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waterfallofspace · 1 year

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Letting It In & Letting It Go (2/3)

The one in which K/azuki learns to let his feelings in, and R/ei learns to let his walls go down, at least a little. Feat. Sick R/ei, caretaker K/azuki, and heavy ship implications (cough outright statements cough), though, they aren’t in a relationship at this point.

Same description as the last one, welcome to Part Two! (Link to part one is ~~here~~)

R/ei is still sick, but hopefully he’s feeling a bit better since the last time. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?! (Again, welcome to ‘I have B/uddy D/addies brain rot so, to anyone who bothers to read this, thank you for your time, I hope it’s enjoyable!) (references to violence, swearing, smoking, trauma, bad coughing/wheezing, incase you don’t like any of that) ((ALSO: There are spoilers for B/uddy D/addies. Slight, but it’s still spoilers, so be warned!)) Characters: R/ei, K/azuki, Angst&Banter feat. Caretaking Word Count: 5.9k (oh lord)

Kazuki’s eyes flutter open, and as he gets his bearings, he realizes he fell asleep at the table. Rei is still letting out congested snores from the couch, but the slight wheeze in his lungs is gone. ‘That’s a relief, at least for now’ he thinks, a yawn escaping. Stumbling to the door, Kazuki opens it to find, true to his word, Kyu had left a basket of supplies outside. The note pinned to it lists what’s in it, and what medications not to combine. ‘Thanks Kyu’. He makes another mental note to text him later with an actual thanks. He lays all the stuff out on the table, taking stock of what was brought. There are some tea bags, a few boxes of tissues, and a pharmacy worth of medications. Cough drops, cough syrups, nasal decongestants (in the form of sprays), pain relievers, and antihistamines, along with a few boxes of general cold meds. Each is unopened, and clearly listed on the note by name, type, and what not to take with it. Turning his attention back to Rei, Kazuki tries to figure out, without waking the man, what medications he should get ready. He can hear the congestion in his snores, so getting him to take the nasal spray when he wakes up would probably help. Kazuki sighs to himself, realizing that task may not be as simple as it sounds. Rei isn’t exactly someone who enjoys discomfort, so convincing him to use a spray that will help, but will feel awful at first… ‘yeah, not gonna be easy’. Getting back to symptom management, he thinks back to yesterday. The fever was alarming, but it’s since broken, and Rei doesn’t look particularly warm anymore. He was also coughing and sneezing a lot, which he isn’t now, ‘but that’s most likely due to him, ya know, being unconscious’. After studying the list a bit more, and comparing medications and uses, Kazuki decides on a few main choices. Setting aside a nasal spray, general cold medication, an herbal brand of cough medicine, and a handful of cough drops, he packs the rest back into the basket. The tissues are set next to the medication, along with the tea, of which he picks out a nice vanilla chamomile, and gets up to start the kettle. ~~~~~~~ Stirring on the couch knocks Kazuki out of his sleepy daze, and he looks up to see Rei raising a hand to swipe at his nose. He attempts to sit up, which apparently requires significant effort given the pace he’s going at. “Rise and shine Rei, you want some breakfast?” The low groan he gets in return is indistinguishable as an answer, and since he didn’t eat for most of yesterday, Kazuki decides Rei no longer gets a say in the matter. He starts cracking a few eggs, turning on the stovetop and fishing a frying pan out of the drawer. “Hh’nggxt-! ehhH’NNgxt-! nnDGXXT-!uhhh” “Bless you!” “hH’KNNGT-!hhuhh” “And again. You want bacon with your eggs?” “Who said I want eggs?” Kazuki let out a soft sigh, flashing Rei his most charming smile with just a touch of pleading in his eyes. “You didn’t eat anything yesterday, or dinner the night before, so today you’re eating eggs. But the bacon is optional, because I’m not gonna waste perfectly good meat on you if you’re just gonna pick at it and leave it behind. It’s bacon after all.” Rei gives a grunt in response, so Kazuki throws an extra piece of bacon on, just incase. He could always eat it himself if Rei’s uninterested. Taking note of the harsh quality of Rei’s voice, he also starts a pot of rice, something easier on the throat and stomach. While the food cooks, Kazuki takes a minute to take in Rei’s appearance. He’s normally dishevelled, but the redness around his nose and pale quality of his skin is making him look particularly rough. He looks almost bruised, the dark bags under his eyes deepening against the tired depth of them. At just the sight of him you’d think he hadn’t slept in months, but with this sickness he’d slept more in the past day than he had in weeks. The way his teeth dig into his lip and the lines forming around his eyes read plainly of pain. His hands grip the controller a bit too tightly, the whites of his knuckles showing. His whole body is tense, like normal, but the slight trembling of his muscles suggest this stance is taking considerable effort. Kazuki picks up on these tells almost instantly, shuddering a little as he realizes just how deeply Rei must be hurting for him to be able to notice them so easily. “Hey-” Kazuki starts, not missing the way Rei flinches at the volume of his voice. He softens a little before continuing. “-I have some medicine for you to take. Kyu dropped it off outside earlier, must have been when we were- uh, nevermind! The point is, I need you to take it, so do I need to make some airplane noises, or are you adult enough to do it yourself?” Rei gives him a measured look, before shrugging, his eyes flashing back to the TV. ‘Not an outright no, so that’s progress!’ Kazuki thinks to himself, turning off the stove and plating the food he’s made. He piles himself a nice tall plate of eggs and bacon, with a small bowl of rice. However, he serves Rei just a single fried egg and a small pile of rice, setting the single strip of bacon next to it. Nothing too overwhelming, just something to give his system a bit of energy. “Come and get it while it’s fresh and hot!” Rei trudges over, and Kazuki doesn’t miss the wince he tries to hide when he first stands, or the way his hand flies almost on its own to his head, giving his temples a quick rub. ‘Headache then, and likely a bad one.’ Kazuki makes a mental note to add ‘pain relievers’ to the list of meds he has set out for Rei. ~~~~~~~ They ate in relative silence, Rei picking at his food, but managing to get bits of it into his mouth. Sniffling and light coughs broke up the still air, but Kazuki just ignored them. It almost felt like feeding a stray cat. Every movement Rei made was calculated, and in return Kazuki was slow, careful not to scare him into retreating back to the couch. “hH’KNGT-! hIH’DNNT-!uhhh” “Bless you! ….Those sound like they hurt.” “It’s fihhhne. Hihh… hAH’GNXXT-!uhhh” “And again.” Kazuki can’t help but grimace at the weak groan that escapes Rei’s throat before he can suppress it. ‘Why stifle when it’s hurting your head so much, and not even stopping the tickle?’ He muses, watching as Rei ducks into his chest with another contained sneeze, this one barely even audible. The watery quality of Rei’s eyes as he slowly brings his head back up doesn’t go unnoticed, but Kazuki decides to put it on the backburner. Right now he needs to focus on getting Rei to take the medication. He reaches back into the basket, pulling out a bottle of painkillers, and adding a couple to the cup of meds he had already set out. Setting the nasal spray beside it, and pouring a spoonful of cough syrup, he meets Rei’s eyes. “Swallow these with water, then take this.” Seeing the hesitation on Rei’s face as he regards the nasal spray, Kazuki gives him a light chuckle. “You can save that one for later. You should do it eventually, but these pills will take the edge off the congestion anyways. Now hurry up before this falls off the spoon. Kyu paid for this, so I’ll make you lick it off the table if it spills.” Rei gave him a low growl, but swallowed the meds dry, ‘show off’, before taking the spoon, making a face as he put it in his mouth, but finishing it anyways. Satisfied with these results, Kazuki gestures for him to return to the couch, and Rei obliges eagerly. Kazuki then went about clearing the table, and making a mental note to make rice again for lunch (as it was the only part of the meal Rei had actually finished). He then happened to glance back over at Rei just in time to see him crush his nose into his wrist with a harsh “hH’KNNGT-!” that left them both wincing. “Bless you. But christ Rei, just cut that out already, you’re gonna kill your head even more. It’s actually hurting me to hear you do this. I thought we went over this yesterday!” Rei shoots him a glance at that last section, as if desperately searching for any indication of the day prior that fever seems to have wiped clean. “I don’t remember much of yesterday. Just something about the tub…” “Yeah well, not surprising. You were pretty out of it. Anyways, doesn’t matter, the point is, suppressing them like that is fine for jobs or whatever, but right now you’re just hurting yourself. Plus it’s… it’s gotta be annoying right..? It doesn’t exactly scratch the itch.” “It’s a habit.” Kazuki rolls his eyes, knowing just as well as Rei does that with this much sneezing, it’s a choice, not an instinct. And even though he does believe Rei that it’s a habit, he also knows that the sneezes aren’t gonna stop anytime soon. Keeping this up is just gonna make his headache even worse. Rei brings a hand up to crush his nose shut for another deeply unsatisfying “hH’NGXT-! heh’DXXGT-!” and when Kazuki sees the tear roll from his eyes at the pain of it, he can’t stand it anymore. He walks out of the kitchen, passing the living room and heading up to his bedroom to fetch something. The feather duster sits right where he left it in his closet. ‘Sorry Rei, but I promise this is for the best’ he says to himself as he approaches the couch once back downstairs. Rei is giving him a measured look, obviously noticing the way he’s holding his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I cannot listen to you doing that anymore. You’re gonna break something, either in you, or me.” “What are you ta-” He cuts Rei off with the duster right to his face. “Kahhh! Kazuki what the fuhhhhh- hUH-! What are you doing?” “You seem set on suppressing them out of existence, and I’m putting a stop to it.” Rei tries to bring his hands up to push the duster away, but doing so just sends more dust and feather bits right at his face. Kazuki continues brushing his face with it, only stopping when Rei’s hitching turns into a desperate shaky inhale. “hhHEHH-! hH’ZZSCHH’OO-! HH’RUSHH’OO-! ESHH’OO-! hehH- RSHH’OO-TSHH’OO-! Hihhh… heH’TSHH’OO-! Hehh! MMPFSHH’OO-! Hehh… hahh…. Hhh-!” “It’s okay Rei, let it all go. I don’t mind. You’re safe here.” “Ahh… hehh…. hehH’MPFSHH-! Hehh! MPFSHH-!uhhh TSHHH-TSHH’OO-! hEHH! Kaaahhhhzz- haAH’ZZSCHH’OO! I can’t s- stooohh… stop-” Without thinking, Kazuki reaches over, prying away Rei’s hands that he’s stapled to his face, and pinches his nose shut. Rei lets out a soft moan as the sneezing finally dies down enough to let him catch his breath. They sit like that for a minute, until Kazuki realizes he’s still holding Rei’s nose, blushes, and lets go. “Bless you! See, isn’t that better?” Now it’s Rei’s turn to blush, taking the last of the tissues from the box next to him, and letting himself fully blow his nose before responding. “....yeah, it does feel better.” “I knew it! You should really listen to me more often, I’m quite brilliant. You people, you and Kyu, never appreciating my intelligence. You think you’re all that because you’re a tough assassin, practically perfect at it, raised by famous killers, but I’m just as smart you know! If not more so! I had to do it without all the training!” “It was effective training, but it wasn’t all good.” Kazuki pauses his victory dance, finally realizing what he had said. “Sorry… I didn’t mean-” Rei cuts him off with a shrug, wiping his nose once more with the tissues before tossing them and picking his controller back up. Eyes still on the screen, he spoke again. “I wasn’t allowed weakness. I learned how to hide any sign of humanity, any ‘flaws’.” His tone is balanced, almost like he was reading a grocery list. Just stating facts. But there’s a pain swimming through his eyes that makes Kazuki’s mouth run dry. It’s almost like he can feel all the emotions trembling below the surface of Rei’s calmly annoyed mask, pounding on him from the inside, waiting for a crack so they can seep out. Kazuki wants to give them a way out. Give Rei a space to break down some of the walls his ‘Boss’ had built up in him. Maybe let him figure out how to show his humanity again, something that was so cruelly stolen from him. That’s what he wants, but he knows that’s not what either of them needs. ‘What Rei needs is a space where he can keep the mask on without effort. That’s what he needs. That’s what both of us need. In this job, we can’t form attachments. We can’t let our masks slip, not even for a second. We need to be cold, collected, and calculating.’ And then, even though he tries not to, he lets his mind wander back to that same old place it always seems to end up. An umbrella floating through the street, the smell of smoke, the ringing in his ears… ‘We don’t get to have people get close to us. That just puts them in danger, and us in danger of losing them.’ “hEH’KSSHH’OO!” A sneeze breaks him out of his spiralling thoughts, and as Kazuki’s eyes refocus, he realizes Rei is staring at him. “Heh, sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. Bless you.” “It’s fine. Thought you were gonna fall asleep standing up. Didn’t want to worry about you splitting your head open.” Kazuki laughs, and Rei lets a smile slip across his features for just a second, before the grimace of annoyance resets itself, and he turns his eyes back to his game. Kazuki feels a yawn slip out, and Rei directs a raised eyebrow at him. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, I think I’m gonna take a quick catnap.” “Okay.” The answer is short, but he can see the slight flush on Rei’s cheeks as he thinks back to the reason Kazuki is so tired. “Nighty-night.” He shoots over his shoulder, heading upstairs to his room. ~~~~~~~ The alarm goes off at twelve, just like he wanted it to, but Kazuki still fights the urge to throw the phone at the wall. Letting his head flop back against the pillow, he considers staying in bed all day, but these thoughts are quickly silenced when he hears a bout of harsh coughing from downstairs. Sighing a little, and letting a stray “hH’ISH’shiiew!” slip out as he pulls his jacket back on, Kazuki heads for the stairs, nearly falling down them at the sight waiting for him. Rei stands beside the door, putting on his shoes, holding a loose fist to his mouth as the coughs shake his whole frame. “What in the ever-loving-fuck do you think you are doing?” Rei jumps slightly, which is alarming in of itself since Kazuki wasn’t exactly being quiet as he came down the stairs. “Going out.” “Oh like hell you are! And just where are you planning to drag your sickly form to? Gotta go infect a supermarket? Why is it that the one time I actually want you to stay home all day, lazing around, you decide, ‘oh no, no, today is the first time in my life that I feel the unfightable urge to go outside!’ For the love of god Rei, the one time!” “I’m going to see Kyu. We dropped out of the job at the last minute because of me. He’s probably angry, and wehhh! hH’ZZCHH’OO-! we need to take a new one to make up for it.” Kazuki blinks, staring at Rei, who for his part, is still putting his shoes on. “Bless you. I already took care of that.” “What?” “I told him that you were sick, and he brought the basket over. He said just not to let it happen again, he isn’t upset at us for bailing. Sickness isn’t exactly something you can help…” Rei’s face was his normal calm annoyance, but something unreadable flashed in his eyes. “Oh.” And then it hits Kazuki. This probably was new to him, the idea that being sick wasn’t a punishable offence. “Besides, with the state you’re in right now, I don’t want you in position and then blow it because you-” “heH’NNggxt-! hh’nnGT-! AH’KTNGTT-!uhhh” “-Took the words right out of my mouth. Bless you.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Shut up! You know what I mean- oh forget it. You just go lay down again, it’ll be time for more meds again soon. But for now, you should take some cough drops, that cough sounds pretty painful.” “It’s nothing. My head is worse.” Kazuki feels his mouth drop open at the admission as Rei slowly bends down to take his shoes off again, leaving them in a pile on the floor ‘oh come on, really?’ before making his way back to the couch. Reaching over to pick up the shoes, Kazuki hears Rei sneeze again from behind him. “hH’NGT’ooo-! hEHK’TSHH’OO-!” “Bless you!” He calls as he puts the shoes back next to the door, heading over to the basket of meds to get Rei’s next dose ready afterwards. “Snfff`- hehh.. hhH-! guhhh…” Kazuki risks a glance over at Rei, noticing the way his hand is hovering slightly in front of his face, as if he’s waiting for one more. Reaching over into the basket, he grabs a box of tissues and tosses them onto the couch. “Blow your nose, it’ll help.” Rei obliges with an eye roll and sigh, rubbing his nose into the tissues for a moment before letting a harsh blow scrape out. Kazuki winces, making a mental note to buy more tissues next time he’s out. If- ‘okay fine, “when”’ he catches this, he’s gonna need them. “hH’ZSSCHH’OO-!” “Bless y-” “hAH’TSHH’OO-! RRSHH’OO-! heH’NNGXT-! Hehh… hH’MMTSHHH’OO-!uhhh… hhh… heHH-! Guhhh… hhH-! hhHDT-uhhhh…” “Christ, bless you again, and again. Are you al-” “HH’TSHH’OOO-! mmMPFFSHH’OO-! hEhH-uhhh…. Hhehh- hHH’ZZSCHH’OOO-!” “Bless you! What the fuck Rei, why are you getting so much worse so fast?” Rei just gasps in response, ducking back into the tissues with a harsh triple that doesn’t even give him a breath in between. “hUH’ZSSHH-RSHHH-TSHH’OO-!” Kazuki doesn’t even give a blessing this time, his focus completely taken over by figuring out what’s going on. Even for Rei, this isn’t normal. Sneezing with a cold is one thing, sneezing with this level of viciousness for no reason is something completely different. Racking his brain he tries to remember the last time, if ever, that he’s seen Rei this bad. Earlier he got a longer fit out of him with the duster, but even that wasn’t nearly as throat-scraping as this, and at least gave him time to collect his breath in between. “Kaahhhhzuki-! hUH’SCHHH’OO! RSHH-TSHHH-TSHHH-KSHHH’OO-! hEHH! hEH’ZZSCHH’OOO-!” Rei’s still desperately sneezing into the tissues, but the box fell off the couch during the commotion. Kazuki reaches to pick it up, and freezes at the sight staring back at him. ‘Lotion infused? Wait a second… Is Rei… Oh fuck-’ Kazuki throws the box on the floor, rushing to the bathroom and coming back with a toilet roll. Rei shoots him a frantic glance as he tears the tissues out of his hand, replacing them with a section of roll, which Rei quickly uses to blow his nose. Taking a desperate breath, letting another “hH’TSHH’OO-!” escape, and blowing his nose again, Rei finally manages to stop the fit. “You’re allergic to lotion!?” “What?” “The tissues dumbass, they’re lotion infused! Are you allergic to lotion?” “I guess so. I’m allergic to most perfumes, so I guess that would make sense.” “You’re what? You didn’t think to tell me this? That maybe I should know so, oh I don’t know, off the top of my head, so I don’t give you lotion infused tissues that nearly kill you? Maybe so that doesn’t happen!?” Rei just shrugs, burying his nose in the toilet roll again and letting another leftover sneeze scrape out of his throat. “HH’ZZSHH’OO-!uhhh” At the tired groan that follows, Kazuki manages to get a hold of himself. Taking a few deep breaths, he shoots Rei a dirty glare, before rubbing a hand down his face. “For future reference, telling me about things you’re allergic to is no longer optional.” “Okay.” Rei pauses for a minute, a harsh cough cutting him off before he can continue, and Kazuki hands him a water bottle from the coffee table. After taking a sip, and clearing his throat, Rei continues, voice noticeably softer, though not necessarily by choice. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was relevant.” The apology seems sincere, regret plainly painted across his face, so Kazuki offers him a gentle smile and playful punch to the arm. “I mean hey, it’s your nose that suffers after all.” Rei moans slightly at the reminder, lightly rubbing his nose against his palm, grumbling out, “It still itches.” Kazuki grabs the meds he was getting before, adding an antihistamine to the mix this time. “Yep. You’ll most likely be itchy for a while, but here, take these. I added an antihistamine, that should help kill the reaction a bit faster. The rest is for the cold.” A low groan is all he gets as an answer, but Rei swallows them, so he counts that as a win. “Maybe we’ll save the nasal spray for another time, I think right now it’ll just make you feel worse. They normally cause a few sneezes.” Rei’s eyes go wide as he nods, then immediately flinches at his head changing positions. “Still got a headache, hm?” This time Rei plays it safe with a verbal response. “Yeah. hAH’SHH’ooo-!” “Bless you. At least they’re getting softer.” “Mm.” Kazuki pauses, his mind drifting back to a time in his life that he simultaneously refuses to let himself think about, and can’t seem to ever stop. Back to holding her head in his lap, gently rubbing her neck and temples, back when she’d get migraines during pregnancy. “Do you get migraines?” “Yeah.” “I uh…” Kazuki raises a hand sheepishly to the back of his neck, turning his head slightly away from Rei’s eyes. “I might know something that could help.” He doesn’t get a response, but Rei is watching him intently, eyes studying his face. ‘Shit, he looks really cute like that- woah woah, no, what kinda thought is that?’ Quickly deciding that answering himself would be the easiest way to get Rei to stop giving him that look that seemed to set him on fire from the inside out, Kazuki heads to the kitchen. He fetches a washcloth from a drawer, running it under freezing water, ringing it out a bit, then letting himself drift down onto the couch. “It’s uh… It might be a bit awkward, but you lay your head in… uh…. In my lap, and then I just kinda-” Before he can finish, Rei has paused the game, and laid onto his back, his head resting on Kazuki’s legs. Both of them are stiff, the tension rising off of them enough to raise the heat in the room by several degrees. Without a word, Kazuki places the washcloth on the back of Rei’s neck, and lets his hands touch his hair, starting to run down towards Rei’s temples, pausing only when he flinches at the contact. “Alright?” “Yeah.” With that, he continued his gentle rub, a smile fighting through his control when Rei’s eyes snapped shut and a low moan escaped his lips. ‘His lips… they look so soft… I wonder what they taste like’ Before he knows it, Kazuki feels his own face start moving forward, longing to touch Rei’s lips with his own. ‘Woah, okay, I’m definitely getting this illness, because I must have a fever. That’s the only explanation for why I just thought that!’ Kazuki rushes, heat starting to stain his face with a light pink tint, but thankfully for him, Rei remains none the wiser, his eyes still closed as he gently hums against the welcome touch. Slowly, he starts to drift off, until soon congested snoring fills the room once more. Kazuki lets his eyes linger on Rei’s lips just a moment longer than he should, before leaning back, and letting his own eyes flutter shut, their breathing quickly falling in sync. ~~~~~~~ A harsh sound snaps Kazuki out of his sleep. Looking down at his lap he realizes Rei’s head isn’t there anymore, and when he turns his head he sees the man curled up on the edge of the couch, a harsh cough sputtering out of him. “Rei, are you okay?” A wheeze is all he gets in response, followed by deeper coughs that have him nearly falling off the couch. When his eyes find Rei’s, he feels the colour rush out of his face in response to the deep pale tint that Rei currently has. “Hey, okay, take it easy, shit- can you breathe?” Rei opens his mouth to reply, but the only sound that escapes is a faint whisper that seems to catch in his throat. His eyes are wide, panic practically seeping out of them, before he ducks back into his shoulder with another wet, rattling cough. The whistling sound when he tries to breathe answers the question for Kazuki. No, no he can’t. ‘Okay, fuck, don’t panic, think this through, what helps with coughing?’ Raising to his feet, Kazuki drapes Rei across his back, wincing at the way Rei tries with all the strength he has left to direct the onslaught of coughs away from him. Thanking god that the walk to the bathtub is short, Kazuki kicks the door closed behind them, setting Rei carefully on the ground. He then turns to the tub, turning the water as hot as it will go. Rei gasps desperately, a harsh wheeze leaving tears in his eyes as he doubles over into himself with another round of harsh coughing. Kazuki can’t tell if the tears are from the rattling of the cough, or fear, and honestly he can’t decide which is worse. Finally, after a mere matter of minutes, but what felt like hours, the steam starts filling the bathroom. Rei is still coughing, but the whistling sound when he breathes is already starting to back down. ‘Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking’. Kazuki lets the bathtub start to fill, walking over to where Rei is, and easing himself onto the ground next to him. He reaches out to rub Rei’s back, but pulls back when Rei flinches away, desperation overflowing in his eyes. They sit like that for a minute, both frozen, aside from the chesty cough still shaking Rei’s frail form, before slowly, Rei leans back into the touch, his watery eyes meeting Kazuki’s. Neither of them say anything, neither of them could if they wanted to. But they don’t need to. Kazuki looks into Rei’s eyes and knows what he means. ‘Your touch is allowed, just be gentle. I’m still learning how to feel safe with it.’ And in turn, Rei knows what the look he’s receiving means. ‘I know, I’ll be careful. Just let me help you.’ As the steam fills the room, Rei’s wheeze slowly starts to fade out, the cough loses some of its ferocity. Even so, Kazuki continues rubbing slow circles, and Rei doesn’t move away from the touch. Once the cough backs off enough for him to take a breath without any whistling, Kazuki stands, not missing the way Rei’s body trembles slightly when he removes his hand. “Come on, let's get you back to the couch, I’ll get you another dose of the cough syrup, and you should try to get some more rest. I have some work to do for a job Kyu asked me to finish up anyways, I’ll work on that while you sleep.” “Okay.” Rei’s voice is raw and harsh, and makes both of them grimace, so Kazuki reaches down and helps Rei stand, letting out a low hum as the other man winces at the movement. “Easy now, don’t go pulling anything. Carrying you is still a no from me, I’d like to keep my back intact.” There’s a faint hint of something that could be considered laughter from Rei, and given the state he’s in, and how expressive he normally is (ie. isn’t) it’s frankly impressive. Once they get back to the couch, Kazuki lets Rei lay down at his own pace, before getting him the cough syrup. Rei once again makes a face that reminds Kazuki of a child, but it’s better than not taking it. He stands and watches for a minute, making sure Rei’s able to drift off, before heading up to the office to finish the work he promised Kyu. Somewhere in his mind, a voice he shut in a box a long time ago starts screaming again, and he has to fight to ignore it. ‘This is love, you are in love!’ ~~~~~~~ “hH’SHH’UHH-!” A hoarse sneeze alerts Kazuki that his patient is awake again, pulling him out of the spiral his mind had chosen to wander down. Making his way downstairs, he’s relieved to see Rei sitting up, a lot more colour in his face. “How are you doing now? You gave me a bit of a scare. Ya know, for a smoker who seems to have remarkable tolerance to cigarettes, you sure have weak lungs!” Rei opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a hoarse rush of air, followed by a deep, voiceless groan. A laugh escapes Kazuki’s lips before he can stop it, earning him a dark glare from the man sitting on the couch rubbing his throat. ‘This funny to you?’ Yet again, no words are needed for Kazuki to know exactly what Rei means. “Yes, in fact, it is pretty funny to me. You know that old saying, ‘your face will freeze that way’? Maybe this is the voice equivalent. You don’t use it enough, so it’s decided to just up and pack its bags!” Rei shoots him another glare, but this time there’s a hint of humour in it that he isn’t able to suppress. Kazuki winks at him, before checking the alarms he’d set on his phone for meds. “It’s gonna be another few hours before I can give you another dose of anything, so I think you’ll just have to put up with this for now.” “Well… at least… you’ll get… what you always… wanted… to talk without… interruption…” The words are strained, and seem to scrape against his throat enough to make Kazuki audibly gasp. “Hey, woah, no no no. No more talking, not only is that extremely bad for you, but christ man, it sounds horrible. Don’t do that to yourself, you’re just gonna wreck something beyond repair.” “Aren’t… you usually… on me… about not… talking enough…” “Yeah but this is different! Seriously, it sounds painful. You should rest it, and drink some more water, try to give your throat a bit of a break.” Rei just nods this time, hand still lightly rubbing his throat, apparently done trying to fight his body on this particular matter. ‘Probably good, seeing as this is one fight he has no chance of winning. Only person skilled enough to take down Rei, is Rei’. Kazuki sits down on the couch beside Rei, who had picked up the controller again, deciding to watch him play games for a while. Kazuki starts to feel a tickle form in his throat, and decides that denial is the best form of medication. ‘It’s probably just from hearing how bad Rei’s throat is, that’s all.’ He thinks, allowing himself to drift into the world of denial a little deeper. His thoughts are interrupted by… actually, he doesn’t know what by. There’s no actual noise, nothing has happened that should have brought him crashing back into the real world. Fully putting his gaze on Rei, Kazuki suddenly realizes what pulled him back in. “Bless you.” “heH’SHH’uhhh-!” Rei’s eyes meet his with a confused look. Kazuki just chuckles, letting himself indulge in a moment of pride for being able to read him that well. It started with a slight tremble around Rei’s eyes, followed by his nose twitching, and finally a slight gasp in his normal breathing. Patterns that Kazuki didn’t even realize he had memorized, and yet, it came so naturally to him. While his gaze was already on Rei, he let himself look the man over. His shoulders were tight, like normal, but there was a slight shudder to them that made him reach over and drape a blanket over Rei’s legs. This time he got a low hum in response, reaffirming that he was correct on that assessment. Then there was his throat, which, while he wasn’t talking, was still slightly moving, almost as if he was swallowing constantly. Kazuki reaches over to his side of the couch where he had seen Rei place the water bottle earlier, and hands it to him, blushing a little at the look of pure confusion that met him once again. “You look like you need it… Am I wrong?” There’s no response, he didn’t expect one, but the way Rei’s hands loosen their grip on the controller after he drinks is all the answer Kazuki needs. “Bless you.” “hH’SHH’uhhh-!” “And again, and once more.” “hEH’SHH’uhhh-! Hehh-! hH’SHH’uhhh-!” Rei gives him a withering look, but Kazuki just laughs it off, gently ruffling Rei’s hair, before pulling his hand back with a clearing of his throat. ‘Why did you do that?!” “So- uh- I have a bit more work to do upstairs. I’ll come back down when it-” Suddenly he pauses, a far away look glossing over his features, before snapping to the side with a- “hih’ISHH’iew-! Tishh’iew-! hAH’ISHH’IEW-! Oh, bless me.” Blushing slightly at the stare Rei points his direction, Kazuki gives a light shrug. “Don’t ask, I’m not sick, just a few sneezes, it can happen to anyone!” This time Rei definitely didn’t need words to convey his point, the eye roll said it all clearly. ‘Whatever you say.’ Kazuki elects to ignore this one, settling instead for finishing his earlier sentence. “I’ll come back down when it’s time for you to take some more meds.” Rei nods, then gives Kazuki a look that nearly melts his entire being. The meaning of this one was also clear, and struck him right to his very core. ‘Thank you.’ “You’re welcome.” He whispers back, heading upstairs, and deciding he’ll attribute the fluttering in his chest to the cold. Better to admit that he’s catching an illness rather than the alternative… but the little voice inside him starts screaming once again: ‘You’re in love, you’re in love, you love him!’

