#was sick with a fever for a whole week & was a miserable wet rag the whole time

[weepingactorsoverpopmusic]

[theninjamouse]

Sick Day

You're not sure if it's a monster thing or a Grillby thing, but you've always thought that Grillby just doesn't get sick. The closest he even gets is headaches, which you may or may not have caused on a few occasions of reckless activities that landed you at the hospital.

Turns out you were wrong.

Waking up in a sweat is a common occurrence given Grillby's tendency to lock you in a teddy bear hold during the night, but on this particular morning you wake feeling more liquid than person. Gah, gross.

Kicking your feet free from the thin sheet, you swipe at your face, blinking blearily. The light coming in from the window is the dull blue from a sun not yet risen. The room, always warm, is unbearably hot.

The debate of whether to poke Grillby awake or just camp on the couch for a few more hours dies as your eyes fall on your still slumbering partner. It's normal for the edges of his face to get soft and fuzzy when he's sleeping but nearly all definition of his head is gone. The color is weird too; waves of uneasy green and deep red sweep over his face and bits of flame hiss and spit erratically.

"Holy sh- hey, Grillby." Reaching out, you gingerly touch his shoulder, wary of waking him into a panic if he's having a nightmare. "Grillby?"

A deep throated groan rumbles from his chest. He shifts and you think his head turns towards you. He makes a questioning noise and you just barely catch that his eyes have opened to thin slivers.

"Hey," you say gently as you sit up. "Are you okay? You look more like...a regular campfire than usual."

He doesn't answer for a moment, blinking owlishly. Then he lifts a hand, looking down at the fingers that have molded into stubby digits. "Ah," he rasps before a terrible crackling cough shakes his shoulders.

Alarmed, you move to help him sit up, patting his back. The fabric of his shirt is scorching hot. "Holy crap, are you sick?"

Wheezing, he tries to speak, fails and then just nods miserably.

Your mouth drops. He’d been quiet and subdued last night sure, but you thought that he was just tired from a crazy work week. "I thought you didn't get sick!"

It takes him a moment to get the breath to mutter, ".....very...rarely."

"Geez, okay, um. Here." You take your pillow and add it to his, fluffing them up against the headboard. "Lean back here."

He follows your guiding hand with meek compliance, which more than anything tells you he's out of it. What the heck do you do now? None of the human cures for colds or fevers will work here. No point in a glass of water or medicine made for human bodies. Maybe there's monster medicine? Would a monster candy work?

Leaning over, you grab your phone off the nightstand. It's a little after six. Hopefully Toriel is already up and moving since it's a school day.

"Good morning Shore," she greets after just a few rings and you breathe a little sigh of relief. "Is something wrong? You're rarely up this early."

"Yeah, um, Grillby's sick." You look over at him to see he's closed his eyes, head slumped against the wall.

"Oh dear! Is he alright?"

"I don't know, I think so?" You try not to let your voice hitch. "He's burning really hot and his colors are weird and he's got a cough. Do you...have you ever dealt with monster sickness?"

"More than my fair share," she says sympathetically. "Though it has been a very, very long time since the last fire based illness I cared for."

"But you have cared for one? What do I do?"

"He needs to stay fed; the excess heat is his core attempting to burn out the illness."

"Like a human fever."

"Exactly." There's a noise in the background and you hear Toriel respond as if she's placed her fuzzy paw over the phone. "My dear, I'm terribly sorry, there's a bit of a crisis happening this morning, I need to take care of this but I will call you back. For now, keep him comfortable and keep him fed. Oil heavy foods, perhaps sprinkle on some butane-”

Bu-what now.

“Oh dear, there goes Frisk. Call me if you have any other questions, I’ll be by with a pie later!” Click. 

Ah. Great. You sigh and set the phone down. At the slightest shifting of the mattress, you say, “Dear, where do you think you’re going?” 

Grillby freezes, one loosely formed hand gripping the edge of the blanket. “Kitchen,” he rasps. “...I need...”

