#remember when i complained about there not being enough time sickfics?

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 2: Delirium

Read it on Ao3

- Time, Twilight, & Wild

- Summary: Time comes down with an illness and takes a turn for the worse

CW for delirium, illness and fever, mentions of holding a character down (no one actually gets held down), and a character getting punched

—————————-

Twilight sighs as he tugs the blanket a little higher over Time’s shoulder. The older hero shudders, teeth clacking together so hard it’s audible. When the rancher presses a hand to his head, it’s dangerously warm. He pulls away, lips set in a grim line.

“How’s he doing?” Comes Wild’s hushed voice from where he sits by the fire.

Twilight shakes his head. “No better. I think he’s getting worse.”

He sighs again, pressing his fingertips to his temples.

“There’s no need to fuss over me,” Time had assured the two of them only that morning. “I’m alright. It’s likely a cold, nothing more.”

And though his voice had sounded a bit hoarse and he was a little paler than usual, besides that he had seemed like his normal self. So, Twilight had taken him at his word.

…and had had to watch as his condition steadily declined throughout the day. He had tried to make more rest stops and urged the old man to drink during every one. Wild had even offered him a potion, though he had refused it. But their efforts hadn’t been enough. By the time they had found a good stopping place for the night, Time’s gaze had been bleary and unfocused, skin clammy and pale, steps stumbling and heavy.

When Twilight had pulled out his bed mat and ordered him to lie down before he could collapse, his attempts at arguing had fallen pathetically flat. And it hadn’t taken much convincing to get him to let the rancher guide him over to his bed mat. After that, he had swallowed the potion Wild had given him without much complaint.

Since then, he has been sleeping, though restlessly. And with each passing hour, Twilight’s worry has only grown.

Time shifts now, mumbling something about protecting cows and fighting off aliens. Another series of shivers run through him.

Twilight gnaws his lip for a moment, then looks over his shoulder at Wild.

“Hey, do we have any spare rags? I need something cool to put on his head.”

“Yeah, hold on.”

Wild searches in his pouch for a moment, then with a triumphant sound produces a small, worn cloth. Rising, he walks to the nearby stream. When he returns, the cloth is sopping wet with chilled water.

“Thanks,” Twilight says, taking it from him. Gently brushing Time’s hair back, he lays it over his forehead.

The hero shudders at the cool touch and his eye flutters open.

“What…” His gaze flits about the clearing, taking in everything but seeing nothing. “Is-is it time?”

Twilight exchanges an uneasy glance with Wild. Time for what, he isn’t certain. But he shakes his head anyway.

“No, not yet, old man. Go back to sleep.”

Time looks at him, his expression almost pleading. “Why…it-it’s so cold.”

He brings up a hand to pull weakly at the cloth. Twilight grasps his wrist before he can manage to fling it off. Carefully, he guides his hand back down to his side.

“You’ve got a fever. That’s gonna help us break it. So, just leave it there, alright?”

“No, I don’t want to,” Time slurs, stubbornly reaching for it again. “I’s too cold. And it’s wet.”

With an effort, Twilight suppresses a sigh. Little had he thought that caring for his mentor would ever be like caring for the village children.

“Here!” Wild shows up by his side with a bowl of stew in hand. Twilight hadn’t even realized that he had left. “I made dinner. This’ll warm you up!”

With a look of gratitude, Twilight takes the bowl from him. “Yeah, how about you have something to eat? It’ll help you get your strength back too.”

Though Time still looks less than pleased with the whole situation, the promise of warmth seems enough to convince him. He allows them to sit him up and spoon the food into his mouth, swallowing each bite dutifully. But even after he has eaten, he seems little improved. Shivers still rip through his body, his skin is hot to the touch, and he hardly seems aware of what is happening around him.

There is nothing more they can do, however, so Twilight helps him lie back down. Within moments, his eye slides shut and he is asleep once more.

-----------

Twilight volunteers to take the first watch. Wild needs his rest after the difficult day they have endured. Besides, he wants to keep a close eye on his mentor. So, he settles down beneath the shade of a tree a short distance away. And he waits for morning.

The moon is still high in the sky when he hears it. Someone is moving about behind him. The telltale clank of armor plates reaches his ears and he whips around, sword in hand. But there is no monster there. The sight that greets him, however, doesn’t calm him one bit.

Time is sitting upright on a nearby log, trembling fingers working to pull on his gauntlets. His abandoned bed mat lies not far away, masked by a heap of tangled blankets.

Twilight sheaths his sword with a sigh. He had worried something like this might happen. The old man’s fever is dangerously high, after all. But he had dared hope it would break before the inevitable occurred.

“Hey, old man,” he says, gently, and Time’s head jerks upward.

Even in the dim light of the dying fire, his cheeks look flushed, his face pallid. His gaze is as glossy as ever, yet when it meets Twilight’s the intensity of it is almost enough to make him pause.

“He’s coming,” he croaks, in a voice so hoarse Twilight cringes. His throat must be on fire right now.

He takes another step toward him, careful to keep his movements slow.

“Who’s coming?”

Time’s expression hardens further. A shiver tears through him with such intensity that his gauntlet slips from his fingertips and hits the ground. He retrieves it with a growl of frustration.

“Have to prepare…”

“For what?”

“Not what–who.”

Twilight swallows. “Okay, then, who?”

A short way away Wild stirs. With a groan he sits up, rubbing at his bleary eyes.

“What’s goin’ on Twi?”

At the sound of his voice, Time leaps to his feet, looking wildly about the clearing. Twilight rushes forward to catch him before he topples. The older hero tries to shove him off, but he holds on.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he says, patting his arm. “That’s just Wild.”

Time drags in a breath that rattles in his lungs. He looks down at Twilight, an almost crazed look in his eye.

“You must run – both of you. He-he’s coming! I’ll only be able to ho-hold him off for s-so long and…”

He trails off as his words dissolve in a hacking cough.

Wild is on his feet now, fear in his eyes.

“Potion,” Twilight mouths and he nods. Immediately, he ducks down and begins rifling through his pouch.

Twilight turns back to Time, who is still wavering in his grasp. “Whoever it is, we’ll get him, okay? Now, how about you just sit down? You can’t defeat him if you’re flat on your face.”

As gently as possible he pushes Time back onto the log, even as the older hero tries to wrench himself out of his grip. Twilight can feel the panic building steadily within him like water boiling in a kettle. If he can just get him to settle down before it grows out of control…

“You can’t–” The old man gasps, breathless and trembling. “Twi..Twilight…I have to…No!” 

Abruptly, he reels back. Before Twilight can react, a fist collides with his face. The rancher stumbles. His grasp slips. With surprising speed, Time lunges for his sword.

“Ganondorf is coming!”

The fear is blatantly visible on his face now, terror audible in his voice. Twilight freezes, hand stopping halfway through its journey to touch his newly bruised cheek.

He’s not the only one with the arm strength of a moblin, apparently.

“Sweet Ordona…”

Time whirls and the rancher is forced to leap out of the way of his sword’s reach.

“Have to get the sages, have to save Zelda…” He takes a stumbling step forward. A particularly violent shudder races through him and the weapon slips from his grip to land with a dull thump on the earthen ground. “Get to the castle….can’t lose this time–all going to die…what a terrible fate…”

Twilight ducks down and snatches Time’s claymore before he can reach for it again. At that moment, Wild scrambles up to his side.

“Here!” He grabs the sword and presses a potion into Twilight’s hands instead. “Lemme get this out of reach and I’ll come help you hold him down.”

Twilight nods. He clenches his hand around the bottle, forcing an inhale through his nose. Time’s words have cut him straight to the core and left him winded and shaky. Never before has he seen the old man this vulnerable, this scared. It just isn’t right, to see his mentor gaze at him like a child seeking refuge from the monsters that stalk the night.

…a child with the world on his small shoulders.

“Time.” His voice trembles the slightest bit and he clears his throat. “I need you to trust me.”

Time freezes before him, teeth chattering, breath coming on haggard half-gasps. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“N-no.” He shakes his head. “Only have three days. The clock resets — e-everything’s over. Have to sta…start again and I can’t…please don’t make me.”

He’s speaking pure nonsense now — at least Twilight desperately hopes that’s what this is — but it’s enough to shatter his heart. What nightmares has the hero endured to inspire a plea like this? What secrets haunt him?

…what regrets? 

“Twi,” Wild says from beside him and Twilight forces himself to inhale the breath he had been holding.

“We won’t make you start again,” he says, quietly. “I promise.” Carefully, he holds out the bottle. “But we need you to drink this. It…it will give you strength for the battle.”

The lie tastes ashen in his mouth. He has no other choice though. It’s either this or pin the old man to the ground and by Hylia, he doesn’t want it to come to that.

Time’s eye flits between the proffered bottle and the two heroes in front of him. He shudders again, stumbling a bit.

Twilight dares to take a slow step forward. “Trust us.”

“We only want to help,” Wild chimes in, though his voice is unusually quiet. “You don’t have to fight anyone alone.”

For a long moment, Time merely gazes at them, resigned exhaustion and terror warring across his face. Twilight holds his breath.

And then, slowly, he reaches out. Grasping the bottle, he tips it back. No sooner has he downed the crimson liquid than the tension bleeds from his shoulders. The bottle slips from his hand at the same time that he slumps bonelessly forward.

Twilight is just in time to catch him.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Originally another thread for @grtr3's little sangyaoFES, this one got even more heavily edited than the other, with a whole ending added and such. Could be read as a prequel to A Second Glance

Title: The Golden Cure

Ship: pre-SangYao

Tags: Sickfic, Mostly Fluff, Author Has Nothing Witty This Time

------------

His new sect leader had warned him that of all the sect territories, Qinghe Nie's was the coldest when winter hit.

Staring out at the heavy piles of snow as he shivered, Meng Yao thought that Nie Mingjue had still managed to undersell just how cold it could be this far north.

Well, there was nothing else to be done for it. He'd lit both of the censers that had come with the room, had worn the warmest of the clothing he'd taken from the disciple stores he’d been shown, and was wrapped in the heaviest of the blankets he'd been provided.

And still he shivered.

He turned his attention back to his desk, trying to concentrate on the day's unfinished records, but it was only a matter of moments before another set of harsh, chest rattling coughs escaped his mouth.

"Here."

Blinking through watering eyes, Meng Yao found a little golden bear on a stick being held in front of his face.

"What is it?" he asked, hating how rough and alien his voice sounded.

"It's made of salted jin ju paste and honey. It'll help with the pain in your throat," Nie Huaisang said as he laid down a tea tray with more of the bears sticking out of a jar and a pot of tea that had a strong smell of xiangcheng fruit.

Meng Yao took the stick, eyeing the golden bear a little warily, then popped it into his mouth.

The taste wasn't bad. He could see using these for flavoring tea on occasions.

He watched as Nie Huaisang poured them both full cups, and then took notice of the faint tremor in his hands and how pale he was.

Oh. 

Now he remembered overhearing his sect leader discussing winter preparations with the head of the infirmary hall, and one of the topics had been supplies for when his younger brother’s health took a dive "like it does every winter."

Which meant Nie Huaisang probably knew about all kinds of remedies and treatments for bad weather illness from personal experience.

Reassured, he simply rested his too-heavy head on his hand, letting the honey bear slowly melt in his mouth.

"This is your first northern winter, isn't it?" Huaisang asked as he set a steaming cup in front of him.

"Mm-hmm."

"Ouch, and with this one predicted to be especially harsh, too. On the bright side, with how hard you've been working, you should have your core built up enough that next winter will hardly touch you."

Meng Yao took the bear out of his mouth to speak. "If that's the case, why are you so adamant about not improving yours?"

Huaisang rolled one shoulder in a little half-shrug. "Most of my health issues are things I was born with. And some of them a core just can't fix unless I were to break all the way through to immortality."

A fair point, though it made Meng Yao a little morose about his own training goals. He rather hoped that the pain from cold spearing into injuries that had never fully healed wouldn't be on the list of things a stronger core couldn't fix.

"Then I will defer to your medical knowledge,” he said instead of any of those thoughts, pushing his uncertain feelings down deep.

Nie Huaisang snorted, amused. "Medical knowledge, he says. All I know is the stuff healers do to make picky kids not complain about how bad medicine tastes."

Still, the honey bear was helping soothe the roughness all the coughing had left in his throat. "It's good advice all the same. Thank you."

Nie Huaisang grinned at the praise, then motioned to the tea cup he'd set out. "Once you finish a couple of bears and the tea, we're heading to storage to get you some proper fur blankets, okay? Then I'm going to order you some heavier robes. Though… actually…" 

Meng Yao looked up, not liking the frown on Nie Huaisang's face as he tapped his cheek in thought. "Gongzi?" he asked hesitantly around the honey bear.

"You should have had winter clothing and blankets given to you already. Didn't one of the quartermasters talk to you?"

He could tell the truth; that when he’d picked up his first allotment of supplies on being brought to the Unclean Realms, the man who’d handed them over had snidely implied that it was all the generosity he’d be getting from the sect, and anything more would be coming out of his pay. 

While no one had actually made good on that threat, they'd given him enough runaround that he'd learned to stop requesting anything months ago.

He could say so. Nie Huaisang would believe him.

He could-

No. 

No, he wasn’t going to do that. 

Bad enough that there were some who mockingly accused him of hiding behind the sect leader; he didn’t want to give them any ammunition to use against his tentative relationship with the young master as well. 

He bit the last little part of the melted bear off the stick and laid it down. “Things have been busy. We probably just missed crossing paths,” he said.

“Hrm… If you say so,” Huaisang murmured, still looking dubious. “Alright, then. Next time you need something, come to me first, got it?”

“Your brother already disapproves of your spending, gongzi. Won’t he get angry?”

“He complains about inks or aviary supplies, he can’t complain when I’m making sure his best aide doesn’t spend the whole season sick because he’s not been equipped for the weather.”

A fair point. 

He still probably shouldn't be allowing this. While it wasn't the same as Nie Huaisang pulling heir rank on his behalf, everyone in the sect knew he wouldn't personally go commissioning clothing and such for just anyone.

Ah, but that particular ship had already sailed, evidenced by the braids and guan in his hair.

(And the little custard cakes that appeared like magic in his desk drawer on occasion, but no one knew about those besides the two of them.)

And… honestly… a part of him enjoyed the fact that his young master saw him as someone he wanted to spoil. Someone his young master would make the effort for.

He smiled as he reached for the next bear on a stick Nie Huaisang held out to him.

"Very well. I accept your offer."

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ flu season in E minor ]

pairing: fyodor dostoevsky x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: uni!au, sigma and nikolai as your bff’s, gn!reader, music student!fyodor, fyodor being a bit of a brat while he’s sick, slight pining/crushing, idk just fluffy shit

summary: you and fyodor are both in the university theater club but you rarely ever see him except for when you’re picking up the musical compositions he makes for the play. this time, however, you come over to his apartment to find him sick with the flu

a/n: uhhh this is kind of a trainwreck cause i was literally just ‘omg uni!au fyodor sickfic’ and then went with it :P

“don’t forget to drink your vitamin c guys! flu season is already here and if you’re down with the flu please don’t come in and spread your germs everywhere,” sigma instructed at the ending of the cast meeting. even though he sounded snappy while saying it, you could tell he meant well. two of your actors in the theatre club had already come down with the flu and with showtime coming up soon, everyone was understandably extra careful.

“y/n, one last thing,” sigma called you over as everyone prepared to leave.

“in case you were going to ask, yes, i took my vitamins already,” you teased skipping over to where he was.

“not funny,” sigma rolled his eyes. “i was wondering if you could follow up with fyodor on the music for the next scene? he doesn’t respond at all to any non-physical communication, i already left him ten messages.” 

“ooh, another visit to the phantom of the opera’s apartment,” nikolai popped up right at your shoulder.

“seriously? you guys call him that?” sigma raised a disappointed eyebrow at you two.

“well he’s mysterious and makes music in a theatre.” 

“i feel like you should actually watch phantom of the opera before making that claim,” you told him. “also sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly to hide your obvious excitement. “i have time to drop by.” 

even though he’s a part of the theatre club, fyodor dostoevsky was pretty much an enigma to the rest of the members. his contributions to the club activities were mainly in the form of the musical compositions he created for the plays. however, because he was always busy practicing for upcoming recitals apart from his music classes, fyodor rarely ever attended rehearsals. 

but on the off-chance that he did drop by in a rehearsal to discuss with sigma or attend a cast meeting, you’d spend the entire time just... admiring him. everything from the calm and articulate way he spoke to messy way his hair framed his face. and on that day when fyodor decided to demonstrate the music by playing it himself on his cello, you realized you were head over heels for this man.

and so you, practically jumped at every chance you got to pick up sheet music or recordings from fyodor’s apartment. you already set the expectation that you wouldn’t be around for long. and you were right about that... usually.

...

“fyodor? hello?” you knocked on the door for what was probably the fifth time already. it was freezing cold outside and you were desperate to get in. pressing your ear against the door, you heard a weak voice say ‘come in. door’s open’ and then tentatively, you unlocked the door.

whenever you saw fyodor, he was always wearing a clean, button-up shirt and slacks since he was also at orchestra practice. so of course, it was a complete shock to you to come into his apartment to find fyodor dressed in bright red pajamas with a mickey mouse logo on the center of his shirt with a colorful patchwork quilt thrown across his shoulders. not to mention, he was seated in his couch with sheet music and tissues strewn around him. 

upon closer look, you could tell from his sunken eyes and slightly red nose that flu season had struck fyodor. 

“oh, y/n, it’s you,” he sniffled as you hesitated near the door. “come in. it’s cold out.” 

“are you alright?” you asked, approaching fyodor. because you had gotten the flu a bit earlier that month, you weren’t too concerned about catching it again. “you look, well, sick.” 

“just a cold,” fyodor waved his hand. “anyway, did sigma send you for something?” 

“he’s asking for a follow-up with the music for the new scene,” you remembered. 

“oh, that...”  fyodor nodded, frowning as he searched the sheet music scattered around him. “i’m sure it’s around here somewhere and... i forgot to do it.” fyodor sighed at the realization. “don’t worry. i’ll just whip something up real quick,” he sniffed before picking up a blank piece of sheet music.

“well you don’t have to right now. fyodor, you’re sick. you should get some rest before working,” you sat down on the couch as fyodor bent over the coffee table with a pencil ready. “i mean, no offense but i doubt you can come up with anything in your current state.”

“nonsense, y/n,” fyodor scoffed and began to scribble something on the page. “i am a trained classical musician. composing is merely second-nature to someone like myself. why, i’m sure i have a melody coming along right--” 

“fyodor.” 

“yes?”

“you just wrote the letter g on the corner of the page and then started drawing random squiggles.” 

fyodor looked down at his squiggled-over sheet music with a completely deadpan expression and stared at it for a good ten seconds. “i thought it was a g-clef,” he whispered to himself.

“do you... want me to help you to your room?” you asked softly. fyodor sniffed.

“yes please.”

...

when you headed out to his apartment earlier that morning, you didn’t expect to be taking care of a sick fyodor for the rest of the afternoon. for someone who always looked put-together and composed, fyodor was terrible at taking care of himself. even after coming down with the flu a few days ago, he still insisted on practicing the cello in his apartment. and, judging by the empty cans in the sink, you could tell that all he was eating was instant soup.

and, sick fyodor was kind of... whiny. it took a lot of convincing on your part for him to agree not to work on the compositions in bed, or practice his bowing. he complained about his pillows ‘not being plump enough’ and that his socks didn’t match (because he didn’t do the laundry). 

“i don’t think i’ll even be able to sleep at this rate, y/n. my head is spinning but i’m not nearly tired enough to sleep. maybe i’ll drift off for just a bit but it won’t be that restful,” fyodor said, laying down on his not-plump pillows before he was out like a light five minutes after.