#waterfallwrites #more nonsense that no one asked for #but my brain wanted to write it so i did #still very nervous about posting hahaha #you would think it would be easier but it is not #well ok i wont go on a ramble in here #hope you enjoy if you read~~#b/d #b/uddy d/addies #snz #snzkink #snzfic

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whumpmatsus · 3 years

Text

“How bad is it now…?”

You wince as your mind fully processes the number on the thermometer. “It’s 39.5. Shit… this is pretty bad.”

It’s been several days of your poor boyfriend not really improving. The whole thing started with vague complaints of just not feeling well, then morphed into cold symptoms, and now he’s got the worst cough you’ve ever heard in your life. It’s so bad you don’t know how he can possibly breathe around it.

What concerns you most is that his fever has barely gone down. In fact, it’s higher now than the first time you took his temperature a few days ago.

He should be feeling better by now, at least a little, and instead he’s still far too sick to go to work. You’ve been trying to balance your own job with caring for him once you get home, trusting his brothers to do so during the day. His oldest brother Osomatsu confirms when you ask him that Choromatsu barely moves the entire time you’re gone; he doesn’t actually move much when you’re here, either.

In response to your announcement he groans and pulls his blanket up farther. He just looks horrible… his face is flushed, his bangs are sticking to his skin, his nose is bright red, his lips are chapped, and he looks about two seconds from fainting dead away.

“At least it explains why I feel so crappy,” he mumbles, and softens a little when you gently comb his hair back off his forehead. “Should I go back to sleep? I… I kind of want some tea first… i-if you don’t mind?”

You blow out a breath, just short of a sigh, but it’s equivalent enough to feel like a pressure release. … Though. The pressure is building back up quickly. “Honey… this isn’t just a little cold. Not anymore. Your fever is really high, Choromatsu.”

That nervous frown of his makes your heart break. He knows what you’re going to suggest and he doesn’t like it one bit. “I-I… I can sleep it off. Really, I can…”

His anxiety must be rising just as high as his temperature, because he’s starting to breathe the way he does when he gets panicky ― shallow, quick, and too many in succession. It doesn’t take more than a second for that to bloom into a cough that forces him to stop speaking.

It sounds awful. It’s deep and rattly and it has to be making his chest sore, if the way he tosses the blanket off and reaches up is any indication. You don’t think it can be any good on his throat either. The fit lasts for what feels like forever, turning his face an even darker shade of red.

“Babe, babe, calm down, please…” You lean over immediately to pat his back, giving a couple of sharp but careful taps between his shoulder blades. “Hey, Choro, honey, come on… it’s okay. Do you need some water?”

After he takes a few sips and has caught his breath (or what’s left of it, by this point), he gives you a mournful expression. God, the poor man just looks so tired and miserable. “(Name)…”

You press a kiss to his forehead, making him melt even more under your touch. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, hon… but I think I’ve gotta take you to the hospital. You’re coughing all the time, you’ve got aches so bad you can hardly move, and now your temp’s 39.5. You can’t just sleep that kind of fever off. It’s time to try something else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then suddenly you see tears forming in his eyes. No sooner have you noticed them than he’s pressing his face into your shoulder, sniffling and all tensed up. When he speaks up, you recognize the wobbly tremor in his voice as a sign that he’s trying to hold himself together because he doesn’t want to cry. “I… I’m scared. I don’t w-want to… I… I don’t…” He takes a breath. It sounds shaky and crackly and painful. “What if it’s… r-really serious? I don’t feel well… and I… I can’t…”

“Shhh, shh. I know you’re scared, baby, I know. This is scary. I’m scared, too.” You gather him up in your arms, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back. Seeing him anxious to the point of tears is never fun. You do, however, relish the intimacy that comes with being able to hold him and comfort him. “I’m worried about you. If it is something serious, then we need to find out what it is and what we need to do. It’s not getting better on its own.”

He nods against you and sniffles again. “I-I know…”

The two of you fall silent again, sitting here close to each other. Everything hangs in the air above you; even though you’re confident that whatever this is isn’t going to cause permanent damage, the high fever is alarming. Whatever it is, it still needs to be treated by doctors, because what you’ve been doing at home isn’t enough.

You shift slightly to brush a ginger kiss over his temple. “Will you let me take you? Please?”

A few congested, weak breaths dart against your neck. “… Yeah. I guess… yeah.”

“There’s my good boy,” you hum. “Come on, let me help you up and we’ll get going…”

“(Name)… w… what if… what if I need to stay overnight o-or something? Shouldn’t we t-take a bag?”

You carefully peel the blanket away, then wince when you remember that he’s been sleeping here without even any pajama bottoms or anything. You hurry over to the closet to grab him a pair of pants. “I want to get you to the hospital first, okay? I’ll take my phone and tell everyone we’re leaving. If it turns out you need to stay overnight, I’ll text Totty and have him bring whatever we need.”

Choromatsu nods, but you can see the constant crank of anxiety behind his eyes, coming up with even more questions. “H-how are we gonna get there? I… I don’t really wanna go on the train right now…”

“I’ll drive, okay?” You gesture for him to move with you as you try to get the pants over his legs. “I’ve got some masks in the car, so we’ll get one on you before we go into the hospital.”

“O… okay. But… but what about m-my parents? Mom’s out shopping, and… and Dad’s still at work…”

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll call Karamatsu on the way and ask him to let them know when they get home.”

He manages to tug his pants the rest of the way up and zip them himself, only because you think he’d have… other problems if you did it. “Th-there’s so many of us… what if they c-can’t all visit me at once?”

“Then they’ll go in shifts. Your mom and dad can go first, and your brothers, contrary to popular belief, are grown adults who are familiar with the concept of taking turns.” You give his hands a cautious squeeze and nuzzle your forehead against his. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be right here with you. You just do your best to relax, and I’ll take care of everything else. Are you ready to go?”

Something in his face tells you he’s probably never going to be ready. He nods anyway, haltingly. “C… can… can Osomatsu ride with us?”

You pause briefly to consider that. On the one hand, the eldest is easily the most immature of the bunch. On the other hand, he’s proved himself to be pretty damn competent while Choromatsu’s been sick. If his presence would make your boyfriend feel any more at ease, then you’re all for it. “Yeah, we’ll grab him on the way out. Ready?”

He takes what you assume is supposed to be a deep breath, and gets to his feet with your help, leaning against your shoulder. “Y… yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Okay. “Let’s go, babe.”

#Osomatsu san #whump #Choromatsu #reader insert #illness #emotional whump #fever #caretaking #UGHHHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH #LET ME TAKE CARE OF HIMS <3

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budzdorovanatasha · 4 years

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Ahhh, you truly should do all the relationship asks for Nat x r!! Or at least maybe #2, 4, and 6? ❤️

I flipped out seeing you come into my inbox omg 💕 I’m such a huge fan of ur writing! I was going to just do 2,4, and 6, but then my love for natasha romanoff kicked in on full-steam and i did end up doing them all aldkjfalfj

*as always, no reblogging to non-sick blogs, thanks :)

1. Who gets sick most often?

You, without a doubt. Nat suffered through terrible things in the Red Room in order to boost her immune system to god tier. Sometimes though, you can make it more than a year without getting sick. And then sometimes, you’re sick every other month.

2. Who is the better care-taker? Who fusses the most?

Natasha fusses the most. She’s constantly thinking about what she could do to make you feel better, and making sure you’re not overexerting yourself. Nat doesn’t like it when you do anything but rest when you’re sick. She’s always checking your temperature or asking if you need anything or just running her fingers through your hair. It’s a close call for who is the better care-taker, but you win. You know exactly what Natasha needs when she’s sick, which is important, considering she’s not always good at taking care of herself. She’s a good care-taker too, but sometimes she fusses just a bit too much.

3. Who always blesses the other when they sneeze? Is it always a certain way?

You always bless Nat. She usually does for you too, which you find endearing, considering she doesn’t always bless others. You tend to put a lot of empathy in your voice when you bless her, saying ‘bless you baby’, which sometimes makes her feel a little self-conscious if you’re out with others. She has a habit of sometimes tucking your hair back behind your ear after you sneeze, which you find adorable. Natasha sometimes blesses you in Russian, but at random times. The first time she said it, you were uber confused, but didn’t ask. Eventually you caught on to what it meant.

4. Do they try and work through being sick? Or is one of them a total baby?

When Nat just has a cold, she’s acting like everything’s completely normal. She finds it annoying, but it’s nothing that should interrupt her daily life. But when the cold is at its peak, and she’s sneezing in multiples and holding back coughing fits, it’s harder to ignore. You swoop in at the right time, and she turns into the opposite of what people think when they think Black Widow. Suddenly Nat’s cuddling into you, nuzzling her nose against your neck, and trying to steal some of your body heat. You take her back to bed and she sticks to you like a limpet. You act the same as her when you get sick, though there’s more of an element of hiding it. Natasha doesn’t necessarily hide when she’s sick, she just doesn’t acknowledge it until she has to. You, on the other hand, just try and hide it, and deny it, until you can’t. It doesn’t last long, being that Nat’s a spy. Even when you let down your guard and cuddle into her, admitting defeat, you aren’t really a baby about it. You hate having to bother other people, which is why you try and hide it in the first place.

5. When’s the point when they stop working and eventually rest? Does the other force them to rest before they want to?

(I literally forgot what my own prompts were and so I half answered this above, but). Nat stops working when her sickness gets in the way of work. You usually have to try and tell her to rest, but she’ll take some breaks if she’s feeling bad enough. You rest as long as no one needs you, and if Nat is on a mission and isn’t there to notice right away that you’re sick. If she’s home, you won’t rest until she notices you’re sick and tells you to rest.

6. Which one gets hit harder when they’re sick?

Natasha, unfortunately. She hates it too, because she doesn’t really get sick very often. It’s like your poor girlfriend can’t catch a break- it takes nearly two weeks for her cold to go away, and she always has a cough associated with it. Nat always gets fevers with her colds too.

7. Do either of them try to hide the fact that they’re sick? From each other?

Nat doesn’t necessarily try and hide it, she just doesn’t make a thing of it until it’s noticeable. When people do notice, you usually being the first, the cold isn’t bad enough for her to not go about her day. She’ll admit she’s sick though. You are constantly hiding it, until you can’t anymore. Natasha notices fairly quickly. But you’re sometimes able to hide it from the team completely. Nat will sometimes tell them, depending on how sick you are, but she knows you hate it, and respects that, as long as you let her take care of you.

8. Who’s the messy one when they’re sick? Leaving blankets strewn about, tissues all over the floor, etc.?

Natasha is definitely the messier one, but only after you’ve gotten her to rest in bed with you. Then there’s tissues all over the bed and the floor, and blankets in piles everywhere. If you’re exhausted, sometimes you’ll leave tissues strewn about the floor, along with a few blankets scattered on the bed, but normally you’re trying to hide your illness, so you’re fairly neat about it.

9. Are either of them germaphobes?

Nope. As Avengers, you’re both used to filthy mission conditions sometimes. And you both want to take care of each other, no matter if that means getting sick, so you’re not scared of germs. Nat almost tries to challenge the germs it seems, still kissing you when you’re sick, even though you try and stop her.

10. What are their most noticeable symptom when they get sick?

In the sense of actual symptom, for you, it’s a runny nose and the constant sniffling that goes with that. But what causes Natasha to first notice you’re sick is your quietness. You don’t talk much because your throat hurts (And you’re trying to hide it). When Nat pairs your silence with sniffles, she knows what’s up. For Natasha, the most noticeable symptoms are congestion and a slight red tinge to her nose.

11. Are they complainers?

No, not really ever. The only time Nat complains when she’s sick is when her fever is fairly high, and you won’t let her have more blankets. She whines about and it makes your heart break, seeing her shiver. You don’t really complain either. The closest you get to complaining is a huff of annoyance when you sneeze directly after blowing your nose.

12. Have either of them ignored their little cold until it turned into pneumonia/other more serious sickness?

With how much you try and hide the fact that you’re sick, You’ve surprisingly never let it get too much worse. Nat has, though. It only ever happens when you’re away on a mission and not there to really force her to rest. It’s also happened to her once when she was on a mission in freezing cold conditions. It’s not an often occurrence for her, though. You both take care of each other too well most of the time to let anything get worse.

#asks #my fic #natasha romanoff x reader

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whoareurl · 4 years

Text

birthday fic for softersteve <3

i’ve been gone for ages soz but i had to pop by and give @softersteve some birthday love because i still read their blog religiously for all the soft steve content so here’s some shrinkyclinks of my own. it’s a bit light on snez but there’s plenty of whump! and i might have an idea for a part 2 but we’ll see

By the time spring break rolls around, Steve is practically dead on his feet. Midterms floored him and he’d spent so much time in the art building over the past two weeks that he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s developed a conditioned rage response to the hideous 80s wallpaper in his favourite workroom. So, when it comes time to pack for their week-long trip home, Bucky is the one who does most of the hard work. The lucky bastards in engineering don’t have midterms in the spring semester and the bright-eyed innocence in Bucky’s eyes kinda makes Steve want to stab him in the hand with a fork.

“Got everything?” Bucky asks as Steve slips into the passenger seat, dosed up on Ambien and fully prepared to fall asleep as soon as they hit the interstate. It’s only a two hour drive, much shorter than what many students have to endure, but it’s still more than Steve’s stomach can handle, especially with all the stress he’s been under lately. Besides, his joints have been aching all day and the beginning of spring allergy season is making him congested so he’s happy for the option of a little time out. “All your meds?”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, already feeling heavy-lidded. “Yes, ma.”

Bucky grins and, like the dickhead he is, plays up his role. “Are you sure you don’t need the bathroom before we leave?”

Steve slaps him and buckles himself in. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky shoots back and starts the engine. “I’m putting on my country playlist so you’re just gonna have to deal until the meds knock you out.”

Steve groans but it’s a playful groan. Despite his protests, Steve doesn’t actually hate the country songs Bucky adores. Well, not all of them. And he’s gonna be out cold in about twenty minutes so he figures it’s only fair to indulge Bucky’s garbage music taste.

“You’re the boss,” he says, firing off a mocking salute before tucking his school sweatshirt up between his neck and his shoulder and settling in for the ride.

He expects to be woken by Bucky telling him they’ve arrived so it’s with some surprise and confusion that Steve finds himself awake barely an hour later with an absolute cacophony of bells ringing in his head and a thin sheen of sweat all over his skin. He lets out a little groan and makes an aborted move to get Bucky’s attention before he remembers that he’s driving.

