#d/c sickfic

[sleptwithinthesun]

here is another installation in the t/ourette's au!! there is snz this time, and 5K words of it (+ a fuckton of plot. help) :D i hope you enjoy!

cw: neither f/oreman nor h/ouse are exactly kind to c/hase in this. there's nothing explicitly against him, but some of their choices and thoughts shouldn't be repeated. also, i know nothing about the medical stuff. forgive me for any inaccuracies

"And where have you been?"

Foreman glances up from the medical journal he's been occupying himself with to watch Chase walk in, already wearing his lab coat, which is strange enough on its own for a three-in-the-morning page from House. Even stranger is the fact that he's later to arrive than House in the first place, who is proudly notorious for almost never being on time to work.

"Surgery," he replies, practically collapsing into his seat and accepting the file Cameron holds out to him. He smiles tiredly at her, even as his shoulders jerk upward and his eyes squeeze shut.

House ignores the tic, spinning in his chair to face the whiteboard, marker poised to write. "Symptoms include nausea, vomiting, jaundice, and fatigue. Patient came in because of the jaundice. Thoughts?"

"Jaundice indicates that the liver's failing," Cameron points out.

"Duh," House says. "Patient's a light drinker, she's in college, but nowhere near an alcoholic. Check the liver for cirrhosis, and we'll go from there." He flaps a dismissive hand at them, already forcing himself up on his cane and limping toward the door to his office.

Foreman doesn't even bother waiting for him to leave, just rises from his chair and follows Cameron and Chase down to the patient's room. About halfway down the hallway, Foreman breaks the silence to ask, "Think she's going to have cirrhosis?"

"If her liver's failing? Yes." Cameron speaks with conviction.

"Not necessarily," Chase interjects, neck twisting sharply to the side and forcing him to grab onto Cameron's shoulder for a second to keep his balance. He pauses to reorient himself, blinking sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. You okay?" she asks. He nods, hand dropping back to his side, and sighs quietly.

It takes a moment, but he eventually speaks again. Foreman's noticed that about him; whenever Chase has a particularly bad tic, usually resulting in him drawing attention to himself, he tends to lapse into silence for the following handful of minutes. Cameron once explained to him that, according to Wilson, he's been doing it since even before she joined the diagnostic team, and it's a habit neither they nor Wilson see him breaking anytime soon.

"Could be hepatitis," he says quietly, voice a bit strained. "Although, type A wouldn't result in cirrhosis of the liver."

Cameron nods in acknowledgement, then pushes the 'down' button for the elevator. It's not even three-thirty in the morning, and in pure spite of the fact that Foreman's been working as a doctor for the past six years, the one thing he'll never get used to is the complete lack of a sleep schedule. He stifles a tired yawn behind his palm, then runs a hand down his face to try and wake himself up.

It doesn't work. He slumps against the side of the elevator once they're all inside, closing his eyes for a moment. He opens them again to find Cameron glancing at him sympathetically, lips curved with an odd little half-smile. "Any chance it's an easy diagnosis?"

"Knowing House? Never." Foreman rolls his eyes playfully at her.

"I don't know why House didn't just have us get a liver biopsy," Cameron continues as the elevator doors slide open again. "I mean, that's the easiest way to determine cirrhosis."

"And it's also unnecessary if we can get a CBC and run a panel for liver enzymes." Chase follows closely behind Cameron as they exit. She's the only one who actually knows where they're going; Foreman only remembers the floor number, and Chase barely got to look over the file before they were leaving the conference room.

Foreman glances back at him. "We should probably get an image, too. MRI or CT scan?"

"MRI," Chase says. "Better contrast resolution."

Cameron nods her agreement, then pauses outside a room, seeming to check the number. A moment later, she's pushing open the sliding glass door and smiling softly at their patient.

"Ms. Davis?" she asks, breaking the stillness of the room.

The girl in the bed laughs. "I'm nineteen; my mom is Ms. Davis." Foreman takes note of the honorific, storing the information away to share with House later. "Please, call me Audrey."

"Audrey," Cameron corrects, walking over to her bedside. "I know that it's late, and that you've had a rough couple of hours, but we need to run a couple of tests."

"We can expedite them," Chase offers, and Audrey's face crinkles with confusion, likely at Chase's accent. Either that, or the subtle tic presenting in the muscles of his face, which Foreman's pretty sure Chase doesn't even realize he's doing. "It's late. We haven't been slammed with an emergency, and most of the equipment is open."

Slowly, Audrey nods. "Where're you from?" she asks.

Chase blinks, startled. "Uh, Oz— Australia."

"Cool," Audrey says enthusiastically, her brow smoothing out a bit. She attempts to sit up straighter in her bed, smoothing a few strands of hair away from her face. "You haven't been over here very long, have you?"

She's flirting with him. Foreman rolls his eyes at Cameron, who just sighs and leaves the room to get the consent forms. Audrey's gaze trails after her as she leaves, and then, she states, just as plainly as if she were talking about the weather, "You're not dating."

Chase splutters. Foreman laughs. It's always teenage girls; something about Chase's accent, floppy hair, and general demeanor just draws them in, like a moth to a flame.

"No," Foreman says, chuckling. "They're not dating. Let's get you prepped for these tests. Dr. Cameron's getting the consent forms now, you just have to sign them." He starts checking her IVs; IVIg, saline, metoclopramide. The stand's going to have to travel with her.

Audrey flops back into her bed. "What're you going to do to me?"

"Nothing major. Take some blood and run an MRI scan," Chase says, having finally regained his voice. His cheeks are still tinged pink, and Foreman holds back a smile at the sight.

"It'll be quick," he promises, moving to the drawers and pulling out a needle and the necessary vials. "In fact, we can do the blood draw right here, once Dr. Cameron returns with the paperwork."

"You rang?" Cameron says, a clipboard and pen in hand. She passes them both off to Audrey, pointing out where to sign.

