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sicknessbysalem · 3 months ago

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Day Eight: “The Closest Doctor is Probably Hours From Here” | Sicktember 2024

I am once again posting a fic thats more puke with plot and less prompt adherence but can still feasibly fit the prompt if only barely.

its not wlw, it is cis woman x nonbinary lesbian so… yeehaw (i’m going to have some sick wlw fics this month! At least two… not counting the next one i have with meadow and river, this time sick meadow .)

if you have any requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, chronic stomach issues, anxiety, vague references to trained behavior due to bad situations

Meadow’s car pulled up in front of River’s apartment, the soft rumble of the engine blending with the distant hum of city life. The day was warm, with sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees lining the street, casting dappled shadows on the pavement. Meadow had the windows rolled down, allowing the gentle breeze to play with the strands of her sun-kissed hair, a peaceful smile gracing her lips as she spotted River waiting by the door.

River stood with their hands tucked into the pockets of their worn, dark hoodie, the fabric frayed at the edges from countless washes. They were a stark contrast to Meadow’s vibrant energy, their alternative style blending seamlessly with the more muted tones of the city. As Meadow approached with her usual lightness, River couldn’t help but feel a knot tightening in their stomach, an unease they couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t the trip itself—they trusted Meadow, and they liked April and Arizona well enough—but the idea of stepping into a family dynamic, something they had never really experienced, felt foreign and unnerving.

Meadow greeted them with a warm hug, her scent a mix of lavender and something sweet, grounding in a way that River desperately needed at that moment. They forced a smile, hoping it reached their eyes, not wanting Meadow to worry. She was always so in tune with the world around her, so full of life and color, and River didn’t want to dampen that with their own anxieties.

“Ready to hit the road?” Meadow asked, her voice as bright as the morning sun.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” River replied, their voice steady, though the fluttering in their stomach betrayed them. They threw their duffel bag into the back seat and slid into the passenger side, leaning back as Meadow started the car again.

As they pulled onto the highway, the city began to fade into the background, replaced by sprawling landscapes and the open road. River tried to relax, focusing on the music Meadow had chosen—a mix of indie folk and mellow rock, a playlist they’d made together a few weeks back. But the further they drove, the more that uneasy feeling in River’s gut seemed to grow, a gnawing discomfort that wasn’t just about nerves anymore.

The winding mountain roads didn’t help. The sharp turns and sudden dips made River feel as though their insides were being twisted and pulled in all directions. They kept their gaze fixed out the window, hoping the passing scenery would distract them, but the constant motion only made the queasiness worse. They could feel a cold sweat beginning to form at the back of their neck, their skin prickling with unease.

“Are you okay?” Meadow’s voice broke through River’s focus, soft and filled with concern.

River forced a nod, their grip tightening slightly on the door handle. “Yeah, just… getting used to the roads, I guess. I’m not really used to all these curves.”

Meadow glanced at them, her brow furrowing slightly, but she didn’t push. “We can stop if you need to, you know. No rush.”

River shook their head. “I’m fine, really. Just excited to get there.”

But even as they said it, River could feel their body rebelling against them, a low nausea settling in their stomach, making them swallow hard. They couldn’t let this ruin the weekend, couldn’t be the one who needed extra attention. They’d just have to tough it out, keep it together until they reached the cabin, and hope that once they were out of the car, the unease would fade away.

The cabin was cozy and inviting, with the scent of wood smoke lingering in the air from the fireplace. River couldn’t help but feel a small wave of relief wash over them as they walked in. April had already made herself at home in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she prepared a pot of tea. Arizona was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through a magazine but glancing up with a smile when Meadow and River entered.

“Hey, you two finally made it! How was the drive?” Arizona asked, her tone light and welcoming.

“Long, but we’re here now,” Meadow replied, setting down the bags. She shot River a reassuring smile.

“Good to have you both here,” April chimed in, looking over her shoulder with a warm expression. “I’ve got some herbal tea going if anyone wants a cup before bed. It’s supposed to help with sleep.”

“Sounds perfect,” Meadow said, slipping her hand into River’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. “What do you think, River? Tea before bed?”

River nodded, the motion making their head swim slightly. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

They joined Arizona on the couch, sinking into the cushions and trying to ignore the queasiness still simmering in their stomach. Meadow sat beside them, her presence comforting even though River felt distant, trapped in the growing discomfort they were trying so hard to conceal.

The conversation flowed around them like a gentle current, with Meadow and Arizona bantering about an upcoming music festival and April chiming in with motherly advice about staying hydrated and not forgetting sunscreen. River listened, nodding occasionally, but their responses were muted, more out of politeness than engagement.

Meadow’s hand had not left River’s. While she talked, River felt her hand move theirs when she started gesturing to speak, as if forgetting they were holding hands, or that River was an extension of Meadow. Rover didn’t mind, they never minded that.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, River,” April noted, her voice kind but probing. “Everything okay?”

River’s heart skipped a beat, but they forced a small smile. “Yeah, just a bit tired. It’s been a long day.”

“They had a gig last night, I think I woke them up to get us here,” Meadow giggled. River loved Meadow’s giggle.

April nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Well, you’re welcome to rest as much as you need. We’re just glad you could come with us.”

“Thanks, April,” River murmured, their voice barely above a whisper.

The tea was served, and River accepted a cup, the warmth of it soothing in their hand even though their stomach churned at the thought of drinking it. They took a small sip, the herbal flavors soft on their tongue, but it did little to ease the growing unease within them.

As the minutes ticked by, the conversation continued, but River felt increasingly detached, their focus shifting inward as the nausea intensified.

Finally, April stretched and yawned, signaling the end of the evening. “I think it’s about time we all get some rest. We’ve got a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Meadow said, setting her empty cup down and turning to River. “Ready for bed?”

River nodded, their relief barely hidden. “Yeah, definitely.”

They all headed upstairs to their respective rooms, with April giving them each a goodnight hug before disappearing into her room with Arizona. Meadow led River into the guest room they’d be sharing, the space cozy with soft, mismatched blankets and a couple of old lamps casting a warm glow.

River set down their bag, trying to ignore the way the room seemed to tilt slightly as they moved. The dizziness was getting worse, and now that they were away from the others, it was harder to mask how poorly they were feeling. They unzipped their bag, rummaging through it with increasing frustration as they realized their mistake.

“Damn it,” River muttered under their breath.

“What’s wrong?” Meadow asked, her voice laced with concern as she turned from the bed.

River hesitated, not wanting to worry her. “Nothing, just forgot to pack something.”

“Do you need it? Maybe we can get it tomorrow if it’s important,” Meadow suggested, her brow furrowed, “I think momma wants to go into town tomorrow afternoon.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” River quickly replied, forcing a smile. “I’ll be okay without it.”

Meadow didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t push the issue. “Alright, if you’re sure. Let’s just get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”

River nodded, grateful that she didn’t press further. As Meadow got ready for bed, River moved more slowly, the dizziness making every movement feel sluggish and disorienting. By the time they slid under the covers, the nausea was a constant, gnawing presence in their gut, and they prayed that sleep would come quickly and take it all away.

“Goodnight, love,” Meadow whispered, leaning over to kiss River’s forehead.

“Goodnight,” River whispered back, closing their eyes and hoping that the darkness would bring some relief. But as they lay there, the nausea didn’t fade; instead, it seemed to tighten its grip, making it difficult to relax. River tried to focus on their breathing, on the sound of Meadow’s steady breaths beside them, but it felt like their body was conspiring against them.

They didn’t want to ruin this weekend. They didn’t want Meadow to worry, or for April and Arizona to see them as a burden. So they swallowed down the rising discomfort, forcing themselves to stay still, to keep their breathing even, to pretend that everything was okay.

But deep down, they knew that this night was going to be much longer than they had hoped.

River lay on their back, staring up at the ceiling as the soft sounds of Meadow’s breathing filled the room. Meadow had drifted off to sleep easily, her hand resting gently on River’s arm, a touch that normally would have been comforting but now only served as a reminder of how restless River felt. The darkness of the room seemed to press in on them, making the gnawing nausea in their stomach all the more unbearable.

Every time they closed their eyes, the dizziness intensified, the room spinning slightly in a way that made it impossible to relax. River’s breaths were shallow, each one taken with the hope that it might settle the churning in their gut, but instead, the sensation only grew worse. It felt as though their stomach was a tight coil, wound so tight it was on the verge of snapping.

They shifted slightly, trying to find a position that might ease the discomfort, but every movement seemed to jostle their stomach further, sending another wave of nausea washing over them. Their mouth felt dry, and they swallowed hard, willing the sick feeling to go away, but it was relentless, gnawing at them with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

Beside them, Meadow stirred slightly in her sleep, her hand sliding off River’s arm and curling against her chest. River’s heart ached at the sight, knowing how much Meadow had looked forward to this weekend, how much she wanted River to feel like part of the family. But all River could focus on was the sickening feeling growing inside them, the way their body was betraying them at the worst possible time.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last, until finally, River couldn’t take it anymore. They gently slipped out from under the covers, moving slowly so as not to disturb Meadow. For a moment, they sat on the edge of the bed, head in their hands, trying to steady the dizziness that had become a constant companion. The cold floor beneath their feet was a small relief, grounding them just enough to muster the energy to stand.

The room felt suffocating, the air thick and heavy as River made their way to the bathroom. They moved cautiously, each step sending a tremor through their body, as if even the slightest misstep might tip them over the edge. When they reached the bathroom, they quietly closed the door behind them, the click of the latch echoing in the small space.

The bathroom was dimly lit by the soft glow of a nightlight, casting long shadows on the walls. River leaned heavily against the sink, gripping the cool porcelain edge with trembling hands. They closed their eyes, taking a deep breath in through their nose, trying to push the nausea back down, but it was no use. The sick feeling surged forward, relentless and overpowering.

River’s stomach twisted painfully, and they felt their throat tighten in response, the unmistakable sign that this was more than just a passing wave of nausea. Their body was done fighting, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

They barely had time to reach the toilet before their body heaved violently, forcing up the contents of their stomach with a sudden, painful intensity. River braced themselves against the cold porcelain, their knees hitting the tiled floor as another wave of nausea gripped them, leaving them no choice but to give in to the sickness.

The sound of their retching was muffled, but the force behind it was undeniable, each heave tearing through them with a ferocity that left them breathless. Quiet or not, it hurt. It was hard and violent on River. Maybe more so as River tried not to make so much noise.

River squeezed their eyes shut, trying to keep as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake Meadow or alert anyone else in the cabin. They bit down on their lip, stifling the sounds that threatened to escape, even as their stomach continued to revolt.

The bitter taste of bile burned their throat, and they coughed weakly, trying to catch their breath between bouts of vomiting. Tears pricked at the corners of their eyes, both from the physical strain and the overwhelming sense of defeat that washed over them. This wasn’t how the weekend was supposed to go. They were supposed to be part of the family, enjoying the peace and warmth that Meadow’s found family offered, not curled up on the bathroom floor, fighting off waves of nausea that left them trembling and weak.

River was used to episodes. And maybe they shouldn’t have expected anything else. Half the time the episodes happened at the worst possible times.

When the worst of it finally subsided, River slumped back against the wall, their breathing ragged and uneven. They wiped the back of their hand across their mouth, feeling the clammy sweat on their skin, their body shaking from the exertion. The room spun around them, and they had to close their eyes to keep from losing their sense of orientation completely.

For a few moments, they just sat there, trying to gather the strength to stand up. Their stomach still churned unpleasantly, but the violent urge to be sick had passed, leaving them feeling drained and hollow. They knew they couldn’t stay there all night, not without raising suspicion, but the thought of standing and walking back to the bedroom felt like an impossible task.

Finally, with great effort, River pushed themselves up to their feet, gripping the sink for support. They stared at their reflection in the mirror, pale and drawn, their eyes shadowed with exhaustion. It was obvious, even to them, that something was wrong, but they were determined not to let it show.

River turned on the faucet, rinsing their mouth out and splashing cold water on their face. The coolness was a small comfort, but it did little to alleviate the lingering nausea that still gripped them. They took a few more deep breaths, willing themselves to pull it together, to get through the night without anyone knowing.

When they finally felt steady enough, River turned off the light and quietly slipped back into the bedroom. Meadow was still fast asleep, her breathing slow and even, completely unaware of the turmoil that had just played out in the next room.

River slid back into bed as gently as possible, careful not to disturb her. They pulled the covers up around themselves, curling up on their side, facing away from Meadow. Their stomach still felt unsettled, but they were too exhausted to do anything more than close their eyes and hope for sleep to take them.

River had finally managed to drift off into a fitful sleep, the exhaustion from their earlier ordeal temporarily overriding the discomfort that still gnawed at their insides. But the rest was short-lived. After what felt like only moments, River stirred again, a sickening sensation rolling through their stomach, pulling them from the fragile grip of sleep.

Their eyes fluttered open, the darkness of the room heavy and suffocating. The nausea that had been a dull throb earlier now surged with a vengeance, a relentless wave that left River no choice but to get up and move. They needed to get out of bed, needed to be anywhere but lying down where the sickness could take hold of them fully.

River shifted carefully, trying to slide out from under the covers without disturbing Meadow, but the movement, however gentle, was enough to rouse her. As River swung their legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, a hand touched their arm, a soft, sleepy voice following.

“River?” Meadow’s voice was thick with sleep, but there was concern laced in it as well. “Where are you going?”

River froze for a moment, their heart pounding in their chest, both from the nausea and the fear of being caught. “Bathroom,” they managed to mutter, their voice strained. “Just need a minute.”

Meadow’s hand slipped away, but the bed creaked as she sat up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice clearer now, more alert.

River didn’t answer, their focus already shifting to the growing urgency in their stomach. They moved quickly, more out of instinct than anything, crossing the room in a few unsteady steps and pushing the bathroom door open with trembling hands. They barely registered Meadow following them, the concern in her eyes hidden by the shadows, as they stumbled to the toilet, their legs threatening to give out beneath them.

As soon as River was kneeling on the cold tile, the nausea hit them with full force, their body convulsing as they heaved into the toilet. It was a quiet, almost eerie sound—no loud retching or gasping for breath, just a strained, barely audible expulsion as their body rid itself of what little was left in their stomach. River gripped the sides of the toilet, their knuckles white as they tried to keep from collapsing, their entire body shaking from the effort.

Meadow hovered in the doorway for a moment, her heart sinking as she watched River’s body tremble with each silent heave. She could barely hear the sound of them being sick, the quietness of it making her chest tighten with worry. Meadow moved forward, her bare feet making soft sounds on the cool tile as she approached River, crouching down beside them. The only reason she even knew River was vomiting was the way it splashed in the toilet.

“Oh… Riv,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, reaching out to place a hand on their back. River flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away, their body too focused on the task at hand.

“It’s okay, love. I’m right here,” Meadow murmured, rubbing small, soothing circles on their back, trying to offer some comfort despite the helplessness she felt. She hated seeing River like this, so vulnerable and sick, but she knew better than to overwhelm them with questions or fussing. River had always been private about their struggles, and Meadow respected that, even now. She brushed a few strands of hair behind River’s ear before rubbing her back.

River didn’t respond, their focus entirely on the quiet but intense battle with their stomach. Another wave hit them, and they hunched over the toilet, their breath hitching as they silently retched again, the sound barely more than a soft splash in the water. Meadow felt the tension in their muscles, the way their body shuddered with each heave, and her heart ached for them.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Meadow whispered, keeping her hand steady on River’s back, grounding them as best she could. “Just breathe, you’re doing great.”