“drift off for just a bit, huh?” you chuckle slightly to yourself as you watch him. fyodor was curled up on his side, hugging one of the pillows with his blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

you were definitely in a strange situation being in your crush’s house while he was sick in bed. there wasn’t really a need for you to stay; you could just leave some medicine on the nightstand and a note with instructions.

“mmm... key needs to be in e minor,” fyodor mumbled in his sleep before turning over on his side. you bit back a laugh for fear of waking him up. 

‘what the heck? i’ll stay and make him some actual soup,’  you ultimately decided.

...

fyodor woke up to the smell of something delicious cooking, and that was something he rarely woke up to. aside from the fact that he could actually smell out of his currently unclogged nose, fyodor felt much better than he had been in a while. 

‘y/n must still be here,’ was his next thought after waking up. and he must admit, that was very reassuring to know. fyodor didn’t have the best constitution and whenever flu season rolled around, he expected being sick for a length of time. 

after wrapping the blanket around himself, fyodor curiously crept into the kitchen to find you standing over at the stove, stirring something in a pot while humming to yourself. there was a bag of groceries on the counter too. ‘did they... buy me food?’ 

he coughed slightly to get your attention.

“oh, fyodor. you’re up,” you turned around, smiling at him. “how are you feeling?”

“a bit... better,” he confessed, fully aware that he said all those things about not being asleep before embarrassingly falling asleep for two hours. 

“great! soup’s going to be ready in a few minutes. if you freeze it you’ll have enough for a few days,” you added. “also bought some oranges. they should be good for you.” 

“you... don’t really have to do this you know?” fyodor ended up blurting out, except it sounded a bit harsh. “i mean, i’m sure you went through all the trouble.” 

“don’t worry about it,” you waved him off. “you’ve been working really hard so i get that you don’t think of yourself much. let me do this one thing for you as a friend,” you smiled.

“also, i’m genuinely concerned at the amount of canned soup you’ve been consuming.” 

“canned soup isn’t that bad for you,” fyodor insisted. 

“yeah, and i’m sure you enjoy that metallic aftertaste quite a lot,” you quipped. fyodor opened his mouth to retort something before closing it abruptly. the knowing smirk on your face only made him glance away. instead, he busied himself with retrieving the clean bowls, luckily there were two left, from the dishrack and setting them on the table. you were humming again while you turned off the stove before serving the soup.

“chicken noodle soup, huh?” fyodor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“a classic,” you shrugged with a smile. “it’s a secret family recipe too so it’s bound to get you to feel better.” 

“you’re making it up, aren’t you?” 

“yeah, i got it off the internet,” you giggled. fyodor chuckled and took a sip of the soup. it was deliciously hot and flavorful and best of all, the soup didn’t have a metallic aftertaste.

“after eating, you can take some of medicine that i bought in case you have a headache or body pain, as long as you didn’t take any four hours before.”

“what?” fyodor blinked at you.

“you know, don’t take the medicine within four hours of each other,” you explained slowly. “also it’s better that you drink some now that you’ve eaten.” 

fyodor not-so vaguely recalled all those times he drank medicine on an empty stomach and feeling even more sick after. “i... was not aware of that,” he admitted. you sighed with your eyes closed.

“i’m amazed you’re still alive.” 

...

“so, flu season struck the phantom of the opera, huh?” nikolai sighed after you told him about your weekend.

“yeah,” you nodded, remembering the sight of fyodor on the couch dressed in his pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him. that was going to be burned in your mind for a long time. “he’s... kind of terrible at taking care of himself.” 

“that’s fyodor for you,” sigma added. the three of you had arrived at the backstage area of the theatre early and were busying yourselves with sorting through the various props that you had. “you know, one time he even went to a recital with a 39-degree fever. practically collapsed when he was off-stage.”

“i’ll one-up that story,” nikolai practically sprang off the box he was sitting on. “okay, so there was this one time i came over to fyodor’s’apartment while he was sick and he was so delirious he--”

“you guys do know that it’s rude to talk about people when they’re not there.”

the three of you practically spun around at the same time to find fyodor leaning against the doorframe of the backstage entrance with his arms crossed. he was looking way better than last time you saw him.

“fyodor,” sigma blinked, clearly stunned. “you’re... you’re here.”

“you’re alive!” nikolai cried dramatically, skipping over to fyodor and flinging his arms around fyodor who showed obvious discomfort. 

“of course i am,” he scoffed. “thanks in part to y/n.”

hearing that made your face flush a bit. “i-it was nothing,” you stammered, dodging nikolai’s curious stare. 

“anyway, i finished the compositions for the next scene,” fyodor strode forward, handing sigma a folder of sheet music and a flash drive. “let me know if it’s to your liking.”

“thank you. i’ve been having director’s block with that one. this should help,” sigma sighed gratefully. “i’ll give it a listen if you don’t mind.” and before you could say anything else, he scurried out to the stage area.

“and i’m going to leave for some arbitrary reason just so you two would have some alone time,” nikolai snickered at the indignant expression on your face before leaving you and fyodor alone backstage.

“oh, nikolai. always... funny,” you laughed nervously. 

“indeed,” fyodor nodded. “i only have the vaguest idea of what’s been going on during rehearsals. i should probably come around more often.”

“oh, we understand that you’re busy and all. but you’ve already been helping a lot with composing the music so don’t sweat it if you feel like you haven’t been active,” you said.

“well, that’s not the only reason i want to come around more often,” fyodor’s eyes flickered up to meet yours and you felt your face heat up again. god, it was so much easier to talk to to him and joke around when he was sick with the flu.

“in any case, i’m glad you feel better now,” you cleared your throat. “i hope the soup helped.”

“it did. i was sad to see it run out,” fyodor chuckled. and before you could even consider what it was you were going to say, you went and blurted out: 

“i could make it for you again.”

“oh?” fyodor’s eyebrows flew up and a smirk played on his lips.

“i-if you want to of course,” you stammered. 

“i’d like that,” fyodor smiled, much to your surprise. “if you could update me on rehearsals and the play we’re doing, that would be great. how does friday sound?”

“friday sounds great.”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @waitforitillwritemywayout @atsumusdomain​​ @laure-chan @goodfoodxoxoxo ​ @guardianangelswings @ah-kaashi @amberalisa​ @whootwhoot​ @liz-multifandom-hotel​​ @kac-chowsballs​​ @violentfarewll @fyoyacanruinmylifethanks

[ao3theskyisblue]

Take it easy

Summary:

“Are you looking to get infected?” Nancy raises an eyebrow, smiling when TK snorts. “Because I’m pretty sure I can make that happen.”

“I see you’re just going to be a pain in my neck both on shift and off shift, huh?” TK teases, the words said without an ounce of heat, and Nancy shrugs, grinning smugly.

“My lungs are dying, TK. I think I have complaining privileges.”

Written for Day 4 of  @911lonestarangstweek : Sickfic + “You need to rest.” 

Read on AO3

“Tell me I did not just hear from that lovely nurse Melody say what I think she just said.”

Nancy forces back a loud groan, knowing that she would just be coughing up her lungs again. Looking up from her Instagram feed, she spies TK leaning against the entry of her hospital room, looking less than impressed. She parts her lips to reply, but TK holds up a hand.

“That was a rhetorical question. I forbid you to say even a single word.” The words sound like a warning, but Nancy has worked and gotten to know her partner long enough to see how worried he was underneath the whole tough façade. His arms were crossed, trying to mask how he was itching to wring his hands together, and she could see the residual trembling as he fought back the urge to tap his feet against the linoleum flooring.

“I could have my lungs taken out and still have enough air to fight you, Strand.” Nancy croaks, wincing when she hears how bad she sounds through all the mucus and dry throat, but TK doesn’t bat an eye. She follows him with her eyes as he tentatively closes the distance between them to sit by the chair at her bedside, obviously ignoring the warnings the hospital personnel gave about personal space.

“Are you looking to get infected?” Nancy raises an eyebrow, smiling when TK snorts. “Because I’m pretty sure I can make that happen.”

“I see you’re just going to be a pain in my neck both on shift and off shift, huh?” TK teases, the words said without an ounce of heat, and Nancy shrugs, grinning smugly.

“My lungs are dying, TK. I think I have complaining privileges.” She coughs to the side that TK is not currently occupying, the brutal hacking sound making her entire chest feel on fire as she gratefully accepts the spit tray offered to her along with the glass of water.

“Which is exactly why you are not coming back to work. Did you seriously think the doctors would discharge you like this?” TK lifts an eyebrow skeptically, running a gentle hand down her back as she tries to breathe in without coughing all the air back out again. When she feels no more incoming coughs, she straightens to look at him.

“I can flash my badge and get a discharge back home. Then I’ll just slap on a mask and go back to work. I didn’t break my legs, TK, I have pneumonia. I’m perfectly fine.” Nancy gripes, narrowing her eyes at TK’s scoff.

“You need to rest. Need I remind you why you’re in the hospital in the first place?” TK sighs, lifting his hands up before dropping them down on his lap. “You already had a cold before that call, and then you decided to leap off the side of a bridge like Prince Charming in that third Cinderella movie. Into the lake. Which was freezing, by the way.” TK shuddered, as if taken back to that scene, and Nancy held back a laugh because that would not help her coughing get any better.

“Oh, silly me. I should have dipped my toes in the water one-hundred feet up in the air to test the temperature before trying to save that little girl’s life. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind and grow longer legs in my next lifetime to do just that.” Nancy says drily, and she just smiles innocently as TK glares daggers at her.

“And you say I’m the impulsive one.”

“You literally jumped in right after me, so that argument’s invalid.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t catch pneumonia after, did I?”

They stare at each other blankly, before their lips twitch upwards at the same time as laughter fills up the room. Nancy tries to hold her own giggles back, but it was difficult when she had a partner that gave as good as he got, which made her want to strangle him half the time, and the rest of the time hug him and never let go.  

“I still remember the double death glares from the captains,” Nancy manages to get out between their laughter with coughs mixed in between, and TK lifts a hand to cover his face, a wide grin peeking out from between his fingers.

“Little Amelia must have been so confused. I mean, there we were, soaked to the bone holding her in between us while our entire station just glares at us and planning the best way to murder us both.” TK snorts, and Nancy feels a new bout of laughter threatening to come out when she remembers the six pairs of eyes that just stared at them incredulously.

“You’re lucky Carlos wasn’t there. I’m surprised he hasn’t already been lugging around a portable doghouse for you to climb into next time this kind of thing happens.” Nancy snickers, laughing at the face TK makes at that.

“Oh, he chewed me out thoroughly when I got home. In between tucking in blankets and not letting me leave the couch in my homemade burrito, I couldn’t so much as go to the washroom without him glaring at me for even trying to get up.” TK rolls his eyes fondly, and Nancy feels her smile soften at the affection shining through every single one of his words.

“Love looks good on you, Strand.” Nancy nudges him lightly with an elbow, and receives a gentle squeeze on her arm. She knows she’s not going to like the next words that come out of TK’s mouth when his eyes suddenly sparkle mischievously.

“Speaking of love,” Nancy shoots him a glare at that, because she knows exactly where this conversation was going and that was not to describe what it was. “How’s that thing that we were discussing a few days ago going?” TK wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, and Nancy sighs in exasperation.

“It’s not going. Anywhere. We’re friends,” Nancy shrugs, looking down at the hospital linens, slowly picking at them with her hands. It was the truth, they were friends. So what if her insides feels a little weird when they were in a room together, it didn’t mean anything. “And she hasn’t spoken a single word to me since this happened.”

She let out a few quiet coughs, remembering how Marjan had hovered over them – over her at the scene, but then after she got admitted into the hospital, nothing. Not a peep. Not even a text or the occasional meme they send to each other over Instagram.

Maybe she had just been deluding herself the whole time.

Maybe her heart was slowly splitting into tiny pieces.

Asking for the moon was sometimes easier than wishing someone would stay.

TK falls silent next to her, and just when she tries to put on her best smile and change the subject, she feels a hand squeeze hers.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. You and I both know Marjan wouldn’t give someone the radio silence treatment without a reason. And, she has the night off today.” TK trails off, the suggestion lingering in the air and Nancy sighs.

She just wants to forget.

“You’re right, I’m just a little-” Nancy cuts herself off, pursing her lips at the frenzied thoughts circling her mind.

“-Sick and just want to see the person who makes your heart feel all funny for a while?” TK proposes, and Nancy turns to shoot him a playful glare, ignoring the heat slowly seeping into her cheeks.

“Okay smartass, turn down the notch on cocky bastard a little, will you?” Nancy grins as TK laughs, and she feels a brief moment of satisfaction when he doesn’t move away from her swat to his shoulder. “Now, I know for a fact that you brought food with you. Give me my offering.”

With a small tsk and a quiet mutter of “of course, since you asked so nicely,” TK hands her a cloth bag. She slowly takes out a metal container along with a spoon wrapped neatly in paper towels, lifting the lid curiously. Her eyes widen in surprise at what’s inside, smiling at how pretty it looks.

“Tofu?”

“Tofu pudding,” TK adds, smiling. “Carlos has been into Chinese cuisine lately and found this off the internet. You usually eat it cold, but we thought warming it up a little might be better for you. You get your daily dose of protein while actually enjoying the food, it’s a win-win.”

Nancy picks up the spoon and dips it into the soft pudding, admiring how smoothly the spoon slides through. She lifts it up to her mouth, and although a little bland (though she couldn’t really eat any heavily seasoned food for a while anyway), it was delicious.

“If you don’t marry your boyfriend, I’ll do it for you.” Nancy takes another bite of the soothing goodness, smiling around her mouthful when TK blushes.

“High praise, I’ll keep that in mind.” TK chuckles, and Nancy grins before taking another bite, loving how easy it was to swallow.

Then, another thought crosses her mind.

“Wait, how did you get in here, anyway? I thought they were barring visitors.” Nancy narrows her eyes at TK suspiciously, wondering how the nurses hadn’t come in to kick him out yet. TK just smirks, leaning back against the chair and crossing a leg over the other.

“You clearly don’t know me very well if you think that’s going to stop me.”

Nancy hums, though she really couldn’t complain. He brought her food, after all.

“Fair point.”

.

Nights were the worst.

She has been a paramedic for close to seven years, and still, she could never stop being offended by her own body betraying her at the most crucial time of the day when she needed to rest without wanting to tear her lungs out and dunk them in an ice bath.  

Sighing to give into her fate of a sleepless night yet again, she opens her eyes slowly, blinking against the dim lighting of her secluded room. Picking up her phone, she lets her eyes adjust to the change in brightness before a small smile slowly makes its way on her lips at the cute Buttercup video Mateo sent her a little earlier.

“Can’t sleep?”

Nancy jumps, a muffled shout coming out followed with a series of long coughs, making her wince.

Ugh, even the coughs at night were worse.

“Whoa, hey, easy. Sorry.” A warm hand rubbed her back in soothing circles, much like what TK had done earlier, but these hands left a lingering heat that didn’t disappear when they retracted hesitatingly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Marjan repeats quietly, her brown eyes stretched wide as she looks at her worriedly, and Nancy tries to smile, waving her off.

“It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” Nancy lets out another cough before clearing her throat, gratefully accepting the water Marjan offers her. She takes a few sips, cringing at how her throat burns with each swallow.

The burn provides a welcome distraction from how Marjan was currently standing beside her hospital bed, wearing a simple green long-sleeved turtleneck and matching hijab, with a soft smile that brightened every single room she walked into.  

She suddenly felt self-conscious about her own appearance, no doubt sporting dark eye-bags from the lack of sleep and looking paler than a ghost from not eating much other than the food TK or Captain Vega brought in for her. Paul had also swung by a few times, along with the other members of the 126 but she didn’t have the heart to tell them and their openly kind expressions that she couldn’t really stomach a lot right now. That, and how ingesting anything, including water, felt like swallowing porcupine quills.

Still, the urge to hide behind her hair was strong.

“How did you even get in here?” Nancy asks instead, frowning when she remembered that visiting hours were long over, and yet, here Marjan was.

She noticed Marjan shifting nervously, and it was definitely something new. She wasn’t sure she’s ever seen Marjan being awkward or nervous, and certainly not around her.

“TK pulled some strings. And I may have had a little…conversation with the nurses.” Marjan winced a little, and Nancy couldn’t help quirking her lips up in a small smile.

“Conversation, huh?” She hums absently, biting back a laugh at Marjan’s nervous glances back at the nurse’s station. “Is that what you called the ripping-into you gave the tattoo artists?” She couldn’t help tease, her smile widening at the spots of colour spreading across Marjan’s cheeks.

“Well it definitely seems like you’re feeling a little better.” Marjan sighs in fond exasperation, the awkwardness dissipating between them, and Nancy follows her figure as she sits down tentatively on the chair beside her.

“Do firefighters just have no concept of ‘I’m infectious?’ Aren’t you also a qualified medic?” Nancy asks playfully, her heart doing a little jump at Marjan’s wide grin.

“In sickness and in health,” Marjan shrugs, as if she hadn’t just quoted wedding vows at her, and Nancy just stares at her blankly. Marjan lifts her gaze, and she fidgets slightly when she feels those eyes staring straight through her.

“I’ve never seen you with your hair down,” Marjan comments quietly, and Nancy starts, lifting a hand self-consciously to run her fingers through it. “It’s usually always in a bun or a ponytail. You look…different.”

Okay, that fills her with mild panic.

“I can always tie it back up? My mother always hated how long I would let my hair grow, so I always have a hair tie ready-”

A hand grasps her wrist gently before she can tug the hair tie off her wrist, and she looks up to see Marjan looking at her warmly.

“It’s a good different.” Nancy lets out a small puff of air at that, slowly lowering her hands back onto the thin covering. She couldn’t help but notice Marjan still not letting go of her wrist. Something conflicting passed by her expression, and Nancy noticed that she kept on parting her lips to say something before holding back.

Leaning back slowly against the ridiculous number of pillows, turning her head to clear her vision of a few loose strands of hair, Nancy waited.

“I’m sorry.”

Okay, that was something she hadn’t been expecting.

She snaps her head up, turning to look at Marjan in surprise.

Why was she apologizing?

“…for what?” Nancy asks cautiously, frowning when Marjan shifts her hand to squeeze her arm. Her other hand is pinching on the edges of her clothes, and Nancy wonders if it’s a nervous tick.

There’s a sharp laugh, though it was lacking all humour that cuts through the quietness of the room, and Nancy wants to smooth out the creases between her eyebrows as she scowls sadly.

“I gave you the silent treatment. I ignored you when– I just, I’m sorry.” Nancy feels her shoulders relaxing, and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to hug the woman looking like the human version of a kicked puppy beside her.

“But you came,” Nancy says softly, waiting until Marjan looks up before continuing. “You still came, and that’s all that matters.” In a sudden burst of courage, she covers the hand that’s on her arm with her own, smiling at the look of surprise that greets her.

Marjan blinks at her, then down at their hands. With a small smile, she squeezes hers.

And Nancy lets her.

“You know,” Marjan starts, her eyes looking a little distant as if she was re-living a memory. “When you just leaped off the side of the bridge without a second thought, the first thing I felt wasn’t fear.”

Nancy feels her heart drop to her stomach at the look of sheer terror resonating in her eyes, but Marjan still doesn’t look up fully.

“Instead, it was a strong pull, screaming at me to jump in after you, a never-ending urge to make sure you were safe,” Marjan says lowly, squeezing their hands tighter. “So, when I couldn’t do that, when Paul had to physically shove me back, that was when the fear hit.”

Nancy suddenly couldn’t feel the burning pain in her throat. She couldn’t feel the constant ache in her chest, or the little prickles of pain every time she breathed.

No, she couldn’t feel anything other than the warmth of Marjan’s hand in hers, and how hard she was squeezing it.

“There was- there was a moment where I wondered if I would ever see either of you again,” Marjan’s breath hitches at the end, and Nancy feels her own heart break at the way her eyes shine brightly.