Audrey hands the paperwork back to Cameron a minute later, who then leaves the room with Chase to schedule the MRI. She holds out her left arm. "How much do you need?"

"Three vials," Foreman says, grabbing a rolling stool and bringing it over to her bedside. Placing said vials in his pocket, he sets the needle down on the tray next to the bed and starts feeling the crook of Audrey's arm for prominent veins. Nothing.

The tourniquet goes around her bicep, the needle into her arm only a minute later. Unlike most of their patients, Audrey chooses to watch as her blood fills the vials with an odd sense of fascination.

"You interested in biology?" Foreman asks.

"No way." Audrey grins at his expression, teeth flashing in the awful blue tinge of hospital lighting. "I took the pre-req. Reminded me of how much I hate it."

Foreman pulls the needle out after filling the last vial, then presses a small gauze pad to the inside of her elbow before taping it to her skin. "Dr. Cameron will be back to get you for the MRI shortly," he says, then leaves the room.

-

Chase is humming under his breath when Cameron slots the images from the MRI up onto the lightboard for House to see. "No cirrhosis," she sighs.

"Doesn't mean anything," House says, pacing across the room.

"Her liver is failing, and no cirrhosis doesn't mean anything?"

House pauses. Instead of answering Cameron's question, he glares right past Foreman at Chase and snaps, "Can you stop?"

Immediately, Chase quiets. His lips press together, and the already barely-audible humming ceases entirely. House nods, and the discussion flips back over to the patient. Still, glancing back at Chase, Foreman can see the vague flicker of his vocal cords. Despite the attempt at subtlety, it's clear he's struggling to suppress the tic.

"—testing her," House is saying when he brings his attention back to the more-important discussion at hand. "Liver enzyme panel will be back when dawn breaks. While you're waiting for that, you three can go on a little field trip. Go break into her dorm."

Chase nods and leaves the room without a word. Cameron's gaze trails after him before she follows, and House raises an eyebrow. "What's up with him?" he asks.

Foreman sighs. He wasn't sure about Chase from the moment House informed him that his new coworker had Tourette's, and weeks later, he still can't tell if the younger doctor should even have been allowed to become an intensivist in the first place. Constant, high-pressure situations cannot be good for someone prone to anxiety, especially when that anxiety can manifest in them killing someone because said person was too busy jerking their head around.

He's a neurologist. Despite what Chase thinks, Foreman is far from ignorant about what his condition entails, and he knows that what Chase is letting House do to him every meeting is going to screw them over in the future.

After sending a passing glance toward House, Foreman follows Chase and Cameron out of the room. "You want to drive?" he asks Cameron, who shrugs, keeping pace with him.

"I don't mind," she says, "if I can stop for gas on the way back."

Foreman nods, and switches topics back to the case. They've both learned better than to let Chase drive, after the first and decidedly final time. "There's not much privacy in a dorm room," he comments. "We're probably better off questioning her roommate and RA."

Chase, lagging a few feet behind them, asks, "Do we have a copy of her schedule? It might help us narrow our search."

"How, exactly?"

"We check the classrooms," he says, then lets out a jerky exhale, shoulders tensing up and eyes squeezing closed for a second.

Cameron, at least, is unfazed. "We don't usually check our patient's places of work, just their residences."

Chase isn't giving up. "She's in college," he counters. "It's more than likely that most of her time is spent outside of her dorm. We can ask other students in those classes if they've noticed anything weird."

"Other people would be sick, too," Foreman snaps at him, and Chase's entire face screws up for a moment. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but it's swallowed by a hum, the same tic House told him to suppress. Frustration passes over his features, and he goes quiet.

"It's worth looking into," Cameron says, her voice breaking through the sudden tension. "We can't check every classroom, though. Princeton's campus is way too big."

They lapse into silence after that, occasionally interrupted by Chase's humming tic. With how repetitive it's being, and how soft it is whenever he lets it out, it's clear that he's still trying to suppress it. Idiot; neither Foreman nor Cameron are going to yell at him for it.

Chase doesn't protest when Foreman claims the passenger seat. Instead, he leans against the window after buckling his seatbelt, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. It's still pitch-black outside, aside from the streetlights and other establishments along the road. The dirty remnants of their recent snowfall are still pushed up against the curb, half-melted and refrozen into misshapen blobs. Cameron's attention flickers to their surroundings whenever they hit a red light, and she comments, "It's weird to see everything so... still."

Foreman huffs out a slightly-bitter laugh. "That's probably because, like most people, you're not awake at five in the morning."

"We're doctors," Cameron says, flicking her blinker on and glancing around the deserted road before turning left. She's a good driver, which is to be expected from a woman like her. Surprisingly relaxed behind the wheel, but he supposes that after seeing Chase drive, anyone would gain some confidence. "We work more than fifty hours a week, on average. Our sleep schedules revolve around the amusement of our boss, and unlike most people, I am woken up at five in the morning at least once a week." The smirk that follows that statement is surprising, but welcomed.

"Fair enough," Foreman concedes, then, realizing there hasn't been any input from their resident Aussie, glances at the backseat.

Chase is asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. With a start, Foreman realizes it's the first time he's ever seen Chase without a tic rippling underneath his skin, begging for release. He's oddly relaxed in sleep, muscles slack without any of the tension that normally binds him together. Even stranger, Chase somehow looks even younger than he normally does, with the strain gone from his face.

"Chase? You okay?" Cameron asks, obviously having noticed Foreman's sudden quietude.

"He's asleep," Foreman says, turning back to face the road again.

Cameron sighs and presses her lips together, sympathy blooming across her face. "He's probably exhausted. We can let him sleep."

"It's hasn't even been two hours since House called us; he shouldn't be crashing yet."

