#nightmare sickfic

[pixelatedraindrops]

RAINCODE COMIC COLLAB~☔️

BEHOLD THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR!!

3 full weeks of work and its finally completed!

So @kazinsblog and I did another raincode art collab together but this one was a HUGE project! This one's a full 18 page comic!

Idk if you all remember the comic idea that Kazin was planning to do that involved Yuma overworking himself until he gets sick and then gets tended to by everyone else. But when I saw it, I decided to ask her if she was willing to possibly collaborate on it, remaking it where she sketched it and I colored it.

Kazin's Beta images: 1 2 3 4

So here's the results of all that work. We've been at this since December 17th so this has been an almost full month collaboration. And of course mine's a bit more altered to my own style as well as adding my own touches and making it a little more whumpy/extreme... X'D I also freehand drew shinigami in my version as well.

Both our versions look pretty different! The only thing that are the same are the poses. So feel free to check out Kazin's traditional version as well!

Since its an 18 page comic, I decided to put it under a keep reading so it won't clutter everyone's timelines. Also, I will be narrating the pages because I love narrating sick filler type stories. So brace yourself for a VERY LOOONG post!! Def need time to read this one! (and no purple tinted filters here this time!)

Also note: If the writing is blue, it means the character is thinking, just like in the game! :)

And I apologize on the inconsistency of Yuma's bangs... I thought it was one way before so half of the comic he looks like he has square bangs... oof XD I fix it around page 10

ANYWAY, hope you enjoy this soft buffet, Raincode Community! 🌡️💕

(Page 1)

Our story begins on an ordinary day in Kanai Ward. Rainy gloomy and depressing as ever. Our little victim... wait... XD I mean protagonist Yuma decides to go out to investigate more about Kanai Ward to try to track down it's supposed ultimate secret. Yakou sets him off wishes him well and tells him to be careful. However, as he's out, he finds out a lot of people in the city need help. Because of his good nature and unable to turn down someone in need, he decides to help whoever he can. (the ultimate side-questing lol) Before he knows it, he's soaking wet and he had helped 10 people in total. Time passed and it was almost evening so he returns to the submarine. Yuma was completely unphased by this. (and he didn't dry himself off for 4 hours due to being occupied with tasks)

(Page 2)

Yuma returns to the Agency's submarine to greet his chief holding his meatbun order. (that also got wet) But Yakou notices that the trainee is sopping wet to the core and shivering. He immediately loudly demands that he sit down so he can tend to him. Yuma does as he's told and sits on the checkered sofa. Yakou rushes to the shower room to grab some small towels to help him dry off. But because Yakou is so panicked, he ends up being very rough in drying Yuma, pulling his hair and causing the small boy pain. After he dries him off, he tells Yuma he isn't allowed to leave anymore for the rest of the day and demands him to rest. Yuma tries to retaliate using puppy eyes, but it doesn't work. Yakou is immune.

(Page 3)

The next day Yuma asks Yakou if he can go out to work after he finishes his morning chores around the place looking very eager. Yakou still looks a little concerned by how tired Yuma looks, so he tells him to not go out alone. He assigns him a partner to go with the rest of the week.

On the first day he's paired with Halara. The two of them are asked to investigate the art gallery of Ginma. (maybe after the nail man case) But over time, Yuma starts developing a lingering cough that persists for quite some time. Halara asks Yuma is he's okay, to which Yuma lies saying that it's due to the dust of the room. But of course being sharp, Halara isn't buying it. But they decide to not persist him further.

On the second day, he's paired with Desuhiko. They're asked to go help out at the Aetheria Academy with another case (not murder related this time) However on the way to the school and in Ginma, Yuma starts slowing down, he's shaking and is a little wobbly. Desuhiko notices this and asks if he wants to go to the cafe for a drink. Yuma nods and as they go to the cafe and order some coffee, Yuma takes off his hat and coat and Desuhiko finally realizes how pale he looks. He's even slower at replying to him as he speaks, as if he's in a daze. Desuhiko decides to take Yuma back to the agency after this.

(Page 4)

On Day three, he's paired with Fubuki. But he doesn't even make it to the case as when he goes to the sun and moon hotel to meet with her, Fubuki notices and points out that Yuma's face looks red. The boy clearly had a fever building. Yuma argues with her but Fubuki persists. The two of them try to go to the case but Yuma nearly collapses. So Fubuki returns him to the agency.

On the fourth day where he's supposed to be paired with Vivia he spends a majority of the day passed out. Vivia decides to watch over him using his forte to not disturb him. During the night while he's asleep, his breathing gets more labored and he's completely restless. Vivia looks at him deeply worried for his dear friend's well being.

The next morning Yuma somehow finds the strength to get himself up. Maybe that one day of rest was enough. But Yakou insists that he stays put today. Angrily yelling at him to be still and take today off as well.

Meanwhile, a certain two seem to notice each other...

(Page 5)

Vivia's spirit notices Shinigami and decides to give her a warning. Make sure Yuma listens to Yakou and doesn't leave. Giving her the iciest glare, Shinigami fearfully agrees.

But this effort would be for naught, despite how he feels, Yuma's relentless determination forces himself up, putting on his rain attire and heads up the steps of the sub to the outside when Yakou isn't looking. Shinigami does what she can to stop him, but he doesn't listen...and Shinigami being a ghost, there was nothing she could do to physically hold him back. All she could do was follow, and prepare for the inevitable.

By some miracle he makes it to the church, up the stairs to speak to the nun. Who tells him to play therapy again for the townsfolk. He nods and heads to his first client. But when he returns to kamasaki to speak to him, he can barely make out what he's saying as he lets out a few more coughs.

Once he leaves the client, before long, Yuma could hear something in his body snap.

(Note: I direct most of the story, but Vivia conversing with Shinigami in spirit mode was actually Kazin's idea! So credit to her for that, So silly and fun! ^^)

(Page 6)

Yuma's body had finally reached it's limit. All the fatigue, chills and body aches had hit him all at once at full force like armed weaponry. His head began throbbing, he was shaking violently and uncontrollably, he felt nauseated by the rain's smell, and his body heat and the lingering dizziness was unbearable. He found a safe corner in the alleyway of Kamasaki to collapse. Telling Shinigami she was right and he should have listened to her, while the burning fever and cold rain wrecked his delicate frame even further. His voice was hardly audible, but Shinigami still heard and practically tells him to go back. But Yuma had no strength left...

Then like clockwork as they finish speaking, he could hear his name called. At first it sounded kind and questionable. But that rapidly changed, the voice now angrily yelling out his full name. As he looked up this voice belonged to...Yakou. He looks down at the boy in pure disappointment and anger.

Turns out a certain someone was tailing him. And alerted Yakou what happened just in time.

(Note: I make the red darker the more extreme the temperature and lighter the less extreme. I got to experiment with all sorts of new ways to color fevers hehe~ >w<)

(Page 7)

Yuma shockingly looks up at Yakou. Oh no, he was so BUSTED! Shinigami even says as much. Yakou practically scoops Yuma in his arms carrying him back to the agency. As he was lifted Yuma's world begun spinning. He could barely hear the chief nagging him in a panicked tone. It was all distorted and it was making his head hurt more. Yakou placed a hand to his cheek and was shocked by how hot it felt. All Yuma could do was apologize and hope his world stops spinning and that Yakou eventually stops yelling... (also I put numbers for the order to read the speech bubbles in)

Upon returning to the agency, Yakou dries Yuma off, asks Desuhiko to give him a warm set of clothes to borrow and put him to his own bed. Grabbing a basin of very cold water, washcloths and a digital thermometer. He placed one of the wet cold cloths under his bangs and upon reading the boy's temperature, it was high. Almost high enough to visit the ER. Yakou was even more mad, but speaks in a non yelling tone. Giving Yuma another stern warning to not leave the bed. To which Yuma weakly agrees to.

But Yakou's back to yelling again, feeling paranoid Yuma would be missing by the time he gets back from getting the supplies. So he drills that message right into the boy's already throbbing head once more. Everyone else in the office awkwardly listen in as the sick trainee gets scolded.

(Note: Just an FYI, Yuma's speech bubbles being wavy is a sign his voice is raspy and the text being a bit hard to read means his voice is hardly audible)

(Page 8)

Yakou leaves Yuma alone and walks into the office in his raincoat telling the other detectives that he'll be leaving soon and to watch over Yuma in his absence and NOT let him leave. He is so full of anger and anxiety that he yells at all of them too.

Everyone agrees and as Yakou leaves, they all discuss among themselves Yuma's state the days they were partners with him. He was in bad shape. And he only got worse as the days went by. They all knew.

(Page 9)

Meanwhile back in Yakou's quarters, Yuma was getting lectured yet again. This time by his death god partner, Shinigami. The poor trainee only wanted peace and quiet to make the pain in his head go away, using what little energy he has remaining speaking in his head he tried telling her to stop.

But the aggravated spirit persisted, saying that as his mentor she had the right to scold him just as much as Yakou. She continued her rant, until an abrupt sound from her master shut her up.

The few coughs that came from Yuma eventually erupted into a full blown coughing fit. The coughs sounding more wet, rough and serious. After coughing 10 to 15 times in a row Yuma was exhausted. Shinigami looked down at him panting with concern and pity in her eyes. She decided to stop the lecture for his sake.

After the fit, Yuma was left raggedly breathing. As Shinigami gave him her permission to rest and take it easy, he didn't answer. He couldn't. That fit completely mangled his throat. He was not able to speak vocally or in thought process anymore due to his head being in too much pain. As was the rest of his body, aching and burning. So he didn't answer her. All he could do was hope sleep would eventually take hold of him to make all this awful heat and pain stop even if for a just moment.

(Note: That's the penalty Yuma... x'D Sorry I gotta make him suffer lol. Also this is the only page that’s actually read left to right. I messed that up, sorry!!)

(Page 10)

After some time passed it was time for the Master Detectives to all take part in taking care of Yuma. The whole agency had a day off to do this. So upon his return, Yakou instructs everyone to look after Yuma in 2 hour shifts through the day. Even if it was just to watch him sleep. He couldn't be left alone.

Halara was first. Their task was to help Yuma take the medicine that was bought. There were three types of medicine for him to take. Antibiotics (white pills) for the general illness symptoms, painkillers (red and white pills) for the headache/fever, and finally...cough syrup. (aka his least favorite... XD) Halara made sure to be very gentle with Yuma propping him upward as his whole body was burning and he was very shaky. He even had trouble drinking the water, so Halara had to get a mug instead so they could help him drink it by holding the handle, and using the other hand to support his back. Despite the struggle, Halara worked diligently to complete their task as a caretaker in full. (as for who paid them to do this...idk I'll leave that to your imagination XD)

(The cough syrup idea was inspired by this fic :3)

Desuhiko had the second shift and the whole time he was waiting for his turn, he was writing a song for Yuma. Having the delusion that his angelic voice would lul the sick boy to sleep, he played his guitar and began singing. Yuma's headache did improve enough to speak in his head now, but that wouldn't last, as the loud noises from the guitar made his head pound even further with every strum. Shinigami begs for the noise to cease fire on her poor eardrums, but Yuma doesn't have it in him to stop Desuhiko. The gesture was kind so he decided to try to listen to the whole song, despite the noise. He does eventually tell him to stop though (using hand gestures) when another song comes afterward. So then the two spend their time conversing for a bit, (though desuhiko does more of the talking as yuma just nods or makes small noises/hand gestures due to his throat still hurting too much to talk) Desuhiko even telling him he could keep the sweater and shorts he had lent to him. To which Yuma softly smiles at him as a thank you before he eventually falls asleep again.

Fubuki has the third shift, and her task was to feed Yuma the warm vegetable soup that was bought earlier and that Halara had just finished making, along with Fubuki's help. She volunteers to feed him as she remembers a time she was ill as a child in the clockford mansion and one of her servants tended to her, feeding her soup just the same. Unfortunately, because this was a memory of her early childhood, she repeats similar phrases as the servant did when she was feeding Yuma, who was clearly not a small child. Yuma's fever had dropped enough to where he could find a bit of strength to try and sit up on his own now, and his once mangled throat’s condition had improved for him to speak a little bit. As he listened to Fubuki's rambling he tries to play along with her despite the whole thing being a bit embarrassing for someone his age. At least the soup was nice and warm. It felt good going down his very sore throat.

(Funny Fact: The order that Yuma is both partnered and tended to by each detective, is the same order as the chapters in game he's partnered with them LOL)

(Page 11)

It was evening, and now it was Vivia's turn to take the fourth and final shift. At first he was just going to sit and watch Yuma while he read his book quietly, but Yakou suggested that he read one of his books out loud to Yuma to help him relax better like a bedtime story. Vivia was unsure at first, as he's never read to anyone before. But he decided to give it a try. He asks Yuma what his preference in literature is before he starts, and Yuma tells him he enjoys detective novels the most. So he pulls out the novel that was in his reading list and begins to read it out loud to him. Turns out he was quite a natural at narrating, and his slow voice was very soothing. Yuma felt so relaxed that he felt like he would fall asleep any minute, but he tries to stay awake to listen to the story a bit more. Shinigami however, conks out immediately. (fyi: yes this is the novel Vivia talks about in his final gumshoe gab. I tried to make up stuff based on it.. X'D)

Once the clock strikes 9pm and night falls, the Master Detectives all wish Yuma well and leave to return to the hotel to retire for the night. It was just Yakou and Yuma now. Yakou, who had just come back from another errand, walks over to Yuma who was now fast asleep. He looked a little better so Yakou removed the towel from his forehead and places his hand onto it. It still felt warm but no longer as hot as it did hours ago. Meaning he was out of the danger zone, much to Yakou's relief. He places the towel back in the water basin wringing it out and re-applying it to his forehead. Then he lets out a yawn. He was pretty tired. He decides that instead of sleeping in the office on one of the sofas, he'd stay by Yuma's side. His removes his jacket, goes and turns off the overhead lights, sits down and places his head down on his desk. Then after telling the sleeping trainee goodnight he turns off the small light by his desk.

OKAY FUN FACT: The comic WAS going to end here going on to the final page... Buuut~ We were STARVING for some good ol' Yakou Fathero :3 So... Enjoy these bonus 6 pages of Yakou having a shift of his own to look after Yuma in the middle of the night. And its the longest shift.

This ones for you Yakou Fathero fans! Eat your fill!

(I know we sure did :3)

Also I apologize if the lighting here is inaccurate ;w; I tried my best I'm no pro LOL

(Page 12)

A little past midnight, Yuma was stirring in his sleep. Making all sorts of groaning sounds as if he was in pain. He was likely having a nightmare. This is confirmed by his eyes suddenly opening and him violently flinging himself up screaming, and the cold cloth flying off his forehead.

This sound wakes Yakou up immediately as he puts his glasses back on asking Yuma if he's okay. He flicks the light by his desk on to check on him. Yuma's found shaking with tears in his eyes stating quietly that it was just a dream. Yakou sympathizes with Yuma as fever dreams were usually not fun, but a fever NIGHTMARE was always bad. The chief offers the shaking trainee some water to try to help him settle down.

(FYI: Shinigami is going to be absent from this part of the story because I think her banter and antics would ruin the fluff, so she'll just be lurking above in the shelf like a cat the whole time.)