“To eat, yeah, Toriel told me. I’ll get it so you stay put.” Scooting over, you push him back against the headrest. It’s a fight to quell the urge to put your hand up on his forehead. It’s obvious enough without feeling that he’s literally burning up. 

“Normally this would be the point I’d go get a wet rag or something,” you joke weakly. “But I don’t think that’d be helpful to you.” 

Grillby mumbles something that might be a sassy remark or just another groan. 

“Got any butane?” 

The noise this time is definitely a groan. 

You pat his thigh. “Sorry, queen’s orders.” 

He gestures towards the kitchen and you slip off the bed. Grillby’s kitchen is always stocked so it’s easy to gather together ingredients for a stew. It’s no chicken noodle soup but at least it’s soup like. You do indeed find a canister of butane in one of the cabinets. The large ‘Highly Flammable’ warning on the side has you pausing. How exactly do you add butane to a stew? How much? Eh, probably best to just bring the whole thing and ask Grillby. 

It’s not long before the stew is bubbling and a rather lovely smell fills the kitchen. You’re no Grillby, but you can make a very solid stew. You grab a bowlful, the butane, turn and yelp, nearly dropping them both. 

Grillby has either ignored your orders to stay put or just forgot because there he stands. But the effort of moving seems to have stolen away what energy he had left because now he looks more like a matchstick than a monster. His head is just a simple flame flickering with the same harsh colors and his shirt hangs loosely on his thinned frame. 

“Oh geezum, you scared me,” you wheeze, wincing at the hot stew that splashed on your hand. “Are you okay?” 

He...maybe shrugs? It’s hard to tell with how little mass he has right now. You set the butane down and guide him to sit on the couch. When you offer the bowl and spoon, he forgoes the spoon altogether and cups the bowl in his now fingerless hands and chugs the entire thing down in a matter of seconds. 

You blink. “Oh. More?” 

“...Please.” 

More you get, bowl after bowl until the pot is empty and then you remember the can of butane still sitting on the counter. When you bring it over, Grillby sparks with a low disgust but takes the can. With a low cough, he gestures for you to back up before taking a deep swig. 

The burst of heat and flame has you wincing, even at a fair distance. Your jaw drops a little at the sight of him chugging down the liquefied gas like it’s an ice cold glass of water on a summer day. By the time the bottle is empty, some of the shape has returned to his head, though the edges of his face remain fuzzy with dark green flames.

You cautiously approach as he sighs heavily and sets the bottle on the floor. “Better?” 

“Hmm.” He certainly looks a bit better, at least a little. He blinks sleepily at you. “Hi.” 

“Hi matchstick.” 

The whine he makes at that is so utterly adorable you can’t help but take his little matchstick flame head in your hands and plant a kiss where you best guess his forehead is. Totally worth the slight singeing of your lips. 

“Do you wanna go back to bed?” you ask as you card your fingers through his headflames. Ow, hot. 

He grunts and shakes his head. “Stay....here,” he mumbles, tugging on your shirt. 

A grin pulls at your mouth. “Fine, but you should get some more sleep. Even an elemental needs rest when sick.” 

You sit and Grillby immediately slumps over so his head rests on your lap. He snuggles his face into your stomach and tucks his arms in close. Oh heavens above, you’re not happy he’s sick but he is unfairly cute like this. 

“Comfy?” you ask gently, rubbing his head again. 

He hums quietly. “Sorry,” he tacks on as a mumble. “It...will pass...quickly.” 

“It’s okay to be sick, it happens to everyone.” 

He mutters something else, but sleep is already claiming him. You stroke your thumb over his cheek. “Just rest,” you whisper, though you’re fairly certain he’s already slipped into slumber. “I’ll take care of you.” 

[justactsupernatural]

We’ll Never Leave You Alone Allie

Warnings: mental health issues, possesive behavior and implied murder

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He was their baby, their mother’s last gift before dying.

How could the world expect them to give him up?