"He was attending a surgery before all this," Cameron reminds him, her gaze remaining focused on the road in front of them. Luckily, Princeton University isn't too far from PPTH, and Nassau Hall comes into sight after a handful of moments.

It doesn't take Cameron long to find suitable parking. "Do you want to wake him up, or should I?"

Foreman snorts. "He's not seven. Watch, this'll be enough." His boots crunch softly against the frozen grass, and he pointedly looks into the back windows until Cameron follows his gaze, then loudly shuts the car door.

Chase startles, jerking awake. Immediately, a tic forces his head to the side, and he glares at Foreman through the window before unbuckling and sliding out on Cameron's side.

"Not funny," he murmurs, once he comes into earshot. His accent is thicker with the remains of sleep clinging to him, making it harder to understand him than usual. He shivers a bit in the cool nighttime air, breath making clouds in front of him. "Can we go inside, now?"

-

The birds were just starting to sing by the time Foreman crossed the parking lot with Cameron and Chase, and glancing outside now as they make their way up to the fourth floor, dawn is already spilling across the sky.

Cameron drops their patient's file on the conference room table. "Negative for hepatitis A, B, and C."

"Liver panel come back yet?" House asks.

"No. It could be cancer," she suggests.

"A tumor, or multiple tumors, would have shown up on the MRI. Might be hemochromatosis, or Wilson's disease," Chase says, slumping into a seat. He presses his fingertips against his temple, wincing slightly.

Foreman interjects, "Maybe we're thinking about it the wrong way. Maybe it's not the liver malfunctioning because of a condition, maybe it's the liver malfunctioning because of what's going into it."

"We tested everything we got from her dorm," Cameron protests, "and it all came back negative for toxins."

"There's no way we got everything she came in contact with. Princeton's got a big campus."

"That's what I was saying earlier, but you both said other students would've been sick, if that were the case." Chase's elbow jerks back, and he sighs. "The problem is with her liver, not inside of it."

He twists away from the conversation, then, and preses his face into a raised shoulder. Shuddering softly, he releases a barely-audible "h'ksh!" He sniffles, and looks up to see House glaring at him.

"That's not a tic, is it?"

He shakes his head slowly, cheeks rosy with what Foreman assumes is embarrassment. "Just a sneeze."

"Bless you," Cameron murmurs. Chase flashes a half-smile at her.

"Do a biopsy of her liver," House says, staring at the whiteboard. "Foreman's right, it probably is inside of her. Question her for any symptoms that she might have chosen not to mention earlier. And see if she's been taking a high amount of over-the-counter painkillers recently." He pops a Vicodin, then, and raises his eyebrows at them, imploring them to go.

The weight of exhaustion is settling down on all of them, but no one bears it more obviously than Chase. His tics are coming out slower, less forcefully, as if he can't quite keep up with the pace they normally set for him. The motion will jolt through his body, and then Chase will actually become aware of it. Every tic has an echo, almost, where it comes out subdued and then Chase puts the effort in, repeating the action.

"You okay?" Cameron asks softly, and Chase nods.

"I just want to be done with this case," he responds.

Behind Chase, Cameron shoots Foreman a concerned look. The eldest doctor simply shrugs, and says, "The quicker we finish this, the quicker we'll figure it out."

Chase nods, then shudders again with another contained sneeze. "eK'sch!"

"Bless you," Cameron says once more.

"Thank you." Chase sniffles, then wrinkles up his nose, scrunching it twice. Foreman can't tell if it's a tic, or in response to the sneeze. Either way, Chase shakes his head, then says, "I'm going to go and get a room for the biopsy."

They watch him disappear down the hallway, white lab coat gradually blending in with the other doctors'. "Did he seem... off, to you?" Cameron asks, brow furrowed.

Foreman shrugs. "He's probably tired."

Cameron frowns harder. "He slept in the car on the way to Princeton and back."

"Ten minutes doesn't replace eight hours. Nor does it account for that surgery he assisted," Foreman points out.

Anything left of Cameron's argument dissolves when they arrive at Audrey's room. She's asleep, but stirs the second Cameron pushes her door open. There's an emesis basin on the floor next to the bed, freshly cleaned.

"Hey," she says, pushing herself up on her pillows. Her brow furrows as she takes in the two of them. "Where's the other doctor? The one with the accent?"

"Getting a room," Foreman says. The snark is unintentional, honestly, but he still can't get over the fact that it's always the college girls that have crushes on Chase.

Audrey's clearly unsatisfied by the half-answer, but at least she's got her priorities straight. "Do you... know what's wrong with me, yet? What did the tests say?"

"You're negative for hepatitis," Cameron says, looking at the monitor. "We're going to do a biopsy to rule out a couple of other possibilities, like hemochromatosis."

Audrey's eyes widen. "It's not serious, is it? Like, I'm not going to need surgery?"

"You shouldn't," Foreman comments, taking in her worried expression. Only half of their patients immediately jump to surgery, either expecting the worst or the best. "Why?"

"I've got a volleyball game in three days. Can't miss it."

"Your roommate mentioned something about you being on the varsity team," Cameron says, pulling out the paperwork for consent to a liver biopsy.

Audrey grins, taking the clipboard when Cameron offers it. "Yeah, Sammy's never been real interested in the sport. I love her to death, though." She rolls her eyes playfully at them before her tone sobers. "It's tough, y'know? My coach is already pissed that I'm missing practice because I'm in the hospital."

A sudden thought barges its way to the forefront of Foreman's brain. "You have a practice bag?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You keep it in your dorm?"

"Usually. I think Margo—one of my teammates—has it right now, although I have no idea why." Audrey looks at them. "Does it matter?"

Cameron glances from Audrey to Foreman, catching on. "It might."

"We've seen a lot of high school and college athletes take ibuprofen before their practices or games, just so that they can keep going," Foreman says. "It works in the moment, because you can't feel the pain of exerting yourself. Usually, it's warned against because athletes can't realize when to stop pushing their bodies."

