#i am definitely not willing to get drunk for fic research though. i already feel hungover

[antiadvil]

my inability to confidently write drunk characters is beginning to ruin my fanfic career but i'm like really not supposed to drink, can i just get high (on weed) like is that close enough??? writing characters who are cooler than you is so hard that's a joke i know drinking doesn't make you cool

[toosicktoocare]

like father, like son

Spoilers for 911 Lone Star below!

A fic no one asked for: TK winds up sick because he’s not sleeping well since learning about his dad’s diagnosis and because he’s pushing himself too hard to be a better son. (Also, Carlos doesn’t really vibe with fever sex.) 

The dreams don’t actually start until a few days after his talk with his dad, after a moment of pure, unfiltered vulnerability spanning from one to the other, but when they do finally start to plague his sleep, they’re terrifying, encompassing his every fear into twisted images of dirty hospitals, blood splashing against walls from violent coughs, two large, decaying organs pressing against him, suffocating him, and his father, withering away before his eyes.

After jerking awake in a cold sweat two nights in a row, TK forgoes sleep because he would much rather take fatigue any day over the spoiled visuals that seem to stain his thoughts, even when he’s awake. He, instead, takes to the internet when he should be resting, researching the side effects of chemo, what to look out for, what dialogue could cause potential triggers, and the most important, the one he’s most determined to achieve by any means necessary, how to care for a cancer patient. 

He sleeps only a little, catching one to three hours a day but subconsciously not allowing his body to slip into REM, and his growing exhaustion goes relatively unnoticed until he wakes at three am after nodding off in a chair in his room with a medical book on his lap to a scratchy throat and a slight hint of pressure pushing behind his eyes. 

He slips to his feet, quietly resting the book on the chair, and he pads softly across his room to the bathroom, flicking the lights on with a wide yawn. His reflection leaves much to be desired, a pale, drawn man with deep purple bags under his eyes staring back at him. 

“Shit,” he mutters, a low whistle, almost impressed with how terrible he’s managed to look, but then he’s turning to cough lightly into the crook of his arm until he’s wincing from the uncomfortable tingle that almost burns against his throat. He hunches over the sink, splashing cool water on his face, and then he’s reaching for the ibuprofen, but when he can hear gagging from his dad’s bedroom, he drops the pill bottle, the loud clattering and rolling fading in the distance as he races out his room. 

“Dad?” He shoves his dad’s bathroom door open to see him curled around the toilet, shoulders shaking slightly. The panic in his eyes fades to sympathetic concern, a look he’s been sporting far too much over the last few days, and he crouches beside his dad, dropping a hand to his back to feel his muscles convulsing under his palm. Wincing, he smooths his palm up and down his dad’s back, repeating the action, just as his dad would do for him, until Owen’s finally reaching up to flush the toilet with a groan. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Owen rasps out, and TK’s eyes fall just a little. 

“You didn’t,” he reassures, spitting out a quick lie when Owen frowns at him. “I was already up. Had to piss.” 

“Creepy timing,” Owen says around a weak laugh. “Didn’t realize my stomach and your bladder were in sync.” 

Rolling his eyes, TK gets to his feet, reaching a hand out toward Owen. “You’re so weird,” he mutters when Owen’s hand finds his. He pulls him to his feet, a frown threatening to pull at his lips at the ease. His dad’s been dropping weight, and for just a moment, he’s almost pulled back to too-vivid images, but he shakes his head, willing the fear away. 

“You done?”

He keeps close to his dad when he sidesteps around him to the sink to rinse his mouth out, eyes trained to the slight tremor in his dad’s steps. 

“Yeah,” Owen groans, frowning at his reflection, and TK meets his eyes through the mirror. They share a silent conversation. They’ve been doing that a lot since they talked, neither knowing how to verbally convey what their eyes are practically screaming. 

“Are you alright?” Owen finally asks, turning from TK’s pale reflection to see if it’s merely a trick of the light or if his son truly looks ill. His frown deepens, concern taking over his forehead in deep worry lines, when TK’s poor image appears to not be just a trick of the mirror. “You look exhausted.” 

“I’m fine,” TK says easily, and he doesn’t fight it when Owen reaches the back of his hand to his forehead, only watching with a gaze that’s almost struggling to be patient. 