(Page 13)

Yuma accepts the water practically snatching it from Yakou's hands and quickly gulping it down. Yakou tells him to pace himself not wanting him to choke. Once he exhales from the water drink, Yuma sheepishly apologizes for waking Yakou up with his scream, feeling like a burden. Yakou reassures him it's okay and decides to ask him the question of why he pushed himself this far while he was still awake. Hard enough to make himself sick. Why did he do it?

Yuma was surprised by this but decides to try to tell him. He hands the water glass back and began talking. Under his raspy voice and somewhat heavy breathing, he says that he wanted to be useful as he felt like a burden to everyone since he lost his memory. He also says that he likes helping others and that it feels familiar to him. Determined to try to unlock a core memory of his past he kept doing this, even to the point of pushing his limits.

Then he suddenly stopped speaking...

(Page 14)

...aaand cue the coughing fit. Yuma's throat got scratchy and irritated after his long explanation, causing him to cough about 5/8 times in a row. Not as bad as his previous fit but it was more than enough to startle and worry Yakou.

Yakou quickly hands Yuma the water glass he had just taken from him hoping it would soothe his throat. He tells him that helping others is a good thing but he shouldn't push himself to the point that his health gets affected. Yuma quietly nods and as he sips the water still shaking, Yakou feels bad and decides to apologize to him for being harsh before. Stating that he only lost his temper because he was scared and worried for him. He also places his hand to Yuma's cheek in both comfort and to check his temperature. It felt slightly warmer than a few hours ago.

Yuma quietly apologizes to Yakou for worrying him, still holding the water glass. Yakou forgives him. Then he takes the glass from him and then the towel that fell off Yuma's forehead. He grabs a fresh one and soaks it in the basin wringing it out and places it back on the trainee’s forehead unintentionally a bit roughly. Yuma groans and shivers a little from the cold of it.

Yakou then lies Yuma back down, tucking him back in trying to make him comfortable. But his actions were a bit too comforting. He was not meaning to in any way and he wasn't sure what came over him, but he was treating Yuma like a little kid. Yuma notices and feels a little embarrassed by it, but decides to only say it in his head.

Yakou decides to do one more thing before he lets him go back to sleep.

(Note: Hey far as anyone's concerned Yuma, you are practically his BABY when you are having a sick day, so deal with it hehehe :3c)

(Page 15)

Temperature taking page time :D (my favorite, teehee! I know some cultures and in anime they take the temperature under the arm, but there's just something so endearing and adorable about a sickie with a thermometer in their mouth <3 OKAY MY RAMBLING ASIDE...)

Yakou is now a bit concerned that Yuma's fever spiked again after that little harsh coughing fit so he decides to take his temperature one more time before letting Yuma go to sleep again. Yuma obliges and goes along with it opening his mouth as the device is inserted.

After 15 seconds the device beeps and Yakou takes it out. Yuma shyly pulls the duvet up to his face and hides as he meekly asks if its any better feeling a little nervous. Yakou responds that it is better than it was the first time, where it was a dangerous degree.

However, he still wasn't out of the woods yet. The fever was still there and although it went down, it was still in the red. Yakou states that he's still feverish to which Yuma just apologizes. Poor thing just wants this to be over, he really doesn't want to trouble anyone anymore.

(sorry yuma I can't let you off that easily hehe 😈)

(also yes I put an instruction manual for how the thermometer works, I am so obsessed that I even give the thermometer lore LMAO. Sorry if I'm inaccurate in any of those readings. I used google... ^^;)

(Page 16)

Yakou places the thermometer back on the desk and tells Yuma to go to sleep. Saying the fever will likely break by morning. To which Yuma states that he's in Yakou's bed and that he should return to the checkered sofa so his boss could sleep, attempting to try getting up. But Yakou puts a hand on his shoulder stopping him and denies this and says his desk is fine and that Yuma needed the bed more than him.

He also says that if Yuma had another bad dream that he would be there for him. Yuma smiles at Yakou quietly thanking him as he's tucked back into the duvet. Yakou pats it gently telling the trainee to close his eyes.

It isn't long before Yuma is back to being fast asleep. (and shinigami too)

Yakou monologues to himself for a bit groaning at how much trouble this small detective has been for him since he showed up. But then he switches his tune and places a hand to Yuma's head petting it softly. He says he's happy he's working hard for the sake of his memories but right now he needs to work on getting better. Saying it would help everyone in the agency if he wanted to help people.

He wishes him well continuing to pet his head for a bit longer to soothe him before going back to sleep himself turning the light off again.

(Page 17)

2 hours later, Yuma was stirring and whining in his sleep once again. Yakou groggily wakes up wiping his tired eyes upon hearing the soft noises the small trainee was uttering. And he was crying again. Can only be one thing: Another nightmare.

Instead of turning the light on to wake him up, Yakou moves his chair close to him sitting at his side. Not saying a single word. (cept in his head lol) He reaches his hand for Yuma's as it twitches and he takes hold of it gently.

Yakou eventually leans on the bed as he does so and falls asleep sitting up again. Yuma's groaning and and heavy breathing begin to settle down a little as he felt Yakou's presence close by.

Then he smiles as he closes his hand in his sleep holding Yakou's hand back, leaning a bit close to it. He felt safe again... <3

(Note: This poor thing has way too much trauma... ;w; I headcanon that he's prone to night terrors on occasion, but when he gets a fever, its even WORSE. Fevers do be messing with your head... x3)

(Page 18 Final)

The next morning when Yakou wakes up, he checks on Yuma. He still felt slightly warm but he looked much better. Seemed the worst was over and it would likely last just one more day.

When he's fully awake and at his desk, Desuhiko shows up asking Yakou if Yuma's okay and offered to wake him up. Yakou denies it saying Yuma needed one more day of rest, the fever may have been only slight now, but in the rain it would rise again easily.

Desuhiko agrees and declares that he's going to work hard today. Likely to make up for Yuma's absence. Yakou teases him and the two have a bit of a banter.

Yuma meanwhile is asleep peacefully. Still having a slight red tint to his cheeks, but he's able to sleep a lot easier now. His fever was slowly but surely breaking. (now in the yellow) Shinigami sleeps beside him, making sure she protects him from any nightmares in yakou's absence. (after all only SHE can give her master nightmares)

He wakes up fully recovered the following morning thanking everyone for taking such good care of him, and he makes sure to not push himself anymore. And continues searching for the city's ultimate secret while pacing himself to help others from now on.

THE END ❤️

(I practically made this into a sickfic in its own right... XD)

Thanks for reading!! Hope you enjoyed!! This is just a little artist credit page I made for Kazin and I c: Also art semi-face reveal?? xD Kinda?? Idk lol (we just two gals that like our sick comfort haha x3)

Anyway thank you again Kazin for doing this with me!! It was hard work but it was a blast and the final result came out amazing. Its surely a project I will cherish forever~ 💜🩷✨🌡️

A wholesome story to start 2024 on a good note.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whump Prompts 80: Gothic Illness Aesthetic

Feel free to reblog and add on if you think of something :)

FAINTING

Whumpee examined by the doctor, listening to their lungs and checking their temperature

Whumpee stripped down so others can help them change their clothes, leaving whumpee bare and vulnerable and unable to sit up by themselves

Loose white nightgowns and white shirts

Pale, ashen skin, eyes ringed with dark circles, sunken cheeks

Long, damp hair plastered to a feverish forehead

A dim bedroom, curtains closed, a single candle or lamp burning

Whumpee lying on their back in a large, ornate bed, surrounded by white sheets

Feverish mumbling in their sleep, head jerking from side to side with delirium

BLOODLETTING

Being spoon-fed broth or gruel that they’re barely able to eat

Whumpee being bathed because they’re too weak to do it themselves

Various medicines perched on the sidetable

Hushed voices in the sickie’s bedroom, trying not to disturb them

Coughing fits, muffled by a white handkerchief

COUGHING UP BLOOD

Fevered nightmares

Whumpee lying silent and still under the bedclothes, while others keep vigil

Whumpee venturing out of their room for the first time, leaning on the banister as they try to get down the long staircase

Whumpee unable to sleep because they’re uncomfortable, wandering through the big house and empty rooms, slightly delirious

Slow meandering walks through the garden as they convalesce

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Worthy the Name

For Whumptober 2024 Day 15: Childhood Trauma

Rating: Gen

No Archive Warnings

Fandom: Batman

Relationship: Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni & Tim Drake

Characters: Kiran "Dev" Devabhaktuni; Tim Drake; Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Whumptober 2024; Sickfic; Childhood Trauma; Nightmares; Fever; Fear of Abandonment; Mention of possible suicidal ideation; Hurt/Comfort

———

Dev looked up as the lock on the front door clicked. It was a slow head turn, his attention snagged deep in the words on his laptop screen, attention stretching like strings of molasses. He likely wouldn’t have looked up at all if he weren’t home alone. Even still, he wasn’t much concerned, especially as the door rattled open and Tim Drake came into view.

———

Go to AO3 to read the full fic.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 8- Sleep Deprivation

Whumpee sat up against the pillows, dark circles under their eyes. The clock currently read 11PM. There were still several hours to go until morning. Whumpee could do this. Anything was better than what would happen if they drifted off. A string of coughs made them lurch forward as their body tried to expel the phlegm built up in their chest. They scrolled on their phone mindlessly, hoping the harsh blue light would keep them awake. They sniffled as their stuffy nose started running again. Several tissues later, and the flow of snot ebbed long enough for Whumpee to cough some more. It was going to be a long night.

…

Caretaker set out breakfast for themselves. They put Whumpee's portion on a tray and carried it up to their room.

“Whumpee? You up?” Caretaker called softly.

“Yes,” a croak came in response.

Caretaker's brows furrowed in sympathy. Poor thing. They entered the room and set the tray in Whumpee's lap. They looked a lot worse than they sounded.

“Whumpee, Hon, did you sleep at all last night?” Caretaker asked.

“Thank you,” Whumpee said, starting to nibble on their oatmeal.

“Well?” Caretaker asked.

“It's good,” Whumpee said innocently.

“Not the oatmeal. My question- did you sleep last night?”

“…Um…” Whumpee pointedly looked away.

“You didn't, did you? That's two nights now, no wonder you're not getting any better.”

“I can't sleep, Caretaker, I…”

“Yes?”

“Everytime I go to sleep, I have bad dreams. Like, really bad dreams. And then I can't wake up. I don't want to sleep. I’ll sleep when I'm better.”

“But Whumpee, you won't get better if you don't sleep.”

Whumpee looked up at Caretaker with a pleading expression. Caretaker sighed and took up the empty tray.

“No TV today, no books, no anything until you've at least had a nap. Here-"

Caretaker climbed in bed with Whumpee.

“If you have a nightmare, I promise I'll be right here to wake you up.”

“You'll… stay?” Whumpee asked.

Caretaker nodded.

“If it gets you to sleep, then yes. Anything.”

That morning was the first decent sleep Whumpee had since getting sick.

Patreon

Ko-Fi

Redbubble

Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[vlasdygoth]

help ?

[sickiehugs]

I just like stories with a rlly small, weak sickie and a taller sweet caretaker. Preferably involving comforting, nightmares and cuddling. It’s okay if u can’t think of a story or have to take your time

Thank you for the request! I've actually never written nightmares before, so I hope it's to your liking, Anon!

~

A always wakes up before B. And by always, I mean every day except for today. Instead, B wakes up to a shivering sensation coming from their side. They look over and see a shaking and incoherently mumbling pile of blankets.

"...Baby?" They slip their hand under the covers and touch A's shoulder. As soon as they do, they can feel unnatural heat from A's skin. Their expression instantly goes soft and their protective side kicks in.

"Wait, you're burning up, sweetie..." They continue to rub A's shoulder. "Oh no... oh, my poor baby. Wake up, my sleepyhead--"

All of a sudden, A jolts awake and pokes their head out of the little blanket ball that they were bundled up in. Their breathing is heavy and rapid, and they look around the room with a sense of fear and confusion that they've never expressed before.

"Wha... baby! Are you okay?!"

A spots B by their side and immediately slumps their small, quivering body against B's sturdy, comforting one, smushing their pale and flushed face into B's chest, wrapping their arms around B's waist and holding on for dear life.

B puts a hand on top of A's head and starts to gently pat their hair. "Hey... Baby, baby, tell me what's going on. Did you have a bad dream?"

Insteak of a coherent response, B gets a pathetic little squeak, followed by a few weak coughs right into their shirt. They start to piece things together, just as A starts to cry.

"Oh, my poor little baby... I need you do do something for me, okay? Just look at me for a second."

A lifts their head from B's chest and does their best to focus on B's face while they continue to talk to them.

"Alright, good job," B says in a soft voice, "Do you know where we are right now, my sweetling?"

"I...," A croaks between heavy breaths, "N-No..."

B's brows furrow slightly as A starts to lose focus, their puffy eyes wandering about as if their vision is spinning.

"A, I need you to look around for me, okay? Look around the room and tell me where we are."

"We... *cough! cough!* ugh... We're in, uh... Our room."

"That's right, my love. You're safe, I'm safe, and nothing can hurt you here. But that cough doesn't sound good at all..."

~

Sorry that had to be so short! I didn't wanna keep you waiting >_<

[shion-yu]

Not Your Fault (part 2)

Part 1 | Alex has fever dreams, Shu comforts him. Fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "It's All My Fault." Original work, 1,474 words. No TWs, CW: PTSD, vomit, Alex is 13 here. And don't worry, of course Shu's gonna get whumped in part 3 :P

Shu was woken up by the sound of screaming. He ran into Alex's room not bothering to knock where he found Alex sitting up in bed crying and coughing. His breathing was fast and congested, a mix of tears and snot running down his face. Without the confident scowl on his face that he usually protected himself with, he looked exactly like the teenager he really was.

"Alex, Alex! Look at me bud," Shu urged him, hands hovering over Alex's shoulders. Alex looked at him with such a hurt, scared expression that it was clear he wasn't in the present moment. Shu took a chance, placed one hand on Alex’s shoulder and rubbed Alex's back with the other in the hope that it would help bring Alex back to reality. He knew that nightmares were a common occurrence for Alex, but usually Alex would shout once or twice in his sleep and then go quiet. This time he seemed to be in a full blown panic though, likely thanks to the fever Shu could feel through his t-shirt. 

Alex looked up at Shu with a heartbreakingly devastated expression. "It's my fault," he whimpered, his eyes shining with tears. 

"You haven't done anything wrong," Shu soothed him, his voice low and gentle. "It's okay. Just focus on me now."

Alex let out a small sob and gripped the hem of Shu's shirt. He was shaking, either with fear or chills or both. "I killed them. It's my fault they're dead. I-I-" He shuddered violently. Shu pressed his hand to Alex's cheek and grimaced at the high heat coming off the teen. 

"No honey, it's not your fault," Shu tried to soothe Alex like he was far younger than thirteen. He wasn't exactly sure what Alex was talking about, but it likely had something to do with how everybody else in that apartment had died the day of the explosion - Alex's mom, his mom's boyfriend, and the downstairs neighbor. Alex had been the only one to survive it because he’d been in his bedroom with the doors closed, suffering only minor injuries while everybody else had died on site. Such an event would haunt anyone, let alone a thirteen year old boy who clearly did not have the best coping mechanisms. Alex tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but Shu found that impossible to believe. He made Alex go to talk therapy even though the kid almost always found some way to bail on it, thinking that maybe if Alex didn’t want to tell him about his troubles then at least maybe he could tell someone else. 

