#just woke up freezing with the chills but i also have a fever

[joelscruff]

guys i have so many messages in my inbox rn but im so sick with covid and idk when i'll feel well to answer them. pls bear with me. i've never had covid before so it's Not pretty 😭

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

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a/n fourteenth part! You guys we are nearing the end and this one... This one was tough. I will only be able to accept complaints via email. Enjoy! 😉🤍🫧

warning: kids, blood, torture, intoxication, drugs, dark magic, pain, deaths, Illyrian torture mmm... I'm trying to think if I haven't missed anything. Ah... wounds.

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There was one thing Azriel was certain about: he was never going to get used to the sensation of holding you. The way his body ignited. It felt as if only then all of his senses were in tune with the rest of his body. The sweetest taste of perfection filled him. This was what finally feeling whole felt like. So was he pissed off when Rhys's gentle knocking on his mental shields woke him up? Yes. Was untangling his limbs from you the hardest thing Azriel had ever done? Absolutely. Did he linger just a bit longer, slowly brushing your hair as he watched you take in breath after breath? yes. Azriel smiled to himself because this was it. This was his forever. His other half lay in his bed. Peacefully sleeping. So his. Only his.

"I'll let you punch me raw", Rhys had caught up with Azriel in no time, "But you also know I wouldn't have asked if this wasn't serious". Azriel knew his duties. He took them seriously, too. So even if his heart was bleeding for his mate, he knew his people also needed him. "Fill me in," Azriel said firmly, tightening the straps holding his knives. "Cass is finishing the last interrogations, and nothing fucking adds up." Rhys was frustrated, which was always a sign of something going extremely wrong. All he was told before Azriel had winnowed into the south side of Velaris was that the border had been breached. An attack had occurred, but the moment the soldiers were sent, it all vanished. In Azriel's 500 years of life, shit didn't just disappear. "Memories?", Azriel said as he scanned the place. Weavers were already patching up the wards, but none of them looked seriously torn apart or damaged in general. "Ink black," Rhys said and Aziel halted at the sound of it, an odd chill running through his back. "And a freezing one. I could push, but...", Rhys ran a hand through his hair. Azriel recognized that worry now. Worry for the family. A mate, children. He was in the same boat now. "You could push, but let me guess, you would fry their brains in the process," Azriel unleashed, his shadow scattering around the place. He was going to fix this. And fix this quickly. Maybe he will even be able to come back before you have woken up.

Cold. Cold. Cold. So cold. So dark. It was so painful and numb at the same time. There were hands. Cold fingers. Echoes of something familiar. How could one feel so heavy and light as a fever at the same time? It felt as if you were blinking for a moment, desperately trying to wake up, only to be plunged back into the same darkness. Someone was holding your head down as you trashed. before Your body had grown frail once more. Slumping.

"I'm telling you they came with torches; everything was on fire," the man said, and Azriel would have believed him, but he knew the farmer. Had gotten multiple reports from him about younglings messing up his sheep fence. He heard him speak before, and something deep within Azriel screamed that this man wasn't talking on his behalf. "Look, if you got the whole village in on this because of that damn fence..." Cassian huffed; he too was losing his patience. Nesta was pregnant. Nothing had been confirmed, but Azriel could smell it on Cass, and so could Rhys; the two had shared a look but chosen to not test Cassian's boundaries. The man was desperate for her. Out of the three of them, Cassian was the one whose patient was extremely thin today. Not to mention the heightened need to protect that coursed through his body.

Azrie shot his brother a look before motioning for the door. Cassian was halfway through the door when the man spoke again, "What fence?" There was a glimmer of relief in the man's eyes before it all glazed over again, and this time that same odd tone was back: "Torches all of them." Azriel turned to Rhys, whose face bore the same realization. They were all under something. Herbs. Magic. Mother only knew.

"Billy, your goat. How is he doing?", the man practically seized at Azriel's voice. "Bill...", the male breathed. "Yeah, one who chewed up your farm shoes," Azriel continued, the same glistening light running through the male's eyes. As if he was clawing at himself from within. It was as if someone was barging to be let out. But it was Rhys who delivered the last blow. "What about your wife? Huh, how's she been doing? She's still knitting you scarves." The male coughed, clawing at his neck. Panic set in as he moved towards the door, but Cassian was still standing there, his broad shoulders blocking any chance at escaping. "Billy and your wife, how are they?", Cass said it in a demanding tone. The man stilled, and then, thick like lava, liquid trickled down his nose.

"Rhys...", Cassian growled. The male staggered back slightly but gained his stance pretty quickly. And the terror that set in now was of a new kind. "My lord...", he breathed out, pulling his hat off his head, only then reaching to feel the dampness on his lip. Dread pooled in Azriel's stomach. "Fuck," the high lord breathed, "This is set up." Rhys's darkness swallowed the place as he winnowed. Azriel reached for the older male and said, "Go home; I'll be back, but you have nothing to worry about." With that, he snatched Cassian's hand as they both winnowed.

It was the cold that seeped into you that had pulled your eyes open. Your fingers grazed the surface beneath you. They felt numb as if they no longer belonged to you, but enough to still somewhat identify your surroundings. The surface you were lying on was damp. That would explain the sounds of droplets hitting the puddles somewhere. You tried to dig into your mind. Tried to think. Where were you? What was happening? You forced your eyes to fully open. A gray stone was what greeted you. You frowned instantly. Nothing seemed to add up. It was sniffling that you picked up on next. But the moment you turned your head to the side, you were met with something you thought you would never see again.

"No", your voice was barely a whimper. "No", you tried to pull yourself up, crawling towards the painfully familiar bars. You didn't feel a single ounce of magic within yourself. It was as if it had all fizzled out. But this couldn't be true. Absolutely couldn't. You have escaped. You... your hands touched the bars as you pulled yourself up. And for a heartbeat, you wished you hadn't.

In the cell opposite of yours lay two figures that clawed through every bit of sedative running through your system. "Zofie, Axel...", the words were barely a whisper as your knees threatened to buck any minute. "Zo, Ax," you breathed louder, trying to move the cell doors, but for nothing. It all came rushing back then. The strange vision. The dinner prep. Elain. Your thoughts halted - Azriel. Your hand rested on your chest. You couldn't feel him. You couldn't... "No," you breathed. He couldn't be dead. You wouldn't be standing here if he was. Your eyes darted back toward the kids. Zofie was pale. Too pale. Axel's wings were bent awkwardly. They couldn't be. They couldn't... It was enough for the thought to simply swirl there and within seconds you were turning to the side as bile rose in your throat.

No matter how much panic Azriel felt coming from both Rhys and Cassian, he refused to let it settle in. You were fine. You had to be. They were all just panicked. Nothing like that has happened since Amarantha. So it was more than understandable that everyone would be ticked off. Azriel unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt as he winnowed back to his apartment. Rhys was meeting him there the moment both Nesta and Feyre were in the safety of the house of wind.

Just the moment his foot hit the wood floor in his apartment, Azriel knew that something was off. The place seemed ice-cold. The burning smell filled his nose. No. No. No. Not happening. "Y/n," he called out as he stepped deeper into the place. Bile rose in Azriel's throat as his eyes scanned the kitchen. Flowers were scattered on the floor, with a smashed vase to accompany them. Fresh goods were still in the bags by the little kitchen counter. A burnt-out pot—whatever had been cooking there had turned into a chard mess. At least now he knew where the smell was coming from. Azriel's eyes fell onto the colorful drawing that now lay upon all the filth that filled the floor. A card. He hesitated. He knew whatever was in... Azriel folded the paper open. Messy's scribbled writing in two different colors greeted him.

We wanted to ask you a big question. Written with a k instead of a q, that's been crossed out and corrected. Azriel wanted that to warm his heart, but all it did was cause more ache. Yet nothing prepared him for the next line. Can you please be our dad? We'd love that, Zo and Ax. The world in front of Azriel shifted. His vision went out for a second. Their dad. A father figure. Azriel gripped the kitchen counter. His kids. They were already his kids. But to know that they both wanted that and that they had all of this set-out... All of this was supposed to be a surprise for him, and now...

Azriel heard rustling outside his apartment door that he only now realized was slightly ajar. "Elain?", a muffled voice that belonged to Rhys called out. Azriel crossed the distance in a couple of steps as he yanked the door open. His anger was boiling even hotter. He saw her, hiding in the corner of the hallway. That same black liquid trickled down her nose. "I couldn't. I tried", she managed to muffle between sobs, but Azriel turned away from her. "Tell Lucien that she's here. I don't need a territorial male running around causing trouble", Azriel said bluntly to Rhys.

"Azriel, please," Elain shifted, trying to reach for any part of the shadow singer she could get her hands on. "Elain, unless you have something useful to...", Azriel batted her hand away as he scowled at her. She probably didn't deserve it. It wasn't her fault that she had gotten herself under that spell, yet knowing that she was the one who had seen you last didn't sit well with Azriel. "They know you'll come; she wants that," Elain muttered, making Azriel frown. "Who?", the female shook her head, and Azriel moved to step away instantly. "A lady in white, she... I don't know, like a priestess."

And within a beat of a heart, it was all crystal clear. The threats and the unwillingness to cooperate—Rhys said it had all been done and taken care of. A new wave of anger rushed through Azriel as he reached for Rhys's neck, bending most of his body over the sixth-floor railing. "I should have burned that place down," Azriel hissed. "Azriel," Rhys said, pushing against his brother's hold. "If my mate and my kids get hurt because you stalled, I swear on everything holy to me. You will never see me again, Rhys", and with a final shove, Azriel let go. Rhys managed to keep himself upright, but before he could turn to the spymaster, he was already gone.

The next time your eyes snapped open, you scrambled to your feet almost immediately. Reaching for the bars, you cast your gaze upon the cell opposite yours. A breath hitched in your throat. They had shifted. Axel was leaning against the wall. All you could see was his face; his wings were messily draped over his chest, he no doubt had to be holding Zofie. "Axel," you called out softly, not wanting to startle him even more. Mother knew these kids were through hell just because of you. "Sweetheart, Ax," you called out again, knees buckling as those golden eyes gazed straight at you. "Y/n," he breathed in return, trying to move closer, but you quickly shook your head.

"It's okay; stay where you are. Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?", you looked him over the best you could. The boy only shook his head. "But Zofie is cold," he muttered, pealing one of his wings to reveal a sickly pale girl with no color in her skin. You sank to the floor. "Is she...", the ringing in your ears grew louder. Axel quickly shook his head once more. "I think it's the empathy thing," he said softly. "I've been thinking all the happy thoughts, and pa-Azriel," Axel stated. Your eyes softened. "You don't have to correct yourself, Ax; you can call him your papa." You wished they hadn't taken this evening away from them. Why this one out of them all? "Will he come to get us?", there was doubt in the boy's tone, but you met his eyes with your blazing gaze. "He will. He will always come for us. No matter where we end up, Azriel will always find a way to bring us back home. You want to know why?", you asked him, and Axel instantly nodded, "Because he loves us, and we love him."

Azriel's shadows were swirling all around the sanctuary as he watched from the mountain peaks. He knew that you were there. The last bits of mating bond practically screamed at him while he ran over ways he was going to slather everyone stupid enough to get in his way. He gritted his teeth together.

"You know... I was never afraid of your darkness," you had muted to him as you two had laid in bed together. Your hand was extended up in the air as his shadows swirled all around, tattering your skin with kisses. "You should be; most are," Azriel breathed. "Why would I? It's a part of you, and it's beautiful to me." Azriel had shifted slightly from the words—loving you is the easiest thing I have to do in my life, he had thought but he didn't say it. too afraid that it was all moving too fast. too afraid to scare you away. And now, more than ever, Azriel wished he would have spoken those words. Would have told you about the house on the very side of Velaris. He had bought it decades ago for his family. For his mate and for his kids. And he had just that—all of it—but it was slipping past his fingers.

A handful of papers slapped against Azriel's chest as Rhys winnowed right in front of him. "Padme wants you apart because you two were a profit in some ancient scroll," Azriel snatched the report, taking his eyes off the building just for a heartbeat so he could look it over. "You two are the opposite of the spectrum; your union can... You'd become more powerful than most high lords", Rhys said firmly, knowing that at any moment the words he spoke could be his last, " So this whole thing could be set up by one or multiple of the other high lords, or someone desperate to save the world".

Azriel had to give Rhys credit. The stuff he pulled out in such a short time was impressive, and it would explain the level of magic used to possess others. But if he could do it in such a short time, he could have given him the papers with this information weeks ago. As if reading his mind, Rhys spoke, "Let us help you get her and the kids back, and then you're free to step away from your position as my spymaster." The words drilled holes in Azriel's already bleeding heart, "I should have taken action sooner. I failed you and your family." Azriel lifted his hand, silencing his high lord. "Two entrances are unguarded. Your job is to get the kids and take them away from that place", the cold tone Azriel used felt wrong, but he couldn't do this now. Azriel's priorities no longer lay with Rhys. No longer lay with his court.

You were humming an old Illyrian lullaby when the doors to the dungeon creaked open and in strolled Padme, accompanied by at least four guards. "I hope you're enjoying your fantasy now," she said with that same cold smile on her lips. "You bitch," you spat her way, throwing all of your weight at the iron bars. "Pick your words wisely, child. I have power over you", she said, standing right in front of you now, looking you over as if you were nothing more than a speck of dirt beneath her shoes. "I trusted you," you said through gritted teeth, "You said...", "That I cared? That I will keep you safe," Padme cut you off, "The same thing your supposed lover is saying to you now. Look where my love brought you; want to see where he will take you?" She stepped over so quickly you didn't even notice when her claws had dug in the hack of your scalp, that same demonic face flashing right in front of you.

Then flames erupted all around you. All of the Velaris was up in flames. Houses falling. People were trying to crawl from beneath the debris. You ran forward, trying to help a woman free her leg, but the moment you approached, she screamed out in panic, trying to move away from you. You shook your head. "Do you want this?", Padme's voice rang all around you. "You are going to be so selfish and end so many lives just because you think someone can finally love you," her laugh echoed, chipping even more of your already frozen-over heart. "I kept you safe. It is I who truly knows how to love a creature like you". Your head fell back as the priestess pulled her blood-coated nails away from you, licking the very tips, "You always belonged with me." Your eyes locked on her dark orbs. You've never seen them in their true colors before.

"That's a lie! Azriel loves us; we're a family," Axel's voice rang out, making you blink, "Tell her, YN, we'll always be together." Padme turned to the boy, yanking the cell door open as she stepped in. "No," you breathed out, reaching for them. "Say that again, boy," her hand wrapped around his neck as she lifted him from the ground, Zofie's frail body slipping out of his hand, awkwardly filling the cold floor. "No, Padme, let him go," you pleaded. You were not letting them go through the same torture you had already endured. "He loves her," Axel said firmly, even if he was slowly losing oxygen. "I'll do whatever you want, but you have to promise you will not hurt them, Pad," you said so quickly that you could barely make out your own words.

The priestess's head turned toward you, a vicious smile spreading across her face. "Return them safely to Azriel, and I will do whatever you want," you pleaded. Padem simply let go of Axel. "Very well," she said happily. "I'll drop them off at that old lady's house," You nodded along with her words. Cordelia will look after them for now. She'll explain it all to them. Take good care of Zofie until she can once again lay in Azriel's arms. "But you, my dear," Padme mustered, "You owe me your heart, especially the part of it that belongs to the shadowsinger." Your vision blurred as her words settled in. A part. There wasn't just a part. All of it was Azriel's. You had given it to him that night outside his mother's house. He had it ever since.

Azriel had his finger pressed to his lips as he once again came into contact with a small group of terrified females, slowly gesturing for them to exit the place. Knowing well that Rhys would guide them out of the building. One of them had already told them how to get to the lower floors of the sanctuary. Azriel would find you. He'll take you home. He rounded the familiar corner. He was trying to be as quiet as he possibly could. It was strange to think that he had lived here for a bit. He had met his other missing part between these walls, which made him nothing but sick now.

Down the corridor. Into the main communal hall, and then right on the left corner, Azriel stopped. There was no way. No, there was no way this couldn't be it. His eyes instantly darted up, looking for anyone planning an attack from up above, but he saw no one, and his shadows sensed nothing.

"Y/n," he breathed out, and you instantly turned around. Your dress was dirty and damp, and there was blood running down the back of your neck, mixing in with your light hair. Blood. Azriel crossed the distance between the two of you in a couple of steps. "Why are you here? Did you kill her?", he carefully cupped your face as he looked you over. Your lip trembled. "Love," Azriel breathed. "The kids are at your mother's. I got them out, but you need to leave," the last word was choked out, and you quickly covered your mouth. Trying to fight your emotions. Azriel pulled at your hand, but you quickly pulled back. "You need to leave me behind," you whispered. "That will never happen," the spymaster said firmly.

"Azriel, I will lose control again. I will burn the city down. I saw it", you shook your head, trying to chase the images away. "I will burn it for you if you give up on us," Azriel said harshly, but his touch still stayed nothing but soft.

"I'm not giving up on us," you whispered so quietly. You promised to push him away. Make him leave you so the kids will be safe. Be safe with him. They didn't need you. But you couldn't lie to him. You'll make him leave you behind in some other way. But Azriel cupped your face with both hands and said, "I waited for you my whole life. You are everything I ever wanted and more. I can only breathe when I'm with you, Y/n. You are my everything. If you are not with me, I don't want to live." His honest words pulled a light sob from your lips. "Azriel, I...", you breathed right as an arrow pierced Azriel's shoulder. The spymaster hissed as he turned back, trying to find the source of the attack.

"No," you shouted, but Azriel was already shielding you while an arrow after an arrow pierced his skin and wings. A roar slipped past his lips, but he stood unmoving, using his body like a shield. "No, let me," you breathed out as you tried to pull him away but... The room died down quickly, and you watched as Azriel slowly sank to his knees.

"Azriel," you followed suit, cupping his face in your hands. His lips were tinted red. No, they couldn't be. No, this couldn't be happening. Azriel moved one of his hands up as he grasped your forearm firmly. "You belong to no one," he said, pausing to take a breath between each word, "Don't let them control you any longer." His grip loosened, and his hazy eyes only focused on you. "No, Az. Azriel! Look at me, Azriel", you bagged, tapping his face lightly, trying to keep him awake.

"And so the story ends," Padme said, moving from behind one of the columns with a pleased smile on her lips. "What did you do? What did you do?", you shouted at her. "I saved the world, child," she said, raising her hands in delight. Her laughter filled the space, but your eyes were already back on your mate. "Azriel, look at me," you pressed your hands against him, trying to flicker at least some of your magic on, but you couldn't seem to get a hold of it. The spymaster smiled slightly, grasping your hand in his. "I'll see you on the other side," he muttered. You choked out a cry. "No, no, you will not," you said angrily. "Azriel," his name was like a prayer on your lips. You felt the last bits of the bond slowly flicker out as an overwhelming pain crawled all over you. Time slowed as you watched Azriel's eyes slowly droop.

But then your deathly glare rose to meet Padme's satisfied gaze. "What did you do?", the scream ripped through. Ignited even more by the pain of feeling Azriel slipping away, the cry seemed never-ending. You heard glass breaking. The cracking of the chipping stone. You saw nothing but white rage. Pulling one of the arrows out of Azriel's body, you pointed it at Padem. "I will be your worst nightmare," you said through gritted teeth. Your body didn't feel like your own as you logged the arrow. And it hit Padme straight in her heart with the speed you'd never thought you could muster.

That same itching feeling in your throat started once more. The same one you felt when they ripped your wings off. The sanctuary was slowly falling apart. The females rushed to get out, but you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore as you pulled Azriel's head over your lap. There was so much blood everywhere. Too much blood. The tears fell freely down your face in a never-ending stream.

You moved your hands over Azriel's heart, watching as your hands disappeared within the light you possessed. But it didn't seem to work. "Y/n," you heard Rhys's shaky voice. "Get out," you barked out. The high lord still tried to step closer, but you hissed at him, "Get out, Rhys, and take the ones you can with you." You felt the last bits of your self-control failing. He only held your gaze for a moment before he winnowed away.

A sob slipped past your lips as you cupped Azriel's face, leaning over to kiss his cold lips. Time slowed once more. The static felt unbearable. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. And it all erupts with a sob like no other. You felt blood trickling down your ears as all of your being clawed at your fragile body. The light was blinding. So was the warmth that followed it. It felt like forever. The sizzling of your skin eased as the snow slowly fell upon you two. You blinked a couple of times. Pouring whatever was left into Azriel until your hands slipped off his chest and your body sagged on top of his.

The first thing he felt was coldness. Then the snowflakes fell on his face. His body also felt heavy. Like it had never felt before. The gray sky was all around him as he opened his eyes. His mind felt numb. For a moment, he had no idea why he was lying there in the first place. Until it all came tumbling down. One image after the other. The sanctuary. You. Arrows. Was this what the other side looked like because, shit, it was grim. Azriel shifted slightly, halting when his hand hit something. Something that was sprawled out across him.

He sat up so fast that your body rolled down to his lap. No. "Y/n," he said, wrapping his arms around your body and hissing at the coldness of it. "My love," he muttered, flexing his stiff wings. They had to be torn. Azriel turned. Not a single cut was on them. Not a single arrow was in his flesh. You've melted it away and healed him. "Love," he called out desperately, "Open your eyes." You couldn't die. He couldn't have just been here, lying unconscious, while you slowly faded from this world.

Azriel's eyes darted across the fallen sanctuary walls. Blood on the white stone. Padme's body was not far away from where you two were. Only the outskirts of the city looked burned to the ground, but there was no doubt that Rhys knew that something like this was coming. Azriel shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours. "You promised me forever, love," he said softly, "I'm calling in my bargain now." Azriel carefully brushed his lips over yours, and the faintest of thuds echoed in your hallowed-out chest.

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Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @stressed-reader

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: "I made you soup because I love you, you dense piece of sponge cake."

Pairing: Cater Diamond x GN!Reader/Prefect/Yuu

Genre: Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort

TW: Cater gets sick, mention of (almost) fainting

Really, the fact that Cater woke up fatigued even after a good and recommended 8 hours of sleep should have clued him in on the fact that he was sick. The dull ache behind his eyes should have cemented the realization in his head, but Cater just didn't realize.

And now he was stuck in bed.

