#joe's not allowed to be sick not after all the mumps and pneumonia and trapped nerves and laryngitis and deviated septum and rotator cuff a

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

SOS Emergency (Joe x Reader)

Words: 2,496

Prompt: Remember in February when Joe was hospitalized in Colombia and we all collectively had a panic attack? :) This is just a lil headcannon about what happened that day. I wrote this darling little sickfic that same day to cope with the insane amount of Worried Wife Energy I had.

TW: illness, vomiting, fainting, hospital

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February 24th, 2023

Bogotá, Colombia

Joe huffed, out of breath and face-down over the toilet. All of his body weight slumped against the bowl for support; his stomach having just ejected his minimal dinner from earlier. His fingers shook with the stress, pain pounding through his skull as he felt his stomach beginning to calm down.

Okay, he quickly speculated, So I've got food poisoning. Not uncommon after trying something in a different country. Lucky me, I guess.

As he took in another breath when the urge hit him, he felt the room suddenly spin. His lungs had tightened without warning, causing him to let out a desperate cough with a hand on his chest. He focused on taking in his breaths carefully, but each one proved to be just as difficult as the last. The pulse in his ears and the slight wheezes that came with his inhalations seemed to be the only things he could hear at the moment.

So, maybe not food poisoning, then.

A hand laid on Joe's back, and he jumped in surprise at the touch. He heard voices echoing back to him, calling his name and sounding concerned. It was here he realized he wasn't alone, and that he'd temporarily forgotten this fact. 

"Breathe, Joe," he heard your voice first, "Keep breathing, be sick if you need to."

Had I fainted? he wondered. He couldn't seem to recall things from the minute before he found himself spewing over the loo in his hotel room. The lightheadedness that knocked him around seemed to further support his mind's new argument of a potential fainting spell.

As more sensations came back to him, Joe also realized you were holding his platinum white hair back from his face. It was a good thing you were, too, as the thought to do so had never occurred to him. This sensation of you gently tugging at his locks began to trigger a wave of remembrance in him, and everything from the moment prior came suddenly back.

Joe had been with you all evening, complaining of  the thin air of the city, feeling generally sick, and being overly tired from a headache. Those were only two of his complaints, which were then accompanied by comments in the midst of your conversations about his chest feeling tight and stomach feeling "off". You both passed it off as nerves and/or jet lag, yet Joe continued to air his gripes to you as the evening went on and his symptoms rose.

Just when you were both ready to turn into bed for the night (on account of his ailment worsening), Joe had paused upon feeling the room teeter around him.

His chest tightened up for about the 8th time that day, but somehow worse. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping his chest and sensing the struggle in his breath. 

Hearing him become labored, you asked if he was alright.

Before he answered, the quickly-approaching wave of dizziness moved his stomach around like a boat in rough water, and he felt the sudden urge to heave. You saw his eyes widen in fear as he went to haul himself up as fast as he could. He did so faster than his weakened body allowed, causing his eyes to briefly roll back into his head as he slid out of the bed with a wheeze.

All he remembers next is fighting to gasp for breath in between the quick waves of sudden vomiting, not listening to a word you said or hearing anything you may have done. He didn't even remember practically crawling to the nearby bathroom after he'd hit the floor; he supposed it was his instinct that got him there by default.

Joe rested his head on his arm against the seat after the expulsion had stopped. He didn't dare open his eyes out of fear of seeing whatever had come back up from his stomach a second ago.

"He sounds like he can't breathe-" your voice came back to his ears as if you were worriedly informing a third person. When Joe heard you flush the toilet above him, he wanted to thank you for reading his thoughts so clearly. However, too spent and too out of breath to speak, he kept it to himself.

"It's not just food poisoning," Phil's voice rang out from the doorway behind him, "Christ, he's shakin' like a leaf..."

Joe had not remembered Phil being in the room a moment ago. He knew he was right next door, so perhaps you had called him over once you realized there was a serious problem afoot.