Shu kept rubbing Alex's back, something he usually wouldn't be able to do without Alex slapping his hand away. "Breathe for me, can you?" Shu asked gently. "It's just you and me here. You're safe."

Alex seemed to listen for about ten seconds, growing momentarily quieter, before his breath quickened again. "Alex?" Shu questioned him. All the color had suddenly drained from Alex's face. 

"I'm gonna puke," Alex said, gagging once before Shu managed to shove the waste basket under his chin just in time. Despite skipping dinner, Alex managed to vomit a substantial amount before collapsing back onto his pillows, trembling violently. Shu hummed sympathetically and took the basket away, tying the bag up and bringing it to the kitchen where he double bagged and tossed the mess. He returned with the bin containing a fresh bag, the thermometer and a wet rag. Alex was lying there with one arm over his eyes. It was difficult to discern an expression in that position, but it was clear he was upset.

"Let's get you cleaned up and I'll take your temperature," Shu said softly. Alex just groaned in response, not moving. Shu hummed and pressed the dampened cloth to Alex's sweaty neck. Alex flinched but then took the washcloth and wiped the rest of his face off. Afterwards Shu traded the washcloth for the thermometer.

"It doesn't matter," Alex muttered, but begrudgingly placed the small instrument under his tongue. The number rose until it stopped at 102.3 and beeped. Shu took it and made out the reading using the dim hallway light that flooded into the bedroom from the doorway. 

"Oof. You must feel awful," Shu hummed softly. 

"No, I feel great," Alex said sarcastically. This usual snarkiness actually made Shu feel a little better. The wet, "Ht'ksshh!" and whimper that followed did not. 

"Do you think you can stomach some more Tylenol?" Shu asked him, handing Alex the glass of water. "Just try a few little sips first," he urged when Alex looked at the glass apprehensively. Alex followed instructions and then nodded after managing a few sips without throwing up, so Shu handed him two more Tylenol to take. "We'll bring you to the doctor in the morning," Shu said.

Alex looked annoyed. "I don't need to go to the doctor," he said. "I just need to sleep it off."

"Is that what you're used to?" Shu asked, perhaps a bit too pityingly because Alex scowled and pushed the glass back into his hand. "Alex..."

"Sorry for waking you up," Alex growled. "Go back to - to be... H'nnxgh-“ Alex managed to halfway stifle the first of the fit of three sneezes only, the rest too strong for him to hold back. He launched straight from sneezing into coughing and Shu was surprised when Alex grabbed onto Shu's forearm, although it seemed simply to prevent himself from pitching forward. Shu reached for a tissue from the box on Alex's nightstand and held it to Alex's nose.

"Blow," he said. “Just do it, you're choking on your own snot," he added when Alex glared at him with watery eyes. Alex took the tissue and blew what sounded like far more than what could fit in one tissue's worth. Shu held out his hand for the used one and traded Alex for another, which he also filled. "Good," Shu said. "Better?" Alex nodded slowly. He looked miserable. "Do you think you can go back to sleep?" Shu asked him hopefully.

Alex shook his head no, sniffling pathetically. “Everything hurts,” he whined.

"Okay, that's fine,” Shu said. “Do you want me to stay with you? Or we can go watch TV in my room." Alex didn't go in there much, but Shu always tried to make him feel like he could enter whenever he wanted. The first night Alex had lived with him, Alex had slept there while Shu slept on the couch since he didn't have a bed for Alex yet. It had all been very sudden, how Alex had come to live with him, and Shu still couldn't believe everything that had happened in the handful of months that had passed since then. 

Alex didn't answer, but he was looking at Shu with a strange expression that Shu couldn't read. "Or the couch," Shu added awkwardly, trying to come up with other options in case maybe Alex didn't like any of the first ones. "I could make you something warm."

"You're too nice to me," Alex blurted out suddenly. His face turned red, but Shu wasn't sure if it was all due to the fever. 

"Alex," Shu sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing him with a serious expression. "You're my kid. I know I'm not what you'd prefer but it's what you've got, and I'm trying my best. I want you to feel safe, this is your home now. Whatever happened or didn't happen before isn't your fault. You deserve to be taken care of."

Alex went quiet again. Shu waited for him to process this, half expecting Alex to kick him out. But instead he sniffled and said, "TV in your room sounds okay." Shu smiled and tried not to make it obvious how thrilled he was. They moved to Shu's room where Shu set Alex up in his bed with lots of pillows behind him and a hot water bottle to hug. If Alex's sniffles sounded more like crying than just a runny nose now, Shu kept his mouth shut. They watched late night TV until Alex slumped lower in Shu's bed and Shu could tell he'd fallen asleep. Shu adjusted the pillows and tucked him in so he would be comfortable enough not to wake up.

Alex was a handful and often Shu felt like he was far more than Shu could handle on his own, but right now he looked so boyish and peaceful. Poor kid was going through it, and illness and nightmares only made things worse. Shu hated to see him suffering, but at the same time a tiny part of him was grateful that it had pushed Alex to trust him just a little bit, even if it was only for tonight.

Part 3

[caspersickfanfics]

Can't Stop Puking

For @monthofsick day 2

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting (graphic), fever, nightmare reference

A/N:

No one requested this, it just happened. I actually haven't seen Kaveh at all in the Archon quests, so if he seems out of character, I apologize. All of the info I have about him is secondhand, unfortunately. I tried really hard not to villain-ize him in this and rather just make him flawed and complex, but I'm not sure I succeeded. If I got anything wrong for either character, I'm open to feedback in that area for them!

Alhaitham, as a rule of thumb, did not act before determining that doing so would be worth his effort. When choosing a job, he took the path of least resistance. When shopping, he bought only what was needed. When it came to Kaveh… Well, Kaveh really was no exception.

It was simply that Kaveh was worth his effort. 

All of the energy Alhaitham saved up in his day-to-day activities could be re-allocated to more important things. Like Kaveh.

Outsiders seemed to assume otherwise, but Alhaitham didn’t find that living with Kaveh demanded excess amounts of energy. Perhaps if it were someone else, he would mind being woken up late at night. Because it was Kaveh, though, he woke to a sense of warm fondness. It was easy to embrace the feeling of safety and drift back off. When his housemate was gone on work trips, Alhaitham found himself waking on his own to an unsettling silence, his body anxious and concerned.

And this was what actually required a great deal of energy: not living with Kaveh, but caring about him. In the past, Before, it wasn’t so taxing, so Alhaitham felt confident that this, too, would be worth it. That eventually the walls Kaveh had built specifically for him would crumble down if he just continued to wear at them.

But then, there were days when he wondered if he had severely underestimated Kaveh’s architectural prowess; Kaveh had a unique ability to take what had once been broken, and rebuild it with renewed strength.

On one such occasion of wavering doubt, Alhaitham woke up to a sore throat and aching muscles. He quickly ascertained that missing work would be more trouble than it was worth, and also that if he were to get Kaveh sick, he would never live it down. So the best course of action was to leave early in the morning, before Kaveh woke up, and return early to rest and heal as much as possible in the evening. This continued for two days, and on the third, Kaveh awoke early with him.

“Stop avoiding me,” he demanded. “If you have a problem, tell me to my face.”

Alhaitham pondered his response to this for too long, apparently, perhaps because his brain had become foggier with each passing day. 

“I have a cold,” he eventually confessed.

For a moment, Kaveh’s brows furrowed, the lines of his anger softening to concern. Then he shook his head and scoffed. “Oh, sure, that explains it. If you’re going to come up with an excuse, you’ll have to do better than that.”

If he could have protested, he would have. Instead, Alhaitham struggled to stay on his feet. He’d seen a look of devastating hurt and betrayal on Kaveh’s face, and now the world was spinning. Either that, or he was sicker than he’d thought. Or both. Alhaitham shuddered, not liking the thought, and by the time his vision steadied enough for him to focus, Kaveh had already stormed off.

Alhaitham stumbled out of the front door still confident that Kaveh was worth every effort, but uncertain if he was strong enough to break down the walls of a master architect on his own.

His day did not improve.  He had only a short walk to work, but the dizziness wouldn’t go away. On more than one occasion he had to stop and lean on a building to catch his breath. At one point, he was so sure he would be sick that he found a quiet alleyway and knelt on the ground, squeezing his eyes shut as nausea wove its way into his veins. It didn’t leave him, but after about five minutes, he resigned himself to living with it while he continued about his day.

Fortunately, Alhaitham had only a few quick meetings, and the rest of his time was spent in his office, alone. Less fortunately, he didn’t even make it until lunch time before he found himself retching into his hands. Nothing came up right away, so he grabbed the small trashcan from under his desk and hung his head over it, mouth open and drooling. He retched and coughed, but was largely unproductive in his efforts, with the exception of a few splatters of bile. Shaking, he set the bin down, hoping to get a few more hours of work in.

It was not to be. As soon as Alhaitham picked up his pen, he burped and felt hot liquid in his throat with it. He moved quickly and by the time he burped again, the trash was there to catch a mouthful of sick. 

Alhaitham felt downright miserable. He missed Kaveh. He missed a time, a time Before, when Kaveh would’ve been the first to notice he was ill, and would’ve taken care of him without a second thought. He wanted to be home. He wanted to stop thinking about the look of betrayal on Kaveh’s face and how hard it was not to hurt him. He wanted his mouth to stop tasting revolting enough to make him feel like heaving again.

He figured, logically, that he could take care of at least one of those wants, and took a swig of water to rinse his mouth out. Instead, he was caught off guard by his stomach revolting again, before he even swallowed. He spat out the water onto the floor, unable to aim properly this time, and with it came more vomit, splashing across the ground.

It was disgusting to look at, so Alhaitham closed his eyes and laid his cheek against the desk. He tried to breathe slowly, to calm his racing heart and think straight, but to no avail. He managed to work out that he had a fever and should return home. The task of moving just seemed… too tiresome.

Time passed at a strange pace. The stench grew, as did the swirling in Alhaitham’s abdomen. He caught himself swallowing excessively in an attempt at regaining control, but it only made him feel worse. It only built up the air in his stomach until he couldn’t resist a burp. Something noxious, akin to biryani gone bad, assaulted his taste buds. Alhaitham’s entire body rippled with a harsh heave, a dark and viscous liquid adding to the mess on the floor.

He felt like his stomach had wrung him dry. And yet, it still churned threateningly. Exhaustion weighed heavy on Alhaitham’s shoulders, however, and eventually dragged him deep into a fitful sleep.

–––

When he woke, Alhaitham was out of sorts and on edge - the sure remnants of a nightmare, now that he could have them. A certain architect’s back faded quickly from behind his eyes as Alhaitham became more aware of his surroundings.

He was immediately assaulted by the sour stench, now permeating his office. He stomach lurched and he bit back a retch, but a groan escaped him. A hand fluttered to his pounding head. Alhaitham blinked blearily, wondering what had woke him.

As his vision came into focus, he noticed a small figure in the doorway. It was Cyno, his body language uncharacteristically tentative. Upon seeing Alhaitham move, he came closer, gaze intense and unreadable as always. They blinked at each other until the matra broke the silence.

“I was planning to contact someone from the Bimarstan. I did not expect you to come to so quickly.” Cyno didn’t touch him, but his eyes trailed carefully over Alhaitham’s body with an assessor’s level of attentiveness.

“I’m fine,” Alhaitham’s voice sounded slow and slurred. “Just had a nap.”

“You’re clearly ill,” Cyno returned, combatively. “It’s written all over your face and the mess here spells it out quite clearly.”

Compared to his other symptoms, Alhaitham would admit that his complete lack of verbal dismay at Cyno’s attempted humor was perhaps cause for alarm. The matra, however, did not seem to feel the same, his chest puffing out slightly as he went on to explain:

“The joke is that you are a scribe. So, the words “written” and “spells” work as a pun—”

“I’ll go home early today,” Alhaitham conceded, drawing himself unsteady upright. Maybe he should thank Cyno later for spurring him into action. “I simply require rest to recover.”

Cyno reached out a steadying hand as Alhaitham swayed on his feet. “I’ll walk you back.”

“No,” came Alhaitham’s quick response, before he could think much of it. He was sure he looked as sick as he felt, and while Cyno’s offer was made in kindness, he would rather suffer without an audience. He only hoped he could make it home without causing a scene. Alhaitham’s stomach shifted and he muffled a belch into his fist; he wasn’t confident in his abilities at the moment, so he shakily found a new trash liner in his desk and pocketed it. Cyno eyed him, clearly doubtful.

“It’s not a long walk,” Alhaitham stated, hoping to be convincing enough. He didn’t have it in him to continue arguing, and they were barely even friends, after all. He relaxed as Cyno nodded.

“I’ll clean up here and will check to make sure you made it home after work.”

Alhaitham grimaced at the thought of an acquaintance cleaning up his mess, but the need to sit was growing in urgency with each passing moment, and he had to get away from the smell as soon as possible. He didn’t bother with a goodbye.

The fresh air of the city helped somewhat, but Alhaitham should have considered the time of day. The streets were busy with vendors selling and consumers eating heavily scented lunch. The aroma should have been a pleasant one. Instead it heightened the unrelenting queasiness. With quick steps, Alhaitham made it about halfway home and stumbled into a quiet nook between houses before pulling out the garbage liner. He struggled to open it, hands shaking as bile rose in his throat. His stomach spasmed and acid splashed against the back of clenched teeth. Just in time, he peeled the opening wide, lurching forward with a muffled retch.

For how violently he heaved, only a thin stream of pale vomit slid into the flimsy bag. Alhaitham couldn’t tell when he would be sick again, but he knew that he needed to keep moving. He felt weak, and he was sure that if he rested for too long, he would simply fall asleep again. Now that Alhaitham was away from the main downtown area, it was less likely that someone would notice anything off about him.

It was still surprising to him just how angry his stomach was. He made it no more than three steps before bringing the plastic to his face with a heave. Once again, it was minimally productive, only really serving to worsen the ache in his gut. The rest of the journey was just as difficult. The initial bout of illness seemed to spur on a series of hiccups, each bringing with a it a mouthful of liquified, rancid stomach contents.

Upon making it home, Alhaitham hesitated. He still didn’t want to get Kaveh sick, or to worry him, or make him feel bad, but he didn’t have the energy to avoid him. A vague plan to hole up in his room lingered in the back of his mind, but that relied on having the trash liner with him. Since there was still very little in it, he bunched it up as small as he could and tucked it under his cape before heading in.

Immediately, he heard a loud clatter, as though something was dropped, and Kaveh’s head popped out from his room.

“Alhaitham? You’re home early.” The architect drew himself into the foyer, peering closely at the younger man. “You look… ill.”

Alhaitham steeled his expression. “Just tired. I finished up early so I left.”

“Huh,” Kaveh said, voice soft. The skin around his eyes was pinched, the way it got when he was angry or… worried. “I’ll try to keep things quiet, then. Will you let me know if you need anything?”

“Mhm,” Alhaitham agreed and, without another word, moved quickly to his room. Though he loved talking to Kaveh, the conversation could not go on without risking disaster. He turned on some calming music, at a volume louder than he would normally have it play, before unravelling the plastic trash liner once again.