It could have been worse, he supposed. Had it not been for Trey's timely intervention when he nearly fainted in alchemy, Cater would have found himself headfirst into a bubbling cauldron. An incident that earned him a lecture about lab safety and understanding one's limits by Professor Crewel.

Another intervention by Trey got him out of sitting through one of Riddle's lectures, but nothing could get him free from their combined motherly fussing.

It felt nice to be looked after, he had to admit. Even when he whined about the bitter medicine Riddle was forcing him to eat, the redhead only glared at him a little before shoving the spoonful of the vile liquid in his mouth, declaring that it would help him. Trey, on the other hand, was a lot more understanding with him when he threw a tantrum, giving him a patient smile before adjusting his blankets so that he didn't overheat (even though Cater was convinced he would freeze without his blankets tucked all the way around his neck).

It was nice, but it was also tiring.

So when a knock sounded on the door, Cater groaned and turned on his side, staring at the wall in defiance. "I'm fine, Trey, I don't need anything," he called out, quickly smothering a cough with his palm pressed to his mouth.

The door opened, and with it came a familiar voice, words soft and kind. "I'm not Trey, but you don't really sound fine."

Cater whipped around to face you, wincing at how the sudden movement made his vision swim for a few moments.

You weren't supposed to see him like this. Cater had borderline begged Riddle and Trey not to tell you about him being sick and had made them promise that they wouldn't tell you. But you were here, when you weren't supposed to see him in bed, looking as miserable as one could be. When he was too tired to keep up his usual charming persona.

Cater looked at you with wide eyes, feeling the bony fingers of panic closing around his heart and chilling the blood in his veins. His tongue sat heavy in his mouth as he watched you walk inside, closing the door and coming close to where his bed was. All he could do was stare at you mutedly as you placed the tray in your hands that he hadn't noticed before on the small foldable table Trey had brought in earlier.

"(Name)..."

His voice trailed off as you placed a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. If his cheeks weren't already red from the fever, they would have become red under your careful touch and observant eyes. Fighting past the tightness in his throat, he asked, "What... are you doing here?"

You quirked up an eyebrow, looking at him with such concern and care that he felt he would melt under it.

"My boyfriend's sick. How can I not be beside him at a time like this?"

Cater let out a small, fake chuckle as he tried to sit up on the bed. His heart did somersaults inside his chest when you helped him sit up, the place where your hands made contact with his body feeling warm and comforting. "You didn't have to-"

"I wanted to," you cut him off, running a hand through his hair. Cater closed his eyes, taking in the sensation, allowing the panic to loosen its hold on him. His friends had already proved that they wouldn't leave him alone no matter how difficult he got to handle.

It would only be fair to give you a chance to prove the same, right?

Green eyes opened to meet yours, as a genuine smile stretched across his lips. You mirrored his smile, tilting your head slightly towards him. "I made you some soup. Well, Trey did most of the work, but I helped," you hummed, and his eyes drifted over to the bowl on the tray and the spoon set beside it, before coming back to you.

"Why?" He asked, unable to stop the question from slipping through his lips.

"Because I love you, you dense piece of sponge cake."

Back to Masterlist...

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children: Redux | III. Nothing is Bred that is Weaker than Man

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3} or [FFN.net]

← Previous Chapter // MASTERPOST // Next Chapter →

CW: BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF GORE

Three Years Ago…

Danny could not sleep though the chill of the ship invited him to rest his eyes. 

No, he could not.

Though the coolness of his room and the layers of blankets cocooned around him would be tempting enough to knock him out for a couple hours on a regular day it was the cold that kept him wide awake

The freezing, numbing, blessed cold that made the back of his left knee ache and any attempt at sleep fitful.

He tossed and turned in his bed. When was the last time he slept, anyway? Was it in the car ride to the docks? The plane? The hotel they stayed at two—three?— days ago?

Danny couldn’t remember. That was… Jazz would say that was a bad thing if she were here.

It was kind of stupid really but—

He curled in tighter on himself, burying his head beneath the blankets.

When he was younger, his parents bought him a stuffed animal; a brown monkey in a space suit. He named it Albert, after the first monkey to ever go to space. Well, go to space and survive. The first monkey to go to space was Albert II but he died coming back to earth because of a parachute complication. Albert VI (also called Yorick, but Danny preferred Albert) was the first monkey to go to space and survive the landing.  Anyway, that stuffed monkey used to be his favorite thing in the whole world. He used to drag it everywhere until he accidentally left it in a hotel during summer break when he was nine.

God, he was absolutely inconsolable when that happened. Couldn’t sleep for anything more than a few hours and when he woke he was the most snappish nine-year-old to ever walk on the face of the earth. His parents offered to get him a new one but he didn’t want a new one. He wanted Albert. 

But then there was Jazz. Jazz who snuck into his room at night and tucked Bearbert under the blankets next to him. 

“Sleep is important if you wanna grow taller,” Jazz said. “I know he can’t replace Albert, but maybe Bearbert can keep the monsters away until we get Albert back.”

The memory warmed his chest for a brief moment.

And then the reality of it all came crashing down again.

Jazz was dead. His parents were dead. 

Lost for all eternity like Albert.

And both times were his fault.

If he just looked underneath the blankets or on the side of the hotel bed, he would have realized that Albert wasn’t in his backpack.

If he hadn’t given in to Dan’s taunts, then he would have  been fast enough to everyone.

If he never cheated on that fucking test—

God, he just did everything wrong didn’t he? 

Good ol’ Danny Fenton, fucking everything up as usual.

Fucker can’t even die right.

◆◆◆

It was sunset when Danny found himself wandering onto the deck of the ship. The sun resembled a red giant as it sank into the sea, less so in size and more so in the intensity of its color. Visceral and raw and blinding , dying the ocean a deep violet-red.

His mania had abated, somewhat. It seemed to fluctuate in intensity. Sometimes the cold felt all-consuming; frost would crawl up the walls of his little cabin, his skin tinged frostbitten-blue, and the cold would seep beneath his flesh and war with the fever that made him delirious to the world around him. Sometimes it manifested as nothing more than an occasional shiver. What made each day different, he didn’t know. But those calm days, those good days, he savored like a bittersweet drink.

Today was one of those good days. He wasn’t feverish, wasn’t nauseous, and his head didn’t hurt like Skulker had elbow-driven him from 500 feet in the air. 

Sure, a shiver would occasionally crawl up his spine, and sure there were a couple moments where his powers froze the waves as they crested, but it never lasted long. The shivers would go away and the ice would break as the wave slammed down again.

“Ah, young Danyal.” Dusan stepped up beside him on the railing, the sea breeze catching a few tendrils of his white hair in the wind. “Your mother told me you had been feeling better.”

He gave a noncommittal hum beneath his breath.

There was a wrinkle between Dusan’s brows and instantly, Danny straightened, hands squeezing the railing. “Yes, sir.”

“Hm.” Dusan pulled a sleek black phone from his jacket pocket, unlocking it with a few taps of his thumb. He passed it to Danny. “You will be pleased to note that our ruse has succeeded, and you are now free from the clutches of the law.”

It was an article from the Amity Park Angle. It was short, only a couple paragraphs long, and had his school picture posted beside it.

Daniel James Fenton, 14, passed away tragically last Wednesday. 

Ah. His jaw tightened, skin tingling though not from the cold. 

This was his obituary.

He returned the phone to Dusan, not wanting to read the rest of it.

How did you do it? He wanted to ask. How did you kill me?

Instead, he gave a strained sort of laugh. “You think I’ve set a record? I’m probably the only one in the world who managed to technically die and remain alive three times.”

The corner of Dusan’s mouth quirked up. “Needs must, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes drawn to the lull of the darkening waves.

“What is it that occupies your thoughts?”

He pursed his lips, shifting his arms so that they laid crossed on the railing. “I don’t— I just…everything happened so fast.” He dropped his head into his arms, fingers raking through his hair. “A few weeks ago I was, well, not normal , but close enough to it. I had my parents, I had my sister, I had my friends, and the most I had to worry about was the next ghost attack and making sure I remembered to do my homework. And then the explosion happened and everyone died and I became an orphan but it turns out I’m not? Because my real mom found me but I can’t— you guys had to fake my death to get me away!”

Frustration coursed through his veins with the same intensity as the waves slamming against the side of the ship. He leaned back, hands holding the railing in a knuckle-white grip, frost creeping from beneath his fingers. Not that he noticed. Not that he cared. 

“I’m dead. I’m dead but I’m not and I’m constantly flipping between being fine and becoming a human popsicle. I’m on a ship in the middle of the ocean and I have no idea where we’re going because people won’t tell me!” The red sun glared hatefully into his eyes. Red red red like Dan’s eyes, like Plasmius’ eyes, and burning so, so bright . He had half a mind to wish that the sun would just extinguish itself so he’d never have to see that color again. 

The sun did not extinguish, but Danny’s anger did. Left as quickly as it arrived, leaving him hollow. 

He slumped against the railing. 

What was he doing unloading all this stuff on Dusan? Dusan didn’t ask for any of that. He didn’t deserve to listen to all of Danny’s baggage. Not when Dusan was already doing so much for him.

He should have kept his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Dusan laid a warm hand on his shoulder as they both stared at the sun. “Tell me, my boy, have you had the chance to read the Odyssey?”

Danny shook his head. They were supposed to, though. On the first day of school, he remembered Mr. Lancer’s quiet pleasure as he passed out the class syllabi of how they’d be covering the Odyssey in the spring. Poor Mr. Lancer. He was a hardass, sure, and he had his faults, but he genuinely did try with Danny. 

“And if some god should strike me,” quoted Dusan “out on the wine-dark sea, I will endure it, owning a heart within inured to suffering. For I have suffered much, and labored much.”

He continued: “Like Odysseus, you have found yourself cast adrift into the world, far away from all that you knew. And like him, you will endure this. You must. For the world is a vast and cruel place, Danyal, and you must either bear against its weight or it will see you crushed and broken beneath it.”

“But what if I can’t?”

“You can,” he stated, resolute and firm like his grip on Danny’s shoulder. “You can endure because your family is here to support you.”

◆◆◆

Danny opened his eyes.

The sky was an endless expanse of swirling gray clouds. The ocean rocked the raft to a punishing rhythm, murky green-gray waters slapping against the rotting planks.

Danny was tied to a makeshift mast, the rope crossing over his abdomen and tied tightly behind his throat, digging into his jugular. He could not speak. Could not breathe . 

“Do you remember, Danny?” Sam stood at the head of the raft, her back turned to him. “Do you remember that story I told you about The Raft of the Medusa?”

Eighth grade. A field trip to the Amity Park Museum. Their teacher wanted to show them the new art exhibit since it was only available for a short while. He remembered the painting Sam was talking about; it was hard not to when The Raft of the Medusa seemed to overpower every other painting in the exhibit. 

It depicted the aftermath of a ship wreck. A morbidly beautiful painting of a raft lost at sea, its few surviving passengers desperately trying to call for help, their faces gaunt, eyes manic and wild.

“There were originally 147 passengers on that raft. One hundred and forty-seven people and only fifteen survived at the end of it.”

A large wave smashed against the raft. It filled Danny’s nose with salt-water and his mouth of the taste of asphalt. He gasped, coughing out the smoke in his lungs. 

Sam was still rooted to her spot, back turned to him.

“Do you remember, Danny? Do you remember who they blamed for the entire disaster?”

The ocean carried the raft up and up and up . High into the air that they rose. He could almost touch the clouds if it weren’t for the ropes digging into his skin. 

“They blamed the captain.”

The raft plummeted into the sea. He couldn’t scream, his heart was lodged in his throat.

The raft slammed into the ocean, pieces splintering off upon impact. Thunder roared around them like the clashing of cymbals and the sound of laughter.

Danny strained against his confinement, but the ropes tightened around him, the harsh fibers burning his skin.

He could hear the mast creak. Hear it splinter as it fought against him. 

He was almost there. Almost there .

“Look at me Danny.”

Danny opened his eyes—when did he close them?

Sam was in front of him and— oh god.

Oh god.

Her face.

Her flesh was melted, plastered against her blackened bone. Eyes nothing more than empty sockets in her head. Her skeleton hands held his face, forcing him to look. To look at what he had done to her.

“Why didn’t you save us Danny?” She asked. Asked with the voice of six people he had failed, their voices conjoined in some deranged siren song. “Why did you kill us?”

He could see it now. He could see that they weren’t alone on the raft. There, being slowly dragged into the depths, were the burned and waterlogged corpses of his victims. 

He screamed, and the sky answered with his own manic laughter.

◆◆◆

Danny opened his eyes and his skin was on fire.

He yelped, tearing off the weights that pinned him down and tumbled onto the floor. 

He can’t—

He can’t breathe—

Tucker suffocated to death, chest caved in and choking on air.

Someone was calling his name.

Who was it?

He can’t—

He doesn’t—

Mom?

“Focus on my voice, habibi . I need you to breathe, can you do that for me?” 

There’s something warm enveloping his hand.

“Breathe in, Danny, come on. Inhale through your nose for four.”

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Hold for seven.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

���And exhale through the mouth for eight.”

She counted out loud, and he tried to focus on her voice.

In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

Each second felt like an eternity. Some part of him laughed and said that this was Clockwork’s doing. Retribution for daring to interfere with the timeline. Punishment for whatever future atrocities he committed.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Talia gave him a closed lip smile, rubbing circular motions across his back. “There is nothing to be sorry for, my son. Now, let’s get you back to bed. Perhaps I’ll get you something warm to drink, would you like that?”

◆◆◆

Talia slipped her son something to ease the pains and make him drowsy. Carding her calloused fingers through his hair, she watched as Danny sank further and further into sleep’s sweet embrace. His breath evened out, the tension loosening from his frame. She continued her soft ministrations on his dark hair, but slowly her fingers moved to stroke the lines of his face, the slope of his nose, and then the curve of  his eyes.

She cataloged his features and compared it to her own. He had her nose. Her mouth. Her skin. He had a more lean figure like her, built more for speed and agility than brute strength— though currently, Danny could be considered more ‘lanky’ than lean, but training and a strict diet will correct that. The rest of Danny was all her beloved’s, from the wide too-bright-too-blue eyes, to the sharp jawline, to the exact shade of black in the hair.

Was this what her beloved looked like in his youth?

Was this what Damian would grow to become?

The ship rocked gently along the waves. She smoothed down Danny’s hair and pressed a soft kiss to his head before rising from her seat at his bedside.

She could not say the same for Bruce at that age, but she was quite certain that Damian would never be as trusting as Danny was. Though she could not blame it entirely on the boy. He was raised in a rather…inferior household, per se. What innate skills he might have inherited from his bloodline were left to rust under the mundanity of civilian life. Had circumstances been more favorable, Talia would have whisked Danny away the moment Dusan had discovered him all those years ago.

Alas, such was not the case.

She left Danny’s room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The League had too many enemies at the time that bringing Danny in would have made him too tempting a target. Though Talia was not naive enough to believe that concern for his first grandson would be Ra’s al Ghul’s only motive for not having recovered sooner, she did see why it would have been more beneficial to keep his existence and any connection to the League wrapped under secrecy.

“It seems that our father’s investments have paid off.” She looked to her left at where Dusan seemed to materialize from the shadows of the ship’s passageway. “Now, we have the makings of a great assassin at our disposal.”

“Do you think that he planned for this to happen?” She asked, matching his stride, the pair of them slowly making their way to the bridge.

“I cannot even begin to fathom the mind of Ra’s al Ghul. How he could have  predicted this , I do not know, but he must have expected some kind of result by keeping your son with the Fentons. No— even that was an accident, wasn’t it? This…this is fate.”

Talia doubted that even the great Ra’s al Gul could predict this outcome for her son. However Ra’s was not one to so carelessly sacrifice a potential asset unless he had a particular gambit in mind. What future did he envision when he made that decision all those years ago?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The Rosa disanthus produced mixed results. The worst of the chills and fever abated about half an hour after he imbibed the tea, only to be replaced by nausea and vomiting.” Talia raised her hand, contemplating the lines of her palm for a moment. “There was frost when he had a panic attack. Frost coated his palms and covered his arm all the way to the elbow—I don’t believe he even realized  it—but when he drank the tea, it receded.”

“Hm.” Dusan furrowed his brows. “His condition affected his physiology to a greater extent than we thought. No matter. Hopefully enough exposure would mitigate much of the effects. Neither of us are strangers to mithridatism; we would have inevitably tested for all his potential weaknesses, and starting early would prove fruitful later on.”

 “You have spoken to father, then?”

He inclined his head in affirmation. “He has given me the task of training young Danyal.”

Talia’s fingers curled into a fist, hand dropping to her side. “I would have thought that I, as his mother, would be in charge of his lessons.”

“Take no offense, sister, this is not meant to be a punishment.” He smiled, a cunning gleam in his eyes. While Ra’s al Ghul normally paid more attention to his daughters for their strength, not even he could deny that, above all his other children, it was Dusan who inherited Ra’s ruthless cunning. “Danyal is young and naive, but he is powerful . Simply isolating him in Nanda Parbat will do nothing if he could simply fly away whenever he wanted. We must teach him to love us. To choose to stay.”

Talia thinned her lips, jaw clenched. She nodded, leaving the conversation at that.

Dusan would be a harsh master to learn under. He would strip Danny and of all he used to be and break him down into nothing . It would be cruel and unkind— but it would be efficient.

Well, no matter. Talia would always be there to pick up the pieces; the honey to the vinegar; the carrot to the stick. She would take what remained of the boy known as Danny and rebuild him with loving words and her motherly embrace, fill the cracks with love and loyalty for the League and their family and shape him until he becomes her son and no one else’s.

She had been forced to give up her eldest son once. Never again.

This child was hers.

◆◆◆

A light fever clouded Danny’s mind during the last stretch of their journey. 

Talia said it was the tea that caused it. A little something that they picked up at their last port stop that she and Dusan believed would help with his mania . 

Danny didn’t like that tea. It had a pungent aroma to it that made his nose wrinkle. He couldn’t place the scent, but the strength of it was like walking past a Bath & Body Works at the mall mixed with the smell of cherry-flavored cough syrup. Its taste was about as pleasant as its smell, considering that his stomach fought the tea at every step of the way. 

He didn’t want to drink it, but Talia and Dusan insisted and Danny didn’t really have much right to refuse. They did so much for him already and in return all they really wanted was for him to drink some tea.

Despite his revulsion for it, Danny could admit that the tea did work. Sort of. It kept the worst of his chills away, thawing the bitter cold deep within his core.

It kept the dreams away too.

So maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

He couldn’t remember much of what happened in the interim. Only the rocking of the ship, the quiet lull of his bedroom, Talia’s soothing voice and her hands carding through his hair.

Dusan came at one point with the intention to prepare Danny for his meeting with Ra’s al Ghul, his grandfather and his parents’ benefactor. There was a degree of reverence in Dusan’s eyes as he spoke, his usually impassive face split into a wide grin.

 “He is a remarkable man, your grandfather,” Dusan began. “Powerful and intelligent. A self-made man of means.”

A visionary, Dusan described him. A man with dreams of a better future, of freeing the world from the corruptions of society and the clutches of greedy and vicious people who only want to drain the world of its vitality to feed their voracious gluttony. 

“Too long have the scum of the earth been allowed to exist in the light of day,” Dusan said. “And so it is from the shadows that Ra’s al Ghul means to rectify it.”

Danny squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take it all in. “That sounds…” His foggy brain couldn’t find the right word. “Intense.”

Well, at least it was safe to say that Ra’s al Ghul wouldn’t like Vlad.

Dusan chuckled. “Indeed. But do not make the mistake of assuming he lacks benevolence. Ra’s al Ghul is ruthless because he must be. But to those who are worthy, he is merciful and just. You have already taken the first step in proving your strength to Ra’s al Ghul, but now, you must leave yourself in his hands. Present your case. Tell him what you seek. Trust that he will help you—for you are of his blood—and that he will help you best.”

It’s those words that Danny—through all of the sudden influx of new sights and sounds and scents around him and the anxiety crawling beneath his kin— tried to remember as they traveled through the mountain fortress of Nanda Parbat. 

Exactly where Nanda Parbat existed on the map, Danny had no idea. It was surrounded by snow-capped mountains, built atop a large plateau that dropped off into a deep canyon. The fortress was palatial. Tall towers framed the high walls that encircled the fortress, sunlight bounced off the deep blue tiles of the steeply sloping roofs and gleamed against the golden spires atop the main buildings. 

There were three courtyards from what he could tell, each one hidden behind the other and separated by a thick wall. The training yards, Talia called them. 

“Who are they?” Danny said, gazing down at the hundreds of people below from their helicopter. They appeared to be doing a series of some kind of martial-art exercises, one form smoothly transitioning into the next in an intimidating display of synchronization.

Dusan answered, “They are those who believe in the world Ra’s al Ghul would bring.”

Trepidation settled in his gut. There was a voice at the back of his head that sounded like Jazz that told him that something was wrong. That this was a bad idea.

His core smothered the thoughts with a brief flicker of grimace, happily humming that warm family-here-home-wish.

Talia and Dusan led him up the lengthy staircase leading to the main compound and through a dizzying series of hallways and stairs that led to the office of Ra’s al Ghul. He barely noticed anything as he walked, too busy trying to keep in pace with his guides. The main building was a huge square tower. The hallways were made of polished wood, rows of shoji screens on Danny’s right and a railing looking down into the courtyard in the middle of the tower to his left. 

“What is this place?” he asked. His other question— who are you?— remained unsaid.

Dusan smiled, the overhead lights casting shadows across his face. “This, young Danyal, is home.”

The screen door slid open to reveal a large and spacious office. An antique desk sat in the middle facing the door, piled high with all manner of books, scrolls, ancient tomes, and artifacts. The walls were filled to the brim with even more books and miscellaneous items— some familiar, and some completely unknown to Danny. 

Sat behind the desk, a gold bird-shaped magnifying glass held steady above some ancient manuscript, was Ra’s al Ghul. 

“You are here,” Ra’s al Ghul remarked. He set down the magnifying glass and gently flipped a page of the manuscript spread out on his desk before standing. He clasped his hands behind his back and leisurely made his way around the desk. 

 To Danny’s surprise, Ra’s al Ghul did not look like a grandfather. Not that Danny had any other grandparents to compare Ra’s to, and Dusan’s descriptions certainly didn’t give off the vibes of some friendly and sage man who doted on his grandkids and talked about ‘the good old days.’