“I have so much I want to know about you,” Her heart stuttered at the three words, said without an ounce of hesitation. When Marjan looks up at her with shining eyes, she forces back the urge to wipe away the tears that hadn’t fallen.

“I’m here. And I’m safe. A little battered and bruised, but I’ll be just fine.” Nancy whispers, smiling reassuringly, and feels lighter when Marjan smiles back, albeit a little weakly.

Still, it was a genuine smile nonetheless, and there was nothing Nancy enjoyed more in the world than to witness Marjan’s brilliant smile every day.

“Besides, I’ve already been pushing the doctors to release me already.” Nancy shrugs, ignoring the glare immediately sent her way.

“You need to rest,” Marjan shoots back without a beat, and Nancy rolls her eyes.

“First Strand, now you? I’m fine.” Nancy scowls, though the little sniffle she lets out after doesn’t really help her case. Still, she glares up at the female firefighter in front of her, daring her to comment on it.

They’re locked into one of their usual staring contests, where their eyes speak more than any words they could say. Nancy was determined to not be the one who broke this time, but the piercing look of seriousness was starting to make her squirm.

Marjan finally blinked, making her feel a brief sense of victory before it quickly disappeared when she says, “You don’t need to push yourself so hard all the time.”

Nancy scowls.

Pushing herself, huh?

She thinks back to her years in college, to all the people who didn’t believe. To her parents, who had tried to be encouraging, but she could still see the tiny flickers of doubt. After all, a paramedic? Long hours, average pay, and no account for the danger?

She knows there were many other reasons that she tried her best to shove into the deepest recesses of her mind, but she had gotten where she was today by working hard, without once looking back.

Sitting back from a job she’s known and wanted her entire life didn’t feel right, even when she could barely take in a breath without coughing up her lungs or ingest anything other than water.

There’s another squeeze of her hand, and Nancy is shaken out of her thoughts as a pair of eyes watch her carefully.

“We all see you,” Marjan says softly, and Nancy swallows past the pain. “We all love you, Nancy, and we just want you to feel better before you hurt yourself even worse.”

In the dim lighting of the room they were in, surrounded by the smell of sickness and the low humming of the heater, Nancy suddenly feels lighter.

She squeezes the hand she hadn’t let go of, a quiet chuckle breaking free.

“You all love me, huh?” She couldn’t help tease, but instead of flushed cheeks and the anticipated stuttering, Marjan just looks at her with resolution in her eyes.

“Without a doubt.”

 Without a doubt.

[barbershop-fourtet]

So the weekly prompt on the discord was “Shake It Up” and this fic fits that in a few ways. I’ve had it sitting unfinished for a few months, so I finally decided to finish it as a LW, which was something that I didn’t have much experience in (it would have been my first, but a conversation in the creators’ lounge led to me getting super excited over another idea and LWing that one the day before I finished this one). Also, I mostly write angst, so I wanted to focus on one of my fluff pieces this week. I didn’t edit it as much as I would have liked, but I’m still pretty satisfied with the results.

Anyway, enjoy a Four sickfic with a side of dad!Time.

~~~

“Hey Four, are you feeling okay?”

Hyrule’s concerned statement caught Time’s attention. Turning toward the back of the group, he caught a glimpse of Four’s slightly startled expression. “I’m… fine, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been lagging behind a bit, are you tired? I’m sure we can rest if you need.”

Four waved him off. “I’ve just got a slight headache and I’m a bit dizzy, there’s not much you can do about that and it’ll probably be fine soon enough anyway.”

Hyrule didn’t look convinced, but relented, opting instead to walk alongside the smithy. “Alright, but if you need anything, I’m sure we’d all be willing to stop.”

“He’s right,” Time called back from the front of the group. “We’d rather you be feeling alright than have you burn yourself out.”

“I know, but it’s not worth stopping for. Really, I’m fine, we can keep going.”

Time didn’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice, but let it slide, and the group continued on. Every so often, he could hear Hyrule checking up on Four, but his exact response was lost over the din of the group. He trusted that the traveler could keep a close eye on Four and gauge whether he was able to continue or not.

Sure enough, after only a couple hours Hyrule called up to Time at the front of the group. “We need to stop for the night, Four needs to rest.”

“What, I’m fine, what are you talking about…”

“Four…” Sky whispered, gentle concern in his voice, “I know you want to keep going, but... you’re really not.”

Time only had to take one look at Four to see what they were referencing. He was incredibly pale, and even from this distance Time could tell he was shivering, despite how warm it was outside. Despite his insisting words, he was leaning almost entirely onto Hyrule, unable to stand on his own. 

Despite this, he persisted. “No, it’s fine, we’re not too far, I can make it.” But even as he said this, he pressed himself further into Hyrule, the other boy wrapping his arm around the shivering smithy.

The group had stopped walking at this point, all of them looking at him with concern. Time made his way toward Four, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t want to slow us down, but we’d rather stop and let you rest before trying to continue. Are you willing to stop for now?”

The teen was silent for a few moments, and Time thought he would continue to fight, but he eventually muttered a small “alright, if… if you insist.”

Time nodded, then turned to address the rest of the group. “We’ll stop here for now. Let’s make camp and settle in for the night. I know it’s early, but the sooner we let Four rest, the sooner he’ll be better.”

They all nodded, grabbing their gear from Epona and setting up for the evening. As Hyrule walked by, Time grabbed his sleeve. “Would you mind staying with Four and looking after him tonight? I’d feel best if he wasn’t left to do his own thing.”

He nodded. “I can’t stay up all night with him, but I’ll keep an eye on him until night falls.”

“That’s fine, whoever is on watch can check on him occasionally, but I want someone making sure he doesn’t try anything stupid until he falls asleep. He’s smart, but he’s also just as stubborn as the rest of us, and probably doesn’t like the fact that we had to stop for him. He needs to rest, otherwise he won’t be ready to keep moving.”

Hyrule nodded, then made his way over to Wild, who was digging through his bag beside Epona. A few whispered words were exchanged, then Wild pressed a piece of flint and some firewood into Hyrule’s arms. He took a few steps away toward a clear piece of earth, and within moments a small blaze was crackling gently.

Returning to Four, he gently grasped the smaller boy’s arm and led him over to the fire, sitting him down closeby. Despite his earlier words, Four didn’t protest, only curling in on himself and leaning closer to the warmth.

Sky walked past, shrugging off his sailcloth and wrapping it around the smithy, earning him a grateful look. Twilight did similarly with his pelt, then Warriors with his scarf and Wild with his cloak, until Four was buried under a pile of warmth.

The evening proceeded mostly as normal, the notable exception being Hyrule’s insistence that he help Four eat. Four probably would have rolled his eyes and turned down the help, except for that fact that he was both too weak to lift his bowl, and that his hands were still trapped under all the fabric.

As the sun started to set, his head began to bob as he started nodding off by the fire.

Hyrule was quick to notice this. “Come on, it’s late and you need rest. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Wait.” They both turned at Legend’s voice, watching him dig through his bag. “I’ve got just the thing in here that should help- aha!” Pulling out a small bottle, he tossed it to Hyrule. “This won’t get rid of whatever he’s dealing with, but it should help it pass quicker.”

Hyrule nodded, letting Four down the potion before helping him take off his tunic and settle into the pile of blankets the others had set up for him.

The others, taking this as the cue that the day was over, began settling into their own bedrolls, Hyrule placing himself by the fire to keep the first watch.

~~~

When Warriors had woken him up, he'd said that his watch was uneventful, and a few hours later, Time was finding his own to be similar. Good. It would be best to have an easy night, Four definitely needed rest.

And speaking of Four…

Time leaned over and shook Sky gently, waiting a few moments for him to wake up.

“My turn?”

“Yup.”

He nodded, reaching for his gear and beginning to slip it on. “Alright. How’s Four doing?”

“I was about to check on him. Keep an eye on things, would ya?”

“Of course.”

With that, Time stood, walking over to his blankets and stripping off his armor. Dropping it beside the rest of his gear, he carefully picked his way through the tangle of bodies until he could kneel down at the smithy’s side.

The boy was restless, tossing and turning every few seconds. His shivering had stopped hours prior, but where his skin was once pale, it was now flushed a deep red. His breathing was slightly strained, and when Time put his palm against his forehead, he almost flinched at how hot it burned.

Legend’s potion seemed to be working though. Already a thin sheen of sweat beaded his skin, indicating that his fever had broken. If it continued at this pace, he’d probably be well by morning.

Time was almost too caught up in his thoughts to see Four’s eyes flutter open, glazed over as he glanced at the older man. He started slightly as Four shifted under his hand, moaning slightly as he turned his neck to face Time.

“Hey kid, how are you feeling?”

He mumbled something incoherent, but before Time could ask for clarification, he began to sit up, whining softly as his body protested the movement.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, it’s been a rough day for you.”

“...”

“Pardon?”

“I have to get up.”

“No you don’t, you need to keep resting, besides it’s late.”

“I can’t, you always complain when I sleep in late and you have to start up the forge without me.”

...now Time was confused. Was Four delirious? Did he think he was talking to someone else?

As quick as he could, Time racked his brain. Four had mentioned the forge, which meant there was someone he worked with as a blacksmith. The only other blacksmith Four had ever mentioned had been-

Oh Hylia, Four had mistaken Time for his grandfather.

“Wait, Four, I’m not-”

Time paused. Four always spoke of his grandfather so affectionately, but also with a tinge of sadness. Despite his experience being away from home, it was clear that the long separation from his only family member was difficult for him.

He certainly wasn’t any less capable or mature than the others but… he was still a kid, far from home and missing his family. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to fib a little this one time. Besides, he wasn’t likely to remember it anyway.

Lowering himself fully to the ground, Time grasped Four’s hand in his own. “Don’t worry about it, Link. I can manage on my own, you go back to sleep so you get better.”

Four looked conflicted. “Are you sure? I may not be at my best, but I can still help out a bit. I’m probably gonna have trouble falling asleep again anyway.”

“It’s fine. Lay back down, and I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep again.”

“No, it’s fine! You can go get things started for t-”

“Link. It’s fine, I want to help you.”

Four hesitated, and Time thought he would keep fighting, but after a few moments, he relented. “O-okay then, I guess if you don’t mind.”

Time nodded, expecting him to lay back down as he had been before.

But Four apparently had other plans, and decided to turn and curl up right next to the older man, slinging one arm around his waist as he settled beside him.

Time stiffened, but Four’s tension quickly began to disappear as he relaxed into Time’s side. He was about to say something, or subtly move Four off of him, but then-

“Thanks grandpa.”

-and Time’s heart melted a little, and there was no chance that he could move away now. Wrapping an arm around Four, he gently lowered them both onto the ground, him laying flat and Four’s body resting on his own, blankets strewn around them. Four hummed softly, pressing his ear to Time’s chest, letting his echoing heartbeat soothe him, and Time couldn’t help but imagine that this was what it was like to have a child, to be a father. To have a child. He and Malon hadn’t had that opportunity yet, but since he’d met them, these boys were his sons.

He couldn’t deny it- that was what they were to him. As mature and capable as they all were, they would always have that place in his heart.

Time was silent, trying to comprehend the wave of emotion that was crashing over him, when Four hoarsely spoke up.

“...I don’t feel great.”

He chuckled softly, conscious of how Four bounced with the movement of his chest and not wanting to disturb him. “You had a pretty bad fever, you need to rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“...I can’t wait to get better so I can introduce you to my friends, they’re really nice people.”

Oh, this will be interesting. “I can’t wait to meet them, they sound wonderful.”

Four nodded, curling further into Time’s side. “They are. We’re always looking out for each other, and despite everything they’ve been through, they’re some of the sweetest, softest people you'll ever meet.” He paused. “Being with the other guys… it’s kinda like when I was four… being in a group is nice, ‘cause I don’t have to be alone.”

Time wasn’t sure what had happened when the boy was four years old, but it was probably good, given how fondly he was speaking of it.

“They’re really crazy and wild, and some of ‘em are pretty hotheaded, but they all care about each other… and me.” Time couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smile in Four’s voice. “Especially Time, he’s really great. He acts all stoic and serious but…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t remember dad much, but… I imagine that he was something like Time, always so loving and caring, always looking out for us. We’re not blood related, but he’s… he’s like our dad, you know?” His head drooped as he began to nod off again, not noticing the emotion he was causing in Time. “He’s a really good dad, too…”

Time was not crying. He was not.

“Anyway, I can’t wait for you to see them. I think you’ll love them too.” He yawned, the last of the tension leaving his body. “...g’night grandpa. I love you.”