For the next half hour, Alhaitham sat in bed with his mouth hung open, quietly belching up puke into the bag. He was sweating horribly and added “change the bedsheets” to a growing list of tasks to complete as soon as he was capable of moving without being sick. When Kaveh yelled to tell him he was going out to meet a client, Alhaitham left his room in favor of the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. He figured that Kaveh would be out for at least the next two hours. If Alhaitham was lucky, he could get the illness out of his system before his housemate returned.

As he’d hoped, Alhaitham was able to relax his body more once situated in front of the more solid receptacle of the toilet. He squatted in front of it and waited mere minutes before vomiting profusely into the water. Perhaps because he’d been unintentionally holding himself back for so long, it took only the slightest gag for Alhaitham’s stomach contents to come surging forth, wave after wave of a soupy orange substance filing the toilet. It burned his throat and his head felt like it was splitting. He sputtered, desperate for air, between seemingly unending rounds of lines. Rarely did Alhaitham feel so helpless. After many minutes of this, hollow dry heaves echoed back at him, as if mocking his still churning stomach.

“Alhaitham!”

He froze, but Kaveh burst into the house with such urgency that the Alhaitham had no time to scramble back to his room and pretend to be fine. With his sensitive ears, he heard keys clatter to the ground rather than into the beautiful glass bowl Kaveh usually used religiously. His footsteps through the house were hurried, frantic even, and he barged into the bathroom without knocking. Kaveh’s emotions, as always, were written across his face on full display, but trying to decipher them now made Alhaitham’s head spin. The only ones he was sure of were anger, with which he is all too familiar, and betrayal, no different from what he had seen hours earlier prior to leaving for work. It felt like ages ago.

Alhaitham tried, at least, to listen to Kaveh’s words. He always tried at that. But his brain was so foggy, he caught only bits and pieces of meaning. Cyno had spotted Kaveh with his client and interrupted them, so it must have been something urgent. Something about Alhaitham. Which didn’t make sense because Alhaitham couldn’t fathom what about him would be more important than Kaveh’s work, not when the world was spinning, dipping, lurching… He tried to rein in his focus again.

Kaveh was mad because of - what? Alhaitham had missed something. A secret? That didn’t feel quite right. It was something Alhaitham had done - again. Something he had done to try and protect Kaveh, but that once again hurt him anyway. Something that was familiar to what Alhaitham had done to hurt him Before, even, he realized with an ache. Something like - a promise. 

“You told me you were fine! Do you really trust me so little, hate me so much, that you have to lie about your health just to get me out of the house? While you’re ill?”

He broke a promise.

A sharp pain pierced Alhaitham’s heart, and with the state that he was in, his stomach felt it immediately. He was left spewing, once again helpless and out of control, only now it was no doubt impacting Kaveh as well. Alhaitham yearned to say something, anything, and especially sorry, but he simply couldn’t. Even when the vomiting stopped, after hours on hours of illness and overstimulation, Alhaitham simply had no words. He squeezed his eyes shut, still hanging his head miserably over the toilet bowl, feeling weak and undeserving.

“Archons, Alhaitham, while you’re this ill… Why would you—? Archons…” Even in his haze, Alhaitham tried to place the tone of Kaveh’s voice. Teary, he thought. Confused. Hurt. Again.

This time, he couldn’t explain, couldn’t make his attempts at eroding Kaveh’s walls. Alhaitham was out of words and out of actions that could speak for him. So he did something that was, for once, out of character: unreasonably, he hoped. He hoped desperately that just this one time, Kaveh could see that he was not trying to wear away at his walls to find vulnerability and harm him (like he had, admittedly but unintentionally, done before) but to simply be with him in his lonely little town of one.

Alhaitham was lonely, too.

Really fucking lonely.

“Oh,” Kaveh’s gasp cut through it all - the swirling thoughts and nausea. It was almost painfully gentle… like an afterthought of regret. Alhaitham hoped. “No, Haitham, don’t cry. You’ll make yourself sicker. It - you’ll be okay, I promise. Stop crying, please.”

Even knowing that they were there, Alhaitham paid the tears on his cheeks no mind. Kaveh’s hands had fallen onto his back and shoulder. They were warm, like he had imagined. Like they used to be, Before. A shudder ran through him, and a healthy dose of fear, and he choked on an attempt at words.

“Don’t– uuurp!” Alhaitham belched up a thin stream of bile into the toilet bowl, coughing on the acidic taste. He felt Kaveh flinch away when he spoke and gasped desperately for air.

“Calm down,” Kaveh murmured, hesitant now. Pulling away again. “I– I can go if you really want to be alone.” Alhaitham grunted in frustration. This couldn’t happen again, this couldn’t keep happening. Even if it hurt him. His voice was small and choked, but he refused to be silent.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t leave.”

“Oh.” Kaveh said. And that was it, for a long while. Enough time passed that Alhaitham risked turning around, worried that he’d bared his soul and Kaveh had swiftly determined it unworthy of care. Maybe he’d walked away after all.

But he hadn’t. Kaveh stood there, still, blinking quickly and looking up at the ceiling. A trembling hand covered his mouth.

He looked… gutted.

Kaveh tried for a smile. It wavered, then broke. “Sorry,” he managed, trying again to be chipper, and with somewhat more success. That wasn’t saying much. A tear escaped and made its way down his cheek. Alhaitham looked up at him, his own tears drying, eyebrows coming together. Kaveh was reminded, harshly, cruelly, of a much younger version of the man before him, always worrying about his senior and following him around. He was reminded that Alhaitham was still very young now. He was shocked with the knowledge that he had been condemning him for actions he’d made when he was much younger. Kaveh’s heart trembled, and shattered. He swallowed a lump in his throat, shook his head, wiped his tears. He sat next to Alhaitham, and opened his arms like he used to. Before.

“Come here,” he breathed, and was relieved when Alhaitham didn’t think twice. He wasn’t nearly as small as he used to be, but he still fit nicely in Kaveh’s arms.

“Haiyi,” Kaveh whispered. He spoke the near-forgotten nickname with reverence and felt the younger man curl closer to him, relaxing. “Haiyi, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it, okay? I’ll fix us. I promise.”

–––

Alhaitham smiled. He drifted into a dream of two lonely towns. They were broken down, both of their walls crumbled, revealing a vast emptiness between them. 

It was a good dream. Unreasonably so.

But then, maybe it was not unreasonable at all. They were now simply one town. A town that needed fixing, but a town united. And, in the same way that he knew Kaveh was worth all of his effort and energy, Alhaitham knew with certainty one other thing about his housemate: Kaveh was good - very good - at fixing things.

–––

Novemetober Rescheduled Day 1

Send asks here!

[pixelatedraindrops]

I decided to finish the fic I wrote months ago based on this edit

Also inspired by this ask and my headcanon/analysis on Yuma becoming tired/sick after overusing his own forte.

SPOILERS FOR RAINCODE CHAPTER 1

Click Keep Reading to Read

The Price of Having a Forte (Oneshot)

Word Count (2,900)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Fever/Illness Whump

Fandom: Master Detective Archives RAINCODE

Characters: Yuma Kokohead, Shinigami, Halara Nightmare

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a string of locked room murder mysteries around Kanai Ward lately. For 6 months they kept appearing. All these cases involved the victim being killed by countless nails while the corpse was surrounded by a crowd of porcelain dolls. The murders seem like an Urban Legend in Kanai Ward done by a figure known as The Nail Man.

On his first morning in Kanai Ward, detective trainee Yuma ends up dragged into a mess by his ghostly partner Shinigami. Literally dragging him by a chain to eventually get him involved in the most recent case, involving a child whose father was arrested by peacekeepers thinking he was the culprit.

Yuma takes it upon himself to help this child save his father by finding the true culprit. But he realizes he’s in way over his head and will need some help. So, he seeks out Halara Nightmare, a master detective who charges a little too much for their services. Sadly, this meant Yuma ended up in debt to them. With a bill of 5,500,800 shien.

Unfortunately, the duo’s interference in the case caused the Amaterasu Peacekeepers to hold their Chief hostage as punishment, and they only had three hours to solve this case, or they would arrest him.

Over time investigating the cases, Yuma can investigate the case in the past with Halara using the aid of their forensic forte, Postcognition. Able to see the past of the case when it was discovered by a third party. This proved very helpful because Yuma also had a forte of his own (though he thinks it’s Shinigami’s power) The power of Coalescence. The ability to share someone else’s forte by holding the person’s hand.

Halara sadly showed some reluctance at first due to despising all of humanity, so the thought of touching Yuma mortified them. But Yuma persisted with using Halara’s greed against them.

Thus, his bill becomes bigger.

The duo had just finished investigating their second case in a mansion. They were on their way to the third crime scene in the art gallery in Ginma district. But something was wrong. Yuma was starting to feel tired, dizzy and on the verge of collapse. He even started coughing.

It wasn’t even sudden. The more he used Coalescence with Halara during the investigations, the more he grew fatigued. At first it was just some light tiredness and a small headache, but now it was becoming unbearable.

As the two of them walked towards the center of ginma, Yuma was moving slower. Causing Halara to turn around and face him. He was hunched over, looking down to the ground panting slightly.

“Pick up the pace Yuma, I won’t allow time to be wasted.” Halara said looking a little annoyed.

Yuma didn’t look up. Great. He was already a burden to Halara.

“S-Sorry… You go on ahead…I’ll…catch up….” He said in a winded voice.

Halara doesn’t argue and goes on ahead of him.

“Master come on!! Another dead body awaits us!” Shinigami said in a nagging tone.

Yuma let out a few raspy coughs. His head was killing him. He just wanted to sit down. But he had to keep going.

“I-I know… I’m coming…” he responded under heavy breathing, coughing again.

“What the heck’s going on with you?? You’ve been looking pale since you kept holding hands with Hellara.” The spirit said. “Don’t tell me you’re sick.”

Yuma groaned holding his head. He clearly was.

“Okay, I won’t…” he said in an aggravated tone.

Yuma’s body was giving out. He coughed again before wrapping his hands around his body. He started feeling hot and cold now. The endless rain was not helping him at all, his cold rain-soaked body had begun shivering. The dizziness wasn’t stopping.

Did he have a fever too? Or did he have one this whole time and it just got worse?

Yuma tried to take another step but ended up tripping and collapsing to the floor. His face hitting the wet ground.

“Master!!” Shinigami cried. “Get a hold of yourself!!!”

Yuma’s fatigue levels were skyrocketing. He tried to get up, but his arms were like jelly and wouldn’t move. His entire body was in pain, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

“I can’t…move…. H…help…” he said quietly.

“There’s nothing I can do when you’re the only one who can see me!! Dammit!! Where’s Hellara when you need them!?” Shiniagmi said in an annoyed tone.

Meanwhile.

Halara had just arrived at the destination, but they noticed Yuma wasn’t with them by the time they arrived at the art gallery. This wasn’t their case; they were just assisting him. What took him?

Halara did realize something as they thought to themself on Yuma’s absence. Every time the trainee held their hand to use their forte, over time he felt… a bit warmer?  And come to think of it, he was coughing a little bit too. And he was too tired to keep going.

Halara’s eyes grew slightly wide as they put the pieces together.

Yuma may have been in trouble. And in that state, if peacekeepers saw him…

They immediately rushed back to where Yuma was to see if their deduction was correct.

When Halara got back, they noticed a crowd of people circling around where Yuma was.

“Is he okay?” a ginma civilian asked.

“What happened? Did he get hurt?” another said.

“Maybe someone should call a peacekeeper…” a third said.

That was enough to set Halara’s defensive mode into action. If the peacekeepers found him, it would be over.

They walked over, not even bothering to say excuse me, practically pushing people away. They found Yuma’s unconscious body on the floor. They stood in front of it in defense.

“He’s with me. You can leave now.” Halara said giving an intimidating look.

This was enough to send people away. Halara was hesitant to touch Yuma at first, but he needed to be taken somewhere safe. They reluctantly picked him up and rushed to a small dark corner close to the art gallery.

They set Yuma down against a wall.

“Yuma wake up.” Halara said shaking him a little. “Hey, pull it together…”

Yuma slowly opened his eyes.

“w-who…?” he quietly said. His vison was a little blurry.

“Calm down it’s me.” Halara said. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“H…hala…ra…” Yuma’s breathing was heavy; he could hardly speak.

“Hey now, stay with me Yuma…!” they quietly exclaimed.

Yuma’s eyes were fluttering. He looked as if he’d pass out any minute.

Then he broke out in a harsh wet coughing fit.

He was in BAD shape.

Halara paused for a moment, they really didn’t want to touch him again. But they had no choice, the trainee was clearly ill, and he needed help.

They swallowed their hatred for people and placed a hand to his forehead.

Their deduction was on point.

He was burning.

They moved their hand to his cheek and behind his neck. Then removed it.

“Yuma, you’re burning up.” Halara said.

Yuma’s coughing settled down before he had a dizzy spell and passed out falling in front of Halara and landing on their chest. Due to Halara’s shock, he almost knocks them down.

But he was too small.

Halara was still paused in shock but as they heard the trainee’s heavy panting, they knew the rain was only making his state worse. He was shivering and felt hot. He likely needed medical help.

Not good. Not now… They were on a timer! At this rate, the chief will be…

Halara tried to remain calm. This wasn’t good. They had to do something.

First, they had to get him out of the rain. They picked him up again and ran over to the café.

The staff worker was surprised to see the customers they had just hours ago in such a panicked state. Practically running at full speed into their entrance.

“What happened?” The staff member asked. “You look distressed.”

Halara sits Yuma onto a chair keeping him upright holding his shoulders before turning to the staff worker.

“Call an ambulance. He needs help.” Halara said in a minorly panicked tone.

🚑~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ambulance arrived, and the two were in a waiting room of one of the emergency clinics in Kanai Ward. Halara was seated with Yuma sitting next to them, laying on their right shoulder still panting with their eyes closed.

Eventually the nurse staff takes Yuma away to have him examined.

During his small bit of times in and out of consciousness, Yuma wasn’t sure of what was going on. He could see blurry silhouettes surrounding him, he could feel cold hands touching him, lights flashing in and out, and even the prick of a needle in his arm at one point.

Soon he was out cold once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he opened his eyes again much later, he looked around him and saw he was in an unknown room. It looked pretty fancy, and he laid tucked into a large and very comfortable bed. 

He took a moment to look around, but his head was hurting a bit too much. Although the immense dizziness and heat from before subsided and he felt a little more stable, he still felt very tired, and the fever was still very much present. But he didn’t feel as bad as when he was outside. Maybe it was because he was out of the rain, dry and in a warm bed.

“Where…am I…?” he said quietly.

“Master? You awake?” Shinigami said floating beside him.

“Shinigami…? What happened?” he asked.

The small ghostly spirit shrugged.

“I wish I could tell you, but you kept passing in and out of consciousness. And since the two of us are connected, when you pass out, so do I.” she responded. “All I know for sure is that you’re sick as hell. You may as well be a corpse right now.”

He thought to himself.

That’s right… I felt dizzy on the walk to Ginma and couldn’t move much… I guess I fainted.

“My mind feels hazy…I can’t really remember how I got here…” Yuma said holding his head.

“I think that’s normal for an amnesiac like you!” Shinigami said in a teasing tone.

“But you took my memories…” Yuma said. “Anyway, I wonder how…I even got in this state…”

Was it because of all the rain? The lack of sleep? Maybe the stress of this case?

Shinigami pondered for a bit.

“Y’know this is ONLY a guess, I think that maybe, juuust maybe, using Coalescence too much might’ve caused your body to deteriorate like this.”