River’s breathing was ragged, each breath coming in shallow gasps as they fought against the nausea that refused to let up. The dizziness from earlier had returned with a vengeance, making the room tilt and spin around them. They squeezed their eyes shut, trying to block out the disorienting sensation, but it only seemed to make the nausea worse.

Meadow’s presence was a small comfort, her touch soothing even as River’s body continued to betray them. They wanted to say something, to reassure her that they were okay, but the words caught in their throat, replaced by another sickening wave that forced them to lean forward again. This time, they were almost too weak to hold themselves up, their body trembling with the effort it took to keep from collapsing completely.

Meadow noticed the change, the way River seemed to sag against the toilet, and she gently shifted closer, her other arm wrapping around their shoulders to steady them. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. “Just let it out, don’t hold back.”

River’s body responded to her words, another quiet but forceful heave wracking their frame as they clung to the toilet, their breaths coming in shaky, uneven gasps. It was a battle they were clearly losing, each wave of nausea leaving them weaker, more drained, but they fought against the urge to give in completely, their mind a blur of exhaustion and discomfort.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, the heaving began to subside, leaving River panting and spent. They slumped forward, resting their forehead against the cool porcelain, their body trembling from the exertion. The nausea hadn’t fully gone away, but the worst of it seemed to have passed, leaving them feeling hollow and light-headed.

Meadow stayed close, her hand still on River’s back, offering silent support as she waited for them to catch their breath. She knew River well enough to know that they hated feeling this way, hated being seen like this, but she wasn’t about to leave them to suffer alone.

When River finally found the strength to sit back, they leaned heavily against the wall, their eyes closed as they tried to steady their breathing. Meadow reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from their face, her touch tender and reassuring.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Meadow said softly, sensing that River was too exhausted to speak. “Just breathe, okay? You’re safe, I’m here.”

River nodded weakly, their eyes still closed, focusing on the rhythm of their breath and the warmth of Meadow’s hand on their cheek. They felt like they could finally breathe again, the nausea still present but no longer the overwhelming force it had been just moments ago.

For a long while, they sat there in silence, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the night beyond the cabin walls. Meadow stayed by River’s side, her presence a steady anchor in the storm that had just passed, her touch grounding them in a way that words never could.

Eventually, Meadow leaned in closer, her voice a gentle whisper in the quiet. “Do you want to try going back to bed, or would you rather stay here for a bit?”

River opened their eyes slowly, the room coming back into focus as they considered her question. They felt drained, their body heavy with exhaustion, but the thought of returning to the bed, to the warmth and safety of Meadow’s arms, was too comforting to resist.

“Bed,” River murmured, their voice hoarse and weak. “I just… I just want to lie down.”

Meadow nodded, helping them up from the floor with a gentleness that made River’s heart ache with gratitude. She kept a steady hand on their arm as they moved back to the bedroom, guiding them with care, as if afraid they might collapse again at any moment.

When they finally made it back to bed, Meadow helped River settle under the covers, tucking the blanket around them before sliding in beside them. She pulled them close, wrapping her arms around River in a protective embrace, as if shielding them from the world.

“Is that what you were looking for earlier? Your medicine?” Meadow asked curiously.

River nodded, lacing their fingers with Meadow’s.

“Yeah, I thought I grabbed it…” River said, “It’s fine. It’ll pass on its own…”

“Any trigger in particular this time?” Meadow asked, “Sometimes it gets triggeres, sometimes it happens…”

“Not that I can think of,” River shook their head, “Only thing out of the ordinary is being here.”

“Maybe your anxiety then? You probably also got motion sick a bit on the way up… bad combination that sent you into overdrive,” Meadow suggested.

River let out a shaky breath, their body relaxing into Meadow’s warmth, the last remnants of nausea slowly fading into the background. They shrugged to that suggestion, “It’s possible… I mean getting motion sick as is has triggered this before so… maybe.”

“Poor thing,” Meadow sighed, kissing the side of their head. They closed their eyes, the darkness now a welcome relief, knowing that Meadow was there, holding them close, watching over them as they drifted back into a much-needed sleep.

“Thank you,” River whispered, their voice barely audible, but Meadow heard it, felt the sincerity behind the words.

“Always,” she whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to their temple. “I’m here. Always.”

And with that, River finally allowed themselves to let go, to surrender to the exhaustion that pulled at them, knowing that no matter what, they were safe in Meadow’s arms.

The night had been long and restless for River. They had been up again, the nausea returning in waves that left them weak and drained. Meadow had been by their side through it all, offering quiet support, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm that River’s body seemed determined to put them through.

After a few more bouts of sickness, River had finally managed to find some relief, the nausea easing just enough to allow them to return to bed. Meadow had helped them settle back under the covers, her touch gentle and reassuring.

“Just try to rest,” Meadow had whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from River’s forehead. “I’m right here.”

River had nodded weakly, their eyelids heavy with exhaustion. It wasn’t long before they drifted off, their breathing evening out as they succumbed to sleep. Meadow had stayed by their side, holding them close, her own worries fading as she listened to the steady rhythm of River’s breath.

The night passed slowly, with Meadow dozing off for a few hours, her body finally relaxing after the long, anxious night. When she woke, the early morning light was just beginning to filter through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. River was still asleep, their face peaceful, though there was a slight tension around their eyes, a lingering sign of the rough night they’d endured.

Meadow slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb River. She padded softly across the room, glancing back to make sure they were still resting peacefully before she left the room and headed for the kitchen. Her mind was already on what she could do to help ease River’s discomfort when they woke up—perhaps some tea, something gentle that might soothe their unsettled stomach.

The kitchen was quiet when Meadow entered, the early morning stillness comforting after the long night. She moved to the stove, setting a kettle on to boil, her thoughts focused on River and how to make them as comfortable as possible. She reached for the loose-leaf tea that she knew would help��chamomile, with a touch of ginger—and began preparing it, her movements slow and deliberate, almost meditative.

As the kettle began to whistle softly, Meadow poured the hot water over the tea, the fragrant steam rising up to fill the kitchen with a soothing aroma. She was just about to set the tea aside to steep when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned to see April standing in the doorway, her hair slightly tousled from sleep, a concerned look on her face.

“Morning,” April said, her voice still a little rough from sleep. “What are you doing up so early, hon? Are you feeling okay?”

Meadow hesitated for a moment, not wanting to worry April but knowing that she couldn’t keep the truth from her, especially if River needed more care. “I’m okay,” she said slowly, stirring the tea gently. “Hey… do you have any fresh ginger?”

“What kind of tea are you making sugar?” April said, going to get some fresh ground ginger, “Your stomach giving you a hard time again? I thought you said your bug from a couple days back was good? Not that it’s a problem.”

“My stomach’s fine momma,” Meadow said, “The bug was brutal, but Houston took care of me. I should call him and see how he’s doing… case he got sick or something, but no, it’s not me.”

“If it’s not you then is it your…” April trailed off, Meadow giggled as she saw April was trying to come up with the right word, “River, is it them?”

“They weren’t feeling good last night,” Meadow said, “They don’t have a bug but they got sick a few times last night.”

April’s brow furrowed immediately, the concern deepening in her eyes as she stepped closer. “Oh no, what happened? Are they okay? Do we need to get them anything? Have you called a doctor? I mean the closest doctor is probably an hour or so from here but…”

“April, it’s okay,” Meadow said quickly, trying to calm her down before her worry spiraled into full-on mom panic. “They just had a bit of a stomach episode. This is sadly normal for them. I’m making them some tea now that should help settle things.”

April’s worry was evident, her eyes scanning Meadow’s face for any sign that things were worse than she was letting on. “Are you sure they’re okay? Should we be doing something more? Maybe we should—”

“Momma,” Meadow interrupted gently, placing a hand on her arm. “I know you’re worried, but River’s going to be okay. They just need rest, and I’m trying to keep things calm so they don’t feel more stressed. You know how they are—they don’t want to be a burden, and too much fussing might just make them feel worse.”

April sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly, though the worry didn’t entirely leave her expression. “I know, I know. I just hate the thought of them being in pain or uncomfortable, especially here. I want them to feel like this is a safe space, not somewhere they have to push themselves.”

Meadow smiled softly, squeezing April’s arm reassuringly. “You’ve done so much already to make them feel welcome. They know they’re safe here, but you know how River is. They need a little space to process things, and right now, I think the best thing we can do is be ready to help if they need it, but not overwhelm them.”

April nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “You’re right. I just get so worried, especially knowing they don’t always take the best care of themselves. I worry about all my kids, honorary ones too. But I trust you, Meadow. You know them better than anyone.”

Meadow poured the tea into a mug, letting it steep a little longer as she considered her next words. “I’m going to take this to them and see how they’re feeling when they wake up. If they need anything more, I’ll let you know, but for now, let’s try to keep things low-key, okay?”

April gave a small smile, the kind that was half-reassurance, half-resignation. “Alright. But if you need anything, anything at all, just let me know. I’m here for both of you.”

Meadow nodded gratefully, feeling the weight of the night easing just a little with April’s support. “Thank you, April. I know River appreciates it too, even if they don’t always say it.”

With the tea ready, Meadow carefully carried the mug back to the bedroom, leaving April in the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. As she re-entered the room, she was relieved to see that River was still sleeping, their face a little more relaxed than it had been earlier.

Meadow set the tea on the nightstand and sat beside them on the bed, brushing her fingers gently through their hair, the soft touch meant to soothe and comfort. She leaned down and placed a light kiss on River’s forehead, whispering softly, “I’m right here, love. Just rest, okay?”

River stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, their breathing even and deep. Meadow settled in beside them, ready to be there for them when they woke, ready to offer whatever comfort and care they needed to get through the day.

River spent most of the day in a restless sleep, their body too exhausted to do much more than drift in and out of consciousness. The nausea had never fully left, a constant weight in their stomach that kept them on edge, but sleep was a temporary escape from the discomfort. Meadow stayed close, watching over them with quiet concern, offering sips of tea or a comforting hand whenever they stirred.

As the afternoon wore on, Meadow grew increasingly worried. River hadn’t improved much, and the one thing that could make a real difference was sitting back at home. With a determined sigh, she decided to drive back and get it. The cabin wasn’t too far, but it would still mean leaving River in the care of April for a few hours.

She gently roused River, her hand brushing lightly over their arm. “Hey, love,” she whispered, her voice soft and reassuring. “I’m going to head home to grab your medicine. April’s going to be here if you need anything, okay?”

River stirred, blinking up at her with bleary eyes, their face pale and drawn. “You don’t have to… I’ll be fine,” they muttered, though the weakness in their voice betrayed them.

Meadow shook her head, smiling softly. “I want to. You need to feel better, and I’ll be quick. Just rest, and if you need anything, April’s here. Besides, the sooner you get your medicine in you the sooner you’ll stop puking and we’ll be all good, right? It’s okay.”

“Be careful please,” River said, knowing they would have better luck arguing with a brick wall than with their girlfriend. Meadow giggled softly and kissed their head and then their cheek.

“Hey, at least you don’t have a fever so we know it’s just a bad day,” Meadow suggested, “I love you. Go back to sleep and I’ll be back before you know it.”

River didn’t argue further, too worn out to resist. They gave a small nod, already closing their eyes again as they sank deeper into the pillows. Meadow leaned down, pressing a kiss to their forehead before quietly slipping out of the room. She met April in the kitchen, quickly explaining the situation.

“Just keep an eye on them. They’ve been sleeping most of the day, but if they wake up and need anything…” Meadow trailed off, her worry evident. “River doesn’t sleep much so this… is kind of good. That they’re resting.”

April nodded, her face serious. “I’ll take care of them, don’t worry. You just go get that medicine.”

With a grateful smile, Meadow hurried out the door, leaving April to look after River. The house fell into a quiet lull after that, the only sound being the occasional creak of the cabin’s old wooden floors or the soft rustle of leaves outside.

River remained curled up in bed, trying to ignore the nausea that still simmered in their stomach. They’d hoped sleep would be a way out, but it was no use. The gnawing discomfort in their gut wouldn’t let up, and they could feel it starting to build again, each wave of nausea stronger than the last.

They swallowed hard, willing their body to settle down, but it was a losing battle. The tightness in their chest, the queasiness twisting inside them—it all pointed to one inevitable conclusion. They needed to get to the bathroom.

Moving slowly, River pushed the blankets aside and carefully swung their legs over the edge of the bed. The dizziness hit them first, making the room spin slightly as they tried to stand. They paused, taking a deep breath before heading toward the bathroom, their steps unsteady.

Once inside, River shut the door as quietly as possible, gripping the edge of the sink for support as another wave of nausea rolled through them. Their stomach twisted painfully, and they knew they didn’t have much time before it all came rushing up again. Kneeling by the toilet, they braced themselves, trying to keep the sounds as quiet as possible, just like they always had.

The first heave was silent, nothing but a soft gasp of air as their stomach convulsed, forcing the bile up. River kept their lips pressed tightly together, swallowing down the noise, their body shaking with the effort. Another wave hit them, more forceful this time, but still, they made almost no sound, just the faint splash of liquid hitting the toilet.

It was a practiced silence, one they had perfected over the years. Their family had made it very clear that being sick was something to be ashamed of, something to hide. As a child, River had learned quickly to keep their sickness as quiet as possible, to disappear when they felt ill, to avoid the judgment and frustration that always seemed to follow.

They hated that the habit had followed them into adulthood, but it was second nature now. Even here, in a place where they knew they were cared for, where Meadow and April would never judge them, they couldn’t shake the instinct to stay quiet, to not be a burden.

Another retch tore through them, their stomach cramping painfully as they continued to throw up, their breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The effort of staying so quiet left them trembling, their body weak and shaky as they leaned heavily against the toilet, the cool porcelain pressing against their forehead.

They didn’t hear the soft knock at the door, or the quiet footsteps approaching. April had come to check on them after noticing their absence from the bed, her concern growing with each passing minute. When she gently pushed the bathroom door open, her heart sank at the sight of River hunched over the toilet, their entire body trembling as they fought through another silent wave of sickness.

“Oh, River…” April whispered, her voice soft with worry as she quickly stepped inside.

River flinched at the sound of her voice, their body tensing as if they’d been caught doing something wrong. They didn’t look up, couldn’t bring themselves to meet her gaze as another silent heave wracked their body, leaving them breathless and weak.

April’s brow furrowed in concern, not just at the sight of River being sick, but at how quietly they were going through it. It wasn’t normal—not the way they seemed to force themselves to stay silent, as if making any noise would be a problem. She knelt beside them, gently placing a hand on their back, her touch light but reassuring.

“Hey, it’s okay,” April murmured, her voice calm and soothing. “You don’t have to be quiet, River. It’s just me.”

River shook their head weakly, unable to form a proper response as their body lurched again, another quiet heave leaving them shuddering with the effort. April’s heart ached at the sight. She had never seen someone so determined to stifle their own suffering, and it worried her deeply.

April wanted to ask. To reassure River. This wasn’t just about being sick—this was something deeper, something rooted in how they had been treated before. April knew Meadow couldn’t have done this to them. That wasn’t Meadow. This would’ve been adapted long before her honorary daughter and River’s relationship.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. “You’re okay…”

April’s face softened as wrapped her arm around their shoulders, pulling them gently against her side. Meadow said not to overwhelm them, but April was still a mom. River was her kid every bit as much as Meadow was.

River leaned into her, their body still trembling, but the tension in their shoulders began to ease slightly. They were still pale, their stomach clearly not finished with its torment, but April’s presence was a calming.

“You’ll be alright,” April said softly.