"In other cases, though, an excess amount of ibuprofen is taken in over a long period of time. This can eventually lead to liver damage," Cameron explains.

Audrey closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows, her hands coming up to cover her face. Her voice is pained when she admits, "I've been taking two pills a day for almost two months, now."

Foreman looks over to Cameron. "I don't think we're going to need that biopsy."

Cameron's already moving, taking the clipboard from Audrey and taking out her pager, most likely to let Chase know of the change. Less than a moment later, she's shoving it back into her pocket and gesturing at Foreman. "He'll meet us at the labs. We've still got a vial of her blood left to run a test."

"House is going to be so annoyed," Foreman says, leaving the room and shaking his head in disbelief.

-

"We're treating you for ibuprofen overuse," Cameron explains, barely an hour later, attaching a bag to the IV stand. "This is going to flush your system, and you should be good to go."

"That's it?" Audrey asks, staring up at Cameron in shock. "Really?"

"Yep," Foreman says. He barely catches the sound of Chase repeating the word to himself quietly; a tic. "That's it."

Cameron warns, "Don't take this lightly. You can't take ibuprofen with repeated use, or you might damage your liver again."

"It's best for you if you stop taking NSAIDs completely for the next few months," Chase says. "That'll allow your liver to—to—to—"

Chase pauses to take a breath, clearly frustrated with the palilalia. His jaw snaps shut with an audible click of his teeth, and his head bobbles a few times, eyes glazing over. Foreman doesn't even realize what's happening until Audrey yelps.

"Oh, my God," Cameron breathes, surging to her feet.

Foreman ends up kneeling down on the floor right beside Chase, turning him onto his back and checking to make sure he's breathing. "Should've gone home," he mutters, glancing over to Cameron, whose concern is worn like a badge of honor.

Chase groans, his eyes fluttering weakly. Contrary to popular belief, unless they're slipping into a coma, most people only remain unconscious for a handful of seconds after fainting. Any longer, and brain damage is almost guaranteed.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asks, working with Foreman to get Chase up to a sitting position. It's not that hard; Chase isn't very heavy, and he's willing to work with them. Her fingers brush across his forehead and she freezes almost comically before putting the back of her hand against his skin. "You're burning up."

"Why didn't you tell us you were sick?" Foreman demands.

Before Chase is able to respond, angry beeping fills the room, joined by the sudden, desperate sound of choking. "She's asphyxiating," Cameron breathes, and rushes to shout, "We need help in here!"

The next minute is a blur. Foreman rushes to intubate, Cameron's pushing a cc of epinephrine, the nurses are frantic, and Chase is still on the floor, apparently feverish. The epinephrine kicks in, and slowly, the beeping of the alarm stops. Audrey stares up at them, eyes wide and pupils blown with fear.

"Not the ibuprofen," Cameron says, breathless.

"Not the ibuprofen," Foreman agrees.

There's a moment of silence where they're both clearly wondering what they're dealing with, if not overuse of ibuprofen.

Then, Chase groans, and their collective attention immediately switches back to their coworker, with the nurses able to handle Audrey for the time being.

"I'm fine," he mutters, already struggling to his feet. "Just need to... catch my breath." He punctuates the sentence with shoulder jerk.

"You just passed out, man, that's not exactly the definition of fine," Foreman says, pushing down on Chase's shoulder when he actually makes an effort to stand. "Stay down, man."

He gestures at the nurses. "We've still got a patient."

"What is it about the words 'you just passed out' that confuses you?" Cameron asks. "You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"Why are we fondling Chase in front of the patient?"

House's voice cuts through the room, and Cameron and Foreman both turn to look at him, Cameron with indignation and Foreman with sheer disappointment.

"I'm not—" Cameron starts.

"Zip it. I'm trying to get rid of the patient," House says, then limps over to Audrey's bed.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Audrey asks, her voice slightly raspy.

"I'm surprised you haven't been experiencing lung issues before now," House comments absently, looking at the detached IV bag of heparin that's no longer flowing into her veins. He sighs, then looks at her. "You have alpha-1 antritrypsin deficiency."

"What?"

"This is... Dr. House," Cameron says, interfering, and gives House a questioning glance. "AAT deficiency?"

He shrugs innocently. "It was on the liver panel."

Of course it was on the liver panel, considering that it took half a day longer than it should have to come back. The one thing that actually would have let them know what's wrong with her.

"The NSAIDs will clear out of your system normally. Try not to take any more, or you might end up right back here. And take it easy on the sports." House gives her one of his tight-lipped smiles, the ones he does only for politeness, then looks back over to Chase. "Why was she fondling you?"

"He passed out," Cameron replies shortly.

House's eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. "Why?"

"He's sick." Foreman gently hauls Chase to his feet, who sways the second he's upright and shakes his head violently enough to nearly send him right back to the floor. Foreman's hand clamps down tightly on his shoulder, keeping him on his feet.

"I'm fine," Chase repeats, but it's clear he knows he's defeated.

"Clearly not," House snarks. "One of you, drive him home. Or ask Wilson to do it. His lunch break is soon. Either way, we're done here." Unexpectedly, his tone softens, just a bit, when his gaze lands on Chase. "Get some sleep."

And then, he's leaving, cane tapping softly against the floor in a rhythmic pattern.

Cameron exchanges a look with Foreman. House is right; Chase is in no state to drive, not when he's practically on the verge of fainting again and nursing a fever of what Foreman guesses is nothing lower than one-oh-one. Cameron's place is only ten minutes away from the hospital, but in the complete opposite direction to Chase's. On the other hand, Foreman lives a bit further, but Chase's place isn't much of a detour for him.

"I can take him," he offers. "You finish up here."

Cameron nods, then murmurs, "Feel better," to Chase as she goes to console Audrey, who's looking more than freaked out.