“Now that you mention it…the more I held hands with Halara…the more tired I became…”

“Yeah, so maybe you can only use it a specific number of times.” Shinigami said.

“You didn’t know about this? Isn’t this your power Shinigami?” Yuma asked.

“Th-That’s not important right now! Look over there, Master.” Shinigami said pointing to a bag on the desk beside him.

Yuma turned his head and noticed there was a prescribed medical bag. It had his full name written on it and instructions and numbers per dosage taken. He reached his hand for it and grabbed it looking it over.

“I wonder if… Halara may have taken me to a clinic.” He said deducing that from observing the bag.

“Yeah, I think I remember from the black in-and-out visions, I saw a lot of white and some people in scrubs. I think you were taken back.”

“I do remember feeling something poke me… Maybe they had to give me a shot.”

“Not surprising with your weak body. I bet the lowest fever would cause you to be taken to the medical ward. Sheesh you’re so lame Master.”

“Again… This is your power…” Yuma protested.

But before they could argue further, he heard the opening of a door.

Yuma looked over and saw Halara holding a bag as they walked in.

“Yuma, you’re awake.” Halara said, putting the bag down.

“Halara…where am I?” he asked quietly, placing the prescription bag back on the nightstand table.

“You’re in my hotel room. You collapsed outside Ginma. I took you to a clinic and they told me you had a fever of almost 102 degrees. You need to rest.” they said.

“S-Sorry…that you had to go through that trouble…” Yuma responded meekly. “Thank you, for helping me Halara…”

“You owe me an extra 500,000 shien for that.” They responded, putting the bag down. “And I didn’t have a choice, we’re on a timer and I couldn’t just leave you there to die.”

Yuma remained silent. It must have been hard for Halara to do that since they didn’t like touching other people. To see them go the extra mile for him was surprising but kind of them, nonetheless.

Halara reached into the bag and grabbed 2 things.

“Now, I got you a glass of ice water from the restaurant as well as some vanilla yogurt. You’re free to eat it later. Before I leave, you should take the medication to help you sleep.”

Yuma tried to sit up, but his body was not cooperating. The shot from earlier seemed to make his body limp and the fever was still making his world spin a bit. He was only more stable due to being out of the rain outside and somewhere warm and dry. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

“S-Sorry…I can’t…move…” Yuma responded.

“That’s to be expected. The nurse told me the injection you received would make your body feel limp for better recovery purposes.” Halara said as they walked closer to Yuma placing the water glass on the stand beside him. “Why do you think I’m still here? I will assist you.”

Halara knelt on the floor so they could be at Yuma’s level. They grabbed the medical bag on the stand and took the prescribed medicine tablets out of it. They punctured one of the blue and white pills out and set it on their palm. Then they grabbed the glass of water with their other hand, along with a small straw that was included with it. They unwrapped it placing it into the glass delicately.

“Okay, now open your mouth.” Halara said as they held the pill in between their fingers.  

Yuma opened his mouth as Halara gently set the tablet where his tongue was. Yuma closed his mouth, not swallowing the tablet, but didn’t want to look awkward with his mouth hanging open while waiting for what Halara would do next.

The taller detective took the glass of water then moved it and the straw close to Yuma’s now closed mouth.

“Here. Drink up.” Halara said.

Yuma opened his mouth again then closed it once he had the straw and bit down onto it, the tablet still on his tongue. He drank the water quietly swallowing the pill in the process.

“Huh… Guess even Hellara can be pretty nice every once in a while…” Shinigami said floating above his head looking down at the sight before her.

Yuma closed his eyes as he continued drinking. The ice cool water felt good going down his throat so even if the pill was already down, he kept drinking. It was refreshing and it was just what his feverish body needed.

Once he was done with his cold beverage, he released the straw exhaling.

“Thank you Halara…” he said with a weak smile.

Halara didn’t speak putting the glass down and stood up walking toward the door.

“I will solve this case alone. You cannot continue in your state.” They spoke.

“Wait…but you said…”

“I know what I said. But circumstances have changed. The chief is still being held hostage by those peacekeepers, and you’re too ill to continue the case. There is no time to hesitate…you will owe me greatly for this, but we do not have many options.”

Halara closed their eyes. “I may have an idea on the culprit…just leave it to me, Yuma.”

Yuma looked up at Shinigami.

“Hate to admit it but, Hellara’s right. You can hardly move in the condition you’re in and pretty sure that rain would boom-kill you before you solve the case anyway. Plus, if you pass out, so do I, and that wasn’t a lot of fun for me y’know!”

Yuma sighed as he looked back at his temporary caretaker about to leave.

“Thanks… I’ll leave it to you Halara…” he responded.

Halara nodded. “Get some rest. When you wake up again, we will be back in the agency with the chief unharmed.” They gave a wink.

“With my logic, anything is possible.”

Yuma nodded as he watched Halara leave the room making sure the door was locked so nobody would barge in to bother or even attack Yuma. They made sure the windows were locked too and the lighting in the room was dim.

They really did think of everything.

Yuma yawned as he slowly turned his head sinking it into the soft fluffy pillow. This bed was much more comfortable than the sofa he slept on back at the agency. He felt he would fall asleep any minute.

“Hey, Master? I think you should probably be careful how much you use Coalescence from now on…” Shinigami commented. “Maybe only use it just once or twice…”

Yuma nodded weakly as he sighed, slowly closing his eyes drifting off to a much-needed slumber. One that he couldn’t get back at the agency.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumpril Day 19: I Need You

CW: poison whump, sickness, fever whump

Your body is wracked with poison. You lie in a darkened room, delirious and sick, unable to lie still as the effects of whumper’s spell take hold and jerk you between shallow nightmares and fevered wakefulness. You can’t sense much beyond the dim light, terrible pain, and caretaker’s presence.

Caretaker bends over you and drapes a cool cloth over your forehead. For a moment, the cool sinks into your skin, and you feel a degree of relief. But whumper’s poison spell is too powerful and the relief is swallowed instantly. A whimper escapes you.

If only it would stop. If only the poison would stop.

And then, caretaker seems to disappear. Weakly, you manage to raise a desperate, shaking hand.

“Please...don’t leave me…I need you.” The words come out raspy. They don’t sound like your voice at all.

Caretaker appears again, smiling despite their furrowed concern. “I won’t leave you. Don’t worry. I’ll be right here as long as you need me.”

You slip back into a dream with caretaker’s reassurance echoing in your mind, and this time, the dream isn’t quite so bad.

[littledrawsandwritesstuff]

Day 4 of Sicktember is Laurence with an untimely flu. He really wish he could have gotten it somewhere else. Prompt is taken from @sicktember

[pmak2002]

A/N No I didn’t write another Wonka sickfic shut up.

Willy was in pain. He felt pain all throughout his body and he was alone.

“Momma!” He cried out “Momma!! Where are you? Momma!” He cried out and thrashed about even though everything hurt.

He started to cry he wanted his momma but he couldn’t feel her anywhere.

Noodle was awoken by the loud sounds coming from Willy’s bedroom. Something was wrong. She quickly got up and rushed to his bedroom. She found the chocolatier thrashing about in his sleep and sobbing.

“Willy!” She cried and rushed over. He was having a fever nightmare. She quickly but gently shook him until he awoke with a start.

“Momma I want Momma!” Willy wailed when he woke up. He was sweating buckets.

“Willy it’s ok you’re safe I’m here it’s Noodle.” She said gently.

Willy coughed and gagged hard and Noodle grabbed the bucket that had been placed next to his bed the day before when he had started to vomit. Willy’s immune system Noodle and her mother had learned wasn’t that strong and he was sick often.

Willy hung his head over the bucket taking deep breaths trying to not be sick. He didn’t want to throw up. It hurt to throw up. He wanted to sleep. He wanted Momma.

But Alas she wasn’t there only in his dreams or nightmares or memories.

Willys stomach gurgled and he belched.

“Just get it up Willy Mom says better out then in. You’ll feel so much better.”

Willy gagged and gave in puking up the contents of his stomach that he had managed to keep in him after he had meds and water. Now it was all coming back up. A sign that the meds had wore off and his body was back to rebelling against him.

“It hurts Noodle.” Willy cried.

“What’s hurting Willy? What’s the matter?”

Noodle asked as she carefully brushed his sweaty hair off his face.

“My left leg hurts like when I injured it. I was all alone and Momma wasn’t there and…”

“Shh Willy it’s ok you’re alright. You aren’t alone here.” She rubbed his back and he tried to settle down and stop crying.

Noodle’s mother opened the door to the bedroom.

“Oh dear what’s going on?” She asked worriedly.

“He had a fever nightmare Mom the medicine wore off and he threw up.” Noodle explained to her mother.

Noodle’s mom Dorothy nodded. “I’ll get him more medicine and water. Stay with him and try to get him to settle a little ok?” She asked her daughter.

Noodle nodded her head and pulled Willy onto her lap and Willy whimpered and tried to calm down.

“I’ve got you Willy you’ll be ok.” Noodle soothed.

Dorothy went to quickly grab more medicine and water for the sickly chocolate maker. Willy was a darling boy and Dorothy loved that he loved Noodle as much as she did.

They all took care of each other and Dorothy wanted to make sure Willy was looked after that’s why sometimes Willy would stay with them.

Willy of course had originally baulked at the idea. But with some convincing. He agreed. It especially helped when he sick.

Which was often, unfortunately.

Noodle and Dorothy didn’t mind though. They’d do anything to help him.

Noodle held Wily close and ruffled his hair.

“You gave me quite the fright you know?” She said to him.

Willy coughed. “It was scary Noodle.” He said and his eyes welled up with fresh tears.

“Oh Willy.” Noodle hugged him tight as he started to cry and shake.

“You don’t have to be afraid. It’s ok.”

Willy cried in Noodle’s arms he felt so sick and he wanted to feel better.

Dorothy returned with medicine and water. Noodle helped Willy sit up to take it.

“You sounded like you were really hurt are you ok?” Dorothy asked.

Willy shook his head and winced in pain.

“I really don’t feel good.”

“You still feel warm?” Dorothy asked him.

Willy nodded.

Dorothy went grabbed a bowl of cool water and grabbed a washcloth and returned to Willy’s room. She handed the bowl and washcloth to Noodle.

“Let’s cool you down ok? It’ll help you feel better. Your fever clearly hasn’t gone down. Your sweating buckets.” Noodle said

She slowly dipped the cloth into the water and slowly wiped it across Willy’s forehead and neck.

“That feels good.” Willy said.

“Your as hot as a furnace of course it’ll help.” Dorothy teased.

Willy could see where Noodle got her joking from. He coughed and gagged again. He could feel his stomach rolling and flipping. It was ready for another purge. He gagged and Dorothy grabbed the bucket he leaned over it and started vomiting. His whole body shaking. This only made him cry harder with each retch.

"I hate throwing up make it stop!" Willy cried.

Noodle and Dorothy exchanged sad looks.

"No one likes throwing up dear." Dorothy told him.

Noodle rubbed his back sympathetically.

Eventually, the puking fit stops and Noodle grabs an extra blanket for Willy's bed knowing he feels more cold than warm because of his fever.

She soon resumes cooling Willy down with the wet washcloth and her mother helps Willy drink a few sips of water.

“Slowly now ok?” Says Dorothy as she helps Willy take a few small sips. Willy slowly but eagerly drinks some water. His throat sore and terribly dry from vomiting and crying so much.

“There we go. That feel ok?” Dorothy asked him.

He nodded it felt good to drink water to help his throat and even though it didn’t feel great in his stomach. He was glad to have had at least a little water.

“Thank you Dorothy.” Willy said weakly.

Dorothy nodded and then helped Noodle cool Willy down. Eventually he was tucked back into bed and the bucket was cleaned out and put back next to his bed on top of a towel.

“I’ll stay with him mom.” Noodle said.

Dorothy nodded. “Of course honey. Come get me if you need anything.”

Noodle nodded. “Will do mom. Goodnight.”

Dorothy left the bedroom closing the door behind her.

Willy let out a whimper and squirmed in bed he was clearly still in pain.

“Oh Willy. It’s alright you’ll be alright.” Noodle said. She crawled into bed next to her friend.

Willy began to cry again. His body racked with sobs.

Noodle curled up against him and Willy wrapped his arms around her.

“Oh Willy why the tears?” She asked. She knew she probably should have left well enough alone and let the poor man cry it out. But it broke her heart.

He just cried too miserable and exhausted to speak. Noodle just curled up tighter and let Willy hold her. Eventually he fell back asleep and Noodle did too.

By the next morning Willy didn’t look much better and when he came down for breakfast leaning on his cane more than usual and looking awfully pale. Noodle and her mother knew he’d need at least a few more days in bed.

Willy was dressed and ready to head to the factory for the day. However he was shaking and seemed unsteady on his feet. He wiped sweat from his face and coughed. He stumbled as he walked.

“Sorry I’ll miss breakfast girls I’ve got a long day..” Willy started to say but Dorothy cut him off.

“Honey you look worse for wear. Why don’t you head back up to bed? Noodle can read to you and you can sleep all day?”

“Oh now Dorothy that’s a kind offer but..” Willy said before he started to cough.

Noodle shook her head.

“Willy you can’t work like this.” She said worriedly. She helped him to a chair and Dorothy brought over a small plate of food.

Just the smell of the food that he normally loved from Dorothy made him want to throw up.

He swallowed hard and put a hand to his mouth struggling to not be sick.

“Now I know you’re still sick cuz you never turn down my home cooked food. Noodle can bring you up to bed.” Dorothy told him.

Willy burped as Noodle helped him up. His stomach gurgled.

He grunted and gripped his cane for dear life as Noodle linked arms with him and helped him back to his room upstairs.

“Oh it hurts Noodle.” Willy whined as she helped him over to sit on his bed.

“Shh I know Willy.” Noodle immediately hands him the bucket and he immediately heaves up whatever’s in his stomach which unfortunately isn’t much.

“Burns!” Willy cries

“That’s the stomach acid coming up.” Noodle explains.

She rubs his back as he heaves and coughs. Then goes about taking off his hat, scarf and coat.

Willy still was gripping his cane as if it would keep him upright at the edge of his bed.

He took deep breaths trying to calm himself knowing if he panicked he’d just throw up again.

“You’ll need a good bath after more rest ok? It might help you feel a little better.” Noodle told him.

Willy nodded still looking into the bucket and coughed.

“Don’t like this “ he whispered

“I know but no one does.” Noodle assured him.

She took his cane and moved the bucket away.

She brushed his curls out of his face.

“Now I’ll grab a book to read to you.” Noodle said as she got him tucked into his bed.

Willy nodded he liked being read to and during times like this. It was comforting knowing Noodle was there or her mother.

Soon Noodle comes back and sits next to Wily and reads him a story. He falls asleep listening to Noodle read to him.

Later that day

After his bath Willy felt a bit better not as gross or sweaty as before but he definitely still wasn’t feeling well. Still pale, achy and nauseous.

“I wish my body wouldn’t hurt anymore,” Willy said weakly after Noodle helped him with water, meds, and a few tiny bites of toast.

"I know I'm sorry." Noodle said. She grabbed the thermometer and checked his temperature.

"Hm 101.1 is definitely an improvement from earlier this morning but you're still sick." Noodle told him.

Willy sighed "I still don't feel good."

"I know another day or two in bed should do the trick. Do you want more water?" Noodle asked.