...okay maybe he was crying. “...goodnight Link. I love you too.”

~~~

Time woke to the feeling of Four stirring beside him. Lifting his head, he cracked his eye open to see the smithy blinking at him, eyes still bleary with sleep. “T-Time?” he croaked out. He coughed a bit, voice hoarse from sickness and disuse. “What- where…?”

“You were sick, remember? We stopped to let you rest.” Leaning over, he rested his hand on Four’s temple, noting with pleasure how much it had cooled overnight, with only a bit of sweat still covering his skin.

He blinked, squinting as he tried to recall the previous night. “...oh.” He glanced at Time, a tense look on his face as he reached for his gear. “Uh, I didn’t say or do anything weird, did I? I have a tendency to get pretty delirious when I have a fever.”

“...you were a bit… affectionate, but that’s it about it.”

“Oh.” He relaxed a little, fingering the stitching of his tunic before pulling it over his head. “That’s good, because I tend to ramble about weird things when I’m sick, so I didn’t want to confuse any of you or something.”

Time nodded, glancing to where Wild was dishing up food from a cooking pot over the fire. “It looks like breakfast is ready, do you want me to grab you some?”

“No, I can get it, I’m-” Four stood, only to wobble and fall back onto his knees. “...okay maybe that would help.”

Time chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Four’s hair. “Stay here and get yourself a bit more awake, I’ll bring you something.”

He stood, but was distracted by a small noise from Four. He turned, noting the contemplative look on the smith’s face, and kneeled down beside him.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?” He glanced up, realizing that Time was still watching. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine, just thinking about something.” He paused, hands clenched in his blanket. “Last night, I- did you… I had this dream that…” His gaze dropped to his lap, watching his fingers twist his blanket into knots. “...nevermind, it’s probably nothing.” He smiled gently as he glanced back up. “Thanks for all your help.”

Time nodded, rising off the ground to check what Wild was cooking.

As he was walking away, he heard Four mumble something behind him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, noting the way Four’s cheeks were red and he was refusing to meet Time’s eye. “Pardon?”

His blush deepened before he met Time’s gaze with a soft look in his eyes. His response was a soft whisper, but Time heard it clear as day.

“Thanks, dad.”

~Bonus~

They emerged from the portal, looking around to see if any of them recognized the area.

All of them except Four, who immediately let out a surprised cheer.

“This is the Minish Woods! We’re not too far from my house, we can head there to rest up.”

Time nodded. “Lead on then, the sooner we’re there, the sooner we can plan our next move.”

Four grinned, grabbing the closest hand- Wild’s- and dragging it down the path between the trees.

“We landed right by the entrance of the woods, and it’s only a short walk from there, hurry up!”

They hurried after him, amused by his excitement, until they reached the door of a lone house.

Four didn’t hesitate, opting to throw it open and yell “Grandpa, I’m home!”

...no response came.

Four frowned, eyes searching the room, before walking into a side room, calling out for his grandfather again.

He returned to the main room, a concerned look on his face. “I don’t understand, he’s normally here, working in the forge, I don’t know why-”

“Of course it’s when I decide to leave for just a few minutes that my grandson comes home.”

Four’s face split into the biggest grin imaginable as he raced forward and tackled the man in the doorway.

“Good to see you again kid, but where have you been, young man?”

Four giggled, pulling back slightly and wiping a few tears off his cheeks. “The same old hero-ing, you know how it is.”

“Of course I do, it took you away from home for long enough when you were young. Well-” he glanced at the others, who were watching the reunion from a respectful distance. “Younger, at least. Younger than these boys, by any means. I’m assuming these are the ones you’ve been writing me so many letters about?”

Four nodded eagerly, stepping back and gesturing for the others to come closer. “Yeah! These are my friends that I’ve wanted you to meet.”

The introductions went smoothly, with a few rolled eyes (Legend when Four called him a hoarder) and shy looks (Wild when Four referred to him as a pyro).

And then Four got around to introducing Time.

“This is…” Four blushed, his gaze dropping to his shuffling feet. “This is… well, he’s the responsible one of the group, kinda like… the dad. He’s the one doing his best to keep us from doing something stupid.”

Smith- as he’d asked them to call him- laughed, extending a hand toward Time. “Well, it’s nice to see that there’s someone keeping an eye out for my boy.”

Time smiled, clasping his outstretched arm and shaking firmly. “He does that well enough on his own, actually. If anything, he helps me keep the other wild ones in line.”

“Well, you’ve only seen what’s happened when he’s alone. If there were four just like him, well, that’d be-”

“Aaaaaand that’s enough of that story! I’m sure we can have time for stuff like that later,” Four cut in, cheeks red. “They, uh, don’t need to know that kind of stuff, grandpa.”

“Oh, you’ve been pretty mature around them, haven’t you? They haven’t seen your… colorful side, have they?”

Four pouted. “No, they haven’t seen it yet, and I don’t feel like changing that right now.”

Smith chuckled, wrapping his arm around Four’s shoulder. “Well, that’s too bad. All the same, I missed you, kid.”

Four sighed, leaning into his grandfather’s embrace, a content smile on his face. “I missed you too, grandpa.”

[sneezyminniejo]

Faking Sick, but in Reverse?

I wanted to try a concept I haven’t seen before in the sickfic community. So here it is. Thanks to @yooniestummy for helping formulate the concept and giving me some ideas

TW emeto, 

induced vomitig by way of food

Over the past two weeks every member of BTS had taken at least one day off except for Jungkook. They each had tried individually to get him to take a break, but he had refused, insisting that he had too much to improve upon before their next comeback.

“We need to somehow get Jungkook to take a break before he seriously hurts himself.” Namjoon said, sounding frustrated. Everyone hummed in agreement, then Seokjin suddenly yelled saying he had an idea. “Remember that time that Yoongi faked being sick to get off work that one time?” Everybody nodded, but Yoongi looked a little concerned at the direction his hyung was going.

“What if we convince Jungkook that he’s sick, so he’ll slow down. If he thinks he’s sick, he might actually stay here for a day or two and rest.” The younger five members stared at Seokjin somewhat dumbfounded. Yoongi seemed to understand first. “You’re suggesting that we make some comments, implying that he seems rundown, and maybe make him physically sick as well?” Seokjin nodded. Hoseok chimed in next. “Let’s start with the comments, if he still doesn’t give in to a break, we can try to make him physically sick. But only as a last resort.” The six members all agreed and started making a plan.

Two hours later Jungkook came home, showered, and then sat down on the couch to watch tv with the others. After an hour of watching tv, Hoseok got up to start dinner. As he walked past Jungkook, he gave a concerned look, signaling the others to start their plan.

“Hey Kook-ah” said Jimin, “Are you feeling okay? You look really tired and kind of pale.” Jungkook scoffed “Of course I look tired hyung. I spent the entire afternoon working on the choreography for the next album, and I probably look pale because I took my makeup off.” Taehyung was next to try. Since he was sitting next to Jungkook the entire time, he had been able to discreetly feel jungkook without making it obvious he was looking for a temperature. “You also feel warm Kookie.” Said Taehyung, sounding concerned. “Of course I feel warm, I run hot. I always have. If I take my temperature right now, it’ll probably read around 99.2.” 

Jungkook was getting annoyed at this point and took his temperature to show his hyungs. Sure enough it was 99.3. Jungkook also called up his parents really quick to confirm that he ran hot, and that it had actually caused him to stay home sick quite a few times until they figured out his normal temp was 99.0-100.1 and a fever was anything higher. The other five members in the room relented, and Yoongi excused himself to help Hoseok with dinner.

In the kitchen Yoongi told Hoseok that they were moving on to plan B, giving Jungkook physical symptoms. The two members made bulgogi, but this time they made it a little differently. They added some lemon to it, because they knew that citrus has a tendency of giving Jungkook stomach aches, even though he has yet to figure it out himself..

Nothing terribly interesting happened during dinner, but sure enough about forty five minutes after everyone finished eating Jungkook started complaining of a stomach ache and decided to turn in early. Truthfully, he was absolutely exhausted, but he needed to be perfect for ARMY, so he couldn’t take a break. He appreciated his hyungs’ concern though.

After Jungkook had gone to sleep, the other six began talking about how to get Jungkook to stay home the following day. Since the bathroom is right next to his room, Taehyung offered to take a bath with a new lavender bath bomb he bought. He was initially going to wait to use it because he knew lavender bothered Jungkook’s rhinitis, but since he was sleeping, Jungkook would get the desired congested effect. He would also be none the wiser, as by morning the scent would be mostly gone from the dorm. If there was any left by morning, it wouldn’t really be noticeable unless you had a very sensitive nose. Namjoon and Jimin also made a plan for breakfast.

The following morning Jungkook woke up not really able to breathe out of his nose. He also had a bit of a headache, of which he contributed to the congestion. He went to the bathroom to get ready for the day, when he suddenly felt a very itchy prickling sensation begin to take hold in his sinuses. He tried his best to quell the itch, but it was no use. “Huh-itiew, heh-ISTiew” The second sneeze ended up being louder than the first. Hoseok and Taehyung were walking by the bathroom at that exact moment. “Bless you Kook-ah. If you’re not careful, you’re going to give Taehyung a run for his money on the loudest sneeze in the dorm.” Taehyung laughed at that comment then continued on to the kitchen.

For breakfast Namjoon and Jimin had prepared some of the leftover bulgogi along with bacon. Just like how Jungkook has yet to figure out citrus gives him a stomach ache, he hasn’t figured out eating bacon made him puke. To be honest the other members weren’t sure either, as Jungkook has had no problem with other pork products. Meanwhile Yoongi lit some candles in his room before blowing them out quickly that had the slightest ever undertones of lavender. He lit them just long enough that they would hopefully irritate Jungkook’s sinuses, but not long enough that someone would be able to tell if a candle was lit.

Jungkook was getting absolutely fed up with his nose by the time breakfast had started. It wouldn’t stop running and he had already blown it five times in hopes of getting it under control, but it didn’t work. “Hih-itschh, heh-isiew.” Jungkook groaned as he grabbed another tissue. “You alright there Kook-ah? You've been sneezing and blowing your nose a lot this morning.” Stated Seokjin as he began setting the table for breakfast. “I’m fine hyung. My rhinitis is just really bad today for some reason.”

As irritated as Jungkook was with his nose, his mood was immediately lifted when he saw that they were having bacon for breakfast. He took three pieces of bacon and a good portion of the leftover bulgogi, and quickly devoured his meal.

It was about thirty minutes after breakfast when Jungkook’s stomach started forming knots. He quickly ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time for his barely digested breakfast to make an appearance. Taehyung came to comfort his only dongsaeng as he threw up, quietly telling him it would be okay while rubbing his back.

Once Jungkook had finished, Taehyung helped the younger to the couch and told Namjoon what had happened while getting supplies for the sick maknae. Namjoon quickly called the manager to tell him that Jungkook was sick. The call wound up being longer than normal and Namjoon looked very shocked after he hung up. “The manager says that that new policy states Jungkook has to be symptom free for seventy two hours before returning to work and because everything we need to do yet needs to be done as a group, the rest of us also have off until Jungkook is better.” No one knew what to say to that so they just all gathered in the living room and turned on the tv.

Since Jungkook had clearly caught some kind of bug, and was now stuck at home for the next three days, he decided that he would allow his hyungs to baby him as much as they wanted. Truthfully he was glad for a break, he really needed it. He had a pretty bad stomach ache still, and when he said something, Yoongi was quick to give him a hot water bottle. It turned out, his body was more exhausted than he thought as he was passed out on the couch within forty five minutes of receiving the hot water bottle. He had woken up feeling significantly better. However his nose was still bugging him to no end.

“Hih-heh-hih-stiew, hi-ischh.” Jungkook sneezed again gratefully accepting the tissues offered by Yoongi. “Now that my stomach has had a chance to calm down after this morning, I feel a lot better. But my nose just won’t let up.

The rest of the day had gone very much like the morning. Jungkook sneezing periodically throughout the day. Hoseok had made stew for everyone for dinner, in part because Jungkook looked a little wary of eating anything in fear of vomiting it all up later.

The following morning, Jungkook had felt significantly better. Almost like he hadn’t been sick at all. His stomach wasn’t doing any flips or cramping, but that could just be because he hadn’t eaten yet. His sinuses also weren’t acting up to the same extent they had been the day before. Jungkook grabbed a box of tissues just in case and headed for the kitchen.

The six older members decided that the best time to tell Jungkook what they did would be the following morning at breakfast, because by then his body should be fully recovered from what they put him through. When Jungkook sat down at the table for breakfast, he instantly knew they were going to have some kind of meeting. If his hyungs didn’t look guilty, he thought he was going to be lectured about not taking proper care of himself.

Jungkook was about to start apologizing for getting sick, when his nose suddenly interrupted his train of thought. “het-stiEW. Sorry hyungs that one snuck up on me.” Jungkook plucked a tissue from the box and blew his nose. “Anyway, before you lecture me on-” Namjoon quickly cut him off.

“Kook-ah, you don’t need to apologize for anything. We are the ones who need to apologize to you.”  Jungkook was now thoroughly confused. Why would his hyungs need to apologize to him for getting sick? “I don’t understand hyung. It’s not your fault I got sick.” 

Yoongi was the one who spoke up next “We were getting overly concerned that you hadn’t taken a day off in months and that you were potentially going to work yourself to the point of passing out during practice. We wanted you to take a break before you reached that point, so we kind of gave you food we knew would make you sick. We also discreetly used scented items around the dorm to make your rhinitis a bit worse.”

Jungkook just stared at his hyungs, absolutely flabbergasted. “What do you mean you gave me food that would make me sick?” Seokjin responded. “We noticed a while ago that when you consume citrus you get a stomach ache, so we added lemon to the bulgogi.” Hoseok then added on, “You also tend to throw up when you eat bacon for some reason, so we gave you that too.” Jungkook was surprised to hear this, as he didn’t think he had any food sensitivities or allergies. He thought the reason they never had bacon or season food with lemons was because one or more of his hyungs didn’t like it, not because it made him sick.

“I should be pissed at you guys for doing that to me. But in all honesty, I kind of appreciate it.” It was the older members to be surprised this time around. “You guys are right I really needed a break. Even though yesterday was miserable, we have two days to just laze around here and relax. You said it yourself yesterday Joon-hyung, I’m not allowed to work for two more days, and you all were given the next two days off since all we have left are group schedules.” 

Jungkook paused and grabbed a tissue as he felt a tickle come to fruition and quickly sneezed into it. “Sorry, I guess my nose is still a bit unhappy with whatever you guys did  yesterday.” The older members quickly muttered apologies. “It’s okay hyungs. I already told you I’m not that mad at you for making me sick. I am however mad that you guys never told me that I am apparently sensitive to citrus and bacon. Let’s spend the next two days watching movies.”

They all happily agreed to the movie marathon, and let Jungkook pick all of them. Jungkook was still sneezier than he normally was, but he had no problem with eating now that he knew that he didn’t have a stomach bug. In between the third and fourth movies, Jungkook asked a question. “So if we ever want a couple days off and don’t want to flat out lie to management about being sick, I can just eat some bacon, and then we’ll automatically have  three days off?” The other six members laughed. “We could do that, sure, but we shouldn’t do it very often, otherwise they might send you to the hospital for tests.” Jungkook nodded in understanding, “So we do this again in like six or so months then?” Everyone laughed, then Jimin started up the next movie while Taehyung went to make more popcorn.

[blushingwithafever]

TMAHC week day 3: sickfic || misunderstanding || overwhelmed

I finished this at around 7 am so apologies if there’s any errors, I’ll fix them later on

Set sometime while Martin is still sleeping at the Institute

To be completely honest, Jon had no idea how he made it to work in one peice this morning.

Actually, it could be counted as afternoon now since it was around half past twelve when he stumbles into the Institute, but he still made it, and that’s all that counts.

He’d slept through the multiple alarms he had set, which was unusual for him since he’s normally not the deepest sleeper— the drop of a pen was enough to wake him with a start these days. A pulsing pain within his skull eventually drew him out of the comforting darkness of sleep as it throbbed in time with the annoying beep of his alarm. He wanted nothing more than to let sleep take him away again, away from the pain, but he knew he had to get up and head out.

Suck it up, you’re fine. It’s not even that bad. You’re just being dramatic, he grit his teeth as his exasperated grandmother’s voice rung out in his aching head. 

“Let’s get on with it then” Jon muttered while he scrubbed a hand down his slightly flushed face.

The day only seemed to get worse the more it dragged on.

He was already late, which of course Tim just had to make snide comments on, it was making the pounding headache turn into feeling like a jackhammer across his temples. It was bad enough that he was shambling down the hall like a drunkard, having to hold onto the wall for support every few steps, but he almost let out a frustrated groan when he heard Tim’s footsteps follow him.

He has neither have the time or the energy for this.

He wants to be left alone, is that so much to ask?

His office.

All he has to do was reach his office and he could find some peace, he was so desperate already that he flung open the door and slammed it after his entrance, nearly toppling over afterwards and wincing hard. He hadn’t actually meant for the door to slam shut as hard as it did, but the damage was done and he was regretting it. He had to lean back against the door as he rubbed at his temples with both hands, the loud slam made the pain 10x worse.

At least he was alone now. Alone in the quiet darkness, that seemed to help slightly after a couple of minutes.

The next three and a half hours are an agonizing blur of statement readings and recordings. A deep ache had made itself at home in his bones and his small frame is wracked with chills that switches to a sweltering heat in the blink of an eye. His free hand reaching up unconsciously to jam two fingers into his temple again for the umpteenth time, this time frowning when he notices the heat and sweat on his brow.

He isn’t sure if his throat feels sore from all the reading without anything to drink or if it’s just a little added bonus to his illness— but the coughs he produces after clearing his throat are answer enough.

Lucky him.

He’ll finish this statement, it’s getting a bit hard to focus anyway, and then lie down in the cot for a quick 10 minute power nap.

It’s worked in the past so why wouldn’t it now?

He remembers the old bottle of paracetamol in his desk before getting up, knowing that he should probably take something before heading over to the storage room, but his face falls upon finding it empty without so much as a rattle. Well... so much for that.

—————

Martin quietly shuffles around the Institute after hours; making sure everything’s locked up tight, washing up in the restroom, fixing himself dinner and a cuppa, and settling down by watching the telly in the break room before heading to bed on the cot that Jon lent him for the time being. It’s been his nightly routine since Jane Prentiss trapped him.

There’s no one else here to his knowledge, even Jon’s office is dark and empty, so he doesn’t expect company until at least 6 or 7 am.

Jon usually got here the earliest but today he threw a bit of curve ball at them by arriving at 12:30 pm while looking quite disheveled, almost like he’d just rolled out of bed. 

He really didn’t look good, and Martin wanted to press on the matter, but he’d promised to do the lunch run today so it would have to wait. By the time he returned, Tim made sure to let everyone know that ‘boss’ was in a mood. Martin went to check on him but decided against it when he felt the locked handle and heard Jon’s strained voice while he read aloud. He’d just check in before Jon goes home then.

He must have missed him.

But if Jon’s well enough to leave then he must be fine, maybe he was just exhausted after a few nights of restless sleep— Martin now knows the feeling.

He almost falls asleep in one of the wooden chairs as the show he was attempting to watch drags on. Turning off the boring show, he makes his way to the restroom one last time to change into sweats and a tee.

The silence of the Institute after hours is probably something he’ll never get used to. There’s just something eerie to it, like it’s too quiet, too calm.

A noise cuts through the silence, effectively spooking him, that’s coming from further down the corridor ahead of him. He’s not sure he wants to continue after that but he thinks it sounded like a moan of pain, there’s a beat of hesitation before his curiosity and concern win out as he continues to silently press on.

The door to the storage room is ajar so he makes his way over with caution until he can peer inside. What he sees isn’t what he was expecting. Jon’s on the cot, curled in on himself and shaking like a leaf while the blanket is hanging off the edge onto the floor. Martin’s quick to enter, concern overtaking caution as he hurries his way over.

“Jon?” Martin starts softly as to not cause more harm than good, “I thought you went home.”

He doesn’t like that Jon barely stirs at the intrusion, but instead he focuses on taking in more of the sight before him. Jon’s face looks too drawn and pale, a high flush on his cheeks, sweat making his shirt cling to his skin, and the ragged breathing that had a slight wheeze on the end— he looks a right mess. Before he even realizes it, he’s reaching a hand out to brush against Jon’s forehead.

He expects Jon to startle when he touches him, but the only response he gets is another moan that gets choked off as the poor man’s voice cracks painfully.

“Oh, Jon” Martin coos while brushing sweaty bangs out of the way, “that’s a pretty nasty fever you’ve got.”