Another wave of nausea hit, and River, finally allowing themselves to trust the safety of the moment, let out a quiet groan as their body heaved again, their muscles tight with strain. April stayed close, letting go of River. She moved her hand to rub comforting circles on their back, offering silent support.

River continued to get sick, though it was quieter than April had expected—less from fear now, and more from sheer exhaustion. When it finally subsided, River slumped against the wall, their breath coming in short, ragged bursts as they tried to recover. April stayed with them, not leaving their side, her motherly concern unwavering as she gently helped them wipe their face with a cool washcloth.

“You did great,” she whispered, pressing the cloth to River’s forehead. “Just rest now. We’ll take care of you.”

River gave a small, shaky nod, their body too worn out to argue. They knew Meadow would be back soon with their medicine, but for now, in April’s caring presence, they felt safe enough to let their guard down, if only for a little while.

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emetophilia #emeto cw #emeto tw #emeto writer #sicktember 2024 #sicktember 2025 day eight

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monaisme · 2 months ago

Text

Sicktember: Day 8

#8- “The closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”

“Dammit!” Tim shouted at the top of his lungs as he paced the end of the gravel driveway. “Of all the stupid, idiotic things I could do...” He ran his blood stained hands through his too long hair. “SHIT!”

Jason couldn’t blame Tim for his frustration. Yeah, getting their weekends mixed up and spending a couple of unnecessary hours trapped in a car with their least favourite persons without any sort of reprieve sucked. But what really sucked was Tim managing to gash the back of his calf while trying to jump the old, padlocked farm gate blocking access to the Kent’s driveway while they were away.

“Look,” Jason continued rifling through the copious supplies in the trunk of the car, “you can shout all you want, Replacement, but it’ll get you exactly nowhere. It was a mistake. I get it. And now we’re here. Your pacing like a madman, however,” he looked over his shoulder at the teenager, “is gonna keep pulling the wound open which means the bleeding won’t stop, and you- oh, spleenless wonder—will most likely pass out from eventual blood loss, develop an infection, and die.”

Tim stormed over, “And you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he accused.

Jason just chuckled bitterly as he went about his search, “Kid, if it would keep you quiet while I hunt for the first aid kit, then I’m all for it.”

“Funny.” Tim snarked back as he limped his way over to the vehicle. He hissed as he plunked himself down in the passenger seat with his legs dangling out of the car then went on. “I don’t see why you’re still digging in the trunk, though. Just grab a blanket so I don’t bleed all over your interior and we can make our way to a hospital or some doctor’s office.”

“Pfft. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?” Jason reached further into the trunk then, with a grunt, pulled the first aid kit from its hiding spot. “We’re literally in a town called Smallville, dumbass. I imagine the closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”

Tim thought for a few seconds, then blinked as he looked down at his leg, then over to Jason as he slammed the trunk closed. “Unless I’ve hit my head, too, I’m pretty sure we’d be able to see Metropolis in the distance if we got somewhere high enough... and we sure as hell made enough of an effort to drive around it while we drove here for you to know that, so try again.”

Jason just scowled. “You’re not so great at pickin’ up cues, are you?” And then thrust the kit into Tim’s hands. “Apparently not! I said ‘I imagine!’ Now zip it! I want to get this done and we can make our way home without you lookin’ like a damned crime scene victim, or having B think I tried to kill you again. Besides—” And Jason glowered at this, “you know that Superman doesn’t like us in Metropolis proper, so you can’t be shocked that I’m tryin’ to keep us off his radar.” Jason threw open the back passenger door and started digging aggressively again. “Geez, he barely tolerates us in Smallville, right now!”

Tim sighed. He knew that, and knew exactly how touchy Jason was about the whole thing, so he let it drop. And he also knew that Jason kept his cars stocked with just about anything a crime lord could need in an emergency, be it for an innocent bystander or criminal alike, not that he could keep track of any of it for the life of him. With the blanket sitting there in the back, right on top of what looked like an AED, well, Tim was losing patience and couldn’t help himself. Tim spoke up, “You know, if you would just let me—”

Jason cut him off, “For cryin’ out loud, Timothy!” he shouted, intentionally using a name he knew triggered Drake more than any ‘Replacement’ jab ever would, and violently slapped an open hand against the frame of the car door, “How’s about if you would just shut up for five fuckin’ minutes!”

Tim gasped audibly as he jumped in response, but at least he’d finally shut up.

And there was no way Jason was going to complain about the silence, so he shifted a couple of his heavier duffle bags, tracking down the stash of water bottles he normally kept for emergencies hiding underneath. “Finally!” He struggled a little to tear through the plastic, but eventually got through and grabbed three bottles with one hand, straightened, then slammed the back car door. “At least now I can rinse you off a bit before we disinfect this bad boy.”

Jason barely caught it—wasn’t even sure he’d actually seen it, but—had Tim flinched and the door closed shut?

“Replacement?”

Wide eyed and pale faced, Tim responded immediately. “Yes, sir?” then blanched even further when he caught himself, “Sorry. I meant—I mean- Jason.”

He almost joked about liking the sound of ‘sir,’ hoping to shake off whatever this new heaviness was that had settled over them, but one look at the kid and Jason knew better, “Uh, Tim?” He dropped the water bottles onto the gravel beside him as he crouched down to assess. “Are you okay?”

Tim blinked, cleared his throat, opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing... could say nothing.

Jason frowned. “Hey? You’re lookin’ a little—” like those kids he’d find huddled behind a dumpster tryin’ to hide from their parent before they could get them again—like one of the kids Red Hood would help- protect- avenge. How caught up in his pit rage had he been that Jason not seen it before? His stomach churned at the realization. “Pale.” He finished his sentence as he groped blindly for one of the bottles, afraid to take his eyes off of Tim. His fingers brushed against plastic. Thank goodness. “Here, drink this.” He cracked the bottle top and then handed it over with one hand as he took the kit from Tim’s hands with his other. “Then we’ll see if we can get this cleaned and wrapped and us on the road quick enough that Alfie can get you some of those ass-kickin’ antibiotics of yours.” Jason tentatively patted Tim’s leg and smiled awkwardly. “It would suck if something actually happened, huh?”

Jason had hoped that the physical contact would jolt Tim back into the here and now, but no luck.

Tim’s brow furrowed as he got caught up in his head. He needed to get a better grip on things, not be the weak little shit- disappointment- burden that still froze when Dad raised his voice... or silenced his.

“Is that alright with you, Tim?” Jason lowered the first aid kid down to the ground beside him.

Something was wrong with Tim.

... and if the others realized...

“Tim?”

... he’d lose everything that made Tim, well, Tim...

“fuck.”

... he’d. be. nothing.

Hoping he was wrong, Jason resorted to snapping his fingers in Tim’s face. “Come on, Tim. Give me a sign that you’re okay.”

And in a snap, Tim was gone.

He’d only been joking about him bleeding out, but with Tim now nonresponsive, Jason couldn’t help but glance around and make sure he actually wasn’t—but no. There were no unnervingly large pools of blood staining the Kent property as far as he could tell, though the leg wound definitely needed tending.

Could this be a seizure?

Jason tugged the water bottle out of Tim’s grasp.

Tim sat stone still.

What the hell had gone wrong? A part of him wanted to say Superman be damned and bundle Tim off to a Metropolis ER, but none of this was sitting right. This was way too far out of Jason’s wheelhouse, and he knew it. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

Dammit.

In a flash, his cell phone was out of his pocket and Jason was tapping on the first contact he came across.

It only rang once before the call was picked up, “Who are you and how did you get brother’s phone?”

“Stop it, Dick—”

“What you can’t be surprised! You never call, you don’t write—”

“Dick, please—”

“I’d almost think—”

“Something’s wrong with Tim! Does he have a seizure disorder? Anything that would make him blank screen?”

Playfulness went out the window. “What happened?”

A small part of Jason had expected, “What did you do to him?” but they’d moved beyond that—all of them had. Thank goodness.

“He cut his leg on some wire, and I think I yelled, and now he’s blanked out,” Jason rushed out.

Dick thought for a second. “Wait a sec? You THINK? you yelled at him? I’m gonna need you to be specific here, Jay—” he was starting to sound a little more than concerned.

“Okay. I may have definitely yelled at him.” His stomach sank.

“Jay—”

Now he heard the anticipated disappointed. “Look, it’s done, and I can’t exactly undo it now so here we are.”

Dick exhaled loudly enough to be heard over the phone.

“And I’m guessin’ this means I’ve totally fucked up?”

Dick didn’t say anything.

“Got it. It’s for the kid to say and no one else.” Jason ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “Does this jive with what you’re thinkin’?”

Another sigh, “Yeah.”

And all of the pieces fell together. “So I’m dealin’ a dissociative episode?” Thank goodness B had insisted on them all taking comprehensive field medic training—not that the mental aspect was as cut and dry as something like the still not dealt with wound on Tim’s leg.

“I am neither confirming nor denying anything.”

It was Jason’s turn to sigh. “Is there anything you can actually tell me?”

Dick was silent for a second, then offered, “You may want to have a plastic bag ready.”

Jason dropped his head in defeat. “He’s a puker. Perfect.”

“No.” Dick snapped. “He’s a kid with a shitty history, just like the rest of us, and we all cope differently. Don’t be an ass to him, Jay. I’m serious.”

Properly chastised, he simply replied, “I won’t,” and disconnected the call.

Jason had work to do. Without a word, he stood up, glanced into the backseat of the car, and stepped over the forgotten first aid kid and water bottles to the back passenger door again. This time, he knew where he needed to go, and had the handful of bags in his hands in mere moments before heading straight back to his place in front of Tim.

With a flourish, Jason snapped two of the bags open and doubled them up, then placed them in the footwell to the side. “Hang on, kid.” Jason muttered as he shifted back to the first aid kid at his side. “I know you’re in there... and I’m so sorry.”

And he really was.

He dug through the once organized first aid kit for the—“Got it!” The cold pack was in Jason hands in a flash, anything around it now detritus as it flew to the ground in his haste. A twist and squeeze, then a little shake were all it took to activate it. Some minor, but gentle manoeuvring of Tim’s hands had him seated with them resting upon the icy gel pack on his lap.

Jason rocked back on his heels once it was done.

Now, all he had to do was wait... well, that was a lie. Jason needed to be a little more proactive than that.

He owed Tim that.

“Hey, Tim. You’re okay,” Jason whispered encouragement as he softly pressed his own hands onto Tim’s to ensure solid contact with the cold. “You may not believe it, but you’re safe.” He repeated this like a mantra, over and over while taking deep, exaggerated breaths. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

It took only minutes—and forever, if you asked Jason—but Tim shifted ever so slightly in his seat.

Jason perked up at the movement, but still spoke in his hushed tone. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this.”

Inhale—

Exhale—

Tim blinked.

“There you are. Good job.”

Why was Jason—?

“You’re okay. Nice and easy. Just breathe.”

What? Tim looked down. Where had the ice pack come from?

“Hey, Tim?” Jason edged a little closer, “Are you with me?”

“I’m sorry?” Tim apologized weakly.

“No apologies necessary. Just keep breathing.”

“I must’ve zoned out for a second?”

Jason crooked his head, assessed, then smiled a knowing smile. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Things felt a disjointed. “Did I hurt my wrists?” Tim raised his hand up before him cautiously.

And even more gently, Jason pressed Tim’s hands back down onto the cold pack. “You’re fine...” Jason trailed off and then continued. “Well, we still have to take care of that leg, but only when you’re ready, okay?”

Tim took his first deep breath and closed his eyes. “Okay.”

Jason watched and waited.

It didn’t take long for Tim’s breathing to pick up.

“Tim?”

“I’m okay.”

Jason was not convinced.

Even in the remnants of his haze, Tim knew that he needed to pull it together. “I’m okay.”

“Have some water.” Jason was pushing a bottle at Tim that he may or may not have had a faint recollection of holding earlier?

Tim shook his head, ‘no.’ “If I do I’m gonna—”

Sure that this had nothing to do with drinking the water, Jason reached over the grab the plastic bags. “You’re okay, remember?”

Tim huffed a laugh at the bags as they came into view, “Are you trying to convince me?”

Jason laughed softly, too. “Nah, I think we both know where this is going.”

Tim whimpered and doubled over, dropping the water bottle to the ground.

“You’re okay,” Jason shifted, simply so he could rub Tim’s back in comfort. “I’ve gotcha, buddy.”

Tim grabbed the bag, “Why?” Tim whispered as he prepared for what came next.

“Shhh, just keep breathin,’ Tim.” Jason soothed, “I’m workin’ on pickin’ up the cues.”

#sicktember 2024 #Day Eight: “The closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”#Day 8 #DCU #hurt/comfort #Tim Drake & Jason Todd #tw: dissociation #tw: dissociative episode #Tim Drake is having a bad day #Jason Todd is having a bad day #mental health issues #OBlossom #ao3 fanfic

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revelationschapter6 · 1 year ago

Text

it feels like life weighs ten thousand tons

Events: Sicktember, Whumptember

Prompts:

Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care

Lashing out

Curled Up With a Pet

Warnings:

Minor self harm (Fallen angel picking up a blessed object)

Mentions of non-consensual touching (mentions of a character 'copping a feel')

This fill is written as a one-shot of my original story, Saudade. You can find my info page for Saudade here.

What context you need to read this is:

In Saudade, the Archangel Raphael Fell during the Rebellion. It was a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, and he was thrown out by four angels while his partner, the Power Camael, tried to help him.

The angels who didn't Fall were made to forget those who did. They don't remember they ever knew them. As far as they know, all the Fallen were on the fringes of Heaven's society. If they asked around, they might go, "Wait, no one knew a Fallen?" But they Don't Ask Questions.

Raphael worked to gain Camael's trust again, and eventually won it. He regained his memories, then got the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, Raphael's siblings, to regain theirs. Now they're working on smoothing things over and reuniting Heaven and Hell.

Sicktember: Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care, Curled Up With a Pet Whumptember: Lashing out Raphael just wanted five minutes to himself. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? After all, he was only one person (by a certain definition of person), and he could only do so much to reunite Heaven and Hell. But, of course, the first time he has a moment to breathe is when it all comes crashing down on his shoulders. Thank, well, not God, for Lilith.

can be read on AO3 or below the cut

Characters mentioned: (not necessary, but for context)

Raphael - Fallen Archangel, male. Not well-liked in Hell because he worked to thwart the Rebellion, and didn't Rebel. Legally blind.

Camael - Power, male. Raphael's partner from before his Fall, now his partner again after regaining his memory.

Michael - Raphael and Gabriel's sister, the first angel ever made. Leader of Heaven's army. Secondary leader of Heaven. Female.

Gabriel - Raphael and Michael's little brother, the third angel ever made. Leader of Heaven's army, messenger of Heaven. Male.

Berith - Fallen Virtue, now a Duke of Hell. One of the eight Fallen that guard the entrance and exit to Hell. Raphael's boss. Male.

Asmodeus - Fallen Cherub, now a King of Hell. One of the eight Fallen that guard the entrance and exit to Hell. Infamously lecherous. Male.

Lilith - Adam's first wife, Fell for refusing to obey him. Became close friends after Raphael took her under his wing. Female.

Lethe - Fallen Seraph. A relative nobody in Heaven, but a great Inventor. Turned into a humanoid water-monster in her Fall, guardian of the River Lethe. Close friend of Raphael. Female.

Agares - Fallen Power, now a Duke of Hell, with a massive grudge against Raphael. Male.

Rasiel - Angel. Therapist of Heaven. Was one of the angels who threw Raphael out of Heaven after being manipulated. Deeply regrets it. Male.

Kundaniel - Throne. Archivist. Female.