Willy shook his head. He hadn't thrown up in a few hours but still felt terribly nauseous.

"How about I read you another story?" Noodle suggested.

Willy nodded and snuggled close to her once she joined him in bed with a book. As she read to him. He slowly fell asleep and snuggled close to his best friend.

After a few more days Willy felt much better and returned to the factory with Noodle helping him out.

[xluminaheart]

am I going to have to write all the Lord Peter hurt/comfort fics myself

[whats-k-popping]

Not Valid

Summary: Just pulling the phone closer to him hurts his muscles. And the bright light of the screen has him seeing stars. A new headache pulses behind his eyes. But all he has to do is pull up Mingi’s contact and press the phone button. He can manage for that long. 

Pairing: Minsang - Platonic intentions but open interpretation.

Words: 3236

Warnings: Illness || Fever || Angst || Non-graphic Nightmares || Mingi Hiatus era

Inspiration: Loosely inspired by canon Minsang phone number incident. Modified events to fit into this story.

“He’s finally asleep,” Seonghwa sighs, shoulders slumped as though they may fall right out of their sockets. He exits the bedroom corridor, joining the members waiting in the living room. 

Hongjoong hangs up the phone as he emerges from the kitchen entrance, sitting around the other 6 members. “Managers said anything above 38.5 is excused from schedules. Anything over 40 and it’s a trip to the hospital.” 

“He’s still just over the 39 mark. His fever hasn’t gone lower than 38.8 all night,” Seonghwa admits, throwing himself on the couch despite the fact that it’s already occupied by the three youngest. He had volunteered to stay up with Yeosang through the night. He’s exhausted and not the least bit excited for their daily schedule, but he’s already resolved to nap on the drive to their filming location. 

Hongjoong’s already texting the manager and alerting them of Yeosang’s most recent temperature. He’s also asking (demanding) that his schedule be cleared for at least two days. Seonghwa makes himself comfortable on Wooyoung’s lap, “Even if he wasn’t excused, there’s no way he could make it through the day. He can’t even sit up on his own.” Silence falls on the room, the other occupants looking between the two eldest, unasked questions like elephants in the room. Hesitation on the tip of their tongues.

Hongjoong feels the tension like cement blocks on his shoulders. It’s his job to anticipate these things. Though no one had expected their resident Doberman (read: Maltese) to get sick, especially as quickly as he did. Regardless, his job is to make sure the members are taken care of. And their physical condition comes first. “Mingi, what’s your schedule look like?” 

“Just vocal recording.” the fellow rapper replies. Since he’s returned from hiatus, upper management has decided to ease him back into the idol lifestyle so as not to overwhelm him. He’s only had one or two simple schedules a day for two weeks now. And while he’s grateful for the accommodation, he can’t help but feel he’s not really pulling his weight for the group. But he’s talked about these feelings with his members and they’ve all reminded him that it’s best to go at this pace to avoid a relapse. And silver linings, he’s available when the members need help.

“Sangie should be fine on his own for an hour or so. Honestly, he’ll probably stay asleep most of the day since he didn’t get much last night.” Seonghwa supplies. 

Mingi realizes quickly where the conversation is headed. “I’ll look after him once I’m done with recording,” he volunteers, like it’s not already the decided answer to unasked questions. 

Wooyoung wraps his arms around Mingi’s broad shoulders, hugging him tightly, “Take care of my best friend, Minnie.” 

Mingi pats Wooyoung’s back with a wide smile. “And here I thought I was your best friend,” He says sarcastically. 

San scoffs and mutters “Get in line” to which Wooyoung’s jaw drops to the floor and the rest of the room bursts into laughter. Mingi has to admit, it’s good to be back. 

Hongjoong takes one more trip down the bedroom corridor to check on Yeosang before their managers arrive. The leader smooths out the younger’s hair and sets a few things within reach should Yeosang wake up urgently. He then joins the other members as the vans pull up in front of their dorm. Mingi gets into one van while the other six pile into the other. 

As expected, Mingi finishes his schedule quickly and he’s back to the dorm an hour later. The first thing he does after kicking off his shoes is make sure that Yeosang’s still alive. He peeks his head inside and finds the older vocalist curled up under the covers. Exactly how Hongjoong said he left him. He looks peaceful, contrary to how he’d seen Yeosang staggering through the dorm last night. After the night he knows Yeosang had, he doesn’t want to disturb him. So he softly closes the door and notifies the group chat that he’s back and Yeosang is officially in his “very capable hands.” It wouldn’t be the member’s LINE group chat if Wooyoung doesn’t make a dirty joke out of it. 

He goes back to the living room and connects his switch to the TV. There’s a game he’s been meaning to play. And usually he feels guilty playing during the day. But he figures there’s nothing else he should be doing as long as Yeosang sleeps. He’s not due for another dose of medicine yet, and Yunho prepared food to heat up if Yeosang wakes up hungry. So he leans against the back of the couch, an excited smile on his face as he boots up the game. He even remembers to turn the volume down so he could hear Yeosang call for him. 

Yeosang tosses and turns in the throes of yet another vivid fever dream. He always gets them when he’s feverish. When he was younger, they used to be filled with truly terrifying things, like clowns and cartoon monsters. And that one about bees that unsettles him to this day. But recently they are always the same plot. Now they always involve the members. Sometimes, the members are mad at him. Sometimes, he leaves the members. Sometimes there’s a tragic accident. No matter the preface, the ending always remains the same. Yeosang always ends up alone. 

This one ends with a devastating plane crash and the sight of his member’s mangled bodies. It’s the visual of San’s severed head that shocks him to consciousness. The first thing he notices is his heart beating against the wall of his chest. With enough force, it might bust through his rib cage. He tries to take a deep breath, but quickly realizes that no matter how hard he tries, the air won’t come through. His breaths are short and ragged. Then he feels cold tracks running along his cheeks. Tears. 

He reaches for where he usually keeps a water bottle next to the bed. Or, rather, he tries to. The simple action of extending his arm hurts. Every joint aches, sending signals of pain to his clouded mind. Just taking his hand from the warm encasing of the covers sends a sharp chill all the way to his spine. And suddenly his whole body feels 20 degrees below freezing. He’s still crying. 

It takes more energy than it should for Yeosang to grab the water bottle, only to find it empty. Feeling the air light bottle shatters his heart. He’s already crying, and he won’t stop anytime soon. He feels betrayed for a moment, astounded that someone would drink his water. He doesn’t remember drinking it. But he doesn’t remember much of the last 12 hours, actually. Glimpses of the last 12 hours flash through his mind. There’s only bits and pieces of members’ faces after deciding that Jongho’s lap would be a good place to rest. He should apologize to their maknae.

Rather than launch a full scale investigation on the case of the missing water, he focuses on where he’s going to find more. He’s losing water faster than he can replenish. With the sweat and the tears, he’ll risk dehydration soon. And even his fevered foggy mind knows that is something he would like to avoid. He can hear Seonghwa’s soft voice in his head: “You need to drink, Sangie. We can’t have you getting dehydrated.” So that’s where his water had gone. 

The dryness in his mouth battles the nausea swirling in his stomach. He’s somewhere between thirsty and nauseous. He needs to be hydrated, in case that swirling does result in vomiting. Has he done that yet? He can’t even remember. But the kitchen is so far away. He doesn’t think he could make it to the bedroom door. The kitchen may as well be on another continent. His lips start quivering, mustering up the reserves of his strength to venture into their suddenly too big dorm. How foolish he’s been to complain about the size of their dorm before. 

When he sits up, he spots a note on the side table. There’s a chart logging the medications he’s taking and when he needs his next dose. This had been Jongho’s diligent work after he accidentally over-medicated San when he was sick. Since then, the med table has been an absolute must in the ATEEZ dorm. They don’t need any more scares like that. Aside the medication chart, there’s a sticky note written in Hongjoong’s scratchy handwriting. He wipes the tears from his eyes so he can read it: 

I got you two days off. We’ll see how you’re feeling after that. Mingi is going to be at the dorm with you. Let him know if you need anything. Feel better. -Hyung. 

A wave of relief washes over Yeosang’s weakened body. He smiles for the first time since he’d woken up, thrilled to find he’s not alone in the dorm. Not only will Mingi be able to help him, but he doesn’t like to be alone when he’s feeling so poorly. Not that he’s ever told anyone. He knows sometimes it’s unavoidable. 

Relaxing back into the bed, Yeosang reaches for his phone to call Mingi. Just pulling the phone closer to him hurts his muscles. And the bright light of the screen has him seeing stars. A new headache pulses behind his eyes. But all he has to do is pull up Mingi’s contact and press the phone button. He can manage for that long. 

“The number you have dialed is not valid.” 

That’s not possible. He tries again. 

“The number you have dialed is not valid.” 

The relieved smile falls, and Yeosang’s eyes fill with tears again. Maybe one more time. 

“The number you have dialed is not valid.” 

And when he hears that dreaded message a third time, the tears spill again. Did Mingi block his number? Or did he turn off his phone? But Mingi’s supposed to be taking care of him. He hasn’t seen Mingi all night, if the fleeting flashbacks are anything to go by. Doesn’t Mingi care about him? Shouldn’t Mingi check in on him? He weeps at the cyclone of thoughts swirling through his clouded mind. 

He’s never craved attention so desperately. All he wants is touch. Nothing too extreme. Delicate fingers running through his hair. Maybe a steady palm on his shoulder or cool knuckles against his forehead. He just doesn’t want to be alone. In all of his nightmares, he ends up alone. But those are just nightmares. He never thought they would translate to his reality. Hopelessly, he clutches the phone close to his chest and weeps. Maybe Mingi will hear him? Maybe Mingi won’t care. 

Mingi has cleared through eight levels already. He’s hyperfocused on each mission, the game much more captivating than even the trailers made it seem. He’s so engrossed in the game, he’d nearly forgotten about Yeosang. That is, until his phone rings and he catches sight of Wooyoung’s silly selca on the screen. He instantly pauses the game and picks up the phone. 

“Song Mingi! Where are our updates!” Wooyoung screams. Based on the voice’s distance from the receiver, he assumes Wooyoung is not alone. The others are probably crowding the phone. 

Mingi startles at the question. How long has it been since he last checked on Yeosang? He’s been back for nearly three hours. He bites his lower lip. “There’s nothing to report, Woo.” He hesitates, “Sangie’s been asleep the whole time.” 

“Did his fever break yet?” 

“He didn’t even wake up for his medicine?” 

“You should wake him up. He needs to eat.” 

Mingi’s heart sinks. The members all trusted him to take care of Yeosang. He wants to contribute to the team. And he doesn’t even do that well. His mentality shifts to formulate an excuse. In his defense, he's used to having the place to himself these days. And Yeosang's been so quiet, he'd forgotten he was there. Mingi just hopes the quiet isn't a bad thing. 

“I’m sorry,” Mingi states ambiguously, “I’m going to check on him now. I’ll update the group chat.” He hangs up the call before anyone can voice their disappointment.

When he approaches the bedroom corridor, he hears the sobbing. The sound gets louder as he rushes to Yeosang’s room. He throws the door open and finds Yeosang curled into a fetal position. 

His eyes have dried up from dehydration, no more tears left to shed. But his voice still breaks with hiccuping whimpers and sobs. Mingi rushes to the bedside, falling to his knees to get as close to Yeosang without climbing into the bed with him. 

"Sang-ah. Hey, are you okay?" He asks stupidly, already knowing the answer is a blaring no. "Are you still feeling sick" like the bright red feverish flush doesn't give it away. 

Yeosang just curls tighter into himself, shaking his head. He convinces himself that there is no way Mingi is here with him now. Mingi doesn’t care about him. He must be having another fever dream. This Mingi will leave him eventually. And he’ll be alone again. 

Mingi brushes his fingers underneath Yeosang’s sweaty fringe. Yeosang almost leans into the touch, but succumbing to the comfort would just be an evil trick. “You’re burning up!” Mingi exclaims, “Bre-Breathe with me, hyung, we-we need you to calm d-down.” 

This nightmare Mingi even stutters like the real one. And now there’s a hand on his chest, and a face close to his telling him to breathe in. And hold. And breathe out. Because he’s so close, and so warm, Yeosang does. Until he his breaths even out and he can no longer hear the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. All he hears now are comforting nothings whispered in Mingi’s deep, soothing voice. And he starts to believe Mingi is more than an evil figment of his imagination. His touch is genuine. His presence is comforting. His concern is written on his features. 

Nightmares make him cry. The nightmares never cry themselves. 

“You scared me,” Mingi confesses. He presses his forehead against Yeosang’s burning skin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you. What got you so upset?”

Yeosang sorts through his mind, trying to remember why he was so worked up in the first place. But he can’t focus on anything but the spots where Mingi’s skin is on him. It’s a welcome presence, a comfortable tingling reminding him that he’s not alone. Not in his room, and not in the world. He just makes a noncommittal sound, holding his arms out to initiate more contact. 

Mingi notices Yeosang’s phone clenched tightly in his grip as he goes to hug the older. He tries to pry the phone away from Yeosang, “Silly hyung, you shouldn’t be using your phone when you’re sick.” he jokes, “You should have been resting.” 

When Mingi pulls the phone away, the memory floods him again. He had tried to call Mingi. The number you have dialed is invalid. He remembers. Mingi doesn’t care about you. He reaches for the phone again, “You didn’t answer me.” He rasps, his mouth dry and voice hoarse from disuse.

“What was that?” Mingi hadn’t heard. 

“I-I tried to call you.” Yeosang shows Mingi the phone screen, shows him the three attempted outbound calls, “I needed you.”

Mingi pulls out his own phone. He checks his call records. He has exactly zero missed calls from Yeosang. But when he looks back to Yeosang's phone, he immediately recognizes the issue. He pulls Yeosang into a tighter hug, "Oh, hyung." He sighs, "that is my old number. I had it changed while I was on leave." 

Yeosang sniffles, suddenly feeling shy. And ashamed. His fault. He should have known better. Mingi would never shut him out. He's one of Mingi's top 5 favorite hyungs. "Oh." It's a small sentiment, but it clears up everything. If it comes up again, he'll blame it on the fever. 

Mingi snatches the phone from Yeosang yet again, and this time the older relinquishes it without complaint. "Here hyung," Mingi taps at the screen, "I deleted my old number and added the new one. So it will go through the next time you call." 

Yeosang nods, a lingering pout on his lips. He's grateful for Mingi's updated number. But he doesn't really want a reason to use it. 

"Not that you'll be calling me anytime soon. Because I'm not going to leave your side until you're feeling better." The taller man climbs into the bed. Yeosang smiles, quickly wrapping himself around Mingi like he's a body pillow. "Seonghwa may try to kick me out, but he can fight me. I think I can take him." Mingi smiles, running fingers through the older's dark hair. 

Yeosang just hums in reply, quickly falling asleep to the rapper's gentle scratching. "But don't tell him I said that." Mingi's laugh is music to his ears. "Hey, are you falling asleep?" And just like that, the soothing petting stops. Much to Yeosang's dissatisfaction. "No, you can't yet. I have to give you your medicine. And food. And you still have a fever. I haven't even taken care of you yet." 

"Not hungry," Yeosang replies, muffled against Mingi's shoulder. 

"Not negotiable. The others might actually kill me if I don't pamper you like the prince you are." Now it's Yeosang's turn to laugh. But it quickly digresses into coughing. And that reminds him, he's awfully thirsty. 