“B-Buck,” he croaks out without ever really deciding to speak.

Bucky hums gently and, when he looks over at Steve, he pales quite significantly. “Stevie? What’s wrong? You gonna be sick?”

As he’s speaking, Bucky is already turning the music off and reaching blindly behind him for a plastic bag which he thrusts into Steve’s lap as a makeshift sickbag. Steve coughs and then he can’t stop coughing. And then he thinks back to the midterms and the stress and the all-nighters and he feels a weight settle heavily on his shoulders. So, it wasn’t allergies. He’s not sure if the timing is excellent or awful since now he’s not going to be enjoying his time off but at least he won’t be missing class. Either way, this is already shaping up to be one hell of a spring cold.

“You’re running a fever,” Bucky worries as he briefly touches Steve’s forehead, glancing between Steve and the road.

“I know!” Steve snaps and feels immediately guilty. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky returns and he doesn’t even sound fazed. Ambien-fuelled Steve isn’t exactly known for being a barrel of laughs. And right now, he feels like garbage. “We’re about 45 minutes out. You gonna be okay?”

Steve sighs and is about to make a half-hearted quip about not having much choice when he’s suddenly overtaken by a desperate need to sneeze.

“Heh’NGXshoo!” Steve is thrown forward with the unexpected force of it and stays there when he can feel another one building. “EhYISHHew! NXGH’huh!”

“Don’t stifle,” Bucky mumbles. Steve feels Bucky’s hand land on his back and rub along the bumps of his spine.

Without tissues, the best Steve can do is wipe his nose on the cuff of his hoodie and sniffle the rest back. It’s, fundamentally, super fucking gross. God, he’s so cold and he cannot stop shivering. The fact that his t-shirt is soaked with cold sweat certainly isn’t helping but he’s sure as hell not going to take it off. Because that would mean having to take his hoodie off and the thought makes him want to cry. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and brings his knees up to his chest, grateful, for once in his life, that he’s small enough to curl up in Bucky’s passenger seat.

“Services coming up,” Bucky says. Without opening his eyes, Steve knows exactly the worried expression Bucky is wearing by the tone of his voice. “I can pick up some tissues?”

Steve sniffles, feeling somewhat pitiful. Tissues would certainly be good. But they’ll get there faster if they don’t stop. It’s a dilemma but, in the end, when another violent shiver wracks through him, Bucky makes the decision for him.

“Alright. Tissues and a blanket,” he says, cranking up the heat and angling the blowers so they’re all pointed at Steve.

When they’re parked in the service station, Bucky reaches over to push Steve’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “You don’t do anything by halves, huh, Stevie?” He says gently, leaning in to kiss Steve’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything stupid?”

“Can’t. You’re taking all the stupid,” Steve mumbles, forcing a weak smile. This seems so appease Bucky somewhat and he smiles back.

“Five minutes,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Steve feels awful, there’s no denying it. The joint pain he’d been feeling earlier has progressed from a dull ache to something a bit more aggressive, particularly in his hips, and the congestion in his sinuses has spread down into his upper chest. He feels the tightness pulling just below his collarbones and resigns himself to the fact that this is going to be a nightmare of a week.

True to his word, Bucky returns quickly and throws a fleece blanket over Steve’s shivering body. “Sorry, pal, all they had were Yankees blankets.”

Steve makes a face. “I better not have Gerrit Cole’s face on me right now,” he grumbles, cracking one eye open to look at Bucky.

Bucky laughs, ripping open a fresh box of tissues and settling it near the gear shift. “You gonna take it off if he’s on there?”

“Fuck off,” Steve grumbles, opting not to look and live in warm, comfortable denial.

His next breath catches deep in his chest and he curls in on himself with another rattling cough. Thankfully, he gets it under control before Bucky starts rummaging through the glove box for his inhaler. He’s actually gone one in his pocket thank you very much. Not that anybody ever bothers checking anymore. No, his reputation for leaving it at home - either out of forgetfulness or, for one memorable year in middle school, sheer stubbornness - has pretty much put an end to anybody bothering to check if he’s carrying one before they hand him another. He supposes he should be touched and, on a good day, he is. But today is not a good day. Today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and Steve just wants to be asleep.

“Not long now, Stevie,” Bucky says soothingly. Steve wants to be annoyed because he’s not a child but he can’t find it in himself because, damnit, Bucky’s voice is actually soothing when he talks like that.

Fuck, he’s so in love.

By the time they’re pulling up outside Sarah Rogers’s house, Steve feels truly miserable. He’d started feeling nauseous about ten minutes ago and had opened the window for some air which only brought back his earlier shivers with a vengeance. And, to top it all off, he saw the Yankees logo on the damn blanket. Today sucked.

“Come on, babydoll,” Bucky says as he helps Steve out of the car.

Somewhat reluctantly, Steve abandons the traitorous blanket in the car but snags the box of tissues and lets Bucky sling his arm around his shoulders as they head up to the door. As usual, Bucky rings the doorbell to let Sarah know they’re there and then heads inside. Steve shivers involuntarily at the warmth of the house and catches a few, itchy sneezes into a fresh handful of tissues.

His nose hasn’t stopped running since it started nearly an hour ago and all he wants is a change of clothes and a nap.

“My boys!” Sarah exclaims as she comes out of the living room to greet them, expression softening when she sees the state of her son.

That expression is just too much for Steve who detaches himself from Bucky and wraps his mother up in a hug. He can’t smell anything through his stuffy nose but he can imagine the homely way she always smells and has to blink back tears. God, he’s a mess. He blames the Ambien more than anything. Everybody knows they fuck with you if you don’t sleep long enough.

“Aw, honey,” Sarah mutters into Steve’s hair, running a hand up and down his back. “You shouldn’t have come all this way if you weren’t feeling well. I’ll still be here in the summer.”

“Didn’t feel bad until we left,” Steve admits, somehow completely forgetting how much worse that makes his cold sound.

Sarah frowns and holds him at arms length, looking him up and down. “That came on fast. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Ma,” Steve starts but Bucky interrupts before he can offer any platitudes.

“Like hell you are,” Bucky grumbles, slipping his arm around Steve’s waist. “Bed. Let’s go.”

Steve huffs, his indignation giving him the strength to stand his ground. “I’m fine.”

Bucky yawns. “Who said it was for you? I drove all the way here. I need a nap.”

“Well, you can go without me,” Steve says, unsure why exactly he’s continuing this argument. He wants to go to bed. But he’s not going because he’s told to, even if it is Bucky and Ma.

Bucky pouts. “But I sleep better with you there.”

That bastard. Steve knows what he’s doing. He’s used this tactic time and again and the worst part is that it always works. It’s working now. Steve knows he’s going to agree even before his Ma presses a kiss to his cheek and says, “Take the guest bed, boys. You’ll have more space.”

So Steve lets Bucky drag him upstairs, lets Bucky dig out a sleep shirt for him while he gets undressed, lets Bucky pull him tight against his side and tuck a hot water bottle against his back. He gives in. He cuddles up close and drifts off tracing the curve of Bucky’s hip bone with his fingers.

Bucky’s so beautiful. Steve doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Marry me,” he whispers as he finally drops off the edge of the cliff into sleep.

part two

#acefic #acefic stucky

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builder051 · 4 years

Text

Fill the holes (with more cement)

Powers/No powers. Bucky vs. Depression storyline.

__________

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Steve says into the phone. Across the kitchen table, Bucky cringes. He wants to drop his forehead to the table, but that seems like the wrong thing to do. It would probably hurt, but that doesn’t matter. Steve wouldn’t like it. And that kind of does.

“I’m,” Steve sighs. “I’m literally out of options. I have...” He checks his watch. “Like, an hour of sick leave left. I can be a little late, but that’s it.”

He glances up from pen and paper he’s fiddling with, but Bucky doesn’t meet his eye.

“And I can’t teleport,” Bucky hears a female voice reply on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there, ok? And I’ll speed. But it’ll still take a couple hours.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah. Ok.”

“Is he safe alone?” the woman asks.

Bucky cringes as Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “Laura, I don’t have a choice. At first SHIELD was pretty accommodating with FMLA and stuff, but they’re at the end of their rope with me. I’m about to be let go for attendance problems, and my part of the project’s getting fucked up-- ”

“Steve.”

He wrings the hand not holding the phone to his ear, then brings it in to rub his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Get him settled. I’ll be there.. I can call you from the road if that helps.”

“Can’t,” Steve says apologetically. “But thank you. You’re amazing. You’re my savior.” He clamps the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he picks up his work bag and tries to button the top button of his shirt at the same time.

“Shut up. Go to work. I’ll be there.”

The call ends, and Steve tosses the phone into the front pocket of his bag. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, then turns to Bucky, who is still refusing to look at him.

It’s not that Bucky minds being talked about like a dog or a little kid, because he knows that’s about what he’s worth. He just wishes he wasn’t letting Steve down so badly. Project be damned, it’s his life that’s getting fucked up. And it’s all Bucky’s fault.

“You wanna come sit? Watch a movie?” Steve coaxes hurriedly, turning on the television and flipping channels until he finds something in black and white. “Get your mind engaged in something?”

He’s trying. Bucky can’t fault him for it. But there’s just about nothing he’d like to do less than scoot back his hard wooden chair and drag his feet across the carpet to settle in the corner of the cold leather sofa.

Steve throws a blanket over the pale leather upholstery. “Come on, Buck,” he says, almost pleading. “Just come over here and sit. You’re nice and safe.”

Bucky turns his head a fraction of an inch to get a better look at Steve’s face. He can read in the lines between his eyebrows exactly what he’s not saying. You’re far away from the knives. The pills. The bathtub and the sink and the cord for the weedwhacker.

And that’s what makes him break. He feels sorry for Steve, frantic and caring and protective all at once. He feels bad because it’s all his fault. Sour guilt burns at the back of Bucky’s throat and threatens to wash up into his mouth.

He grits his teeth and slowly nods. Getting a move on would be more respectful, more considerate of Steve’s situation. He could say, “of course, babe, I know you have to get to work.” But that would involve cobbling together words he doesn’t have and speaking with a voice he doesn’t seem to possess.

“Hm,” Bucky manages when he finally sinks into the nest Steve has created at the end of the couch. He means to say “thanks” as well, but his mouth is stringy with spit, and it comes out as just, “Ks.”

Steve creates his own interpretation and leans forward, gently petting Bucky’s hair and planting a kiss on the top of his crown.

It feels comforting. Too comforting, so Bucky pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head.

“Alright,” Steve says softly, a note of hurt in his voice. “Laura will be here soon. She has a key, so she’ll just let herself in.”

“Hm.”

“Ok. I’ll see you this afternoon? Well, tonight, probably, with this dumb project...”

Bucky watches Steve shake his head, as if clearing water from his ears so he can focus. He does need to focus. On the actual important things.

“K.”

“Love you, Buck.” Steve gives him a soft smile, then all but sprints out the door.

Once the sound of Steve’s bike leaves the driveway, Bucky lets his body go slack, his stump shoulder burrowing into the crack between the back of the couch and the arm. The blanket rumples and creates a makeshift pillow, and he brings his knees up against his chest, securing them loosely with his right arm.

He feels shaky; his teeth are chattering even though he’s not cold. Bucky wants Steve to come back, to lie beside him and make everything that’s wrong feel right again. He also wants Steve to stay away, maybe never come back at all. Because Bucky doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve anything. He doesn’t deserve the air he’s breathing. He doesn’t deserve to live--

Time must’ve passed as he sat there, curled against the arm of the sofa and wondering where in the house Steve had hidden his prescriptions this time, because it seems like barely a second later the door is opening and a soft, high voice is calling his name.

“James?”

“I’m--” A bubble of thick saliva bursts in Bucky’s throat and steals the rest of his sentence. Or at least it would’ve if he’d had any more he wanted to say.

“Yeah,” Laura says. “I see you.” Keys and grocery bags hit the counter, then soft slippered feet approach his couch nest.

Bucky doesn’t move. He isn’t sure he can; he has no drive, no energy. The force required to sit up and say hello seems equal to that needed to swallow a handful of pills.

“Can I sit with you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to mull it over, but the words still take a long time coming. “’S fine.”

“Alright.” She sits, then pauses. “Is it ok to touch you? Put my hand on your shoulder?’

“Hm. K.”

“Ok.” Laura gently lays a hand on his back, just behind the joint. The pressure is light, but the presence makes him feel lighter. A little bit, anyway. It’s possible to lift his head without the assistance of a forklift, so Bucky does and blinks up at her with glassy eyes.

“Hi,” Laura whispers to him.

Bucky mouths the word back, but no sound comes out.

“You’re all scrunched up in the corner,” Laura says, nodding to the wrinkled blanket bunched under James’s head. “Do you want to try lying down?” She takes a throw pillow from the opposite end of the couch and offers it to him.

Bucky blinks slowly and takes inventory. His lower back is beginning to protest the tightly curled position, and while it makes him feel warm and safe, it’s no longer worth the mounting level of discomfort.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“Ok. Here you go.” With a feather-light touch, Laura sits Bucky up and removes the blanket from beneath him as he scoots down and re-settles in a properly reclined position. Her hand slide past his armpit and the other catches the base of his neck. Laura frowns.

“James?”

“M?”

“You’re really warm. Are you feeling ok?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek until it hurts. “Not...not really.”

“I mean...” Laura carefully brushes Bucky’s bangs out of his face to feel his forehead. “You’re definitely feverish. Are you feeling sick?”

“I...don’t know.” Bucky’s so used to feeling terrible that he’s forgotten how to differentiate the mental from the physical.

“It’s alright,” Laura says. She kneels on the carpet at Bucky’s shoulder and folds her arms on the edge of the couch cushion, then rests her chin on the backs of her hands. “Do you want to take inventory?”

“Like, make a list?” Bucky asks slowly. It’s a technique emphasized in his therapy sessions. He wonders if Steve’s gotten to Laura and suggested she work with him specifically on it. Or if Laura’s been to therapy. Or if it’s just a good idea to begin with and Laura’s a smart cookie.

Bucky has to stop thinking because it’s making his head throb.

“Sure, like a list.” Laura smiles. “Now, how’s your head?”

“Hurts.”

“A lot or a little?”

Bucky pauses to think about it. Nothing like a migraine, but it’s not peanuts either. “In between?”

“Stuffy nose?” Laura continues?

“Uh.” Bucky sniffs. There’s no dripping snot, but his breathing does feel slightly constricted. No wonder he’s been feeling like he’s been caught up in ropes wrapped round his chest. “Stuffy...” He gestures vaguely from his forehead down to his sternum.

“Ah,” Laura nods. “The sinuses acting up? Maybe a bit of chest congestion to go with it?”

Bucky blinks his affirmation, deciding against nodding should his aching head take the opportunity to play up.

“Ok. Stomach?” Laura looks at him in all seriousness.

As if on cue, Bucky’s gut seems to fold itself in half, making a low rumble and sending a warning shot of hot sourness up into the back of his throat. He isn’t sure if Laura heard it, so he surreptitiously wraps his arms around his abdomen and presses his vibrating teeth together.

“James?”

“Hm. Not, uh. Not good.”

“Do you feel like you could throw up?” Laura isn’t phased in the slightest.

Bucky swallows hard at the mention, then gives a minute nod.

“Ok.” Laura rises to her feet. “Give me one second.”

She disappears for a moment, presumably to the upstairs bathroom, because when she returns, she has the trash can, the thermometer, and several bottles and boxes of medicine.

“Alright,” Laura says, resuming her crouch. “I gotta know how high that fever is.” She removes the thermometer’s plastic cap.

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll--” he starts, already beginning to gag.

“I’d rather you blow before I medicate you.” Laura gives a sideways smile.

Bucky reluctantly lets her slip the device into his mouth. As expected, saliva pools immediately, sour and gummy around his teeth. An attempt to swallow without moving his tongue sets off a choked retch, and before he’s fully aware of what’s happened, he’s hanging off the edge of the sofa, spitting bile and mucous into the bin while Laura pats him between the shoulder blades.

“101,” Laura says when he’s finished.

“Huh?” Bucky drags a shaky hand across his mouth.

“Your temp.”

“Oh.”

“Think you can manage some pills?” Laura asks. She flips over a few options to check the dosing, then hands him five assorted tablets and gel caps.

“Really? I’m allowed--” Bucky breaks off in a wet cough.

“Well, I’m watching you, aren’t I?” Laura reminds him softly. “Extra meds are necessary sometimes. You know that.” She makes her way toward the kitchen, where she pulls a case of juice boxes from one of the grocery bags. “You’re not hurting yourself, and you’re not getting high. And you’re damn lucky my kids don’t like strawberry kiwi.”

Bucky tries to smile, but all he can do is pull his mouth into a straight line. Better than a scowl, he supposes. He guesses he just looks sick.

“What’re you gonna--” Bucky pauses to clear his throat as Laura hands him a drink and looks pointedly at the pills in his palm. “What’re you gonna tell Steve?”

“That he needs his radar system recalibrated,” Laura says with a laugh. “No, really. That you’re not feeling well. And that you’re not feeling well.”

“Hm.” The meds sting a little as they pass down Bucky’s raw throat.

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. Then he coughs. “I guess.”

“It’s a good guess,” Laura replies. “Because I know.”

26 notes · View notes

cynicalrainbows · 5 years

Text

Gentleman Jack fic (Part 1)

So after sending a prompt to @sapphic-ann-walker about the Ann(e)s, I’ve actually written it into a fic. (Also posted on ao3 under CynicalRainbows).

When she wakes suddenly in the middle of the night- covered in sweat and shivering- she blames it on a bad dream and curls closer into Anne’s warm side.

When her chest hurts from coughing, she blames Captain Lister’s after dinner pipe and goes to sit in the library.

And when she finds that her every muscle aches as if she’s been pulled on a rack, she mentally resolves to ride out with Anne less often in the afternoons.

(She doesn’t know what being racked is like really of course. Not that Anne’s description hadn’t been really terribly graphic. Sometimes she wishes that her wife would restrict her after dinner reading to treatise on the practise of mining rather than delving into the history shelves so often. And Anne didn’t just describe it- there were pictures….. She wonders if this accounts for her poor appetite of late.)

But when all of it- the fever and the coughing and the aching, all of it- persists for the third day running, she wonders if perhaps it’s nothing to do with nightmares or pipes or spending too long in the saddle.

She wonders if perhaps instead, she’s just succumbing to the same flu that has seen John and Marian and even stalwart Cordingley take to their beds.

The flu that has also, not entirely by coincidence, been the cause of a lot of eye rolling and pointed signing on the behalf of her wife. Of course, being Anne, she hasn’t left it at that: she’s also just come straight out and announced her belief that they’re over-egging it all a bit.

At least, Cordingley and John are spared her arch comments about sickness seeming to hit hardest when there are dull or unpleasant (or unpleasantly dull or dully unpleasant) things to be gotten out of, but Ann suspects this is less down to Anne trying to be a good employer and more because both of them fortunate enough not to live with her and the fact that actually going to their homes to berate them would be going just a touch too far.

Not so though in the case of Marian.

Marian is given the full benefit of Anne’s opinion that often, sickness is really an issue not so much of actual contagion but a test of mind over matter. Bar genuine cases of disease (she doesn’t say what she counts as genuine disease but Ann suspects it’s anything that comes with symptoms more interesting and unusual than the coughing-sneezing-shivering that Marian is displaying), then people can and do and should just work through it.

Or if they really can’t, at least have the courtesy to not keep talking about it the whole time, let alone having the audacity to cough all over the place.

(Not that Marian appears to be particularly bothered by the haranguing. From the way she rolls her eyes, Ann rather suspects that Marian has heard one or possibly several of these arguments before).

For the most part, the other residents of Shibden do not comment.

Captain Lister stays out of all of it (Ann feels that is the right way to put it: the fact that he is many years deaf does nothing to change the fact that he would not care a whit enough to interject if he could hear).

Aunt Anne sighs like she’s heard it all before (as indeed she has) and puts her teacup down long enough to remark that she wonders Anne doesn’t chide her and Captain Lister for ‘giving in’ to their own infirmities.

To her credit, Anne looks incredulous and suitably horrified at the suggestion (Anne’s affection for her aunt is as endearing as her bickering with Marian is insufferable): she pauses in her diatribe long enough to assure all and sundry that of course she didn’t mean them, that they shouldn’t think for a minute that she means them….but that, of course, the ailments that plague the Captain and Aunt Anne are rooted largely in their age and therefore they cannot be helped.

Some people, on the other hand-

As they argue (or rather, as Anne argues and Marian makes as many snide rejoinders as she can think up on the spot), Ann waits for someone to draw her into the argument and bites her thumbnail at the first stirrings of anxiety.

Because of course she will be brought into it- how can one debate the authenticity of debilitating illness in its various forms and fail to at least mention the fact that one of the current household is incapacitated nearly as many days than the rest put together?

How can they refer to Aunt Anne’s poor ulcerated legs that keep her housebound and not to the fact that a younger Ann- in possession of her youth and strength, such as it is- sometimes keeps to her room for days at a time, her door closed and the bedclothes pulled tight?

(At least Aunt Anne allows the drapes to be opened).

How can they debate the genuineness of flu- with its real, visible symptoms- and not the existence of whatever it is that still sometimes (to her eternal shame) has her rousing Anne from sleep in the small hours to silence all the clocks and their insidious whispering?

(They must have noticed by now- sometimes Anne forgets to put them back together before the next morning- but somehow, it hasn’t been mentioned. Yet.)

And how- how can they talk of ‘giving in to it’ without remembering the time that Ann gave in too? (Once, only once- but as her scars- still livid in the cold and too high up her wrists for her sleeves to entirely cover- remind her and everyone else, once, as it happens, is enough).

How can they talk of sickness and not come to wonder if the affliction that so stubbornly clings to her comes under the category of disease- or, to use Anne’s phrasing- shamming?

It’s not as if it’s a discussion she’s never been privvy to before, thanks to her multitude of relations fancying themselves to be, if not doctors then logicians.

‘What exactly is wrong with her- are they sure she isn’t...well, it’s awfully convenient for her, isn’t it?’

‘If there was something you could see- but she looks as normal as the rest of us. I really think if she had anything about her, she’d just get on with things-’

‘It’s my opinion that she just gives in to it too much- don’t we all suffer from nerves?’

‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, if it’s all….well, real….. Well, can she really be trusted to manage her own affairs?’

She waits, she waits, for the conversation to turn to her.

And yet….

And yet, somehow, incredibly, it doesn’t.