Andras - Fallen Principality, now a Marquis. One of the eight Fallen that guard the entrance and exit to Hell. Female.

Jehoel - Dominion, female. Uncertain on reuniting Heaven and Hell.

Terms, etc.:

Sphere - There are nine ranks of angel, each with a different title and duty. The higher the rank, the more powerful.

Hell's Hierarchy - A ranking system implemented by Lucifer in an attempt at creating order in Hell. Having a higher title doesn't mean the Fallen is more powerful, but they have more clout and, often, more Fallen and demons under their command.

Raphael, if he could, did all he could to stay out of Hell.

By and large, he did well. Having a phone now, Berith could text or call if he needed him. Lilith and Lethe handled wrangling the Fallen well, in convincing them to put out, and accept, olive branches to Heaven. In fact, it was best he stayed out of their way; time didn’t flow the same in Hell as it did on Creation, but it had still been aeons since the Fall, and he was still hated. If he was the one trying to unite Hell’s half of Heaven and Hell, it would go very poorly, very quickly.

That didn’t mean he was sitting on his ass, though.

Lilith knew nothing of Heaven, having been human before her Fall. And it was so easy to forget that, with how quickly she’d taken to Hell, nothing more than a duck to water. But he had to teach her about Heaven, and he found there was so much to teach. So much that he took for granted, social graces that came to him naturally, for all he’d never been particularly extroverted, left her floundering. That she had no ranking - that she was no Virtue, no Dominion nor Power nor Principality nor Virtue nor even Angel, caught him up too. Because Heaven, for all it tried to be equal, still relied on its ranks. The Dominions mentored even young Seraphim, Angels did tasks for everyone else. Romances and friendships spanned all Spheres, but everyone was well aware of what they were, and what everyone else was capable of.

A Virtue, even if only a single rank higher than a Power, was undeniably more powerful than a Power. Perhaps not stronger, but their divinity carried more of a punch, and they could do more with it. And a Power was more, well, powerful than a Principality.

So finding where Lilith fit into that threw him. Ranks were causing far more trouble than any of them had expected.

Because it wasn’t just Lilith who lacked a rank. The demons - those who’d never known Heaven, who’d been borne of Hell, not of Eden or Creation - didn’t either. None of them did, not even in Hell. Lucifer had never ranked even the most powerful of them, the most accomplished.

And that, too, was a problem. Not just in where the Fallen stood - was a Fallen Virtue to be treated the same as a Virtue in the Host? Or should they be treated as a Power, a Principality? As punishment for Rebelling so long ago? But then that would cause strife because no Fallen would accept being treated as lesser.

But Hell had its system now, too. It didn’t affect how powerful they were, as Heaven’s did. But they were treated in Hell as if they did, given control over legions of Hellish beings. Agares had been a Power before his Fall, stronger only than Principalities, Archangels, and Angels, weaker than the five other ranks. But in Hell, he’d been made a Duke, the second most powerful of the eight titles. Nine, if you counted those who had no title. Ten, if you counted the Grigori, who stood apart. Should he be treated as a middling Power? Or as something more powerful?

Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel were pulling their hair out over it.

And building relationships back with Heaven… well, that wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, either. Angels who got their memories back, realizing the Fallen they’d fought with, even killed, were angels they’d known once. Sometimes they’d been parental figures, older sibling figures, friends, or romantic partners. Other times they’d been child figures, in the case of Dominions who’d killed their charges, or little-sibling figures. Rasiel, as great as he was (as much as Raphael hated to admit it), could only help so many angels at once. And Raphael, apparently, was becoming the go-to for couples, or friends, or similar, who’d reunited and needed advice. After all, he and Camael had managed, so couldn’t he help them?

Every time he stepped foot in Heaven, it felt like he was being swarmed. And considering how isolated he’d been for the last… how many years? It had been over four and a half billion years on Earth, but time didn’t flow the same in Hell, and they didn’t perceive it the same besides, but that was still a damn long time. It was making him want to shove the next angel, Fallen, demon, human, or otherwise, who walked up to him and asked if he ‘had a moment’.

He’d have a fit, is what he’d have.

He loved spending time with his siblings, of course, and Camael, and catching up with them. It had been a very long time, after all. And Rasiel was doing all he could to make it up to him. Raphael couldn’t be prouder of his students; they’d all really come into their own. He was enjoying getting to know all the new angels who’d been made to heal - a good thing, seeing as Heaven had only grown larger and larger.

Going into Hell, though. Well, Creation wasn’t safe. Humans could be dangerous in their own way, and Creation had its own dangers; animals, of course, and nature itself. He still had nightmares of Pompeii. And Heaven wasn’t, either. There were more than a few angels who weren’t happy about Heaven and Hell reuniting. Though they’d tried, neither he, Raphael, Michael, Gabriel, or Camael had been able to work out why some of them Fell but others didn’t.

But Hell was still Hell. Hellhounds that reached his hip on the hunt, imps swarming to feast, Damned souls suffering. And, of course, Fallen taking out their hurts on others.

Hell (pun unintended), some Fallen weren’t even taking their hurts out on others. They’d had a very long time to get used to it. But that was just ‘how it’s done’, so they’d kept doing it. And the demons had followed in their stead. So, though not with the same fervor as they once had, many Fallen and demons made Hell treacherous.

Still, Raphael did have to go down to Hell sometimes. To meet with Lethe when she didn’t come up to see him. She’d tried to get a phone but kept breaking them when she forgot to put them somewhere safe before diving into her river. And imps were as far from reliable letter carriers as you could get. To meet with Lilith, when Hell’s notoriously faulty phone service failed them.

Or, like now, when he couldn’t find something he knew he had. He’d searched everywhere it could be in Heaven, which wasn’t many because he usually only brought himself Up. Had scoured his apartment, which hadn’t taken long, as spartan as he kept it. Had searched every one of his pocket dimensions, and hadn’t found the scrolls he needed. He’d even had Camael check his apartment, though there was no reason he’d have ever brought them over there.

He didn’t even know the contents of the scrolls, which he’d found and kept on a whim back in the days of the Achaemenid Empire. But Kundaniel was near-desperate for them, whatever they were.

There was only one other place he kept things, so he’d made his way through Hell. Well, that he kept things and knew where they were. He was pretty bad about losing things, but even he wasn’t bad enough to lose an armful of scrolls. Asmodeus had clung to him like a bad smell, as he always did, so it had been hours before he’d even gotten past the Guards. Andras, as always, was no help, only encouraging him.

Every time, he forgot how draining it was. Having to sneak on edge more than ever, looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed. He hadn’t guarded the location of his home so jealously for so long just to have it found out by being inattentive.

The cave, he’d sworn when he’d settled in it, would never become home. But it had, in a way. In its familiarity, in the softness of his star-woven rug. In its illusion of safety, until he’d found those sigils that made it truly safe. Still, it didn’t hold a candle to his apartment now, with Camael not far away, fairy lights strung across the walls, and made perfect for his faulty eyesight.

The sigils, he noted as he sidled into the cave, needed to be touched up. If they wore away much more, they’d start letting in imps and lesser dangers.

Raphael took a deep breath as he stepped into his cave, looking around. It had been a while since he’d come to it, and he’d forgotten that he’d left it in a rush. His rug lay in a heap, constellations twinkling awkwardly. A pair of boots, in the fashion popular in the 60s, slumped against the far wall—he’d been intending on storing them, as he’d found them comfortable, but forgotten to. Next to them was a dirtied muslin gown he’d been attempting (rather poorly) to darn, dropped to the dirt in his hurry. He grimaced, looking around.

That damn ushabti laid in the center of the room, though he’d swear he’d stashed it away.

The cave wasn’t big enough for him to see particularly well - he could only really make out the edges of it - but the scrolls would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Even he could make out smears of tan against brown dirt.

He sighed again, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

Where were the fucking scrolls?

Who lost scrolls? Who lost two-thousand-year-old scrolls?

Him, apparently.

“Fuck.”

Could one thing go right? He’d fumbled talking to Jehoel, Asmodeus had managed to cop a feel, he was fairly certain Michael was beginning to realize he couldn’t, in fact, see her seeing as he’d tripped over a polearm that had fallen but was, apparently, very visible. ‘Are you fucking blind?’ Had been Gabriel’s laughing words, but Michael, who was positioned just right for Raphael to be able to see her with absolute clarity, had had a look on her face he didn’t like. Camael, he was certain, was starting to realize something wasn’t right. Raphael had been stupid enough to stop paying so much attention in his apartment. Camael, for all he liked new things, loved familiarity; he’d had stainless steel, white everything, and glass tables since when neon was all the rage for house colors, and Raphael had never known him to get a new piece of furniture. Like Raphael, he moved every decade or so before anyone could start noticing his lack of aging. Even still, almost every apartment was laid out the same way.

So he’d been shocked when, looking at Camael as he talked, he’d stepped where he knew clear floor to be and felt the corner of the coffee table strike his shin. He’d fallen spectacularly, only able to be thankful that he’d landed off the table instead of on it because that would surely have been far more painful.

This was why he hated glass furniture.

Then again, if this was what came of using all his luck to get his family back, he wouldn’t complain. He’d take bad luck for the rest of his life if he had to.

The sigils flared an alert against his consciousness as he heard dirt shifting behind him. There wasn’t a sound of pain or a feeling of alarm, so he closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

“Hey Raphi,” Lilith said. He opened his eyes and stared at the far wall, then turned to greet her. He’d almost hoped it was someone with intent on harming him.

“Hey,” he said, perhaps a bit too harshly.

“You have a minute?” She asked, wiping dirt off her jeans.

Did he have a moment?

“Do I-?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do I have a moment?” Lilith stared at him in obvious confusion. “Do I have a moment?” His voice rose in volume.

“I only have to figure out how to get Asmodeus not to act like a Goddamned nymphomaniac because angels are complaining, Berith to act like a person because he’s freaking people out, work out the ranks, figure out who the Hell keeps setting shit on fire in Heaven, figure out who keeps sending me holy water, get Agares off my back, play counselor to half of Heaven and Hell, and find these damn scrolls I couldn’t care less about! Yeah, I have all the time in the fucking world!”

Lilith blinked at him, wide-eyed. The chihuahua-shaped hellhounds at her feet shivered, but they always did that. “Well,” she finally said, “tell me how you really feel.”

His face flushed an ugly, blotchy silver. To keep from saying something he would certainly regret, or doing something he would certainly regret (he was getting better at thinking before he acted, Camael would be very proud of him), he spun on his heel and stalked to the center of the room.

Or maybe not, because he snapped “How I really feel?” He stooped, picking up the ushabti with his bare hands. The holy object met his skin with a sound like meat thrown on a hot, greased pan, and Lilith lurched towards him with an alarmed sound. “I feel like everyone should leave me the Hell alone for five damn minutes!”

Lilith smacked the ushabti out of his hand, sending it skittering across the dirt. “Are you insane?” She unpeeled his clenched fingers, hissing when steam rose from his blistering hand.

Canines elongating, he snarled.

“Just because you’re pissy doesn’t mean you can go off at me, damn!” Lilith scowled at him. “Or pick up something blessed with bare hands. You think you’re going to be useful to anyone without a hand?”

He tried to pull his hand away, but she had a very tight grip. She flicked her talons out, digging them into his flesh in warning. “You’re not going to be useful to anyone if you snap, you know. You need to take a break.”

Her brown eyes met his, and he had to look away. “A break? When do I have time for that?”

“You have to make time.” With that, he yelped as she shoved him away. His balance already precarious, he tripped. Bracing for a painful landing, he was startled to find himself landing on a pile of - were those furs? Animal pelts? Who still used animal pelt piles? Even in Hell, they’d largely made the switchover to sleeping bags, cots, and futons.

He blinked up at her owlishly. Before he could do more than push up onto his elbows, beginning to say “What’s wrong with you?”, she stooped down, picking up Momo.

Oh no.

Raphael hated many things. What humans had done to isicia omentata. Rome. Loud noises and bright lights. Dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. Things that felt goopy. Fake tans. The word ‘supple’ in English, ‘dedo do pé’ in Portuguese, and ‘brustwarze’ in German. Horses. Clowns (they were just rip-offs of jesters. Jesters were better and looked less terrifying). Palm trees.

But he hated Momo and Nina, worst of all.

They were hellhounds, which meant he didn’t like them on principle. Hellhounds were nasty creatures, with a tendency to bite first and ask questions never. And they confused him. They confused all of Hell, actually. While she considered Momo male and Nina female, Hellhounds were sexless. No one knew how they reproduced, they just did. One day you had one, the next you had the one and a pack of hellfire-eyed, stone-toothed puppies with less self-control than regular dog puppies.

When you compressed that into a form small enough that a child could punt it and spoiled it out of Hell, you ended up with a hellhound that felt the need to prove itself. Or, in their case, two.

Nasty things, but she loved them to death. He’d been the one to help her pick them out of a litter they’d found in a cave, and he’d regretted it ever since.

Raphael scrambled to stand, but she was faster. Momo landed on his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. He froze - that little face was innocent, muzzle short and blunt, eyes wide and round, ears comically large, and Lilith kept his long, brown and white fur immaculate. But those teeth were far too long and far too sharp, and there was too much red in those brown eyes. Lilith let them nap in her lap for hours, but he’d seen how suddenly they could move, and how quickly they could cover ground. Of the many things he’d seen in his long life, Nina going from a dead sleep to ripping open an imp twenty feet down the tunnel was one of the scariest. He wouldn’t have time to twitch before Momo’s teeth were buried in his throat.

Momo plopped his butt down, plume-like tail wagging.

“Phone,” Lilith demanded, holding out her hand.

He refused to look away from Momo’s unblinking eyes. “What?”

“Give me your phone. You need a break. I’m getting you one.”

“I’m not-”

She stooped down, still holding out her hand. Raphael whimpered when she straightened, holding Nina threateningly in her other hand.

“Phone,” she said, grinning. His fear of them was a never-ending source of amusement for her. Nina yipped, wriggling, paddling her hind legs where they dangled. The light that came off the single torch in his cave shone oddly against her blueish, brown-orange and white, disturbingly short fur.

Raphael whimpered in horror as Momo leaned forward to lick his chin.

“I know your phone has voice… whatever it’s called. I’m not afraid to use it. You want me to call them through your pants?”

She stretched out her arm, dangling Nina over him.

Raphael gave her his phone.

Nina landed in his lap. He yelped, going rigid, as she circled to get comfortable. Her pin-prick nails dug into his legs.

He yelped, startled, as Lilith flopped down onto the furs beside him. “Your phone makes me sad,” she said, flicking between Michael, Gabriel, and Camael’s contacts. “You need to add stickers, or a nice case, or a keychain. Just, make it look less like an old man phone?”

“’s not an old man phone,” Raphael grumbled. Even if it was, wasn’t he technically an old man? But he liked his phone. It was black and white and plain and sturdy. It didn’t have any of those ridiculous extra things people added. Who needed pop-out things on the back? Or sparkly cases? Just seemed a waste of time and money to him. “I like it.”

He went cross-eyed as, Nina having curled up in his lap, Momo leaned forward to lick his nose.

“You make me sad,” Lilith said.

Lilith told him that a lot.

“Now lie down,” she pushed down on his chest. He went down with a grunt. Momo flopped forward, curling up on his chest, and immediately began to snore. Smoke puffed from his nostrils with every breath in time with the smoke pluming from Nina’s, like she were some tiny dragon.

“You are going to sleep,” Lilith said, twisting to rest her head on his shoulder, pinning him down, “for at least a few hours. Then you are going to relax for a few days.”