                                         ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 Alan was three years old when their mother had died, having survived the avalanche that had threatened to take them both because of their mother’s protective embrace, taking the brunt of the snow to save the child.

After the accident, their father went MIA on them and focused solely on his work, leaving the five brothers to fend for themselves. This had a major effect on their whole dynamic, starting with the fact that the youngest Tracy needed constant care.

Scott grew up too fast for a boy his age, running himself ragged in his attempt to take care of his younger brothers. He helped with homework, with getting dressed, making dinner and breakfast, and keeping everyone alive. At only 13 this certainly wasn’t something he should be worried about, but with their father practically living at the office someone had to keep what was left of their family going.

Even though he was raising four younger brothers, he could always feel a deep connection with Alan. Granted, he had a connection with all of his brothers, but the youngest Tracy was different; the three-year-old was innocence itself and the little firework kept them all going during that dark time.

Which was probably why they all freaked out when the world threatened to take him away for the first time.

                                          ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 The mystery car arrived at their around nine months after the funeral, it was a Saturday, and all the boys were in the house. Scott, John and Virgil were awake and picking up the discarded toys and dirty dishes of the night before while Alan and Gordon slept upstairs. Their father never got home the night before.

Scott had just finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher when Virgil called his name near the front door. Going to see what was up with his brother, the brunette left the kitchen and approached his nine-year-old sibling, John at his heels.

“There’s a car outside” said Virgil when the older boys got to him, pointing out the window to their front lawn where a car with that blasted symbol was parked. The woman coming out of the car had a folder on her arms and was making their way to the door, the sound of her heels unheard because of the distance but each step marking the beat of Scott’s heart.

Child Protective Services.

The lump in his throat was making it almost impossible to breathe. They were going to take his brothers away, tearing apart his family and giving them away like some kind of sick fair prize.

The curse that left John’s mouth told the oldest Tracy that he knew what the symbol in the car meant, even if Virgil didn’t. After telling the dark-haired kid to go to Alan and Gordon’s room and stay there until he was summoned, he turned to his other brother and told him to go unmake their dad’s bed.

John didn’t question him, he was smart and knew that if that woman thought their father wasn’t home enough they would be in big trouble. Someone looking at their private mess of a life wasn’t ideal, but Tracys aren´t stupid, nor are they weak and the threat to their brothers and what could happen to them if they failed was enough to motivate the both of them into action.

Going to the kitchen, Scott mentally steeled himself for what was to come and waited the few seconds it took for the woman to reach their door. Making his way to open it, only one thought was going through his mind: ‘I’m not letting them take my brothers away’.

                                           ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 Everything had been going just fine, the woman looked around the first floor and asked some questions that both Scott and John handled perfectly, using the excuse that their brothers were sleeping to explain their absence. Creating scenarios where their father had been present in the last five months was easy when they were memories already existent, only slightly altered; the CPS lady seemed to be buying it and was about to leave when it all went wrong.

After spinning tales and asking well hidden questions, the brothers found out that a neighbor had called to make sure they were all right, out of worry that their father was neglecting them. While it was true, the anger Scott felt was indescribable and he thanked God that John had spoken some bullshit story about the person responsible for the call only wanting fame for “saving” the kids from their “evil, rich father”, because he would have yelled his heart out and probably would have blown the interview if he so much as opened his mouth to breathe.

She said her goodbyes and that they probably wouldn’t have to hear from her again, a blessing that Scott was willing to take and forget the moment she crossed the threshold.

But then Alan, sweet, innocent and blissfully ignorant to all the bad in the world Alan, came running down the stairs asking for Scott and came to a full stop in front of him, holding his pijama clad arms up, demanding to be held. Never one to deny his baby brother anything, Scott complied and picked the blonde up, letting him rest on his hips and turning to slam the door on the CPS agent’s face to get her to leave.

That was, until she decided to smile at Alan and turning to look at Scott with a questioning glance before asking if she could ask Alan some questions. Without any other option, the brunette gave a forced smile and nodded turning to go back into the living room, thanking that Virgil had listened to him and stayed upstairs with Gordon.