Jon really doesn’t want to wake up and he wants to open his eyes even less with the spinning sensation he’d felt earlier when he woke. He registers a warm hand brushing his hair and chances cracking one eye open. It’s so gentle, working out the tangles and smoothing his sweat soaked curls, he almost falls back asleep before the person says something he can’t make out.

“Wha’d say?” It comes out a lot less elegant than he wants it to but whoever it is seems to get the point.

“I asked how you were feeling.” Martin is as patient as a ever while he watches Jon’s eyes blink blearily up at him as of trying to process what’s going on and what’d he just said.

“M’tin” recognition flashes in glassy eyes when he sees that Martin isn’t in his usual clothes anymore. “S’rry, I’ll get up. Jus’ needa sec.”

“No, no you’re fine there” Martin’s hands hover over Jon should he need to push him back down but Jon’s arms give out before then, “stay right here. You’re alright. I’d like to get a read on that fever and a bottle of water for you.”

“But your cot—”

“Don’t worry about it, plus it’s really yours and you need it more than me. Now, can you stay here for me? I’ll just be a second.”

Martin’s satisfied with the small nod he receives and bolts out to the break room for the first aid kit and a bottle of water from the fridge. Jon’s still in the same spot when he returns to his side.

He must really feel poorly if he’s accepting help so easily, Martin bites his lip while shifting through the kit, looking for everything he needs.

It’s a good thing he always checks the kit to make sure it’s well stocked with whatever the crew might need. He holds out the thermometer and waits for Jon to open his mouth far enough to slip it in. He’s already shaking a few tablets out of the bottle of paracetamol before the device beeps.

39.6

Martin tsks softly, helping Jon sit up before depositing two tablets and the bottle of water into his shaky hands. He doesn’t even complain when Martin helps lift the bottle to his lips.

The quick interaction seems to take what little energy Jon had left out of him as he slumps bonelessly against Martin, head pillowed on his chest. He’s never seen Jon like this before, and of course that’s concerning, but at least he doesn’t have to suffer alone through it.

“Stay” Jon whispers hoarsely against Martin before an even quieter, “please.”

“I’ll be here.” Martin shifts slightly to run a hand through Jon’s hair, gently coaxing him to sleep. He holds back a chuckle when he watches Jon try to fight against closing his droopy eyes.

Martin stays with him for the rest of the night and doesn’t dare move his body except for the hand that’s playing with Jon’s hair, even though the heat of the fever penetrates his shirt and leaves him a bit uncomfortable and sweaty— it’s well worth it.

[eulaties]

MYSTIC MESSENGER FIC RECS ★ YOOSUNG/MC ★ #5

fics that have an asterisk (*) in front of them are my personal favorites! also, all of the fics listed are completed unless otherwise stated.

NOTE: fic recs for all the yoosung simps <3 majority of these are sfw!

this list was last updated on 12/29/20.

if you want general mysme fic recs click here

if you want yooseven fic recs click here

if you want yooran fic recs click here

if you want juminv fic recs click here

*on the other end of the line • one-shot

SUMMARY: “fights and misunderstandings happen in any relationship, especially under stress. whoever suggested to get matching phone cases was corny enough as it is but ultimately a genius who unknowingly helped get messages across each side.”

TAGS: takes place post-yoosung route, established relationship, misunderstandings, arguments that eventually get resolved, fluff, soft fic!!

*finally • one-shot

SUMMARY: "this is a bit naughty but...i'm thinking about where i'm going to kiss you first." a fic based off of this voiceline.

TAGS: hickies, nothing too explicit happens, takes place during the rfa party

sickeningly sweet • one-shot

SUMMARY: “you and yoosung are too cute and so genuinely sweet to one another that it was almost gross to witness.”

TAGS: fluff, so much fluff, tooth rotting sweetness, short but cute fic

kiss the cook • one-shot

TAGS: yoosung cooks for mc, picky eater!mc, fluff, super cute

*hallelujah, i believe • one-shot

TAGS: takes place post-yoosung route, mc pov of yoosung through the years, fluff, gender neutral mc, falling in love, so cute omgg

i’m not upset • one-shot

TAGS: proposal fic, fluff, humor

convenience store romance • multi-chapter (5/5)

SUMMARY: “mc bumps into yoosung in a convenience store after a week of joining rfa, but doesn’t have the guts to tell him who she is. she decides to just hide from the boy, scared of her own growing feelings, but he’s a lot harder to shake off than mc thinks.”

TAGS: slow burn, first meetings, misunderstandings, mutual pining, first kiss, canon divergence, friends to lovers, fluff, light angst

*bystander • one-shot

SUMMARY: “yoosung passes by timeline after timeline until he gets to you. hints of his feelings come through the phone calls.”

TAGS: reset theory, mutual pining, one-sided pining, angst, mild fluff

*eleven layers • one-shot

SUMMARY: “yoosung shows you his skills as a part-time barista and you’re impressed at the rate of improvement he shows as well as the cheesy things he can incorporate in your drinks. you lowkey may be suffering from coffee overdose.”

TAGS: coffee shop au, barista!yoosung, established relationship, fluff

as luck would have it • one-shot

TAGS: fluff, first date, yoosung has really bad luck lmao, awkward but cute yoosung, takes place post yoosung-route

*a memory reflected • one-shot

SUMMARY: "i remember practicing how to ask you out to the mirror.”

TAGS: fluff, established relationship, timeskip, yoosung and mc are married

*truth, lies, and the in-between • yoosung-centric, one-shot

SUMMARY: “v was in a coma, rika was the head of a cult, and yoosung wasn’t sure what was true anymore, and what was a lie.” what if the true ending happened after yoosung’s route?

TAGS: hurt/comfort, angst, closure, post-canon

changes • one-shot

SUMMARY: “sometimes, it was still hard for yoosung to get used to change. not that he would complain.”

TAGS: gender neutral mc, post-canon, fluff

perfectly imperfect • one-shot

SUMMARY: “mc goes through a lot at the rfa party, but nothing compares to the feeling she gets the first time she meets yoosung.”

TAGS: first meeting, first kiss, fluff, yoosung route good ending, takes place during the rfa party

*fumbling in love • multi-chapter (2/2)

TAGS: fluff, kisses, flustered yoosung, established relationship, post-canon

*healing words • one-shot

SUMMARY: “life with chronic pain isn't simple, but having her by his side made it a little easier.”

TAGS: angst, hurt/comfort

CW: eye trauma

movie night • one-shot

TAGS: fluff, watching movies, established relationship, kisses, cuddling, flustered yoosung and mc, super soft and cute!

*the moment he fell for her • one-shot

SUMMARY: “his heart was racing non stop since the moment the new girl had joined the rfa. after a long time, that had felt like an eternity, he felt genuine joy and excitement. he was so happy and cheerful and everything seemed brighter, all the colours seemed more intense. the blue of the sky was like a promise, the green of the grass like a new vision of optimism."

TAGS: angst, healing, fluff, falling in love, pining

CW: mentions of depression, grief

staring • one-shot

TAGS: established relationship, post-canon, fluff, just mc admiring their husband, soft fic

wish • one-shot

SUMMARY: “you help yoosung make a wish on a shooting star.”

TAGS: fluff, established relationship

good night kiss • one-shot

SUMMARY: “—yoosung,” you say, interrupting his line of thought. “it’s… okay to give me a good-night kiss, you know.”

TAGS: fluff, flustered yoosung

dreams • one-shot

SUMMARY: “yoosung calls you in the morning just to tell you he dreamed of you.”

TAGS: fluff, takes place during yoosung’s route, phone calls, established relationship

never again • one-shot

SUMMARY: “now then...make your princess some dinner, daddy." you thought it might have been sexy, but instead, it just made yoosung faint.

TAGS: fluff, humor, nothing explicit happens

of course • one-shot

SUMMARY: “with a smile on his face, he reaches for his phone, positions the camera, and snaps a selfie. the picture is perfect, with him smiling softly, his one arm around you, and your own expression gentle as you lay there quietly.”

TAGS: yoosung good ending, post-canon, established relationship, fluff

stealth (?!) mode • one-shot

TAGS: seven being a little shit (and we love him for that), cosplay, anniversary, humor, fluff

joining in • one-shot

SUMMARY: “want to play lolol but only one chair? no problem.”

TAGS: fluff, established relationship, gender neutral mc, soft!!

in love with a stranger • one-shot

TAGS: yoosung pining for mc, summer vacation with the rfa, fluff, confessions, first kiss

*dwelsinge • one-shot

SUMMARY: “on his bad days, yoosung finds it hard to count his blessings.”

TAGS: nightmares, post-yoosung’s after ending, angst, hurt/comfort

*wake with you there • one-shot

SUMMARY: “yoosung finds out that being sick (and a little bit loopy) isn't all that bad when you wake up to the one you love taking care of you.”

TAGS: sickfic, fluff, humor, comfort, established relationship

*a day of firsts • one-shot

SUMMARY: “yoosung's first day working at rika's coffee shoppe. he meets a special someone.”

TAGS: coffee shop au, barista!yoosung, fluff, humor, 707 being...707, saeran is just vibing

*never ending • one-shot

SUMMARY: “sometimes ten years will contain so much, yet feel like no time at all.”

TAGS: post-yoosung’s after ending, domestic bliss, fluff, humor, yoosung through the years

*compromised operation • one-shot

TAGS: domestic fluff, humor, mc trying to surprise yoosung for his birthday

*all the lights • one-shot

SUMMARY: “yoosung contemplates the different types of wishes he's made throughout his life so far.”

TAGS: wishes, fluff, post-yoosung’s route

*sleepless nights and amber lights • one-shot

TAGS: angst, nightmares, hurt/comfort, happy ending

CW: ptsd

[scientistowengottlieb-newtkelly]

✘, ►, & ‡ for the gay scientists 😌

oh my, this took FOREVER, though this isn't a drabble because brevity isn't my thing, not when you give me so much to work with dkgjskgjd but it's not long either. also let's pretend the bunkers had combination bath/showers in each instead of the far more likely shared shower room simply because… i forgot :) y'know what else i forgot? that this was meant to be a sickfic. ignore that too :)) wildcard bitches

✘: forehead kisses; ►: crisp, clean pajamas; ‡: bath

---

Hermann's day had been less than ideal. You would think that once the "end of days" had ended, that the end of the "all-nighters and painfully dull work days" would follow suit, but apparently not. Through the slew of end-of-war paperwork and letters from all across the world begging for him to work with them, he had spent the last dozen or so hours hunched over his desk while his both lab and recently romantic partner began the uphill battle of itemizing their functionally dysfunctional workspaces. At some point he had become so entrenched in the papers that he had hardly noticed when Newton's presence was no longer there until he realized he had built up too much tension in his body, sending him quite quickly into a miserable headache that refused to fade despite his attempts to release everything, and he was forced to finally look up from the numbers swimming blurrily across the various sheets despite his stubborn squinting behind his glasses. His red-ringed eye had been particularly troublesome in that regard, and it only exacerbated the throbbing feeling in his head that was crawling upwards from his back and neck.

Glancing around the empty room, as if he might still hear a clatter and find a stocky frame bustling about their materials, Hermann decides Newton had likely thrown in the towel for the day. He can't blame him, really. They had agreed to split the work: Newton takes the physical tasks and Hermann takes the written ones, as that had almost always been what they were best at. Surely the workload would exhaust each of them in different ways, and at different speeds.

He sighs, figuring he should try to rest as well, and grabs his cane to make the trek back to their room. Their room. However unnecessary it was for them to move in with each other when they'd likely be kicked out of the Shatterdome all together relatively soon, they decided to stop trying to ignore that this is something they had both wanted from start, yet could never bring themselves to discuss, and instead simply revelled in the fact that no one could stop them from doing so at this point. He can't help the fluttering feeling in his chest thinking back to the awkward and sweet way Newton had tried to ask if it was okay for him to stay; he seemed so unsure of himself. Hermann had absolved him of his worry almost immediately with a chaste kiss and talking about the start of the list of things he'd have had to transfer over.

Hermann arrives outside the door to their quarters and before he can even bother fumbling with his keys, the door opens, and Newton practically yanks him inside.

"Finally, dude!" he says, shutting the door behind him. "I've been waiting for you to finish up." Newton turns back to face Hermann and gives him a sweet kiss in greeting, holding him at his hips. 

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to have kept you waiting,"  Hermann says, rolling his eyes with no real annoyance behind it. With this, he pauses. "Though what exactly is it that you were waiting for? I would have come to bed on my own time, dear." Newton beams at the loving term and rubs soft, gentle circles with his thumbs over the area in his grip.

“Well,” he starts, dragging out the letters, “I know you’ve got a ton of work to do and while I get to move around the lab all day and expend energy, you’re stuck at your desk. I’m sure it’s killer on your leg, I remember how—you remember, or… whatever—I know how you got bad aches during those long nights you spent studying in college, and I’m willing to bet you’ve got the mother of all headaches right now because even I got one. So I thought, ‘Hey! I’m a cute as fuck boyfriend! I’m gonna treat him for doing the boring shit for me!’ So I did! Or I will.” He lets Hermann go and takes a step back before gesturing towards the bathroom. Then, with a mock posh accent and a bow, he says, “Your bath awaits you, good sir.”

“You are absolutely ridiculous, you know.” But Hermann is smiling and his eyes are locked on Newton with a look of absolute adoration. And appreciation, because a bath is exactly what he thinks will help him wind down from what was, all things considered, an absolutely boring and stressful day. Newton straightens himself and levels Hermann with a look to match his own.

“I’m well aware. What can I say? You bring out the fool in me.”

“No, liebling, you do that all on your own.” There’s a beat before Hermann closes the small gap between them again and gently leans down to kiss Newton’s forehead. “Thank you, Newt.” The use of his nickname makes him look as if he’s going to burst into flames and Hermann swallows the ego boost that gives him; knowing he can elicit such a response from the loud and proud Dr. Newton Geiszler always makes him feel like he can do anything at all. He cups Newton's cheek in one hand, watching him lean into the touch, before he mouths 'thank you' again in an exaggerated way. He scrubs at Newt's cheek with his thumb lovingly a few times, kisses his forehead again, and makes his way over to the bathroom.

Hermann spends his time in the bath trying to unwind as best he can, though he still feels the remnants of an apocalypse worth of stress and the memories of another being, horrific and surreal, not wanting to let him. Trauma is a funny thing like that, so instead, he attempts to shift his focus. He listens for the shuffling sounds he hears on the other side of the bathroom door and brings forth the memories of the man making the noises. Remembering the way their minds flowed through each other and what it meant when he couldn't tell one overwhelming feeling of adoration, of respect, of love from the other. He smiled to himself—something he noticed he was doing more often—feeling calmer than he had in well over a decade, regardless of his now-dulled headache.

When he felt himself beginning to doze off, Hermann figured he ought to get out and prepare for bed. Looking beside him, he realized that there was a neatly folded towel resting on a conveniently relocated stool. His smile grew slightly wider and upon picking it up he found his usual pajamas, folded and clean, sitting directly under it. Newton could really be thoughtful when he really set his mind to it, Hermann knew, though he didn't expect all of this. That's not to say he didn't know Newton to be sweet when he wanted to be, but his timing was impeccable and he was always so perceptive. He's known the man for nearly ten years and thought he couldn't possibly be surprised by him anymore, but Newton always seems to have a way of proving Hermann wrong. In this case, he thinks he's alright being wrong.

Once Hermann was dressed and had readied himself for bed, he made his way out of the bathroom to find Newton in their bed laying the wrong way with his head over the edge, reading over what was probably a partial inventory record. The pen that was resting under the bridge of his glasses clattered to the ground as Newt scrambled to correct his position once he realized Hermann was standing in the bathroom doorway looking at him as if he couldn't believe he was in love with the man he was looking at.

"How're you feeling, Herms? Any better?" Newt asked, hopefully. Hermann shook his head softly at the nickname, something he would decidedly not comment on in private, though his easy smile never dissipated.

"Much, dear." Hermann walked up to the bed and sat himself down on the side, resting his cane against the wall and shuffling himself in beside where his partner was laying, the list and pen forgotten until morning.

"That's great! See, I told you I was a cute as fuck boyfriend. Useful, too. I'll do all kinds of shit for you if you stick around long enough." Newton's smile with this could have blinded someone.

"Well, seeing as you've been in my head and I literally can't get you out of mine, I'd say I'm stuck with you for the long run. Not that I'm complaining. Er, I make no promises that I won't. You're quite the handful." Newt rolls his eyes but his smile is still present, softer, kinder.

"You're no saint yourself, man. But I'm in it for the long run, too."

With that, they snuggled closer, holding each other's gaze, and they could almost feel the thought they both had running on repeat in their heads as if it were something tangible they could reach out for and hold. Raleigh had been right: when you're in the drift, words become unnecessary, and it seems that when you know your partner well enough, an unrivaled kind of empathy beyond empathy forms outside of the drift. There's a wordless understanding. 'I love you.'

They fell asleep quickly and Hermann felt as though he could finally relax.

[bigbrotherlouis]

for @1000-directions - winterhawk sickfic // bonus appearances of nat and sam // gratuitous projection of my slavic upbringing on characters (as usual) // ~2k

(forgive me if my characterizations are off, i don’t really go here. unbeta’d.)

it starts with a sniffle. clint sneezes once and then again, in quick succession. it’s loud and bucky looks at him with wide eyes. 

“allergies,” clint tells him, wiping his nose on his sleeve. he sneezes again. “they get bad this time of year.” 

“okay,” bucky says uncertainly. “do you need… something?” 

clint sniffs, a gross, wet sound and looks at bucky pleadingly, a miserable expression on his face. “nope. just a tissue.” 

“get your own damn tissue,” bucky mumbles but gets up anyway, dropping the whole box in clint’s lap. clint pats him on the thigh as thanks. 

except, the next morning, clint wakes up with even more of a sniffle and a voice like sandpaper. he winces the first couple times he talks and then shakes his head, patiently signing whatever he needs to say instead of saying it out loud. 

“feel gross,” he signs. bucky’s eyebrows furrow.

“still allergies?” he signs back, slowly, making sure every motion is crisp. 

“don’t know.” 

“can i get you anything?” 

clint shakes his head and then rolls over, shoves his head back into the pillow, groaning slightly. bucky’s hand, the human one, hovers over clint’s back where it’s pushed up over his spine and he spreads his fingers, an inch from his skin. people like physical touch when they’re not feeling well, right? it won’t hurt clint if bucky touches him when he’s sick? 

he can’t remember. he can’t remember and he can’t bear the thought of hurting clint, even accidentally so he pulls his hand away, tucking both his arms behind his back. it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

he startles when clint coughs, a sharp sound in the sun-warmed room, a deep thing that comes from his belly and wracks his shoulders. he groans when it’s done, sinking further into the pillows, and bucky flees into the common area before he does anything he can’t take back. 

“‘sup, bro,” natasha says from where she’s perched on the counter, cross-legged. she’s got a bowl balanced on her knee and a coffee cup in her hand. “you look like you’ve just seen baba yaga.” 

“clint is sick,” bucky tells her, still frowning, and goes to look through their fruit drawer. there’s a variety there, accommodating everyone’s needs.

“oh, that sucks.” she pauses. “well, i think it does. i don’t think i’ve been sick.” 

“me either,” he says, a smidge of relief seeping through him, as it always does when nat’s experienced something similar. “not with a cold.” 

nat laughs. “we weren’t allowed. neither assassins nor ballerinas get sick, dyevochka. ras, dva, tri, padyom.” she makes a face. “no sickness. what are you doing?” 

“looking for a lemon.” 

“a lemon?” 

“yeah,” he says as his fingers wrap around said fruit and he brings it out, carefully held. “do we have honey?” 

something sparks in her eyes. “ah, for the tea. yeah, i think there’s some above the stove.” 

he nods and rummages around in the cabinet, frowning when he pulls out the bear-shaped container. “this is not good honey.” 

“tell me about it,” nat says, snorting into her coffee. “you would think with the food budget we’re allotted tony would splurge on the good stuff, but nope. he keeps buying that.” 

“there’s none of the comb.” he touches his finger to the top and tastes a drop, his frown getting deeper. “it tastes like plastic.” 

“it sucks.” 

“it doesn’t do anything, for sickness or allergies. we should get some more.” 

“be my guest. i think the corner store carries some.” she swings her legs out and stretches them, pointing her toes as gracefully as a ballerina. “we used to buy great big jars of the good honey off the side of the road in bulgaria. cheap as dirt and it lasted forever. tasted real good, too.” 

bucky can imagine it, the way the gold spreads over your tongue as you eat it off a spoon, the pieces of beeswax squeaking against your teeth as you chew the honeycomb. it’s so vivid it feels like a memory. it might be a memory. he’s not good at figuring out what is real past when steve confronted him on that overpass. 

“does he have a fever?”

“hmm?” he says, pulling himself out of his puzzling. natasha tips her head to the side, like she’s thinking.

“clint. is he running a fever at all.” 

“oh. i, uh, don’t know. how do you know if someone has a fever?” 

“usually, you can feel it with your hands.” 

he flexes the joints on his metal hand, almost unconsciously. “i didn’t check. i didn’t-- can you touch someone when they’re sick?” 

“yeah, usually. same rules apply as when they’re healthy, though,” she says as she launches herself from the counter, landing quietly on the balls of her feet. bucky nods. he knows the touching rules: only with permission, and only carefully. steve had sat them all down when bucky had moved in and made sure everyone in the tower was aware that touching was okay (for bucky) but not if it was a surprise (for clint). 

“i think he might’ve fallen asleep.” 

“that’s good, sleeping is good when you don’t feel well.” 

“how do you know so much about this?” he asks uncertainly, following her back into clint’s bedroom. well, clint and bucky’s bedroom, now. “if you weren’t allowed to be sick?” 