Yeah, Danny didn’t really know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t expect Ra’s .

Ra’s al Ghul looked, at most , a decade older than his mom and dad. Hell, even Dusan looked older than him. Built tall and broad-shouldered, the indication of whipcord muscles visible beneath his dark green and gold embroidered shalwar kameez. He had the same cool tawny skin as Talia’s, his strange green eyes marked by crows feet. He had dark gray salt-and-pepper hair with a receding hairline and sharp widow’s peak, the back of his hair tied tightly and low against his head. 

At his acknowledgement, Talia and Dusan greeted Ra’s al Ghul with a salute. Right hand curled into a fist and pressed against their heart, head bowed. Startled, Danny was quick to do the same. 

He bit back a cringe when he realized how sweaty his palms were.

Ra’s inclined his head and they were allowed to drop the salute. He approached them at a measured pace, movements so unnervingly silent even as Danny was watching him move right in front of him. 

He stopped in front of Danny, looming over him with narrowed eyes.

Was Danny…was Danny supposed to meet his gaze or lower it? He knew that in some cultures it was rude to look someone directly in the eye. Or was it supposed to be a sign of respect?

Ra’s al Ghul suddenly straightened. Smirked. Danny really hoped that was a good sign.

“So this is him, then,” Ra’s said, walking back further into the room. He turned abruptly on his heel, head cocked to the side. “Come closer, child. Let me get a better look at you.”

His heart jumped into his throat, and he pushed it back down with a painful swallow. A tingling sensation overtook his arm, the urge to try and scratch it away needling his mind. He caught Talia’s gaze as he moved past her and felt a flicker of reassurance as she subtly brushed her knuckles against his, calming his frazzled nerves. 

Dusan tilted his head slightly, features impassive  but assessing. 

Ra’s al Ghul, worryingly enough, reminded him of Vlad. Appearance wise, they looked nothing alike. But there was this… presence , this certain gravitas about them that emanated both great wealth, resources, and the cunningness of which to use them. 

Though while Vlad came off as comically villainous and, well, kind of pathetic at times, Ra’s al Ghul possessed an overwhelmingly intimidating aura that seemed to engulf the room. This was a man who did not demand attention but commanded it. One could not help but obey.

Gut instinct told him to not show any fear.

Gut instinct told him to leave .

Ra’s al Ghul’s flat affect broke into a small, soft smile that peaked from beneath his goatee. Gentle. Kind. Almost what Danny assumed to be grandfatherly .

His core hummed excitedly. The anxiety at the pit of his stomach subsided somewhat. 

Ra’s loomed over Danny—too close—eyes sharp and assessing. “Do you know who I am, boy?”

“You are Ra’s al Ghul,” he answered. 

Family , his core replied.

His smile grew. “That I am, boy, that I am. But I am also your grandfather.”

Grandfather, his core sang.

He straightened his posture, settling a firm hand on Danny’s shoulder.

This time, Danny could not help but flinch.

“No need to be so nervous,” Ra’s chuckled. “We are family, the two of us. My blood runs through your veins as surely as it does your mother’s, no matter that you were once lost to us. And besides that, the doctors Fenton were an invaluable asset to us, both in their research and in caring for you.” He shifted his hold, arm now across Danny’s shoulders as he led Danny in front of the desk. “Dusan and your mother were rather…cryptic with their reports. I have heard that you have a rather unusual situation and would like our help.”

“Yeah— I mean, yes, sir.” Best behavior Danny, best behavior. 

Ra’s detached himself from Danny’s side and sat behind his desk once more, elbows rested on polished wood and hands steepled in front of him. Curiosity gleamed in his strange green eyes. “Do tell.”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, craning his gaze towards Talia.

Talia gave a reassuring smile.

He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, trying to remember what Dusan said.

Present your case. Tell him what you seek. Trust that he will help you.

It was— he never had to tell this many people before. Hell, he never had to tell anyone this story at all! Personally, Danny would like to keep it that way, but it made sense that Ra’s al Ghul would want the whole story. To know what mess he found at his doorstep.

And wasn’t this the reason he came with Talia, anyway? To look for help?

He raised his head once more, meeting Ra’s with a resolute gaze. “Some months ago, I was caught in an accident in my parents’—um, the Fenton’s—lab. Long story short, it turned me into a meta…or at least meta-adjacent? Sorry, I didn’t really have enough time to get too deep into ghost biology.”

Ras raised an imperious brow. “Ghost biology? Yes…If I recall, that was where your parents’ research lay. So you claim that you are a ghost?”

“Yes. Maybe?” Danny shrugged. “It’s kind of been what everyone’s been telling me and what all the signs have been pointing to.”

“I was under the impression that death was a prerequisite to becoming a ghost.”

“There’s been a running theory that I did die in that lab accident. It just didn’t stick.”

Ra’s blinked, giving Danny another appraising look. Danny fought the urge to squirm. Then Ra’s threw his head back with a loud, raucous laugh. “Fascinating!” He stroked his goatee, amused. “What a brilliant little enigma you are. What a wonder my grandchild has become! Though taking his blood into account, perhaps I should have expected it.” He leaned forward in his chair. “So, what request is it that you will make of me?”

Danny bit the inside of his cheek, mind racing for the right words to say. “I want…I was told that you would be able to give me a new life.”

“A new life.”

“I need— I don’t know what I need, really, but for certain reasons I can’t stay in Amity and I certainly can’t trust the law because I know where they’ll put me if I go back and if that happens then—”

Red eyes. A city in ruin. A world on fire.

“Then, what?”

Danny looked away, shoulders hunched as if he was Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on his back. “Something really, really bad will happen.”

Ra’s al Ghul beheld him, fingers drumming on his desk in a steady thump-thump-thump . Danny felt stifled under that gaze.

Trust in him , Dusan had said.

Grandfather , his core said. Family-here-trust-together.

After what seemed like an age, Ra’s al Ghul nodded. “Your request is doable, and I will excuse your ambiguity for the present, though I will require a full and detailed explanation at a later date.”

Danny let out a shaky breath. Relief coursed through his veins.

“But,” Ra’s al Ghul said. “I do not give you this new lease on life for free. I require payment.”

“I don’t— I don’t have anything to give.”

Ra’s waved off his concerns. “Worry not, boy, the price I seek is not so steep. What I want is for you to take your proper place in this family.” He stretched out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

Danny stared at the hand.

Was it…would it really be this simple? A new name, a  new life, a new family all in one fell swoop? 

It was almost too good to be true.

Take , his core hummed. Chance-take-family-mine-whole-take.

He took  Ra’s al Ghul’s hand and shook it. “We do.”

From that pact, Danyal al Ghul sprang into existence. 

And at that moment, though he did not know it yet, Danny Fenton well and truly died. 

[slowroadtosantiago]

Day 33 - Molinaseca to Cacabelos

It was just under 14 miles today and relatively flat, and we’ve got less than 200kms to go!

After an easy night I woke to the smell of toast. We had ordered breakfast for 7 and when I checked my phone it was 5 past! I gave Jane a shake and we got downstairs pretty pronto. There was just the two of us for breakfast, it looked like most of the others had already disappeared.

We then got ourselves sorted and left our bags for pickup. We didn’t leave until 8 this morning, late for us.

The main part of the day was pavement pounding, into and out of Pontferrada and through villages on the way to where we are now in Cacabelos.

The views to the mountains on the way to Pontferrada were tremendous. We opted for the straightforward route in rather than going the long way through an extra village.

The route takes you past the very early Templar castle in Ponferrada and we stopped for a coffee overlooking the huge walls.

The way out of Ponferrada was quite nice, through a park and past playing fields where kids had their Saturday football matches.

Eventually we got back into a bit of countryside where we were getting small vineyards again and poppies by the side of the path. Yesterday we made friends with Gee Gee and Caroline from Boston and Rhode Island, and we met them again today on the path. Caroline was having trouble with a swollen shin so nurse Jane came to the rescue with freezing gel and a bandage to bind things up.

We passed an old majestic ruined house that Jane reckoned she could do something with…

A couple of villages in and we stopped again. Jane had a coffee and I had a fresh orange juice. The girls in the cafe were really friendly.

Carrying on we veered back to a main road and another more modern scruffy village where we stopped at a chemist for tissues (it’s amazing how many packs we have got through so far). Jane’s been effected by all the pollen too so got some hay fever stuff as well. Anyway, back on the road and this village just seemed to go on and on and on. We were both mightily relieved to get to the end!

We then had another few miles to go and finally ended back in the countryside, and it was lovely countryside with grass fields and more vineyards, before finally arriving in Cacabelos. We were both tired getting here, I think yesterday’s downhill took a bit out of us.

We found our place ok. It’s a hotel/hostel/restaurant. They are very friendly but this is the place I called and tried to book using my rudimentary Spanish a couple of weeks ago. Needless to say I can’t have done very well as they didn’t have our booking! Luckily they did have space, so we’re in a very nice room with two other women in proper beds with sheets and covers, and have towels! Luxury!

They also did a menu del dia so we dumped our stuff and ate. I had been craving a salad as we hadn’t eaten any veg for a couple of days so started with an ensalada mixta, then a main dish and finally this really delicious rich chocolate cheesecake, all washed down with wine.

The place is run by a husband and wife combo and they were hilarious. They were incredibly busy but it was fun watching them shout at each other, handle everyone (arrivals, food, drink), and still keep their sense of humour.

We had a couple of hours chilling and showering then went for a wander. We popped into the church and outside the cafe next door was a traditional Spanish band playing and singing. They just looked like they were doing it for fun.

The village has a large river so we took a gander along it for a bit. On the way back there was a chap stripping out of a wetsuit so he must have been for a swim.

Nothing much was open, so we’ve come back to put our feet up and chill. Tomorrow’s walk should be a bit shorter and should still be flat.

[lostonehero]

I have this idea so uhhhhhhhhh

Time travel

Scooped Micheal

Micheal huffed, pushing the old ballpit to the center of this facade of a fazebear location. Henry got this from a friend of a friend kind of thing. It was the same thing from when he had organs. He huffed and turned on his walkie. "Do you want me to move this?" A mask hung across his face overnight his leather rotting face.

"Nah, you did a fine job bringing it in." A familiar accent voice breaks through the other end.

"Thanks, Henry." Micheal stretches grimaces, feeling a few stitches pop. Thankfully, tonight was it, the last night. Then everything will be up in flames. There are all here. Maybe he will miss the pocket he made of his chest cavity, but it didn't matter it will finally be over.

The radio static interrupted his thoughts. "Careful d-"

Micheal didn't hear the rest as he stepped on a stray ball and fell face first into the ball pit.

....

Micheal groaned as he opened his eyes. He felt his face. Thankfully, he still had his mask on, but his sleeves felt a lot longer than before. He furrows his brows as he pulls himself out of the pit. Brown hair fell in front of his eyes to his confusion. He lost his hair ages ago after he was scooped, and he can't recall when he had long hair like this. He tries to stand and trips over his pants. They fit his waist, but the legs are way too long, and he lost his shoes.

The raido on his hip stayed and crackled to life. "Micheal?"

Micheal grabs it as he pushes himself off the floor. The attractions turned themselves on it was way too loud and bright. "I'm here. I just fell. The damn attractions turned themselves on again. It's not even night."

"Everything is off." Henry responds as Micheal finally looks around.

"No, everything is on....and." He huffs, pulling up his sleeves so he can use his hands.

"Look, Micheal came from the baby pit." A preteen pointed at him.

"Look at that dumb mask." Another one pointed.

"He's a baby like his cry baby brother."

Micheal holds the walkie to his mouth. "Henry, I have to call you back before I have a panic attack or beat children to death like my father."

"Micheal? Micheal!" Henry tries to grab his attention as Micheal silences the walkie.

Micheal rolls up his pant legs and then his shirt he hasn't even noticed his skin wasn't purple or rotting. He stands up and grabs the flashlight from his belt. "Fuck off." He huffs as he rushes to the bathroom.

Before Micheal can get to the bathroom, a small hand grabs his shirt, and then a second one.

"Mikey, why are you in weird clothes?" Micheal's blood ran cold hearing that voice.

"What are you trying to be like, dad?" And that voice sent a chill down his spine.

Micheal faints.

......

"That's not our security uniform, Henry." A very familiar British accent was what Micheal woke up to.

"It's also way too big for his frame. How would he even put it on with a belt, too?" William pulls at his hair. "And why is your voice coming from the radio?" He looks back at Micheal. "Micheal, my little fox, are you ok?"

Micheal's first action was to reach up for his mask, and it was gone. His second action was to stare at the man above him, his father. He bit his lip screwing his eyes shut. "No, I can't do this. This has to be hell."

William's features twist to one of pain and heartbreak. "Micheal? Come on, what's wrong?" He shoes his two youngest to their uncle. He crouches next to Micheal and brushes his hair out of his face. He places his hand against Micheal's forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"You need a pluse to have a fever." Mkcheal huffs pushing his fathers hand away as he sits up. "Of course you know that. Look at me, I'm...I'm...." He freezes, staring at his hand. It's smaller than he was used to and not skeletal, nor purple. He flexes it, and it's normal. He reaches for the walkie on the table. "Henry?"

"Micheal, where are you?" The tired voice responds.

"I think the better question is when." Micheal looks back at his father, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "When I'm back, I'm burning that pit."

The walkie crackles for a moment. "Micheal...."

"Hey, how is my dad's voice coming out of that, and he's right there." A female voice interrupts.

Younger Henry throws his hands up. "I tried to catch her."

The walkie crackles for a moment, and then a voice comes through. "Charlie?"

"Of course it's me." Charlie giggles. "This is a weird machine you built."

Micheal pulls the walkie close to him. "I think I'm back in the past." He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. "That old friend of yours, I'm going to light his truck on fire."

The walkie crackles, then goes silent.

Micheal hugs it to his chest. "I really shouldn't be here." He can feel something wet drip down his face as he shakes. "I don't want to do this again."

.....

When Micheal started to yell at William was when his heart snapped in two. He became a murderer? He killed the man he loved child? He killed kids? Micheal accidently killed Evan? His own machine killed his daughter? What kind of monster was he? He was crying by the time Micheal relaxed enough to look at him.

Micheal froze. His father didn't. His father didn't have a heart. His father... his father was crying and actually looked hurt. That was impossible. He couldn't recall his childhood everything before the scooping incident was fuzzy at best and blank at worse. He always blamed it on ennard, but the way he called him his fox stirred something in him. He looked away he couldn't keep staring at his father. Maybe his uncle held some truth when he talked about Micheal being the favorite for his father.

He picked up the thermos his mom made him according to his father. A very familiar smell made him pause before he took a drink. Micheal frowns. "Did you make this?"

William wiped his face barely containing himself. "N-no your mother did, she insisted that you get your own food and drink."

Micheal's face is unreadable as he sniffs the water again. He opened the lunch bag, and his sandwich smelled off, he lifts up the bread and saw discolored bits in the mayo, and he swallows. He throws the bottle and sandwich to the floor.

"Micheal?" William asks as he watches Henry hold back his daughter, and his own two kids.

Micheal shakes. "Mom made that for me?"

William nods. "Like I said, she's been making your own food for years, Micheal. She never lets your siblings have any, and she has scolded you for sharing. Why are you upset?"

Micheal hugs his chest. "She spiked my food. She poisoned my water. They smell the same as..." He pulls his hair, recalling the heavy medication Ethan was on his deathbed, and then Jeremy after the bite to his skull. "That's why I can't remember. Everything before..." Bile crept up his throat.

William raised his brow and picked up the themos. He took only one sniff and pulled it away from his face. A painful realization came across his face. "Henry, take Micheal to your home tonight." He wiped his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.

Henry raised his brow, taking the thermos from William and swallows, barely smelling the contents. "Charlie darling, go take Evan and Elizabeth to the arcade machines. Now darling." He doesn't leave room for an argument.

Micheal shakes as he holds the walkie to his chest.

[ethereal-writes]

More Than Just A Pretty Face (Ft. Asmodeus and GN!MC)

Warnings: Sick character, dizziness, lack of appetite, self depreciating thoughts, pain killers, romance is sort of implied.

Length: 1.8k words

Genre: Angst, hurt, fluff, comfort

Summary: Asmodeus comes down with something, leaving him less than glamorous. You stick around anyways.

A/N: I know I should probably be working on the 'Selfish' series of oneshots (that aren't really oneshots anymore) but this fic has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for so long, I figured I'd finally get it done and out. This is adding on to the 'When He Knew He Loved You' series, for which I've already written: Mammon's version.

Anyways, this is a sickfic, and I hoped I tagged all the right warnings. If you think I should add some, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!

-Ethereal (✿◡‿◡)

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Asmodeus hadn’t looked in the mirror today, and he didn’t intend to any time soon.

His head hurt, his nose was running, and his throat was scratchy and dry. He was exhausted, even though he had just woken up, and his whole body ached.

He was pretty sure that if he had looked in a mirror, it would’ve shattered.

There was no way he was making it to RAD that day.

He had spent the morning in bed, whining to no one about how awful he felt, and part afternoon posting photos he’d taken earlier before immediately falling back asleep.  

You hadn’t been that concerned when Asmo missed breakfast that morning. In a household that large, people missing now and then wasn’t that unusual. You also didn’t have any classes with him that day, so you didn’t notice he wasn’t at RAD.

You did, however, notice that he wasn’t there to walk you home like the two of you had originally planned.

Asmodeus woke up to a string of messages from you.

You: Hey, where are you? 3:40pm

You: Did you leave without me? 3:45pm

You: Okay…well, Satan offered to walk me back, so I’m going to go with him. 4:00pm

You: Hope you’re alright. 4:00pm

He woke up the rest of the way pretty quickly and texted you back.

Asmodeus: I’m so sorry sweetie! 5:37pm seen

Asmodeus: I’ve been feeling a little under the weather today, I didn’t even make it to RAD. 5:37pm seen

Asmodeus: I’m so sorry, I should’ve arranged for someone else to walk you home. 5:38pm seen

He waited one, two, five minutes.

No reply.

He turned his phone face down, rolling over. He tugged the sheets over his head.

He already felt physically awful, and now he’d upset you. Even worse, he didn’t have the energy to try and fix it right now. Honestly, in the state he was in, he would probably end up making it worse.

Great. Now he was crying. As if his nose wasn’t stuffed up enough.

Groaning, he sat up. He reached for the tissue box, only to realize he’d already used the last one. He let out a frustrated whine, flopping back against the pillows.

Why?

Why was nothing going right today?

This is what I get for leaving them to fend for themselves, he thought.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, wincing at both the pain and the raspiness of his voice.

A second later, the door swung open. It was the last person he’d expected to see: You.

“Hey,” you whispered, balancing a tray as you shut the door behind you. “How’re you feeling?”

He didn’t answer, opting to bury himself further into the sheets instead. He'd upset you enough without making you look at his ugly face.

“T-terrible,” he said, shivering as a chill ran through him.  

“Are you cold?” You asked him.

He nodded, then realized you probably couldn’t see him. “Freezing.”

“Hm.” He heard you come closer, then put something on his bedside table. The tray, most likely. “Do you mind if I check you for a fever?” You asked.

He laughed, regretting it when his throat started to burn. "Honey, you can't see me like this."

"I can't?" You asked genuinely. "I don't think I can catch whatever you have, so that can't be it."

"It's not that. It's that I look horrible right now," he said.

"Well, of course you do. No one looks good when they're sick," you said matter-of-factly. "So, can I check you for a fever?" You repeat.

"You..." he trailed off. You didn't care?

But everyone cared!

Asmodeus was the most beautiful being in the three realms, second to none! They didn't call him the Jewel of the Heavens for nothing.

"Huh?" was the only response he could come up with.

"I want to check you for a fever," you repeated for the third time. "Can you roll over please?"

Still unable to form a proper response, he obliged.

You pressed a hand to his forehead, your brow crinkling slightly. "You're really warm. We should try and get your fever down," you said, mostly to yourself.

"Now, have you eaten anything yet today?" You already knew the answer, but sighed anyways when he shook his head.

"Okay. I brought you some soup, do you want some?" You asked.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not hungry."

"You probably don't feel hungry," you said. "But you should still try and eat something. Can you have a few bites, please?"

"I don't wanna," he said, sounding more like a bratty toddler than one of the most powerful demons in Hell.

"Come on, please?" You asked. You weren't going to force him, but having nutrients in his body would help him fight off whatever he had. "I made it just for you."

He sighed, but he sat up. "A little. But only because you made it," he said.

"Alright, good." You grabbed the bowl off the tray and started to pass it to him.

He stopped you. "My hands are shaking." He held them out to prove his point. "I'm going to spill everywhere."

He paused a second, then a sly smile slid onto his face. "Would you be a dear and feed me?" He asked, batting his eyes.

He didn't really need to ask you twice; you were the one who wanted him to eat in the first place.

You nodded, taking a seat in the space beside him. You stirred the broth a second, holding your hand just over the surface,

"It won't be too hot," he assured you. "Demon, remember?"

"Oh, right." Even so, you stirred it another few seconds before you fed him a bite.

The soup was warm and delicious, and he wound up finishing the whole bowl. Turns out he was more hungry than he thought.

You smiled, placing the empty dish back on the tray. "Good job. I also brought you some painkillers, did you want to take them?"

He nodded quickly, holding his hand out for the two pills you had.

He popped them into his mouth, then glanced to the water glass on the table, then back to you expectantly.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, retrieving the glass and bringing it to his lips.

You slowly tilted the glass upwards until he gave you the signal to stop.

"Do you feel a little better?" You asked him.

He nodded, going to lay back down. This was the longest he'd been awake all day, and he was really starting to feel it. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut.

"That's good," you said. "Now, let's see what we can do about that fever, hm?"

You didn't wait for a response, heading into his lavish bathroom. It was easy to find a cloth --how many towels does one demon need, anyway?-- and didn't take long to soak it in cool water.

You wrung it out so it wasn't sopping wet, then headed back to him.

You gently laid it over his forehead. "Hopefully this will help a little...are you tired?"

"Mhm," he hummed.

"Okay, that's alright," you said. "Do you need anything else?"

His eyes flickered open, giving you a hopeful look. "Cuddles?"

You smiled but shook your head. "I'm sorry. Your fever is way too high for that."

He huffed, his lips pursed in a pout. "Fine."