Sitting down in the couch with John at his side and Alan on his lap, Scott waited for the woman to sit down only to have her phone ring and her excusing herself to the kitchen to talk. But she was talking loudly, and Scott could clearly hear her saying words like “only a kid”, “taking him away” and “the Johnsons”.

By the tension in his redheaded brother’s shoulders Scott figured he heard it too. The Johnson family lived three houses down from theirs and had always been way too interested in the lives of others instead of their own. If they had been the ones to call CPS and Alan got taken away, he would make sure they paid.

                                           ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 In the end, Alan fell asleep after only a few questions and the woman left, repeating that there were no problems and that she wouldn’t bother them again. With his heart trying to beat out of his heart, Scott closed the door and hugged the sleeping Alan closer.

And when he saw the Johnsons standing in front of their house, he talked with John and planned. They would pay.

                                           ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 Four days later the Johnson house burned down, a gas leak caused a fire, according to the firemen. No survivors.

                                          ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 There were many times when others tried to hurt or take Alan from them.

That one psycho nanny that their dad had hired, who though she could get rough with Alan and they wouldn’t find out. She tripped on the street and fell in front of a bus a week after they found out, Virgil telling the police what he saw before going home with news for their father that they would need a new sitter.

A business partner of their father’s who came to eat dinner at their house and made Alan cry after calling him stupid and pushing him out of his way. He had a heart attack that night; apparently, he had an allergic reaction to the piece of pie he had eaten in his house after dinner, the rat poison that had been on their kitchen in their neighbor’s trashcan.

The old man who cat-called Alan on the street when he and Gordon were on the mainland, getting some supplies for the Island. He was mugged and stabbed in an ally three hours later.

CPS again, saying that a nineteen-year-old could not be Alan’s guardian after their dad’s death. Tracy Industries had the best lawyers money could buy and the CPS agent in charge of their case had a newfound habit of driving drunk, according to the police after the car crash.

Their father, who tried to send Alan to school on the mainland and keep him away from them and the protection they could give him. His plane had crashed on its way to a meeting on New York, no survivors found.

Many others had tried, no one ever succeeded.

                                          ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 Sixteen-year-old Alan was lying in bed, shivering and covered in blankets despite the fever running through his body. His brothers by his side, doing different things to keep entertained but keeping him company.

John was sitting on the beanbag at the right side of the bed, typing away at his laptop, probably working on his new book. Virgil and Gordon were playing Go Fish on the floor in front of the bed, making as little noise as possible as to keep from disturbing their sick brother.

Scott was on his left side, sitting next to him on the bed and putting a wet towel on his forehead. Standing up, he went to fetch the medicine when a hand on his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

“Where are you going?” asked Alan, looking up at his brother with scared eyes. His heart clenching at the sight of his miserable brother, Scott sat back down and ran a hand through the blonde’s soaked hair. ”I’m just going to fetch your medicine Sprout”.

“But you’ll be back right?” asked the teenager, looking up hopefully at his brother. Scott gave a soft chuckle and smiled at his baby brother before stroking his hair again.

“Of course I’ll come back” he answered, voice soft and reassuring “We’ll never leave you alone Allie”.

                                           ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 He was their baby, their mother’s last gift before dying.

Did the world really expect them to give him up?