"Water." The vocalist raspy once he's finished coughing, "Thirsty." 

Mingi eyes the empty water bottle on the floor. He picks the bottle up with his left hand, and scoops Yeosang up into his right side. "Don't wanna move." Yeosang whines. 

"You're not moving. I'm carrying you." Mingi rebuts. 

"Still moving." He mumbles against Mingi's neck. Despite his protest, he quickly latches on, tired arms slung around Mingi's shoulders. "Where are you taking me?" 

"The kitchen," Mingi replies like it's obvious. "You said you wanted water." 

"I want you to bring me water." 

"No. I just promised that I wouldn't leave your side. Not even for a second." Mingi's wide hand runs along his back. 

Yeosang doesn’t have the energy to argue. So he succumbs and lets Mingi carry him to the kitchen. He gulps down the water while seated on Mingi's lap. He even eats a few pieces of fruit before he all but orders Mingi to take him back to bed. Mingi takes his temperature and records it on the log. He's still teetering at the 39 mark. Yeosang takes the meds he offered then resumes cuddling with the younger rapper. Mingi makes sure he sends a photo to the group chat. 

He's nearly asleep, lulled by the rise and fall of Mingi's chest, when his eyes shoot open and he reaches for his phone. 

"Sangie, what's wrong?" Mingi asks, but Yeosang doesn't reply. He keeps tapping at the screen. The room is silent for a few seconds until Mingi's ringtone echoes through the room. Mingi picks up his phone and shows Yeosang the Hehetmon drawing on the screen. 

Yeosang ends the call, wide smile on his face as he sets the phone back and nuzzles himself into Mingi's chest again. "Just making sure." 

Mingi smirks, presses a kiss to the crown of Yeosang's head. "Sweet dreams, hyung." 

And they are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I've had this idea in my mind for a really long time. Mingi and Yeosang are my Ateez biases. I personally found the phone number incident really charming, especially the way they handled it. Also, no disrespect toward Mingi's hiatus. I have the most respect for him prioritizing himself and his health.

I feel like my writing has gone to shit. I'll keep working on it. Send me prompts to help me?

As always, thanks for reading to the end! I really appreciate each and every one of you who make it this far! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Jason clawed his way out of the nightmare like a drowning man. His head broke the surface first, face wet, gasping for air. The rest of his body was slower to follow, weighed down with fear heavy and caustic as toxic sludge. He nearly sank down again; was afraid he had before, that this was not his first attempt at consciousness. That fear shot lightning through his veins and gave him the strength to drag himself fully into the land of the living.

He lay on his back, heart pounding so hard it drove bile into his throat, and let the world slowly orbit back into recognition. There were stars above his head—green spangled across the dark, high ceiling, so faint he saw them best out of his periphery. Ursa Minor and Major. Cassiopeia. Orion. His eyes tracked them, vision smeared with wet that refilled after each swipe of the back of his hand. They were just glow-in-the-dark stick-ons, plastic for five bucks a bag. But seeing them meant he knew where he was.

Just a dream, Jason told himself. He could still feel it in the tightness in his neck, the nausea in his throat. His heart felt like it was going to explode. Jason turned his head and rubbed his tear-streaked cheek into the pillow, breathing in the subtle detergent. He knew where he was. He knew he knew where he was, knew by the stars over his head, knew by the feel of the soft sheets against his skin, knew he was safe, knew he was home, knew the horror still clinging to him wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. But he didn’t dare close his eyes again. The thought of seeing—of hearing—of feeling—

Jason was up before he had decided to move. He rolled off the side of the bed, knee catching in a half-crouch on the rug, hands still fisted into his blankets. A breeze rustled the tree outside, night air crawling through the window he must have left open. He didn’t turn back to look or to close it. Let the room keep itself. He staggered toward his door, still bent, limbs trembling, comforter wrapped around his shoulders and dragging along the ground behind him like a shadow.

The Manor waited outside the door, exactly like it should be. The hallway was quiet and dark, the darkness tight and full, but not scary. He hadn’t been scared here since those first few months, when this place was only a place. He couldn’t be scared at home, no matter how his head spun and his nerves jumped and jittered.

The clock ticked the seconds as Jason hesitated, caught between left and right, Bruce’s room and the stairs. He wanted to get Bruce so badly, to push open the cracked door, crawl into the monstrous bed, and burrow deep under the covers. He wanted to see that Bruce was okay. That they were okay. A wisp of the nightmare—blood and shouting and harsh, disgusted growls—made Jason flinch and swipe at his eyes again. The leftover anger still burbled hot and sickly in his chest.

In the end, youthful pride won out. He was getting too old, Jason thought, to cuddle up like a toddler, even though he knew Bruce would welcome him. It was one thing to do it when he was a kid, still new to having a dad who gave hugs instead of slaps, but not now. He wanted to be taken seriously, needed it like air. Just picturing himself hovering in the doorway made him feel small and awkward. Bruce wouldn’t mind, but Jason would mind, so he turned instead for the stairs and tiptoed down.

The nightmares still clung to him, as close and heavy as the comforter that kept trying to catch around one leg. Jason was no stranger to nightmares, but this one felt different. Worse. He wondered in a hazy, half-awake way if he was sick. He had to keep a hand on the wall to walk straight, and the nightmare had felt like a fever, how real but implausible it all had seemed. He couldn’t scoop the emotions out of his chest. He considered, briefly, detouring to a side bathroom to see if he could make himself vomit. Maybe puking would expunge the awful. But Jason hated vomiting more than basically anything, and somehow Alfred always knew when he was sick, and Jason was old enough now to feel bad about waking up the rest of the house. Besides, he felt like he owed it to Alfred, somehow, after that dream. Like if he couldn’t make it up to Dream Alfred, this would have to do.

Jason shuffled through the ground level, nearly blind in the dark but not needing light. By now, he knew the way by step rather than by sight. The shudders still racked up and down his limbs, big tremors like an earthquake in his marrow. Sick. Definitely sick. Which explained, too, the flashes of terror that he couldn’t seem to shake. He was trying hard not to think about his dreams at all, for fear he would remember more. Maybe this was a panic attack. He couldn’t remember what to do for those. Jason fumbled for the switch on the wall outside the den, flipping on the hall light even as he passed into the gloom of the other room. Sitting still in nothing but dark felt like a bad idea.

The den couch was the Sick Couch. He wasn’t really sure why, or if anyone else knew it, but it was. It was a relief to collapse face first into the deep, worn cushions, the hall light a harsh haze over the edge of the couch. This felt safer, somehow, than his room. Jason curled into the comforter and tried to rub away the images still flashing behind his eyes.

“Jason?”

Bruce stood in the doorway, silhouetted from behind. Jason only half-marked how quietly his name was whispered, assumed he’d somehow pinged the weird Batdar for sick and upset kids but missed Alfred’s.

It made his chest hurt more to know Bruce was here, but in a good way, like pressing on a sore muscle until the knot worked itself out. The relief did funny things to his throat. Jason sucked in a deep breath and held it, and he could’ve sworn Bruce did, too.

“Think ‘m sick,” Jason mumbled at last, when he thought he could risk speaking. His voice still wavered at the end. It would be easier if his face would stop leaking.

“You…” Bruce started to say, then stopped. The silence hung heavy and anticipatory.

It felt too much like his dreams. Jason turned his face into the cushion and tried not to wheeze.

The light disappeared, blocked by Bruce’s shoulders, and the darkness felt cool and soothing instead of horrifying.

“Are you bleeding anywhere?”

What kind of a question was that? Jason shook his head, cheek rubbing against the fabric of the couch.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Den.” The word caught in the back of his throat and came out like a dog had chewed it halfway to death. Jason coughed and tried again. “Home. The Manor.”

“Can I touch you?” Bruce asked.

Jason nodded, eyelids crushed tight.

A hand ghosted across Jason’s forehead and cheek, feeling for a flush, then lifted.

“A little warm, but not a fever,” came the pronouncement

Great, so he just felt like he was dying from the inside out for no reason.

Another hesitation, noticeable where the one before had been more surreptitious. “Why are you here?”

That was too much, somehow. Jason ground his teeth but couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears.

“Sorry, sorry,” he hiccuped, because he knew it upset Bruce when he cried, and he hated crying almost as much as throwing up, but he couldn’t stop. “I-I, I. It was a bad dream. Just a really—really crappy dream and I can’t—I can’t stop—It was awful, B. It was awful.”

This was where Bruce usually hugged him, he was pretty sure, but Bruce just stood there, and that felt like the nightmare, too. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it. But the awful, twisting, sick feeling wouldn’t stop, and he kept seeing flashes behind his eyes.

“We were fighting,” Jason gasped into the couch. He wasn’t sure how much Bruce could even understand through the tears and the cushion foam and the way he could barely catch his breath, but he needed to purge it from his system. “I don’t remember—much—” It was the way of dreams and nightmares, images and emotions and events all chucked into a cup and blended into a muddy mess with bright flashes of trauma.

“I died,” Jason managed to push out, and above him, Bruce went even stiller. “And it hurt, b-but then I didn’t, and I felt, I felt—I was so mad. And I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t—”

It had been like trying to scream but not being able to. It had been him, in his dreams, but he’d been locked inside himself, unable to stop the things that he did or said. Nothing about it made sense. Sometimes he was Robin, himself, and sometimes he was someone else. And sometimes Joker was there, or a man in a featureless black mask, or Scarecrow leering. And everything was green and he was so angry and Bruce—

“You hated me.” That had been the worst, the most violent and vivid part. He and Bruce were strangers—worse, enemies—and nothing Jason did made that hatred stop. Just thinking about it again made Jason physically gag and heave for air. “You-you-you hated me and I—” He couldn’t go on.

Jason’s name left Bruce’s mouth with a punched-out rush of air as the couch dipped beneath his weight. He should’ve just gone to Bruce’s room straight off, hang his pride, because crawling halfway into Bruce’s lap to shiver and sob was ten bajillion times more embarrassing, but Jason was so far beyond caring now.

“Jay,” Bruce said again, strangled and soft, “I could never hate you. Never.”

His hand had settled flat against Jason’s back, feather-light like a moth between his shoulder blades. It felt like the only solid thing in a room that kept spinning and spinning.

“You hated me,” Jason repeated, face pressed into the inside of Bruce’s arm now. “And I was so— so angry.”

It had scared him even in the dream, like watching a mountain erupt and knowing you couldn’t stop it or outrun it. There were other bits that were fuzzier, in the warhead radiation kind of way, shining outlines of blood and flashing fists and Bruce broken while Jason laughed. He didn’t want to remember. Just thinking about it made his stomach—

Jason jerked away sharply and retched over the side of the couch, trying desperately to aim away from Bruce’s feet. Nothing came out. He retched again for good measure to the same effect.

“Easy,” Bruce was saying. He was gripping Jason’s shoulders to keep him from rolling off the couch, fingertips digging into the meat of the muscle. When the dry heaves subsided, he rolled Jason back onto his lap.

“I’m going to check your vitals,” Bruce warned, and that was all the preparation Jason had before a fingertip peeled back his eyelid and a light flashed. He didn’t rocket off the couch, but it was a near thing.

“Sorry,” Bruce murmured, even as he checked the other eye.

Bruce said it wasn’t a fever, and Jason believed him, but he couldn’t stop shivering from head to toe, like he’d just gone five rounds with Victor. He’d been so hot in the nightmare, like he’d swallowed a fire and it was eating him from the inside out. His throat even still felt raw.

“I have something that could help, but I need you to stay here. I have to go get it,” Bruce said. He shifted like he was going to set Jason aside.

“What?!” No, no he didn’t want that. He didn’t want Bruce to go. “Why can’t Alfred?” Any guilt about waking Alf was gone, if it meant Jason wouldn’t have to sit alone in the dark. “Please, please don’t go.”

“Alfred is away,” Bruce explained. “He left with… He’s not here.”

Jason’s wrist twitched and flinched between Bruce’s fingers. He couldn’t hold it still. He had begun to cry again, unaware until Bruce let go of the pulsepoint and used the hem of the comforter to dry his tears.

“Something’s wrong,” Jason mumbled, half to himself, half to Bruce. He had burrowed down deep into his cocoon, trembling and shaking like he was two seconds away from exploding like a tin can in the microwave.

“Talk to me, Jay. Tell me what’s going on.” It wasn’t his Batman voice, not quite. There was no growl there, no bite, but it was a coaxing kind of order that Jason found hard to disobey.

“I-I feel—” He swallowed around the nausea tangled at the base of his throat, trying to gather up the words. It was like the nightmare was getting louder instead of going away. His head was so loud and his heart hurt. He’d hit Bruce in his dream. He’d thrown a fist like a sledgehammer and there had been hot, sticky blood on his knuckles.

Jason did vomit then, a productive bout over the side of the couch that he instinctively clamped his lips shut against, then gasped and gagged as the hot gack forced its way out his nose instead.

“Jay, gross,” Bruce said, sounding faintly aggrieved as he braced him over the side and let it drip to the rug. Then, even more faintly, “I forgot you did that.”

Jason didn’t have the headspace to puzzle that one out, because he was awake, but the nightmares were here now. Not physically, not like he thought Joker was here or that he was drenched in blood, but like the shadows were full and waiting and the buzz of inhuman voices in the back of his head was out of his head and out in the air, and sick wasn’t even on the table anymore. He was coming apart.

“I feel bad,” he gasped, more air than noise. “I f-f-fee-eel—”

“Okay,” Bruce was saying, like Jason was a baby in need of soothing. Like he was just upset after a nightmare, not disintegrating into nothing on the couch. Or maybe Bruce was panicking a little, because his thumb kept rubbing Jason’s arm and his breaths were spaced like they were deliberate, and that was as close as Jason knew to a Bruce on edge.

“Okay,” Bruce said again, like he was making a decision. And he was, because his arms tightened around Jason, not to lift, but to embrace, just for a second. It wasn’t enough to distract Jason from the coming-apart feeling or the hot-sick in his nose (Bruce was right, it really was gross), but it did calm him, fractionally. At least until Bruce let go.

“Hold on.” Bruce’s lips pressed to his forehead, cool and dry, and then lifted away.

Gone.

Maybe he had never been here at all.

Maybe that was a dream, maybe this was still a dream, maybe it was just the nightmare going and going, and if Jason got up and looked, he’d find heads in his bed, Bruce crumpled with a smashed-in skull, the Manor crumbling, Alfred staring at him like a ghost or a monster. Death and ruin and pain and loneliness so stark he’d do anything—anything—to escape.

Jason tipped over onto his stomach and tried to suffocate himself in tears and couch cushion. This was the worst night of his life.

He lost track of time. It could have been seconds. It felt like hours, like eons, before there were hands rolling him over, pulling his face free from the cushion, the blanket free from his head and body.

“Bruce?” Jason snuffled, nearly unintelligible even to himself.

Cool, calloused fingertips pushed up the sleeve on his right arm and pinched the muscle.

“Ow,” Jason muttered as the needle went in. He didn’t really mean it. Needles didn’t rate for much, considering, but it was the principle of the thing.

He waited for what his internal timer told him was a count of five, trying for patience when he wanted relief now. Might’ve been, might not’ve been. Time wasn’t moving like it should.

“Still, still feel,” Jason tried to choke out. Bad was the word that was supposed to come next, but he felt too much of it to get there.