"I'm going to leave you to rest for a while, did you want me to leave? Or stick around for a bit?"

At the mere suggestion of you leaving, he weakly reached to grab your wrist. "Don't go?"

"Okay, I won't." You adjusted to sit more comfortably on the bed. "Go to sleep, alright? I'll be here when you wake up."

He squeezed your hand, making you squeeze back. Then he fell silent, and you assumed he fell asleep.

A few minutes later, you were proved wrong when he said your name.

"Why did you stay?" He asked.

"Why did I...stay?" You repeated, confused. "What do you mean?"

He sniffled. "Here. With me. When I look like this." He vaguely gestured around himself with his free hand.

"Why did I stay with you while you're sick? And you look sick?" You asked, not sure if you were missing something.

He nodded.

"Well, you wanted me to stay, and I wanted to help you."

"Why would you want to help me when I look like this?" he pressed.

"Whether I want to help you has nothing to do with your looks." You sounded offended at the mere suggestion. "I don't care about you because you're pretty. You know that, don't you?" Your tone softened into genuine concern.

Blame his sleepy state, blame his fever, but he responded honestly. "That's usually why people do."

Your silence made him nervous, and your thumb had stopped caressing the back of his hand.

Any second now, you'd start laughing. Of course, being pretty was all he was good for.

"Oh, Asmo." Your heartbroken tone threw those thoughts out the window immediately. "You're so much more than being pretty," you whispered softly.

"I am?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed. He flinched at the sudden increase in volume. You resumed stroking the back of his hand as an apology, though no actions could've compared to what you said next.

"You're gorgeous. There's no denying that. But there's so much more to you than that. You're brilliant when it comes to fashion. You've had what, six of your fashion lines featured at Majolish?"

"Eight," he corrected, and you smiled.

"See? That's incredible! And you're so good with people too. You're great at making them like you, sure, but you're also just...good at being social. You've also got the most emotional intelligence I've ever seen. You always know how to tell when people are down, and you always know how to cheer them up. You've got the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, you give incredible cuddles and massages, and most importantly-!" You paused to take a breath.

"Most importantly, you're always you. Unapologetically yourself, no filter, no matter what anyone else thinks. You're not afraid to speak your mind, you're not afraid to laugh or cry. There's no filtering you, in the best way possible," you stressed, squeezing his hand tightly.

"You're not worth my time because you're pretty. You're worth my time because you're you."

He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, but he couldn't. All that escaped was a choked sob.

You recoiled, releasing his hand. "Did I say something? I-"

He cut you off, sitting up so quickly it made him dizzy, The wet cloth fell into his lap, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling into your shoulder.

"You said everything," he said, squeezing you as tight as he thought would be safe.

"Thank you."

[the-widow-sisters]

Let Me Take Care of You

Summary: When Yelena wakes up feeling less than wonderful, she tries to hide it from Natasha. However, Natasha quickly catches on, and Yelena has no choice but to allow her big sister to take care of her.

Word Count: 2798

  There were two certainties in Yelena’s world. The first of which was that sour cream and onion chips were the love of any normal human’s life.

  The second? Yelena Belova absolutely despised being sick.

  The moment she had woken up that morning, she was colder than normal, and she noticed that she just had that cruddy feeling that generally came upon her as she started to get sick. She had actually managed to wake up before Natasha, which was something that she was immensely thankful for.

  She had carefully eased out of the bed, intending to leave Natasha there for a while until she could hopefully contain her sickness. She knew precisely how Natasha would likely react, and she was hoping to put off that reaction for a while. After all, Natasha freaked out anytime that Yelena was even remotely injured, so Yelena could naturally imagine her precise reaction to sickness.

  She had thrown on sweatpants and one of Natasha’s hoodies. She knew that this attire would likely give herself away, but she was a little cold and she had to at least somewhat comfortably be able to exist with this chill.

  She was starting to rummage through the cabinets for something good to eat that would hopefully make her feel better when she heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. She winced, really dreading the conversation that was no doubt about to ensue.

  “Good morning,” Natasha greeted, coming up beside her and bumping her shoulder slightly with her own. She reached for a mug in the cabinet, withdrawing a cup and filling it with coffee.

  “Morning,” Yelena replied, hoping and praying that she sounded at least halfway normal and not like the sick person that she knew she was.

  Unfortunately, Natasha seemed to catch on quickly, because her gaze lingered as she passed Yelena and sat her mug on the kitchen table after getting a sip of it.

  “Are you okay? You never wake up this early,” Natasha pointed out, and Yelena just kept looking through the cabinets, not wanting to answer but knowing she had to think of something rather quickly.

  “Yeah, I just happened to get up early today. I don’t know,” Yelena shrugged, trying to look more casual than she actually felt. She could feel Natasha’s stare on her back.

  “Why are you wearing a hoodie and sweatpants?” Natasha questioned, and Yelena chuckled a little, knowing she had been caught but refusing to admit it.

  “Someone woke up and chose suspicion… It was cold earlier this morning,” Yelena informed her, hoping that Natasha had not woken up when Yelena got out of the bed. If she had not, then she would not know just how early Yelena had awoken.

  “You’re never cold unless it’s like forty-something degrees outside. What’s going on?” Natasha asked, her voice more insistent, and Yelena shook her head, glancing back in Natasha’s direction.

  “Natashka, please. I am fine,” Yelena assured her, halfheartedly waving away Natasha’s concern. She was fine despite the fact that she did not feel so good and was a little bit chilly at the moment. Natasha was simply overreacting.

  Yelena suddenly heard swift footsteps approaching her from behind. Yelena furrowed her brow, looking behind her, and she suddenly found her sister standing close to her and almost pinning her between her body and the counter. Yelena just looked at her as if she lost her mind, and Natasha reached her hand out to grab the back of Yelena’s neck and pull her head against the redhead’s lips. Natasha gently kissed her forehead, and Yelena closed her eyes, enjoying the affection despite her suspicion that it was for reasons more than just wanting to show love.

  “You have a fever,” Natasha acknowledged, speaking against Yelena’s skin, and Yelena groaned, moving her head away from Natasha.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Yelena replied, resuming her rummaging through the cabinets. She pursed her lips, aggravated with not finding any food there. She then moved to the refrigerator, opening it. As soon as the cold air came flushing out, she immediately shivered.

  The moment that it happened, she knew that she should not have let that reaction show. She was not naïve enough to think that Natasha had not noticed, but she was certainly hoping she had not.

  However, as soon as she felt warm arms pull her into an even warmer body, she knew the redhead had seen it. She almost whined as she realized that her skin hurt. She desperately wanted the contact that her sister was offering since she was indeed not feeling well, but the pain radiating where her clothes were brushing against her skin was less than pleasant.

  “My skin hurts,” Yelena murmured a little, reciprocating Natasha’s embrace. Natasha immediately loosened her hold and started to let go of her. Yelena just clung onto her more tightly, and Natasha returned the hug hesitantly, her arms much gentler than before.

  “Why don’t you go get into bed?” Natasha asked softly, and Yelena shook her head, feeling a wave of irrational irritation wash over her. She did not need to go to bed, and she was perfectly fine.

  “I am not that sick,” Yelena informed her, her tone miffed as she pulled away from Natasha a little, a wave of pain washing over her from the shifting of her clothes. Natasha just quirked an eyebrow, staring at Yelena. Yelena just stubbornly stared back at her.

  However, before she knew it, Natasha surged forward and threw her over her shoulder. Yelena immediately cried out in indignation as Natasha repositioned her slightly with a grunt. She then started to haul her across the house. Yelena immediately contemplated pulling a countermove to reground herself on the floor where she should have been, but she did not particularly have the energy to, so she settled for just yelling at Natasha.

  “Hey! Put me down! Don’t I get a say in this?!” Yelena demanded, her accent growing thicker as she grew more incensed. Natasha just shook her head, patting Yelena’s leg gently from where her hand was locked around it.

  “No. So you might as well just get comfortable,” Natasha replied, a steeliness in her voice that Yelena honestly did not really feel like challenging as she usually would have. Yelena just grumbled under her breath and tried to ignore how she liked being carried by her big sister and how it made her feel safe.

  Natasha started to cross through the doorway to her bedroom and Yelena threw her hands out, grabbing onto the doorway with only a partial grip. Natasha paused for a moment before yanking at her hard and successfully dislodging Yelena’s hold.

  Yelena just sighed in resignation, looking around the redhead’s room and the space that was so intensely populated by everything Natasha. She had to admit that it brought a strangely significant amount of comfort to her.

  She was swiftly pulled away from this train of thought when she was unceremoniously dumped onto the bed. She blinked in surprise before narrowing her eyes in a glare. Natasha just raised an eyebrow and just watched her as if she were just daring her to try to get off of the bed. If the mattress was not so comfortable and it did not smell so much like Natasha, she might have tried to give a little bit of a fight.

  Yelena quickly felt another chill run through her as the coolness of the blankets seeped through her clothes. She crossed her arms, trying to avoid the shivers that were threatening to overtake her. Natasha bent down so she could hover over Yelena and press her forehead against the blonde’s. Yelena closed her eyes, enjoying the contact.

  “Stay here,” Natasha told her in a manner that was more of a command than anything, and Yelena groaned, reopening her eyes. Natasha eyed her fondly before getting up and heading into the other room. Yelena frowned, realizing that she was even colder than before, and she curled into a ball.

  After a moment of trying to collect warmth from that position, she finally managed to get enough motivation to crawl underneath the covers. She submerged herself so deeply into them that only her nose and eyes were poking out when she was through, and she somewhat painfully noted that the blankets did nothing good for her pained skin.

  For a while, she impatiently waited on Natasha, her mind wondering what in the world could be taking Natasha so long. She aggravatedly stared at the door wishing that by willpower alone, she could drag her sister inside the room with her.

  While Yelena would definitely deny it if asked— after all, she was not that sick yet— she definitely did not feel good at all and wanted Natasha there to just snuggle with her and keep her warm.

  At some point, Yelena must have dozed off, because she suddenly opened her eyes and realized that Natasha was leaning over her, looking terribly concerned. Yelena also realized that she felt even colder, and she balled in on herself, trying to curl up more tightly.

  “No, no, no, come on, sweet girl. I know you’re cold, but we have to get this fever down,” Natasha explained, and Yelena furrowed her brow, not liking the guilty tone Natasha was carrying in her voice.

  Natasha peeled the covers off of her and Yelena immediately clung to herself tighter, trying to shield her body from the cold.

  “Rooskaya, come on, we’ve got to change your clothes into something cooler,” Natasha explained, and Yelena just opened her eyes barely to glare at her in the middle of her freezing fest. Natasha had a tank top in her hands and shorts, and Yelena’s eyes widened as she realized precisely what getting the fever down entailed.

  “Have you lost your mind?! I’m not wearing that! It is like tundra in here!” Yelena proclaimed somewhat hysterically, sputtering as her teeth chattered. Natasha shook her head, regret and pain in her gaze.

  “Yelena, please. It’s the least drastic way to try to get rid of the fever,” Natasha told her, and Yelena shook her head, definitely not wanting to do it. Natasha sighed deeply before carefully yet forcefully pulling off Yelena’s hoodie. Yelena almost whimpered in protest as she removed it and as soon as the cold air hit her bra-clad torso, she yelped.

  She immediately felt Natasha’s warm hand against the skin of her back in a comforting touch, and Natasha quickly pulled Yelena’s sweatpants away. Yelena whined, and she could not even curse herself for sounding so pathetic because of the intense chill that was washing over her.

  “Okay, raise your arms,” Natasha gently told her, and Yelena painedly followed her sister’s instructions, hating the way that the cold penetrated the undersides of her arms as she lifted. Natasha slid the tank top over her and quickly took her ankle, pulling her over so that she could start sliding the shorts on.

  Once Natasha had helped her into the new outfit, Yelena was shivering uncontrollably. She was extremely thankful as soon as Natasha slid onto the bed next to her. She quickly scooted over next to Natasha, grabbing onto her tightly and trying to tuck herself against the heat source.

  “Let’s get under the blankets,” Yelena pleaded, and Natasha shook her head.

  “You’ve got to cool down first,” Natasha answered, and Yelena could hear the guilt and pure sorrow in the older woman’s voice. Natasha wrapped her arms around Yelena more fully, and Yelena pressed her head into Natasha’s neck, trying to shield herself from the freezing air surrounding them.

  She must have fallen asleep yet again because the next thing that she knew, she was being wiped down with an extremely cold washcloth that felt like it had ice in it. She scrunched her nose at the feeling and tried to pull back from Natasha’s ministrations. However, she did notice that she was not as cold as before despite the fact that her skin was still somewhat sore and the washcloth itself was freezing.

  “Your fever got worse, and you were out of it for a while. But your fever’s mostly broken now,” Natasha explained gently, and Yelena looked at her sluggishly, the sickness and her nap slowing her reactions down significantly.

  “That is not the only thing broken here,” Yelena indignantly declared, her voice slurring just a bit from her sleep and lacking its usual strength. Natasha glanced up at her with worry in her eyes, and Yelena huffed slightly.

  “You have broken my spirit with your cruelty,” Yelena informed her hoarsely, once again shrinking away from the rag that was drawing nearer to her. Natasha quickly narrowed her eyes, seemingly realizing that Yelena was just being dramatic.

  “How do you feel?” Natasha finally questioned, taking away the rag and holding it in her hands as she eyed the blonde. Yelena groaned, trying to assess her current condition.

  “Ugh… my skin is sore and I’m a little cold but it’s not that bad,” Yelena expressed, and Natasha seemed to accept this answer as she stood up carefully.

  “You think you feel up to eating something?” Natasha asked, her eyes locked onto Yelena’s, and Yelena shrugged with a small nod, figuring that it would be nice to have something in her stomach. Natasha nodded in reply, squeezing Yelena’s knee gently before starting to head out of the room. She paused in the doorway for just a moment, her eyes carefully settled on Yelena’s form, and she finally went out the door.

  After a few moments, Natasha returned with a steaming bowl of soup. Yelena started to reach out for it, but Natasha clicked her tongue in a scold as she sat down on the edge of the bed and faced Yelena, the soup sitting carefully between her legs as she held it in place. Yelena gazed at her quizzically, wondering what Natasha was doing as she stirred the contents of the bowl.

  To her pure surprise, Natasha withdrew a spoonful of the soup and held it out to Yelena. Yelena just stared at her incredulously.

  “I can feed myself, you know,” Yelena informed her, but the look in Natasha’s eyes told Yelena that this was not going to be negotiable. Yelena sighed deeply before opening her mouth and accepting the spoon. Natasha gently took the spoon from her mouth, Yelena’s lips sliding along it to rake any of the food off. Natasha then proceeded to ready another spoonful whenever Yelena was ready.

  As much as Yelena loathed to admit it, it felt really nice to be pampered by her sister. She liked having her independence and freedom, but she also really reveled in the amount of care that Natasha was offering her. It made her feel loved and, most of all, safe.

  “I… I was worried about you,” Natasha admitted very quietly after several minutes of silence and multiple spoons fed to Yelena. Yelena’s eyes immediately snapped to Natasha’s face. Natasha was not looking at her and instead focusing on the soup bowl she had, stirring it as she readied another bit for Yelena to have. Yelena felt her heart melt and the smallest bits of tear prickling at her gaze. She somewhat weakly held out her hand, and Natasha looked up at her before quickly holding the appendage.

  “I’m sorry,” Yelena apologized somewhat thickly, and the weight of the words encompassed not just her sentiment about worrying her older sister, but also the pain in the butt that she had been when she had first gotten home earlier.

  Natasha’s eyes softened and she moved the bowl over to the nightstand nearby. She then crawled forward and placed her elbows on either side of Yelena to support herself. She then kissed Yelena’s cheeks before resting her forehead on Yelena’s shoulder. Her hands came up to gently squeeze the sides of Yelena’s neck affectionately.

  “Don’t be sorry. I love you, and any time you’re not feeling well, I get worried. It’s not your fault,” Natasha expressed, and Yelena let out a deep breath, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of Natasha near her as she raised her arms and wrapped them around Natasha’s waist. Her hold was loose at first, but she quickly tightened her grip and Natasha’s weight dropped onto her. Natasha grunted a little in surprise, but went with it, not questioning it as she just allowed herself to embrace the younger woman more deeply.

  “I love you, too,” Yelena muttered under her breath, and Natasha pressed a kiss to Yelena’s shoulder where her face was currently squished against the blonde. Yelena could not help but allow her entire body to relax, that feeling of safety washing over her.

  She hated being sick, but she could get used to this feeling.

[delimeful]

or set your teeth against my throat (2)

warnings: illness, mild emeto, bad decisions, miscommunication, short panic attack/flashback

---

As the night turned to dawn and then day, Roman didn’t stop running.

He couldn’t stop, even as his pace grew more and more sluggish, his path erratic. Every time he thought about pausing, finding a good campsite and finally letting himself take a breath, it was as though phantom sensations grasped at his skin or tore at his throat.

He kept moving.

It was stupid, probably, being driven forward by fear like a mindless animal. … It was definitely stupid. Still, after ages spent trapped in one form, the full moon’s pull on the wolf in him was irresistible.

For the first time in ages, he worried about the possibility of coming astray of a human settlement once the moon was overhead. Normally, Virgil was the one who dedicated himself to making sure their pack’s turning ground was far from any stab-happy humans, always double and even triple-checking.

In his current state, Roman could barely discern a single natural scent around him, let alone any human scents he should avoid. He kept feeling eyes on him, silent watchers, but the distinction between reality and his own terrified delusions was growing thinner.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon, Roman allowed himself to collapse on a soft patch of earth under a shielding copse of saplings. He had some hope, however shallow, that by wearing himself out, his wolf would spend the night curled up somewhere, settled into a sleep heavy enough to erase the pounding headache settled deep in his skull.

He’d been a fool to let himself hope.

His memories while fully-turned were foggy as usual, but the emotions were clear: he’d spent his entire night on the move. His wolf had been howling long, agonized calls into the dark around him, desperately searching for the other members of his small pack. Desperately waiting for a response that would never come.

To top it all off, when he woke up human-shaped in the early hours of dawn, his headache had only grown worse.

His only turn of fortune was that his wolf hadn’t traveled back the way he’d come, driven away by some immutable sense of danger. He could at least be grateful he wouldn’t have to make up for any lost progress, even if his body was weak and trembling from being pushed past the brink of exhaustion.

The further he got from those bloodsuckers, the better.

His vision blurred slightly with each step. It was seeming more and more likely that he was growing feverish, though it was hard to tell with nobody else around to ask. He kept pressing a hand to his forehead and neck, trying to gauge his temperature, but his hands were warm, too.

He’d complained about his packmates’ terrible circulation and icy fingers before, but there was very little he wouldn’t do for them now… Just the phantom memory of Virgil’s cool hand on his head, voice sharp but touch unbearably gentle, was enough to make tears prick his eyes.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself up on shaky legs. There was no way he could give up now, feverish or not. What would his packmates advise?

“For survival, shelter and water are most important,” he mumbled to himself, wincing at the poor imitation. He cleared some of the raspiness from his throat, imagining Logan’s face when he really got into sharing his newest bit of knowledge. “Running water is preferable to still water, which can carry illnesses, and for larger rivers there is also the potential to find freshwater food sources, like salmon, catfish, bass, um… pike, trout… cod?” He frowned, losing the careful enunciation. “Wait, is salmon freshwater?”

Logan could have listed more off, Roman was sure, but the effort helped cheer him nonetheless. He spent the next few hours winding his way through the forest, attempting every so often to sniff the air for damp soil with little success.

His ears still worked fine, however, and so when he caught the first distant trickle of rushing water, he wasted no time in following the sound. It was no river, but the stream was plenty to help quench the dryness in the back of his throat.

“Go upstream,” he could imagine Virgil demanding, “make yourself harder to track. Wolves aren’t the only ones out there with good noses.”

“The water is so cold, though,” he complained to himself even as he began sloshing through it. “I have squishy human flesh, I’m going to freeze to death.”

Here was where Logan would point out his exaggeration, and Virgil would snap something snarky to distract him from the chill.

The burbling of the water was a poor substitute.

Once his feet grew truly chilled, he waded back out, mimicking Virgil’s voice to caution himself against the more slippery-looking rocks. He probably looked a little silly, holding both parts of a conversation, but it wasn’t as though anyone was around to see.

“Cut me some slack,” he muttered to nobody, allowing the comfort of his wolf form to slide back into place as the day turned to a chilly evening and he lay to rest. “I’m maybe-possibly-feverish, I deserve good things.”

He slept fitfully, and when he woke, there was a gray coat draped over him, and a small pile of walnuts and blackberries sat at his side, the nuts already shelled and the berries freshly washed.

The incredibly suspicious nature of their appearance only stopped Roman from eating them for about five minutes, and four of those five minutes were dedicated to imagining all the reasons Virgil would list to not eat them.

“Sorry, Virge,” he said through a mouthful of fruity deliciousness.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and no matter how he buried his face in the coat lining, his nose was too stuffed to pick up anything. It was an extraordinarily soft coat, though, and he felt awfully cold. It was hard for even him to imagine what harm could be done with a coat.

“I’m accepting this Possibly Evil Coat, but only for a little while, so don’t get any ideas!”

The woods were quiet in response to his declaration, and he sniffed daintily before climbing to his feet, internally bemoaning the way the world swayed slightly as he moved.

Couldn’t he just sleep here a bit longer…?

He imagined the unimpressed looks his packmates would give him. Imaginary Virgil in particular wouldn’t stand for sitting around when there was every possibility he was still being hunted.

“For all you know, that vamp was just a sick mind trick, and they’ve been toying with you this whole time!” Virgil would say, jumping to the worst-possible scenario that Roman always stalwartly tried to ignore. He shuddered, glancing around himself.

“You are not helping my mood, mister,” he muttered to Imaginary Virgil as he tromped through the underbrush with much less elegant grace than usual.

The little mystery offerings from the morning had helped stave off his plummeting energy levels, but they weren’t enough. It was only midday when the lightheadedness and the chills shuddering through him became too much, and he found himself collapsed on the ground between one blink and the next.

He was contemplating the benefits of simply remaining facedown on the dirt for a while when a cool hand wrapped around his wrist, carefully tugging him onto his back.

Roman blinked at the face above him, the blurry features slowly resolving themselves into the shape of the vampire who had freed him only nights before. The fear that shot through him didn’t make him any more lucid, and Roman bared his teeth in a snarl that was probably much less fearsome on a human face.