"Well if he'd say something, maybe we would know," your hand gently and tenderly gripped his shoulder, "Talk to us, sweetie- tell us what's wrong."

Joe tilted his head in the direction of your voice, the weight of his fatigue still making his eyelids plummet. It was strange, you thought, seeing him appear so pallid. Spending all day in the Colombian sun had apparently not left any evidence on his skin.

Still, he knew he had to use whatever breath he had wisely, so he quickly deciphered what was more important to say to you both first before anything else.

"Chest's tight... I can't... really breathe well..." he coughed downwards before continuing, "Heart's poundin'. Don't wanna move..."

Phil asked, "Does he feel warm at all?"

The cold fingers of your hand swept across his forehead, making him twitch in surprise again.

"He doesn't have a fever," you noted to Phil, "You don't suppose..."

You didn't dare list anything serious in front of Joe. Out of fear of putting any more stress on him, you shut your mouth. Your empty sentence spoke to Phil too much, however, as he heard the dire implications behind it.

"No, no. It just doesn't seem like it-" he shook his head in denial, but his voice didn't sound entirely convinced of what he was reassuring you with, "-maybe it's the thin air makin' him sick?"

"Could be... but this bad?"

"Regardless, I'm calling Mike right now and letting him know we gotta take him to a hospital. Stay here with him and call me if he gets any worse-"

Phil turned on his heels and hurried back to his room as calmly and quickly as possible to grab the phone he'd left there a moment before. As soon as you'd texted him, simply stating "I need help, Joe's sick, get over here NOW," he'd- quite literally- dropped everything and ran.

"Joey, we gotta get you to a doctor," you rubbed his back and softly told him, "You're gonna have to try and stand up."

Joe groaned weakly at your words, lifting his head and hovering over the bowl again with a gag as he anticipated another contraction of his stomach. 

He shook his head with a desperate, "Hold me... I think I'm-"

Getting on your knees at his side, your arm went around his shoulders to keep him steady over the bowl as he heaved again with a grunt of discomfort. You let him be sick, keeping his thin hair out of the line of fire like you did the last time. You were certain he would not be sick again once he'd finished; this was just the aftershock from when he was sick before. 

Your voice was as gentle and calm as you could make it in such an urgent moment, "It's okay, don't fight it- it'll pass..."

As scared for him as you were, you couldn't begin to imagine how terrified he might have felt. Mysterious illness in a foreign country? Definitely something you could live without.

"Just keep trying to breathe- even if it's hard. Do what you can- in and out..."

Joe coughed harshly a few times, reaching up and flushing the toilet again. You saw his one hand on the toilet seat trembling with his fast pulse. You even noticed him slightly swaying as if he were off balance like he'd been earlier that night, hence the request for you to hold him steady as he vomited.

He kept his head hung, focusing all his energy on breathing along with you. You sweetly reassured him time after time that he was doing great and that he was getting better, hoping it would give him more will to stand up when Phil came back with Mike. Each inhale and exhale was accompanied by a long, smooth stroke of your hand on his back in order to synchronize your breaths.

"What... the fuck is wrong... with me...?" he huffed tiredly, evidence of whimpering in his voice.

"We're gonna find out, baby, and you're gonna be alright."

And after a minute, he was away from the toilet, and you were both sitting against the wall on the bathroom floor together. Whatever was ailing your 63 year-old lover, it had dramatically broken him down into an almost child-like state of desperation for comfort. Joe was now curled up both against and over you, almost lifeless except for his labored breathing and trembling. He was so drained and weakened that you thought he was turning a new shade of pale; one similar to the stark white of his sleek hair. 

Still, you had to put your worries away for the moment. Joe needed you, and you had to be tough and focused for him.

It was this way that Mike and Phil found you a minute later, and with their help, you got Joe off the ground, into his shoes, and out the door.

***

Joe ended up being admitted to the ER with dyspnea and heart palpitations. In the end, it turned out that Phil was right from the start; the culprit behind this mystery was acute mountain sickness.