“i’ve been out longer than you have, bucky. most people get sick. sam does, and tony and pepper, and i think i saw nick fury sneeze once.” bucky blinks, shaking his head. nat laughs. “point is, i’ve been around it a little. chut’-chut’. how did you know to make lemon tea with honey?” 

“just felt like it was the right thing.” 

“see,” she says. “you know what to do, at some level.”

she nudges open the door and creeps into the room, the blackout blinds still pulled half down. clint hasn’t moved except to be able to breathe, flat on his belly. he coughs as they get close, cracking an eye to look at them both. 

“what’re you doing?” he rumbles and bucky crouches down by the bed, pressing his finger to clint’s mouth so he’ll stop talking. 

“nat wants to know if you have a fever,” he signs. 

“maybe a little. achy.” 

“he’s achy,” bucky repeats for nat’s benefit as she puts her palm on clint’s forehead. he makes an appreciative noise at the touch, turning his chin up into the feeling. 

“figures, he’s hotter than normal. not enough to worry, but definitely hot.”

“nat says you’re hotter than normal,” bucky tells clint and smiles at the weak look in clint’s eyes. “didn’t mean it as a joke.” 

“i am always hot,” he replies before coughing again, twisting onto his side so he can breathe better. nat rolls her eyes, patting him carefully on the head. 

“sure, big guy. here, bucky and i will run you a bath, okay? it’ll make you feel better.” 

“okay,” clint croaks when bucky translates, pushing himself up so he’s sitting. it makes him cough yet again, and he buries his face in his elbow, hacking. it sounds a little like a chainsaw. 

“a hot bath,” says natasha, mostly to herself, and then makes for the bathroom. 

 sam walks in on them after his morning run (maybe his second morning run? bucky’s a little unclear on how many runs he goes on, exactly, in the morning but they’re either very long or he’s doing something else. bucky should look into that, once clint is feeling better.), his shirt damp with sweat and a question already on his lips. 

“what the hell is going on here?” 

“clint is sick,” bucky says, cutting onions into thin slices. clint groans from his seat at the table, wrapped in a comforter so only the top of his hair is visible. “we’re helping.” 

“by making a salad?” sam asks, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. bucky shakes his head. 

“it helps with a fever if you put these on his feet,” explains bucky and he thinks sam’s eyes might bug out of his head. 

“uh. what? how?” 

bucky shrugs. “don’t know. it’s just what they told us to do.” 

“they? who’s they?” 

“they,” bucky says, because he can’t actually remember. “they.” 

“oookay,” sam drawls out, his eyebrows still raised. clint sniffles pathetically. “you don't need to rub a red onion on clint's feet, bucky," he says. "we have fever reducers. you can buy them in tablets or syrup, even." 

"red onion is for the cough,” natasha says, poking her head out from where she’s looking through the tower’s extensive pantry. “we're making him a vinegar bath for the fever.”

“a vinegar… bath?” 

“it draws out the infection,” she says. sam pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

“i don’t-- are we living in the fifties, perhaps? why the hell are we turning clint into a salad, just because he’s sick?” 

“you already used salad,” bucky points out and sam glares. 

“fine. why are we trying to make a hawkeye pickle in the bathtub?” 

“because he’s sick,” natasha replies crossly, emerging with a bottle of apple cider vinegar in her hands. “keep up, wilson.”

“is this some kind of soviet thing?” sam asks after a minute. “like, are you against medication? or do you genuinely just forget it exists?” 

“why would we buy medicine when we have vinegar and onions?” natasha says. bucky’s not certain if she’s joking or not, if he’s being honest. 

“and whiskey and lemon and honey,” he adds. “also for the cough.” 

“i-- you know what? i’m not going to argue any more about this. i’m just going to go down to the walgreens; text me if you need anything.” 

“dosvidanya, samuel,” nat sings and he halfheartedly waves over his shoulder. “now. i think we’re ready.” 

they haul clint back into the bathroom and run the water hot, hot enough that clint hisses when he touches the water. nat’s dumped her vinegar in the tub as bucky quickly strips him down to his boxers. his skin is flushed, pink and warm, and bucky worries to himself as clint sinks into the water. 

“feels good,” he says. he really must be stuffed up because he doesn’t even complain about the vinegar smell, just sighs deeply. 

“i’m going to go text sam to bring back real honey,” says nat, pushing up from the floor. “you stay with him and make sure he doesn’t drown. that was a joke.” 

“i know it was,” bucky grumbles, a moment too late, and nat’s chuckles bounce off the tile as she leaves. clint sighs again, his breath rasping a little, and stick his toes out of the bath to nudge bucky in the side. 

“thank you,” he signs, the movements sloppy with exhaustion. “for taking care of me.” 

“i don’t think i’m doing a good job.” 

“i feel better, so you’re doing okay,” clint says and pokes where bucky’s eyebrows are furrowed. bucky’s fingers, the real ones, sneak into the water to check the temperature and then clint’s pulse when he breathes too fast. 

“babe,” clint says aloud, a smile turning up his mouth. “it’s just a cold. i’m not dying.” 

“colds kill people.”

“relax,” he insists and then pauses, licking a drop of water off his thumb. “is there… vinegar in this?” 

“yes.” 

“huh. that’s new. never had a vinegar bath before.” 

“me and nat agreed it was good for you.” 

clint laughs lowly, the sound rebounding around the room, and reaches out to comb his fingers through bucky’s hair, going frizzy from the humidity. “i think maybe living in eastern europe had a bigger effect on you both than you think.”

“sam’s getting you medicine, i think. the real kind.” 

“nice of him. this bath isn’t bad, though. might even be helping.” 

“you’ll drink tea after this,” bucky tells him. “and sleep some more.” 

“okay,” clint says around a yawn. “i can do that.” 

on an impulse, bucky leans forward to press his lips to clint’s forehead, smelling vinegar and feeling the fever under his mouth as clint hums. 

“feels nice,” he says when bucky’s leaned back, tipping his chin up. “i think i heard somewhere that kissing has antibacterial properties.”

“you’re going to get me sick.” 

“you’re a ninety year old assassin. i think you can handle a cold, if you can even get sick.” 

it’s a fair point so bucky obliged, even though he was always going to oblige, slotting his mouth against clint’s and letting clint control the kiss. it doesn’t last long, barely a few seconds, as clint pulls away to cough, bending forward over his knees. bucky smooths a hand down his back and taps lightly, feeling the way his lungs expand as he breathes. 

“ugh,” clint mumbles when he can form words. “ugh, i’m done in here, i think.” 

“okay.” 

bucky helps him up, carefully rinses the vinegar away, and towels him dry. ever so gently, he gets clint into clean clothes and then back into bed. the sheets are clean; sam or nat must’ve stripped the linens while they were busy. 

clint sighs when he settles, catching hold of bucky’s metal arm before bucky can pull away. 

“stay with me?” he asks quietly with his eyes half-lidded, tiredness pulling at every inch of his body. “please?” 

“yeah,” bucky says without hesitating, climbing over him and onto the big bed. clint scoots closer before he’s even settled and sticks his cold feet on bucky’s legs, making him jerk and swear. 

“you’re warm.” 

“i know. “

“feels nice,” he mumbles, blinking heavily. he’s already halfway to sleep so bucky curls an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. he resumes his stroking as clint snores, fingers tangled in the hem of bucky’s shirt. bucky couldn’t leave if he tried, not that he would try. 

clint sleeps through the afternoon, through the light changing in the bedroom and nat bringing in a cup of chicken soup and sam throwing a pack of nyquil at them both. bucky sits there, moving as little as he can, and smiles when clint tucks his face into his chest. 

[tiisshu]

I know I said tomorrow, but like... I finished early and I’m too impatient not to share immediately!

Sick!Jaskier with an Observant and Worried!Geralt. 

This sneezy sickfic is for a trade with @bless-king (I realllllly hope you like it, i’m not sure what the original prompt was now but ... TA-DA!)

It's before Dawn when Geralt awakens to the silent darkness of their humble camp, silent that is, save for the soft snores drifting up from the Bard to his left. Usually sleep is when Jaskier is blessedly quiet, so the fact that Geralt can pick up on the noise causes him pause.

There is also the fact that in the night, the bard has shuffled in his bedroll enough to be practically pressed to the Witcher's side. This normally would have garnered no more than an eye roll and something akin to fond exasperation. However, despite the lack of a fire, Jaskier seemed to be pumping out more heat than usual. In fact, Geralt's side closest to the sleeping man felt almost... Clammy.

"Hmmm...", he hummed to himself.

There was something else…

Geralt sat puzzled for a few moments trying to identify something in the dark. Not by sight, but by scent. It was a curious thing he thought, usually Jaskier wore whatever cologne was in season and under that the bard had a sort of fresh crisp scent like the forest after a rain.

 Now however, long after the cologne had worn off, Jaskier's natural scent seemed to have picked up a cloying bittersweet edge.

He wasn't sure what it could be but He didn't ruminate on it long knowing they would have little time to spare this morning before they broke camp and already Geralt had dallied too long.

With a stretch he began to pack up his bedroll and then went to gently tend to Roach who eagerly accepted the few pats the Witcher extended while his focus subconsciously returned to the sleeping Bard.

                                                               .  .  .

It wasn't until some time later as the sun began to creep above the horizon and breakfast was well on it's way that Geralt regarded the young bard again, brows furrowed, it was true that Jaskier often complained of their early mornings but he never managed to fail to appear at the fireside blearily awaiting his portion come this time.

Once he'd removed the pan from the fire and had divided their meal, Geralt rose with a sigh.

 All at once, as he approached Jaskier, Geralt was overcome by an icy-hot prickling sensation between his shoulder blades- an anxiety he associated more with the hunt than a simple task of waking his companion.

With a squeeze of a shoulder and his name uttered low in that familiar growl Jaskier was roused groggily from sleep.

Geralt noted the way the bard blinked and looked about him a moment as if he had forgotten where it was he had gone to sleep.

Jaskier gave a little cough and rubbed at his eyes before turning those sky blues upward to his friend.

"Nng, Mornin'… already..?", Jaskier asked slowly, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as he talked around a yawn.

A minute crease formed high on the bridge of the Bard's nose a moment before he reached up to rub the back of a knuckle beneath it.

With a scrunch of his features though, Jaskier dropped his hand having reconciled himself to the process, and tilted his head back just as his mouth dropped open to snatch a quick breath before-

Hih!- Hng'iixsshu! Heh!… Hih!.. INGXXH'TSUU! Which he smothered in the rough fabric of his blanket, raising his head a moment after looking like the double had rattled something loose leaving him sniffly and pink faced.

Geralt felt that white-hot prickle creep further up his spine but even when he knew he should broach the subject the words simply wouldn't come out.

Finally, he managed to spit out "Breakfast" in what he hoped wasn't as sharp as it sounded.

Jaskier startled at the suddenness of his voice almost like he had managed to fall back to sleep in the meantime.

He groggily smiled up at the Witcher and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

" Suh-..Sorry, didn't mean to sleep so late", he apologized as he stiffly extracted himself from his bedroll with a sniff and began to pack up.

Geralt hummed and returned to his seat by the fire, taking up his plate, he waited until he caught Jaskier's eye again to look pointedly at the other spot near the fire with the waiting plate.

Jaskier huffed a laugh, stifling the cough that tried to follow and dropped his blanket and took the seat opposite Geralt at the fire and began to pick at his food.

This too did not go unnoticed.

                                                         .  .  .

Breakfast was light and it was quiet between the pair save for the occasional sniffle that Jaskier was trying to be discreet about as they ate and soon they were busy breaking camp, Geralt arranging things in Roach's saddlebags with care as Jaskier went to the stream to wash his face.

Geralt was just getting settled in Roach's saddle when Jaskier reappeared at her other side shivering.

He looked incredibly chilled and yet smiled brightly when he caught the Witcher's eyes on him.

"A-ah..Alright there, Geralt?", Jaskier asked through chattering teeth.

Geralt had heard more than saw the way the bard was shivering and trying unsuccessfully to hide the distinct sound of sniffling.

He rolled his eyes skyward and wondered yet again what he had done exactly to warrant the Bard's company on this particular hunt and why Jaskier couldn't simply be satisfied with the details he was given later.

He'd be warmer in any case and Geralt would have one less thing to worry about.

Though in Geralt's opinion, Jaskier would have been better off if he were anyone other than Jaskier.

For one, he thought the younger man had done a piss-poor job of drying off after splashing around in the river and he rummaged around in one of the saddlebags until he found a clean square of fabric- which he tossed directly into the bard's face without warning.

"Dry off properly", he rumbled.

Jaskier squawked at the sudden assault, "G..Geralt! What the hell-?".

"You're shivering".

Jaskier furrowed a brow up at him but the Witcher saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth and the way his nostrils flared from whatever tickle the bard seemed to have but surprisingly had yet to mention.

" Why Geralt, is-s that concern I see on that sto.. -hih…s-stoic mug of yours?". Jaskier followed the question with a seesawing of his breath that lead to another sneeze which the bard strangled into submission with a pinch of his nose last second.

Hih-Huh'Esxxt!

Geralt said nothing and spurred Roach into a trot leaving Jaskier scrambling to swing his lute up on his back and get into place beside them on the trail.  

"Alrighd, alrighd- I didn'd mean anything by id. Gods you're moody this mornig", Jaskier commented stuffily as he used the handkerchief to wick the moisture off his face and neck.

"Pidy that", he commented with a muted sniff as he pocketed the fold of cloth. "Feld nice and cool".

                                                                   . . .

That afternoon they stopped by a river to refill their water skins and allow Roach a few moments to graze.

Geralt was busy with the task while Jaskier set his lute down by their gear and went to lean against the trunk of a tree in the shade.

After a time Geralt capped the water skins and secured them in a saddlebag giving Roach a good scratch behind the ear.

He took a moment to speak softly to his mare before he noticed that Jaskier had in fact fallen asleep where he lay.

The Witcher tilted his head to the side a degree, golden eyes darkening as he furrowed his brow.

He wasn't sure what it was that struck him so, but he couldn't remember Jaskier napping before… surely he had gotten enough sleep?

He thought back to how the bard had turned in early the night before, almost right after supper, and frowned.

Geralt's frown deepened as he approached the bard; Jaskier had looked like he had merely fallen asleep with his arms crossed but as Geralt got closer he could see that the younger man was in fact shivering slightly and was holding himself for warmth.

Geralt tilted his head back and raised his eyes to the tree's branches where dark leaves sat motionless.

No breeze, and yet…?

Geralt grabbed one of their blankets and draped it over his companion and then took a seat.

It bothered him deeply that they were stagnant in their travels but that seemed to be fighting for the spot of top priority with the sinking feeling that the bard was coming down with something.

Something he could even smell multiplying in the young man's system. It was unnerving to say the least as Geralt realized he wasn't well versed in caretaking when it came to illness. Field dressings and wounds were so common place that he almost would have preferred Jaskier was injured instead.

With an awkward rub to the back of his neck, Geralt considered how he might approach the bard in regards to his obvious decline.

The Witcher was not particularly loquacious and he was very aware of that. He heaved a sigh when he realized Jaskier would probably misconstrue the Witcher's intentions and become upset- afraid he was being left behind.

The bard in question snuffled in his sleep just then, as if he could tell what the Witcher had been thinking, and tossed his head with a grimace.

His nose was running slightly in his sleep and he had a sort of sadness to his features even in his sleep that Geralt had to look away at first.

Nightmare, Geralt reasoned, tentatively reaching forward to smooth the worry away from the younger man's forehead when he'd composed himself, the dry heat his palm was met with wasn't surprising but it certainly was no comfort to the Witcher.

He'd have to keep an eye on the fever and they were currently at least a couple days ride to the nearest healer… Geralt knew what needed to be done and they were not far from the river which was a small comfort so he rose quietly stepping away from the sleeping man to stow his weapons and remove his chest piece.

After he was unburdened he grabbed his smaller alchemy bag and tucked a rag into his belt and began to head toward the river when he paused, casting back a final worried glance.

He would only be a few minutes, enough time to gather a few water-loving herbs that had antipyretic properties if the bard could stomach it but the idea of Jaskier waking to no one left a sour taste in his mouth.

"I'll be right back…", he says, more for his own benefit.

                                                     . . .

Geralt was rapidly becoming frustrated.

It didn't take long for him to identify recent footprints in the mud along the banks of the river. Someone had been through there a few days prior. Been there and had harvested every herb of use in the immediate area.

Geralt closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he let out a growl of frustration, tossing the mangled refuse of whoever the careless Alchemist had been. 

He tried to reign in his anger, which he knew was poorly disguised worry.

There were still options yet, but this was the most likely to provide sufficient relief. Geralt, who often suffered fevers from various injuries over the years felt another pang of sympathy.

He remembered the bone aches and weakness, a sense of having no balance and the growing desire for the universe to swallow him up so it would end. 

Luckily, his Witcher's constitution made the process short lived.

Jaskier wouldn't be so lucky.  And speaking of…

Geralt trudged up the small embankment toward their camp but stopped suddenly when a slight breeze brought a sharp scent of fear mixed with that cloying bittersweet smell he had detected from Jaskier earlier.

He swore and broke into a run, he arrived a few moments later at their camp where the Bard lay tangled in his blanket, wide fearful eyes brimming over with tears as he shuddered from a full body chill.

He instinctively recoiled from Geralt's encroaching form and stared at him recognizably.

"Jaskier…", The Witcher breathed, careful to slow his movements. He lowered himself to his knees to reduce his natural looming stature.

He tried to remind himself that it was the fever but the sting of fresh hurt licked at the edge of his composure.

The bard hadn't taken his eyes off him, hadn't spoken, but Geralt detected the first few wavers of his breath beginning to hitch before Jaskier's eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to a punishing sneezing fit.

Geralt shook his head almost fond as he registered the slight look of dismay cross his friend's features when he went to cover and found his limbs still fully entangled.

Hih-uh.. Ahh'Sssshhiew! Hhh! ...heh..hih'Tshiew! *snf* hih'…Hae'esshiew! Hishhah!.. Hng-Nngxxt! HnngSSHIEW! Nghh..Hih...heh...

As Jaskier was left hitching, Geralt had closed the distance and knelt next to the bard and had begun to mop his face up with the rag he still had while he spoke in a hushed voice he hoped translated as soothing to the fevered man struggling to recover from the strenuous effort of his affect sinuses.

"It's alright, you're alright. Here- just… let me…", he tried as he untangled the blanket, he also took the opportunity to place one curious hand at the base of Jaskier's neck.

He grimaced and began to move faster, skilled hands extricating the blanket from the bard's white-knuckled grip.

"You're too hot!", he said by way of explaining, the silence that followed instead of one of Jaskier's   jokes made him feel almost ill himself.

Jaskier whined, snuffled wetly before turning his head too fluidly for Geralt's liking but the recognition - though only brief- in the bard's eyes was enough hope to spur on his careful ministrations.

With one of his patent hums, Geralt maneuvered them to where Jaskier was positioned between his legs with his back leaned against his chest while the Witcher used the rag wet from one of their water skins to cool down as much of Jaskier that was exposed in hopes that it would help.

"G…Geralt?".

"There you are", Geralt rumbled softly.

He felt when Jaskier finally relaxed against him, his body seemed to bleed the tension as easily as it had coiled itself into such a panicked state earlier and Geralt heaved a sigh of relief.

"I couldn't fix it, but I'll get you through".

Jaskier sniffled and leaned his head back to look up at Geralt, his eyes were tired but much clearer.

"I'mb sorry…".

Geralt actually startled at that, but knew deep down that this was the reason Jaskier had not bothered to mention his discomfort.

True to form, Geralt had no words. How does one respond to something so… wrong?

His head was still reeling from the sound of his friend's voice. It seemed he was so distracted by the various symptoms he was sensing that he hadn't noticed the major tip-off.

These few words where the first he'd heard from the normally chatty bard since that morning when he had awoken him. It was enough to leave him feeling fevered himself.

Finally, He simply placed one large reassuring hand on Jaskier's shoulder and gave a squeeze. Jaskier, after a moment, raised one shaking hand to give it a squeeze back before he settled into a restful sleep.

[tex-studmister]

Charthur for the ship asks

heyy sorry this took so long but thank you for the ask!!

i apologize now if this seems incoherent bcus im bad at writing and it is also 5am-

also sorry if the organization of this seems off I changed it to help me be able to write it better!

Charthur:

Gives nose/forehead kisses:

Both of them do both tbh, but Charles will do more forehead kisses than nose kisses and I see Arthur doing a decently equal ratio of the two.

Gets jealous the most:

I’m gonna say Charles on this one. Neither of them really get jealous per se, and it’s an extremely rare occasion if they do, but I feel Arthur would just kind of get. Sad? rather than jealous while Charles is more “hmmmMMMM” kind of? Bad explanation sjdghks 

I definitely wanna see the conversation about Charles Chateney to Charles sgjlsdjklf

Takes care of on sick days:

So I’m gonna go with AU style of Arthur has TB but like. it didn’t get the chance to get That Bad (bcus one can live with TB but arthur just got rly fucked over by guarma and R*) and so they are living on a homestead. its mainly arthur but im doing both bcus i adore sickfics and there isnt enough of charles getting sick and arthur taking care of him