Ann bites her nails to nothingness, then digs her ruined fingertips into her palms until it hurts enough to imagine that she’s drawing blood- but she is never mentioned.

The conversation moves on- at last, at last- and she isn’t looked to for an opinion until Anne proposes a walk to visit the Hardcastle tenants and see how Henry is getting on with his studies in person and asks if she’d like to come.

She would.

(The walk home feels a thousand miles long.)

Gratitude follows her to bed that night (as she turns over yet again, trying to find a position that mitigates the growing congestion in her chest)- she is warmed by it, but determined too.

Anne does not- somehow, somehow- see her….her demons as weakness.

(Yet)

And so she will not tempt fate. She has succumbed to too much to succumb to this most prosaic and easily brushed off of afflictions- common sickness. She will be as Anne wishes she could be (as Anne must surely wish she could be)- she will be strong.

She will not allow her wife- her beloved, infuriating, mad, brilliant, daring, laughing Anne- to look at her with the same impatience that she holds in reserve for people who fail to measure up to her expectations.

She will be strong.

And when she wakes up to moonlight streaming in through the open curtains and her wife’s arm slung loosely over her stomach, she pushes away the pain in her head (and the roughness in her throat and the ache all over) and thinks instead about how happy she is.

(She will not spoil things).

It works.

(Almost)

Ann isn’t really sick, as she reminds herself (again and again)- but she also doesn’t want to make anyone else not-properly-sick too.

Not Captain Lister (who is of the age that requires only one short bout of anything to tip him from frailty into incapacity), not Aunt Anne (who became Aunt sooner than Ann was able to speak to the Captain directly without stammering), not Marian (with whom a routine of midafternoon crumpets-by-the-fire, served with honey and mutual stories of social awkwardness, has already been quickly established) and (definitely) not Anne.

She just doesn’t think she could cope with the guilt. So- carefully- she does what she can to minimize contact.

It isn’t exactly difficult to minimize contact with a gentleman she’s (mostly) still too afraid to talk to so Captain Lister isn’t a problem, but she notices the crease of consternation in Aunt Anne’s brow when she discreetly steps back to put herself out of line for a kiss when she, Anne and Marian are bidding farewell before a trip into Halifax.

She wonders if the woman notices that Ann makes sure to sit well away from her, that she moves away from the caresses and affection that she had once treasured as proof that she was being accepted into the family.

She tells herself that she is clever enough to hide her withdrawal.

Vain fancy.

Crossing the hall, on the hunt for cologne for her throbbing head, she overhears Aunt Lister’s sigh- ‘- thought she was settling here so well-’ and Marian’s slightly fractious rejoinder- ‘-almost as if she can’t bear to be around us anymore!’.

As they toy with the idea that the blame is Anne’s, wondering if her blunt impatience with ‘shabby little Shibden’ has rubbed off on her wife, Ann takes herself quickly upstairs.

She really doesn’t want to hear.

She can tell that Marian is hurt- at the physical distance she has started to keep between them, at her new reluctance to share a sofa to giggle and gossip as they used to- and that sends her sense of guilt spiralling- the last thing she wants to do is add to the woman’s sense of insecurity.

Even without their heart to hearts, she’s been able to pick up on it- Anne’s casually derisive remarks about Marian’s occasional histrionic outbursts, the way that even compliments come to Marian in the frame of being likened to her older sister, Marian’s obvious frustration at coming off the worst in every single one of their skirmishes.

(She knows that Marian has been nearly as grateful as her for the unexpected friendship that they’ve formed. Shibden to Anne is- used to be- merely dull but for Marian, it is- was- also lonely).

She sympathises with Marian- she likes her. Too much to knowingly make her unwell again.

And so she keeps her distance.

(She tries not to feel it too hard when Marian stops trying to engage her.)

But- Anne is hardest.

(Anne, after all, is the one she shares a bed with.)

She rolls away from her wife in bed, presses her face into the pillows, pretending to yawn and stretch.

She shies away from Anne’s arms pulling her towards her lap; she forces herself to resist the urge to lean into Anne’s side when she’s tired (and she is so tired now, always so tired, so bone-achingly weary now).

She doesn’t let herself curl up into Anne’s embrace to sleep, she exiles herself to the edge of the mattress.

She turns her face away from kisses- and that is hardest of all.

And Anne….lets her.

She doesn’t push after she is rebuffed; she doesn’t ask why. She keeps smiling, keeps on as she has barely noticed, much less minded.

(She keeps trying though.)

And at first, it’s a relief- then, almost as quickly, a worry.

She wonders what it means that her wife is so seemingly unconcerned by the lack of affection- does she even mind?

(Is she relieved to be free of Ann’s kisses, Ann’s clinging?)

Until all at once, Anne stops trying and everything goes cold.

And she realises that Anne really does mind.

A cold space between them in bed, a chilly silence in the carriage, in the parlour, at meals.

It’s Ann who stops touching but Anne who stops talking- and Ann suddenly wonders how she lived back at Crow Nest when her days were perpetually uninterrupted: from the first, she hadn’t as much grown used to Anne’s conversation as she had realised how much she had been missing.

Silence as she sketches (or tries to sketch as shivers shake her pencil)- no one leaning over her shoulder to admire.

(No little intake of breath, the puff of air by her cheek as Anne whispers that it’s marvellous; the absolute sincerity when Anne asks how she does it- the teasing glint as the latest canvas is proclaimed to be not too bad really, in a certain light at least.

Anne trying to snatch the paintbrush away after she has spent a whole day at the easel: ‘I’m a widow to the canvas! I do declare I must be the most neglected wife in all of Christendom!’ ‘Stop it, Anne-’ ‘I once long ago felt my wife’s warm embrace- Argus, let us depart for bachelorhood-’)

Silence when she wakes, no kiss pressed into her hair as Anne asks how she slept, how she feels, did she dream?

(Anne enjoys recounting her dreams and enjoys hearing Ann’s: she tells her about how the Greeks believed that dreams were messages from the gods, she ponders aloud on what the Greeks would make of the image of Cordingley, Captain Lister and Mrs Lacey from the milliners in Halifax, being carried off by the tide in a boat made from a bonnet).

(No arch observations or questions from the pillow beside her in the darkness, no more drifting asleep to the sound of her wife’s quiet laughter.)

Silence as she tries to eat at mealtimes- no boasting about how well the sinking of the new pit is going, no updates on the goings on of the Lister’s various tenants.

Silence as she stares at the same page of the same book in the evenings- no offer from Anne to read aloud, no gentle teasing about Ann’s fondness for romantic novels over good, hard facts. No interruptions with a new and (at least to Anne) fascinating tidbit; her wife’s face shining over the back of the sofa: ‘Sorry, sorry- I know I’m interrupting again! Just- one more thing!’ Little snippets of politics or history or biology- subjects she never cared for, that she doesn’t care for now, except that Anne is so interested, enthusiasm spreading out to capture her and everyone else too.

‘Just let me read you this bit here- just let me show you this picture here- just let me share this with you because I love you and I trust you because I know that you will agree because you love me too’

And when not silence- when words are necessary, when conversation cannot be held off a moment longer- then a calm, bland, businesslike manner that lacks any of the warmth, the enthusiasm that used to be so evident.

(In the early days of their courtship, Anne once told her about a particular form of execution- Lingchi its proper name- ‘the death of a thousand cuts’, with the particular shiny eyed look she gets when reading about the obscure, the foreign, the different: no cut enough to do damage alone but all together enough to kill. She thinks of it with every blank request to be passed the sugar and she doesn’t know why.)

A couple of times Ann wonders, distantly, if there isn’t a way of fixing this, if perhaps maybe- if she could just talk to Anne….. But things are bad now, she’s afraid to try to open up a conversation with her wife for fear of what might be said.

She knows that explanations will be required, eventually- but things are so bad, she knows that once they start talking, it will be hard to take back anything that is said.

It will be delicate and require care and planning….and between the shivers and the aches, the fever flushes, the headaches, the sore throat that makes it hard to drink let alone eat, it’s too hard to plan now, it’s too hard to thing, it’s too hard to do anything other than focus every fibre of her being Keeping Going.

So she keeps her distance, tries not to hear Aunt Anne wondering if she’s homesick, Marian wondering if she’s just bored of them already. She tries not to hear her wifes pointed silence.

Because she may be distant, she may be different- but she isn’t weak.

(She really cannot afford any of them to start seeing her as any weaker, any more of a burden, than she already is. She cannot afford Anne to start thinking of her as any more of a burden than she already is for fear that it may push her wife all the closer to the point of deciding that it may be easier to just set the burden down altogether.)

She keeps going, she keeps going- until a day comes that presses on her more heavily than usual. And she can tell, from the minute that she opens her eyes, that she’s worse.

The other side of the bed is already cold.

Dressing is such an effort she has to sit down for a moment on the edge of the tumbled bed to stop her head from spinning and her clothes feel wrong against her sweaty skin.

Downstairs, the thick smell of bacon and toast at the breakfast table is almost overpowering- she nearly has to excuse herself early- but she makes herself sit through it, through the sounds of the rest of them eating, through Aunt Anne remarking upon her need for embroidery thread, through Anne offering to get her some from Halifax.

(Once, she would have asked Ann to come with her; now, she doesn’t even glance at her).

In the hall, the effort of it all hits her: sleans against the wall and tries to breathe deeply, then rouses herself to stand straight just as Anne enters, pulling on her outdoor clothes.

‘Are you off now?’

‘Yes.’

The curtness stings, but she can’t blame Anne, not really. She knows that she is at fault for not making more of an effort- to at least talk to her wife even if she can’t be close to her- but it’s been hard enough to think of eating and dressing and walking without talking too.

Still.

‘Will you be long?’

Anne is concentrating on buttoning her glove, her voice is carefully measured.

‘It’s alright, you know.’

‘What is?’

‘You needn’t pretend to care.’

‘Anne?’

‘Look, I’m running late and I’ve as little interest in answering your questions as you do in my answer so-’

Anne does look at her then and it’s so very closed off, as if she’s looking at a stranger, as if she’s put part of herself away for safekeeping.

For someone worthier than Ann, apparently.

‘Of course I care’

‘You could at least do me the decency of not lying to me in my own home.’

Like an unexpected blow, it drives the breath from her.

‘Wh- what are you talking about?’

‘You needn’t look so stricken’ Anne sighs ‘I’m- not really angry with you. I always entertained the prospect of you having…..second thoughts, even if I didn’t think they’d come quite so- soon-’

‘I’m not having second thoughts!’

‘I know I’m not easy to...be with. I know- I always knew- it would affect you too. I do understand.’

‘No, you don’t-’

‘I do!’ It’s an effort, Ann can tell, for Anne to say it. Like she’s dragging something up, forcing the words past her teeth. ‘Mariana- explained it all to me. Years ago- she was very clear about what it was like for her and so…. I do understand. I know it’s embarrassing for you to be- It’s just been a little hard for me to… come to terms with.’

‘Anne-’

‘Please!’ Anne suddenly looks pained- her face creases, she shuts her eyes for a second. ‘Please- don’t. Just… don’t. Look, we can talk about it later, we can-’

She keeps her face turned away, her voice is muffled, she presses the back of gloved hand to her mouth: at the doorway she pauses.

‘It’s- alright, you know.’ The twist of her lips is the bitterest idea of a smile. ‘You needn’t worry about me or anything. I can always get through things.’

‘Anne-’ She despises herself that the right words come so slowly, so late- like the whisperers said, she must truly be not quite the whole shilling, a few pennies short of a pound- such fitting phrases because really, what is she when the question of her money is taken out of it?

A collection of anxieties and neuroses, a slight dexterity with a paintbrush, courtesies she has learnt off by heart for the sake of politeness to hide a lack of social wit. ‘Please, I still love you- truly-’

‘Really…’ There’s a split second when the old softness comes back to her wife’s face. ‘I know it would be easier if I let it go but- Ann, I can’t. We all deserve better than being someone’s duty.’

And then the door is closing, the hem of Anne’s black riding habit whisks out of sight, and she is alone.

Our father who art in heaven-

The door clicks softly shut on happiness, love, warmth, hope. The hall is cold, her throat aches and her eyes feel hot and wet.

-hallowed be thy name-

Not just her eyes- all of her is fiercely overheated, she is sweltering, shaking- grief made flesh; if she could, she would burn herself out of existence where she stands.

-thy kingdom come-

A sob tears itself from her, as she tries to follow, to explain- if ever she can, if it isn’t too late- but the effort of holding back the tempest inside her chest makes her dizzy- more than dizzy, she is lightness, she is floating, she is weightless.

-thy will be done-

The wood panelled walls tilt alarmingly.

-on earth as it is in heaven.

She is back to herself within moments.

Her side hurts, her ankle hurts where it is twisted beneath her. Trying to right herself only brings on a bout of coughing and the spasms keep her bent low, they shake her in much the same way that Argus shakes a rat.

When the front door opens again, she barely registers until Anne is crouching beside her, her hand on her back, on her hand.

‘Ann?’

She can’t talk but she inclines her head towards her wife as much as she can.

‘Ann, are you alright?’

It’s as if the recriminations of less than ten minutes ago are forgotten- Anne tenderly cups the back of her head as she used to.

Sitting close beside Anne on a stiff chaise, her cheek pressed against Anne’s waistcoat, strong fingers caressing the back of her neck, the secret, spoken aloud, hanging heavy in the air around them, and Anne’s murmur in her ear: ‘You know I’d have gotten you out of this scrape, even if you’d said no-’

‘Ann- Ann?’

She’s let her eyes close for longer than a blink- she opens them with effort to Anne’s worried face.

‘Sorry- I was- dizzy-’

It’s an effort, as if she’s finally, finally reached the end: after nearly a fortnight, there is no pretending anymore, she has no strength left to pretend.

‘You’re hot-’ Cool fingers against her brow. ‘I don’t understand- how it can just come on like- It can’t be- not here-’

Anne sounds genuinely worried. Ann wonders what she’s imagining- some deadly disease encountered in a faraway land on her travels perhaps- and feels bound to put her wife’s mind at rest, as humiliating as it is.

‘Not-’ Her words blur together, her eyelids flutter again. ‘It’s...not just now…I’ve been feeling….off’

‘How long?’

‘The wednesday- last wednesday before-’ She’s too worn out to care about how it looks any more, the relief of just being able to admit it makes her eyes fill with tears again.

‘Heavens, that’s- why on earth didn’t you say something?’

There’s the impulse to pull away but it’s fading- Anne is supporting her and just the feel of her wife’s arms around her again after so long is wonderful- but she does give a tiny jerk at the incomprehension in Anne’s words.

Can she really be so oblivious?

‘I know…. How you feel about….all of this. I’m- weak enough already.’

There’s a pause.

‘Oh.’

When her wife gets things wrong, it seems she gets them very wrong.

‘Oh Ann… I’m so sorry, I never thought you’d think I meant-’

The relaisation is spreading across her wife’s face, her look of horror grows.

‘And I said- and that’s why- oh god!’ Her hand is seized. ‘And I’ve been- Ann! I’ve been awful to you!’

(She makes a mental note to bring up the fact that she’s been awful to her sister too. Later. For now, she is content to be held and kissed in penitence.)

‘You….shouldn’t- you’ll make yourself ill-’

Anne removes her face from her wife’s tumbled curls.

‘I think I rather deserve it…. Heavens, how I’ve managed to make such a hash of things!’

She wants to interrupt, to say her own piece- she wants to apologise too- more than anything, she wants to be able to put her own darling infuriating, remorseful wife out of the guilt she is obviously wracked with- but they’re interrupted by a gasp- Mrs Cordingley’s plans for the morning clearly did not include members of the family or their spouses lying in doorways.

‘Heavens! What’s happened?’

Anne twists her head around. ‘Miss Walker has been taken ill-can you let James know he is to fetch the doctor at once?’

‘Yes Miss. Should I send George to help Miss Walker upstairs?’

‘No, I’ll-’ Anne turns back to her. ‘I could carry you my love but for the narrow corridors- I would hate to concuss you. Do you think you can-’

‘Yes-’ She’s still wobbly and everything still hurts but just being able to enjoy the comfort of Anne’s arms around her, Anne’s breath against her cheek as she helps her up and up the stairs to their room is enough to temporarily eclipse the pain.

‘Do be careful on the stairs my love, you know the middle step wobbles-’

And that puts a stop to all unnecessary conversation for the time being.

#gentleman jack #gentleman jack fanfiction #anne lister #ann walker #anne lister x ann walker #marian lister

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mylittleotomecorner · 5 years

Note

Could you write drabble where Soryu cheers up a sad MC? I'm having a bit of a rough day... Thanks

Rainy Day BluesSoryu Oh x MCRating: Aww

I’ve been hit with a bad week. Extra shifts at hotel, at least two guests filing false complaints because they didn’t get what they wanted (including me in their beds), almost getting kidnapped by a guest to accompany them to the auction when I wasn’t supposed to be there and, to top it all off, getting splashed by a passing car in the pouring rain. I’ve come home worse than the most soaked rag imaginable. I guess this is how it feels to be an unlucky dog. I’m in the pits and even my best friends and coworkers couldn’t help me. I’ve showered and planned to do nothing but binge watch my shows and trash eat. I thank my lucky stars Eisuke and the others had my back, but I didn’t want to be anymore of a burden to them so I requested the weekend off because I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was afraid I would snap and make things worse for them when all they did was look after me.

I’m feeling a little chill run through me, but thinking I’m just really tired, I go and fix myself some tea and hunker down for the weekend. I’m about to start my show when I get a call. “Oh…” It’s my boyfriend, Soryu. I wonder what it could be about. “Hello.”

“Hey.” That gruff voice of his could settle all my worries and I sink into my couch in relief. “You okay?”

I start to cough but recover quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Ota and Baba kept talking about one of the auction guests trying to get you to be their date.” I could see it now: stern look, mind quick to go for that gun he always carries. Wonder what else they told him… oh boy…

“It’s okay, nothing happened,” I said, hands he couldn’t see waving him off. “It’s just been a really busy week at the hotel, that’s all.”

That heavy sigh. Come on, let it go. I was the one that almost got dragged off to some stranger’s room a couple times. “No one better have laid a hand on you.” Stupid brain! Why are you so loud! My prolonged silence earned me an earful of “why didn’t you call me as soon as possible” and “who was it so I could talk with them.”

“Please, Soryu. I just need-“ I couldn’t stop the coughing this time. Nor did I realize how hot it suddenly got after seeing I didn’t drink my tea yet.

“What’s wrong?” Now the genuine worry has set in and all I’ve done was cause trouble again.

“N-nothing, really! I’ll be fine,” I say between coughs. “I just need rest. I’ll be back at work in no time.” The rain wasn’t letting up so I was definitely not going anywhere. Taking a deep breath, after the coughs finally subsided, I said to the mobster, “It’s raining really hard so I don’t plan to go anywhere. I just need tea and my blankets and I’ll be fine.”

“It’s Summer and you need blankets?” Crap, this isn’t going to go well. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.” And he hung up.

Heaving a sigh, all I could feel is that of a burden. Soryu was a member of the Ice Dragons mafia and always working hard to see his group succeed in their plans. The last thing I wanted was for him to take off and take care of me. Now that my tea was cold, I decided to go and heat it up. But, a sudden dizzy spell takes over me and I did my best to save the mug, but not myself as I collapse onto the floor. The room goes dark as it spins all around me.

**********

Ugh… I wake up, head pounding, throat raw and chest and nose congested so bad, I almost choked on air. Wait… something is covering me… Rubbing my eyes, I see I’m on my couch with a blanket over me. The sounds of movement in the kitchen gets me awake but my body is in too much pain to move much.

Soryu comes with fresh mugs of tea and sets them on the coffee table. “Good to see you’re awake,” he said as he looked me over. Worry set that strong visage of his in a mood that rips at my heartstrings.

“You didn’t have to come,” I say in a raspy voice. I try my best to sit up but he comes over and helps me, fixing pillows at my back.

“You were passed out on the floor with a high fever,” he said to me as he hands me the mug. The aroma of ginger and lemon strong. “Drink this. Did you get caught in the rain?”

Sees right through me before I could even think it. Mug in both hands, I have no strength to fight him. “And splashed by a passing car.” Avoiding his gaze, I feel helpless and guilty he’s dropped whatever he’s been doing to come and take care of me. I’m waiting to be scolded when all I got was a pat on the head. Looking up, I saw gentle eyes and a soft smile. “You’re not mad at me?”

He sighed and tousled my hair. “I am, but I can’t stay mad when all you did was go to work.” Brushing his hand through his hair, Soryu looked to the side and said “You have to speak up when something feels off before it gets that way. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

I sip the tea and it fills me with warmth, feeling better with each sip. “I know. I just-“

“If you say that you don’t want to be a burden, asking for help is not being a burden. Saving your butt might be, according to the Book of Mamoru, but you’re one of us now. And we look after each other.” I’m expecting that stern look on his to beam down on me, but all I get is the look of the man that I love loving me back in return. “Drink your tea,” he tells me and I nod in compliance as he stands up brings over a bag. “Here.”

“Hmm?” Setting the mug down, the bag placed on my lap, he walks off back to the kitchen. Inside were books and movies. “What’s all this?”

“Inui wouldn’t shut up when I said something happened to you. Almost broke the door down when we arrived. Samejima picked the lock so we’ll have to replace the lock. They wanted to stay but I told them no.” Hearing that made me smile. It’s never a dull moment when it involves them. Bless their hearts. I can barely smell anything but is that more ginger? Soryu emerges again with a tray that had a bowl on it. “When was the last time you ate?”

Now that I thought about it, it must have been during my break at work that was the last time I ate. I didn’t even think about what to have for dinner other than popcorn and other snack items. Hearing my stomach growl was the last straw and I sheepishly smile as I move the bag from my lap for the tray. “What’s this?”

“Chicken congee.” A simple bowl of rice gruel with chicken meat, ginger and scallions. It looked like heaven.

“Did you make this?” I tasted a bit and it’s simplicity gave me life.

“One of the chefs at the hotel did after I asked them to. There’s two more containers in the fridge and another serving on the stove when you’re ready.” Soryu picked up his mug and finally drank his tea as he sat at the other end of the couch.

“Surely you’re busy as it is. I could manage on my own.” I really didn’t want him to take time from his work just because I was sick.

“It’s fine. The others have their orders and will call if they have to. Eisuke gave you a week off. Said you’re no good to him dead so might as well take the time to get better.”

I smile, enjoying this delicious porridge. “I’ll have to make sure to thank him when I return to work.”