“Told you so,” Imaginary Virgil said, instead of doing anything helpful like tearing a vampire’s throat out. Roman missed Real Virgil.

The vampire was talking, a low, constant noise meant to soothe as he shifted an arm around Roman’s shoulders, lifting him to his feet. The blood rushed to his head, vision going black-- the next thing he knew, he was inside a small cabin, swaddled in blankets, the hearth crackling merrily feet away.

… What had he been worrying about? He couldn’t remember.

A chill shuddered through him. He was still so cold, even as sweat drenched the cloth around him, and he complained relentlessly.

His packmates tolerated his sickbed whining as graciously they always did, though for some reason they were more hesitant than normal to hold him close when he called for them. They seemed to be taking his care in shifts, as there was only ever one person in view, and sometimes he woke up completely alone.

(Strange, since they normally all piled up together when one of them got sick. They probably just needed to prioritize hunting or checking their territory boundaries or something. Roman wasn’t that sick.)

When they were there, Roman rambled and bickered with them nonstop, through shudders and chattering teeth, telling old stories and adding new twists to distract from the sickness ravaging him, only pausing when they pressed coriander seeds or wormwood to his lips.

(That was a little strange. Logan knew mint worked better for Roman’s nausea. Maybe they were out?)

Time passed in a haze, marked only by the frequent offers of fresh water and stale rations. Eventually, he was able to even measure out his healing progress by how often he could keep the aforementioned nutrients down.

(One of them was busy hunting, but somehow there was never any fresh kill.)

He knew his fever had finally, properly broken when he reached out for the one who had been taking care of him all this time, and registered that their skin was icy-cold.

Roman jerked back and then instantly regretted it as every nerve in his body protested severely.

“Ah, careful!” warned the vampire, who was at least smart enough to stay out of immediate biting range. His hands fluttered around as though he was attempting to bat away the dark spots that were currently dotting Roman’s vision.

Unbidden, a rough growl tore from him. He had a heartbeat to feel vindicated at the vamp’s flinch before his breath caught in his throat, kicking off an uncontrollable coughing fit.

Each wheeze brought less and less air, and when he caught the vampire shuffling closer, it suddenly felt like he had no air at all. He hunched over his knees, shifting his hands to cover his neck pathetically, as though the motion could protect him.

“Back off,” he snapped, cursing himself when the words came out as barely more than a choked whisper. How many times had he said some variation on the phrase in the past few weeks? He should have learned by now that it never worked.

When he glanced up, though, he found the vampire had practically teleported all the way across the room. The sight of the vamp peering at Roman worriedly from the furthest corner was odd enough to yank his mind out of the half-formed flashback.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember the grounding exercises Virgil always ran through. His wrists were light, his knees didn’t ache; he wasn’t chained down. There was soft fabric around him, and warmth in the air; it was a far cry from cold cement platforms in lifeless forts.

There was a vampire here, but his eyes weren’t red, and he didn’t wear a cruel smile like a second skin. Roman might still be a prisoner, but he wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, his current location was… a curiously cozy cabin?

Roman blinked. It was a single room, a bit sparse in decor but containing a small coal stove, stocked pantry, and a cheerily roaring fireplace. He was sitting on the solitary bed, a nest of blankets creased around him.

He turned his blank gaze back to the vampire. For a moment, the only noise in the room was the low crackle-pop of burning wood.

“Are you okay?” the vampire finally asked, brow creased with what looked like genuine concern. “You’ve been really burning up, and fevers like that can take a lot out of you. At least,” a pause, “as fire as I know.”

Any and all snappy responses (both literal and metaphorical) flew instantly from Roman’s mind. He groaned and slumped over dramatically, ignoring the way his vision swam slightly at the movement. “Augh, that was terrible!”

The vampire grinned, his smile somehow dorky even with the visible fangs. “You don’t have to tell me twice: I’m a fast burner!”

“Are you sure?” Roman asked. “Because this is the worst thing you’ve done to me yet, and I’m including the mind games, apparent abduction, and imprisonment.”

“Flameous last words,” the vamp said, and then the rest of Roman’s statement seemed to catch up with him. He drooped like a wilting flower. “You’re not imprisoned here! And I’m not trying to... mess with you, or anything.”

Roman gave him an unimpressed look. “Just so we’re on the same page, that’s a yes on you abducting me, correct?”

“I mean, yeah, just a little bit,” the vampire admitted, “but I meant it in a helpful way! I wasn’t going to bother you at first, I promise, but then you got sick, and I could tell how feverish you were just looking at you, and--,”

“Wait,” said Roman, his brain slowly churning through the implications of that sentence, “you were just going to follow me without me knowing, the entire way--,” home, he didn’t say, because the mere thought of accidentally leading a coven of vicious vampires to his vulnerable packmates made his stomach turn, and then he was leaning over and being violently ill in the bucket beside his bed.

A cold weight settled against the back of his neck, soothing against his overheated skin for the few seconds it took him to realize what-- or rather, who it was. He jerked away with a halfhearted snarl, probably looking rightly pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said mournfully, stopping him short. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, I just-- I knew it was my fault. If I’d gotten the key sooner, or been braver, you wouldn’t have been out in the cold for so long, you might not have caught sick at all. It wouldn’t be right for me to abandon you.”

“Abandon me?” Roman spluttered. What did this guy think he was, some lost pup? “I can take care of myself just fine alone, thank you very much! I have absolutely no need for suspicious sanguinous stalkers on my tail.”

For emphasis, he shoved the blankets off of himself, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up in preparation to leave.

One blink later, he was facedown on the floor, his body numb yet his nose stinging from the impact. “Ow.”

The vampire offered him a hand up. “Autumn is my favorite season, but that certainly didn’t seem like a very nice fall.”

“Must you kick a man while he’s down?” Roman bemoaned, ignoring the proffered hand in favor of pushing himself up.

His traitorous legs wobbled under him, and he ended up collapsing back into a seated position on the bed, right where he’d started. He felt a wave of familiar despair wash over him. The sickness had sapped every ounce of strength from him; whatever villainous plans lay ahead, he had no chance of foiling them.

… Maybe he could still foil some of them.

Roman met the vampire’s gaze as solidly as he could. “No matter how adeptly you try to play the kindly stranger role, I’m not going to fall for it.” I’m not going to lead you to my family. “You may as well cut your losses and do whatever it is you’re planning to do to me.”

He waved a dismissive hand for emphasis, as if it didn’t matter to him. As if the mere idea of getting so close to freedom and then dying (alone, far from his pack, without them ever even knowing what happened to him) wasn’t enough to make him feel like there were roots tangling in his lungs and weeds clogging his throat.

The vampire nodded slowly, a troubled look on his face. “In that case…”

He moved closer, and Roman focused very intently on not flinching, no matter how badly he wanted to, or how hard his body was already shaking. The vampire reached out--

“My name is Patton,” he said, very carefully offering his hand at the midpoint between them, “and what I want is for you to stay right here in this house until you’re healed, and then you can go wherever you want to go, and I’ll make an oath not to follow.”

“What?” Roman blurted, staring at Patton’s hand with blatant confusion. “You-- I-- What?”

“I really don’t want to hurt you, kiddo.” Roman stiffened, because that was a classic villain line setup if he’d ever heard one, but-- “So, once you’re healed, whatever you need me to do to prove it, I’ll do it.”

Roman’s increasing headache had nothing to do with his fever and everything to do with the oxymoron that was a philanthropist bloodsucker.

What was the right option? He couldn’t get away, but he couldn’t trust that this bizarre hospitality would last, either. Perhaps the best course of action here was inaction-- lulling the vampire into a false sense of security by pretending to be sick even as he grew healthy enough to escape?

Roman could act. He was good at it, and the bar for his illness had been set quite convincingly with his earlier faceplant. He let his muscles go lax, slumping over slightly to give off the impression of conceding without actually ever agreeing to Patton’s proposed plan.

“If you’re so intent on me trusting you, you can start by telling me where I am,” he sniffed, graciously not mentioning the abduction thing again.

Patton brightened, letting his offered hand drop without comment. “This is an aidhouse! It’s part of a system recently set up in this division of the kingdom for common good and to prevent spread of disease.”

That explained the insulated, if somewhat bare, interior. Roman raised a curious eyebrow. “And they’ll let just anyone use it?”

“That’s the principle behind it, yep! Normally, with non-plague cases, an apothecary apprentice would stop by to check in and offer guidance, but I told them I had it apothecovered!”

The puns were apparently a permanent fixture in the guy’s repertoire. Logan would be in agony. Roman ignored the pang in his chest at the thought, leaning further back against the pillow mound. “Yes, you wouldn’t want some poor apprentice to stick around long enough to find out there’s a lone vampire in their midst, would you?”

Dial it back, he could imagine Virgil hissing, as though the emo had any room to talk about unnecessary vitriol.

“Well, no,” Patton admitted, his smile turning a little strained. “But I turned them away because I already have all the experience I need! I worked as a full-time doctor before-- um, before...”

The smile turned full-on tremulous, and Roman was seized by a strange panic at the sight of it. He sprawled over the bed haughtily, the way he always did when demanding attention from his workaholic packmates.

“If you’re such a skilled doctor, then I’m sure you won’t have any problems running me through your treatments so far?” Roman challenged, inspecting his nails. It wasn’t a pointless query, either; some common human treatments were toxic to werewolves.

“Oh!” Patton said, voice still a little choked up. “Of course, let me see…”

The brink-of-tears quality to his words faded as he began to recount everything Roman had missed in his feverish haze. Patton’s exposition was nothing like Logan’s, cheerful rambling and jokes thrown in where Logan preferred efficient lists and muttered tangents.

Roman found himself drifting off to the sound regardless.

It seemed that pretending to trust Patton wouldn’t be as hard as he’d thought.

[sickonthedancefloor]

77-Minute Consequence...

Prompt: Not everyone left the pool from Run 132 unscathed...

Sickie: Hoseok, Jimin Caretakers: Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi... so far Content: fevers, flu-like illnesses, emeto

Hoseok had fun filming the double-dose of run episodes, their second being a watery debate that ended in non-stop splashing and drenching, but he could feel the chill once they were out of the water. Even if the water was so forceful it really almost hurt, after their long morning of tennis battles, it was still a great day. The pool water was warmed, not quite at the intensity of the hot tub but it certainly wasn’t freezing. But they could feel the draft every moment they stepped from the water, the feeling of the air drafting over their soaked clothing the moment they left the safety of the pool.

“Come on, hyungie, time to get out,” Jimin urged, pushing his foot against Hoseok’s. They were still in the pool trying to soak in the last bit of warmth they could after Jungkook pushed them in while horsing around, hair plastered to their necks and foreheads while they bounced across the shallow end.

Laughing, Hoseok tried to grab Jimin’s foot, only to assist in tripping the younger member as Taehyung hurried in after them.

“Come on, guys, let’s get ready to go.”

Suga, with a new towel wrapped around his shoulders, stood from the sidelines. He already worried about all of them catching something, but he definitely didn’t want to be the first. While the pool was relaxing and the hot tub even better, it was just slightly too cold for them to enjoy it to its fullest. Hoseok, ever the one of reason, let go of his roommate in favor of wading towards the exit—but Jimin was quick to jump on his back to shove him in, cackling as Hoseok barely had time to grab his nose to prevent inhaling water. When he came up, spluttering and wiping away fresh water from his eyes, he leaned back in an attempt to dunk Jimin off.

…just kidding about reason, Suga realized. Laughing, he just turned and hurried off to find where Namjoon had gone.

Hoseok sneezed again, small but powerful; it shook his core, his sinuses burning, his nerve endings tingling uncomfortably from his shoulders to his fingertips from the force. It startled him.

“Uh-oh.” Came a voice behind him in the water.

When Hoseok shook water from his eyes, slightly dazed from the force of the sneeze, he caught Jungkook wading over, hands outstretched. Hoseok barely had time to reach back before Jungkook had latched onto his shoulders, slowly dragging him back.

“Jungkookie, what are you doing?” Hoseok mumbled.

“Taking Hobi-hyung to the steps. Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry!”

“We need to shower first,” Hoseok started. “The chlor—clor--… claahh…” And another sneeze, which had him shaking suddenly in Jungkook’s grasp.

Jimin, who’d been lazily wading behind them, sniffled with a frown. “Hob-ah, that doesn’t sound so good.”

“Aish… I just need a hot shower when we get back. You too, Jiminie, your nose is running.”

“Is d’ot!” Jimin protested, but he had to bring a hand to his face to wipe away what he had originally thought was just water. It felt wet but warm, stringy; definitely snot. And disgusting. He turned his head from Hoseok to hide the move, but Hoseok had already begun ascending the stairs, already trying to peel himself out of his soaked tops. On Jimin’s own way out of the pool, he sneezed—and it was enough to drop him back into the water with a melodramatic air about it. Jungkook lost himself to laughter immediately.

 ~*~

 The next morning, Hoseok woke up with two major complaints. His blanket was part missing, and he was hot. The dorm room had felt frigid the night prior which prompted Hoseok to crawl underneath the comforter and the sheets, but his bed felt so warm he began to regret his choices the moment he stirred awake. It felt almost… stuffy. A little gross. As he blinked open his eyes, ready to push back one blanket, he noticed a familiar lump pressed against him that was holding on to his blanket like a lifeline.

“Jiminie?” he mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Still as ever, Hoseok recognized that messy blonde hair from anywhere. He and Jimin had shared enough beds that he could tell in an instant.

The room still seemed too dark as Hoseok tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, but he knew something had to have been wrong if Jimin had maneuvered over to his bed that night. Stifling a yawn, he reached a hand over, gingerly pressing his palm against Jimin’s forehead. He could feel heat, but… not too warm? Maybe? Jimin felt clammy to him, which he was sure wasn’t his own sweaty palms. Something still seemed off to Hoseok, but even with his sleep-logged brain he wanted to do something about it. He figured, while he was up, he’d at least check on him, perhaps get him medicine and water to shake whatever he seemed to be coming down with. The older dancer moved carefully, sliding his legs from the covers first so he could slip from the bed without disturbing his younger guest. The floor seemed chilly under his feet, but what startled him awake was how fast the world seemed to sway the moment he stood.

Was he really so tired?

Taking a moment, hand pressed flat against the wall, he just reacquainted himself with his sense of balance before he took another step. He felt… sore, tired from yesterday’s events. Perhaps he just really needed more sleep; Hobi hated not getting enough sleep when he had the chance to. But today’s schedule was light—he could go back to sleep after he took care of Jimin, squeeze in another hour or two. Grumbling, he shook his head; once everything seemed to right itself, he shook the funk from his head and just left the room. That sure was strange. With a soft yawn, he headed over to the bathroom on their side of the hall, as he could hear the shower running in the closer one, moving towards their first aid and medicine stash they had.

Given the seven of them were always prone to falling, overworking, or catching each other’s illnesses, their bathrooms in the dorms were always stocked with various painkillers, bandages and cold medicine or prescriptions for various circumstances. For organizational purposes, Hoseok had placed them all in a plastic container, so different bottles wouldn’t just get knocked over and passed around the bathroom. It still had a crack from the last time Namjoon knocked it over. Pulling over the container closer to him, Hoseok reached in for one of the bottles of painkillers, looking at the specifics on the label. His vision blurred, and he spent a few moments just blinking, trying to will his eyes to focus so he could read the label.

Wow, he must have been really tired…                          

“Hoseok-ah?”

The light turned on suddenly. That would’ve helped, but it had Hoseok grimacing, an odd heavy feeling forming in his head. He didn’t often get headaches from lack of sleep, but he was starting to wonder if an impending one was coming along. He looked into the mirror at the new offender, and was surprised to find Jin standing in the doorway with his toothbrush. The two made eye contact through the reflections.

“Ah… Hyung. Good morning. Using our bathroom?”

“Yeah, Taetae’s hogging the shower in ours.” Jin’s head tilted to the side, a small frown tugging on his lips as he noticed the medicine kit in front of them. “Did something happen? Hoseok-ah, are you okay?”

“Hn? Ah… Jiminie’s sick, I’m pretty sure,” Hoseok explained. “He crawled into my bed last night, but he’s really warm today so I think he’s got a fever.”

“Hm… Well, let hyung help with that.” Jin set his toothbrush down and moved a little closer, brushing his shoulder against Hoseok’s as he slid the container of medications closer to him. “And you?” he asked, head turning to Hoseok directly. “How are you feeling?”

“Ah…” How was he feeling? Hoseok just yawned again. “I think once I check on Jimin, I’m—” but he paused, bringing a hand to his mouth to force out a rough cough. It hurt, an uncomfortable heat overwhelming his chest as he tried to choke out whatever offending phlegm had gripped into his lungs. After a few rough coughs, accompanied with Jin’s hand patting his back, he manages to stop, taking in a harsh breath. He looked up, shaking his head. “Once I check on Jiminie, I’m going back to sleep for another hour.”

Jin’s arm draped around his shoulder to give the younger rapper a hug, but he paused and moved his hand back, pressing it against the back of Hoseok’s neck. At the offending heat, he brought his other hand up to Hoseok’s cheek, pressing the back of his fingers to clammy skin. Hoseok didn’t bother fighting him off, not bothering to entertain his concern, and just continued to rummage through the kit until he could find the thermometer.

“I think you’re also sick… It’d explain why you’re so sweaty. You’re really clammy.”

Hoseok just shook his head. “Jiminie was too hot is all,” he answered. “Jin-hyung, I’m okay--” But his breath hitched. His sinuses suddenly burned, and it’s all the movement he could do to turn his head away before letting out a loud, nasally sneeze onto his own shoulder. His nose felt wet instantly, and he screwed up his face in discomfort, leaning over to grab a tissue.

Jin’s frown grew in intensity, and as Hoseok wiped his nose, the older one turned him to face him, looking closer at his face, catching view of the glassy look in Hoseok’s doe eyes. Despite his determination, Hoseok merely looked too dazed to stay on his feet for long. “Seok-ah… Come on, listen to hyung.”

Hoseok sniffled, blinking almost owlishly at Jin. “I’ll take something later, but I’m fine.”  With a soft laugh, Hoseok shook his head and stepped back, grabbing the painkillers and thermometer on his way back to his room. Jin watched after him, frowning heavily.

“I’m going to get you both some water.”

“I already have water,” Hoseok called after him, but he grimaced at how harsh it felt against his throat. He pointedly ignored Jin’s pressing stare and scurried back into his room, crawling back onto the bed. Leaning over, he gently pressed his weight against Jimin, resting his head against the younger dancer’s. “Jiminie, wake up, wake up,” he said softly in a sing-song voice.

Jimin grimaced, but immediately turned his face towards his pillow to cough roughly as he tried to clear away any phlegm that settled into his chest during his slumber. Hoseok eased off, dropping the pill bottle on the bed to pat Jimin’s back until the fit ended. It took a minute, but by the time the fit ended, Jin was back with a water bottle, Hoseok slowly urging Jimin to sit up while Jin brought the cool water to his lips. Barely awake, Jimin sipped at the water slowly, his small hand reaching up to grab it from the older vocalist. After a few seconds, with Hoseok just rubbing circles against his back, he handed it back, taking a deep breath with it.

“Sorry, hyungs…” Jimin mumbled. He brought a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “I didn’t feel great last night… I was cold.”

“You’re sick, Minnie.” Jin ran a hand through his hair, then pressed a hand against Jimin’s forehead, taking a moment to gauge his fever himself. His eyes widened, which had Hoseok tilting his head in confusion. “Your fever feels really high, too…”

“It didn’t feel that bad when I checked earlier,” countered Hoseok, though the exasperated frown he received in response had him shrinking back. He glanced around, a little surprised to find another water bottle and cough syrup on the side table. Turning his lips inward, he handed the thermometer over when prompted, and Jin removed the cap.

“Under your tongue, please. And no talking until it gets a reading.”

Jimin blinked in surprise, glancing between the two of them. “You guys came prepared… Wasn’t expecting that.” But he did as instructed, letting Jin position the thermometer in his mouth before closing his lips around it. Hoseok turned his face away to let out another sneeze, grimacing as the sensation set his nerves temporarily aflame. Still holding the tissue from earlier, he just wiped his nose again.

“Did—”

“Don’t talk.”

Jimin’s lips closed back over the thermometer, but his eyes turned to Hoseok as they waited. Jin pointedly avoided looking at Hoseok. Once the small device beeped, Jin moved it from Jimin in order to gauge the reading: 38.8°C. Jin read it aloud as he stood from the bed.

“Not dangerously high, thankfully… If we stay on top of it, it should go down. Feeling anything else besides the fever, Minnie?” Jin questioned his dongsaeng.

“This dumb cough… my head hurts a little, but the painkillers will help with that.”

The eldest nodded. “Alright… I grabbed cough syrup too. Take that while I go wash this off.”

As Jin left the room, Hoseok leaned over Jimin to grab the cough syrup, frowning when he noticed the two small dosage cups tucked on top. Jimin seemed to notice them too, looking over at his roommate.

“Did I get you sick, hyungie?” he asked softly.

“You didn’t, Jiminie, so cute of my precious roommate to worry about me!” Hoseok cooed playfully, though the rasp to his voice was evident to the younger man given his little pout. The older dancer worked on finding the proper dosage for the syrup. But as he attempted to read, his brows furrowed; for some reason, they words weren’t focusing as well, but it was probably due to the lower lighting. He brought it closer to his face, but his eyes watered a bit trying to stare too closely.

Jimin’s own clammy hands gently eased the bottle from his grip, a soft look in his eyes. Hoseok could see a look of worry; he didn’t like that at all. “Let’s just wait for Jin-hyung for that one. Where’s the painkillers?”

Oh, those he had. Hoseok picked up that bottle and opened it with slight strain, but paused as he turned his face away with another sneeze. He sniffled, then knocked out two tablets to hand to Jimin. The smaller singer tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with a large swig of the water, then glanced at his roommate again.

“What, Jiminie?”

“Are you just going to pretend you’re okay all day?” Jimin asked softly, pouting once again.

“W-what?”

Jimin didn’t get a chance to answer before Jin was back, sitting down near Jimin’s legs. He leaned over, holding the thermometer to Hoseok. He had his stern face on, something the others hadn’t seen in a long while. Jin was a rather easygoing member, usually more playful than anything, unless there was something truly bothering him or if he was concentrating too hard. “Humor me.”