Chase is quiet aside from the occasional tic as Foreman leads him down the hall to the diagnostic conference room so they can gather their stuff before leaving. Wilson's leaving House's office just as they walk in, and looks at Chase with sympathy in his expression.

"House said he passed out?" he questions.

Foreman nods his affirmation, shedding his lab coat as Chase hums. "Foreman's taking me home."

Wilson nods. "AAT deficiency?"

"We didn't get the liver panel back," Foreman says, rolling his eyes. "I'm assuming the tech didn't send up the printout like we asked."

"At least House didn't try to, I don't know, inject her with ursodiol." Foreman glances over at Chase, who now has his messenger bag slung across his chest and his wearing his jacket, beanie stuffed into the pocket. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he says, blinking hard. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Foreman nods at Wilson. "See you tomorrow."

"Drive safely," Wilson says, and goes back to his office.

Chase stays pretty close to Foreman as they head down the elevator, in spite of his initial protests that he was fine. He's always seemed like one of those doctors whose body would give up long before his brain did, kind of like House. But with the case ending abruptly, there's really nothing else they can do until House drops another file onto the conference room table.

The second they hit the cold air, though, Chase ducks away from him to bury a handful of sneezes in the elbow of his coat, becoming harsher as they progress. "h'ksHh! iK'schh! ih'gxXt!" The last one comes out slightly stifled, and Chase's shoulders tense up to his ears while both his elbows jerk back, the movement half-aborted, followed by the heel of his palm coming up to smack him in the chin. Foreman can hear it when his teeth slam together.

"Woah, you good?" Foreman asks.

Chase nods, breathing softly. "Can't sneeze and tic at the same time," he says, by way of explanation.

Foreman takes a second to piece that bit of information together. "Wait, so if you sneeze, it basically makes your tics worse?"

"Pretty much," Chase sighs. "My tics usually feel... heavier, I guess, when I'm sick. They're harder to get out, even though I need it."

"...That sucks, man," Foreman says. Chase huffs out a laugh, ticcing again while they walk through the parking lot.

"Yeah. I'm kind of used to it though, you know?" He pauses at Foreman's car. "You sure you want to drive me? You're going to have to get me tomorrow morning, too, because my car'll be here."

"It's fine. Whatever keeps you off the roads."

Chase sighs in agreement. "Believe me, I don't like it either."

They're referring to Chase's driving tic, which makes him wiggle the steering wheel. It's not much, but it was enough to catch both himself and Cameron off-guard the first and only time they let Chase drive to a patient's house. With a start, Foreman realizes this is the only time Chase has actually talked about his tics, bringing them up casually, like they're a normal part of his life. Which, he supposes, they are. They're just abnormal to the rest of them.

His thoughts are interrupted by Chase sneezing again. "eKh'sch'h! Sorry. Change in temperature." He blinks, half of his face twitches, and then sneezes again, more contained. "hk'tt!"

"Bless you," Foreman says. Chase is probably slightly delirious, he says to himself. That's why he's being open, for once.

He backs out of the parking spot, and takes Chase home.

#h/ouse m/d sickfic #sickfic #h/ouse m/d #r/obert c/hase #a/llison c/ameron #e/ric f/oreman #g/regory h/ouse #j/ames w/ilson #t/ourette's au #swts fic

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

rain, blood, rivulets, runner, daughter, home, you

Regardless, Wilbur likes to come here a lot. It’s a pretty place, a few minutes walk from Pogtopia; it’s right in the wilderness, no buildings or houses or people around. Just grass, and dirt, and a few tiny flowers, and a lot of trees, and a big blue sky. Well, sometimes blue. Sometimes it’s kinda grey, and cloudy, and other times it cries small cold raindrops that splat into your eyes and make your clothes all damp and uncomfortable.

Wilbur doesn’t care if he gets wet, though. He’ll just come here anyway.

~~~

After several seconds of trying, Wilbur gives up, relaxing once more into this odd state of being. He realizes that his cheek hurts along with his neck, because his face is pressed firmly against this thing. It's probably stopping the blood flow right there.

AND!!!

For a moment, Wilbur's vision goes dark, and it takes several rasping breaths and hard blinks to rid it of black spots. Tommy is bleeding. There's blood on him. His eyes are closed. He's bleeding. He's completely still. He's bleeding. His eyes are closed. He's not moving. There's blood on him. There's blood on Tommy.

~~~

Nothing for rivulets!

~~~

Nothing for runner, either!

~~~

Dang. Nothing for daughter :0

~~~

After a few hours, Niki had stepped back, placed her hands on her hips, and looked around. She quite liked the place, if she was being perfectly honest. It felt cozy, similar to a home. It didn't feel like a company or an enterprise, devoid of emotion. No, it felt real. It felt personal. It felt like hers.

~~~

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

AND!!!

"I'm fine," Wilbur assures, brushing off the hand that Phil didn't even realize had moved towards his son's chest. "I can stand on my own, Phil. You don't have to hold my hand."

~~~

Actually I’m gonna share a whole snippet from a story I genuinely forgot I’d started working on so aksvajdgsksgsh here ya go ⬇️

~~~

"Oh, mate... do you need water?" Phil glances at the table, finding a half-full glass of water just as Wilbur answers, "No."

"Are you hungry?"

Wilbur sighs again. "No. I just- Phil?"

"Yes?" Phil finds himself holding his breath.

Wilbur gazes at him for several seconds, and Phil notes with satisfaction that his eyes are no longer pink. His pupils are the usual rich-brown color that they aught to be.

Wilbur gives a slight shake of his head. "I want to go."

Phil stares. "You- go?"

"I want to get off of this couch. I want to get out of this cabin. I want to go, Phil. I want to-" Wilbur thrusts a hand forward, face twisting. "I want to go far away from this cursed land of snow, and never come back. I want to go outside."