“You don’t feel feverish,” Owen mutters, stepping back to asses his son with a long, studious gaze, taking in the dark circles colored under his eyes, his slumped posture, and his almost sunken face. “Have you been sleeping?”

TK makes to answer, to reassure his dad that he’s completely fine, but Owen continues, not letting him sneak a word in. 

“I know it can be hard to shut your mind off, especially after learning about all of this.” He gestures weakly toward himself. “But, we can tell your therapist--” 

“Dad,” TK groans, turning toward the door. “I said I’m fine.” ‘I’m not the one with cancer’ is what he wants to follow with, but the mere thought stabs at his chest like a dagger that’s on fire, so, instead, he looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “Stop worrying about me and go get more rest, old man.” 

The smile grows wide and genuine at Owen’s mock dismay, the latter even going so far as to slap a hand to his chest. “Tyler Kennedy Strand, you take that back right this second!” 

“The number doesn’t lie,” TK laughs out, running when Owen shoots after him, and he takes the light punches to his back, stopping only when Owen turns away to cough harshly. Tension flicks across TK’s muscles, and he spins around, frowning. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Owen breathes out, catching his breath. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re going to wrinkle.” 

“You are unbelievable,” TK spits out around a huff of a laugh as he turns to leave the room, calling out his goodnight as he shuffles back into his room. It’s almost 3:30 now, and his alarm is set for 6. His muscles are aching for his bed, but his heart’s been the only one allowed to make decisions as of late. He bypasses his bed and slips his sneakers on, waiting until he hears Owen’s soft snores before he slips out of the house for a run. 

*****

“Not to be an asshole or anything, but you look like shit.” 

TK’s hand freezes mid rub at his helmet, and he drags a narrow gaze up to Judd. “Good morning to you, too.” He frowns a little, the crack in his voice betraying him, and he pulls his gaze back to his helmet, ignoring Judd when the latter takes a seat beside him. 

“TK, man, what’s going on? You’ve been looking like a zombie for a week now, and you’re starting to sound like one, too.”

“I’m fine,” TK grumbles, but the few coughs that slip past his pursed lips say otherwise, and he can see Judd tense slightly beside him through his peripherals. 

“It’s your dad, isn’t it?” Judd leans toward TK, keeping his voice low, and TK twists his gaze over until he’s meeting Judd’s surprisingly soft eyes. The look alone has his shoulders slumping, and he sighs lowly. 

“It’s just a lot to take in, and I’m trying to do better.” If he’s not dissecting each google page or medical book, he’s catering to his dad’s every need, cooking for him, supporting him as much as possible while out on the line, and being at his side through the nightly coughing fits and bouts of nausea. “I’m trying to take care of him,” he adds, voice almost a whisper, and Judd claps a hand to his shoulder. 

“You aren’t going to be any good to him if you drive yourself into the ground. You need a little break.” 

“I can’t--”

“--sorry to interrupt this little pow-wow, boys,” Owen cuts in, talking loud enough to gather the attention of his entire team. “But I’ve just received an invitation to the bar tonight, so make sure you bring your dancing shoes!” 

TK doesn’t miss the way Michelle stops to roll her eyes before she hoists herself up into the back of an ambulance, but then his dad’s talking directly to him, voice carrying over the hollers from the others. 

“You’ll come, right?” He leans forward, whispering. “Michelle said Carlos will be there--”

“--Dad!” TK hisses out sharply, and the heat that creeps to his cheeks is evident, enough so to have Judd bellowing out a laugh beside him. 

*****

TK excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving his mineral water with Carlos as he maneuvers around bar-goers until he’s shoving the bathroom door open just as his lungs burst. He buries his face into the crook of his arm, coughing harshly. He’s been getting worse as the day’s dragged on, and it’s been getting harder to keep it to himself. He started spiking a low-grade fever toward the end of his shift, and if the chill clinging to him is anything to go by, he’d say it’s definitely spiking. 

He feels like shit, point blank utter shit. His muscles are aching, but not like they do after a particularly hard shift. They’re almost throbbing, feeling oddly restless, and his head’s pounding, behind his eyes, across his forehead, all the way to drum at his temples. Worse, though, he can’t seem to shut his mind off, not even with Carlos and his unfair muscles by his side. 