“You can thank him by not getting sick again is what he said for me to tell you.” We both chuckled at that. “So, what were you going to watch?”

“I’ve been recording the Bachelor for weeks because I couldn’t get to watch it…” I looked at my boyfriend and saw the look of disgust. “Hey, you bought me from a black market auction. How is my show any different?”

“I had to save your life to learn about love, not be bothered with a series of other women that were trying too hard.” Well, when you put it like that, it’s not as exciting to watch anymore. “I bought a bunch of movies but I can always call Inui and Samejima to bring more,” he said with a groan, knowing full they (more like Inui) would just worry about me more when they get here.

“Well, lets just watch what you brought then,” I said as I finish the porridge. “What about the book?”

“For when you sleep. I don’t want the tv on disturbing you.” Did he really think of everything? What planet is he from? “Stop looking at me like I’m an alien.”

I couldn’t help laughing, which led to the coughing. He took the tray from me and headed to the kitchen. “Pick a movie and you’re eating this other portion before you pass out again.”

I’m in no position to argue. A mix of genres from what he likes and what I like. And he really intends to stay with me the whole week? I better not ask and start thinking of that to tell the others when I get back to work. I’m feeling so much better now. I have hot food and movies and all the time in the world to spend with the man that I love. The rain can’t take that away from me. Nothing can.

#voltage fanfiction #voltage fanfic #otome drabble #drabble requests #voltage fan fic requests #kbtbb #kbtbb fanfic #kbtbb fanfic request #kbtbb soryu #kissed by the baddest bidder #kissed by the baddest bidder fan fic

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veneataur · 5 years

Text

Whumpmas day 23

Fandom: original fiction

Prompt: hemophobia

Title: Not Blood

Warnings: needles, restraints, thoughts of suicide, panic attack, depression, aftermath of torture, PTSD

Evie isn’t a woman of regrets. It’s not that she believes that everything that’s happened is good, but that everything shapes the person you are today. Take out something and who knows what type of person you might be. Getting captured and tortured has certainly shaped her into a type of person she didn’t expect and she doesn’t like. Coming down with a cold hadn’t been pleasant before, but now it’s unbearable, in part because it happens so much more often, but also because nine times out of ten, she winds up in the ER where the needles are so prevalent. And it doesn’t matter how many times she sees Emma, her psychiatrist, that fear never seems to fade. It’s PTSD, she’s told. It doesn’t help really. Yippee, there’s a name to attach to her fucked up mind. All it means is that when she has a flashback, she can whip out the name and garner pity and fear from everyone around. She wants to go back to normal.

It’s nearly midnight, which still seems strange to her to think about. For so long time was just counting and whenever master deigned to return to punish or teach her. Marla bought her a brand new watch, several actually, and put clocks in every room on every wall. Time is a constant now even though counting still seems easier sometimes. She counts herself to sleep at night and then during some of the long days when Marla and Nate are gone. They can’t be around all of the time, after all. They do have lives.

Marla doesn’t have much a life right now, though, as it seems every week she’s taking Evie to urgent care or the ER with a cold she can’t shake. It starts off with a simple cough, then comes dehydration and fever, which bring on flashbacks and nightmares, worse than usual. Evie knows they don’t think she can hear them when they’re talking, when Nate and Marla are wondering if she needs more care than they can provide. They say it wouldn’t be permanent, just a day thing, maybe weekly for a few weeks until she can get control over things.

She’d rather go back to master. She knows she’s not supposed to think that. Emma’s told her that master was bad and treated her poorly, but he never did. His punishments meant to teach her, to make her better. He’d be there for her without question, but then she remembers that she failed him and he left her. She was unworthy.

They all say that’s not true, but it has to be. She’s worthless here, an unnecessary burden on everyone. They should’ve just let her die. If she were braver, she’d take care of it for them.

“We need to take some blood to send it to the lab for testing,” the nurse, Izzy, says. “Are you up to sitting there or do we need some help?” Izzy is familiar with them. All of the ER staff is. It’s not hard to do when you have a panic attack every time a needle comes your way. She’s torn out a dozen IVs until they realize that the site has to be heavily taped and sometimes splinted so she can’t get to it. Nearly every visit to the ER results in being restrained, either by nurses or soft restraints and more often than she cares for, she’s sedated. No one knows exactly why she panics.

She shrugs her shoulders, coughing. The congestion in her lungs makes breathing difficult and her head ache. There’s also the fever that hasn’t let up. She’s not up to making any decisions tonight, no matter how simple. Decisions hadn’t been hers to make before.

“Let’s just do the restraints tonight, Izzy,” Marla says with a heavy sigh. “It’s been a long week.”

It should hurt that Marla goes for the restraints so easily, but she sees the worn look on Marla’s face. She’s wearing everyone down. Worthless. Evie doesn’t wait for the nurse to guide her to lay down on the bed. She even puts her arms and legs in the right positions and waits. Maybe she can do something right.

Izzy doesn’t waste any time in securing her with the restraints. The room is awkwardly silent, but Evie likes that. Silence is better than talking. It’s comfortable.

That’s all gone when she smells the antiseptic. Her heartbeat quickens and her breathing becomes shallow as she erupts into a terrible coughing fit. Izzy raises the head of the bed and replaces the nasal cannula with an oxygen mask. Evie’s throat and chest burn as she coughs. She’d like to curl up, but she can’t.

“Just try to take deep breaths, Evie,” Marla says, voice tired as she weakly holds on to Evie’s hand. It’s not that easy, Evie thinks. Every deep breath burns and brings about more coughing.

“Alright, I’m going to give you some time to get the coughing under control before I even try again,” Izzy says. “I’ll check with the doctor, but it’ll probably be a straight IV to make it easier to take blood and she’ll likely want you on fluids.” Izzy undoes the restraints but doesn’t put them away. Evie knows they’ll be back later, but she doesn’t care. She takes advantage of being freed to curl up, pulling her hands around her chest as she coughs. She doesn’t see the hurt look that crosses Marla’s face at the move and in the fit of coughing, she doesn’t hear the wearied sigh as Marla sits, pulling the chair close to the bed.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, but don’t hesitate to call if you need something,” Izzy says on her way out. Evie’s glad they have a room, not a curtain. It gives a little more privacy, but then she knows that she only disturbs others so it’s not really for her benefit, but everyone else’s.

Evie continues coughing, feeling everything grow in aching and pain. And then there’s the count down, the timer until Izzy comes back to put an IV in her. It nearly always happens when she’s in the ER because she’s dehydrated. She’s also underweight. Marla gets frustrated with her because she doesn’t eat. She can’t.

“You sound like you’re getting a little better,” Marla says.

Evie doesn’t say anything. She’s not sure if Marla is right. It doesn’t feel any better. Marla doesn’t say anything more as Evie tries to steady her breathing. If she can do that, then, when Izzy comes back she can do the IV, and they can go on as normal.

“I don’t hear any coughing,” Izzy says when she returns a little more than twenty minutes later. “Can you roll onto your back so I can see how you’re doing?”

Evie does as she’s asked. Although the coughing fit has gone, her breathing still feels rough and her chest aches.

“Everything looks as good as it can for now. You ready for the IV?”

Evie shrugs her shoulders and puts her limbs back in place for the restraints. Izzy puts the restraints on again and gets the kit set up for the IV.

“Before I get started, I want you to know that unless something unexpected happens, I’m going to keep going until I get this secured, okay?”

Evie nods, coughing.

“Okay. The doctor’s ordered treatment for likely dehydration as well.” Izzy talks as she’s preparing everything. It distracts Evie until she smells the antiseptic and then she’s starting to panic. She hates the feeling that her heart will tear from her chest and that the air is thinner. She can’t control any of it, either. Emma’s worked with her, but none of them know what happened to her. Amber, the lead detective in her case, doesn’t even know everything. She refuses to say anything. She can’t. That might get master in trouble.

So she panics. She gasps for breath as she coughs and feels her body grow distant until Izzy steps back, hands up. She says something, but the buzzing drowns it out. Still, she knows the gesture. Izzy’s done. There’s a slight lessening in the tension, but it’ll take time for her body to settle out. In the meantime, Izzy sets up the nebulizer to help with her breathing from the congestion and asthma.

“If she’s not settled anymore in ten minutes, call for me and I’ll give her a sedative. The doctor wants to hold it in reserve given her condition,” Izzy tells Marla.

“Sure.” Marla nods tiredly. Izzy leaves again and the room is silent save for Evie’s breathing and the machines. As the medication takes hold and the panic attack subsides, Evie starts to grow restless.

“You ready for me to undo these?” Marla points to the restraints. The nurses generally leave it up to Marla to undo the restraints once they’ve done their job.

Evie nods, the mask still in place. Marla undoes the restraints and replaces the mask with the nasal cannula. They’ve spent enough time here that she knows when it’s safe.

The peacefulness lasts a few minutes before Evie goes for the IV. Marla, in her tiredness, is too slow and Evie manages to get the IV loose, tearing it out of her hand as blood spurts freely from the vein, staining the bedding and Evie’s clothing. Marla slaps a hand over the wound as Evie continues to fight her. With her free hand, Marla pushes the help button.

That sets off a chain reaction. A few nurses and the doctor enter the room, going into action as soon as they see the situation. The restraints go back on, a sedative is administered, and a new IV is put in, in the other arm while the old site is stitched and bandaged. Evie panics at first until the sedative calms her. She’s not out, but she doesn’t have the strength to fight them.

“The restraints have to stay on this time,” the doctor tells Marla. “I’m working on getting her a room. She’s going to have to stay overnight at least.”

“Okay.” Marla sighs. The doctor says she’ll be back later to check on Evie and leaves with the nurses. Marla sits back to take in the all-too-familiar situation. How many times have they wound up like this? Evie’s been home for a month, in therapy for two months and nothing’s getting better. No one even knows for sure what’s happened to her save for the physical marks and what inferences Emma makes based on her behavior.

“Damn it, Evie. I don’t understand this. Why won’t you fucking tell us what’s happened? We’re the good guys. It’s the people who took you who are bad, not us. We’re just trying to help you.” Marla can’t help her voice raising as she speaks. If Evie hears, she doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She can’t keep it in anymore. “I don’t know what to do to help you anymore. You’re afraid of everything. You can’t keep time. You don’t eat and you can’t make a single fucking decision, not even to decide what color shirt you’re going to wear.” It’s a lack of breath that stops her tirade.

“You think I’m happy?” Evie’s voice is quiet, tired and comes after a long pause.

“No, of course not, but…” Marla huffs. “You don’t tell us anything. We have no idea what happened to you except that you’re afraid of things you never were, like blood and food and people and so many other fucking things.”

“Not blood.”

“What?”

“It’s not blood.”

“That you’re afraid of?”

“Not blood,” Evie repeats.

“Then what?”

“Not blood.”

“Okay, it’s not blood then.” Marla sighs. It’s something, she supposes. It’s more than they’ve gotten from Evie in two months willingly. Whatever it is that Evie’s afraid of, it’s not blood.

#whumpmas #original fiction #original character #evalyne #marla #whump #ladywhump #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: aftermath of torture #tw: panic attack #tw: PTSD #tw: needles

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lickstynine · 5 years

Text

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Twenty-Four

written with @ocsickficsideblog

The rest of the weekend was uneventful but unpleasant. For all the medicine he took, Kit couldn’t stop coughing, and his throat was so sore he refused anything but tea and broth. When Monday rolled around, he was still achy, wheezy, and miserable, and it took ten minutes of prodding for Alistair to even get him out of bed.

“Can’t we reschedule with the doctor? It’s freezing outside, and I feel lousy.” Kit whined.

“You’re not going to be any less sick tomorrow. I want him to check you over anyway,” Alistair said. He’d infuriated Kit by spending only a couple of days sniffling and coughing before bouncing back.

“Well I don’t want that.” Kit huffed. He grabbed his handkerchief just in time to muffle another coughing fit.

“Tough shit. Get your shoes on.”

Kit flinched, but obediently laced up his boots. He tucked the cuffs of his thick black jeans into the boots, and layered a jumper over his long-sleeved shirt before gathering his jackets.

Alistair immediately felt bad. “Kit? You don’t have to do what I say. You can yell at me and tell me I’m an asshole. If you want.”

“I know.” Kit knew he could snap back, but his voice often seemed to disappear when he was barked at. It was different from the good-natured bickering between him and Alistair, where he could fire off a hundred insults a minute. If he felt like someone was actually mad at him, he shut down.

“Don’t…” Alistair looked terrified. He couldn’t help remembering the fight with Toby. What he’d said. “I...am I really like Father?”

Kit shook his head. “Of course you’re not. I’m just an oversensitive priss. Always have been.” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face before wrapping his scarf around his neck. Alistair didn’t really look convinced. He was quiet and subdued too as he took Kit downstairs. Kit latched onto him on the way down; even the stairwell felt too cold. Alistair clutched him tight, his face falling even more.

Taddy raised his eyebrows when the boys got in his car, still somber. “Are we alright today, sirs?”

“Mnn. Kit just isn’t well,” Alistair mumbled.

“That’s no good. It is that time of year.” Taddy sighed sympathetically. “Hopefully, the doctor will get you straightened out, then.” Kit just nodded. Alistair leaned against him, cuddling close like he had as a little kid. Kit snuggled up, coughing and sniffling the whole drive. Alistair, amazingly, was quiet the whole time, staring straight ahead blankly.

When they got to the hospital, Kit shuffled out of the car, shivering fiercely in the outside wind. He stayed close to Alistair, coughing into his elbow. “Do you think we’ll be out long?” He asked, already sounding more hoarse and congested.

Alistair put an arm around him. “Hopefully not. I don’t want you in the cold.”

“I’m tired. Can I go back to bed when we get home?” As soon as they got into the waiting room, Kit flopped down in a plastic chair. Alistair nodded, picking at his nail varnish.

“Mnn. If you want.”

“Thanks.” Kit snuggled up to his cousin, trying to leech of his warmth. Alistair held Kit tight, keeping his eyes closed because he felt like he wanted to cry and he obviously couldn’t do it here. He used to do that a lot as a kid - keep his emotions bottled up after a fight or a beating, hold onto it for a few days and then howl for hours. It meant Kit could probably tell a few stories about Alistair suddenly starting to bawl in airports or stores for no apparent reason.

Kit could tell his cousin was upset. He scooted closer, looping his arms around Alistair’s neck. He hid his face in Kit’s hair. “I’m not turning into him, am I? Please tell me the truth. I still see him when I look in the mirror sometimes.”

“Of course not, stupid. I wouldn’t have anything to do with you otherwise.” Kit properly squeezed Alistair now.

“But Toby said it…”

“Toby is an idiot and a scumbag.” Kit hissed. “You might as well take advice from our parents.”

Alistair smiled a bit. “You really can’t stand him, can you? It’s weird seeing you so bloodthirsty.”

“He’s done nothing but give me more reasons to hate him.” Kit grumbled, his brows furrowing.

“I know. It’s okay. He’s not my friend anymore.”

“Good.” Kit huffed. “I never felt as safe when he was in the flat.”

“I don’t think he’d have hurt maliciously,” Alistair mumbled, sighing. “It was just when he was drunk. But I don’t want him near Jules ever again.”

“I can think of other people who are ‘only’ violent when they’re drunk.” Kit scowled. He thought about the scars he’d gotten over the years under similar circumstances.

Alistair nodded, gritting his teeth. “Me too. And I won’t ever ever forgive him for hurting Jules. It was Jules. He wouldn’t have been doing anything threatening.”

“Exactly.” Kit sighed, wrapping his arms around himself; he was starting to stress out, though it was entirely his fault this time.

“Sorry. I’m good now. I’ll shut up about it,” Alistair said. “Are you feeling okay?”

“No, I’m getting an awful headache, and I have to keep my mouth open to breathe.” Kit sighed.

“Shit… It’s a good job we’re here.”

“I’d rather just take some cold medicine and lie down. I don’t think it’s serious, just lousy.”

“You might need more specific medicine. It could get worse.”

Kit sighed. “With my luck, I’ll catch some bloody disease while we’re waiting here.”

Alistair smiled weakly. “Try not to.”

“I’ll try.” Kit snuggled up to Alistair, coughing into his handkerchief. “God, I hope this won’t take long.”

Kit’s name was called just as Alistair opened his mouth to answer. He helped Kit up carefully. “Come on.”

It was a slow shuffle down the hall, but the doctor was patient, allowing the boys to get settled in the exam room before he started talking. “We aren’t looking too well today. Have you been doing alright?”

“No.” Kit replied flatly.

The doctor chuckled, “What seems to be the matter, then?”

“A cold, I think. Or maybe the plague. Who knows?”

“He was in the cold for a while. I’m worried about his chest,” Alistair said.

“Does he have a history of chest infections?” The doctor asked.

“Yeah. Lots of pneumonia.”

The doctor scribbled that on his chart, turning to Kit. “I’d like to listen to your chest after I take your vitals. If you could take off your coats?”

“Right. Sorry.” Kit took off his gloves first, so it would be easier to handle the buttons. Even then, it took him a while to peel all his layers off, and he was shivering by the time he got down to his shirt and jumper.

“He won’t be undressed for long, will he?” Alistair asked.

“He can bundle back up in a minute, don't worry.” The doctor was busy checking Kit's blood pressure.

“He’s always very shivery…”

“Gaining weight should help some with that.” The doctor said, jotting down numbers on his chart before moving to check Kit's temperature. “Mm, yes, you need to go home and rest when you leave here. Take paracetamol or something for your fever.”

“So it’s not bad enough for antibiotics?” Alistair said, relieved.

“I wouldn't say so, no. There's obviously some congestion, but I'm not hearing anything worrying in the lungs.”

“Good,” Alistair said, smiling properly.

“Yay,” Kit mumbled, with all the enthusiasm of a zombie. Alistair snorted, helping him back into his many coats. Kit snuggled up to his cousin, letting Alistair answer the rest of the doctor's questions. It was strange, Alistair could speak up for Kit perfectly, though he didn’t know the doctor that well. He just couldn’t ever seem to speak up for himself.

“You seem to be doing well, aside from this cold. We'll run some more blood tests when you're feeling better.” The doctor said.

“Thank you,” Alistair said. “Come on then, Kit.”

“Mm.” Kit shuffled down the hall after Alistair, every step slow and laborious, as if he were climbing a mountain. Alistair sighed, eventually going to carry him. Kit nudged meekly at his cousin. “I can walk. I'm just tired.”

“Exactly. I’ll carry you, since you’re tired.”

“We're in public.” Kit mumbled. Even in illness, he had too much dignity for his own good.

“So? You’ll never see most of these people again.”

“It's still embarrassing.”

“I can literally see the car. It’ll be over in two minutes.”

Kit sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

Alistair deposited him back in the car, climbing in after him. Taddy waved at them. “How was the exam?”

“He’s got a cold, but it’s not in his lungs, thank god,” Alistair said, cuddling Kit fondly. Kit just coughed into his handkerchief.

“That’s progress, at least.” Taddy nodded.

“For Kit it is.”

“Back home, then?”

“Yeah, please. Unless you want to go anywhere, Kit?”

“Home. Hell. Wherever ends my suffering sooner.” Kit mumbled.

“Jesus, I’ve got Edgar Allan Poe in the car…”

“Then leave me on a park bench to die.”

“Obviously not, you dramatic shit,” Alistair said.

“I hear freezing to death is peaceful. Have mercy.” Kit moaned.

“There’s a poem about freezing to death. They made dolls about it. Called Frozen Charlottes.”

“Put one on my grave.” Kit flopped across the backseat, and by extension, Alistair’s lap.

He grinned, messing with Kit’s hair. “Okay. There’s a rumour that they’re haunted, so it’s appropriate,”

“I’m surprised you don’t collect them.”

“I used to have some. But Father wouldn’t let me have dolls. And they unnerve Jules a bit.” Alistair said.

“I’m guessing they’d unnerve most sane people.” Kit mumbled.

“Mnn. They’d have been great when I was, like, fifteen.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t know you when you were fifteen.”

Alistair laughed. “I’d have annoyed you so much… I might not have ended up that way though if I still had you. I lost you and Pammy in the space of a year.”

Kit nodded somberly; that was around the time he’d started drinking. Or was it? The more he thought, the less he was sure, and the worse his headache got. He groaned in frustration. Alistair glanced at him. “What’s up?”

“Headache.” Kit sighed.

“Bad?”

“Not great.”

“I’ll get you some painkillers at home. See if you can doze a bit.”

Kit nodded, resting his head in Alistair’s lap. It was hard for him to relax - he was too congested to breathe easily, and breathing through his mouth was an unpleasant reminder of his sore throat. Alistair stroked his hair gently. Kit stayed in a hazy state of half-awake misery the rest of the ride home. Alistair carried him into to the flat when they arrived, dumping him on the sofa and trying to wrestle him out of his coats.

Kit coughed when jostled, but otherwise didn’t fight, allowing Alistair to deposit him on the couch. “Can I have my good blanket?”

“Yeah,” Alistair said, rolling his eyes - but he fetched it and wrapped Kit up very tenderly. Kit snuggled up, holding his arms out for Alistair to join him on the couch. Alistair grinned, cuddling up beside his cousin. Kit rested his head on Alistair’s chest.

“Is Julie around? I want tea.”

“He’s in the bathroom. I checked. Not using it, cleaning it.”

“Will you call him?” Kit begged, “My throat hurts.”

Alistair didn’t bother getting up, just yelled for Julius. The small boy came running at once. “How’d your appointment go, Kit?”

“I’m not dying, sadly.”

“We’re all very happy you’re not. Do you want a drink? And you’d better eat too.”

Kit sighed. “I just want tea. Swallowing hurts.”

“How about soft porridge with honey? That’s easy to swallow.”

Kit sighed louder, but he nodded. “Fine.”

Julius smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, going out to make it. Kit just flopped back against Alistair with a groan.

“Al, my head hurts.”

“I’ll get you painkillers if you want?”

“No, don’t get up.” Kit whined.

Alistair laughed. “I could ask Jules to bring you some?”

Kit nodded. “Please.”

Alistair yelled out the new information, and Julius returned with tea and painkillers a few minutes later. Kit forced a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “Thank you, Julie.”

“I’m going to make you some food, okay!”

Kit nodded, trying not to sigh too loudly. “Okay.” It took quite a bit of tea for him to swallow the pills, but he managed to keep them down despite the pain in his throat. Alistair glanced at him.

“Is your throat really bad?”