Wilbur ends his rage-filled monologue, staring at his hands laid across his chest. His nostrils flare.

Phil watches him for a moment before dipping his head, beginning to shake with laughter.

Wilbur whips his head around to glare at him. "What?"

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

"Wha- I've been confined in this place for weeks!"

"It's been four days, Wil."

Wilbur's eyes widen. Phil laughs harder.

"Only... only four days?" Wilbur questions, and Phil's laughter starts to subside when he hears how uncertain Wilbur sounds. "It hasn't even been a week? Only four days?"

"Yep." Phil nods. "A fever can really mess with your perception of time, can't it?"

Wilbur nods, at a loss for words. He stares back at his hands.

Phil chews on his lip. "You're feeling better, though. Right?"

"I guess."

Phil reaches forward, resting his palm on Wilbur's head. His son goes very still.

"You don't have a fever anymore. Still a little warm, but you're definitely getting better," Phil says, pulling his hand away. Wilbur relaxes instantly.

Phil feels a stab in his heart.

"Feeling- you said I'm better, right? So I can leave?"

"No."

Wilbur lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine. "But I'm better! You said so yourself, Phil! I'm doing better, see? Look, I can... I can stay at Tommy's, and he can keep on eye on me! Right?"

"No," Phil repeats, a small smile appearing on his face. "I'm not letting you leave until you've made a full recovery, Wilbur."

"But you said-"

"I said you're getting better. I never said that you were better. You still have a ways to go, mate."

Wilbur groans, letting his head fall onto his pillow in dramatic fashion. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't think I can survive like this much longer."

Phil chuckles, but his brow furrows with concern. "You're not going to be like this much longer. A week, at most."

"A week?" Wilbur's eyes snap open, and he cranes his head around to stare at Phil. "No. You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

Phil opens and closes his mouth. "I mean... I'm not. You had a really bad infection, mate. You can't just heal from that overnight."

Wilbur stares for a couple seconds longer before laying his head back on his pillow, gazing up at the ceiling. He looks haunted—no. He looks scared.

Phil sighs. "It'll be okay, Wil. You'll get through this. Alright? Just trust me on that. You'll be fine."

Wilbur tries to hide it, but Phil can see how his breathing picks up; how his chest rises and falls with increasing speed; how his nostrils flare; how his eyebrows knit together in quick, barely perceptible movements.

Wilbur's starting to panic. And Phil doesn't know why. It's not like he's being held hostage or anything; he's just on bedrest. Nothing more. He's not trapped. He's not stuck. He's not-

Oh.

#the first one is from a (rare) sickfic type… thing #I don’t actually know where it’s going to go or how it’ll end BUT it has Techno in it!! #he’s fun to write but also so darn TRICKY man #the next two… well. this story has multiple lines with ‘blood’ lol #it’s a very sad fic #I JUST HAVE A FEW SHORT LINES TO GO UNTIL THE FIRST CHAPTER IS FINISHED #AAAAAAAAAH #Niki-centric fic :D #she’s super fun to write my goodness #SAND DUOOOOOOOO #gosh I forgot about this fic #I think I started writing it in… December or something? perhaps?? #and then I completely lost inspiration and ran into a crisis with the plot lol #so I don’t know when the heck that’ll be finished #anyway yeahhh :) #ask #ask game answers #story snippet #my stories #c!philza #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #sand duo #oh and the first snippet is from Tommy’s POV by the way lol #he’s just thinking about Wilbur

[tiisshu]

the S/\ndman ...ah, heres an idea:

Dr/eam having suffered yet another indignity, being unable to repair his throne room, slumps to the floor panting. 

“Sir?”, Lucienne ventures, her voice gone a touch cautious.  The sullen End|ess makes to wave her off but his hand reroutes to scrub at his face. As always, he is sickly pale with disheveled ink-black hair but there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a creeping redness to his features.  Ah.  

“ You need rest, my Lord”, she tries again. 

The toll of being captive for so long must be bearing down upon him now that he has returned to The Dreaming, the realm reaching out to it’s master begging to be repaired. Without his tools, rest, and a few good meals- Dr/eam of the End|ess is almost powerless and his body has almost reached it’s limit.

#The S/\ndman #snz idea #sickfic ideas #d/ream #|ucienne #h/c

[swissmissficrecs]

A-Z Classic Johnlock Recs

This really just scratches the surface but I had so much fun making this, maybe I'll do another one. These are all fics I consider fandom classics. I limited myself to one fic per author and tried to include a mix of genres.

A gainst the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (151K, E, Post-Reichenbach)

B e Here Now by Todesfuge (94K, M, post-Reichenbach)

C ooperative Principle by bendingsignpost (56K, E, Uni profs AU)

D eflowered - Director's Cut by Lorelei_Lee (328K, E, Mafia BDSM AU)

E lectric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (67K, E, Sickfic/Casefic)

F ill Our Mouths With Cinnamon Now by lbmisscharlie (114K, E, Parentlock)

G host Stories by SwissMiss (22K, M, Domestic)

H itting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (30K, E, Fake relationship)

I n deed accomplish our designs by greywash (95K, E, Post-Reichenbach)

J ust a Kiss by emmagrant01 (19K, E, 5 Times)

K intsukuroi by sussexbound (91K, E, S4 Fixit)

L eft by lifeonmars (45K, M, Magical realism)

M aintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (106K, E, Sci Fi AU)

N ature and Nurture by earlgreytea68 (203K, M, Parentlock/Clonelock)

O ur Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (32K, M, Casefic/Romance)

P erformance in a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (156K, E, Actors AU)

Q uintessential by thisprettywren (49K, E, Senseverse AU)

R iptide Lover by jinglebell (114K, E, Merlock AU)

S chool for Scandal by orphan_account (222K, E, Boarding school AU)

T hirst by bittergreens (122K, E, Post-pool casefic/Romance)

U nwind by illwick (752K, E, BDSM series)

V essel by Rhuia (15K, E, Sickfic/Casefic)

W atson's Folly by Diana Williams/dkwilliams (299K, M, Regency AU)

X mas: Goodness Gives Extras by mydwinter (39K, E, Romance/Casefic)

Y ou Give Me Fever by michi_thekiller (16K, E, 1950's Greaserlock AU)

Z ombies: Coins on My Eyes by indybaggins (35K, M, Sickfic)

#rec list #best

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3

This list contains ~290 items listed A to H

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[I-Q] [R-Z] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

#

"I don't need your help."