He takes just a few moments to splash cold water over his burning face, sniffling lightly when he dries his face, and then he leaves, coughing weakly into his fist as he moves back around drunks and dancing until he’s bumping Carlos’ shoulder. 

“Your dad just yee-hawed half the people off the dance floor,” Carlos shouts over the music, and TK shoots a gaze to see his dad moving through some weirdly graceful mock lasso toss. 

“Marjan got the entire thing on video,” Carlos adds, nodding across the room, and TK follows his gaze with a half-hearted laugh. 

“Hey,” Carlos’ voice is softer this time, almost gentle, and TK pulls his eyes to his, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He leans in close to TK’s ear, and TK shudders against his hot breath. 

“I don’t know about you, but this place is kind of blowing my vibe, and my couch is really lonely--”

A quick distraction that TK smiles at, lips curling up almost deviously, and he nods quickly, allowing Carlos to pull him toward the exit. He spares a glance over his shoulder, fear suddenly gripping at his heart, but then he sees Michelle laughing as Owen spins her around the dance floor. It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s with the EMT Captain. 

He doesn’t mean to catch Judd’s eyes, but he does, and Judd nods once, an almost silent reassurance that TK clings to as Carlos all but drags him out of the bar. 

*****

TK’s melting against Carlos’ forceful touch, his body moving in sync with Carlos’ smooth movements. Their lips are molding to each other, their tongues battling, and when Carlos pulls away, dragging his bottom lip with him in a gentle bite for just a moment, he groans, back arching when Carlos drags sharp kisses down his neck. He’s almost lost completely to Carlos, but then Carlos is mumbling against his neck. 

“God, you’re on fire.” He nips at TK’s neck, almost drinking in the heat pouring off of him, and TK huffs around a small shiver, still feeling oddly cold despite being swallowed by the heat of Carlos’ muscles.

“Weird,” he grunts, a light moan slipping past his lips when Carlos’ hand trails down his stomach. “I’m actually freezing.” It’s a small slip-up, lost briefly in a moment of pure honesty, and then Carlos is pulling away quickly, a frown plastered to his lips. 

He’s hovering just above TK, hands pressed to the couch beside TK’s head, and his eyes are working over TK’s face. “You’re cold?” 

TK doesn’t really see the big deal because it’s probably just cold in Carlos’ apartment with the AC purring quietly in the background, so he nods, and then Carlos is rolling off of him and starting out of the room. 

“Carlos, what the fuck?” He shouts, his throat burning with each word until he turns to cough into the crook of his arm harshly. When he catches his breath, he turns his gaze to see Carlos walking toward him with a digital thermometer in his hand. 

“Doctor kink?” he starts, both brows raised, “I mean, if that’s your thing, I can get behind that--”

“TK, shut the fuck up and put this under your tongue.” 

TK opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos shoves the tip of the thermometer into his mouth, and he can’t do anything but oblige, slipping it under his tongue as he keeps a steady gaze to Carlos’ almost angry one. When the thermometer beeps, he moves to grab it, but Carlos is faster by a long shot, more so against TK’s sore muscles, and he frowns at the 102.2 degree reading, dropping it to TK’s hand as he presses a palm to TK’s forehead. 

“Woah,” TK breathes out at the reading, frowning deeply. He knew he had been running a low-grade, but this is way higher than he expected. “Shit,” he curses, eyes flying from the device to Carlos. “I’m sorry,” he spits out, but then his lungs quake with a need to cough, and he turns away from Carlos, coughing harshly into the crook of his arm. 

When he can suck in a deep breath without the burning need to cough more, he spares a hesitant glance back to see pure, dripping worry coloring Carlos’ eyes. 

“In the SUV earlier,” Carlos mutters, almost more to himself, “when you were coughing and said you accidentally inhaled some smoke on a call earlier. I should have known then.” He reaches over TK’s shoulder for a blanket folded on the back of his couch and drapes it over TK’s slightly trembling shoulders, and TK watches his every move. 

“Why didn’t you say earlier? I wouldn’t have pushed you--”

“--I wanted the distraction,” TK admits, surprising even himself. With the gig up, with Carlos staring at him with such consuming worry, he sinks back against the couch, allowing his illness to fully sweep over his body. He shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, and he tilts his head against the back of the couch, eyes finding the ceiling. 

“A distraction from what?” Carlos pushes gently, careful to not tiptoe over into boyfriend territory. 

