You with me little bro?” Dick asked, kneeling beside the couch.

Tim groaned as he wiped a hand down his face before using it to push his hair back. “Yeah,” he croaked.

“You eat anything?” Dick picked up the box of saltines and examined it.

“Nnnhnn. No. Headache.”

Dick gently pushed Tim’s hand off his forehead to feel it with the back of his own. “You’re burning up. How long have you been like this? Have you taken your meds? I know you missed your appointment the other day.”

Tim waved his hand vaguely at his brother. “Shhhh.” He closed his eyes and took in a deep shuddering breath. Trying to fight off the growing pain in his head. Tim laid like that for a few minutes, the only sound in the apartment was the hum of appliances and Tim and Dick’s breathing. Dick was combing his fingers through Tim’s grease and sweat streaked hair. Tim knew his brother wanted answers but he needed a minute to reorient himself.

“Can you get me a drink?” he finally asked.

“Sure thing,” Dick replied. Tim heard him stand and make his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge and rifling around in it before closing the door and coming back to his post next to the couch. “Here,” Dick handed him a bottle of sports drink that Tim vaguely recalled buying.

Pushing himself up on the cushions he reached for the plastic bottle. Carefully unscrewing the top he took a sip, which turned into a swallow, and soon he was gulping down mouthfuls of the orange liquid.

“Better?” Dick asked with a small smile. He had perched himself on Tim’s cluttered coffee table. “Think you can handle some crackers?”

The hunger that had driven Tim from his room originally gnawed at him once again. He reached a hand out for the box. Dick popped open the cardboard seal and cut the plastic wrapping with a pocket knife that Tim had left laying among his paperwork on the table. Tim grabbed the crackers from him and started shoving saltines into his mouth.

“Whoa now, can’t have you choking.” Dick’s eyes had gone wide and he had made a move to take the box from Tim.

Tim responded with a face and slowed his chewing. He washed it down with another swig of drink before picking a single cracker out of the box and eyeing Dick over top of it.

His brother just laughed at him. “I’m sorry Tim, you look pitiful and you’re glaring at me. It’s cute.”

Tim wrinkled his nose and began nibbling his cracker.

“So? How long have you been on this couch? Cause you haven’t been answering your phone all week.”

Tim shook his head, then stopped because that made the headache that was starting to subside come back. “I was in bed. I came out here earlier to get food and couldn’t make it back.”

Dick’s eyes held pity, Tim hated being pitied but right now he felt too awful to care. “So you haven’t been taking your meds?” Dick pressed.

Tim gave a noncommittal grumble and now Dick just looked disappointed. Tim hated disappointing people even more than he hated being pitied. “I got home from work and was really tired and so I took a nap and woke up the next morning feeling even worse. This is the furthest I’ve moved from my bed.”

Dick nodded, not happy but at least understanding. “Do you have a thermometer around here?” he asked as he got up.

“In the bathroom, above the sink somewhere.” Dick left to get it and Tim collapsed against the couch. He nursed his saltines and drink until his brother came back with the thermometer in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Yeah B. I am. Look, I got this. Ok, I will.” Dick told the person on the other end before turning his attention back to Tim. “Bruce says he wants you to feel better and that when you’re up for moving that you’re welcome to stay at the manor. He went on that business trip this morning since we couldn’t get ahold of you and you missed your appointment yesterday.”

Tim groaned. He knew that there was something he had to do but the days had bled together into a mix of sleep, haze, and aches. “I’m sorry,” he muttered as Dick passed him the thermometer.

“For what? Looking like a zombie?”

“I’ve been to the bathroom, I know what I look like and it’s way worse than I’ve ever seen Jason.”

Dick let out a short laugh at that. “Ok, so you can’t be that sick.”

Tim stuck the thermometer in his mouth and shrugged. When it beeped he passed it to Dick without even bothering to look at it, knowing his brother was going to demand it anyway. Tim leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his headache and hunger had disappeared but now he just hurt and was getting suddenly cold. He pulled a blanket toward himself, getting an assist with it from Dick.

The older boy must have called someone else but Tim was tired again and didn’t really care. He let his brother’s voice wash over him as he talked.