so arthur is more likely to be down with something bcus charles never wants to see it worsen. Arthur is decently okay at hiding he’s sick, but once Charles is even slightly suspicious it’s all over, arthur is dragged to bed and is Not Allowed To Work 

arthur complains about the mother-henning but he secretly is flattered that charles cares enough to spend this much of his time on him, HIM of all people. He is of course embarrassed but this is a No Self-deprecation Zone, and charles assures him that he is important to him, he’d much rather be here, making sure he’s okay than doing anything else.

On the other hand, Charles is a lot better at hiding his illnesses. Arthur has gotten good at figuring out he’s sick, but Charles is particularly good at avoiding arthur if he can tell he’s Suspecting. Of course, it eventually comes to a head whether it be Charles’s condition worsening to where he can’t ignore it or Arthur finding him and returning the favor for when he was ill. 

Charles is the worst patient EVER, even worse than arthur. He’s constantly wanting to do things, get up go places, arthur feels like he has to tie him to the bed to get him to rest. If he isn’t trying to escape or go do something, that’s when arthur knows its Not Good and probably should look into finding a doctor

i adore sickfics and it shows sjdkgsldkg

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day:

I’m gonna casually change beach to lake bcus i dont see them ever going to a beach skjdglk

I’m gonna say charles bcus i can see arthur fishing (i love fishing in game dont @ me) and while charles can fish, he doesn’t prefer it so he does something else, but eventually pulls arthur into the water especially if it’s been a hot day. with permission of course, unless arthur was being cheeky earlier. Then it’s payback time sjdgds

Brings the other lunch at work:

Charles, bcus im projecting onto arthur by giving him my inability to tell when im hungry after a certain point dfjdfgjlk

Tries to start role-playing in bed:

hmmm,,,,,, i actually dont know on this one?? i think itd be a standoff on who would come out and say it to the other. I’m gonna say charles just bcus arthur may just be too embarrassed

Embarrassingly drunk dancer:

both of them they are a right Mess when they’re drunk together but they love each other and theyre just so affectionate with each other and dance and jsut,,,,have fun

arthur tried dipping charles when they were both drunk and they just both fell over HDJSLKG

Firmly believes in couples costumes:

I don’t think either of them would FIRMLY believe but I think for certain ones they may just be “heh we should do that” 

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas:

Arthur, definitely. my arthur maxed out the camp in chapter TWO you really think he’ll abide by that rule?? tbh it may be an add-up cost tho if he’s making something for charles, just needs materials or a professionals touch on certain stuff

Makes the other eat breakfast:

Charles because,,,,arthur just straight up cooked meat over a fire and ate it off the knife no spices nothing,,how,, and tbh i love the idea of arthur liking baking more than cooking

Remembers anniversaries:

They both do bcus theyre SENTIMENTAL and SOFT

Brings up having kids first:

Arthur. Eventually I image arthur told charles about Eliza and Isaac, so kids are a bit of a touchy subject for him I think? I feel like Charles would respect that and wait for arthur to say something or at least wait for him to sort his feelings out bcus arthur clearly wants a kid, but hes,,,,just not ready to say it aloud yet.

Kills the bugs:

Both of them, but Arthur won’t touch spiders. Meanwhile, centipedes/millipedes are a No for charles

First to define them as a couple:

I’m dumb and confused on this one does this mean who first calls them a couple? im gonna go with that

you bet ur ass its Dad AKA Hosea he knows his son he has EYES 

hell he knew it before arthur did tbh, ribbing him gently after the hunting trip, while arthur, who Still Doesn’t Realize is just ????? what

hosea subtly gave charles info on what arthur likes and where he is if charles is looking for him, mentions arthur may be wanting to avoid camp go take him hunting will you? 

Who hides their guilty pleasures longer:

Arthur, this dude barely talks about anything that he encounters outside of camp and barely thinks of himself first as someone who should Get Good Things 

Snorts while laughing:

Charles has the snort laugh dont @ me

arthur has the more wheezing laugh and theyre both CUTE

[libraryscarf]

galolio can have a little sickfic. as a treat.

^^^

pizza for breakfast ( ao3 )

^^^

February 11

“Valentine’s Day? Really?”

Not even Lio’s tepid response could dampen Galo’s enthusiasm.

“It’s my favorite holiday!”

“You say that about every holiday,” Lio retorted, crossing his arms. He might as well have not spoken at all. The fire in Galo’s eyes was indication enough that he would be celebrating Valentine’s Day to the full extent of his burning soul. Which meant, of course, that Lio would be dragged along for the ride.

“I’m not big on stuff like this,” he admitted, because it felt a little mean to let Galo barrel joyfully into an endeavor that Lio couldn’t pursue with his whole heart.

He loved Galo. Lio did love him, with a ferocity that nearly scared him. If anything, Valentine’s Day felt a little ham-fisted. There weren’t any conversation hearts engraved with: “You held part of my soul inside your body, and I’m not sure you gave all of it back.”

Galo took Lio by the shoulders. He could be very gentle, for such a strong person. He still handled Lio much like a very cautious, very well-trained Rottweiler would handle a newborn kitten.

“I know you aren’t,” he said kindly. “But…can you let me?”

Lio looked at him. He looked at Galo, and saw in his face how much this would mean to him. Perhaps they spoke different languages in this area, but Lio could learn how to translate.

It would almost be easy, if it was for Galo.

“Okay,” he said.

Galo kissed him swiftly, then immediately called a florist and put in an order for several dozen roses.

February 12

Galo walked through the door, and his whole body seemed to droop as he crossed the threshold. Lio wordlessly got up from the couch and pulled him into a hug. His hair smelled like smoke.

“Bad day?” he asked, petting the back of Galo’s head.

“Awful,” Galo mumbled into Lio’s shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me?”

Galo buried his face deeper, until Lio wasn’t sure how he could even breathe. Then, suddenly, he straightened again, his face a rictus of agony.

“Bistro Champagne is booked solid for the fourteenth,” he said miserably. “And so is everywhere else. I’m so sorry, Lio! I tried everything! I wanted to take you somewhere fancy and elegant, and—Lio?”

Lio’s mouth was bent in a weird, scary frown. It was the only way he could contain his laughter, but it made him look less sympathetic, and more like he was holding in diarrhea.

“That is…so sad,” he agreed, afraid that Galo would start talking again. “But really, whatever we do will be fine. We could even stay home and make something.”

Galo gave Lio a sideways look.

“Can you cook?” he asked.

Lio thought about it. He didn’t really want to suggest boxed macaroni and cheese.

“We could learn a new recipe…together,” he suggested lamely, but Galo’s face brightened.

“Lio,” he said earnestly. “You are smart, and amazing, and I love you. With our powers combined, there is no recipe that can defeat us.”

Galo’s excitement was contagious. Lio grinned back. He couldn’t help it.

“So,” he said, poking Galo’s cheek. “Team Thymos-Fotia will take the gold in this Valentine’s Day chef smackdown?”

Galo pursed his lips.

“Exactly, except it’s Team Fotia-Thymos.”

Lio smirked. “Should we consult the marriage certificate?”

And Galo suddenly pretended he couldn’t read, which often happened when Lio backed up his side of an argument with any form of official documentation.

February 13

Galo came into the living room, shivering.

“Why’s it so cold in here, Lio?” he complained. “I thought you liked it nice and toasty.”

Lio glanced at the thermostat, then at Galo, who gravitated over to the radiator as visible shudders wracked the whole length of his body.

“It doesn’t feel cold to me,” he said. A nasty weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

Galo hunched over in front of the radiator. “F-f-freezing,” he mumbled.

Lio left the room, and came back with a thermometer.

“Open up,” he said. Galo, too miserable to protest, let Lio slip the thermometer between his lips. It beeped, and they both looked down at the readout.

“Uh oh,” said Galo.

February 14, Early Morning

Meis woke to the sound of a phone ringing.

“Gueira,” he mumbled. Gueira remained facedown in his pillow, resolutely asleep. Grumbling, Meis threw an arm across him and snatched the phone from the bedside table. Through bleary eyes, he saw Lio’s number on the caller ID.

He answered.

“Whathefuckisit.”

“Have either of you ever been sick?”

Meis rubbed his eyes, jostled slightly more awake by the overt panic in Lio’s tone.

“Sick?” he repeated.

“Like the flu.”

Meis sat up in bed, elbowing Gueira in the neck. Ignoring his husband’s yelp of pain, he turned on the lamp next to the bed and settled the phone more securely against his ear.

“Boss, are you sick?” he asked.

Gueira was still cursing himself awake, but the serious note in Meis’ voice silenced him.

“No,” Lio said immediately. “It’s Galo. He was running a fever last night, so I put him to bed early. But now he’s burning up.”

Meis frowned. As Burnish, they hadn’t needed to worry about illness. The Promare had vaporized infection in much the same way it had healed injuries. There had never been even a stuffy nose in the Burnish camps.

Things were very different now.

“I’m not worried about myself,” Lio said, as though he could read Meis’ mind. “I did some research. I’ll be fine.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Meis could hear how worried Lio was. He could hear in that silence how helpless he felt. And Meis knew that above anything, Lio hated feeling helpless.

“Gueira and I will bring some stuff over to you,” he said. “Don’t worry, Boss. He’ll be just fine.”

For another moment, Lio remained quiet.

“Thank you.”

Mid-Afternoon

“I feel amazing!”

Galo weakly raised an arm, saluted Lio, and let it drop heavily back to the bed. His eyes were at half-mast, probably thanks to the liberal dose of Theraflu Lio had funneled down his throat.

“When’zour reservation?” Galo slurred. “Don’t wanna be late.”

Lio sponged Galo’s sweaty forehead with a cool washrag.

“We didn’t make one, remember?” he said soothingly. “We decided to stay home.”

Galo’s eyelids drooped, his pupils crossing.

“That doesn’t seem right,” he mumbled. And then he was fast asleep again.

Lio sighed. He rarely felt in over his head. If he didn’t know what action to take, he did research, and consulted his generals. If that yielded nothing, he made an educated guess. But when it came to Galo, Lio found himself uncharacteristically hesitant.

What if he’d done everything wrong? What if it wasn’t just a short-term flu, but something much worse? Should he be making chicken soup? Was he even capable of making chicken soup? What if he burned down their apartment trying to make chicken soup?

The doorbell startled Lio out of his doom spiral. He hurried to the front door, carefully shutting Galo’s bedroom door behind him.

When Lio opened the door, he didn’t know how to process what he was looking at. There seemed to be someone standing there, but their entire upper body and face were obscured by an explosion of red. The heady scent of fresh roses hit him like a freight engine.

A young woman’s face popped around the side of the colossal bouquet.

“These are for…” She squinted at a card attached to the bouquet.

“Lio…Forte?”

To his horror, Lio felt his throat begin to swell up.

“I’ll take them,” he said sharply, gathering the bouquet in his arms. It almost didn’t fit through the door, but he wrestled it inside, nearly slicing himself open on the thorny stems.

“Goodbye,” he said to the delivery girl. He nearly kicked the door shut before his conscience kicked in.

“Wait,” he ordered, before stalking out of the entryway. In the living room, he set the roses on the coffee table delicately, as though they were made of spun sugar. Then he snatched his wallet, dug around in it for some cash, and crushed a generous tip into the shocked young woman’s hand before shutting the door in her face.

If anyone had looked in the window during the next half hour, they would have seen Lio Fotia sitting on the couch, cradling a bouquet the size of a healthy five-year-old in his arms, and trying his very best not to cry.

Morning

It was the sun through the eastern-facing window that finally woke Galo. His head felt like someone had taken five or six swings at it with a sledgehammer. He ached everywhere, he was unbelievably thirsty, his eyes were bone dry, and in general he felt more like a sack of wet dirt than a human being.

“Good morning,” said someone to his right. With herculean effort, Galo turned his neck in the direction of the voice.

It was Lio, of course. Who else would be sitting there, right next to Galo, looking so very beautiful, and so very tired?

“Lio,” he said.

Or, he tried to say it. What really came out of his desiccated throat was little more than a wheeze. Immediately there was a glass of cool water against his lips, and Galo drank.

And drank. And drank. Holy shit, had water always been this good?

Lio took the cup away before Galo could aspirate on it. He smiled, reaching a hand out to cup Galo’s cheek. Galo nosed into it, sighing deeply.

“What time’s it?” he mumbled.

His eyelids desired nothing more than to shut again, but he didn’t want to stop looking at Lio. He felt like he had been wandering through a rough, lonely dream all alone, and now Lio shone down at him, his face brighter than the fiercest star.

“It’s about nine thirty.”

Galo’s heart soared. He hadn’t ruined it.

“Good…we can still have our Valentine’s Day.”

Lio’s thumb swept tenderly over his cheek.

“It’s the fifteenth, my love.”

Galo’s eyes flew open. He stared at Lio, utterly stricken.

“I—I missed it?”

No. No, he couldn’t have missed it. He’d made so much of it, and he’d dragged Lio into his planning and excitement—all for nothing. If his eyes hadn’t been so painfully dry, Galo could have wept.

“I missed it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I missed Valentine’s Day.”

“Can I show you something?”

Lio’s voice was sweet and calm—almost like he didn’t think this was a tragedy of the highest degree. Galo gazed up at him, speechless with distress. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods, and Lio smiled angelically.

“Good,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”

What Lio wanted to show him was apparently outside the room, so Galo began the torturous job of moving his body out of bed. Lio helped him sit upright, and slid a soft arm around his waist to bolster him as he—slowly, carefully—stood up.

“The great Galo Thymos rises again,” said Lio, as Galo triumphantly straightened to his full height.

“It’ll take more than a little flu to knock me over,” he proclaimed. “A few germs are no match for my burning soul!”

Lio chuckled, and kept an arm around his waist to support him as they shuffled awkwardly through the doorway and down the hall.

Galo almost didn’t recognize their living room. The curtains were drawn, completely blocking out the morning sunlight, and the lights in the room were dimmed. Every horizontal surface was covered in candles. Music was wafting from some hidden speaker: a soft, lilting violin melody tumbling over itself like a mountain stream. At the center of the coffee table was a huge glass vase, stuffed and overflowing with blooming red roses.

As his brain struggled to align this romantic alcove with their plain, familiar living room, Lio sat him safely down on one side of the couch.

“Well?” he asked. If Galo hadn’t been so dumbstruck, he would have thought Lio almost sounded nervous.

“What do you think?”

Galo opened his mouth, trusting, as he always did, that something would come out of it.

“Huh,” he said, intelligently.

Lio’s eyes glassed over. “I should have done balloons too,” he whispered in agony. “I knew something was off.”

Galo shook his head violently, then winced and clutched his stiff neck.

“No, no, nonono!” He looked at the candles, at the roses, and then at Lio. It was then that he smelled something delicious: cheesy…spicy.

“Did…did you order the Inferno Volcano Margherita MegaMax Valentine’s Day Couples Special Deluxe?!”

Lio rarely blushed, and Galo wasn’t sure in the dim lighting, but it seemed like his cheeks were much pinker than usual.

“If you don’t mind pizza for breakfast,” Lio said, sounding uncharacteristically embarrassed. Galo stared at him, agape.

“Lio, have you met me?”

Lio blinked. “You make a point.”

As Galo sat on the couch, basking in the soft glow of several dozen candles, Lio retrieved the pizza from the kitchen where it had been kept warm and deliciously melty in the oven. He lifted two generous slices onto plates and set one in front of Galo, who looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“You…”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes traveling from the pizza, to the candles, to Lio’s face.

Lio’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He set his pizza down on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch next to Galo.

“Is this okay then?” he asked. There was a note of vulnerability in his voice that made Galo’s heart swell far beyond its normal capacity.

That Lio had done this—that he had gone so far out of his comfort zone to give Galo the Valentine’s Day he had asked for, and that he had done it alone, made Galo feel that he wanted to either cry, or fold Lio as tight as he could into his arms and not let go until they were both withered husks.

Lio noticed the kaleidoscope of emotions on Galo’s face, and his forehead wrinkled.

“Galo, do you feel all right?”

Galo opened his mouth, croaking: “I love you so, so, so, so much.”

Lio stared at him for a long moment, looking like he was formulating the answer to some complex riddle in his head. Then, he seemed to arrive at a conclusion. He leaned in.

Galo squirmed backward.

“Wait, wait—I’m sick!” he squawked.

Lio took him by the shoulders, his eyes shining, full of something warm and powerful that made Galo’s stomach drop away.

“Yes,” Lio said. “I know.”

Then he kissed him, and for a long while the pizza on the coffee table was left to cool.

[sunflowersupremes]

Epidemic

“Why is it,” Yennefer asked, “that you spew about lesser evils and greater goods, but when your pet troubadour is dying, you risk an epidemic?”

Characters: Geralt, Yennefer, Dandelion

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sickfic, dandelion gets smallpox because i’m a sucker for angst, yennefer is not amused, geralt really owes her big time for this

This is based on the bit in The Sword of Destiny where it’s mentioned that Dandelion buried Little Eye after she died of plague. My first thought was “why did he stick around in a plague city?”

Who would have wanted to hear that the Witcher and Little Eye parted and never, ever, saw each other again? About how four years later Little Eye died of the smallpox during an epidemic raging in Vizima? About how he, Dandelion, had carried her out in his arms between corpses being cremated on funeral pyres and had buried her far from the city, in the forest, alone and peaceful.

So here, Dandelion getting sick. You’re welcome.

Read on AO3

Geralt was almost too late.

Smallpox was almost always a death sentence. Since the outbreak had started in Vizima, the city had practically been under quarantine. No one wanted to go in, and it was nearly impossible to go out.

Witchers were immune.

Poets were not.

By the time he’d arrived in Vizima, Dandelion had been taken to one of the sick houses, left in a long line of cots of those expected to die. By a general rule, no one was allowed into the sick house, but Geralt had glared at the guard, flashed his cat eyes, and they’d opened the door.

They’d been less willing to let him leave with the troubadour, but Geralt had lied, told them that Dandelion was already dead, and he merely wished to bury his friend, and they’d let him through. Dandelion had been close enough to dead that they’d believed him.

He put him on Roach and ridden like a man possessed toward Yengerburg. Perhaps he couldn’t save everyone in Vizima, but if he could save just one, it would be enough.

Dandelion worsened as they traveled, staying awake only by the grace of the Witcher potions that Geralt risked feeding him, diluting them heavily before forcing them down the bard’s throat.

Still, Dandelion didn’t wake. He was dead weight, slumped over Roach’s neck, occasionally coughing up spittle. But he didn’t talk, not even when Geralt talked to him.

“You’re a maudlin fool, bard,” he scolded, rubbing the poet’s back as Roach cantered gracefully. “You should have fled the city at the first sign of plague, not waited around to see if the quarantine would be made mandatory.”

Dandelion made no noise, didn’t stir, not even when Geralt tugged his silken hair. “You should be glad you can’t see yourself- you look like an acne-addled teen. You won’t be wooing any ladies with that face, that’s for sure.”

He stopped outside the city, in an abandoned house. There he left Dandelion, wrapping the bard in his cloak and leaving Roach to watch over him. Then he went into the city on foot.

Yennefer’s shop wasn’t at all difficult to find, although small and out of the way, it was notorious. The air around it smelled of herbs, potions, and - most notably - magic.

“Yen!” He didn’t knock, just strode inside, his eyes scanning the room.

“Geralt.” For a moment, she sounded pleased to see him, then her voice changed, becoming stiff with concern, “This isn’t a pleasure visit.”

“Can you cure smallpox?” He strode to where she stood in the back of the shop, scanning her expectantly.

“There’s no known cure for smallpox-”

“I didn’t ask if there was a known cure, Yen, I asked if you could cure it.”

She was quiet for a moment, and with each heartbeat, Geralt was acutely aware that his friend might be breathing his last. Then, “Witchers are immune to smallpox.”

“Poets aren’t.”

Yennefer sighed. “You know I don’t like him.” But she was already gathering her things, grabbing this and that off the walls, tucking them into her satchel, murmuring to herself as she did. “How long?”

“I brought him from Vizima.”

She swore. “Geralt, you could start an outbreak!”

“He could die.”

She shook her head, ushering the Witcher out of the shop and shutting the door behind them. She didn’t lock it, she didn’t need to. No one would touch her things. “Why is it,” she asked, “that you spew about lesser evils and greater goods, but when your pet troubadour is dying, you risk an epidemic?”

Geralt had no defense.

Dandelion’s condition hadn’t changed. He was still sweating and feverish, sprawled on his back on the floor, Geralt’s cloak over him. “Fetch water from the well,” Yennefer said as she knelt beside him, casting a long glance over him. “Make him drink.”

Geralt did as he was told, pulling Dandelion to lean against him, pushing sweat-slicked hair from his face and holding a ladle to his lips. He rubbed the bard’s throat until he swallowed, then would bring more water to his lips.

Yennefer set about mixing her herbs. “I give no promises about the condition of his face when I’m done,” she said.

“Yen-”

“It has nothing to do with my feelings toward him, Geralt,” she promised, grinding ingredients together in her mortar and pestle. “If it were up to me, I’d encase the disease in his cock and remove the offending organ-”

“Yen!” If he laughed, he’d never tell Dandelion.

“But it’s not. I will save him because I am that smart, but - as for his face - well, we shall have to see.”

He’d barely gotten any water into the poet’s mouth, most of it had trickled down his lips, into his shirt and Geralt’s pants. But Yennefer brushed aside the ladle and pressed her mortar to his lips and together they forced the sticky mess down his throat.

“There is a water trough outside.” She said, “Bring it in and fill it with water.”

Geralt left her kneeling on the floor beside Dandelion, murmuring spells and incantations. Were he awake, Dandelion would have delighted in the fact that she removed his ruined shirt, running her fingers over his chest.