“Jin-hyung, this is ridic—” Jin cut Hoseok off by pressing the thermometer in his mouth.

“Under your tongue.”

“Ji—”

“And no talking!”

With a frown over the small device, Hoseok pulled the thermometer from his lips and merely climbed from the bed to clean it. What he didn’t expect was to catch Jimin’s hand gripping his own, tugging him back down. It was almost embarrassing how easy Hoseok stumbled back, eyes wildly blinking as his view changed suddenly. He frowned, and the uneasy sensation from earlier returned almost full force. Jin wasted no time pushing the thermometer back in his mouth, but he sat still with a small huff, waiting. Jin busied himself with filling both dosage cups with liquid, handing Jimin one of them. Once the thermometer beeped, Hoseok pulled it from his lips and frowned at the reading: a 39.1°C. Jin quickly snagged it from him before he could erase the reading, which had him sighing.

“Hyung, I’m fine,” Hoseok insisted.

Jin just handed him the second cup. “Drink up.”

With a sigh, Hoseok just nodded, drinking the small cup like a shot. It burned just as badly going down, but far less satisfying, than soju. As Jin collected the cups, he handed Hoseok the second water bottle and left the room again.

Jimin sighed, flopping back on the bed. He definitely looked worse for wear, and Hoseok brought a shaky hand up to run fingers through his hair. Jimin smiled softly. “Hyungie… Since we’re both sick, we should just nap all day. Cuddle me?”

With a grumble, Hoseok just crawled his way back onto the bed next to Jimin, pushing away the covers on his side. With this fever, Jimin felt like a furnace and it was extremely easy to overheat. Hoseok didn’t sip the water, merely held onto the bottle pressed to the side of his chest; although he wouldn’t admit it, the cold temperature in his hands felt nice to just hold onto. Jin didn’t say much else, merely reached over to ruffle both of their heads before standing.

“Go ahead and rest, okay? I’ll stay in today. If you need anything, call hyung.”

Jimin smiled up at him before tucking his face into Hoseok’s neck, yawning loudly. Hoseok merely pulled him close and let his eyes flutter closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

 ~*~

 Waking up was a startling affair. Still half-asleep, Hoseok barely registered the feeling of someone pulling him upright, and he bumped his head immediately against someone’s knee.

“Whoops, sorry, Hob-ah.”

“Yah, Namjoon-ah! Be careful!”

Faint coughing from Jimin, then the immediate sound of retching. Hoseok opened his eyes to see Jimin hunched over the side of the bed, Jin rubbing his back gently while looking at someone over Hoseok’s head. Namjoon, Hoseok guessed, but he couldn’t understand how Namjoon ended up standing over him. And then the overwhelming scent of vomit just attacked his nose, overpowering the scent of sickness that had begun to permeate the room. He felt hot, and sticky, and feeling Namjoon’s large arms holding him up by his armpits didn’t help.

“You awake, Hobi?” Namjoon asked. “We’re gonna have to help you two shower after this.”

Grimacing, Hoseok brought a hand up to rub his eye—only for both Namjoon and Jin to yell at him to stop moving. He paused, hand lifted upward—and it was wet. A warm, sticky wet, and smelled sour… He was quick to realize it was vomit, in its gross and putrid glory. Jimin let out another heavy, loud retch, and Hoseok’s own stomach flipped at the sound of liquid splashing into something plastic. Hoseok didn’t do well with vomit on a decent day, barely being a step above sympathy puking, but the uncomfortable warmth and the heavy odor in the air was more than enough to make him nauseous immediately. He whimpered, mouth already beginning to salivate uncomfortably.

“Yaaaah, Hoseok-ah, let Namjoon get you to the bathroom first! Namjoon--”

“I got it!”

The younger rapper came into view as he stepped to Hoseok’s left side, letting go of the dancer in order to flip the blanket to the side. Hoseok could see the liquid already seeping through, and his shirt was drenched in sweat and speckled in leftover stomach bile. He felt gross… His stomach rolled immediately. Namjoon wasted no time in pulling Hoseok to his feet and off the bed, ignoring the dripping mess from his hand as he ushered him to the bathroom. Hoseok wasted no time dropping to his knees when they made it past the door, not even waiting for Namjoon to turn on the light before he gave in to his body’s demands. The pressure forced bile from him like it had been waiting for hours, the cramp in his stomach twisting to empty the contents. He didn’t eat much, so he was startled when one mouthful became three, which soon were too many to count. Just what did he even have in his stomach to expel so harshly? His shoulders shook with exertion, cleaner hand trembling as it gripped the edge of the commode so tight his knuckles were white. All the while, Namjoon knelt beside him, wiping his messy hand with a wet wipe before just rubbing his back, reassuring him that he was okay, to just let it out and he’d feel better soon. It felt almost never-ending, each few seconds forcing out another painful retch as he tried to cough up whatever he could have eaten in the past week, his esophagus on fire. His back hurt, tense from the strain, and he could barely feel his fingers.

It took a long few minutes before the cramping let up, and Hoseok, extremely winded and drained, rested his head to the side of the bowl. He’d needed a shower anyway; this wasn’t the worst. Namjoon sighed softly, more of relief than anything.

“Nothing else in there?” he asked.

“Nn-nn. Joonie… that felt bad.”

“It looked bad.”

Hoseok could feel Namjoon easing his face away, hearing the sudden roar of the toilet flushing before him. He let him go, and Hoseok’s cheek found the porcelain again while he just let his eyes fall closed and listened to the ruckus happening around him. Namjoon swearing softly as he messed with the cleaning wipes, probably cleaning up whatever mess Hoseok may have made of around the toilet. He could hear the shower running, and Namjoon soon tugging the toilet paper roll—the entire roll, judging by the sudden clanging of metal—from the ring. It didn’t take long for Hoseok to feel toilet paper wiping at his mouth, and he pouted at the feeling.

“Sorry, we should probably rinse your mouth out before you shower, but let me get this extra off your face.”

“Can I shower here?” Hoseok muttered.

With a soft laugh, Namjoon just helped him remove his dirtied clothing. Hoseok leaned back to realize Namjoon also seemed to be shirtless, and opened his eyes to find that his friend had already stripped to his own boxers.

“Wha…?”

Namjoon laughed softly. “You’re really not in any condition to shower by yourself, Hob-ah.”

That earned him a pout. Hoseok wanted to believe he wasn’t so incapacitated that he needed help… but given how the fatigue seemed to stay settled in his bones, he knew his friend was right. Namjoon was at least kind about it as he helped him move into the shower, taking extra effort to massage Hoseok’s scalp as he conditioned his hair just to help him relax. Hoseok didn’t even feel shame as he let the shower’s water splash against his clammy skin. He let Namjoon sponge away grime and sweat from his body, and the gentle scent of the soap already brightened up his mood. Namjoon urged him out before he got too relaxed, helping him dress in fresh pajamas. Upon closer look, Hoseok realized that neither the pants nor the oversized shirt were his, but they felt nice nonetheless.

“Finally got in your pants, Namjoooon,” Hoseok laughed breathlessly.

That got a chuckle out of his friend, who just toweled his hair for a few seconds before walking him down the hall. As they passed his shared bedroom, Hoseok found himself squinting over his shoulder in surprise. “Mm… Joonie?”

“Jin-hyung’s letting your room air out a little more,” Namjoon replied. Instead, he was led right into Namjoon’s own room, and the taller rapper helped ease him into bed. With a soft sigh, Hoseok pressed his face right against the pillow. Feeling considerably cooler, more comfortable, and on one of Namjoon’s feathersoft pillows, he was already doing better. The fellow 94-liner draped a blanket over him and straightened it out, then, to be safe, pushed his desk trash can to the side of the bed. “Rest for a while, okay, Hobi?”

Hoseok didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes closing, he fell asleep easily.

 ~*~

 Hoseok awoke feeling way too warm. With a grimace, he lifted a hand to push the blankets away, only to find that he apparently had been hugging some sort of companion. Confused, he paused, lifting his head up as he squinted forward.

From there, he saw Yoongi, earphone in one ear, phone in a hand with stylus in the other, He seemed to be jotting down notes. Yoongi absently placed the stylus in his mouth and moved his hand to Hoseok’s hair, petting it gently. The notion had Hoseok moving to drop his head against Yoongi’s chest, his arm still draped across his stomach. He hummed softly.

“Hyung?” Hoseok mumbled.

Yoongi’s hand didn’t stop petting his hair. “You’re awake, Seokseok-ah?”

Hoseok gave a slight nod. “It’s hot in here.”

Yoongi looked down, and his hand moved from ruffling his hair to covering his forehead. “Shit… you missed a dose. You need more medicine.”

Shaking his head, Hoseok let out a whine. “I don’t wanna be asleep anymore. Yoongiiii…”

That got a chuckle out of the older boy. “Come on. Meds, a little bit of juk, and maybe we can crash in the living room for a bit—”

Before Yoongi could finish discussing the game plan, the door to Namjoon’s room swung open carefully, and Jin’s head popped in. Hoseok turned to look at him, putting on a smile.

“Hey, you’re up! See, Jimin-ah? He’s okay, he was just resting in here.” His voice remained low and soft, and Hoseok had to smile at how careful their eldest hyung was being. As Jin moved back, Hoseok could see Jimin peering in, eyes tired but delighted to see him.

“Hobi-hyung!” Jimin wasted no time in crossing the room, immediately draping himself over the two on the bed.

Hoseok fought back a grimace and smiled, small hand reaching over to ruffle Jimin’s hair. Jimin’s extra weight pressed against his tender stomach and just made him feel warmer, but he was glad to see his roommate. “Jiminie, feeling better?”

Jimin sighed dramatically. “Only a little bit… I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

At that, Yoongi laughed, hand reaching over to gently shove Jimin’s shoulder. “Better get out before you throw up on this bed too.”

“Hyung, don’t tease me, I’m sick,” whined the small vocalist. He received another shove in response.

But with a laugh, Jin merely headed in to tug Jimin back to his feet, promising they’d visit again later. As they left, Hoseok could hear Jin convincing Jimin to return to bed now that they’d seen Hoseok, and the gesture made Hoseok feel warm inside. It was nice to know that Jimin cared for him even as they were; he just hoped the others were taking as good care of Jimin as they were of himself. He was sure they were, especially if Jin was there. Jin was the best.

“What’s that make me,” Yoongi asked, “Chopped liver?”

Hoseok laughed, not realizing he’d spoken out loud. “You’re my best hyung.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Yoongi chuckled at that, bringing a hand back up to stroke Hoseok’s hair. As Hoseok began to relax against him, the older rapper nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, Seokseok-ah… Food and meds. Food and meds, and then you can sleep again.”

With a grumble, Hoseok just pressed his face further into Yoongi’s shoulder and tried to pretend he didn’t have to get up.

[edna-skiffens]

Lean On Me - 1.5K

Summary: You are under the weather but Harrison is there to make it better. That rhymed.

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: fluff as always bc it’s me, being sick 🤢, idk prob nothing else

A/N: I started this a little over a month ago when I was sick. Picked it up again a couple of weeks ago when I got sick again. Finished it after I had a stomach bug this weekend. So if you liked it you can thank my shotty immune system.

You didn’t wake up when Harrison did. He was an early riser and you.. were not.

You were, however, a light sleeper and would usually wake up when he rolled out of bed, no matter how quiet he attempted to be.

But today when you woke up, you noticed he wasn’t there. Then, almost immediately, you noticed the aches covering your entire body.

Without even looking at the clock, you decided you could use some more sleep.

When you woke up again, you weren’t feeling any better. You decided to get up anyway and try to push through. Maybe you just needed some breakfast and to move around a bit.

You made your way into the kitchen after grabbing one of Harrison’s hoodies to help with the chills. You were staring at the open fridge for who knows how long when you felt him come up behind you.

“There’s my sleepy head.”

“Huh?”

“It’s almost noon. I was starting to get worried, but figured everyone deserves a day to sleep in now and then.”

Noon? You had no idea. Sure, you slept later than Harrison, but not that late.

You were still standing in front of the fridge, processing Harrison’s information. You must have looked as confused as you felt, prompting Harrison’s next question.

“Love, are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah I don’t feel the best, but I’m okay.”

“Well, why don’t you go sit down? I’ll make you some lunch. Or breakfast.. Brunch!”

You gave him a small smile.

Normally you would put up more of a fight, wanting to prove your independence. Today, you didn’t feel like standing anymore. So you shuffled over to the barstool and sat down, leaning your weight on the island.

“What sounds good, darling?”

“I don’t know.”

He turned towards you and gave you a look of concern.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You do sound a little hoarse.”

“Yeah, I just don’t know what sounds good. I guess nothing sounds particularly appetizing.”

“Want to start with some toast? Some fruit? Maybe you will have more of an appetite in a bit.”

“Okay.”

Shortly after, he made the food and placed it in front of you, adding a quick kiss on your forehead as well. He pulled back and his smile fell. He placed a hand on your forehead to double check.

“Y/N. You’re burning up.”

“Really? I was freezing when I woke up.”

“Let me grab a thermometer.”

When he came back and took your temperature it confirmed his suspicions.

“You have a fever.”

“Maybe that’s why I don’t feel so good.” You mumbled while playing with the toast.

”Love, why don’t you go back to bed.”

You barely made a dent in your ‘brunch’ and your head was leaning so far forward you were practically laying on the counter.

“That sounds nice.”

“I have a Zoom meeting in a few minutes. But if you need me I can reschedule-“

“No, babe. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He looked you over to make sure you seemed fine. “I’ll come and check on you after that okay?”

“Okay.”

“Text me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine, Harrison.”

You crawled back into bed and almost dozed off until your stomach started turning.

Oh no.

You jumped up and ran to your ensuite bathroom just in time to bring up the few bites of Harrison’s brunch you managed to get down. When you were sure everything was out, you used some toilet paper to wipe your mouth and flush.

Exhausted from vomiting your guts out, you did not have the energy or strength to get off the floor. It was then you realized your phone was on the bedside table if you needed Harrison, not that you would interrupt his meeting anyway.

Instead you curled up on the tile floor of the bathroom, “I’m just going to rest here for a moment.” You told yourself.

The cool tile felt good on your hot skin, as your chills had traded themselves for hot flashes. You stripped the hoodie away and used it as a makeshift pillow on the cool floor. “Just for a moment” until you regained your strength to go back to bed.

“Thanks. Bye!” Harrison ended his zoom and was anxious to check on you.

You hadn’t texted him, but he didn’t think you would anyway. You took such pride in being able to take care of yourself.

It was quiet as he made his way through the apartment and he assumed you were sleeping. When he made it to your room and the bed was empty, he was proven wrong.

Confused, he began looking around. Not seeing you in any other part of the house, he checked the bathroom. The door wasn’t shut so he quickly saw your body curled up on the bathroom floor, asleep. He noticed you were left in your tank top and sleep shorts with his hoodie now under your head, sweat sticking across your skin.

He wanted to let you sleep, but he also wanted to check in and see how you were feeling. Give you some medicine for your fever.

“Y/N?” He gently rubbed your arm. You stirred a bit before opening your eyes. “Hey, love. What happened here?”

“I threw up.” You sounded like a little kid and Harrison found it adorable.

“Yeah I kind of gathered that.” He spoke in a sweet voice still rubbing your side. “How come you’re in here and not the bed?”

“The cold felt good.” He nodded in understanding. “And I was too tired to get up.”

“You should’ve texted me.” He helped you sit up.

“I left my phone in there.” He gave you a sad nod as he rubbed your back.

“You wouldn’t have texted me even if you had your phone would you have?”

“Probably not. I don’t know. I don’t feel good.” You leaned into him and he held you.

“I know, love. I’m here now. What can I do? Do you need to get cleaned up? Do you want a cold rag?” You shook your head no.

“I just want to lie down.”

“Okay I can help with that.”

“I’m kind of dizzy.” You told him. You leaned into him further and your eyes remained shut.

“It’s okay. We’ll take it slow.” He encouraged as he pulled you up. “I’ve got you.”

He slowly helped you back to bed and gathered anything you might need while you got comfortable under the covers.

“Okay. I brought a wet rag in case you get hot again, another blanket and one of my hoodies in case you get cold. Here’s a bucket and a towel in case you feel sick again. Some tissues and water. Anything else?”

“I have a headache. Could you possibly-”

“Say no more.” Less than a minute later he returns with even more items in his hands.

“Here’s some medicine for your headache and it should also help bring your fever down. Here’s the thermometer so we can check it again later. Here’s some crackers because I don’t know if you should take the medicine on an empty stomach, but if you feel sick don’t force it, but if you think you can manage it here they are.” He smiled sheepishly while placing them on the bedside table. “Here’s some Gatorade to help replenish you if you’d rather have that than water. And I brought some movies if you weren’t sleepy yet.”

He finally finished rambling about the various items he brought. You smiled up at him taking in this sweet boy and all that he was. You took the medicine while he continued.

“Or if you want to be alone and rest I can definitely do that. I can go do some wor-”

“Harrison.”

“Hmm? You need something, love?”

“Yeah.” You weakly lift your arms up towards him “Come cuddle me.” He smiled before stripping out of the nice shirt he wore for his Zoom and crawling into bed with you.

“This better?” He asked after pulling you into his arms.

You still felt the aches, the nausea, and the hot flashes, but having Harrison hold you made it better.

“It’s better.” You yawned.

He gave you a kiss on your temple, noting that you weren’t as warm as you were before.

“Why don’t you try to get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you get up. And then we’ll lay here and watch movies and I’ll make some soup.”

“Okay.” You leaned your head against his chest. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, precious.” He smiled down at you, already asleep against his chest. “Feel better.”

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

General Hux x Female Reader/Kylo Ren x Female Reader

A/N: I literally kicked this out this morning, and I am posting it now before I change my mind. Bring in the Knights… I clearly woke up this morning and chose violence.

Warnings: alcohol, poison, blood, torture, Hux and Kylo finally work together, minor character death. Not a pretty chapter at all.

Word Count: 3530

Read Chapter 12 here on AO3.

Start from Chapter 1 here.

The ride in Kylo’s Command Shuttle was quiet, just the sound of the pilots communicating, a few troopers lounged in the seats behind you and you could feel their gazes upon the back of your neck. Your brain was fried, only a few hours ago you had woken up fully dressed and alone in Kylo’s bed. He hadn’t spoken much, letting you eat breakfast in comfortable silence while he scrolled through a datapad before announcing his business was concluded here and he was withdrawing the fleet from Canto. The unasked question of whether you were coming hung in the air and you chose to ignore it, getting up and dutifully following him to the ship. You were sad to see the beautiful place fall away, maybe once the war was over you could come back. Visions of returning with your arm linked with Hux’s made you smile a little but when they flickered out of existence and were replaced with your arm in Kylo's, your composure slipped.

The shuttle alighted smoothly in the main hangar, the refiltered air filling your lungs and you already missed the freshness of being planet side. It didn’t surprise you that Mitaka was ready and waiting to bring Kylo up to date on the latest, leaving you with a single trooper to escort you to Hux’s quarters.

The ever unchanging silence curled around you, filtering into the cracks of your damaged soul and expanding. Making an ache start in your chest, one you couldn’t suppress until your soft cries pierced the quiet. You had thought long and hard over Hux’s abrupt change in behaviour, bringing you to the conclusion that he was hating himself for opening up to you. For allowing so much of himself to be exposed in one go, so now he was clamming up and pushing you away. It didn’t hurt any less but you supposed it would be like this, one step forward and two steps back. You expelled a long breath thinking it was a dance you were committed to, no matter the outcome.

You had a quick shower, putting on a nightgown and robe now you were once again governed by the day cycle of the ship. You didn’t expect to see Hux tonight so you opened a bottle from the restocked cooler, pouring the clear liquid over a couple of rocks of ice before settling on the couch and picking up the datapad to read the manuscript you were invested in but you couldn’t focus. The words blurred into one on the screen and the alcohol made everything hazy. Your heart jolted when the door opened and you heaved yourself off the couch in surprise, clutching the arm to hold you up as the room spun slightly.

“Armitage,” you mumbled in surprise. “I didn’t…I wasn’t expecting to see you….today—night?” You frowned at your own nonsense. This wasn’t how you wanted him to see you, not now, not when he possibly needed you.

“In all honesty I wasn’t sure you’d be here.” He replied. He carefully put his hat on the table, slowly followed by his gloves and then his coat which he hung on the back of the chair. You watched him approach the cooler, his slender fingers wrapping around the bottle and looking at the label.

“Did you finish work? Are you staying?” Your tongue felt thick, your body was at a fever pitch and you stumbled when you tried to head in his direction.

“Armitage…” you lifted your hand trying to focus on it but your vision blurred. “I can’t…see.”

“What?” His response was whip sharp and you winced against the sudden pounding on your head. You cried out as your legs gave way, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Your vision swam, your breaths were laboured and a tingling sensation was racing over your body. In the dark corner of your mind you realise this wasn’t just too much to drink. You heard him call your name but you were sinking, not able to hold onto him, everything was melting before you. Disappearing into a cloud of black smoke and you couldn’t find your way out.

Hux watched Ren pace up and down the small area outside your private room. Actually it was a medical room set aside for the Supreme Leader, he’d had you directed there when he saw the urgent message for a medic to Hux’s quarters. Every footfall that sounded from the large man set Hux’s teeth on edge but he bit back a rebuke. The force user hadn’t lashed out yet and Hux wasn’t going to give him an excuse. Hux also wondered why he was here, the fleet was chasing down a lead on a new possible Resistance base so surely his attention would be better elsewhere than on Hux’s wife. Both men looked up as the door opened and a Dr came out, his face was grave and Hux felt the blood freeze in his veins.

“Supreme Leader, General. She has been poisoned.” Hux had already deduced that fact and he felt a flash of annoyance that this was being repeated back to him.

“What else?” He demanded abruptly.

“I’ve had to put her in a medically induced coma so her body can recover, it seems there is some damage to her internal organs and…” he swallowed nervously as the two most dangerous men stood glaring at him. “It seems this is one poison we haven’t encountered before.”

“Just put her in a bacta tank,” snipped Hux, not understanding why they were wasting time telling him this.

“They can’t,” rumbled Kylo. Hux frowned, hating the extra insight he had.

“Why not?” He could feel his temper slipping, his teeth clenching together as he glared at the doctor wanting him to answer and not Ren.