“Hello? Yes, this is Dick Grayson I’m Timothy Drake-Wayne’s older brother, Yes, I spoke to him this morning about Tim and I’m actually with him now. Could you? Thanks.” There was a pause as Tim assumed the call was transferred. “Hey, it’s Dick. I got into Tim’s apartment and he’s a mess. Yeah. Fever of 100.7. He said he’s pretty much been sleeping all week. Um, aches, headache, I’m guessing chills cause he just burittoed himself in a blanket and he’s got a crazy fever. No he hasn’t, he says this is the first he’s left his room. Yeah. Some sports drink and crackers. I think just water. I mean, it looks like he’s asleep again…” Tim rolled his head back and forth, indicating that he was not asleep. “Up, nope he’s awake, just has his eyes closed. Yeah, I can do that. Ok. Thanks, man.”

Tim squinted at his brother as he sat down on the couch beside him. “Am I going to the hospital?” he mumbled halfheartedly.

“You are not going anywhere. Eat more and then I’m going to have you take some aspirin to try and break the fever. After that you’re getting a shower, you stink.” Dick grinned and Tim meant to swat at his brother but instead ended up leaning against him.

“Ok,” he sighed as Dick tucked another blanket around him. “Can I nap after taking the aspirin and before taking the shower though?”

Dick chuckled. “Of course. Now do you think you can hold down some soup?”

Tim gave a shrug that just loosened his mummy like blanket wrappings. He frowned as he made an attempt to fix them. “I can try. Bring a garbage can though just in case. The place is a mess as is.” Tim leaned his head on his brother’s shoulder, feeling the other man’s frame shake with laughter.

“I will. And speaking of mess, if you’re going to nap I’m going to wash your sheets.”

“Why?” Tim lifted his head to look at Dick, his brows knitted together.

“Because, if you’ve been living in them all week and this is the state you’re in? Hoo boy. Also, I’m charging your phone. You can’t just drop off the face of the earth like this.” Dick pushed himself to his feet, presumably to start the chores he had tasked for himself.

Tim grumbled at his brother’s last comment.

Dick turned to him with a tight expression. “No. Don’t even. Tim, you’ve been pulling this kind of crap on us for a while now but ever since you lost your spleen it’s become serious. By not keeping in contact you put yourself at a serious health risk! Not to mention the emotional stress you put the rest of us through. I thought that we were on better terms now, I know that they’re not what they where and I wish they would be but you’ve gotta let me in for that to happen Tim. I realize this was an accident, that you didn’t mean to get horribly ill and for your phone to die. I’m not mad and especially not about that. I just… I dunno. Next time call? Text? Answer your phone? Tell me where you are or will be and if and when you’ll be dropping off the map? That way I can get to you sooner.” His flare of anger dissipated as he ran his hands through his hair. “You’re my little brother and I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you.”

Tim opened his mouth but when no words came he closed it and bit his lower lip instead. He nodded slowly and began wiggling loose of the blanket pile. Carefully getting to his feet Tim shuffled the two steps closer to Dick and wrapped his older brother in a hug. After a second Dick’s arms rose to hug Tim back.

“I’m sorry,” he said into Dick’s shoulder. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

Dick squeezed him tighter. “I know and it’s ok. I’m here now and we’re going to get you better and that’s all that matters.”

They stood like that for another minute before Tim’s stomach growled and broke the silence. Dick laughed as he let go and ruffled Tim’s dirty hair. Tim smirked and returned to his position on the couch.

“I’m guessing you can handle some soup,” Dick said with a smirk.

Tim smiled back. “I guess.”

While Dick wasn’t known for having good culinary skills he could still make a can of chicken noodle soup which Tim eagerly slurped up and managed to hold down. Tim took the aspirin Dick had found before settling in for a nap, when he awoke the apartment had been visibly straightened up. His papers were neatly stacked rather than scattered piles. The mound of dishes in the sink had been washed and put away. Tim could hear the sound of the vacuum in his bedroom.

Getting up, he wrapped the blankets around himself and headed that way. Standing in the doorway he could see Dick vacuuming the carpet of his bedroom, his bed freshly made.

“Did you do all this?” he asked once Dick had turned the vacuum off.

His brother turned to him with a smile. “Yeah, you’ve been out a good two hours Timbo. Now go, shower. Those blankets are the next things to be washed. You can’t get better with germs still hanging around.