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The Fallen, 9/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 9/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 9:

The Doctor woke up a few hours later. He was feeling groggy and nauseous. He tried to get up but his limbs weren’t responsive. He slumped back on the floor. Waited a couple minutes. Or hours. Tried to sit up. His mind was clouded, he couldn’t think straight. Whatever they had drugged him with this time, it was a strong one and it wasn’t wearing off easily. He groaned and rolled on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit if he was sick. His head bumped against the foot of the busted bed. Pain exploded; black dots filled his sight. He stayed still. That was for the best. Stay still and wait until he felt better. He had expected Jeremy to attack again on the next day. He didn’t see him, nor any of his pets. Nash didn’t even come. Jeremy was certainly keeping her away. Isolating the patient when he was gonna need help was a strategy to have him getting desperate. Deprived from food, water and from a person checking on him while he was recovering from torture and a strong dose of drugs was dangerous but it could be worse. The Wolf didn’t show up. The drugs had weakened the Time Entity. Worse than when they had weakened his human host. But the worst was yet to come. Indeed, his biggest problem wasn’t to see no one. It was quite a relief actually. He could be in peace in that tiny cell that stunk like Hell. No, his biggest problem was the drugs. Lately, they had taken him out of his cell regularly. Scared of what he could do, they were drugging him to make him as innocent and soft as a kitty. His body had developed an addiction to those substances and now he was gonna get detoxified the hard way. For days, he was as sick as a dog. He was vomiting and trembling and sweating. Whenever he was getting a bit of sleep, he was dreaming of Jeremy getting what he wanted; of him torturing Rose to get him; dreaming of all the bad adventures when he was traveling through time and space. He was dehydrated and in a rough shape. However, he never begged for water and food. Not even meds. He handled it all by himself. When someone finally opened the door days later, he was lying on his side on the cold dirty ground. He was barely awake. He didn’t move at all – couldn’t really – when he was kicked in the ribs. Not even a sound. There was a laugh that would have given the chills to anyone able to react and he was chained up again. No drugs. What did they have in store for him this time? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t gonna please him. Someone pulled him up. He was so weak that he couldn’t stand on his own. He collapsed on the person beside him, closed his eyes. The walls of the room he was in were pale lilac. He smiled. It reminded him of the flashy pink of Rose’s walls in Jackie’s tiny flat. The woman would never know how many nights he really spent in that room with Rose, how many nights he had spent, sat in the dark, watching Rose sleeping. Humans needed a ridiculous amount of sleep. It was annoying. He was always so bored when she was sleeping. He could have gone on an adventure alone but it was better with two. He couldn’t stand solitude anymore. Having Rose by his side was all he desired. “You look rough, Doctor.” This time, he was the one lying in a miserable condition with a glassy look and block up ears and she was the one sitting on the edge of his bed with a mocking smile. She was getting her revenge for all the times he had mocked her for her weak condition. “Time Lords don’t get sick.” “You’re gonna tel me you’re burning up because of your superior biology?” “My body adjusts its temperature.” “You just forgot that you’re human now.” The Doctor blinked. It was true. Even with a part of the Time Vortex in his mind, he remained an ordinary human who was vulnerable to every germ. Rose had a strong immune system. She wasn’t falling sick that much. But she was always in a rough shape whenever her period hit. Something he would never understand. “You have to wake up, Doctor.” Her voice was an echo. Yet, she was just beside him. Her hands were touching his naked body respectfully. Caring gestures: a hand on his forehead to check for fever, a hand holding his. She cleaned his face with a cold wet rag. Everything he would have done for her. “You wouldn’t miss the birth of this new star! Come on, Doctor. It won’t happen for another trillion years.” “What do you know about stars, little human?” he croaked. “More than you if you sleep for another full day.” “I do not sleep. I meditate.” “It’s time to wake up now.” He opened his eyes reluctantly. The walls were grey and the bed was more comfortable than usual. He scanned the surroundings. There was no one around. The place was unfamiliar. It wasn’t Rose’s room, not even his. There wasn’t the usual hum of the TARDIS. He wasn’t in his ship. He slowly sat up. His body was still but it didn’t hurt. Not anymore. Strangely, he felt quite good. Exhausted as if he had gone through Hell and back, but good. He laced around the room. The only way out was locked. The other door