“But-”

“Raph, you’re a dick when you’re stressed. You want to blow all this up because someone asked you for a moment when you were trying to take a break? Angels are already trying to prove we’re not safe to be around.”

She did have a point. He sighed. Momo grunted, squirming to get comfortable. His nails dug into Raphael’s chest to hold him still.

“I don’t like you.”

Lilith grinned, knowing she’d won. “Love you too.” She flicked to Michael’s contact (that they had become fast friends worried him. They could take over Heaven, Hell, and Creation if they put their heads together) and pressed call.

He had a pocket-sized apex predator on his chest and another on his lap.

How she expected him to sleep, he had no idea.

#whumptember2023 #whumptember day 8 #day eight: lashing out #sicktember2023 #sicktember day 1 #sicktember day 19 #saudade #raphael #lilith #one-shot #original story #original writing #tw minor self harm #tw mentions of non consensual touching #sicktember 2023

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sickficideas · 2 months ago

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hazardous || TachiAku w/ poisoned Akutagawa

ao3! 2.6k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 16: toxin/poison

Tachihara feels his stomach drop when he watches the dart move at an incredible speed and hit Akutagawa right in the left side of his neck.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

There’s too much going on. Tachihara came here with Akutagawa and the rest of the Black Lizard to apprehend a woman who has been doing shady things with the Port Mafia’s money and assets - shady for the Port Mafia, even - and Tachihara took the opportunity to let the Hunting Dogs know, since this woman was a target of theirs as well. A target they needed information from.

But the poison dart was supposed to hit her. Not Akutagawa.

Akutagawa leaves no time for reaction. He pulls the dart out and slices it at least eight ways with his ability, staring its shards down before his eyes scan the area, wondering where on earth it came from. Tachihara knows. He positioned them. But Akutagawa can’t know that.

Tachihara has lost sight of their original target, now, as she and her subordinates have disappeared from the open section of the warehouse, just a few remaining. Tachihara can only hope that their intended target was actually hit, and regardless of the position she ends up in, he can set up something for the Hunting Dogs to purchase her from the Port Mafia. She has valuable information.

But that poison was intended to kill her in case she spent too much time in port Mafia custody, to avoid them keeping her for ransom.

It could very well kill Akutagawa too.

Tachihara pulls his arm just for a second to lead him in another direction, some other room where they’re not in the line of fire, because the woman they’re after is no force to be messed with, either. There’s a reason it’s taking both groups this long to corner her.

“I need the antidote, Jouno. The dart hit the wrong target,” Tachihara breathes as quietly as he can into his earpiece before Akutagawa joins him in the hall.

“Two birds, one stone. The sniper will strike again.”

And the line is silent once again.

Tachihara feels like he can't breathe. Akutagawa is the worst person this could have hit.

He whips his head around to make sure Akutagawa has followed him. His eyes are wide and darting around wildly to make sure they aren’t being followed, and there’s a hand pressed up against the side of his neck, which seems to be bleeding quite a bit. Really, very bad, if it hit a vessel or something already. Tachihara finds a room on the side of the hall and opens the door, deeming it safe enough before ushering Akutagawa inside.

He locks the door behind them with his ability, without Akutagawa’s knowledge, of course. That way he knows they’re safe in here for right now.

“I'm fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Akutagawa hisses, still holding a hand over the dart’s mark on his neck, leaning against the back wall of the bedroom-sized supply closet they’ve hidden in. “Where are Higuchi and Gin? Were they hit?”

“I - I dunno, there was so much going on,” Tachihara says with a frustrated huff. He can’t tell Akutagawa, but he knows they’re safe, he purposefully misled Gin and Higuchi out of the main hall before the sniper made their shot. He knows for sure that Hirotsu was on the opposite end of the building.

“Contact our specialist in the event they are. Higuchi has no poison training experience, this will kill her,” Akutagawa insists, and Tachihara is painfully aware of this. It's why he lead her out of harm's way for this, but Akutagawa won’t make it long either. He’s gotten much weaker over the past several months for reasons he can’t quite figure out, but he;s sure has something to do with his cough. He’s not sure he has the physical disposition to even withstand an hour of this stuff in his bloodstream.

He can see Akutagawa physically trying to fight off the symptoms of the poison. It's evident in his paling skin and the sweat on his hairline. His eyes are fixed on something on the ground to distract himself, it seems like. Tachihara takes a second to text an SOS signal to the backup they had on standby so that they know they need medical attention at the extraction point no matter the outcome, because it seems Jouno no longer has any desire to keep Akutagawa alive for information.

Akutagawa’a body suddenly tenses up, eyes screwing shut before he slides down the wall, not able to fight off enough of it to hide the pain from Tachihara. He feels like his breath is caught in his throat. They use this poison on enemies all the time in the military and he’s never cared once about what it does to its victims, but seeing Akutagawa just in the first few minutes of it hurts him to watch.

Why does it even matter, really? Akutagawa isn’t any different from the enemies and criminals he faces daily with his work as a Hunting Dog. He’s killed hundreds of people. He’s been an information target of the Hunting Dogs for a long time, and Tachihara’s been positioned undercover so close to him to get that information, and he’s never suspected a thing, to his knowledge.

This would be a good opportunity to detain him, but that would mean blowing his cover early, and he can’t do that.

Or maybe that’s an excuse.

Akutagawa's face is paper white, worse than Tachihara’s ever seen it. He hears gunshots and commotion on the other side of the building. He can’t stay here. He needs to make sure their target is detained. Jouno can’t find out he’s hiding with a Port Mafia attack dog to make sure the poison doesn’t kill him before they can get out to the attraction point.

“I need a minute,” he says through labored breaths, eyes darting up to Tachihara, who’s still by the door, “go find the others.”

“I can't leave you here,” Tachihara tells him. He can’t move. He doesn’t know what to do. Really, this is a great opportunity. Fukuchi has wanted Akutagawa captured ever since they were made aware of his existence. Dead or alive, but recently he's left the former out of the conversation.

As far as the Port Mafia goes, Tachihara has no obligation to stay with him, either. He doesn't work for Akutagawa, he works for Hirotsu, under Mori. Their team has been told explicitly by Mori a number of times that they are not obligated to cover or rescue Akutagawa. According to him, he’s a loose cannon and should not be easily trusted. They only take Akutagawa's orders because he's on the same level as Hirotsu, and only because of their mutual respect.

But for some reason, none of this matters. This isn’t a situation where Tachihara can blame the outcome on any reckless actions by Akutagawa. Akutagawa is suffering. And Tachihara doesn't know why, but he can't leave him to die.

Akutagawa kneels over on the side, one arm propping him up and the other only briefly covering his mouth to cough - even that sounds a hundred times more painful than usual - but it’s not long before Akutagawa gags and chokes up a stream of bile.

Very, very bad. The poison has already saturated his bloodstream if it’s causing him to vomit so suddenly. Tachihara doesn’t know if it’s because of the location where he was hit, or maybe he got a high dose - or maybe he wasn’t physically well enough to attempt fighting it off in the first place.

Tachihara kneels down in front of him, not sure how he’ll be able to help at this point aside from catching him if he passes out, but Akutagawa makes it clear he doesn’t want him anywhere close. As soon as Tachihara’s knees hit the floor, shards of Akutagawa’s coat cover his face in some attempt to get him away, but Tachihara doesn’t react. He’s learned well that this is just an empty threat.

“If - if I'd ingested it, this would…at least be helpful…”

Akutagawa hardly manages to speak through how visibly nauseous he is, and the spot on his neck where the dart hit has almost blackened, like the tissue around the injection site is dying off. He almost chokes on the breath he takes in just before he gags involuntarily to bring up more bile, but after a few seconds, it��s just bright red blood.

He stares down at it - it’s not quite shock, more of a realization, before his whole body tenses up again from the horrific pain he’s in. Tachihara knows all about it, the poison makes it feel like your veins and vessels are all freezing but on fire at the same time, it’s not something anyone can shrug off or hide. Not even Akutagawa, someone he knows for a fact has a terrifying pain tolerance. He can barley breathe.

He’s seconds from passing out, Tachihara realizes, and he takes him by the shoulders before it happens, watching his eyes roll back and a mix of blood and spit drip from the corner of his mouth as he tries to steady him.

“Hey - stay with me, alright? Don't let yourself black out yet,” Tachihara tells him, because he’s not quite out yet. His eyes roll forward again and he’s conscious, for now, but he's not sure Akutagawa can understand him, or even recognizes that he's speaking. He tries to stand, tries to walk off past Tachihara like nothing’s wrong, but he just collapses into his arms.

This can't be happening. Akutagawa can't die because of a mistake. He'd never forgive himself, enemy or not, it doesn’t matter. He can’t walk out carrying Akutagawa’s corpse when everything was going so well.

Tachihara manages to lift him up, into his arms. He’s got some hope left in the fact that Akutagawa’s skin is burning, he’s not cold, but that still isn’t good. He’s got some control left, even half-conscious. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open, slow down his breathing, the little breaths he can get in - he knows exactly what to do if he’s been poisoned, but none of it will work in the end. Tachihara needs the antidote.

“Stay awake,” Tachihara tells him, his voice shaking as he approaches the door, “we’ve - we’ve gotta get you back to Gin, alright?”

A last-ditch effort to restore some determination. Tachihara knows how important his sister is to him, something he’s only pieced together recently.

But Akutagawa can’t hear him. His breathing is slowing down and he coughs a few times, so weak that Tachihara isn’t even sure they qualify. Tachihara opens the door with his ability and kicks it to swing it open, deciding if he should just pursue the sniper for the antidote or take Akutagawa to the extraction point and see if they can help him.

Except, they won’t be able to.

“Akutagawa,” Tachihara shouts, almost, but there’s no response from him, just shallow breathing from pale lips that can’t speak back to him. He watches a thin stream of blood drip from his nose.

Tachihara presses his earpiece against his shoulder to activate its signal back to the sniper.

“I need an antidote, dammit,” Tachihara bites, “if he dies, my whole operation is finished, and it’ll have been for fucking nothing.”

There’s silence. All Tachihara can hear his Akutagawa’s breathing. He didn’t realize he was holding his own breath.

“I’m leaving it outside the rear entrance. We’ve contained our target as planned.”

Tachihara takes in a mouthful of air and runs for the backside of the building.

…

Tachihara can’t sleep. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s sitting on a counter that he can’t possibly make comfortable, but he doesn’t intend to. He just needs to see this through. If he doesn’t, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Gin is asleep. Her head is laying in her arms, crossed over Akutagawa’s hospital bed. She’s only been asleep for an hour or so, but he’s glad she finally fell asleep. Higuchi was here for a pretty long time too, but she apologized profusely for needing to head home, since her sister was waiting for her.

Akutagawa had no objections to this, of course. He talks to them like he’s some old man who wants teenagers out of his yard, but Tachihara knows it’s guilt. Akutagawa isn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thinks he is.

“You don’t need to stay here.”

He says quietly. He can’t raise his voice much, his throat is probably raw from all of the vomiting and coughing up blood, which only continued during his recovery with their toxin specialty team. Tachihara can hear him, though. It’s dead quiet aside from the monitoring equipment’s irregular beeping.

“I know,” Tachihara says. They’ve had this conversation already. Tachihara’s last excuse was that he’s staying in case Gin needs anything - she’s his coworker, after all. “I have free will, y’know. If I wanted to leave, I would’ve.”

“I don’t understand why you feel the need to stay,” Akutagawa whispers.

“Just wanna make sure you don’t die,” Tachihara says. He thinks it’s guilt on his end too, plus a secret crippling fear that Akutagawa fully understood his conversation with the sniper and plans on killing him for his betrayal. He tries to keep those thoughts back.

“I’m fairly certain that’s our medical staff’s job. Have you changed career paths?” Akutagawa says.

“You’re hilarious,” Tachihara teases.

Akutagawa lays his head back into the pillows with a quiet sigh, presumably giving up on his attempt to get Tachihara out of his hospital room. His head lulls to the side, peering out of the tinted window where they can’t see much of the night sky but the moonlight cascading in.

“Do you remember any of that?” Tachihara asks.

Akutagwa is quiet for several moments, but he finally decides to answer. “Nothing after you closed us in the room.”

“Well, good, then,” Tachihara tells him. “Less crap to worry about.”

“You put it so eloquently,” Akutagawa sighs with a sarcastic huff. He coughs a few times, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. They look and sound painful, he can’t imagine his body has even remotely recovered from what that poison did to him yet, antidote or not.

Gin lifts her head at the sound, still half asleep but worried enough to wake up and check to make sure her brother is okay. Tachihara’s heart hurts, remembering her face when he carried Akutagawa back to the extraction point. Gin is very professional, she always has been, and she kept it up, even seeing Akutagawa in that much pain - but she was shaking so much. Tachihara saw it each time, and as soon as it was just them and the medical staff, Gin held him and cried. And she hasn’t left his side since then.

Akuatagwa waves his hand dismissively as the coughs die down, laying his other hand on her head to encourage her to go back to sleep. He had tried to convince her to go home, but she refused every time anyone even lightly suggested it. Tachihara knows just how stubborn she is, he didn’t bother trying himself.

Gin is tired enough to give in, lowering her head back down into her arms, a little closer to Akutagawa this time. Akutagawa’s hand doesn’t leave her head, quietly patting her hair for some time. Tachihara can’t quite place his expression. It’s strange to see him like this - completely defenseless, weak, weirdly soft-hearted.

His soft expression on Gin’s sleeping face makes him wonder what he’s thinking about. Tachihara knows very little about their shared past, but knowing how young they were when they joined the Port Mafia tells him enough.

“I really thought you were gonna die for a second there,” Tachihara puffs, thinking out loud, “didn’t think you were killable.”

“Don’t keep your hopes up,” Akutagawa says quietly to himself.

Tachihara wonders what he means by that.

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somber-sapphic · 1 year ago

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Doctor vs. Lawyer

〘Prompt 9- White Coat Syndrome〙

〘Notes- This doesn't exactly fit the prompt, but I think it's close enough. ALSO. I'm going to throw in a TW for anxiety, I projected a bit in this one. Aaannndd I made Reader a lawyer because it was the most stressful job I could think of.〙

〘Summary- Your wife being a doctor doesn't make you fear them any less.〙

〘Word Count- 700��

〘Pairing- Carina DeLuca x Sick Reader〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

You sat on the edge of the cot in the ER, your knee bouncing rhythmically against the cold tile floor. You didn’t want to be here, in fact, the hospital was the last place you wanted to be. You didn’t even enjoy coming here to bring your wife lunch, let alone when you were actually ill.

It wasn’t that you disliked Carina’s coworkers, in fact, you got along with them all very well. But that was outside of the hospital. Here, you were something to be poked and prodded at and studied. You were helpless, out of your element. You weren’t in control.

A painful cough ripped through your chest, and you ducked your face into your shirt, doing your absolute best to suppress and quiet the fit. That cough was the reason you were here. You’d been talking to Carina on the phone (she hadn’t been home in days), and the young doctor had ordered you to come in.

“Car, I want to go home. I’ll be fine at home, please.” You whispered, turning pleading eyes on the OB/GYN who was staring at the floor.

“No, bambina, you need to be here. I can only do so much at home. I cannot help if you need antibiotics.” She explained firmly, rubbing her knee with a free hand while texting with the other. A quick glance over her shoulder showed you that she was texting Amelia, presumably in relation to your nonexistent treatment.

“I want to go home.” You said again, coughing into your shoulder. The cold you had woken up with a week ago hadn’t gone away, instead it had gotten 10x worse. Carina had been doing her best to monitor your symptoms but, in the end, she couldn’t legally treat you.