Simply the fact Joe was not acclimated to the city's altitude had made him terribly sick. It almost made you laugh, but you knew it was nothing to laugh about. The combination of him being at a different barometric pressure and also not getting enough oxygen was what caused this urgent episode. You didn't even know that this sort of thing was possible- neither of you did- but now it was very real and very scary.  

"If that doesn't scream 'I'm a foreigner', I don't know what does," Joe weakly laughed in bed. He was speaking more (not like you or anyone could stop him), now that he was put on oxygen. Of course, he was trying to add light air to the worried energy of the room that hadn't gone away yet.

Despite the joke, you could tell he was thoroughly shaken-up and still far from feeling well, so you had joined him in his hospital bed to intertwine your fingers together.

Luckily, the doctors in Bogotá were more than familiar with his condition, since the elevation of the city was often too much for visitors. The chosen course of action was to pump Joe full of medications, oxygen, and fluids to get him back to normal. He was- just as well- hooked up to what felt like every monitor imaginable as a precaution.

No amount of Joe's chipper remarks could have turned the mood around.

"Never do that again," you quietly warned him in a serious tone, "You're not allowed to scare me like that."

"What, with the joke?"

"No- with falling ill like this!"

"Oh come on, all I did was get sick."

"No, actually- you looked at me like you were terrified for your life, then you went-" an imitation of his wheezing followed suit, followed by you making your eyes roll back. You fell back against the bed in an attempt to mimic Joe's fainting, "And fell out of bed!"

"But that-"

You disregarded his attempts to speak and went on, "Then before I could get to you, you got up and basically threw yourself on the floor at the toilet, and-"

You made a puking sound and motion.

"Not to mention this entire time, you kept saying you couldn't breathe!"

Falling silent afterwards, you made eye contact with him for a brief moment, then looked away.

"You scared the living shit out of me, Joe," you very quietly admitted, trying not to sound emotional, "I thought something was..."

A shuddery breath accidentally slipped through as your tears of panic couldn't hide themselves anymore. You had kept your cool this entire time, as you knew you had to be strong and focused for his sake. Now that Joe was safe and out of danger, this cool could no longer be kept.

"Oh love, don't cry for me," he softly requested, untangling your fingers and resting a hand on your thigh.

You were quick to shake your head, "Well I am, because that was terrifying and I never wanna go through that again-!"

"Neither do I, but I'm better now! Not completely, but still better- and it's because of you."

You sniffed and scoffed, "And a doctor or two."

Joe stressed his last point, "And you."

He slowly lifted his arm up from your leg to put it around you lazily.

"Sure, the doctors are treating me, but you were the first one to care for me. I don't want to even think about what would've happened if you weren't there in our room... if I were alone without you..."

"Awh, baby..." you put a hand on his leg, squeezing just a little, "You'll never be alone as long as I'm here..."

His head flopped against yours. He kept quiet for a few hesitant seconds before sleepily declaring, "I love you... I hope you know you're my hero."

 "...and I hope you know you're on drugs, Mr. Woozy."

He turned to kiss your head, "But still capable, still coherent, and still doing the show tomorrow. The doctors even said so."

"I know, I know- you made it very clear on the ride here that you're doing the show tomorrow," you wiped your tears away, "But you're not going to force it! Don't let that oxygen go to your head and make you delirious."

 "You should try some of this oxygen, too, you know-" he tapped the small tubes going into his nostrils, "You'll feel like a new person, I swear..."

"I think you should probably try sleeping like the doctors said- before you get any other ideas. You had a rough day," your hand held onto his fingers that draped around your neck as you added on in a much more quiet, much more loving voice, "And don't worry, I will be right here with you... cos' I'm your 'hero'."

Joe smiled down at you, the wooziness apparent in his eyes. He was mellowed down; more honest and genuine at the moment. He was feeling peace for the first time in a while, and with that came a lot of euphoric love he had the pressing need to express.

"My hero," he repeated in a quiet grumble, letting his eyes flutter shut as he drifted near slumber, "My fearless protector."

      The end