He drug the tub inside and filled it, bucket by bucket, from the well. All the while, Yennefer worked, occasionally swearing and cursing, scolding Dandelion for interrupting her business.

Finally, she sat back. “I’ve done all I can.”

“The tub?” Geralt asked.

He half expected Yennefer to crawl in it herself, but she motioned to the bard. “If his fever spikes, place him in the water. Take him out when he grows chilled.”

“You’re leaving?” His voice was more harsh than he’d meant.

“He will either live or he won’t, Geralt. My presence won’t change that-”

“Don’t leave me.” He couldn’t be alone with Dandelion. Not with him so ill- if he died- no, he wouldn’t think about that.

She let out a sigh. “Let me bring us supper,” she said finally.

While she was gone, he undressed the troubadour and placed him in the water, rolling up his own sleeves to keep them as dry as possible. Then he pulled over a stool and waited.

Yennefer announced her return by saying, “I’m only healing him because if he dies, I won’t be able to castrate him for composing the Ballad of the Two Tits.”

“You know he never finished that,” Geralt said softly.

“Only because I threatened him!”

“Not true,” the Witcher said softly. “He grew bored and instead decided to compose a ballad about a butterfly- don’t give me that look, you’ve met him.”

“I’d only believe it if the butterfly bedded a bird.”

“A dragonfly, actually.”

Geralt barely touched the food Yennefer brought, leaving her to sit at the table and eat by herself. Then she sat at the table and watched him in silence.

When Dandelion began to shiver he took him from the tub, laying him on a bedroll Yennefer had brought, and covering him in a blanket.

A short while later, he transferred him back to the tub.

“When did you last sleep?” He’d almost forgotten Yennefer was there and hadn’t noticed when she’d crept up behind him as he sat on the stool

“I’m fine.”

“Rest,” she said. “I’ll watch the bard.”

He finally nodded, only because he knew she’d shout at him otherwise, and stretched out on the other bedroll. Sleep overtook him almost immediately.

----------------------

“Geralt wake up.” Yennefer was shaking him. He opened his eyes, blinking wearily. “Control your poet!” she spat, and then was gone, vanishing through the door.

Geralt sat up, looking around the small hut in confusion.

“I only said she ought to join me in the tub,” said a weak voice.

“Dandelion!” Geralt jumped to his feet, rushing across the room to the bard, who was awake, slumped in the water trough.

“I’m cold,” the bard murmured, so Geralt pulled him from the tub, wrapping him in a shirt and rubbing him dry. “She’s gone Geralt.”

“She’s only outside.” He could hear her, complaining to Roach as the mare grazed.

“Little Eye.”

It took a moment for Geralt to remember Dandelion’s poet friend, the one the Witcher had once spent an evening with. His lips drew into a tight line, his chest grew tight and he froze, one hand hovering over Dandelion’s shoulder.

“I buried her,” Dandelion whimpered. “I should have left- but I-I couldn’t leave her to the sick houses.”

“I didn’t know she was there,” the Witcher confessed. He’d known Dandelion was in the city only because he’d dropped him off there before going on a contract. Then he’d heard of the plague and turned and run straight back.

“It happened so suddenly, everyone fell ill and she- oh Geralt- oh it was awful.” Dandelion shivered and Geralt wrapped him in a blanket, then brought him a bit of the stew that Yennefer had brought. He’d put it by the fire to keep it warm before he went bed, and Dandelion allowed him to help him eat, the poet still too weak to hold the bowl.

“I buried her in the woods, with your pearl and her lute- she’d have liked it.” He grabbed Geralt’s wrist suddenly, stopping the Witcher from spooning more stew into his mouth. “Why am I alive if she’s dead?”

Geralt found it hard to look into the poet’s frightened eyes. “Because I was too slow,” he said softly.

“It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours. Now eat, she’d want you to.”

Once he’d fed Dandelion and helped him to drink more water, he wrapped the poet in the blankets and told him to rest. Then he went to find the sorceress.

She was petting Roach.

He’d never known someone to pet a horse angrily, but Yennefer was managing it, dragging her fingers over the mare’s flank with extreme care, while at the same time having the expression of someone who was about to burn down a house.

“I’d say he’s sorry for what he said and that the fever addled him, but, well, he’s Dandelion.”

She shook her head with a snort. “Yes, he’s a lecher and a cad and a womanizer, but somehow he’s your dearest friend.”

“I-”

“Oh I know why,” she said with a smile. “But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

“You know why?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a question he asked himself occasionally if he were honest.

Yennefer smiled. “Because he tells you that you’re human.” She shook her head. “I’m going back to my shop. I’m certain I have a line of customers by now. Don’t let him into the city for a week, at least, just to be certain we don’t have an outbreak.”

Geralt nodded.

“If he grows worse, tell him he can die.” But her face said otherwise, said that if he asked, she’d come back. She would complain about it, but she’d come, if for no other reason than she would sooner exile herself beyond the Edge of the World than watch Geralt bury his dearest friend.

“And no contracts! Don’t you dare leave him, and once he’s better, take him as far from me as you can.”

“Thank you Yen,” he said with a smile.

“About your payment-”

“Yes?”

She grinned, leaned forward, and pressed their lips together. “I’ll collect it later,” she promised softly, grinning up at him.

“Who will I be whipping for you this time?”

But Yennefer only laughed.

Geralt didn’t watch her go, as much as he’d have liked to, instead he stepped back inside the dilapidated house, where Dandelion was stretched out.

“I- I meant to ask- Geralt, tell me truthfully- I can take it: how’s my face?”

He grinned. “You look like a Striga.”

“What?” For someone who had almost died, Dandelion’s reflexes were impressive, sitting up sharply and touching his face.

“Sit down, Dandelion. You look fine. You’ll owe Yennefer a great deal of thanks though.”

“I shall compose her a song!”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, well, I suppose she’d hate that, wouldn’t she?”

“She would.”

Yen could totally have filled the tub herself with magic, but she wanted to keep Geralt busy.

Also, I didn't make up The Ballad of the Two Tits. It's an actual thing and that's why I love Dandelion. I did make up the bit about the butterfly though.

[whumpsideblog]

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part five

Wow! I haven’t written shit for these princes in a loooong time now. I’m hoping this is good but I’m not used to writing sickfics and honestly I might stay away from it in the future haha. Thank you so much for all the messages I’ve gotten between the last part and this one, and I’m really sorry it’s taken so long!

***

As a child, Alessander got sick often. There wasn’t much of a reason for it, it just happened, and he remembered a lot of days spent in bed, being waited on for everything he could possibly need until he was better.  It had been a long time since he’d last caught a cold and unfortunately, this one hit him hard.

He felt exhausted the whole day, he felt heavy and found that moving was a strain on his whole body. His vision was constantly fading in and out, and sometimes the room around him seemed to warp and twist, disorienting him greatly. He was sick to his stomach, he felt suffocatingly hot yet he was shivering, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down.

He tried to push through it at first. He sat quietly at his prince’s feet and he did his best not to cause trouble. It was around noon when he finally voiced his discomfort, hesitantly reaching up and grasping Devlyn’s hand weakly.

 “Prince Devlyn…?” He murmured.

 “What is it, less?” The prince asked, looking down to him.

 “I… I don’t feel well… do you think I can go rest…?” He asked tiredly.

 “You don’t feel well?” The prince frowned. “You will be fine, I don’t wish to hear your complaints.” He told him, brushing him off completely.

 “But… please, I-“

 “I said you’re fine.” He said sternly. “You don’t want me to force you outside again, do you?” He asked, and Alessander quickly shook his head.

 “N-no… I’m sorry, my prince…” he said softly, looking to the floor. He’d just have to push through the rest of the day, surely he could do that much.

***

 At this point it seemed like the prince was punishing him just for complaining. Typically, he kept Alessander at his side, he didn’t ask him for much, just sit quiet and still. After his complaints though he seemed to want to try something different.

 First he was sent to retrieve something from the prince’s room. A simple enough task but even after all this time his ankles were still healing, every step hurt and that was on top of how nauseous he already felt. He returned with the item and before he could even think of sitting the prince told him to fetch a book from the library. He kept this up for some time, the library, back to the bedroom, out to the courtyard, back upstairs. His feet and legs hurt, he never walked this much in a day, much less while feeling feverish and disoriented.

 He had dropped to his knees, praying this would be the end of it, but the prince wasn’t done.

 “Oh, Less could you fetch me a drink love?” He asked absentmindedly, though he seemed to smile when Alessander’s face fell, he looked ready to cry as he slowly got back to his feet. He felt weak as he made his way to the kitchens, he poured the prince a drink with shaking hands and tried to make his way back. He’d barely made it back down the hall though, the hallway was warping, twisting in front of him, and before he knew it his legs gave out.

 The glass shattered as he dropped it, and though collapsing was painful as his head hit the hard floor, he barely even noticed. In fact, it felt more like relief than anything, his face pressed against the cool floor. He found his eyelids heavy, he was so very tired. He’d rest, just for a few moments, he told himself...

***

 A servant found him sometime later, and the prince was quickly alerted. Alessander was taken up to the prince’s room and laid in bed, left to suffer alone and out of the prince’s way. He woke up hours later, hot and feverish as he quickly kicked the blankets away from him. He felt gross in general, his throat was beginning to hurt and he was covered in sweat, his clothes and hair sticking to him uncomfortably.

 When the bedroom door opened he hardly reacted, Something was placed on the bedside table and then there was a weight pressing down next to him. He wearily opened his eyes, looking to the man next to him. His eyes widened at what he saw, at seeing his closest friend next to him once again.

 “How do you feel?” Taryn asked, gently placing a hand against his forehead. Alessander started to answer, but instead hastily sat up, throwing his arms around him.

 “Oh god…” he murmured, pressing his face into his chest. It was comforting, the first true comfort he’d had in some time. “I’ve missed you… I thought you were dead…” his voice was hoarse as he spoke, he didn’t care though, he just wanted to speak to Taryn, it’s all he’d been dreaming about. “Don’t scare me like that again… please…” he hated how his voice cracked and he had to blink away tears, but he knew Taryn wouldn’t mind.

 “What are you rambling about, Less?” The coldness of his tone made him let go, pulling back to look up at him. As his vision cleared he realized it had been nothing more than a feverish hallucination. The prince was staring back at him, quite clearly irritated.

 “I… I’m sorry my prince… I just… I thought you were…”

 “You mistook me for that dog of yours, hm? I’m almost insulted.” The prince sighed, grabbing Alessander’s shoulders and forcibly laying him back against the many propped up pillows. “Your fever is much too high if you’re having such wild visions. I didn’t think you were so fragile a simple fever would put you down like this. You’re very troublesome sometimes.”

 “I’m sorry… I’m… happy to see you, Prince Devlyn…” he smiled weakly at him, despite the tears he was blinking away, reaching for his hand, only for the prince to bat it away.

 “You’re a bad liar, love. I’ll allow it to slide this time though, you are sick after all.” He leaned forward to brush his hair off his face, before reaching for the bedside table where he’d left a glass of water. Even though Alessander could’ve held it on his own the prince held it to his lips for him, he was even careful enough to be sure that he didn’t choke. Alessander gratefully downed the whole glass, thanking the prince once he was done.

 “I’m sorry for collapsing like I did… I’m sorry I’m trouble…” he sighed as the prince brought the blankets up around him.

 “We can tend to that later, for now you should just rest.” The prince stood up, telling him he’d return shortly before leaving the room. The prince was being kind, merciful even, and while Alessander was deeply grateful he knew there would be a price to pay later. For now though, he would enjoy any comfort offered to him.

***

 He’d stayed in bed the rest of the day, and as usual he went to bed when the prince did. Despite the blankets over them Alessander found it hard to sleep, occasionally drifting off only to wake up freezing, so cold it almost hurt. He tried hugging himself and curling up to keep warm but eventually he gave up, moving closer to the sleeping prince in hopes he’d spare some of his body heat.

 He was still shaking and shivering and much to his dismay, his attempt to lay so close to him woke Devlyn up, he couldn’t handle the prince’s anger right now, he couldn’t handle a punishment or scolding. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

 “What are you doing, Less…?” The prince asked tiredly, sitting up to look down at him.

 “ ‘m fine… just cold…” he murmured, hugging himself and avoiding the prince’s gaze. Devlyn reaches down, gently placing his hand on Alessander’s cheek, and he couldn’t help but lean into his warm touch, thankful for any relief.

 “You’re burning up still…” he frowned. He laid back down and pulled the blankets over them, before pulling Alessander into his arms, his back pressed against his chest. Alessander was tense at first, he wasn’t used to sleeping like this, much less with the prince holding him this way. After some time though, he did start to relax, and this position was rather warm. He quickly found himself relaxing, even falling asleep.

 Despite this though, he desperately wished it was Taryn holding him instead.

[hermitreunited]

Because They Have a Blanket Chest Now

Daily-Fluff-Dose Day One

Prompt: sickfic

Characters: Allison + Klaus + Vanya

Of course they all deserve a cookie and a pat on the head for stopping the end of days, but when they returned from that exhausting little time journey, Klaus hadn’t been too impressed. He hasn’t been to the apocalypse, he doesn’t have that to compare things to. The world still just looks like the world, big deal. He can see that objectively it is, in fact, a big big deal, so yes, great job everyone, but the important thing, really, is that when they came back, Ben was alive, thank God.

Thank Five, actually. And thank whoever takes on the task of making sure those two scheming, ancient pre-teens never meet each other.

The point is that Ben is alive, and it’s wonderful; he can read all those books Klaus never got for him and see places Klaus never took him and spend time with people other than Klaus, and that’s really great and Klaus is so incredibly happy for him, and also, Klaus is a little bit lonely these days.

He’s never been good at sleeping through the night, and even less so these days, with no way to keep the ghosts quiet and more nightmares to choose from than ever before to shock him awake.

He’s not complaining -  he’s not - he’s not. What he is is he’s walking.

He’s almost done walking. Took a turn about the old neighborhood for, gosh, was it really a multiple hours? But now the streets are starting to wake with people heading off to work like normal people do, and Klaus is heading home, because he’s not wandering around homeless and high off his ass these days, but he is still nothing close to normal.

He stops in to the corner store first. They have these little puffed pastries with cherry filling in them, gleaming red at the ends like rubies. He coveted them when he was little, and then he stole them when he was older. Today’s probably the first time he’s ever paid for them; he wonders if that’ll make them taste sweeter. He stuffs the paper bag with more than he can eat and hopes he can use them to bribe someone into hanging out with him, at least for a little while.

It’s really early when he shoves open the heavy front door and slips inside. Five may be an early riser, but really, it’s really early. The house is too big for this to be an actual plan, but Klaus decides to go brew some coffee and maybe the smell of it percolating will reach up to Five’s room and he’ll float through the halls and down into the kitchen, riding along on the wafting scent like a hypnotized cartoon character.

Although. He might not need Five after all.

Allison is sprawled across the hard maroon couch in the great room, Vanya with her knees tucked up to her chest is sitting wedged at the end by Allison’s feet. Allison makes a very unhappy sound and extends her arm straight up in the air just to bring it down and press a hand to her forehead. There’s a couple - wow, a couple, impressive - empty bottles of wine on the center table.

Klaus grins. So maybe he won’t have to con Five into a chat.

He still is going to need some coffee.

Once he’s in the kitchen with a plan to set in motion, he gets a little overexcited. Goes a little overboard trying to make eggs. It seems like a good idea, but Klaus has never made eggs, not any time that he’s been sober enough to remember, anyway. When Mom makes them, they don’t usually look this wet, he doesn’t think. He scoops them out onto two plates anyway and dumps some black pepper over the top in case that’ll help.

He debates piling everything onto a cutting board or something to bring it all out in one trip, but he decides that he’s not Cinderella and his balance is just not that good. An excellent decision, it turns out, when he accidentally shoulder-checks the doorway on his way in. And then the sloppy scrambled eggs nearly fall off the plates anyway because the whole of everything shakes for a few seconds. The noise of his entrance caught Vanya by surprise, but it’s as impressive an arrival as a person could make.

In sing-song tones, he asks, “And how are we feeling today?” Just to be a pain, because he definitely already knows the answer.

“I never drink this much,” Vanya moans. “How did we drink this much?”

“I’m too old for this,” Allison says like it’s an agreement, even though it’s barely a connected thought.

Klaus plops down cross-legged on the floor next to the couch and waggles the food in Allison’s face. “You’re never too old for breakfast!”

She props herself up sideways on an elbow. With an expressive wrinkle of her nose - she’s an actress, she’s good at dramatic faces - she seems to immediately think better of it and goes back to being fully horizontal.

Skeptically, she asks, “Is that edible?”

“It’s eggs,” Klaus says brightly, because that is the one thing about them that he knows for certain.

“That wasn’t really an answer. Was that a real answer?” Allison checks with Vanya.

“Not an answer.” Vanya’s mumbling so much it’s practically all one word.

“You ever seen Diego eat eggs?” Klaus says. “He cracks those fuckers raw right into his mouth, lets them slide down his throat.”

Vanya groans and clutches her stomach, which makes Klaus grin, but he does take pity. He’s been on the other side of this situation more times than he hasn’t. More times than he’s done most things. He hauls himself to his feet. “Stay right there.”

As he bounds out of the room, Vanya mutters something that sounds like, “Not going anywhere. Ever again.”

Allison takes her coffee darker than Vanya does. Klaus picks up the two mugs, then puts them back down so he can grab a pair of water bottles, since they are probably going to want some of that, too. He stuffs those under his left arm and ends up having to carry the bag of pastries with his teeth. But he does manage to get everything in one trip, and without spilling anything! This is the kind of incredible feat of dexterity and willpower that Klaus can be fully supportive of, because it’s definitely unprecedented and he knows what a pain in the ass it would be if he had to stop and clean a huge mess off of dad’s expensive carpeting.

Vanya hugs her mug close to her chest. She doesn’t drink it, just keeps her eyes shut and her breathing deep. Allison doesn’t even bother taking it, so he puts it on the table with the rest of the abandoned food.

“You had a great night then, huh?” If Klaus was really as good a brother as he’s pretending to be, he’d be quiet, but he’s bored and unexpectedly ghost-free. “So spill.”

“No men,” Vanya murmurs, and Allison echoes her loudly.

“No men!” she says. “Was a good night, with no men.”

“That does sound like a good start,” Klaus agrees. He sips on Allison’s bitter coffee since she’s not making any move on it. He doesn’t love coffee, but the warmth is nice. The cup is heating up his fingers, which he didn’t even realize were cold.

“Why are we so bad at men?” Allison taps Vanya’s leg with her foot. “Is it them or us? They were both so bad.”

“So so bad. I mean, it’s them, but also it’s probably us.” Vanya slurps up some of her drink and Allison rhythmically nods, her chin pressing down to her collarbone over and over. “I guess it’s just Hargreeves family bad luck.”

“Hey, speak for yourself.” Klaus wedges his feet beneath the sofa and leans back against the low table. “My man is perfection.” Except for the being dead part, which was less than ideal. In all other ways, though. Perfection.

“What if, actually,” Allison says, “nobody speaks. We could all stop speaking.”

“Start sleeping.” Vanya agrees.

She looks about ready to take her own advice, right away, so Klaus hops up and plucks the mug from her hands. She doesn’t open her eyes but she makes an annoyed noise and then that makes the floor rumble a little. Her little grabby hands open and close on nothing.

Klaus shushes soothing sounds at her and pulls out her favorite soft blanket from the chest they keep in here now for those. Because they have a blanket chest now. Every time Klaus sees it, it still makes him smile knowing how much it would piss the old man off that they have a whole box taking up space in here, all filled up with comfort items.

He pulls out Allison’s oversized orange afghan too, and flutters them up and over his sisters, tucking the edges in along the sides. Both of them are already completely dead to the world. That probably isn’t likely to change for a while. Hangover naps are a dense, weighty sleep.

These questionably edible eggs are not going to get any more appetizing, so Klaus gathers up the plates again and scrapes them into the kitchen trash. The most important item of all is the ibuprofen he fetches from the top shelf.

Even shaking the bottle like a maraca doesn’t wake these sleeping beauties. Not that he wants to. Vanya is making little snuffly snore sounds, it’s adorable. Setting the pills down, he gets reminded about those pastries he bought.

He sits between the table and couch again, but this time turned the other way, feet under the table, and cushions and Allison’s legs at his back. Looks like he’ll have to eat alone after all. He blows out a disappointed sigh. Being sober blows, and being sober all by himself is worse. But he’s not completely alone. The girls may be asleep, but they are right there behind him, warm bodies and soft breaths.

Allison’s not using the whole blanket. It’s huge. Half of it is draped off the edge of the couch anyway.

If he does the math, Klaus figures he can’t have gotten more than three hours of sleep before he went out for his circuitous neighborhood comeback tour.

He snags the afghan spilling onto the floor and tucks it below his chin.

It really is very cozy under here; he did a great job taking care of the two of them.

The scent of coffee is nice and relaxing, too.

That’s another first - this room actually feels peaceful. That’s definitely never happened before.

His eyes drift closed without him even noticing.