“I know. If you had done a better job at taking care of yourself maybe, we wouldn’t be here.” The brunette snapped, glaring at you. She loved you, she did, but she had also been working nonstop for weeks, barely leaving the hospital. She hadn’t been home to sleep or have a proper meal for eight days. The last place either one of you wanted to be was Grey Sloan.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered, tears filling your eyes. More than you hated being here, you hated making the woman you loved angry. You knew that you should’ve taken better care of yourself, but you’d gotten distracted. It was hard being a lawyer, you often worked just as many hours as Carina.

The physician sighed and ran her fingers through her silky hair, tossing the long locks over one shoulder. She turned to face you and smiled a little, shaking her head.

“No, I’m sorry. It is not your fault that you got sick, I apologize for biting.” Now it was your turn to smile. Her little slip ups in English were always adorable.

“Snapping babe, not biting.” You corrected, putting your head on her shoulder. The mix of exhaustion from your illness and the nonstop bouncing of your leg was getting to you. Another wet cough tore through your body, followed by a sound you didn’t know that you could make. Now you felt anxious, sick, and pathetic.

“Oh, amore. I know you’re nervous, but I promise it will all be okay. We will make sure it’s someone you feel comfortable with, yeah? No one gets to touch you unless you’re okay with it. And as soon as it’s done, we will get you back home and into a warm bath, then bed.” She said, placing a featherlight kiss to your sweaty hairline.

You couldn’t fathom why on Earth she’d want to be kissing you right now, but there was no way that you’d be complaining. You leaned into her side, resting your head in the crook of her neck.

If your nose hadn’t been so stuffy you probably could’ve smelled her calming vanilla scent, the perfume always a comfort. You sprayed it all over the sweatshirt that was saved specifically for when she was gone.

“There she is, see, just Amelia. We like Amelia, no?” Carina said with a smile, running her thumb across your cheekbone. You nodded, still apprehensive. The neurosurgeon was great, you loved her as a friend, but still. Doctors.

“It will be fast my love. I promise.” Your girlfriend soothed, kissing your earlobe. It was a strange place for a kiss, but you weren’t about to object to a little extra comfort. With a final deep breath -and subsequent coughing fit- you steeled yourself, ready for whatever Amelia would throw at you. As long as Carina was there, you could do anything.

〖Join My Taglist!〗@lovelyy-moonlight, @bloomingflowersthings, @lots-of-pockets, @asiangmrchk13, @scrambled-brain-eggs, @juststuckhereforever, @chairhere, @goldenempyrean

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mrslittletall · 2 months ago

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Now that Sicktember is over and I posted my eight fics, I want to reflect a little. Honestly, I am a little disappointed. The reception seemed to be lukewarm. I know that those fics are not everyone's cup of tea but writing them was the most fun I had writing for months, so I kinda was hoping that people would notice that. And it also pains me a little that barely anyone seems to want to give my OCs a chance. I get not reading fandom blind, I really do, but my OCs require minimum knowledge of an existing world, they are just celebrities in their own universe. Okay, enough bitching around. What I found really positive is seeing all my fans from Off Balance days crawling out of the woodwork when I posted the Hollow Knight fic. Seriously! I haven't posted Hollow Knight in so long, but you guys held out?! The Silksong wait did prepare you, right? I definitely want to write more in this universes. I love Pendry and Hollow and Rydellia. Anyway, I am not done with writing sickfics. In fact, I want to write much much more. So better prepare for it.

#little talks about stuff #about my writing

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 2 months ago

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Rules Suck (flu's suck worse)

by alchemistsarego “Shower,” Batman said. “You shower.” Robin pouted, curling tighter. “Robin. Shower, then bed, I’ll have Alfred bring you some water.” “Don’t want water.” Pulling down his cowl, it wasn’t Batman that reached out to feel Robin’s forehead but Bruce. Robin tried to avoid the touch so Bruce kept the hand an inch away, making it clear that while Bruce would not force it on Robin, there was no way that he was going to give up on it. Robin glared for a long moment but then he gave the most dramatic sigh an eight year old possibly could. Bruce still waited until it was Robin who tilted forward, pressing his forehead against the hand. “Not too high,” Bruce said. “But still higher than I would like.” Impossibly, Robin’s next sigh was even more dramatic than the last. Sicktember 2024, Day 25, Summer Flu, Day 10, The Sniffles tm Words: 2093, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 72 of What's A Little Bafam Without A Whole Lotta Trauma?, Part 20 of Sicktember 2024 Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Sicktember 2024, Day 25, summer flu, Sickfic, Dick Grayson Sickfic, Baby Dick Grayson, Whump, barely, Day 10, The Sniffles tm via https://ift.tt/MPcf5bQ

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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fanfictasia · 1 year ago

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Sicktember Day 28

“I should have stayed home”

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Mushroom Strikes Back

Anakin never felt like he belonged with them, and the more times goes on, the more it feels like it. He doesn’t know the clones well, but he feels like he fits in with them better far more than he ever has at the Temple. Like there’s a chance they could actually understand each other, even if they were raised entirely differently.

“You were still a… Jedi cadet then,” Cody says, blinking.

Anakin can’t help laughing at the unexpectedness of the term. “We call it padawan.”

“Still. Close to being a shiny.”

A shiny? Right. He’s… heard some of the clones sent out first calling the newest recruits joining them that. “Yes…?” he asks, uncertainly.

“Always wanted to see a Jedi,” the commander goes on, “Never thought they would be so… cool.”

He has no idea how to respond to that, to the clones practically worshiping him because of his abilities.

But at the end of the day, they’re only ten or younger. Barely older than when Anakin first came to the Temple. Even if they’re physically older, they really are children, and… of course, they would find it enthralling. He finds the fascination they have for anything Jedi a little adorable, if he’s being honest.

They feel like his age so he doesn’t exactly see them as children, but at the same time, he… kind of does.

“I had much more time to train than any of you,” Anakin points out.

“Then should’ve avoided those… mushrooms,” Cody says, blinking up at the top of the tent, gaze momentarily distant. “I won’t risk that again,” he assures. Not if he has a choice, anyway. Being this sick is very annoying.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #sicktember #sicktember 2023 #sicktember day 28 #sicktember day twenty-eight #day twenty-eight #day 28 #anakin skywalker #anakin #commander cody #cody #anakin and cody #hurt/comfort #fluff #friendship #i should have stayed home

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ao3feed-irondadspiderson · 2 months ago

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Day Twenty-eight: Pulling a 'Ferris Bueller'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59298106 by OBlossom Peter laughed and pressed into Tony’s chest a little more before taking one last deep breath and stepping away. “Man, I’m such a mess.” He wiped his face clear of the tears he hadn’t even noticed falling until now. “I’m so sorry, guys. I can’t even—” “Nope. You can stop whatever you think you have to be saying, bud. We get it. We know. Just—” Tony looked lost for a second, then asked, “Tell us what you need?” “I—I, uh, I’m not sure?” And then it hit him. Maybe it was the fresh air, the change of scenery, or his newfound resolve, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Peter wanted to do something silly and there was only one person to ask. He turned to face Tony, “What did you do for fun when you living on campus?” Words: 3670, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 24 of Sicktember 2024 Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts Additional Tags: Sicktember 2024, day twenty-eight, Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’, Aftermath of Fear Toxin, oops! Gotham reference for kicks, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, MIT Peter Parker, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has Issues, Uncle Happy Hogan, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark Friendship, Happy Hogan is a big old softy, Irondad & Spiderson read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59298106

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

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monaisme · 2 months ago

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Sicktember: Day 28

#28- Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to be out in public? Pepper would never forgive me if something was to happen to you and you were recognized.”

Peter’s anxiety had been amped up something awful since he’d been dosed with that mysterious fear gas that the Avengers had finally traced back to that pit of a town in Jersey while on patrol a couple of months earlier. As such, it was pretty easy to tell what was triggering him now as he asked his question for the umpteenth time that day.

Tony slung his new arm around Peter’s shoulder and tugged him close even as they moseyed down the street. “Kid, I promise you, we’re fine. And even Pepper would be fine if we did end up getting caught out. We’re not doing anything nefarious.”

Peter seemed unconvinced.

“Aw, Petey, come on! I even had FRIDAY coordinate with the admissions office to get your campus tour scheduled for the day with the fewest students on the tour and on campus to reduce the risk of “tourist” interference,” because we could see how worried you are. Trust us. It’s okay.”

They walked past an artisan bakery; its patio packed while a server bustled to take multiple orders in the middle of the fray, triggering yet another thought, “But what about the locals?”

“Pfft. I’m practically a local myself. Come on, Pete,” Tony tried to reassure him. “We’re good. I’m in Cambridge as a guest lecturer at least twice a year and I’ve never had an issue.”

Peter leaned away just enough to give him a sceptical side-eye. “You don’t really expect me to believe you, do you?”

Happy snorted from his position a few feet behind him.

“Hey,” Tony called over his shoulder, “Kindly refrain from influencing the opinions of my mentee, please and thank you.”

Happy chuckled a little louder, “I don’t think I’m the one that influences him, Tony. Trust me on that.”

Tony stopped walking while still keeping ahold of Peter, then turned them both around to address his asset manager. “Excuse me? Are you implying that I’m a bad influence?”

As naturally as breathing, Peter’s jaw dropped in shock and horror as he caught on to what was being implied. He looked from one man to the other, “And are you both implying that I’m a bad kid?”

Tony and Happy exchanged looks of both shock and delight as they finally—FINALLY caught their first glimpse of their Peter since leaving the city early that morning.

They’d almost missed this.

When Spider-Man had staggered into the penthouse, weeping and hyperventilating, they’d initially had no clue that the vigilante had been exposed to a mind altering drug so potent that even Dr. Cho’s eventual antidote only barely pulled him back from the veritable edge.

The trip had almost been cancelled.

The swings between anxiety, depression, and terror had been so extreme in the beginning and sitting with him as he struggled, restrained in the med bay at his worst, had been hard for them all. While Cho and Banner had worked together to find a solution, none of them were certain it would ever be an option to leave the monitored confines of the tower again.

Thank goodness for understanding teachers as they tried to maintain some sense of normalcy. Homework became the great distractor.

And then the antidote breakthrough came, and shortly after, the medical staff realized that they were approaching the drug’s half-life. The two events coming one after the other, were a miracle, the light at the end of the tunnel... and Peter finally improved.

And didn’t a change of scenery sound like the best idea ever?

Yes, there were still moments where Peter felt obviously out of sorts, his worries a tad too unreasonable, but he’d worked hard to recover, and was safe—they were making sure of it.

“Come on, squirt,” Happy reached out and ruffled Peter’s hair. “I’m feeling like we’re about to get trapped in a Stooges bit and I personally would rather we find that pizza joint Tony is insisting is on this street. I’m starving.”

Tony finally let go of Peter to throw his hands up in frustration, “Seriously, Happy! A guy gets turned around one time and suddenly everyone thinks you can’t find your way out of a box. Ridiculous!”

Peter smiled at the dramatics. This felt right— like the world was resetting itself and—

“Oof.” The skateboarder knocked Peter’s arm, but corrected his own stance before he could fall and carried on down the sidewalk. “Sorry ‘bout that!” He called back over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd—

—Leaving Peter to deal with the consequences of his carelessness.

“You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay,” Tony reassured him where they stood while Happy grumbled in the background about kids and no respect for others.

And Peter was going to work his way through. He could do this... he’d felt glimmers of absolute normal in the past weeks and days, but this? Taking a walk with his pseudo-dad and new uncle had felt about as close to perfect as he could imagine. He couldn’t—no. He wouldn’t allow this to be taken away because of some yahoo with a fear fetish and a chemistry degree—or a skateboarder that got too close.

Peter closed his eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath.

“That’s it, bambino. That’s it.” Tony soothed. “You’re safe. You’re fine.”

Peter nodded, maybe a little manically, but that was okay. They understood.

He inhaled again, a little steadier.

“Good job, sweet boy.” Tony sounded a little closer. “Are you okay with my giving you hug?”

Nothing had ever sounded so good, so Peter’s nod was a little more desperate as he opened his eyes and lunged into Tony’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...” he couldn’t help himself. He was so tired of the lows, and then lower lows. He needed to be done with this. “Can we do something? Anything? Please?” Peter practically pleaded.

“Of course, we can, Pete. Anything you want—just say the word.”

Happy cleared his throat then.

“Okay, maybe not anything. Uncle Grumpy Pants over there may have some input of a security persuasion regarding certain suggestions...” Tony sighed. “Honestly, he’s a bit of a buzz kill, Pete.”

Peter couldn’t hold in the snort-laugh. “Nah, he’s just being responsible. Someone has to be, right?”

Then Happy was behind him, placing a warm, solid hand on his shoulder, too, even as he sought refuge with Tony. “Well then, maybe I do have some influence on the kid after all?”

Peter laughed again and pressed into Tony’s chest a little more before taking one last deep breath and stepping away. “Man, I’m such a mess.” He wiped his face clear of the tears he hadn’t even noticed falling until now. “I’m so sorry, guys. I can’t even—”

“Nope. You can stop whatever you think you have to be saying, bud. We get it. We know. Just—” Tony looked lost for a second, then asked, “Tell us what you need?”

“I—I, uh, I’m not sure?” And then it hit him. Maybe it was the fresh air, the change of scenery, or his newfound resolve, but for the first time in what felt like forever, Peter wanted to do something silly and there was only one person to ask. He turned to face Tony, “What did you do for fun when you were living on campus?”

If that hadn’t come out of left field—Tony blank-screened for a hot minute as his brain flashed to the drugs and the booze and the all of the nameless, faceless partners, but that was a different life, and Peter would never— “I, um, well—” How could he answer Peter truthfully and not have it change how he felt about him?

“Why don’t we talk about it over lunch, huh?” Happy, seeing the panic on his friend’s face, interrupted Tony’s weak attempt at a response. “Towns like this always have brochures and the like scattered all over the place—and if we can ever find it, I’m sure that Tony’s pizza place will have ‘em, too.”

Tony plastered on his ‘media’ grin, and followed the breadcrumb trail Happy had left for him. “Oh ye of little faith,” He pulled Peter back under his arm and they were on their way again, “Have I told you about the tomato sauce on this pizza, kid? Just wait till we get there... it’s magical, I tell ya’. Magical.”

/-/-/

The greatest benefit to trying to make plans over lunch with a seventeen year old boy with a super-metabolism was that seventy-five percent of the meal was spent with him shovelling his face with pizza and wings while everyone else just stared in awe.

“Are you sure you can breathe there, Pete?” Happy had to double check.

Peter nodded back happily as he swallowed. “Maybe the cure for that dumb gas was this pizza!” he said, then, “Tony, you were right! I think this is the best pizza I’ve ever had!”

“I’m tellin’ ya,’ kid. New York, Chicago, Boston—it doesn’t matter where you are, if a pizzeria has a good family recipe and good ingredients? You’re golden.”

“Agreed,” Happy chimed in. “I’ll give it to ya,’ Tony. This is definitely a top three contender.”

“Yes!” Tony fist pumped. “I’ve been redeemed.” He tossed his wadded up straw wrapper at Peter, then figure there was no point in delaying the inevitable, and grew serious. “Hey, Pete. I’ve gotta say, I’ve been sitting here pondering my ill-gotten youth and I’m afraid I can’t think of anything we’d be able to do now that I did then that wouldn’t get me arrested—or worse, you expelled from MIT before you’ve even started.” He cleared his throat. “But, uh, I’d love it if we could start some of our traditions—like maybe eating here whenever I’m in town for a lecture... or whatever?” He scratched at his beard nervously, waiting for Peter’s reply.