"I'm doing this to make you better"

"I'm fine, take care of them!"

“I’m Fine”

"Kill me instead"

"Let me in."

"Look at me."

"Should I know you?"

"Take me instead."

(No) Anaesthetic

A

A Good Ol' Sickfic

Abandoned

Abdominal Pain

Aching Wounds

Acne

Adrenaline Crash

Adrift (in space/at sea)

Agoraphobia

Airsickness

Alien abduction

Allergies

Alopecia

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amnesia/memory loss

Amputations

Anaemia

Anesthesia

Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)

Animal Attack/Bite

Ankle Sprain

Anthrax

Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)

Aphasia

Appendicitis

Arrested

Arthritis

Asking for help

Asphyxiation

Assumed Dead

Asthma/Asthma Attack

Auctions

Autoimmune disease

Avalanches

B

Backache

Bad Caretakers

Bandaged Head

Banished

Barbed Wire

Bear trap

Beaten up by ex-friends

Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)

Beatings

Bedrest

Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil

Begging

Betrayed by close friend/team/family

Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through

Bandages

Blindfolded

Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)

Blisters

Blood Loss

Blood Poisoning

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstains/blood trail

Bloody handprints

Bloody nose

Blunt force trauma

Blurred vision

Body modification

Body Sharing

Body Switching

Bounty on their head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Breakdowns

Breathless

Bridal Carry

Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)

Broken Nose

Broken Promises

Bronchitis

Bruises

Building Collapse

Bullet Removal

Bumpy roads jarring injuries

Buried Alive

Burning Building

Burns/Scalding

Busted kneecap

C

Cancer

Caning

Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)

Capsulitis

Captivity

Captured

Car chases (and maybe a car crash)

Carbon monoxide poisoning

Cardiac Arrest

Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.

Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.

Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.

Caretaker turned Whumpee

Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.

Carsickness

Cataracts

Catatonia

Caught in a fire

Caught in an explosion

Cauterization

Cave In

Cavity

Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)

Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles

Chained/Shackled

Checking for injuries

CHF - congestive heart failure

Chicken Pox

Chills

Chloroform

Choking

Chronic pain

Claustrophobia

Cleaning wounds alone

Cold/Flu,

Collapsed Lung

Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)

Collapsing after they win

Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out

Collars

Coma

Comfort after a nightmare

Common cold

Completely betrayed by their own team

Complications

Concussion

Confusion

Constipation

Constricted Airways

COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.

Corporal Punishment

Corset too tight and won’t unbutton

Coughing

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cramps

Crikes (intubation through neck)

Crush injury

Crying

Cuddle pile

Curses

Cuts/Grazes

Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)

Cyanide poisoning

D

Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords

De-aging

Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)

Defeat

Defenestration (throwing out a window)

Dehydration

Deja Vu

Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)

Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee

Dengue Fever

Denial

Depression

Dermatitis

Diabetes (type 1 and 2)

Diarrhea

Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)

Dislocations

Disorientation

Disowned by Family

Displaced hip

Dissociation

Distress call

Dizziness

Dragged Away

Dream sequence

Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car

Drowning

Drunkenness

E

Ear Infection

Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)

EKG

Electrical Burns

Electrical shock

Electrocution

Emergency field surgery

Emergency Surgery

Emotional angst

Emotional manipulation

Endometriosis

Enemy to Caretaker

Energy Drain

Environmental whump

ER

Execution

Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.

Exhaustion

Experimentation

Exposure

Extreme Weather

Eye injury

F

Facing Phobias

Failed Escape

Failure to thrive

Fainting

Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion

Falling

Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper

Falling Through Ice

Fatigue/Exhaustion

Fever

Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)

Field medicine

Fighting (while injured)

Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)

Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.

Fireman's carry

Flare ups

Flashbacks

Flinching away

Flu

Food Poisoning

Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)

Forehead kisses

Forgotten by team

Foul-tasting medicine

Found family

Found unconscious

Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)

Freezing / cold whump

Friendly Fire

Frostbite

G

Gagged/Muzzled

Gangrene infection

Gaslighting

Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)

Gastritis

Glass (shards, debris etc)

Grief

Gunshot Wound

H

Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking

Hallucinations

Hanahaki

Handcuffs

Handgag

Hard ground

Haunted

Hay Fever

Head injuries/concussion

Head trauma

Headache/Migraine

Heart Palpitations

Heartburn

Heat Exhaustion

Heatstroke

Heavy metal poisoning

Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point

Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)

Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)

Haemothorax

Hernia

Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues

Hiding

High Blood Pressure

High Fever (like dangerously high)

High Pain Tolerence

Hit by a car

Home Sickness

Hospital Codes

Hostage Situation

House burnt down

Huddling for Warmth

Human Shield

Human Weapon

Hunger

Hungover

Hunted for Sport

Hurt no comfort

Hyperalgesia,

Hypermobility

Hyperventilating

Hypo/Hyperthermia

Hypo/Hyperthyroidism

Hypoglycemia

Hypotension/ Hypertension

Hypoxia

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion

#whump #a-z trope list #prompts #a to h #long post #extra long post #depression tw #anxiety tw #chronic illness mention #gun tw #angst #hurt #injury #illness #cancer tw #illness tw #alcohol tw #violence tw #medical tw

[stevesfuzzypinkslippers]

so i think i wanna start writing cute little one-shots/flash fics kinda like how rocksy @littlemissheavenonearth has been doing recently. if you’re interested in starting in one, i just need to know three things:

1. how you would like to be called in the fic

2. who your lepp boyfriend is

3. a baseline for what scene/scenario you want me to write about. i.e. is it a sickfic, a hurt/comfort, just something fluffy?