was the door of a bathroom. A very tiny bathroom. He was wearing a white cotton outfit. “You have gone through a terrible week. I understand that you might be confused.” He turned around. There was a woman in the room. He hadn’t even heard the door. He was disappointed to find out it wasn’t Rose. The woman was older. She was relieved to see him awake. He was supposed to recognise her. His mind was making attempts to send him signals. He rubbed his face, tapped his forehead with his thumb but nothing came. Nothing until she put a hand on his shoulder. Her aura hit him. She was not a human being. She was a shapeshifter, and one of the most dangerous. “I don’t know what you’ve done to Jeremy but he has left after your last meeting and hasn’t come back yet.” Jeremy. The flash of a man looking just like him. But in his eyes… nothing but the darkness. A dark void. The devil in person. Or almost. He was there to hunt the Time Lords and steal their secrets, their technology, their longevity. Other species had just been a funny exercise but now was the time to beat the final boss. If you could find the secrets of the universe’s keepers, you would be unstoppable. But the Wolf had preferred ruining his brain than giving in. “Where’s Rose? What has he done to her?” He moved away from her touch. He was uneasy around her. His mind was trying to retrieve his missing memories. Rose was there. She had been taking care of him. She had been talking to him. Or had they made him believe she was there? Had they brought her here and taken her away from him? “She’s not here,” answered the woman. “She has never been here. Your friend… you’re keeping her safe. You refuse to tell Jeremy where she is.” The Doctor remained silent. His brain was overwhelmed with thoughts. It was too much. The woman gently led him to the bed and forced him to sit down before he felt bad. The last few weeks had been hard on him. He should go slow. She didn’t want him to dive back. He was still recovering. “They initiated your detoxification. They were planning on giving you drugs again when you’d be the most vulnerable. But you ruined their plans and I stepped in. Brought you up here, helped you through. You’ve been hallucinating.” “I do not hallucinate.” “With the fever you had, you definitely were.” “Why am I here?” “You won’t be here for much longer.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. Her tone was determined. She was gonna get him out of here. Today. He just needed to trust and follow her. Jeremy was away and she had distributed laced coffees to his pets. The path was free from obstacles but they had little time. She took him all the way down to the basement, to the deepest core of this asylum. His mind was flashing memories he had tried to forget. The yellow room, the purple room, the red room. All rooms of torture. That was why he hesitated to enter the green room. It was pretty naked compared to the others. Just a table with a computer and headsets to monitor a brain’s activity. He had come here before. Once or twice. This was all a blur. “We will make them believe that we did a monitoring session.” She was already working on launching the computer and headsets. She wanted a telepathic conversation with him but couldn’t do it freely. This room was the only way to do it without suspicion. The wolf inside him trusted this woman, this Nash, so the Doctor stepped in, placed the headset on his head and let Nash connect him to the system. There was a whole recording room behind the green room. Nash was fake-recording. She had gone through this process before. Not here, but it had happened. The Doctor let her in his mind and she was surprised by the nakedness and austerity of the place. She had expected it to be livelier, more colourful, but it was just a dark room with locked doors. There were two men. They were identical. A perfect copy of each other. One of the them was the Doctor, the other was Maxence. One was asleep in a corner, the other was standing straight, his arms folded on his chest, next to a silver Wolf. From the look in his eyes, he was the human host and not the Time Lord. Another surprise. ‘The Doctor has been off for a long time,’ he explained. ‘It has been me all along.’ ‘You were convincing. No one noticed anything.’ ‘We share the same memories. I know everything about him and he knows everything about me.’ ‘You all played your cards wonderfully but we don’t have much time. We need to talk.’ Her gaze was on the Wolf. It was the one in charge there. None of them blinked when Maxence collapsed to the ground. The Wolf had temporarily neutralised him to have a proper conversation with Nash. She was right. Maxence had done a fantastic job at taking the Doctor’s place. The two of them were the two sides of the same coin. That was why Maxence had been chosen to be the incarnation of this Doctor who survived the Time War. He was a strong man who had survived the worst in human terms, who had handled the burden of the Doctor like no other would have been able to. It was time to reward him for all the sacrifices he had made for the sake of the universe…

To be continued...

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