“Hurts.” Kit sighed, coughing into his handkerchief. He had to swallow forcefully, the taste of bitter, half-dissolved pills coating his tongue.

“Drink more tea.”

Kit nodded, sipping obediently. Julius came back with a bowl of warm porridge. He’d made a smiley face in it with honey. Kit smiled again, his hands shaking when he reached for the bowl. Alistair helped him, not wanting everyone to drop it. Kit slumped back against his cousin to eat, taking slow, tiny bites. Though it was sweet and mild, he struggled to swallow the porridge, his throat tightening painfully every time. Julius smiled at him. “Thank you, Kit. We’re proud of you.”

Kit sighed, stirring his porridge unenthusiastically. “You don’t have to blow smoke up my arse. I know I’m pathetic.”

“We don’t have to what?” Julius said, blinking. Alistair burst out laughing.

Kit jumped a little when his cousin started cackling. “Good lord, it’s just a turn of phrase. Don’t look at me like I grew a second head. You don’t have to lie, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard that before…”

“It’s an American phrase, I think.” Kit was trying to remember where he’d picked it up, but his headache made it difficult to rifle through memories.

“Jules never knows any creative rude shit,” Alistair said. “When we first met he barely knew any swearwords either. Not any of the fun ones.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you remedied that.”

“He did,” Julius confirmed.

“Heathen.” Kit mumbled, taking a tiny bite of porridge.

Alistair grinned. “Snob.”

#continuing nano even tho its december #misadventures of Kit #chapter twenty-four #kit #raycraft #alistair #julius #whump #illness #caretaking #collab #ocsickficsideblog

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fluffyllamas-23 · 6 years

Text

The Anniversary

So remember how I said I wasn’t going to write for a while? I wasn’t planning on it, but then I got THIS idea and here we are (I think I love Teddy and Max too much to leave them alone for long)

“Maaaaax,” Teddy whines, flopping down next to him on the couch as he all but drapes himself over Max, “I’m bored, pay attention to me.”

“Not now,” Max says, pushing Teddy away from him, eyes not leaving his computer screen.

Teddy scowls at him and sits on the other side of the couch. He stares at him for a couple of minutes before slowly inching his feet onto Max’s lap.

“Foot rub?” He asks, batting his lashes innocently when Max shoots him a death glare.

“Teddy. Stop. I have to finish this report and then start on a project and I have too much to do right now, I’m sorry. Do you have anything you can work on?”

“No...I sent my manuscript to my editor earlier today so now I have nothing to do and I’m bored.”

“Well...go...watch TV in the den or sleep or something. Maybe both. Just...please leave me alone? I love you to death, and you’re my favorite person in the world but you’re distracting me.”

“Fine. Hint taken, I’ll stop being so annoying.”

“That’s not-“

“It’s fine! I know when I’m not wanted,” Teddy sighs dramatically, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll just go...downstairs...and then perish because the man I love hates me.”

Max rolls his eyes, “are you done?”

“Yes, lighten up, holy shit.”

“Teddy,” Max snaps, glowering at him, “I’m stressed. Am I not allowed to be stressed?”

“You are, I’m sorry,” Teddy grimaces, “you need anything? Have you eaten?”

“I had a late lunch. Teddy, please just go. I’m sorry but I really need to get this done. Please?”

“Right. Okay, yeah, sorry. Text me if you need anything.”

That’s how the next few weeks go. Teddy is growing more and more frustrated with being brushed off, and it comes to head one night over the phone.

“Max, come on,” he snaps, pacing the room as he tugs on his left ear, “tomorrow is our fucking anniversary!”

“I know, I just have-“

“-‘so much work to do.’ I know. I get it. You have so much fucking work to do, but you’re telling me you can’t take one night off for dinner? We’ve been together for almost eight years. We’ve never missed an anniversary, and I’m sure as hell not starting now,” Teddy’s voice is building, lilting up an octave as he tries to keep from completely losing it.

“Teddy-“

“-do you even like spending time with me anymore?” He snaps.

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Max fumes, “of course I like spending time with you, I’ve just been a little bit busy lately. That doesn’t change how I fucking feel about you. I love you, you dumbass.”

“I love you too, you limp lettuce,” Teddy scowls, “that’s why I’m so mad!”

Max bursts out laughing, “how about-“

“Stop laughing at me, I’m pissed.”

Max bites down on his lip, “sorry, sorry. Okay, I’ll take tomorrow night off.”

“Thank you.”

Teddy spends the next day, stuffy and bleary, fighting sleep and ultimately losing as he watches TV on the flatscreen in the living room.

He had fallen asleep last night before Max got home, which was weird in and of itself, but when he woke up with a headache and sore throat, it all made sense.

He feels progressively worse as the day goes on, and he almost wants to text Max that they should just postpone dinner.

He’s just about to, too, but then he gets a ‘I’m sorry about the fight. You were right - work can wait but I can’t wait for dinner tonight, I love you ❤️’ text from Max, and he realizes that he can’t. Not when he made such a big deal about it.

So, he resigns to trying to sleep off as much of this as he can, and then drugging himself to high heavens for dinner tonight.

He can die afterwards.

He coughs into the blankets, low and ragged, before shivering and huddling into himself even more. The coughing had started about an hour and a half ago, and so far it’s relentless and is just getting worse.

There’s a tight band of congestion around his forehead; his eyes are throbbing, and even though the lights are off, it’s still too bright and sending stabs of pain through his skull.

He drifts off at some point, sprawled out on the couch. He goes in and out of consciousness, everything swirling around him in hazy fevered flashes. He’s only brought out of it fully by his phone ringing, though it takes a few moments for him to gather his bearings and figure out where the hell he is.

“Hello?” He mumbles, wincing at how awful he sounds.

“What the hell, Theodore?” Max seethes, “you throw a fucking tantrum at me about having to work late on our anniversary and then you stand me up?”

“What? What timbe is it?” He croaks.

“Seven thirty,” Max says, after a pause, tone softening, “hey...are you-“

“-Ndo!” Teddy cries, “I’ve beend sleepi’gg all day, i forgot to set and alarmb. I’mb so sorry, Mbax.”

“You’ve been sleeping all d-honey, are you alright? You sound awful, sweetpea.”

“I’ll be there ind a mbindute,” he mumbles, sounding very far away and entirely too dazed and out of it

“-no. No. Stay where you are, I’ll be home soon.”

“But-“

“-how bad are you feeling?”

“I think I’mb dyi’gg, Mbax.”

“I’ll be home soon,” Max repeats softly.

When Max gets home, he puts the food he had brought home in the fridge before creeping into the living room. Teddy is fast asleep, curled up on his side beneath a blanket, face half hidden and pressed into the couch cushion.

“Teddy,” Max says, putting a hand on Teddy’s forehead. Heat meets Max’s palm, making him grimace, “oh yikes...Teddy, wake up, sweetheart.”

Teddy’s eyes open, and he immediately squeezes them shut with a groan, “s’too bright.”

“Yeah? Got a migraine?” He asks, caressing Teddy’s cheek.

His face scrunches up as he stretches out, “yes?...ndo? I dond’t kndow.”

“Just hurts?”

“Just hurts,” he confirms in a small voice, curling back up.

“Have you been sick all day?”

“Uh-huh...felt weird whend I wendt to bed, but thend I woke up, and….” he trails off.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was goi’gg to...but I mbade such a big deal about you taki’gg the ndight off, and-“ he’s cut off by a rough, grating coughing fit.

“You did, but you can’t help being sick.”

“I kndow,” he croaks, “I just feel bad.”

He sniffles, breath hitches and he hides his face in the blankets as he lets out a trio of itchy, congested sneezes. He looks back up, disoriented, like he’s not sure which way is up, or where exactly he is.

“Oh, baby,” Max chuckles sadly, “you look miserable, are you okay?”

Teddy shakes his head, and then pauses as the motion make him dizzy.

“I’mb really lightheaded...I wandt to go to bed.”

“Sorry. No. Do you remember when you fell down the stairs? Because I fucking do and I really don’t think you want a repeat of that.”

“Ndot really...mby kndee still hurts.”

“Still? Okay, yeah, you need to see a doctor.”

“Ndo I dond’t.”

“Honey it’s been six months since that happened, if it’s still bothering you, you need a doctor.”

“I’ll ndeed surgery.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Mbax, I’ve had four surgeries already, I kndow whend I ndeed it.”

“You moron. If you know you need surgery, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Teddy shrugs tiredly, “I dondt wandt to deal with it againd.”

“Well that’s a dumb fucking reason. You’re going to the doctor once you’re feeling better...or before, if you get much worse than this.”

“Mbax,” he whines.

“Don’t give me that. I’m going to go grab you some medicine and water and food and the thermometer, yeah?”

The fever, though too high for Max’s liking at 102.4, isn’t anything horrible. It’s enough to make him completely miserable though - too miserable to want to be touched.

Teddy’s skin hurts, he’s in the grips of fever chills, and right now he feels too overheated that the idea of cuddling is enough to make him want to scream.

He hasn’t said anything in almost two and a half hours, staring straight ahead with his entire 6’6” frame curled up as tightly as possible.

“You need anything?” Max asks softly, biting down on his lip when Teddy squeezes his eyes shut and let out a tiny whimper.

“Ndo,” Teddy whispers, “actually...cand you turnd off the TV?”

Max fumbles with the remote, shutting off the television as quickly as humanly possible.

“That all?”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles, eyelids sliding shut as he tucks his face back into the tops of his knees.

A chill runs down his spine, and then suddenly he’s shivering so badly that his entire body is trembling.

“Blanket?” Max asks.

“Please,” he croaks, voice cracking as he’s thrown into another coughing fit. His chest aches and burns, and he can feel his lungs seizing - a sensation he still hasn’t gotten used to, and something that he hates very much.

A blanket is draped over him, and though it envelops him in warmth, he’s still chilled to the bone and the shivers don’t cease.

If anything, they get worse.

“Oh, honey,” Max coos, putting a hand on Teddy’s burning forehead briefly.

“Cand I have andother blanket?”

“Not until that fever goes down.”

“Oh,” he says, sniffling.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Max frowns, “you think you can sleep? You look really tired.”

Teddy isn’t even sure he answers him before he drifts off.

Max leans down and kisses his temple, then cheek, and then sits back on the other end of the couch and hopes that Teddy feels at least a little bit better when he wakes.

#OCs #Max and Teddy #sickfic #coughing #fever #congestion #sneezing #Teddy is so sad #and so sick #i almost feel bad for him

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piasservicedogfund · 4 years

Text

Dear Ellen,

I hope all is well with you!

I know you are busy but I wanted to take a moment to try and share my story with you - as I have said before on this blog, I know there are causes more worthy than mine but I think my story is important nonetheless because I’m sure there are many women other who have a similar story. So here I go...just to give you a quick idea of who I am, my name is Pia and I am a 28 year old German / American citizen who lives in a tiny German village on my own (well not completely, I do have a 10 year old rescue pug named Benny & a 19 year old rescue persian named Emerald Anastasia von Cuddlesworth - aka Aunna or Aunna Banana). I grew up a military brat and don’t really have a home town, I was born in Lebanon, TN but didn’t stay there long -- in fact, I’ve never lived anywhere longer than four years so I don’t really have a ‘home town’. My family and friends are spread out around the world, with my closest relatives being an hour and a half away and my parents being at least two flights away in Gallup, NM. I originally started this blog only as a fundraiser for a service dog to help me with my newly diagnosed auto immune disorder but as time has gone on I hope to have it serve a higher purpose as well; I want to raise awareness for a couple of things...

1. I want to help spread the word about the rare auto immune disorder that I was diagnosed with (more on that below) so that others who might be suffering with this disorder can get answers too. I also want to talk about life with an invisible disability / chronic pain or chronic illness. So many people suffer silently or face back lash when dealing with something that others can’t see. It’s time to end the stigma against invisible chronic illness / chronic pain. Just because you cannot see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there - we must all remember to be kind for “everyone we meet is fighting a hard battle”. 2. I am also a domestic abuse survivor and I want to let anyone else who is stuck in an abusive relationship (whether it is verbal abuse and manipulation, physical abuse, or both) know that no matter what life throws at you - you deserve to love yourself, to protect yourself and to fight for yourself... 3. I want to talk about Gender (and other) Bias in medicine because it is a VERY real issue that needs to be addressed! So here is a little more of my story... On June 5th 2020, after 2+ years of searching for an answer as to why I was sick and in pain all the time, I was finally diagnosed with a rare auto immune disorder called ANCA Vasculitis, or antineutrophil cytoplasmic antibody-associated vasculitis. ANCA Vasculitis is the name of a group of autoimmune conditions characterized by the inflammation of the blood vessels caused by the immune system mistakenly attacking them. There are several types of ANCA vasculitis and the exact cause (genetic / environmental / etc) is unknown, so patients diagnosed with ANCA vasculitis may display varied symptoms. The disease affects about 1 in 50,000 people. Due to the generic symptoms many of us have (chronic pain, sore throat, cough, cold and flu like symptoms, headaches, etc.) this disorder is often over looked. Many people don’t receive a diagnosis until something major has happened (organ failure for example). This disorder can be deadly if left untreated and too many women (and men) have symptoms like the above brushed off...especially if they have a history of mental illness or are dealing with a lot of stress as I was;

I first started searching for answers to my growing health concerns in 2018. I had just moved from Germany to Scotland to start my life over - I was finally leaving my abusive spouse with the help of my amazing parents - I had my first “grown up” job with Hilton Corporate and was going to work and get my Masters Degree (I have a BA in Anthropology and was hoping to get my MSc in Animal Welfare Science, Ethics & Law at the University of Glasgow or at the University of Edinburgh). I was so excited to start over! So excited that I may have pushed the trauma and emotional scarring of my abusive marriage down for the first few months I was there and everything was peachy. Of course, those moments of bliss could not last forever. Still, I was settled in a new country (which BTW I had never even been to Glasgow prior to moving there) and I felt relatively safe for the first time in over a year - here my spouse could not find me or hurt me. I began seeing a therapist to help me unpack the trauma of my past. Of course, I was worried what people would think - as I’m sure you can imagine my spouse’s version of why we were getting a divorce was very different from mine so I tried to keep everything as quiet as possible. I didn’t want to deal with any backlash because, in his eyes, as always, everything was my fault. It wasn’t the fact that he had wanted to kill me at one point - nooo that certainly wasn’t why I was leaving (sarcasm) - In his eyes it was because I wanted an older man or because I just wasn’t willing to try to fix things...(even though I was the one who had suggested marriage counseling in the first place). It wasn’t the fact that he’d isolated me or cut me off from our finances. No, nothing was ever his fault... Even now, when I no longer have contact with him or his family I am afraid... This is the first time I have openly spoken about our marriage and divorce and as I have begun to tell my story I’m terrified that he’ll try to contact me or that I will receive backlash from him or his family (I am sure many of them would take his side and call me a liar...). I am speaking out now for two reasons - the first was because I only think it is fair and right to be completely honest about who I am and how I ended up where I am now if I’m going to be asking my family and friends for financial assistance and two because I want to help others who are or were victims of abuse. When I finally came out with my story a friend contacted me and told me she had been through the same type of situation with her spouse and it was a really lovely moment - we’d both been suffering in silence for fear of back lash but had now found each other. Anyway, back to the matter at hand... The first symptom I had was pain, chronic pain all over my body. My back, legs, arms, knees, ankles, feet, wrists, you name it - it hurt - and it kept getting worse and worse. I was having to take pain killers every day just to get to work and come home. I was extremely tired, no matter how many hours of sleep I got (6, 8, 10...) I was always tired. Then I started having headaches that would last for hours, then for days, then for weeks. I started to feel like I had a cold (on good days) or the flu (on bad days). My throat was sore, my voice was hoarse, I was congested and then I started having night sweats or trouble controlling my temperature (freezing even though the heat was on and the electric fire place was going). When I spoke to my doctors about my concerns it was written off as stress, depression, or anxiety. Whenever someone in the office I worked in got sick (you know how it goes around in an office environment) I would get sick too... my co workers would feel unwell for a few days, I would feel unwell for weeks. I then got strep throat but the doctors said I’d be fine with a few days rest. A few days went by and it turned into bacterial tonsillitis. I had to have multiple rounds of antibiotics. Then I had a stomach infection that lasted for over a month, a cough that lasted for months (November 2018 - March 2019). At one point I was coughing so hard I thought I would pass out. I coughed till I puked. I coughed till I pulled a muscle. My blood work kept showing elevated levels of inflammation / signs of an infection but since doctors didn’t know why they told me it was probably just fibromyalgia (something which shouldnt’ be diagnosed until all other possible causes have been ruled out). The rheumatologist in Scotland said there was no cure but I could do yoga, meditate, and maybe take an anti depressant... I felt like I was dying - I didn’t understand how I could feel so sick and no one seemed to take me seriously or care. A year and a half later (June 2019) I decided to move back to Germany - Brexit was looming and I just wasn’t happy in Glasgow anymore. Everyday was a struggle, my bus commute to and from work often took an hour and would leave me in so much pain I could barely get up off the couch at the end of the day. Plus work was not happy with all of the sick days I’d had to take. Keeping in mind that I felt sick everyday and I only took sick days when I had a high fever or wasn’t able to talk or walk. My parents lived in Germany at the time so I found a job where I could work at home in Germany and moved back in hopes of finding answers. A few months after moving back to Germany my parents sadly had to go to the US so I was once again alone in a new area. In November 2019 my cough returned and I was sick again with an unexplained “upper respiratory infection”. Once again I was put on multiple rounds of antibiotics which didn’t help - To make things worse I am allergic to almost all cough syrup and since I was working in a call center I was off work sick. The cough lasted till mid January this time and I lost my job. Work “understood” that I was going through a tough time and “felt horrible” for letting me go - they said I could reapply when I was “healthy”... and to top things off, my emotional support animal of 8 years, my baby girl Biene (a 11 year old Australian Cattle dog), my rock and constant companion, was then diagnosed with cancer and passed in December of 2019. I have to admit that these have been some of the hardest moments of my life... I have felt like such a failure and disappointment. I was an adult, I was supposed to be married and adopting kids (I’ve never wanted biological children due to my health issues), I was supposed to be getting my masters degree and leading a successful career, I wanted to travel and I wanted to be a source of positivity and happiness in the world... but instead I was broke, alone, grieving, depressed, anxious, and continuously sick... I have had to rely on my parents financially and have felt like a burden...I wanted to give up...but I kept fighting. Life gives us new reasons to keep living. I had a few great moments, I was blessed with a few opportunities for travel and have enjoyed those moments. I have great friends and family who continued to support me and who told me I was not a burden on their lives, so I kept fighting. I felt like my new German doctor wasn’t taking me seriously and once again was chalking everything up to stress and then later to grief (over losing my dog). So I found a new doctor a little further away and she listened to me - for the first time in a long time I felt like I had seen a doctor who actually cared. She helped me get in with a rheumatologist and she advocated for me. She agreed that my blood work constantly showing elevated levels of inflammation / infection - for over a 2 year period - along with me constantly feeling unwell wasn’t something to just be ignored but was an important symptom. While she had no idea what was wrong with me she was determined to help me find answers. In May I finally went and saw the rheumatologist - at first I thought all hope was lost, in our very first meeting she said to me “ I don’t think there is anything wrong with you”. She had barely looked at my paperwork and had barely listened to my symptoms. They sounded too generic for her...she didn’t think ti could be anything “rheumatic”... I was so young... It was probably stress... I’d heard it all before; but still she did her job, she ran the tests and a month later I was suddenly called back in for another appointment. My blood work showed what I had known all along - that I was sick - that I needed help and she admitted that she’d been wrong. It’s only been 12 days since I was finally diagnosed but its been a roller coaster of emotions for me - relief and validation - fear and anger and sadness... my life has so not gone to plan. I have struggled with depression and anxiety since I was 12 and the added stresses of the instances above, and the near constant pain (both emotional and physical) have not helped, but I refuse to give up. I’ll be completely honest with you, some days I don’t even know why - some days I only fight because I love my dog and cat and friends and family and cannot leave them. Other days I fight because I have dreams not yet realized. So, yeah, I started this blog because I hope to raise enough money to get a service dog (and this is still a major goal of mine) but I hope it will become something more. My friends and family have been so generous during this difficult time for all of us and have donated what they can. So far we have around 700.00 raised of the 10,000.00 euro goal. Reaching the 10,000 euro goal seems nearly impossible ... at least it seems impossible without help...but I have faith. If you have taken the time to read all of this I want to say THANK YOU. I know your time is precious (as is everyones and I appreciate it). I was wondering if you could share my story? Help me raise awareness about ANCA Vasculitis and other Chronic Illness? Help me raise awareness about domestic / emotional abuse and how it may seem impossible to overcome, but it is not and help me raise awareness about Gender (and other) bias in Medicine? I have a few posts here on my blog that talk about bias in medicine and I could provide you with a 100 different stories from men and women who are constantly battling against this bias to try and get help... and maybe , just maybe you could help me save up enough money to get a service dog? Within my blog everyone can find information on how a service dog could help me, how to donate, and more information about ANCA Vasculitis / Gender Bias in Medicine & I will soon be posting information for victims domestic abuse. Thank you so much for your time. I know that was a lot. Lots of love from Germany, Pia

P.S. I promise to pay it forward someday when I am in a better place. In case you’d like to know what some of my dreams and goals for my life are: To adopt / foster / rescue / help animals in need. To adopt or foster children one day (If I can). To help further civil rights movements like BLM and to help LGBTQ+ youth. To help further clean living and reduce waste. To be a light for others who are suffering. To perhaps one day own a bed & breakfast or cat cafe.

#ellen #ellendegeneres #pleaseread #getthistoellen #chronic fatigue #chronicillness #chronicpain #thisisme #mystory #domesticabuse #survivor #fundraiser #ellenshow #this is my life

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403secret · 7 years

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so this is... a seung gil fic i wrote back at the beginning of may. i dug it up and crammed out 800 more words to end it

anyways i’m stuck in rarepair hell but the dynamics btwn seung gil and phichit are great even though they’ve pretty much never met

He messes up his free skate.

And, god, it shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. As a professional skater, Lee Seung Gil is used to failure; he knows that not every opportunity is going to come to fruition, and it’s been something he’s learned to accept the hard way.

Except––except, this is different. This is Worlds, and it’s his first time here. He’s finally made it to somewhere big. And the fact that he screws up his free skate so badly–shaky limbs and awkward movements and badly executed jumps and all–that just isn’t representative of him. It’s just one bad performance, but it’s all the world gets to see of him. Nobody cares about his better days if he’s not standing on a stage.