“Everything,” TK mutters around a weak cough, and he rolls his head to the side when Carlos lays a gentle hand to his covered knee, a small sign of encouragement that he’s listening but not forcing. 

“If I say I’m not ready to talk about it right now, will you not ask about it?”

Carlos considers this, and while the urge to push past TK’s wall is as hot as the latter’s fever, he nods slowly. “You can stay the night,” he says instead, moving with the need to see TK through what he’s sure is either a really bad cold or maybe the flu.

“I can’t,” TK starts, and he pushes the blanket away, making to stand, but his vision wavers, gray dots dancing across his eyes, and Carlos is quick on his feet, snaking a strong arm around TK’s waist and guiding him back down to the couch. 

“Why not? You can’t even walk.”

“My dad,” TK mutters, leaning heavily against Carlos. “I need to be with him... He needs someone with him to make sure he’s okay.” The panic from before, from leaving his father alone, hits him like a bucket of ice water being tossed over his head, and he’s shaking hard in Carlos’ grip, both from fever and fear, but Carlos’ only tightens his hold, a beacon of steady warmth he’s almost afraid to get too close to. 

Carlos really wants to ask about this because Owen seems fine, but the desperation clinging to TK’s tone has him considering his words. “I can call Michelle--”

“--no,” TK mutters, coughing against Carlos’ shoulder. “Judd. He’s the only other one who knows.” 

Carlos eases TK back against the couch, worry pulling at his heart as TK coughs and shivers and curls in on himself. “I’ll call Judd,” he starts, gaze drifting to the door for a moment. “Promise you won’t run?” 

“Couldn’t even if I tried,” TK chatters out, teeth clacking together, and Carlos makes quick work of calling Judd, rattling off what he knows. 

Judd’s worry on the other line of the phone apparently stretches back to a few days prior, and when he mentions he’s not sure that TK’s been sleeping, a pit grows in Carlos’ stomach, uncomfortable against the heavy weight of concern. 

Their conversation isn’t long, ending when Judd reassures him that he’ll keep an eye on Owen and will even make an excuse for TK’s absence. After, Carlos makes quick work of guiding TK to his bedroom. TK’s frighteningly compliant, only fighting him when he tries to pull an “Austin Police Department” hoodie over his head, snagging it from the back of a chair in his bedroom. 

“You’ll overheat,” Carlos tries, but TK somehow manages to pull the hoodie over his bare torso, and Carlos can’t say no when TK looks at him, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up at different ends, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his shaking hands, and the hem just covering a small part of TK’s bare thighs.

“Fine,” he mutters, breathing through a few curses as he helps TK into bed. He turns to get medicine for the fever, but TK’s hand is suddenly latching onto his wrist, surprisingly strong, and when he turns around, TK’s eyes, though glassy, are bright and aware. 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m just going to get some medicine--”

“--I can’t sleep,” TK admits, fingers digging into Carlos wrists as he coughs harshly. “I haven’t slept in a week.” 

“Jesus, TK,” Carlos breathes out. He’s getting more and more pieces of the puzzle that is Tyler Kennedy Strand, but the borders, the ones that support the picture, are still missing, as well as some middle chunks. “Why--”

“--you said you wouldn’t ask.” 

“Sorry,” Carlos mutters. “I’m just going to get medicine, and then I’ll come right back.” TK’s hand drops to the bed, eyes momentarily flicking to a color of fear that has Carlos rushing to the bathroom for ibuprofen and water. 

TK takes the medicine without question, wanting to rid his body of this shitty feeling just as much as Carlos does, and then Carlos slips some pants on and climbs into the bed, resting his back against the headboard, and TK watches him, eyes impossibly tired. 

“Do you think you can try to sleep? I’ll stay awake if you need me.”

“Judd’s with my dad?” TK asks, and when Carlos nods, he nods back, curling around Carlos’ hips, head resting against his thigh. He’s a little afraid to let his eyes slip closed, aware that he won’t have the control to not slip into REM, but when Carlos drops a careful hand to his hair, fingers carding softly through it, the fear eases a little, and he hums softly. 

“Is this okay? Have I gone too far into boyfriend territory?” 

“You have,” TK mutters around a yawn that’s followed by a few weak coughs. “But it’s okay for tonight.”