“The poison seems to have some bacta resistant qualities….” The floor rolled under Hux and he swayed slightly, if they couldn’t find an antidote the poison would keep eating away at you until your body gave up. “I seem to have slowed the effects, by keeping her body cold and slowing the blood flow but we need an antidote within the week, she won’t be able to stay in this state for long without accruing serious deficits.” Hux wanted to double over, he wanted to accept the pain that erupted from his centre and scream at the floor, but he didn’t. He wanted to barge past the doctor and hold you in his arms, he wanted to rip through his ship and shoot his own troops in the face if they so much as looked at him wrong. It wasn’t until Kylo removed his hand from Hux’s elbow that he realised the Supreme Leader had been holding him upright.

Hux’s feet finally became unstuck from the floor and he moved into the room, his heart in his mouth as he looked at you on the bed. The chill blankets glowed a soft blue colour, a tube was down your throat helping you breathe. Sensors were placed across your forehead and he felt the rage bubble up inside him, who would poison you? Why would someone do this? He also wanted to yell at you for drinking out of a bottle that clearly wasn’t First Order approved, which meant someone planted it and they were still in the ship.

“I’ve already got the Knights tearing through the ship.” Hux resisted rolling his eyes and chose to frown instead.

“Is that wise Ren?”

“Do you want them found?” He snarled, stepping up to the other side of your bed. Hux studied the feral look in his eye, the tenseness of his posture and the hatred that flared in his expression, until his gaze slid to you. His hand rose as though to touch you but thought better of it, curling his leather covered hand into a fist. His expression softened for a moment before looking back up at Hux. “I will let you know if we find anything.”

“Shouldn’t I be there?” Hux asked, not happy to be pushed out of such an investigation of his own personnel.

“Maybe you should stay here and be with your wife,” mumurmed Kylo.

“She’s in a coma. She doesn’t even know what day of the week it is, let alone if I’m here or not.” He couldn’t sit here staring at you, seeing how helpless and weak you were. He wouldn’t be able to sit and watch you waste away before him without doing something to try and stop this.

“Fine.” Hux moved to follow the Supreme Leader out of the room, his fingers flexing and a little ripple of anticipation ran down his spine. It had been a while since he got his hands dirty.

He couldn’t explain it, the way this trooper’s screams fed something twisted inside him. He leaned heavily against the wall of the interrogation room, sweet collected on his upper lip and he swept his damp hair off his brow in a fluid motion. Ren had shed his tunic, his corded muscles bulged, his pale skin flushed as he stretched an arm towards the man kneeling on the floor. Fresh screams erupted from the bound trooper and Hux momentarily closed his eyes as if basking in the sound.

A part of him recoiled at the unwavering way Ren ploughed through people's minds, he showed no mercy and Hux felt a stab of jealousy that Ren himself was clearly going to all this trouble for you. Hux had been told you had breakfast on a private balcony with the Supreme Leader, leaving in a hurry and then you were seen heading to his private room on Canto Bight. Hux wasn’t an idiot, but he had hoped you wouldn’t have stabbed him in the back so early on.

“Ren, stop.” Hux managed to say as the trooper’s heart rate spiked off the charts and the man fell with a clatter to the floor. “Anything?” Hux winced, his voice sounded loud against his tender ears. Kylo rolled his shoulders, sweeping his dripping hair away from his face before shaking his head once. It had been two days, two full days and night of torture, screams and questions all coming up with nothing. Hux gripped the datapad in his hands, his arms trembling as he fought the urge to throw it against the wall, screaming his hatred and frustration out. He’s always looked down his nose at Ren’s temper tantrums but now it was all he wanted to do, to break something or someone, to exercise his absolute fury out until he felt exhausted. He hadn’t slept for two days, he was already at his stimulant limit but he still considered another shot.

“You should rest.”

“No, I'm fine.”

“It wasn’t a request, General. You’re no good to her dead.” Hux contemplated ignoring the order altogether but he knew he needed a rest. He felt stretched, his breaking point was within reach and what good would he be if he was in a bed in the medbay as well? He wordlessly handed over the datapad as medics came to retrieve the trooper.

“You’ll keep going?” He asked brusquely.

“I will see you in 10 hours,” stated Kylo but Hux paused, his coat resting on his forearm.

“Five,” he countered.

“Eight,” Ren shot back.

“Six.”

“Done.” Hux nodded before leaving the room. He had six hours to pass out and then he was going to find out who did this to you.

Kylo waited until Hux had gone before slipping from the room and heading to his own quarters. Ap’lek stood outside the door in full armour, his executioner’s ax grasped in his hand as he stood guard. They didn’t exchange words, they didn’t need to. The door opened and he came face to face with Vicrul, his scythe blade resting on his shoulder ready to swing at a moment's notice. He stepped to the side to let Kylo in, revealing the scene in his quarters. There was a dark haired man kneeling on the floor surrounded by the rest of the Knights, Cardo had his arm cannon pressed into the back of his neck, Ushar had the kinetic charged end of his club in position ready to stun the man if necessary and Trudgen sat before the prisoner running a whetstone along the blade of his vibrocleaver. The sound rang out loud and clear in the silent quarters as he swept the stone with long strikes against the massive blade. Kuruk appeared from the bedroom, performing his checks and making sure the quarters were secure.

Kylo made his way to crouch before the shaking man, slowly running his eyes over the First Order uniform and seeing it was ill fitting.

Has he said anything? Kylo looked up at Trudgeon, the only Knight without his mask on.

No. Came the swift reply followed by another singing note from the blade.

“You won’t get anything out of me.” Kylo turned his attention back to the prisoner.

“We just did,” he stated softly. The prisoner looked up and Kylo could see the man had already surrendered to the idea that he was going to die here.

“The Resistance is not dead. Our spark shines bright in the Galaxy.” Kylo looked at him, just staring as he tried to decide how he was going to play this.

“Vicrul.” The Knight stepped forward and Trudgeon moved out of the way, tossing his chair away with a loud noise. Kylo rose and Vicrul took his place before the prisoner, removing his pastillion ore helmet and placing it carefully on the floor before locking gazes with the prisoner.

Sweat began to bead on the man’s brow, his face quivering the longer Vicrul looked into his eyes. Kylo could feel it, the ripples in the force that his Knight created, the darkness manifested and clung the Resistance fighter, gathering around his head. The other Knights all watched, their own vibrations reacting to their brothers and only the prisoners laboured breathing sounded in the room. It didn’t take long before a scream ripped the air and he began to thrash in the Knights grip, lost in nightmarish visions that only he could see. Kylo let Vicrul have his fun, showing the prisoner visions that would make a Wookiee cower, his screams increasing in pitch. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began to convulse in the firm grips of Cardo and Ushar.

“Enough,” said Kylo softly. Vicrul broke eye contact and picked up his helmet, the darkness retreated and the prisoner blinked rapidly as though the light was too much for him, his entire body heaved and he looked wildly around.

“What are you going to do to me?” He cried, his voice full of panic.

“It depends what you tell us,” Kylo gestured to the armoured men around him. “My Knights are bored so I suggest you cooperate.”

“Wait wait! Can’t you just search my mind? Take the information for yourself?” Kylo turned away as the Knights shuffled forward, closing ranks around the prisoner.

“Where is the fun in that Major Wexley?” The man was screaming before Kylo had even made it past his door, Kuruk followed and silently traded places with an eager Ap’lek. “Let me know if he says anything. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Kuruk nodded and silently watched his master walk away. They knew where he was going.

Kylo sat at your bedside, his large hand covered yours and echoes of what was happening in his quarters shattered the quiet of his mind. He could feel the force pulsing with the darkside, spreading its touch through the ship. It manifested in different ways, someone pulling a risky move in the training ground and hitting their opponent harder than necessary, an officer shouting at his staff for a simple misdemeanour that should have been dismissed. A fight breaking out in the cantina between two troopers who didn’t like each other, a moment of blind frustration from a medic who threw what he was holding, letting it shatter against the wall.

The Knights had found Wexley trying to slip into a TIE and escape, Kylo hadn’t told Hux. The General was on a cliff edge as it was, Kylo didn’t need him on a murdering spree before all information was dragged from the Resistance pilot, so Kylo let his Knights have a reward. Their energy was chaotic when unused, it needed a release every now and again.

He moved his hand along your cold arm, hating how lifeless you looked, you were still alive. He could feel your light but the warmth was weak and fading. Kylo hoped this pilot had some answers because he didn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t find the antidote in time. He cast a quick eye over the machines noting how your numbers remained steady even though you ebbed ever so slowly away.

He still won’t talk. Kylo sighed, feeling the disappointment in Vicrul’s thoughts.

I’m on my way. He stood, bending over you and peering at your still face for a moment before sweeping abruptly from the room.

The first thing he could feel was the pilot's pain, it radiated out in all directions and Kylo clenched his fists against it. The next thing he noticed was the smell, blood, sharp and tangy against his nose. The floor was slick with the red stains, blood spatter littered the walls in spectacular patterns and Kylo came to a stop looking down at the pitiful man as he bled out onto the floor, his skin was pale, drained of colour because it now painted Kylo’s quarters. He crouched down beside Wexley who was laying on his side, the First Order uniform ripped and tattered, ruined beyond repair much like Wexley himself.

“Are you going to talk?” Asked Kylo softly.

“No.” He admired the man's tenacity, but his time was up. The screams that spewed from him had a hoarse quality, like his throat was too tired, his lungs had no air but Kylo didn’t care as he raced through the man's memories. He had planted the bottle, but it wasn’t meant for you, it was meant for General Hux. The antidote was a plant out in the Teth system. One of the few wild systems left in the Galaxy and travelling there and back again in the time frame left would be a risk, but it was one Kylo was ready to take. He withdrew from the dying Major, his memories growing dark as his body gave up.

“Ready the Night Buzzard,” he demanded. Kylo stood, hearing the last breath from Wexley before moving, his Knights following obediently behind as he began to make his way to the hangar.

Hux woke to the sound of his alarm, swiping it off the screen of the datapad feeling unusually refreshed. He had slept in his uniform so he could get up and find Ren straight away. He walked through the corridors of the Finalizer pleased to see his staff avoiding his gaze as he marched along, this investigation was reminding everyone who was actually in charge here and bringing out Hux’s ruthless side for everyone to see served as another reminder that he wasn’t to be messed with.

He stepped into the interrogation room, taking in the emptiness before turning smartly and heading to the bridge. His lips bruised together in irritation, if Ren had found something and left Hux out he was going to explode. As soon as he entered the bridge Mitaka was at his side.

“Sir, the Supreme Leader gave strict instructions not to wake you.”

“What’s happened?” Snapped Hux.

“The Supreme Leader and the Knights have left for the Teth system.” Mitaka told him.

“Left? What do you mean left?”

“They have gone to retrieve the plant needed for the antidote for….for…..” For you. Hux didn’t have time to pander to his Lieutenant and his sad emotions right now. He tutted, since when did you become such a beloved member to certain people who weren’t him? “He also said to tell you there is a mess in his quarters, but he wanted you to see it before it was cleared up.” Hux left without a word, what an earth could Ren want him to see?

Whatever Hux had imagined on the way to the Supreme Leaders quarters did not prepare him for the sight that met his eyes. Did he really need to see this? Hux was no stranger to torture and death, blood didn’t bother him, violence was his way of life but seeing this gruesome scene did indeed turn his stomach slightly. He also recognised the Knights' handy work.

“Do we know who this is?” He asked a Major who looked rather grey coloured.

“Apparently this is…was Temmin Wexley, Resistance pilot and the person who planted the bottle in your quarters, sir.”

“Clear up this disgusting mess. It has lingered on my ship long enough.” He snapped, displeasure and disgust making his expression contort. He left, stepping the familiar path to the medbay realising now all he had to do was wait. And he hated waiting.

[fallingsunflower]

I got an ask either last night or early this morning asking me to share my Covid symptoms/experience so here it is. Maybe it'll help someone.

December 21st - 24th. I was exposed sometime in this time frame. My uncle and little cousins tested positive on the 24th. I saw my cousins the 21st and my uncle lives with me so safe to say I was exposed sometime around here.

December 25th. I went to an urgent care to get tested. I was asymptomatic. My test came back negative.

December 27th. I felt fine in the morning and I had an important doctors appointment I couldn't miss (it was only 5 minutes - I had to get a heart monitor attached). So I went in, got it attached, then left. Literally on my drive home was when I started to feel ill. I felt it in my left jaw first, that type of pain when you grind your teeth too hard at night. Then it spread to an intense sinus pressure in my nose and cheeks. I started to feel hella fatigued and then the body aches came on, not as suddenly as when I had the flu but it wasn't that gradual either. It seemed to come out of nowhere. I also got a slight fever that night, and I had a migraine. I think the most alarming thing, though, was my heart rate. I'm super cognizant of my heart rate in general but it was through the roof that day. I think my resting heart rate was somewhere between 120-130.

December 28th. I woke up with a pretty high fever, causing me to sweat bullets. Simultaneously I had the chills so I was freezing - it was a fun time. I also had body aches and fatigue. I was just so wiped out and tired - still am. Also felt hella nauseous and couldn't keep food in. Heart rate was mad high. Congestion was worsening.

December 29th. I had an appointment to get flu and covid (PCR) tested so I drove a half hour there and back. Not quite sure how I made it without crashing. I was having concentration issues, on top of everything else. Fever, chills, fatigue, body aches, congestion. I also developed a sore throat and cough (wet).

December 30th. My fever and chills were getting better. I didn't need as much Tylenol. My heart rate also went back to normal. The congestion was a little better - still enough to make me annoyed since I couldn't breathe but it was less painful. My sore throat was bearable. Fatigue was still a bitch, as was the brain fog. My cough was rough (wet and dry now) but I could breathe okay so I figured it wasn't the worst.

December 31st. Barely had a fever. No more chills. Congestion was better. Sore throat was better. Cough (wet and dry) was still there but not awful. Fatigue and brain fog were a bitch.

January 1st. No fever. Congestion was still there but it wasn't the type to make me want to blow my nose. It felt more like my nasal passages are swollen. Also I developed this awful smell of like rotting meat or something. I can still taste just fine but my smells are distorted. Fatigue still there. Brain fog still there. Cough still there, not bad though.

January 2nd (today). Still have that rotting meat smell, I hate it. Brain fog. Fatigue. Muscle aches but not awful - I think it's from being bed ridden. Migraine, which sucks because I'm paranoid about the brain fog. Cough still present but getting better.

So yeah that's where I am now. For the record I'm fully vaccinated (not boosted) and in my early twenties. This is my first time catching covid (although I was diagnosed with a mysterious virus early 2020 so who knows what that was - it was before covid was an official thing).

Overall it's not awful, just alarming. The cognitive part of it is the worst, in my opinion. I've been reading a lot to stay on top of things, as well as drinking lots of water.

I will also say that you don't have to be a doctor to figure out that this strain is 10x more contagious than the other strains. I went to a couple concerts, baseball games, out in general (proper precautions of course) and was fine. I caught this virus from literally staying home.

Hope that helps. If you have questions, please let me know. Also if a medical professional on here could please dm me because I have a question, that would be appreciated lol

[missinghan]

broken umbrella ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 1,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : a typical day in your life starts with having candies poured over your head and ends with breaking han jisung’s umbrella. 

❖ note : I wanted to write smth dumb okay-

one.

Jisung gives his desk a harsh kick, one that does no good in releasing his inner storm, only to wince in pain later because he’s an idiot. 

Classes have been somewhat less than boring these days, partially because his mind is occupied with thoughts of you half of the time and partially because…well, more thoughts of you. Oh wait, today is a little different than usual considering the fact that you did not give him a proper response. 

To what?

Putting it simply, he woke up early this morning to go over his routine more thoroughly—styling his hair, making sure that his tie isn’t sloppy-looking, and spraying himself with his brother’s cologne. He doesn’t usually care for any one of those things until junior starts and you show up. Call him desperate, or delusional, or childish even but it truly felt like fate when you two first encountered each other. 

“Yeah right, fate,” Hyunjin snickers loudly, swirling a strawberry-flavored lollipop inside his mouth. “You meant when you fell on your ass on the bus the other day and you accidentally grabbed her collar?”

Jisung feels his cheeks heat up thanks to his friend’s less than necessary comment. “Shut the fuck up, you’re just jealous.” It was great. Not only did he fall head over heels for you, but he also left a bad impression. 

Back to the point. All of his hard work this morning is reduced to nothing because of the rain. His hair is messed up, his uniform looks sloppy, and his shoes are covered in mud from skipping through puddles. Not to mention, he showed up timely enough to be there when you opened your locker, having various candies and sweets poured down your head, scattered all over the hallway. 

Yeji should have told him you didn’t like sweet things yesterday, damn it. Because he’s never seen you giving him that look before. The look that makes him believe you will make him experience torment and pain, begging for the mercy that never comes—make his life a living hell basically. 

“How did your plan go, by the way?” His friend asks out of boredom. 

“Fantastic,” he replies under his breath when everything is, in fact, not fantastic. 

Hyunjin tilts his head. “Did she know?”

“Know what? That I’m in love with her? I mean I wasn’t trying to be subtle or anything-“

“No, did she know that it was gonna rain today?”

Shrugging, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in exhaustion; forty-five minutes periods should be illegal. “Why does that matter?”

“Hey, Han!” 

Jisung turns his head to the voice and sees Felix sliding the door to his classroom open, uneven breaths as if he’s been running for his life while holding two umbrellas in his arms. He glances at his friend’s state with a grimace, head cocked to the side in confusion. Luckily, no one really spends recess in class except for loners like himself anyway. “What are you doing?” 

“Y/N didn’t bring an umbrella!” The freckled boy exclaims with excitement, only able to coax an amused hum from Hyunjin. “But you have an umbrella, and it’s still raining! Which means…?”

A comical silence falls upon the three of them. It takes Jisung approximately five taps of Hyunjin’s finger on the table to fully process his friend’s point. Realization lights up in his eyes like a candle but dies down with a pout on his face. “But she can just go with her friends?” he says with expressive hands, though a little disappointed. 

“I’m not gonna half-ass it if I plan on helping you,” Felix gives the two umbrellas, a white one and a pink one, in his hands a slight jerk, looking oddly proud. 

This time, Jisung catches on immediately; his eyes go wide in shock as though his friend has committed the greatest sin. “Yeji and Lia are so gonna kill you.”

two.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” Lia asks while hopeless rummaging through her stuff. “I swear with my own eyes I saw myself putting one in my bag this morning.”

Yeji shakes her head in defeat, tugging at the straps of her backpack. “I was pretty sure I brought one too. I even used it to walk to the bus stop this morning! Someone must have taken it during recess,” she sighs, dreading the pouring rain and grey clouds. 

It’s raining again. It’s only been raining today, the weather forecast did predict that it’s most likely going to last for a whole week too (not that you bothered checking). You don’t mind the rain, though. You like the fact that they make the world appear mistier, hazier like a fever dream. 

What isn’t good about the rain is the fact that your parents won’t be too happy to see you come home looking like a wet rat. Or the fact that you’ll probably get a really bad cold, and that won’t be pretty during midterms week. Or the fact that most students are absolute idiots and didn’t bring their own umbrellas either. Everyone is shoving each other for space under the canopy at the main gate so the rain won’t soak their clothes. 

You’re not having it. At all. 

“Yeji, Lia. I’m going home,” you purse your lips together and take a breath. 

Lia frowns at your particular solution. “Already? But you’re gonna get wet.”

“My house is a ten-minute walk away. Shouldn’t be too bad,” you say lowly in faint annoyance, eyes squinted from the discomfort of lack of space; these students have no manners whatsoever, you’re getting claustrophobic. 

With a determined huff, you pull the zipper of your jacket up and throw the hood over your hair. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Shadow suddenly looms over the top of your head, warmth radiates to your clothed arm. In the corner of your eyes, a familiar face comes into view and forces a heavy exhale from your lips. 

“Hey, do you wanna go with-“ Jisung pauses midway when you take off running, shattering his fantasy of living in a drama into bits without mercy. “Y/N! Wait up!”

three.

“Come here! Or you’ll get sick!”

“Why the hell do you care?”

“Y/N, stop being so stubborn! You’re gonna catch a cold!”

“It’s none of your business.”

After walking down several blocks down the road, past nothing but empty plazas and mostly closed café, you even take an extra U-turn, going through a skeptical alley just so Jisung will get tired and stop following you. Your effort doesn’t not prevail so you give up eventually, deciding to take the proper turn to head home before it’s too late to prepare dinner. 

The poor boy can feel the rain drizzle down his black umbrella before falling onto his windbreaker, soaking through the fabric to stain his senses with a chilling sensation. He has already calmed every racing thought that ceases to ease his erratic heartbeat but no matter how hard he tries, there isn’t one second where he isn’t thinking about your well-being.

“Hey,” he calls out; when you turn around, he’s closing his umbrella and tossing it to the ground, leaving it to graze the tip of your shoes. “Take it and go home. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You roll your eyes before picking it up, mercilessly letting it flop right in front of him. “I don’t need it.”

Jisung clicks his tongue in irritation, not caring that droplets are falling from his head and his skin is crawling from the cold. Somehow, he’s starting to become baffled for no reason. Perhaps it’s because of your nonchalance about the current situation; you shouldn’t be so apathetic when he’s genuinely worried sick for your health.

His eyes are heavy with rain droplets so he blinks them away before glaring at you slightly. “You need it more than I do. Would you please stop acting irrationally, take the umbrella and head home? The rain isn’t stopping anytime soon.” His leg jerks up to kick at the innocent object; still isn’t enough to relish the turmoil hurling his innards.

He brushes past you, shoving your shoulder a little while expecting you to finally accept his offer. To his dismay, you once again grab at the poor, poor umbrella, and throw it at his leg with more force this time. When it drops to the ground with a small thud, his heart pauses awkwardly in disappointment. 

The sun is going down by the second but you can still see the faint outline of his scowl. “Go home, Jisung. It’s getting late,” you remark coldly, stuffing your freezing hands into your pocket. 

With a loud groan, he marches back to where you two were originally standing, a curse word lingers on the tip of his tongue. But he manages to swallow it back down before gently tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. “Take the umbrella at least,” he voices softly, the crack more evident than anything at the end. “Look, I know I’ve been nothing but a nuisance since we first met. I just really like you and I care for you okay? Go home, Y/N.”