And it hurts.

His coach takes the hint. She’s always been good at reading him after having to deal with him for so long. She gives him time to compose himself, under the pretense of giving him a few days off, but she knows it’s not out of kindness. It’s out of pity.

And he takes it. He doesn’t go to the rink after that. He can’t think of skating, can’t think of going back onto the ice when all he can ever do is fall, fall, fall–

It’s a day after the free skate when he runs into Phichit Chulanont in his hotel on the way to breakfast. Or, rather, when Phichit runs into him.

“Morning, Seung Gil,” Phichit chirps, wearing the same vivid, hundred-watt smile that he always has on.

And Seung Gil flinches. Phichit might as well be the most cheerful person who’s ever tried to talk to him–the boy has a personality equivalent to sunshine, and Seung Gil just doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now. He pushes past, pretending not to have heard.

“Hey, hello?” Phichit asks, falling into step beside him. “What’s with the sad face?”

Does he really not know? Impossible. As a finalist, Phichit has to have watched the semi-finals, right? Seung Gil straightens up, sending him his most convincing glare. “I think you know.”

Phichit opens his mouth again, and all Seung Gil can think is, shut up, shut up, shut up. He isn’t ready to speak to anyone about it. Not now, and not ever. Maybe he should just spend the rest of the trip locked up in his hotel room, he contemplates.

“Hey,” Phichit begins, then clears his throat. “Is it the fr–”

“I’m not really in the mood.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not nearly long enough. “I don’t get why you’re beating yourself up over this. Honestly, I think you were amazing.”

“I don’t need your pity, Chulanont.” He enunciates each word through gritted teeth, voice kept carefully low so Phichit can’t tell that it’s shaking.

“Wait, what are you talking about? I’m not pitying you!”

Seung Gil whips around, eyebrows drawn together and mouth creased in a frown. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave me alone.”

“Oh,” Phichit says, face falling. “Okay. I’m sorry for bothering you, then.”

He turns and leaves. And, damn it, Seung Gil hasn’t done anything wrong, but Phichit’s somehow managed to make him feel so damn guilty. He swallows, dumping his half-finished plate and grabbing his coat. Breakfast suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He has a headache that’s been present ever since he’d performed his free skate, and come to think of it, it might have played a part in his lackluster performance.

It doesn’t matter now, anyways. He can’t change anything. He heads toward the elevators, not turning back once.

Dialing Park Min So.

Seung Gil leans back in his seat, holding a hand up to his throbbing temples. It may be something to do with skipping breakfast and lunch, or it might just be karma for having turned everyone away, but he feels like shit. Physically.

His coach picks up. “Seung Gil,” she says, voice warm and familiar, and he almost tears up at the sound. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. How are you?”

And now he’s going to disappoint her too, he realizes. The one person who knows he could’ve done better. Shifting, he leans so that the phone is held between his ear and his shoulder as he grabs the tissue box. “I’m fine.” He feels compelled to lie further, but his thought process is interrupted by a few harsh, jarring coughs that take him by surprise. He swallows, and his throat is sore. Weird.

“Are you feeling okay?” She’s asking, and he finds himself nodding. It’s a bad idea, considering that she can’t actually see him, and his phone nearly falls off his shoulder at the sudden movement.

“I don’t know,” he admits, then coughs again, muffling it into a handful of tissues. Had he had more hands, he would’ve brought the phone further from his ear. He knows it must be unpleasant for her to hear his symptoms up close. “I don’t…” he sniffles, feeling utterly pathetic. “...feel that great.”

“Sounds like it. I’m sorry,” she says sympathetically, and he curls an arm around himself, trying hard to conserve his body warmth. Briefly, he wonders if the air conditioning has started malfunctioning. It’s utterly freezing in here. “Just take it easy, okay? Take as many days off as you want.”

“Okay,” he says, and then repeats it, more for his own ears than for hers. “Okay.”

“Drink plenty of fluids, and make sure you get enough rest,” she says, sounding like his mother, but he knows she really just means, take care of yourself.

“Yeah,” he responds. “I will.”

He clicks the end call button, and the room is suddenly too silent.

When he next wakes up, he feels like shit. Physically and emotionally. It’s freezing and he’s shaking all over, but it’s the unpleasant type of coldness that extra layers can’t fix. His head still hurts like hell, but it’s worse now–a constant, throbbing ache–and he can’t breathe through his nose.

A hot shower should help. He hoists himself out of bed, trembling at the coldness of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, and makes his way over to the bathroom. He’ll feel better after this, he tells himself.

When he steps inside the steady stream of water, he notices that he has to turn the knob a few degrees more than he usually does–he’s always been mathematical enough to notice things like this, and it’s not a good sign. It probably indicates that he has a fever. Great.

He doesn’t even have the energy to wash his hair, so he settles for just standing in place, letting the warm water flood over him. It’s nice and it loosens up his congestion a bit, but suddenly the hot water is running out and the coldness is starting to make him sneeze, and he’s getting congested all over again. It’s not a pleasant sensation.

He groans, turning the water off and hurriedly wrapping two towels around his shivering frame. The air feels mercilessly cold on his too-hot skin, and it’s concerning. He’s Korean; he’s supposed to be good with the cold, considering that he lives in one of the coldest areas in South Korea. The fact that he’s shivering right now isn’t characteristic of him at all.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. More than once, he gets dizzy and has to slump against the bathroom counter, waiting for his vision to clear. Maybe he’s worse off than he’d thought.

When he’s finally done, he exits the bathroom and falls back into bed, face-first, too exhausted to stay awake for any longer.

In his dreams, he’s skating his free skate over and over again, except every time, he messes up. It’s hard to breathe. Feels like he’s suffocating. The ice rink is too cold and his body is out of his own control and he wants to prove himself but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Or maybe he has nothing to prove in the first place.

When he wakes, he realizes that it’s dark outside, and he hasn’t left his room since breakfast. His throat is dry, and his whole body feels out of whack; each movement is uncontrolled, sluggish.

He needs to call Min So, he thinks to himself. He needs her to get him medicine to take for this.

Except he’s already bothered her enough. Except he’s already let her down. The least he can do is buy medicine for himself; there’s a convenience store on the street and he should be able to make it there and back, right?

It’s worth a shot.

He stands up, using the walls for balance, and makes his way to the door. He pulls on an extra jacket that’s too big for him and pries the door open, shivering as he steps into the hallway, which is somehow impossibly colder than his own hotel room. There’s only one thought on his mind, and it’s how much better he’ll feel after he takes something.

He doesn’t expect to end up standing at the cash register in the convenience store, his hands clammy and mouth suddenly gone dry.

In his wallet sit a few crumpled bills amidst a sea of coins. Blue, red, green, yellow. Korean currency. He can’t use this. He’d been planning on going to a bank sometime this week, but he hadn’t been taking into account that he’d spend the majority of his week locked up in his room, too out of it to even consider leaving the building.

“Would you be able to convert won to rubles?” He asks, and the woman at the cashier smiles apologetically.

“I’m sorry, we don’t offer that service here.” Of course. It’s a relatively small convenience store; he shouldn’t even have asked. Seung Gil looks at the medicine on the countertop, at the bottled water that sits tantalizing close to it, and swallows, a little painfully.

“I’ll have to pass on these, then,” he admits, shoving his wallet back into his pocket and scooping the items up into his arms. He coughs a few times into his shoulder. “Sorry, I’ll put them back. Thanks for your time, miss.” He turns to head back in the direction of the shop, energy sapped.

“It’s okay. I hope you feel better,” she calls after him.

He’s standing at the end of the medicine aisle, wondering if he can really make it back to the hotel without passing out, when he sees.

Standing a few rows away from him is Phichit Chulanont, gazing contemplatively at an assortment of ramen on the shelves. It’s kind of endearing, actually, how seriously he seems to be taking the decision process.

The relief hits Seung Gil all at once. Phichit can help him. They may not be friends, but they’re certainly acquaintances–surely Phichit will be willing to lend him just enough to cover the cost of the medicine pack, right? Seung Gil will even be willing to pay back in interest when he’s feeling well enough to stop by an actual bank. He takes a few steps over to Phichit’s aisle, relief completely overriding caution. He feels so unwell, but the idea of having medicine solve all his problems sounds just so damn appealing–

Only when Seung Gil opens his mouth to call out to Phichit does he realize what he’s doing. He’s the one who’d rudely pushed Phichit away just a couple days back. He doesn’t have the right to ask Phichit for a favor at all.

He’s so selfish. Blinking away the liquid in his vision, Seung Gil turns on his heels, mind set on getting out of this aisle as quickly as possible–

–and then his body has the audacity to make him sneeze.

The timing would be almost comical if he weren’t feeling so shitty. Phichit whips around, calling out a cheerful “Bless you!”, before his eyes widen in recognition. He sets three packs of ramen back onto the shelves, then takes a few steps in the Korean's direction, looking unsure of himself. “Seung Gil?”

This is the part where Seung Gil should make a run for it, except his legs won’t move, and his body feels stuck to the ground. “Hey,” he says, almost wincing at how his voice comes out. It’s dry and raspy and scraping, and, god, if he hasn’t made enough of a fool of himself already– “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Phichit says, making no comment on the fact that Seung Gil’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “What’s up?

“Nothing’s up,” is the default response, and then he takes a step back, making a startled sound as he bumps into a shelf of cans. They rattle from behind him, and he feels his cheeks flush hot in dizzying embarrassment. “I was just… planning to get going.”

He takes a step out of the aisle, except then he’s coughing and he can’t stop–his frame shakes with every outburst, and his attempts to draw in a shaky breath are all interrupted by more coughing. It’s suddenly requiring way too much effort to stay upright. Wow, this is really bad timing. He can feel Phichit’s gaze on him, which isn’t a good sign. He probably looks like a complete jerk right now, coming to a convenience store when he’s sick and most likely contagious–

“That doesn’t sound good,” Phichit says, and Seung Gil almost flinches at the bluntness of the comment. “Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m not.” He swallows; he’s not even going to try to deny what’s blatantly obvious. “I was just stopping by for some medicine, but I think I’m going to head back now.”

“Without any medicine?”

“Yeah. I, uh… I didn’t know what to get. I couldn’t find the kind that I always use.” It’s a blatant lie, but he doubts Phichit knows him well enough to tell.

“In that case, I know some brands that work really well,” Phichit offers. “Wait just a second.” He darts off into the medicine aisle, and Seung Gil fumbles with his coat zipper so that it’s zipped all the way up to where his scarf begins. It’s too cold in the shop; his head hurts and he can’t breathe through his nose. He just really wants to get back.

Then Phichit’s there again, holding three different types of medicine, including the type that Seung Gil had brought up to the cash register before. “These should work.”

Seung Gil blinks, a little dazed. “Thanks.”

But Phichit isn’t leaving, and Seung Gil finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t want to turn down Phichit’s suggestions, but he can’t go back again and pretend he doesn’t know about the lack of Russian currency in his wallet.

“I appreciate it,” he stammers, “but I really can’t take these right now.”

“How come? Is it an ingredient allergy? Or something about the brands? Or–”

Seung Gil feels his face flush red. He should’ve just been straightforward with this in the first place. Now it’s practically too late to say something, and yet, what other choice does he have?

“I only have Korean currency with me.” He pulls his jacket a little closer in an attempt to suppress his shivering, wishing his body could at least attempt to cooperate. “I’d, uh, have to stop at a currency exchange store first.”

“That’s okay,” Phichit says, and Seung Gil almost gapes at how nonchalant he sounds. “I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.” It’s as if he really, genuinely doesn’t mind. As if he isn’t practically offering money to a stranger.

“That’s too much,” Seung Gil says, “I can’t let you pay for this.”

“It’s not that expensive.”

“Yeah, and it won’t take me that long to find an exchange service.” He twists away to cough into the crook of his arm, making sure to put as much distance between himself and Phichit as possible. “I’ll buy them myself after I get the money converted.”

Phichit frowns. “When you’re well enough to go to an exchange service, you won’t really need the medicine anymore. Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s really not necessary--”

“Think of it as a favor between friends.”

His eyebrows crease. “We’re not friends.” Are they?

“Then... a favor between fellow skaters?” There’s a steely determination in Phichit’s eyes--one that suggests that he’s not going to back down easily.

Seung Gil weighs his options. A part of him wants to keep arguing. After all, he’s an honorable person–it’s only natural to decline acts of kindness that he can’t repay. But the convenience store is somehow even colder than his hotel room is, and he’s shivering even under all the layers he’s wearing, and the walk here has drained all the energy from him and now he’s–well, he’s dizzy. Frustrated. Exhausted. And, more than anything, he wants to get his medicine and head back.

“Fine,” he caves, his voice cracking on the note. “But you really don’t need to do this.”

“I know.” Phichit turns on his heels, heading towards the first available cash register, and there’s nothing left for Seung Gil to do but follow him there. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

He pays for the medicine, then stuffs everything into a plastic bag and slings the handle over his wrist. “I’ll walk you back to the hotel?”

Seung Gil, previously preoccupied with attempting to stifle a sneeze as quietly as possible, glances up quickly. “Don’t you have more stuff to buy?”

“Not anymore. I was going to get ramen for dinner, but since my flight’s tomorrow, I think I’m going to eat out tonight instead. Get a taste of Russian food while I’m here, you feel?”

“Oh.” Seung Gil sniffles, blinking owlishly. “...Yeah.”

They cross the street and navigate the cluttered sidewalks to the hotel, side by side. Seung Gil tries to focus past the headache that’s taken root in his skull, but it’s next to impossible–everything around him is too cold and too bright, and his vision is slightly hazy around the edges, as if all of this is taking place within a dream.

It isn’t until they get to the hotel lobby that Phichit hands him the bag of groceries he’s been holding. “For the record, I meant what I said,” he asserts. “I think your free skate was really good.”

Seung Gil frowns, his fingers tightening around the bag handle. “I could’ve done better.” It’s a blatant understatement.

“That doesn’t change the facts. You were really cool out there.” Phichit grins, and his smile is just one degree from blinding--Seung Gil has to will himself to look away.

“Thanks for the medicine,” he says, changing the subject. “I’ll pay you back when I’m feeling better?”

“My flight’s tomorrow. If you’re that insistent on paying me back, I guess you’ll have to find me at the Grand Prix next year, huh?” Phichit quips, his tone light.

Seung Gil doesn’t say, I’m not participating next year. He doesn’t say, I’ve always skated for the fame; after a rough start like that, I’ve lost people’s respect for sure. He doesn’t say, I don’t have anything left to skate for. Because when he looks up at the person in front of him--acquaintance? Fellow skater? Friend?–that doesn’t feel quite true anymore.

Instead, he smiles, feeling something screwed tight in his chest loosen for the first time in years. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”

#i dont even remember what happened in this show LMAO it's been so long #my writing #yoi #apologies for the ending

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mypoorfaves · 7 years

Text

Right as Rain

Written for Sickdays 3.0 day 6, I Have Some Regrets

Summary: Yuuri runs to the pharmacy to get medicine to stave off his oncoming cold, all whilst keeping his illness a secret from Victor. Then Yuuri gets caught in the rain, which doesn’t do good for his already-weakened immune system. How will Victor react when Yuuri comes home soaking wet and freezing cold, and how will Yuuri recover?

This fic goes along with some lovely artwork (1, 2, 3 and 4) by @kotyonoksnz. I hope you enjoy this!!

2000~ words

～～～

By the time Yuuri finally exits the pharmacy, storm clouds are looming overhead foretelling of rain. Yuuri lets out a groan of frustration; the weather had been fine earlier, but now the skies look ready to pour, and Yuuri doesn’t have an umbrella with him. There was no indication he would even be needing one when he had first headed out.

He decides against going back into the store and buying an umbrella. He has already spent enough time trying to decode the Cyrillic written on the bottles of medication and eventually had to ask for help from some of the staff. Yuuri had somehow managed to hold a conversation to get what he needed, but he doesn’t feel like going through the trouble again.

He doesn’t need to waste time buying a product he already has many more of at home. Plus, home isn’t too far awayーonly about a 15 minute walk. Yuuri can surely outrun the weather before it gets too bad. Victor is undoubtedly waiting for him, probably worried sick. With that thought in mind, Yuuri begins to make his way back.

He didn’t tell Victor where he was going because he figured his trip wouldn’t take as long as it did. Yuuri has felt a cold steadily creeping in these past couple of days, so he had headed out to the pharmacy without telling his fiance so as not to bother him. If Yuuri simply takes some medicine and gets enough rest, he’ll get over his cold before Victor even suspects he is sick!

At least, that was the plan.

It’s not even two minutes into Yuuri’s jog that the rain starts to come down. It starts off as a light drizzle, then it quickly becomes heavier, the rain falling in thick sheets that pelt Yuuri and numb his skin. It actually feels quite nice at first, refreshing against his too-warm skinーfrom exertion, he tells himself, not yet from a fever.

Yuuri picks up his pace. He runs for another couple of minutes against the storm before his body can’t take anymore. He must be coming down with this cold faster than he originally thought; his usually impressive stamina is already depleted, and his lungs feel like they’re on fire as Yuuri coughs, struggling to take in oxygen. He slows to a walk, too tired to run any further.

The rain is not letting up, and now Yuuri feels the cold seeping in. He hugs the bag of medicine closer to his body and he feels a smidgen warmer. His clothes are soaked and hair is drenched. Water drips from the dark stands down onto his nose, aggravating the tickle he’s been trying to ignore. Yuuri dips his head down, releasing a sharp hhatschh! He feels absolutely dismal, soaked to the bone, teeth chattering as his body is wracked with violent shivers. All he wants is to be home, curled up in bed with Victor under the blankets. He just hopes Victor won’t be mad at him for being out so late…

～

Yuuri arrives home feeling equal parts miserable and guilty, and only feels worse as he opens the door to see Victor standing facing away from the door with his phone held to his ear. His other hand is at his mouth as Victor anxiously bites on his thumbnail. It’s then that Yuuri becomes aware of the muffled chirp of his ringtone in his sweater pocket. (It’s a miracle the device still works despite how covered in water it must be.) Victor seems to notice the noise at the same time he does. He abruptly turns towards Yuuri, not having noticed him enter before. They meet eyes for a second before Yuuri quickly looks away, still feeling guilty.

“Yuuri!” Victor says, relief clear in his voice. Yuuri can hear him coming closer. “I was so worried! Where did you go?” Yuuri is just about to answer when Victor’s eyes fall upon the bag Yuuri is clutching to his chest with the name of the pharmacy written on it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? I thought maybe something terrible had happened to you when you weren’t answering your phone!”

“I’m sorry for worrying you…” Yuuri mumbles. “I’m fine,” he lies. “Just really tired. I want to go to bed.” The last part at least, is true.

“Nonsense! You’re soaking wet! I’ll help you dry off and warm up. You’ll catch a cold otherwise.” Yuuri gives a short nod and a quiet hum of affirmation, knowing that a cold is now inevitable at this point, but he let’s Victor run to fetch the towels nonetheless. In the meantime, Yuuri takes a seat on one of the kitchen chairs and rests his head on the table.

The next time Yuuri opens his eyes, (when did he even close them?) there’s a steaming mug of tea in front of him and someone is toweling his hair dry. Yuuri cups the mug in both hands, allowing the warmth to seep into his cold fingers as he gingerly brings the drink to his lips. Victor continues to dry his hair, a comfortable silence filling the room. By the time Victor has deemed Yuuri’s hair sufficiently dried, Yuuri has finished less than half of his tea, but he’s too tired to drink any more. Victor is understanding and offers an open hand to Yuuri. He takes it and stands and lets Victor lead him to the bedroom, Yuuri feeling dead on his feet.

Victor helps Yuuri out of his wet clothes and into clean dry ones, then changes his own clothes as well. Yuuri climbs into bed and burrows under the covers, sighing contently as Victor’s arms wrap around him. Exhausted from a long day and feeling safe and secure in the embrace of the one he loves, Yuuri falls asleep.

～

He awakens in the middle of the night with his head on Victor’s chest and chills throughout his body. He trembles uncontrollably and shifts to try and get comfortable. Underneath him, Victor stirs, his sleepy blue eyes looking down to meet Yuuri’s brown ones. They feel heavy, like his eyelids are weighed down. “Maybe that walk wasn’t such a good idea…” Yuuri’s voice is weak and his nose feels irritated, a hint of congestion beginning to make itself known.

Victor places the back of his hand on Yuuri’s forehead, giving a ‘tsk’ at the heat that’s there. “No, solnyshko, I don’t think it was,” Victor says and places a sympathetic kiss on the top of his head. The irritation in Yuuri’s nose turns into a tingling sensation, and Yuuri’s breath hitches. With no other warning, he ducks his nose into Victor’s chest and sneezes twice.

“Hhkschiu! Ihkschh!”

“Oh you poor thing,” Victor coos and stokes Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri shivers at the feelingーalthough it may just be chills from his fever. “We’ll get you to take some medicine in the morning, then you’ll be feeling right as rain,” Victor says, somehow oblivious to the irony of his words. Unless he is purposely teasing Yuuri. Regardless, Yuuri gives a pitiful whine, curls up closer against Victor and quickly falls back asleep.

～

“You shouldn’t hide from me when you’re not feeling well, Yuuri,” Victor chides, frowning at the thermometer he’s holding in his hand. Victor won’t tell him how high the numbers are, only that he has a fever, although Yuuri already knew that. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Victor speaks before he can. “I’m not mad, I just want to be there for you. You’re not alone anymore. You can rely on me. Okay, solnyshko?” Victor asks with a gentle smile.

Yuuri returns the smile and switches his apology for a soft, “I love you,” instead.

“I love you too,” Victor says, his smile growing more fond. “Now let’s get you better!” He retrieves the bag of pharmaceutical goods. “It’s actually a good thing you went out yesterday, since all we have left in the medicine cabinet is painkillers,” Victor admits sheepishly whilst reaching into the bag. He withdraws a small box and frowns at it for a moment, then sets it next to him on the bed with a hum, sounding dissatisfied. He reaches into the bag again, pulling out a bottle of pills and reading the label with a similar reaction. “Oh, Yuuri…” Victor sighs sympathetically. He dumps the remaining contents of the bag onto the bed, and another two bottles as well as a pack of flu masks tumble out.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks hesitantly.

“You bought the wrong medicine. This one here is for stomach aches, and while this other one is cough medicine, it’s for more severe illnesses like bronchitis.”