Happy, however, caught the little asterisk in his tone. “Hang on a sec? Or whatever?”

Tony’s cheeks pinked up, “Yeah. Like picking him up for holidays or,” Tony’s voice got quieter, “Or when I miss my favourite teenager-slash-young adult.”

“Awww, Tony! That’s so sweet!” Peter cooed.

And THERE was the grin the everyone had been missing for the last months. Tony could have wept with relief.

“Well,” Tony fussed with the dirty napkins on his plate, “It’s not like it’s that far.”

“It’s almost five hours!”

“That’s IF Happy’s driving. It’s only thirty minutes in the suit... if I’m dawdling.”

Happy snorted at the dis-invite. “Nice, Tony. I spend most of my adult life devoted to you, and this is how you repay me.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “What!? You’re busy being all doe-eyed with May!”

“Whoa!” Peter threw his hands up in protest, “Let’s keep Aunt May out of this!”

“Agreed!” Happy exclaimed.

Tony sighed. “Agreed. Regardless, let’s get back to the issue at hand. I’m afraid my sixteen year old self is not going to be much help with planning the next day or two, bud. I’m sorry.” He glanced toward the restaurant entrance, “Happy was right, though. If you wanted to go grab some brochures from the entrance, I can see them there. Maybe we can track down a museum or something?”

Peter just sat there, though, suddenly deep in thought.

“Pete?” Mr. Stark asked hesitantly. Things were going so well.

“Oh, sorry,” he offered, “I just was thinking how sad it is that you missed out on so much when you were my age.” Not that anyone had ever said that out loud to Tony, ever, “I couldn’t imagine not having Ned and MJ with me, and you didn’t get that, is all.”

And Tony’s heart warmed. “Oh, kid. Don’t sweat it. I got my Rhodey eventually, and he definitely helped me to finish strong.”

Peter was not mollified. “I know. It just sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Tony had to agree, “but I can never regret a path that ended up with all us of here, now can I?”

“I guess.”

The mood was souring, and they’d had such a great meal. “Hey, why don’t you head over to the brochures and see what you can find? We’ll do your tour tomorrow morning and then hit the ground running after lunch—what do you say?”

Peter still seemed hesitant, but nodded and excused himself from the table, pulling his phone out as he weaved through the tables.

Tony shook his head in disappointment. “I fucked that up royally, didn’t I?”

“Nah, the kid has a good heart, you know that, and you’re like a big ol’ puppy dog. Let’s just head back to the hotel and relax. Then we’ll all be fresh and ready for tomorrow”

Tony pulled his wallet out, tossed cash for the meal and tip onto the table, and stood up. “Yup.” he stared over at Peter, distracted by whatever he was reading. “Tomorrow is going to be great, we’ll make sure of it.”

/-/-/

“... and with those parting words, we, the faculty and staff, are excited for you to be a part of the MIT experience. GO ENGINEERS!”

Peter, Tony, and Happy clapped politely as the final presentation ended then rushed for the door before another professor or administrator could come up to shake Tony’s or Peter’s hand in welcome.

“So,” Tony was the one to break the silence once they cleared the masses. “What do you think? Are you excited? Are you changing your mind? Have you decided to move to commune and take up pottery?”

Peter just grinned and shook his head. “It’s awesome, Tony. I’m excited- not changing my mind- and I was feeling like maybe gardening would be more my speed.”

Maybe Peter was a little subdued this morning, but he still giggled as Tony shoved him playfully, “Alright, smart ass.” Tony said. “Be that way. Now! I know we just had “lunch,” Tony air quoted, “but are you still hungry? We can stop somewhere before we—move on to whatever you’ve decided we’re doing today?”

Peter had stayed quiet after dinner, then focused on something on his phone for an hour or so before finally deciding to call it an early night. Tony had noticed Peter staring at him at a couple of points in the evening, but it made sense for the brief conversation they’d had, he guessed. Or maybe Tony was just being paranoid and Peter was honestly making plans?

“I’m not starving, but we’ll need to stop at Walmart anyhow, so maybe I’ll just check out the deli, too.” Peter announced.

Happy took over there, “Can I ask why?” he asked.

And then the smile Tony was afraid had disappeared came back, “We need snacks!”

Both of the men had, at one time or another, decided that Peter’s only purpose in life was to confuse the hell out of them, and here he was, doing it again.

“Snacks?”

Peter nodded. “Yup. Aunt May gave me some play money, so I’ve got cash in my wallet. I’ll run real quick and then we’re going back to the hotel for a bit, ‘kay?”

No one argued. “Okay,” Happy shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Tony opened his mouth to playfully disagree, but Happy caught him before he could. “No. I said Peter’s the boss.”

And Tony had to agree, so they all shut up, and walked to their car.

They were going on a snack run.

/-/-/

Happy was fuming by the time they made it back to the car. “I told you to wait in the car! Peter was worried about Pepper, but now I’M worried! What am I going to tell her? I have one job, but I can’t leave you alone for a damned minute! She’s gonna murder me!”

“Shhh. Stop yelling.” Tony whispered back as he lowered himself into his seat while keeping pressure on the fresh wound set at his hairline. “How was I supposed to know that Walmart would try to kill me?”

“Don’t you mean, how were you, a grown ass man, supposed to know that you don’t ride bikes inside of stores like a moron? And then crash into end caps?” Happy leaned in to do up Tony’s seatbelt since his hands were busy. “How have you made it this far? I don’t understand.”

Peter slid into the back, clutching his bags and the heavy duty first aid kit he’d just retrieved from the trunk. “They were really nice about it, at least—and I don’t think anyone got photos?” Peter chewed on his lip guiltily. “And if you’re worried, we were going to stay in at the hotel for the afternoon anyhow. Maybe you’ll be feeling better later and we can do the rest of my plan?”

“Ah, the elusive plan,” Tony said wryly. “At this point, if it can involve extra strength over the counter pain medication and an afternoon of lounging, I’ll do about anything.”

Peter smiled, “It does.”

“Perfect. Then we’re set. To the hotel then, Happy, Daddy needs a new set of stitches.”

/-/-/

Once Happy had gotten everything sanitized and Tony frozen up, the stitches were done fairly quickly. Tony had even managed to take a couple of Tylenol to help with the mild headache. Peter, however, was still fumbling with his laptop and some cables at the back of the hotel room television when the two came into the room proper.

“Oooh, did you set up a secret camera so we can listen in on what May and Pepper really think of us?” Tony joked as he eased himself onto his bed.

“Don’t be weird, Tony,” Happy scolded him.

“Yeah, Tony, don’t be weird,” Peter mumbled in agreement as he finally emerged from behind the electronics, then grew shy as he fussed with a couple of laptop keys and then finally, it all became clear.

But not?

“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? The big secret was a movie?” Tony had to ask.

Peter flushed as he explained. “No, well, yes... I mean—I was thinking about how sad it was that you didn’t get to do the whole teenager experience after dinner last night and it got me wondering about what exactly you missed...”

“Okay?”

“And then I thought, you were sixteen in 1986, right?”

Tony was getting nervous, “Right?”

“Right!” He was getting excited as explained his thought process. “And then I tried to google, but that ended up with me trapped in Pinterest purgatory for some reason, so I shifted and found that the year you turned sixteen, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” was one of the top ten highest grossing movies, and the only ‘high school’ movie that felt appropriate—” Peter hesitated. “So, I thought we could watch it and see what it was like to be my age back then, and see if we could plan something for tonight or tomorrow before we leave to be funny, you know?... if you wanted...”

Tony was speechless.

“... Unless you think it’s dumb.”

Tony just stared. This kid—they’d been so worried about him, and here he was—

Happy, of course, recognized that look. Even after years with (and without) the kid, Tony still had those moments when he couldn’t believe his luck—couldnt’ begin to process it in a way that made sense to him.

Sometimes Happy really hated Howard Stark.

And so Happy spoke up, “Let’s give him a minute, ‘kay?” He walked over to the bags of junk food and—a rotisserie chicken? Happy just shook his head and started unpacking. “We’ll get these snacks organized. Getting the bags cheddar popcorn was a great idea, by the way. I’m telling you, Peter. There’s a special place in hell for people who microwave popcorn in hotels and staff rooms, kid. That’s a life lesson for you right there. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Once done, Happy glanced over to Tony, still pale, but that could have been the shock of surprise, but still, “I’m pretty sure Tony doesn’t have a concussion, but give me a sec to get something pulled together before we start. I haven’t seen this movie in ages and would hate to have to pause it to change sheets or something.”

They both shuddered.

“I’m not concussed,” Tony suddenly spoke up, “Just had to take a quick brain break, but I’m back. And, believe it or not, I’ve never seen this movie at all.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Awesome. This’ll be fun then, right?”

“Right,” Tony declared, “Now hand over my milk duds, bud. I am totally not sharing.”

/-/-/

The ride home the next afternoon was pretty uneventful. Granted, Happy did make a point of getting them home in four hours twelve minutes, thank you very much.

By morning, Tony’s headache had dissipated and the bruising wasn’t too bad—and he’d managed to not puke the night before.

And, after a couple of calls from their PR guys to clarify the events of the day previous, Pepper wasn’t nearly as upset as Peter worried she’d be about Tony getting caught on camera... at least not with him.

“Honestly, Peter. This is nothing compared to the early 2000s.” She explained as her voice came through the car’s audio system. “I’ll take this gladly and call it a win.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the last dregs of that toxin were finally out of his system?

“But, sweetheart? Tony? Happy? While I have you all on the phone...”

“Yes?” They all seemed to reply in unison.

“Would you happen to know why I’ve been getting all these restaurant reservation confirmations for a—hang on. I wrote it down somewhere—” The papers shuffled on her desk. “Oh. Here it is, for an Abe Froman?”

There was no way to pretend that all three of the men hadn't busted out laughing as they drove along the highway.

“Boys? What did you do?” Pepper’s confusion made it all the better, “And who the heck is Abe Froman?”

#Sicktember 2024 #Day Twenty-eight: Pulling a 'Ferris Bueller'#MCU #Aftermath of fear toxin #oops! Gotham reference for kicks #Hurt/Comfort #Fluff #MIT Peter Parker #Irondad & Spiderson #Uncle Happy Hogan

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shion-yu · 2 months ago

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Day 15: “Who decided soup is sick people food?”

Al and Theo making their appearance for @sicktember! 856 words, no TW, hospital setting with a shocking lack of angst, just fluff and banter.

Theo really hated soup. He was never the biggest fan to begin with, but after being stuck to a clear liquid diet for several days he wanted to throw every tepid bowl of broth the hospital served him at the wall. They acted as if beef, chicken and vegetable brother was such a variety, as if it didn’t all taste like the same salty, artificially flavored murky water.

He’d had his gallbladder out two days ago now, and Al kept telling him to be patient - he’d probably be moved up to a full liquid diet today after rounds. Except rounds on this floor were in the afternoon, and Theo was starving. He’d been on clear liquids for forty-eight hours before the surgery while they tried to see if IV antibiotics would do the trick without surgery, and then when they decided it wasn’t he was NPO for the night before and half a day afterwards. They told him they’d take it slow - introduce liquids, then solids. But Elliot swore he could eat an entire roast chicken right now, which Al thought was a very strange statement.

“I’m starving,” he groaned. “What was the point of taking my gallbladder out if I’m going to die of starvation?”

Al shook his head, amused but also slightly fed up with Theo’s complaining by now. He was sitting on the hard hospital couch, legs crossed and reading a book. His thick glasses were sliding down his nose. “You’re definitely not going to die of starvation,” Al reassured him. “Of drama, maybe.”

Theo pouted. “You’re supposed to be nice to me right now,” he said. He was not usually this dramatic, but he was also not usually this hungry.

“I’ve been very nice to you,” Al said, a slight smirk on his lips even though he did not look up from his book. “You just want to eat.”

“Just give me something small,” Theo begged. “If they’re gonna change me to full liquids today anyways, what’s the difference between now and later?” Ice cream was on a full liquid diet, Theo thought to himself. He’d give anything to tear into a banana split right now.

“The difference,” Al said casually, “Is that I’m not a doctor.”

Theo crossed his arms petulantly. “You could be. You know more than some of them.”

“True, but not about gallbladders,” Al responded. He finally put his book down in his lap and looked at Theo in a way that was somehow both judgmental and affectionate. The large window behind him provided lighting that Theo thought made him look exceptionally handsome today, which wasn’t fair because he was trying to be cross right now. “Look, babe, if they don’t come by in time for you to get a real dinner tray, you can have a few sips of my Ensure.”

Theo made a gagging noise on purpose. “Please, those are disgusting.”

“Mhm. And that’s how you know you’re not truly starving. If you were starving for real, you’d take it.”

Theo groaned. “That’s not fair, you tricked me.”

“It’s evidence. For the lawyer.”

“I would rather be sitting in court,” Theo muttered. “I could sneak a protein bar under the bench or something.” They both knew that Theo would never do something so unprofessional, but it was a laughable scene to picture.

It took another two hours for the doctors to finally come by on their rounds. They felt Theo’s abdomen and asked him about how he was feeling, and his response was, “I’ll give you a kidney, too, if you just let me eat something.”

The doctor laughed and agreed to a full liquid diet then, and said if Theo tolerated it for dinner and overnight then he could have a light breakfast with real food too. But of course, doctors never really remembered those little things, and when Theo was served beef broth for dinner again, Al was quick to call the nurse and ask them to get the order changed before Theo had a mental breakdown. Then he went to the cafeteria and got what he knew to be a full liquid diet himself: cream of potato soup, vanilla pudding, orange sherbet and the most important thing, chocolate ice cream. Theo may have shed a genuine tear as he ate everything, even though Al told him to go slowly.

Thankfully, Theo tolerated dinner very well and the nurse obtained an order to move him to a solid diet for breakfast. He was restricted to the low-fat menu which ruled out half of the already limited selection, but Theo didn’t care. He was ready for the blandest toast, the most powdery low-fat egg whites, and sugar free cream of wheat. Just as long as it had substance, he was happy.

After a successful breakfast too, Theo was discharged that following afternoon. He did try to convince Al to make an emergency fast food stop on the way home, which Al immediately rejected. But for the next several weeks, no matter how annoying eating the very bland, low-fat diet Al was feeding him was, Theo took it in stride. As long as it wasn’t soup.

#shionwrites #sicktember 2024 #oc: albert #oc: Theo #sickfic #hospital setting

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whumpdom · 1 year ago

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Andersen Men

Sicktember Day 3: “What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?”

Description: James is sick but Trent needs someone to keep him together.

Trent is 26 James is 25. TW for content; mentions of child abuse, assault, and panic attacks.

The drive back to his apartment is normally one of James’s favorite parts of his day. He turns up the radio and can drown out all the chaos in his mind. Today, however, the drive is proving tedious at best. There’s a deep-seated exhaustion sitting in his bones and the beginning of a headache creeping in. James rolls his muscular shoulders and tries to blink away the fatigue; the day isn’t over yet. Before he can go home and pass out in his bed, he needs to stop by Trent’s place and check up on him. Daisy and Aiden are out of town on some kind of “writing retreat”, and James had promised to check up on the young lawyer.

James pulls up outside of the rundown apartment building that Trent lives in and parks his truck. As he steps out, he winces when the throbbing in his head picks up slightly. He shrugs it off and walks towards the stairs. His father’s voice echoes in his head.