“Please.”

You look at him after moments, your once hateful eyes finally glinting with something else other than general distaste and annoyance. It only takes one glance of his tired eyes to pierce through your phlegmatic front, leaving your raw emotions out in the open. Before Jisung can say another word or take notice of the rare warmth creeping in your gaze, you take his hand in yours and pull him toward a nearby apartment complex to not wait out in the downpour any longer. By the time that you’ve released the grip, he’s still staring into the nothingness, eyes slightly wide in shock.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you gonna go home?” he blurts out finally after snapping out of it.

“This is my apartment complex. But I must have dropped my card somewhere. So I can’t go inside.”

A sigh. “Is anyone home right now?”

“My phone is dead.”

Jisung perks up and his hand fishes inside his pocket. “You can use-”

You inhale deeply, looking away. “Enough is enough, Jisung. Go home.”

“You broke my umbrella,” he mentions, blinking rapidly to bat the droplets away from his eyelashes. “I can’t go home like this.”

Few beats of silence later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a beige trench coat walks past the both of you, two high school students pathetically standing under the canopy like wet rats; she swipes her card against the security lock and the glass door pops open without much effort. Sparing you the last look, she’s probably thinking ‘kids these days’ before heading inside with a roll of her eyes. 

Jisung hurriedly skips over to hold the door open for you, motions for you to walk in with his head. To his surprise, you comply but bring your steps to a halt to situate yourself in front of him. His lashes are wet and heavy; that’s when you realize how soaked you both are and how terribly cold the temperature it’s getting. Your hand reaches out to brush the raindrops away softly, shaking his heart to the core. 

The silence is graceful in the wake of the moment, the rain in the background just makes everything that much more cinematic. However, Jisung isn’t in the right mind state to fanboy over the fact that his drama fantasy is one step closer to reality. He wishes to cling to this moment forever because he just can’t get enough. He can never.

“I’ll get you a towel,” you pull away calmly, thinking how cute he sort of looks when his cheeks are three shades redder. “And a new umbrella.” 

His smile has never been brighter, you notice. Even when he’s out in the brutal cold and completely drenched from head to toe. And wait...have his eyes always been so pretty?

[atths--twice]

Heart of the Desert

After the First World War, Mulder is left with wounds, scars, and PTSD, though it is not diagnosed. He feels lost and unsure, not knowing what life holds for him. Then, the discovery of King Tut leads him to Egypt, and to a woman who is quite lost herself.

This is my contribution for the AU Exchange. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

London, England Late December 1922

He sighed as he stood in the ballroom, his leg aching, though he tried not to show it. Music swelled as people began to dance, laughter and conversation filling the room. He cleared his throat and glanced around, trying to find a clear path to avoid anyone as he attempted to go outside for some air.

“Fox!” His mother said as he turned, smiling at him, a glass of deep red wine in her hand. “Why are you standing here all alone?” She handed him her glass, reaching up to adjust his tie. He sighed and allowed her to fuss, even as he wished that she would just let him be.

“There. That’s better.” She patted his chest and he gave her what he hoped was a happy smile, though he knew how forced it felt. She took back her glass of wine, raised her eyebrows, and asked again. “Why are you here on your own?”

“No particular reason. I was uh…” He took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fox.” She shook her head at him and he let out his breath.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” He nodded and she sighed.

“Have you danced with anyone tonight?”

“No.”

“Fox… there are many women waiting for you to simply ask them.”

“I know.” He gave her another strained smile, their conversation not a new one.

Taking his arm, she raised an eyebrow as she waited for him to take a step. He did so, limping a bit as he grimaced. A few steps, and it was somewhat better, the limp less pronounced.

“Hello,” his mother said kindly to people as they passed and he smiled pleasantly, though he had no desire to speak to any of them. She steered them toward a cluster of women and he gritted his teeth.

A pretty woman with short blonde hair, in a dark green dress, smiled at him and he sighed through his nose, smiling as he knew was expected of him. She clasped her hands together as the other women around her stopped their chatter and looked toward him and his mother.

“Good evening, Mrs. Mulder. This is simply a lovely party.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest,” his mother said. “You know Fox, of course. Fox, you know Ruby Andrews.”

“Yes. Good evening, Miss Andrews.” He bowed slightly, raising his eyes to the blonde woman.

“Mr. Mulder,” she said, the dimple in her cheek showing when she smiled.

“Fox was just telling me he was looking for a dance partner.” He forced a smile and nodded, not looking at his mother, but felt her squeezing his arm tightly.

“Yes, I was. Miss Andrews, would you be so kind as to escort me to the dance floor?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she agreed with a smile and he nodded.

“I will leave you here then, Mother. I’m sure you all will find something to discuss.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and then crooked his arm to Ruby. She slid her hand into it, allowing him to guide her away from the group.

He felt the familiar nervousness that came when he was alone with a woman, especially one of his mothers choosing. It always felt forced and uncomfortable.

“How are you, Mr. Mulder?” Ruby asked and he shook his head.

“Please, not that. Mr. Mulder sounds as though you’re speaking to my father.” Ruby laughed and he smiled, a little less strained than earlier.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you, I wasn’t sure what was proper anymore.”

“Miss Andrews-”

“Ruby, please… Fox.”

“Ruby.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. “I need to inform you, I’m not quite as skilled at dancing as I once was. My injuries-”

“Do they hurt terribly?” She looked at him with her wide green eyes and he wished he could run away. Run quickly and escape.

“Uhh, they come and go. If I stand still for too long, my leg can begin to ache.”

“Well then, let’s not remain still,” she said, turning and smiling as a waltz began.

He held her, his heart racing, knowing he would undoubtedly make a mess of the dance. He only hoped to not embarrass her as he led her around the dance floor, not wanting others to laugh at her or speak of her unpleasantly. His leg stuck once or twice, but she smiled and said nothing, waiting patiently for him to catch up to the music.

When the music stopped and people clapped for the musicians, he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt sweat beading on his forehead. He really needed to get out of the room.

“Thank you for the dance, Ruby. If you’ll kindly excuse me,” he said with another little bow and she smiled, although her eyes seemed sad.

“Of course. Thank you.” He smiled and without a glance around, knowing his mother was most likely watching him, he walked away and out of the room.

He passed people outside, bundled up against the cold, and he nodded but did not stop to speak to anyone. He felt he could not breathe and wanted to be away from people before he made a spectacle of himself.

Down the outside stairs and around the corner, he slipped back inside the house and hurried up the backstairs to his bedroom. Closing the door and locking it, he pulled his tie free and took off his jacket, tossing both onto the bed. He walked to his balcony and opened the door, breathing in the cold night air.

Taking deep lungfuls of air, he unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and closed his eyes. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“God,” he whispered, opening his eyes, feeling off balance as he gripped the railing and took more deep breaths. Shuddering, he stumbled back into the bedroom, crashing into a chair before he sat heavily into it, his heart racing as he closed his eyes.

Calm down. Just breathe.

In through his nose and out his mouth, he concentrated on the feel of the air filling his lungs, the room slowing and then no longer spinning. Opening his eyes, he let out a shaky breath and ran a hand down his face.

It had been four years since the war ended and yet at times it felt like no time had passed at all. Some days he could nearly fool himself that it had not been him, but a character he had read about in a story who had spent days and nights in freezing muddy trenches or war torn buildings. It was not he who had seen and heard men dying, calling out for their mothers with their last breath.

He could sometimes push it away, keep it from surfacing, and at other times it felt as though he were right in the middle of it again. It happened without warning and he was unable to stop it. He could be in a crowded room or on his own and he would begin to sweat, his heart pounding erratically, his breathing hard and labored.

He had been to doctors for his physical injuries- his thigh, where a blade had ripped open his flesh, and his shoulder where a bullet had gone clean through. Describing the pain that continued to linger as the doctor listened intently, making notes in his file, he would then tentatively discuss his feelings of panic and nightmares. The doctor would stop him from speaking as he shook his head, telling him he only needed to hear of physical ailments.

A painkiller was given to him to alleviate his aches and as beneficial as it was, it also made him exceedingly sleepy, unable to function during the day. He took them at night, but not as often as he should have for his pain. His dreams, while medicated, were odd and the heavy feeling persisted throughout the next day.

When he had been taken to the field hospital after he had been stabbed, he had been given morphine for the pain and it kept him blissfully unaware of the extent of his injury. He had been told after he was past the worst of it, that twice they believed they would lose him. His wound had become infected and amputation had been discussed as his fever continued to climb.  

But then his fever had broken, the infection plateaued and became manageable. It had been a slow recovery, but one he was thankful for every day.

He had seen men lose a limb in battle, the sight of it causing him to retch. Men in the hospital, their bandages bloody as it covered the missing limb, had once again turned his stomach. To lose an appendage in such a horrid way, and then suffer the future repercussions, it made him shudder at the thought.

After spending weeks in the field hospital, he had traveled home, the injury to his leg deeming him unfit for duty. Within two weeks, he had contracted pneumonia and was in the hospital again for nearly a month.

Weak and thin, once he had been home, his recovery from both his leg and the pneumonia had taken time, his mother fussing over him all the while. Sleeping most of the days away, he woke only to eat and drink.

After that, he fell easily to sickness. A cough or cold quickly became something more severe. He spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals, sometimes wishing he had died, as his body had shaken violently from chills or ached from fever. But then when it would pass and he had been on the mend, he chastised himself for such horrible and selfish thoughts.

Once he had gained his strength, sicknesses no longer a constant plague, his mother began discussing a celebratory dinner party for his return and recovery. He had rejected the idea, telling her it was not necessary, but she had insisted, his fathers opinion of the idea quelled with a look from her.

A dinner party had been planned and executed, one in which he felt incredibly out of place. Discussion had revolved heavily around the war and he listened to those who did not fight, had not seen any battle, give their opinions on how it should have gone. He had to excuse himself, anger rising inside of him, not caring what his mother would say to him later.

Since that dinner party, there had been many more. He had become tolerant of them, but often slipped out before they were officially over, his mothers looks and words the next day a small price to pay over his need to escape the stifling room.

He had never been one who enjoyed parties. Too many people fanning about, all watching one another, looking for tidbits of gossip. He hated the formalities, the stiffness and uncomfortableness of the evenings. The women were always too heavily perfumed, too giggly, and too intent on gaining his attention for him to find any happiness in them.

Though he knew the parties were enjoyed by nearly everyone but him, he knew his mother also had other reasons for them, one which he had suspected and was confirmed when she announced at breakfast one morning that another party was being planned.

“It’s time you settled down and married, Fox. There are many women who have been left behind and there is a surplus of young women from which to choose.”

“Mother,” Fox had scoffed and she raised her eyebrows in question. “They have lost-”

“I am aware of what they have lost. Their betrothed will not be coming home and many would welcome the chance to marry. To not be a burden to their family.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” he had muttered with a shake of his head.

“There is no longer time for romance,” she had stated firmly and he lowered his eyes to the table with a heavy sigh. “There are many women who will gladly welcome your attention and a proposal. A comfort where there may not be another.” He had lifted his eyes to hers and for a second he had seen her falter under his gaze. “I do not want you to be alone.”

She had said the last sentence so quietly, he had been unable to remain angry with her, but nor had he easily acquiesced to her demands.

Parties had continued, dinners and dancing where he had many partners, but no courting or engagement had come of it. He felt no attachment to any of the women, finding them more nerve wracking than anything else, causing him to slip away, trying to catch his breath, his leg throbbing.

He was better off on his own.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up from the chair and began to undress, not calling for Connor, his valet, still needing time to himself. Laying his clothes neatly on the chair, he walked into his bathroom and turned on the water in the bathtub.

When it was full, he removed his underclothes and stepped inside carefully, sinking down into the warm water. Relaxing back, he closed his eyes and tried to block out his thoughts, wanting to calm down, needing to calm down.

He stayed in the bathtub until the water was lukewarm, rising from it slowly, his leg throbbing like a heartbeat. The water drained from the bath with a gurgle as he dried and dressed. He considered ringing Thomas for a cup of tea and some toast, but decided against it, just wishing to sleep.

Tomorrow he must face his mothers words of disapproval and the thought of them left him exhausted.

_________________

Mid January 1923

The theater was not overly crowded as the lights dimmed and the newsreel began. Paying attention, he sat forward as the tomb of King Tutankhamun was shown to have been discovered. Men were grinning as they walked around and the narrator told of how Howard Carter had found steps leading to the tomb, chambers leading to many rooms inside.

Women walked past in a temple and his eyes scanned the screen as others waved and smiled, the news then moving to something else, something that did not hold his interest. He sat open mouthed as he felt his heart rate quicken, and not from nervousness, but excitement.

Sitting back in his seat, the film began, though his mind was not on it. He was in the hot desert of Egypt, standing beside Carter, trying to get a peek into the chambers.

“Wow,” he breathed, shaking his head and bending low as he stood up, not wanting to block the view of anyone. His brain was running rampantly as he left the movie hall, the woman selling tickets staring at him.

“Sir? Did you…”

“Not feeling well. Please excuse me.” He bowed his head at her and she smiled with a slight nod.

He left and walked into the cold winter air, pulling his coat tight around himself. He shook his head again, an old thrill propelling him forward, his limp barely perceptible. Stepping past people, he thought of the days he had spent digging up rocks and shells, imagining himself a great discoverer, one for the history books.

Days on the shore of filling baskets with his spoils, bringing them to his mother as she and his father had sat on chairs under umbrellas, all came washing over him anew. He had squatted with a small trowel and spade, the waves crashing as he dug and found smooth white rocks and shells abandoned by sea creatures.

Every item had been exclaimed over, his mother and father delighted with his findings. She would laugh and hold them up to the sun, smiling as crystals caught in the rays of light. Her eyes alight, he would smile at her before running back to the shoreline, intent on finding more.

“Our little archeologist,” he had heard his mother say and he had beamed with happiness.

He shook his head as he stopped walking, looking around before he crossed the street, laughing softly under his breath. So many questions filled his head and he needed to find the answers.

The house was empty when he arrived, save for the servants. He shook his head at Bonnie as she inquired if he would like any tea, smiling quickly as he made his way to the library. Closing the door and sitting at the desk, he took out a pen and paper and began to write a letter, laughing excitedly, his fingers fairly flying across the page.

15 January 1923

To whom it may concern,

My name is Fox William Mulder.

This morning I was attending my local film hall. A newsreel appeared first and I was on the edge of my seat at what I saw before me: the discovery of the tomb of King Tutankhamun.

Speechless would be the best word to describe my initial feelings. Thrilled and excited would be the next.

I left without watching the film and am at present in my library, writing a letter in hopes of learning more about the recent discovery.

Ancient Egypt has long since been a topic I have found intriguing. I spent days during my youth, poring over books about gods and goddesses, kings and their lives. I would rattle off the names I had learned and why they were worshiped or revered, much to my parents' dismay, I can assure you. I am not embarrassed to admit I was more than slightly obsessed.

I know there will probably be more information shared in newspapers in the coming days and weeks, but I know it will not equal that of news directly from the source. Any and all information that can be shared will be greatly appreciated.

I eagerly await your response.

Fox Mulder

He read the letter through and nodded. Smiling, his heart still racing with excitement, he folded it and placed it in an envelope. Rising from the desk, he left the house, realizing in his hasty arrival, he had not even removed his coat.

With a laugh, he hurried to the post office, intent on seeing the letter posted that day, his mind once again imagining the warm air of the desert as he shivered in the cold wind blowing about his hatless head.

_________________

The Museum of Egyptian Antiquities Cairo, Egypt Late February, 1923

Crowds were already gathering by mid morning, the museum seeing more steady visitors than it had in a very long time. With the news of the discovery of King Tutankhamun, people had become excited to learn more about the past.

Tours were given to groups of men, women, and children, whispering and pointing out items they found interesting.

Letters had begun to arrive. Some were from children sending their pocket money to help explorers find more “losted items,” and others were letters from older children excited to learn more. Then there were some from adults- journalists, scholars, and those who had fancied themselves budding archaeologists. Every letter was written with the excitement of adventure, yearning to be a part of the discovery, no matter the distance they were from it.

A pair of researchers were tasked with reading the letters and sending back a reply. They were to be perfunctory, concise, and sent off with haste to expand on the popularity of the moment.

One letter in particular grabbed the attention of a researcher and additional information was added when the response was written. Something about the letter had sparked an immediate kinship, though it could not be described to anyone including themselves.  

The letter was sealed and addressed, but not placed in the pile to be taken the next day to the post office. It was held until it could be dropped off personally on the walk home later that evening, a feeling of unknown and unexplainable excitement felt as the letter was taken to begin its travel to Fox Mulder in London, England.

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Memories Part 2

Summary: After returning home from the hospital, Reader’s stitched up wound gets infected. Dean takes her to the hospital to get it all sorted out and then treats her to all her favorite foods and her favorite movie.

TW/CW: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, post-surgery infection, worried Dean, fever, chills, pain, stab wound, nothing is really graphic aside from maybe Reader’s description of the pain.

Requested?: Yes, a lovely Anon said, “Hello, I completely adored your dean writings and I was wondering if I could request an angst + fluff one shot of dean x reader where she had a surgery and it went smoothly but when she gets back home at the bunker an infection developed, igniting a raging fever along with the pain. And dean gets all worried and protective and takes good care of her. And he's being so gentle 🥺🥺 also can u please include his pov if you can. Ps :Maybe they're already dating??”

Word Count: 1,024

A/N: So, I wrote Memories Part 1 on one Anon request and then got this one and thought they’d go well together. I hope you both don’t mind! This didn’t really get as scary as I had planned for it to tbh, sorry about that. Also, I’d like to note that I honestly have no idea if this is realistic in terms of the medical aspects. I did my best with some quick research. Anyway, I hope you like it! Requests are open and as always love to all! P.S. I’m sorry if this shit, I kept getting distracted while writing it and my brain didn’t want to cooperate.

[ffs how is he so pretty???]

Your POV

    I curl closer into Dean’s side and try my best to go back to sleep. I’m absolutely freezing and it feels like my stomach is getting ripped open again. I came home from the hospital several days ago after having surgery in which they sewed up a stab wound on my stomach. They said it should stop hurting by now but it feels like it’s hurting more than when I first woke up after surgery.

    I wrap the blanket tighter around me and my fidgeting wakes Dean up, “Hey baby, what’s wrong? Do you need something?”

    I huff, “I’m cold and my stomach is hurting.”

    “Sit up and let me look at it,” he responds as he turns on the lamp on the side table. I do as told and scoot to the edge of the bed. When he crouches down in front of me, I lift my shirt so he can remove the bandages and have a look. He tilts his head and looks up at me, “Babe, how are you cold? You’re burning up.”

    He gently removes the bandages and almost immediately seems to realize what’s wrong, “Shit, I think it’s getting infected.” He gets up and grabs supplies from the bathroom before returning to me. Gently he cleans the incision and wraps a fresh bandage over it, “I’m going to go get you some clothes and call the doctor to see what we need to do.”

    I look over at the clock that reads 07:00 and swear under my breath. Guilt gnaws at my insides; Dean hasn’t had a decent night of sleep since we got home and now, I’ve just worried him even more just when he was getting some good sleep. He returns from our closet and helps me into a loose black t-shirt and some jeans with his phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder, “Alright, we’ll be right there. Thank you, Doc.”

    “I’m sorry,” I mumble as I button my jeans and he hangs up the phone.

    “Hey, woah. Sorry for what?” he asks in concern.

    “You haven’t hardly slept since we got back and now, I’m causing more trouble,” I mumble, looking at the floor.

    He lifts my chin so that I look at him, “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

    There’s a hint of something in his tone that I can’t place but I feel the need to assure him, “It’s not yours either.”

    He sighs, “Things like this happen. It’ll be okay,” but I can tell he doens’t quite believe what I said.

    A quick ride to the hospital, a short time in the waiting room, and some blood tests later and we’re sitting in another hospital room waiting for the doctor to come in. The door opens and the doctor steps in with her clipboard, “Alright (Y/N), let’s see what’s up.”

    I lift my shirt and she gently peels away the bandage. I force myself not to look at it otherwise I might panic. She presses the bandage back in place and stands up straight, “It looks like just a minor infection. The worst part of it will just be the fever and pain. I recommend you take some Tylenol or Advil to help with the fever and I’ll prescribe you a round of antibiotics. Other than that, just keep making sure to keep it clean and change the bandages regularly.” Dean and I both nod as she hands me a paper and leaves the room. On the way home we get the antibiotics filled and Dean runs in at a grocery store to pick up some soup and other comfort foods, including pie.

    I crawl into bed almost as soon as we get home and wrap a blanket tightly around me. Dean drops the groceries off in the kitchen before returning to my side with a glass of water, Tylenol, and my antibiotics. I take the medicine and down the glass of water before handing it back to him. He brushes my hair out of my face, “Lay down and get comfy. I’ll go make us some food and when I get back, I’ll put on a movie, alright?” I nod and shiver which prompts him to grab another blanket off the desk chair and place it over the other one. I watch him leave before laying down to curl up in a ball, thankfully the pain meds they gave me at hospital have kicked in and my stomach doesn’t hurt as much. Now it feels like a dull cramp.

Dean’s POV

    I make my way to the kitchen to heat up some of (Y/N)’s favorite comfort foods and some soup. I have to keep reminding myself that the infection isn’t my fault. It’s not like I could control it. Regardless, it still gnaws at me. I rack my brain trying to figure out what caused the infection but only manage to come up with nothing and annoy myself even more. When I’ve gotten everything together, I carry everything back to our bedroom and set it on the desk. (Y/N) watches me as I grab a few movies from the shelf under the tv and hold them out to her, “Pick one.” A single hand darts out from under the mound of blankets she had manage to collect while I was gone and points at (Your Favorite Movie). I turn back around to the tv and pop the dvd into the player.

    When I turn back around, she’s already snacking on the bag of cookies I brought in. I tug them away from her gently and hand her a bowl of warm soup instead, “Real food first, sweetheart.” She pouts a little but begins enjoying the soup all the same. Once we’ve eaten our soup, I grab all the other snacks and sweets from the desk and pile them around (Y/N). She grins as she notices all of her favorites and begins munching away. I press play on the movie and pull her into my side and kiss her forehead, “I love you, baby.”

    “I love you too, Dean,” she mumbles through a mouth full of cookies, “Thank you.”

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