“Oh…” Yuuri’s shoulders slump in defeat. He had thought his ability to understand Russian was getting better, but it looks like that is not the case if he can’t even buy the correct medicine.

“It’s okay, Yuuri!” Victor reassures him and starts to get up. “I’ll go out and buy what we need.”

Yuuri panics at the words, grabbing Victor’s hand so he doesn’t leave. “Wait! I don’t want to be alone…” Yuuri says in a small voice.

“Then do you want to come with me?” Yuuri nods in response. “But you’re so sick…” Victor says, reluctant to let Yuuri go.

Yuuri himself is fairly reluctant to leave the warm confines of his bed, but he would be even more miserable left to sleep there alone and without Victor next to him.

“I’ll wear a facemask so I don’t get anyone else sick,” Yuuri says. He knows that’s not what Victor is trying to say, but it’s true that he doesn’t want to infect others if he can avoid it. Plus, wearing the mask also allows him to hide from the embarrassment of being recognized by the staff he was talking to just yesterday.

“We could always ask Yurio to get stuff for us,” Victor suggests.

“After what happened last time?” Yuuri counters.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Victor trails off, no doubt remembering the sound of Yuuri’s sobs coming from the bedroom and running there to find a distressed and fevered Yuuri thinking that Yurio hates him. Although the teen doesn’t truly despise the two, it’s unlikely he would go out of his way to run another errand for them just because Yuuri has the sniffles. (Again.)

“Okay, fine,” Victor acquiesces. “You can come with me, but we’re driving there.”

Satisfied, Yuuri pushes himself out of bed and puts on his glasses, a facemask, a scarf and his jacket to fend off the chills before heading out with Victor.

～

They have been standing in line for what feels like ages, and Yuuri’s feet are aching. His nose feels swollen and irritated under his mask from the many times he has tried and failed to blow it; all it did was make his ears pop, the dry tissues rubbing his septum raw. Yuuri’s congestion is giving him a headache, and the bright artificial lights of the pharmacy are certainly not helping.

He loops his arm into Victor’s, full of medicine (the right medicine this time), and leans on him for support. “This is taki’g forever. I’mb goi’g to die,” Yuuri moans, congestion painfully evident. He sniffles in a futile attempt to try and clear his clogged sinuses, but to no avail.

“Well, if you’d rather go run around in the rain to pass the time, I can hold your coat for you,” comes Victor’s snide reply. “I know you enjoy that.”

Yuuri plops his head onto Victor’s shoulder with a tired sigh. “I’mb sorry,” he mumbles.

“Me too. I shouldn’t tease you when you’re obviously not feeling well.” Yuuri closes his eyes and gives a weak nod, feeling like he could fall asleep on the spot. His facemask is keeping him nice and warm, as are his coat and scarf. Not to mention the man next to him. Victor places a gentle kiss on the top of Yuuri’s head, letting him drift off with promises to take a proper nap together once they get home.

～～～

(End)

Notes: solnyshko is a petname meaning sun or my sun in Russian

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sickdaysofficial · 7 years

Text

Right as Rain

Written for Sickdays 3.0 day 6, I Have Some Regrets

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice

This fic goes along with some lovely artwork (1, 2, 3 and 4) by @kotyonoksnz. I hope you enjoy this!!

2000~ words

～～～

At least, that was the plan.

～

“I’m sorry for worrying you…” Yuuri mumbles. “I’m fine,” he lies. “Just really tired. I want to go to bed.” The last part at least, is true.

～

“Hhkschiu! Ihkschh!”

～

Yuuri returns the smile and switches his apology for a soft, “I love you,” instead.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks hesitantly.

“You bought the wrong medicine. This one here is for stomach aches, and while this other one is cough medicine, it’s for more severe illnesses like bronchitis.”

“It’s okay, Yuuri!” Victor reassures him and starts to get up. “I’ll go out and buy what we need.”

Yuuri panics at the words, grabbing Victor’s hand so he doesn’t leave. “Wait! I don’t want to be alone…” Yuuri says in a small voice.

“Then do you want to come with me?” Yuuri nods in response. “But you’re so sick…” Victor says, reluctant to let Yuuri go.

Yuuri himself is fairly reluctant to leave the warm confines of his bed, but he would be even more miserable left to sleep there alone and without Victor next to him.

“We could always ask Yurio to get stuff for us,” Victor suggests.

“After what happened last time?” Yuuri counters.

“Okay, fine,” Victor acquiesces. “You can come with me, but we’re driving there.”

Satisfied, Yuuri pushes himself out of bed and puts on his glasses, a facemask, a scarf and his jacket to fend off the chills before heading out with Victor.

～

“Well, if you’d rather go run around in the rain to pass the time, I can hold your coat for you,” comes Victor’s snide reply. “I know you enjoy that.”

Yuuri plops his head onto Victor’s shoulder with a tired sigh. “I’mb sorry,” he mumbles.

～～～

(End)

Notes: solnyshko is a petname meaning sun or my sun in Russian

Check out my blog @mypoorfaves for more Yuri on Ice hurt-comfort related content!

#colds #sneezing #snez #coughing #fever #chills #July 28 2017 #sickdays3 #submission

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

Note

First things first, I am a huge fan! Your Riverdale fics give me life. I share your love of making Jughead suffer. So I assume you have a whole bunch of request/prompts lined up but if you ever feel like it: I would love to see Jughed with pneumonia/bronchitis. Whichever you prefer and however you prefer :)

(Thanks so much for the kind words anon!! I am so glad you share my love of making jug suffer. I absolutely love researching illnesses so this was a lot of fun to do! This became very angsty but a whole lot of tooth rotting fluff in the end! Here’s jug with pneumonia and a worried Andrews fam.)

For most of his life the bright, warm light of the sun was a beacon of hope for Jughead. The summer was a sign of hope, a signal that he had made it through the cold winter, and that everything was going to be okay. He could be with Archie and Betty all summer, and he didn’t have to constantly go home to the darkness of his own family.

However when this past summer, Betty was away on an internship and life decided to take Archie Andrews away from him, Jughead had never felt this lonely in whole life. His mom and Jellybean left him to the darkness that was surely engulfing his father, and he didn’t even have his rock, Archie to cling on to. He felt so alone, so cold in this darkness, the sun seemed to be mocking him. He’d watch all the happy people bask in the sun while he felt trapped in this personal rain cloud that would never leave him.

To keep himself alive Jughead had told himself that the winter would be better for him, for everyone. However as the winter approached and arrived, things got worse. He had been homeless, Jason had actually been murdered, his father had been arrested and there was definitely darker things in Riverdale.

It had started with a cough, a typical winter ailment that he got every year, no biggie. But a cough wasn’t meant to last this long, Jughead was convinced it wasn’t meant to hurt this much.

His cough had worsened as him, Kevin and Betty investigated the death of Jason Blossom, Jughead desperate to bring some light to Riverdale and uncover the truth. It had been a cold, cold night, the air dry and unforgiving, frosty and painful to his lungs. It rained too, the droplets of water seeming to be from a frozen lake, icy and soaking him to the core. There, they found Jason’s jacket, and the truth he found was horrifying.

The stress of the next few days did no wonders to Jughead’s declining health and mental health. When he should’ve been getting better, he lay wide awake at night, afraid to shut his eyes in fear of the nightmares that plagued him. He clutched his small blanket in the Andrews garage, shivering, wanting it all to end.

The one thing the freezing cold garage did in his favour was the fact he could cough freely, not afraid of waking Archie had he been in the air mattress. However, he couldn’t quite ignore the nagging thought at the back of his mind telling him that coughs were not meant to hurt his chest that much, that they weren’t meant to be that deep, that wet, this teeth-chattering.

The phlegm certainly wasn’t meant to be tinged with blood.

The next morning, as Jughead awoke to Archie swinging the back door open, presumably to wake him, he hadn’t felt that awful in his whole life.

His head caused the world to spin, and he couldn’t lift his head up because of how heavy he felt. His entire body was shivering, he felt so cold, literally frozen as if he had just fallen through the frozen Sweetwater River, and his teeth chattered with the cold. However, if he was so cold, he shouldn’t be radiating off heat, should he? The hot air coming out of his nostrils felt so uncomfortable.

Archie opened the door slowly, shivering lightly as he made his way into the freezing garage, immediately nervous that Jughead had spent the night here.

“Jug? You awake.”

“Yeah,” Jughead croaked out, his chest hurting, unbelievably tight. His breathing shouldn’t be this fast.

“Woah, you okay dude?”

“First thing in the morning, dude, calm your face,” Jughead joked forcefully, honestly not finding itself in him to be his regular, jokey self.

Archie noticed, worried that Jughead couldn’t even make a joke. When times got hard, Jughead could at least make a joke of his horrible situation. The fact that he couldn’t didn’t sit right with him.

“Get out of my face, Andrews. I’m going to get changed–unless you want to watch?” Jughead teased, trying to not sound congested.

Archie looked reluctant, but left anyway, making his way back to the kitchen.

Jughead walked into the kitchen, wearing one long sleeved t shirt underneath a hoodie, and a thick, shearling denim jacket on top, obviously trying to stop his shivering. However he still shook slightly, looking very pale besides his very pink cheeks and nose. His eye bags very dark against his pale skin, and his blue eyes dull and bleary.

“Morning Jughead,” Fred greeted, back facing him as he cooked the eggs.

Archie couldn’t even greet him, shocked by his appearance.

When Fred turned around, he was slightly surprised, “..Are you cold, Jug?”

Jughead shrugged, “Just a little. It is the winter after all.”

Fred didn’t even know what to do, “Jughead..uh..how are you feeling?”

Jughead looked up from the food he was playing with and gave him a forced smile, “Fine. Ready to seize the day.”

Archie and Fred didn’t even know how hey let Jughead out of the house and walk to school in the snow.

School would be a tricky situation because this was the worst possible day Jughead could be sick, Archie didn’t have any classes with him until Lunch. Meaning Archie had no way of having eyes on Jughead, and this worry prevented Archie from concentrating on any of his classes.

Jughead had spent his classes huddled going the radiator, grateful he sat at the back of the class, shivering and shaking. He felt extremely fevered, not able to concentrate on anything his teachers would say.

He was so bad, his coughing sounding so chesty and raspy that some of his classmates who had just been currently treating him like a murderer were concerned with him. Jughead squeezed his eyes shut, a hand to his chest as he struggled to breathe, his airways blocked by phlegm. He shivered with his fever, pulling his jacket closer to him and wishing he had worn more layers.

As the teacher let the class go off doing pairwork, she approached Jughead and looked at him with concern.

“You have to promise me that you’ll go to the nurse after this class, okay?” She said, worried.

Jughead’s teeth chattered, finding it hard to reply to her, “Y-yes, miss. I will.”

Of course, he didn’t.

Come geography Jughead was feeling worse, the pain in his chest as he coughed like he was being stabbed repeatedly. To make things worse he couldn’t breathe, choking on his own phlegm that refused to come out. He gasped for air, his chesty and phlegmy gasps sounding horribly weak and awful. He continued to choke, his vision growing hazy.

Ethel looked over at him and watched the pathetic display, managing to pat his back as he spat the phlegm out into a tissue she had offered him. “Jughead, please, I don’t think this is normal.”

Jughead knew at this point his voice was gone, so he only gave her a small, reassuring smile.

At the end of that class, Jughead had been wheezing yet again, walking out as he held a hand over his aching chest. He could barely breathe, his breathing short and rapid. Hell, he could feel his heart beating fast.

Jughead hacked pathetically into his arm, when a familiar pair of strong arms were holding him in place, to support him. Just a bit ago those same arms were pushing him into a locker. He looked up blearily, blue eyes watery and completely void of life.

“Go away, Reggie,” Jughead wheezed, his voice almost completely gone, a weak, raspy whisper.

“Jughead, please! You’re so sick, this isn’t normal,” Reggie pleaded, taking his shoulders. He wasn’t rough or cruel like he normally was, he was so worried and concerned, as if Jughead could just break into pieces in his arms right there. His actual name coming out of Reggie’s mouth was so weird, and his vision was just so blurry nothing felt real anymore. Jughead pushed past him, his chest on fire as he pushed himself on to the cafeteria where his friends were.

***

Kevin Keller was a hundred percent sure he had just seen a ghost.

It was the ghost of Jughead Jones, who looked like he was about to die just there, his body ready to succumb to death. The ghost of his friend approached the four of them, and the sight was so disturbing he gasped.

“Jughead?!” He yelped, causing the other three of his friends to whip around and watch as what was left of their friend approach them. He looked so awful that they didn’t even know what to do.

Jughead took his seat next to Kevin and Veronica, as if absolutely nothing was up. He didn’t say anything, looking off into the distance like his conscience was in some other plane of reality.

They were frozen, not knowing what to do.

“Jughead..?” Veronica finally said, voice quivering with fear.

The sight of him was horrifying; ghost white, looking like he was on the brink of death. Eyes sunken, with a pair of dark purple eyebags. His cheeks were flushed a horrible shade of red. He slouched, completely drained and unable to sit upright His entire frame shook like some sort of epicentre for an earthquake. He was the perfect image of illness. It was haunting.

Suddenly, Jughead erupted in the most horrendous fit he had yet, entire body convulsing like he had been possessed by a demon. He hacked, choking on his own phlegm. His entire body was shivering, gasping for air, short and rapid. His chest was on fire, someone was stabbing him with a flaming knife, viciously and brutally. It hurt so much.

He felt a ringing in his ears, all he could sense was the pain of his chest, and could faintly feel Kevin slapping his back, and Veronica feeling his pulse.

“Guys, it’s so fast!” Veronica screamed.

Jughead finally spat out the phlegm, tinged with blood.

“Oh my god!” Archie yelled and jumped out of his seat and ran, with Reggie Mantle running after him, hot on his heels as they ran for help.

“Juggy!” Betty screamed, crying.

Jughead looked up to see his hysteric friends, and all the worried other people, making out Ethel, and hell, even Cheryl Blossom looked terrified. There was screaming, too much was happening. His head pounded, vision shaking and blurring, breathing short and rapid. His attempts to breathe for longer hurt his chest, a sharp, stinging pain. His entire body ached, he felt like he was on fire, and yet shaking and shivering. Suddenly, he became void of all senses. He couldn’t feel anything.

Then there was darkness.

***

Archie paced the hospital hallway, his chest feeling right. He felt so anxious, breathing heavily. The hospital was so white, it was terrifying. So clean and orderly.

“Yes, Sheriff, I understand you can’t just allow random calls at random times, but please, FP deserves to know,” Fred argued on the phone, just as anxious as Archie.

A few minutes later, Sheriff gave up and handed the phone to FP.

“FP? I don’t even know how to say this,” Fred whispered guiltily.

“What is it, Fred? You here to finally admit I was better at the guitar than you?” FP joked.

“..No, Forsythe, it’s Jughead. He’s really sick, he passed out. We’re at the hospital–I don’t know what’s wrong, but he was coughing blood..”

FP was silent.

Eventually he’s spoke, “That’s my boy, Fred.”

“I know, FP, you just deserved to know.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. That’s my boy who never gave up on me. That boy who’s kind to everyone but what did he do to deserve this? This ain’t fucking fair! I can’t lose him! I love him so much, Fred! I don’t even think he knows that, Fred.”

“He knows that, FP. Listen, we’ll keep you posted, okay? The doctors will be out in a little bit.”

They continued to speak for a while but Archie couldn’t listen anymore, way too afraid. Once Fred hung up, Archie looked at him, tears in his eyes.

“Dad, he’s gonna be okay, right?” Archie whimpered, sounding so young.

Fred swallowed, “He’s a tough kid, Archie. He’ll pull through.”

“He shouldn’t have to be the tough kid,” Archie choked, tears streaming down his face.

“Arch,” Fred cooed, coming close to his son and holding him, kissing his forehead.

“I know Archie, he shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have made him feel unwelcome, I shouldn’t have let him go this morning. I’m so sorry Archie, blame me all you want, but I care for him too. I will do all in my power to make him better again, okay?” Fred whispered softly as Archie cried into his chest.

“I’m so scared,” Archie cried.

Fred sniffled, swallowing, “Me too, Arch.”

***

Half an hour later, one of the doctors came out of Jughead’s room.

“Mr Andrews?” She said softly.

“Yes, that’s me,” Fred piped up, as Archie who was asleep on his shoulder woke up immediately, rushing to her.

“I’m glad to be informing you Mr Jones will be just alright,” She smiled brightly.

Archie made an overwhelmed, happy noise, he lunged and hugged the doctor, “thank you thank you thank you thank you!!”

Archie pulled away and blushed, “Oh, sorry.”

The doctor laughed, “That is quite alright.”

Fred cleared his throat, “What’s wrong with him, doc?”

“Pneumonia. He had it pretty bad, as you know from what happened at the school, but we’ve patched him up enough so that there will be no negative effects later in life and that he should be better in two or three weeks.”

Fred sighed softly, “That’s great.”

“He will need continuous usage of antibiotics and must not leave the house, must get good sleep and rest,” She explained.

Archie looked anxious, “When will he be discharged?”

“He must stay for about a week for now, but he will be allowed visitors. In fact, would you like to visit him now? He’s awake.”

“Yes! Please!” Archie said excitedly.

“This way, then,” The Doctor instructed as she held the doors open for the two of them and let them in.

“Oh my god, Jug!” Archie exclaimed as he saw Jughead sitting up, joking about something with one of the doctors.

Jughead looked over to see Archie and smiled, and gasped softly as Archie tackled him into a hug.

“Arch–” Jughead said softly, slightly suffocated.

Archie gasped, “Sorry!”

Jughead laughed, still raspy but a lot less deathly sounding, “It’s fine.”

“You really scared me, Jughead! The whole school thought you were dead!” Archie exclaimed.

Fred chuckled, “That really was quite a scare, Jughead.”

“Sorry about that,” Jughead said sheepishly.

Fred looked at Archie then sighed, “no kid, we should be sorry-no, I should be. I’m so sorry I made it seem like you weren’t welcome here, you are just as much of family as Archie is to me. Y'know, when FP called me to say Gladys was having his child Mary and I drove to the hospital with little Archie. When you were born, we were all together, we were all a family. We still are a family.”

Jughead smiled softly, but scrunched his nose, “Ew, so you’re telling me that this rat here is one of the first things I ever saw?!”

Archie laughed heartily.

Fred laughed, “That’s quite right. Jughead, FP and I made sure that as blood brothers, we had to take care of each other’s sons. I told FP that what if his son was a little shit? Well, you are a little shit, but you really are a great kid, Jug. We care about you so much. When you get discharged, I’m going to make sure that when you go home, it is a home.”

Jughead smiled softly, “I’m sorry for pushing you away and withdrawing.”

Archie shook his head, “We never should have let you disappear.”

Jughead groaned, “Stop fighting with me, I’m sick, let’s just all agree we all fucked up!”

They all laughed.

Just then, Jughead began to cough again, eyes squeezed shut at the burning sensation of his cough, wet and deep. Before he started to choke, a nearby doctor coaxed the coughs out. He spat out into a tissue and threw it into the wastebin, finally resting against the pillow and took a good minute to catch his breath.

“Poor kid,” Fred muttered softly, taking in the pale features of his second son and approached him, pushing back the messy black curls that had fallen into his face as he coughed.

Archie watched in concern, wondering how he could help when his phone buzzed, opening it to see Veronica was facetiming.

“Ooh! I think they want to see you!” Archie grinned.

Jughead flipped his hair, “Of course they want to see the absolute beauty that is moi!”

Archie answered the call, coming close to Jughead so they could see him, to see Kevin, Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Ethel and oddly, Cheryl in the frame.

“HE’S ALIVE!” Kevin squealed.

“Lookin’ good, Wednesday Adams,” Reggie teased, pointing at his hospital gown and all the tubes in him.

“Jughead, you scared the shit out of us!!” Veronica exclaimed.

“Juggie, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Betty cooed.

“Get better soon, Jughead!” Ethel smiled.

“Ugh, he’s alive, guys. Can we all go now?” Cheryl rolled her eyes, but they could all see that Cheryl was secretly relieved and happy.

They spoke for a while, and as the call ended Fred started to call the Sheriff.

***

“Fred! Is my boy okay?!” FP breathed out through Fred’s phone.

“Hi dad,” Jughead said softly.

“Oh my god, Jug..Jug! You’re okay..thank god! I was beginning to think..it’s so good to hear your voice..”

“I’ll survive, dad.”

“You just might.”

Jughead could faintly hear the Sheriff telling FP he didn’t have much time.

“Listen–Jug, I don’t have a lot of time..”

“I love you, dad,” Jughead whimpered.

FP froze.

“I love you too, Jug,” FP choked, clearly teary.

“I miss you so much,” Jughead sniffled, one tear rolling down his cheek.

“I miss you so much Jug, there’s not one day that passed by where I wish we were all together. But I did bad things, Jughead, inexcusable. I need to pay for what I did. You understand that, don’t you, Jug?”

“I do.”

“..I am so sorry, Jughead. For not being the father I should’ve been, the one you deserve. I’m so sorry about this, but please know that I never for one second stopped loving you,” FP whispered.

“I know dad, I know. I never gave up, I never will,” Jughead cried.

“You’ll be okay, you’ll pull through. C'mon lion, brave through it and seize the day, I know you can,” FP chuckled.

“I will dad, I always do,” Jughead whispered.

“I’ll come home to you someday,” FP managed to say before Sheriff Keller took the phone back.

Jughead bit back a sob, whispering to himself, “I know you will.”

***

The morning he was to be discharged, Jughead began to gather all his Get Well Soon presents. He coughed, not quite as chesty or deep as it had been, and certainly did not feel like he was being stabbed repeatedly. He smiled fondly as he looked at them.

A beautifully crafted handmade card from Ethel, a not so beautifully crafted handmade card from Reggie, a fancy card from Veronica with some luxury gourmet chocolates and snacks, a simple, pretty card from Betty and a container of her signature soup, a nice card from Kevin who had sent some snacks, and a bit of money from Cheryl who helped pay for some of the hospital bill and medicine. The family was loaded, and her parents didn’t even notice she took some.

Jughead hadn’t felt so loved in so long. The winter seemed to be just a bit brighter.

And finally, a picture of Jughead, Archie and Fred during movie night on top of an application for Legal Guardianship.

“Ready to go home, Jug?” Archie grinned.

“Born ready.”

#jughead jones #archie andrews #fp jones #fred andrews #betty cooper #veronica lodge #riverdale #sickfic #prompts #pneumonia #fever

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