“Andersen men don’t take sick days, son”

The sentiment has held true for the most part, James can’t recall a single time his father missed work or church because of illness ,and James has worked through nearly every sickness and injury unless he couldn’t physically get out of bed. Save for the time he got a concussion during a training exercise, and was ordered to be on bed rest, James has never taken a sick day. He has on multiple occasions boasted about his ‘Immune system of steel’, something that is evidently failing him at the moment.

When James gets to the front door of Trent’s apartment, he pauses to clear his throat, before knocking. He can hear Trent on the other side of the door, pacing and muttering, it’s not a good sign. After a few moments, Trent opens the door and James’s concern immediately increases. His friend looks to be on the verge of a full blown breakdown. His eyes are blown wide and it’s clear he’s been crying. Trent’s lower lip is raw and slightly bloody from when he’s been chewing it. There’s some dried blood on his knuckles and James has no doubt he’ll find a new dent in one of the apartment walls.

“Hey man, what happened?”

James' voice is soft and cautious as he walks into the living room. Trent starts pacing again, looking like a caged animal. His shoulders are shaking and his breathing is bordered on hyperventilating. Trent doesn’t respond to James' question at first. James waits patiently, he knows how easily Trent can be startled when he’s like this. After a few minutes, Trent drops down on the couch and hunches over. He sucks in a shaky breath and then looks up at James with red-rimmed eyes.

“I, h-he was t-there. At the office today, Wilton Blakely.” Trent whispers. The name is unfamiliar to James, but it clearly holds some significance with Trent. “He c-came up to me and t-t-touched me. Kept going on about how great m-my f-father was.”James sits down on the couch a few inches from Trent and places a hand on his friend's knee to help ground him.

Trent chokes back a sob and swallows thickly. His eyes begin to dart around the room. James can sense the impending panic attack and he squeezes Trent’s knee firmly. “Did he hurt you?”James asks carefully. Trent shakes his head and leans into James ever so slightly. He sucks in an unsteady breath before speaking, his voice barely a whisper.

“W-when I was eight, my parents had some dinner party and I spilled some water on him.” Trent flinches suddenly, he can still feel the sting of the first slap and his cheek even after all these years. “I-I-I-I d-didn’t m-mean to, but it d-didn’t matter.”. Trent doesn’t have to finish the rest of the story for James to know what happened. He is well aware of the torment Trent faced at the hand of his ‘parents’ and it makes James feel sick everytime he thinks about it. James instinctively pulls his friend closer and rubs Trent’s back to calm him down.

“I probably deserved it anyway.” Trent says with a hollow laugh.

James shakes his head and hugs Trent. “You didn’t deserve it, any of it. What they did to you was horrible, but they can’t hurt you anymore. Alright?”James states firmly. Trent nods and slumps against James.

“Why don’t you shower and I’ll order some food?” James offers when Trent pulls away. Trent nods and stands up, he still looks rough and James has a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

While Trent showers, James orders food. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, which is probably why his head and stomach hurt, and Trent can’t take his meds on an empty stomach. Italian food seems like a safe bet, so James orders some pasta dishes to be delivered and flips through the TV channels until he finds something neutral to watch. He settles on Parks and Recreation, which seems like a safe bet.

The food arrives shortly after Trent emerges from the shower and the two men settle on the couch and eat in relative silence. James isn’t exactly hungry, but he eats anyway hoping it will help his headache go away. Trent picks at his food, absentmindedly watching the show and occasionally cracking a shy smile at the jokes. When Trent has eaten most of his dinner, James heads to the kitchen to grab Trent’s anxiety and insomnia medication along with some aspirin for himself. James hands Trent his pills along with a bottle of water and watches as his friend swallows. Trents eyes are still puffy and far-away but he seems to be doing better. James clears away the food and tries to ignore the overly-full sensation in his belly. He really hadn’t eaten that much, especially considering his normal appetite, but evidently his stomach disagrees.

“T-thank you.” Trent mumbles when James walks back into the living room. James smiles and squeezes his shoulder,”No problem man.”, he replies.

They watch a few more episodes; Trent relaxes more and more as the medication takes effect. James, on the other hand, grows ever more uncomfortable. Dinner is sitting like a rock in his stomach, refusing to digest. Occasionally he can feel the food churning sickly and his belly rumbles quietly, clearly displeased with his choice to eat. Apparently what James felt earlier was not hunger, but rather the beginning of a stomach bug. James places a hand on his midsection and rubs at it discreetly. He can feel a slight bloat to his abdomen along with the queasy ache. Now that his brain isn’t focused on taking care of a panicked Trent, James realizes just how terrible he feels. A wet burp rumbles up his throat and he muffles it in his fist.

Trent doesn’t seem to notice his friend's condition, or if he does he doesn’t mention it. His eyes begin to droop and he slumps further into the couch yawning. The tension has eased from his shoulders and his breathing is calmer. James takes note and grabs the remote to turn the television off.

“I think it’s bedtime, yeah?” James asks, turning to Trent.

The young lawyer nods sleepily and stands up, walking towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. He turns back towards James and looks at him with sad pleading eyes.

“C-can you st-stay?”

James smiles at the request. He knows that Trent is prone to nightmares following a panic attack and he hadn’t planned to leave his friend anyway. Hearing Trent openly request it is definitely progress though.

“Of course, I’ll be right out here if you need me buddy.”

Trent’s shoulders relax even further and he walks into the bathroom.

Once Trent has left the room, James lets out another wet burp. It doesn’t bring him any relief and he presses his hand against his aching belly hoping to coax up another burp. He does, but it brings with it a splash of his dinner, which he quickly swallows back down. His stomach grumbles in response and cramps.

James stands up carefully and goes to the hall closet where he has a stash of spare clothes. It’s not the first time he’s spent the night here and it won’t be the last. He changes into a fresh shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. The waist band digs into his puffy belly and James winces, rubbing tenderly and trying not groan when he bends over to pick up his other clothes. The action of bending over sends up another splash of acid and food into his throat. For a moment James thinks he’s going to puke, but nothing happens and he returns to the couch.

Trent has left a pillow and blanket on the couch for him. James settles onto the couch and curls in on himself. He hugs his bulky arms around his middle and squeezes his eyes shut. With any luck, he’ll be able to fall asleep.

For the better part of an hour, James tries to sleep, with no success. His stomach hurts and keeps making increasingly loud and distressed sounds. His head is throbbing, despite the aspirin, and perhaps worst of all; James is alone with his thoughts. Everytime he shuts his eyes, he can see Drew’s face or the face of someone else he lost. His mind is flooded with the images of everyone he couldn’t save and it only makes him more nauseated. This tends to happen anytime he gets a fever and James hates it.

Trent is sleeping soundly in the next room over and James really doesn’t want to disturb him, but he almost wishes Trent would wake up. At least then he would have something else to focus on.

Another cramp ripples through his middle and James bites back a groan. He can still taste dinner in his mouth along with the bitter saliva that keeps flooding in. James stands up, slightly unsteady, and quietly walks to the bathroom. He grabs his toothbrush that Trent keeps here and attempts to brush his teeth. The action makes him gag and James drops the toothbrush leaning over the sick to retch.

His stomach contracts as he gags but all that he manages is a pathetic dribble of bitter drool. He turns and kneels in front of the toilet, squeezing his eyes shut as the world seems to spin around him. Memories flood his brain and James grips the rim of the toilet until his knuckles are white.

His back arches and he burps, bringing up a gush of puke; quickly followed by another. James pants over the water; the smell and sight of his partially disgusted dinner makes him gag again. James wraps one of his arms around his middle and uses the other to brace himself over the toilet. His belly gurgles under his hand and contracts sending up another wave of vomit.

When he finishes, James flushes the toilet and washes his face and mouth, before returning to couch. He had hoped that Trent would stay asleep during his bout of sickness, but Trent is a light sleeper even when medicated.

“What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?”

Trent is sitting on a chair by the couch when James enters the living room. There’s a bucket next to the couch and a bottle of water in Trent’s hand. James flops on the couch and burps into his hand. Trent doesn’t comment but he looks worried just the same. James doesn’t usually get sick and Trent isn’t quite sure how to respond. “I would offer you my bed but I know you won’t take it. Just know that it’s yours if you want.” Trent says as James takes a tentative sip of the water.

When the water doesn’t immediately come back up, James takes another tiny sip and sets the bottle down on the coffee table. He settles on the couch and looks up at Trent.

“Thanks man, sorry for waking you up.” James says yawning.

Trent stands up and pats James shoulder awkwardly. “It’s no problem” he replies as he heads back to bed.

James finally manages to fall asleep, his stomach settling somewhat after having purged itself. His dreams are far from peaceful, but James can’t remember a time when they were. When he wakes up he decides that, just this once, an Adersen man is going to take a damn sick day.

I will edit later enjoy some James and Trent whump xx

#sickfic #emeto #hurt/comfort #whump #tw: abuse #tw: panic attack #trent walker #james andersen #tw: vomit #sicktember 2023 #submission

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 1 year ago

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Sicktember 23 : Cold Case

(15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place + 24. “Did you just sneeze?”)

The detective's throat hurt.

Without leaving from sight the stuffy room, he massaged it slowly. His eyes were drier than usual, too. He blinked furiously. All for nothing, of course. No one was there yet; just him, a stupid little private eye freezing in a stupid little store that wasn’t heated. At least this time he was inside while it was snowing.

He’d already made good decisions in his life. It had happened ! Accepting this case had not been one of these. Not because of the case itself, oh no; it was – or at least, he hoped – rather simple. No corpse, for a start. That was a nice beginning for an inquiry. The client himself was much more of a problem. It was the first time that the detective had a rich collector among his clients, and if he was lucky, he’d be the last before long. The phone call that had begun it all had been one-hundred twenty eight (128. Honest.) minutes long well before his opening hours. The client had spent the first thirty seconds to explain that one of his greatest treasures had been taken from him, that was to say a priceless painting, and the rest to describe how miserable he was and the impacts on his social and financial life. Two hours left more than enough time to become salty, so the detective had asked:

“If that painting was that priceless, isn’t its place in a museum ?”

The client’s voice had become as frosty and hard as the weather outside.

“This painting is in my family since generations. Haven’t you heard, sir? It was stolen in a museum, because I lent it for an exposition.”

The detective had rubbed his temples and glanced at his alarm clock. 8:15. He’d never been at his brightest before 10 AM. Especially when he had been woken up toward 6 AM, all for a painting and some guy who was taking him for some kind of therapist. Yes, he’d heard about the stealing. Only he’d paid it no attention. It wasn’t often that rich guys were coming to him. The biggest mystery, really, was why the client had called him, but he’d needed the money, so he’d gone to work. A quick examination of the museum had told him that the thieves couldn’t have gone out by the main entrance or by the exit. There had to be a third way. Crime was always on the rise in this time of the year, and police and him didn’t get along too well, so as always he’d had no one else to help him. The museum security hadn’t been understanding either, so he hadn’t been able to make a very detailed search. Fine. He’d left out the place, and had tried to determinate if it’d been the only theft done in the same style, no matter how insignificant. It had been a laborious search, to enter all these stores only weeks before Christmas. He’d been shouted at, he’d been slapped once, and he’d been so very, very cold. While the days were going by, it’d been harder to get out of bed. He’d felt his throat hurting, his stomach growling, and sometimes he’d felt feverish. Used tissues piled up in his bin, and it took gallons and gallons of tea with honey to make him feel a little better. There was no time to rest, though. His medical appointment kept being postponed. The grumpier he was, the harder he wanted to catch the thief. Mostly though, it was because the client would not leave him be. Every day he called to complain. There was no polite way left to get him to shut up. The detective made his morning coffee while the phone whined on the table, and he’d only occasionally turn his head to add a “hmm” or “sure.” It wasn’t like he could turn it off altogether. Unlike what the collector seemed to thought, he actually had other clients.

Still, his work had paid off. All signs pointed to a little antique store next to the museum. He was pretty sure now that there was an entrance that connected the two buildings – and, if he was lucky, the painting might have been still in here. Judging by its description, it wasn’t something you could hide or carry easily.

After a bit of breaking and entering – he swore he’d pay for the damage - he’d settled in there and crouched behind an authentic-genuine-I-swear post-prehistoric chest of drawers. The perk of being small – or, as he’d liked to call it, a very reasonable height – was that in the middle of all these objects, he was invisible. He’d been waiting for a long time now. Hours and hours in the dark without moving too much, without getting asleep, without doing anything but watch. It’d been tedious. But the ray of light he could peek at just now told him that it hadn’t been for nothing. Said ray of light belonged to a flashlight that belonged to a long, bulky shape in black.

There you go.

The form extirpated itself from a hole in the stone wall, that had been hidden before by a bookshelf. One slightly slimmer shape followed up, then a tiny, tiny third that made him tilt his head in confusion. Maybe it wasn’t a child. He hoped it wasn’t a child.

Three whole humans. Right. Sure. His throat hurt a lot more all of the sudden, and it wasn’t because of the cold. He’d better believe he was as invisible as he wished, because the first one had something in their hand that very much looked like a gun. Of course, he had his own. That wouldn’t do much good because it was loaded with blanks. The only thing worse than risking being killed was risking killing another person. He wasn’t sure he could bluff against three. On the other hand, if he wasn’t noticed, it was his early Christmas present. He was paying them a visit just the night they were making another trip to the museum. What for, though ?

“A good thing we have done”, mumbled the first one. “That painting would have ruined us.”

Wait, what ? The second shape seemed to slap lightly the third, who whined in protest and stepped back.

“How was I supposed to know it was a fake ?”

Wait. What.

“Yeah, let the kid alone,” neglectfully said the first shape; “good thing someone had a brain cell inside his skull and checked with Dr Garner.”

The detective took note of the name, but he was still too flabbergasted to precisely hear what they were saying. So that was why the police hadn’t been that interested into that theft and the museum security had given him the cold shoulder. They must have known. Bastards, they could have told him ! Else he wouldn’t have been risking his neck for a fake painting that had been given back. As for his client, he’d never killed anyone in his life, but he was very much tempted to at least try to strangle him a bit.

Still, those bozos were going to be arrested. He didn’t like the kind of fire they carried around. He liked even less the kind of guys who bullied kids. He couldn’t catch them now if he wanted to live a little longer, but he wasn’t in a rush. He just had to wait for them to drop a clue.

So he stayed and stayed and stayed. He barely dared to move and had no idea of the time. Fortunately it was December and dawn wouldn’t break before very long. The thieves were still taking their sweet time, though. Oh, they spilled the beans all right. They let out names and addresses and other things that could be easily checked. He had them. He had them good. It was worth it. Sure. But there were also long, long silences that reminded him that it had been hours since he was in the same position and there still wasn’t any heating and the slightest noise would mean a bullet in the head. His throat was killing him but as long as it was the only thing killing him, he would be fine. Right ? Right. He could take it. He was a persistence hunter. The ache in every muscle in his body and his burning forehead and his vocal chords on fire meant nothing, so long as he got out alive with all those precious hints.

And then, the first shape took a step back and accidentally knocked down a table. It was far too close from him for his taste, but he was relieved to see it didn’t affect the little barricade of furniture who protected him. He let out a big sigh, unaware of the dust cloud that the table had moved, accidentally breathing it.

The second shape started.

“Did you just sneeze?” they asked awkwardly to the first.

“No,” answered the first, drawing out a gun, passing so very close to a shadow huddled into a corner with his hands on his mouth and nose and his eyes wide.

“I didn’t.”

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist (I know I'm reaching)

#sicktember #sicktember 2023 #writeblr #writers on tumblr #detective #mystery #original fiction #my writing #writing snippet #writing drabble #writing dialogue

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