“I know.”

Those same, familiar fingertips brushed the hair off his sweaty forehead and scraped nubby nails against his scalp.

“Why?” The word was almost a wail.

“Crane,” was the only explanation.

And that made total sense because Scarecrow meant fear gas and nasty stuff like this, but it made no sense, because Jason had been asleep in bed and he couldn’t even remember patrolling, but he must have…

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Bruce had wrapped Jason back up in the cocoon of blankets and dragged him so he was lying with one of Bruce’s arms cradling him against his chest and it was just… just the best place he could think of being. All of Arkham could come charging into the den, and Jason wouldn’t care, because he was safe. Stupid Crane.

Jason kept his eyes closed and tried to shut himself down, bit by bit, until he was just the little spark of consciousness in his chest. No trembling. No nausea. No fear galloping like wildebeest. No awareness of shadows or phantom laughter. He. Wasn’t. Here.

But he could hear Bruce’s heartbeat, bass-deep against his ear, thundering steady and sure. He could smell the lavender of the comforter, the same scent that carried through the whole house. He could feel a fingertip, with the lightest of touches, trace a line around his face, across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, back again. No one was bleeding. No one was dead. No one was angry.

He still felt like crap, though. That didn’t go away immediately. But Jason had been a sick kid with a drugged-out mom, a sick kid with a dead mom, and this. He preferred this.

Somehow, he must have drifted, slipped into a sleep without dreams, because when he came to, he was alone on the couch. Before he had time to panic, however, Bruce’s voice filtered in from the doorway.

“–found him,” Jason heard Bruce say, in a voice pitched not to carry. “In the den. Yes. Yes.”

Jason didn’t try hard to listen, so the words ebbed and flowed around him like a receding tide, catching up meaning and then dragging it away. He didn’t hear anyone else and took too long to realize Bruce must be on the phone.

“Through his bedroom window,” Bruce was saying, and then there was a long silence, tense in a way that meant Dick was on the other end, living up to his name. “We’re fine.”

“With Alfred. Yes.” The pauses weren’t long, so either Dick the dick wasn’t saying much or Bruce was cutting him off. Good. Jason was sick, Jason should be getting the attention.

“—take effect soon. He’s asleep right now. Tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem.” That sounded suspiciously un-Bruce in a way Jason couldn’t pinpoint. He was distracted from puzzling it out by Bruce’s heavy sigh.

“Dick,” Bruce said, sounding more tired than Jason had ever heard him be. “I know. Just… Just let me have this.”

Bruce didn’t just sound tired. He sounded sad. Weird! Really weird! In a way Jason did not like!

From the couch, Jason gave a performative cough and groan that turned into a real groan when parts of him decided to reconnect. His head, for instance, decided that right now was a good time to make him feel like he was stuck in one of Hatter’s teacup traps.

He heard Bruce end the call, and then that blissfully cool shadow was falling across his face again.

“Jay?”

Shut up, I’m sleeping, crossed his mind as a reply. I keep thinking about dying, was another.

Instead, he untangled one arm from the comforter and blindly held out a hand. His reward was the feeling of Bruce’s hand sliding into his. Strange, it felt smaller, somehow. Still huge, because it was Bruce and Bruce had hands that looked normal but were actually gorilla paws, but… smaller than Jason remembered them feeling. Maybe Jason had hit a growth spurt. He’d have to ask Alfred to measure him.

Bruce hadn’t moved. Jason opened one eye to squint up at the silhouette. “B?” The whys were there, waiting to be spoken. Why had Dick called? Why were they fighting? Why did Bruce seem so sad?

Bruce sighed, soft and weary like cloth worn down to frayed threads. “Tomorrow, Jaylad,” he said, and pressed his lips to Jason’s forehead again. “Tomorrow.”

Jason pondered all this sleepily, fretfully, as Bruce held his hand and levered him up just enough to sit down. But once Jason was lying down again, head on Bruce’s leg, fingers tangled with his dad’s, he didn’t care. Because sleep was calling, and he was safe. He was home.

Anything else was a problem for tomorrow.

[caspersickfanfics]

Late Arrival Chapter 2

Read Chapter 1 Here

This was written to fill @monthofsick day 14: Can't Keep Anything Down

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, fever, nightmare mention, slight anxiety, bad jokes

Anon asked:

Could I make a request for can’t keep anything down with sick Cyno? I feel like Tighnari would try really hard to get him to eat or stay hydrated or try some home remedies but…Cynos stomach just can’t handle it right now…

Tighnari wakes, warm and cozy, curled up against Cyno, only because of his alarm. There’s a moment of disorientation, confusion because he isn’t in his own bed or even in his own home. He doesn’t often use an alarm, instead rising with the birds and the sun. There’s no birdsong, here. Only background noise from the city, and Cyno’s labored breathing.

The sound brings Tighnari both clarity and concern. He remembers why he set the alarm while in the process of blearily shutting it off. With heavy limbs, he stumbles around the place until he manages to grab a glass of water and some medicine from his own belongings, which still rest in a messy pile near the door.

When he returns to the bedroom, he hesitates. He loathes to disrupt Cyno’s rest. If he ignores the rattle in the his airways, the sweat on his temples, and the way his whole body occasionally shivers, the matra looks peaceful. It’s reassuring to see him relaxed to this degree. Outside of playing cards and eating meals, the two of them often spend their precious little time together snuggling or napping for this very reason. With the intensity of their jobs, they both struggle to unwind. For Tighnari, at least, there’s something about watching his partner sleep that helps rebuild a sense of safety. He can convince himself that nothing bad will happen to either of them when they’re wrapped up in blankets together, secure enough to close their eyes and sometimes, now, even dream.

Still, the last thing Tighnari wants is to let his sentimentality get in the way of what is necessary. Cyno is a light sleeper - that he slept through the alarm is moderately disquieting - so Tighnari traces the soft lines of the sick man’s face with a hovering touch and scratches his head. He barely stirs.

“Cyno,” Tighnari speaks quietly, absently teasing white hair. The fever has risen. His voice is an odd pitch and louder than he intended when he speaks again. “Hey, Cyno. Wake up.”

There’s an incoherent mumble, muffled by blanket. Tighnari peels layers of off him and Cyno makes a noise of distaste.

“I know.” A slight note of regret shimmers in the air, but apology loses in the war against pragmatism, at least for Tighnari. “We need to get your fever down.”

“’s too cold,” the matra slurs. His hands grasp at the air blindly, no doubt seeking the covers.

Tighnari nods and helps him to sit up. “Chills,” he explains. “From the fever.” He mixes the medicine in - a natural herbal powder that’s meant to lower and stabilize body temperature - before handing the glass over. “This might taste a bit odd, but it should help. Do you think you can keep medicine down right now?”

Cyno nods, looking suspiciously more determined than he does confident. His hands shake as he takes the glass, so Tighnari helps guide it to his lips. “Drink slowly. Just a few sips is enough.”

“A few sips” is all it takes for Cyno to clamp his mouth tightly shut. His throat bobs threateningly and he leans back, eyes closed. He’s clearly trying to keep his stomach under control, but he’s so feverish that he can hardly hold his head up.

“Breathe in through your nose. Slowly,” Tighnari instructs. He reaches for the trashcan beside the bed and pulls it close. When Cyno lurches forward with an aborted heave, tears escaping out of the corners of his eyes, Tighnari sighs and lifts the bin onto the bed.

“It’s okay, Cyno.” He brushes sweaty hair away from his partner’s face. Cyno shakes his head and Tighnari can’t help but smile fondly. Stubborn as usual. Sure enough, though, it doesn’t take long before a coughing fit racks Cyno’s body. Tighnari helps him lean forward and rubs his back, wincing as he begins to retch. Inevitably, the fluids come right back up, splattering against the plastic. Cyno continues to gag, his body straining unforgivingly until there’s another splash of liquid. He groans, shudders, and flops back onto the pillow behind him. “I’m sorry,” he sniffles miserably, rubbing at wet eyes and coughing weakly. 

“Hey,” Tighnari looks at him sternly. “It’s not your fault. The medicine must have been too much.”

Cyno might agree, if he had the energy, but he’s too busy trying to prevent his teeth from chattering.

“I’m going to get some plain water. When you’re ready, we can try that, okay?” 

Tighnari looks painfully hopeful, but Cyno can’t even bring himself to nod. His stomach aches, hollow and angry. Now that it’s been upturned, it refuses to settle. He’s left burping up rancid air, drool pooling in his mouth until he’s spitting it into the waste bin. He’s suffering through lingering dry heaves when his partner returns.

“Oh, no.” There’s a clink as Tighnari puts the glass aside in favor of rubbing Cyno’s back through each painful retch. It’s a sweet gesture, both grounding and comforting. It’s nice not to be alone. Tighnari nudges him and offers a glass of water once his stomach lets up. “Just rinse your mouth out, for now.”

It doesn’t take the nausea away by any means - queasy tremors still rattle through him relentlessly - but Cyno feels moderately more human once the nasty taste has lessened. His eyelids droop. 

“Cyno, honey,” Tighnari says. Cyno’s thoughts are a fog of confusion, but his chest warms pleasantly. It’s not common for Tighnari to use terms of endearment, even when they’re alone. The mood is quickly dampened by his next words. “Do you feel up to a bit of water?”

Cyno can’t help the pitiful whine that escapes him. “Sleep.” He’s halfway to begging and hates how fragile his voice sounds. Then Tighnari’s hand is weaving through his hair, feeling like salve on a burn wound.

“Soon,” Tighnari agrees. “Drink this first?”

If Cyno were to firmly resist, he knows that Tighnari wouldn’t force him. He also knows that Tighnari is worried. He breathes slowly and manages a few sips. 

Instantly, the water sloshes in his stomach. That persistent chill is replaced as his body warms over uncomfortably, pricks of sweat forming on his temples. He closes his eyes and hands the glass back to Tighnari, feeling the forest watcher’s eyes on him all the while. Cyno suppresses a heave. 

Exhaustion weighs heavy upon him; he can fall back asleep, he thinks, and then it will be fine. Surely, it will stay down. That’s all he really needs - just a bit of water in his system to prevent dehydration, to reassure Tighnari. Tired as he is, sleep takes him quickly enough.

———

The next time he wakes, it's brief. No more than an hour has passed. Cyno is dizzy. He feels ill. He’s hardly aware of his surroundings. He doesn’t hear Tighnari asking if he’s okay, so he doesn’t respond. His stomach dips, and burning liquid hurtles up his throat, out his mouth and nose. Some clarity returns to him, then. He’s made a mess. His bare chest is sticky. He thinks he might be crying, because Tighnari is soothing him with great care, wiping him down with towels. Cyno is cold again, and very saddened to find that he still has no covers. “I’m sorry,” he hears Tighnari say, and then the world drifts away.

———

Tighnari watches Cyno curl onto his side, trembling, and aches. He massages the sick man’s back. Any patient unable to keep fluids down for going on six hours, at a minimum, is concerning, regardless of whether a bond with an otherworldly being enhances their body’s general durability. Tighnari’s expertise in first aid only goes as far as the tools he has at his disposal. If, for example, intravenous fluid administration becomes a necessity, he’ll have to drag Cyno to the Bimarstan, kicking and screaming - maybe literally, with the near-delirious state he’s in. Considering his traumatic history with Akademiya “medicine,” his reluctance is justified. In all fairness, Tighnari is also not fond of the idea, for reasons of his own. The Bimarstan is truly a last resort.

“We need to get your fever down,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He isn’t sure Cyno can hear him, but he gives him one final head scratch before standing. “I’ll be right back.”

By the time Tighnari returns with lukewarm water and a few clean towels, Cyno has drifted off again. Even in sleep, his body shivers. “This is probably going to feel cold to you,” Tighnari warns. He’s relieved when, as he places a wet towel on his forehead, Cyno only shifts slightly. For the next few minutes, Tighnari works to cool the matra’s skin with the additional towels, careful not to dampen the bed.

There’s little to do after that but wait and repeat the process roughly every hour. The time passes slowly. Tighnari cleans the trash bin out and tidies the apartment. He makes mint tea, and then soup. He writes Collei and Kaveh with updates: he plans to stay in the city for at least another three days to ensure Cyno’s full recovery, and may stay longer if necessary. He entrusts Collei and a few other forest watchers to assist in covering his duties while he’s away. Tighnari aches a bit, thinking about Gandharva Ville, and he drifts back to Cyno’s side to, once again, simply watch him sleep.

This time, though, his brow is furrowed, teeth clenched. His body tenses and curls further inwards. When Tighnari touches his shoulder, he wakes with a gasp.

“You’re okay.” Tighnari speaks softly, watching the other man attentively. He’s still tense and breathless, but he nods. He’s trying to play it off. Tighnari lets him. He waits, giving Cyno space to calm his body.

“I’m okay,” Cyno echoes, simultaneously reaching for his hand. The forest watcher offers it without comment and waits for Cyno’s breath to returns to a more normal speed. Despite the nightmare, Cyno looks better. More lucid, certainly. Tighnari touches his wrist. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Cyno says, smiling. “‘m still sleepy.”

Tighnari nods, a sigh of relief shaking its way out of him. “I would expect so. Your body is healing, after all.” He checks Cyno’s temperature and is pleased to find that, though the fever is still there, it has definitely improved since a few hours ago. Cyno drinks water without complaint and appears unfazed afterwards. Rest really can work wonders.

“Tighnari,” Cyno speaks slowly. “Can the stomach flu impact your memory?” The question instantly shoots fear back through Tighnari’s veins; as though it never really left. His chest feels tight and his brows furrow.

“Well, you did have quite a high fever, which can have that effect, although it’s highly unusual and would be cause for concern. Why? What’s going on?”

Cyno’s expression changes minutely. He doesn’t smile, but the glimmer in his eye is the equivalent of a smirk. Tighnari realizes what’s coming a second too late to interject. “It’s just that, I once heard a pun about amnesia, but I can’t remember how it goes.”

Tighnari groans. He knows his expression is blatantly fond, so he hides his face in his hands. It’s reassuring that Cyno is joking again - albeit less so that it may be at the cost of Tighnari’s sanity.

“What?” Cyno continues. “A little joke when you're sick never hurt antibody.”

“Stop.”

“Fine. I have a joke about the flu but I’d hope you don’t “get it,” anyway.”

Tighnari gives up. He rolls his eyes and simply doesn’t respond, letting Cyno rattle off some justification as to why puns are hilarious. The frustrating thing is that the jokes really have relaxed him, which was no doubt their intended purpose; silly as it is, hearing Cyno back to his usual antics has eased some tension that Tighnari hadn’t even noticed building inside him. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. For once, though, he doesn’t cut Cyno’s explanation short, content letting the words wash over him, even if he pays little attention to the meaning behind them. Cyno looks tired but proud as he wraps up his little speech, and Tighnari doesn’t hide his affection this time.

It’s only another 30 minutes or so before Cyno falls back asleep, but he’s been able to keep the water and a bowl of soup down for the duration. With the worst of his worries placated, the exhaustion catches up to Tighnari all at once. He snuggles in next to Cyno. If he can’t stay awake to watch him rest, then sleeping right beside him is the next best thing.

———

Chapter 3

———

If you enjoyed the fic, feel free to let me know by replying directly to this post, by sending me an ask, or by sharing your thoughts with me privately and anonymously through this survey! Thank you so much for reading!!