“You sound like Alfred.”

Dick shrugged. “What can I say, I learned from the best. How are you feeling?”

Tim smiled. “Much better actually.”

“Good! Now shoo. And when you’re done we’re working out a plan so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Agreed. But, can you still drop by and clean my apartment? For someone who never cleans their own you do a decent job.”

Dick laughed. “You just answered your own question. Now go, I wasn’t kidding when I said you stink.”

[tumblunni]

Okay AAAAARGH when will this deadly illness end, srsly I REALLY want to play some goddamn games! At least I'm not in as much of a full on migraine meltdown as I was yesterday tho.. Or was it the day before yesterday...god I've just been trying to get whatever sleep I can. Thank you superior bed for healing me, AAAA So now I just have a lot of regular headaches and a bit of dizzyness and feeling feverish n stuff. Taking a lot of aspirins and trying yo finally get something to eat, and all. But also BEING SUPER IMPATIENT TO PLAY A GAMES!!! So, have some rambling ideas about my dumb Fabulous Dad OC! Okay, so his name is Iggy and he's Super Sweetheart, and I'm trying to pin down a Dad Theme for him, like we have the sporty one and the goth one and etc. I was thinking maybe he could be nerdy videogames dad? Or perhaps veterinarian dad, but apparently one of the dads works in a pet shop or something so that's kinda already taken... Also for NO REAL REASON I was thinking maybe he could be GHOST DAD Just cos I've been rewatching Danny Phantom and getting into the phandom again and thinking about all the wasted potential and stuff. Different ways the ghost worldbuilding could have worked, and I really like the idea of what if it was about helping the villain ghosts move on instead of just fighting them. A more slice of lifey emotion-focused version! And I was thinking about maybe a plot where Iggy came back as a ghost to protect his daughter, but he doesn't remember that he died, so its still kinda a similar 'half ghost half human' plotline but also with more ghost? COS I LIKE GHOST Also I like ANGST and HUGS ANYWAY, regardless of my random ideas for an original story to stick him in after I finish this game, I'm still super excited to play him in this game!!! Iggy will romance all the dads! Iggy will be dad to all the children's!! Iggy may or may not be a wraith from the underworld who wears cute kitty shirts!!! Oh man seriously imagine him dating Robert and its like 'let's go hunt for cryptids' *giant arrow pointing at Iggy right behind him* Or Iggy failing horribly at being goth compared to Damien, holy shit XD I love Iggy already, Iggy is my new best friend I HAVE TO FIND A STORY FOR THIS OC Oh oh oh and I know the game kinda doesn't have an option for this, but I was thinking maybe the protagonist's mysterious dead spouse could actually be Iggy's ex-wife? I started thinking up a whole backstory for him! His marriage with her was a short and failed one, but they remained bffs after the divorce and she was like the ultimate wingman trying to help him find a new love. And she was like an aunt to the family, even though she was Amanda's biological mother. She was still an important part of her daughter's life even though they didn't live together anymore, and Iggy still mourns her just as much as any of the other protagonists do. I just feel like it'd be even more sad in the intro this way. All we know about mystery deceased spouse is that story of how when Amanda was born/adopted, protagonist was freaking out thinking a car accident was a bad omen and they held his hand and told him everyone would be okay. And it was. I kinda think that'd be even more meaningful if they did end up breaking up afterwards, but things still WERE alright. They survived that 'disaster', they survived realizing they weren't made for each other, they still remained important people in each other's lives. That memory wasn't tainted by what happened, it was just recontextualized, kinda. So even though it feels impossible to live without her, Iggy and Amanda can survive this too. I'm sure that's what she'd want to say! Also, I just think we need to see more positive portrayals of ex-boyfriends and girlfriends in fiction. Its better to admit that things aren't working out, rather than stay in a loveless relationship. And it doesn't always have to be the end, it doesnt always have to be violent and horrible, you don't have to stop caring about each other as friends! And joint custody can totally work out, and doesn't have to be a horrible child support argument using your poor kid as some sort of betting chip... (Sigh.. My mum and dad..) SO YEAH! THATS MY THOUGHTS! And I think I wanna keep this ex-wife character even if I rewrite Iggy into his own story! Not sure about how to write a kid more endearing than Amanda, tho!