*I DO NOT AND WILL NOT DO SMUT.*

please don’t send me smut.

please don’t send me smut.

again!!! please don’t send me smut.

pop quiz!

what did i tell you not to send me?

a. a million dollars

b. a bouquet of flowers

c. a lifetime supply of chocolate

d. smut

YOUBETTERHAVEPICKEDDYOUGOODFORNOTHINGIMBECILES!!!!!!

ahem. sorry you had to read that.

please send through asks or messages!!! i’m fine with either <3

#def leppard #def leppard fan fiction #fic writing #fictions #original fiction #def leppard fanfiction #def leppard band #def leppard fandom #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fanfiction writing

[rykno-j]

Stay? (B/SD)

Summary: basically c/huuya gets sick and d/azai takes care of him, very cliche

Ship: s/kk

Notes: my first b/sd fic. honestly i never intended to write one, but here we are. This fic was drafted Sept 21 2023 and wow that's been awhile huh.

They might be a little ooc here since i'm trying my hand at their characterisation for the first time. Apologies in advance for any mistakes!

also i figured ild add this in here but this fic is sickfic>snzfic so there isnt much of that kinda stuff here

Word count: 4.5k

------------------------------------------------

"Chuuya, rest."

The red markings on Chuuya's arm slowly disappeared as he fell to the floor in a soft grunt. Letting go of his arm down in an action of indifference, Dazai stepped over his sprawled out body.

"Took you long enough, honestly. It was almost like you were taking your own sweet time, don't want me to touch you that badly?"

When he was met with no response, Dazai sighed dramatically.

"Chibi? Oi, are you dead? You're not allowed to go before me, you know that. Oi!"

He turns back, this time with an eyebrow raised at the unmoving Chuuya-lump on the floor. Seriously? He would've expected the slug to reply with a "I'll kill you first" or a punch of sorts.

Chuuya was never quite as energetic after using Corruption, but this silence was new.

And so Dazai does the next most logical thing, which was to kick him with the edge of his shoe, once, twice, thrice- Alright, something was wrong.

Doing a quick check of his surroundings for any passersby (god forbid anyone from the Port Mafia or the ADA see what he was about to do next), Dazai knelt down next to Chuuya's body, flipping him onto his back.

"Oi Chibi!"

When he was met with no response, Dazai seriously considered leaving Chuuya in the middle of what used to be the battlefield. Surely someone would find him eventually, right?

It was how it always was, how it always has been.

Though.. there was no one in their vicinity at the moment, and it won't hurt to check Chuuya's vitals, to make sure the idiot didn't actually die on him.

Two fingers were swiftly placed under Chuuya's chin, and- Fever. Dazai was fairly sure that he felt fever under his fingers.

There was a steady heartbeat too, so that was good at least.

But a fever? Surely he was imagining it. Yes, Chuuya tended to run a little hot, both in his temperature and in his temper (although most of the time it was directed at Dazai himself), but there was no mistaking the heat that he was radiating.

This time, the pair of bandaged hands reached for Chuuya's shoulders, giving him a couple shakes, which proved successful as he heard the other below him let out a soft groan.

"..D'zai?"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Immediately knowing what Dazai was referring to, Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows into a frown. "Idiot, it's none of your concern. Just take me back home."

Dazai opened his mouth to complain, but stopped when he saw Chuuya's eyes slide back shut. Seriously? Seriously. It was not the first time Chuuya had made a similar request, and it would also not be the first time if Dazai just walked off into the distance, leaving him there alone.

Despite that, Dazai always made sure that Chuuya was okay before he abandoned the other. Did this count as 'okay'?

And so,

"You owe me one.." Dazai caved, reaching out to lift Chuuya onto his back. He considered for a second just grabbing Chuuya by his ankles, dragging him home that way. Admittedly, Dazai did almost do that, if not for the time limit they had before someone would eventually arrive at the scene.

So draped over his back it was. Chuuya's apartment wasn't far, he could make it.

Gathering the fallen coat and hat (regrettably, Dazai did indeed resign and picked it up), he disappeared behind the trees.

====================================

The journey back was eerily silent. Given the relationship between the two, it was a surprise. No bickering, no fighting, just the steady but heavy sound of footsteps coming from Dazai.

He could hear, could feel Chuuya breathing behind him, but worry still found its way into his head. Not that that was important or anything.

Dazai whined. "You're really heavy you know.."

(Talk to me, say something snarky back.)

Dazai attempted a weak insult. "Never been this high off the floor before huh? It's a whole new view from way up here."

(Open your eyes, please.)

He felt stupid talking to himself.

==================================

Chuuya's front door. He hasn't been here in a long while, and it definitely was not the first time he came uninvited. But this didn't count, did it? Chuuya had asked him to bring him home.

Key. Just focus on getting the door open.

Lowering himself to the ground, Dazai propped Chuuya's body up against the door. Now, where would Chibi put his key..

When both coat pockets came up empty, Dazai eyed Chuuya's unconscious body. Should he try searching for the keys on him?

Then, he remembered a moment they shared together, one where they had headed to Chuuya's place after a mission years ago, when Dazai was still in the Port Mafia.

They had gotten thrown around quite a bit that day, and as fun as it was, Chuuya's key seemed to have been shaken right out of his pocket. Exhausted, they had fallen asleep right by the steps leading up to the door, seemingly forgetting that Chuuya could have blasted through the window if he really wanted to.

Dazai dropped the coat on Chuuya's lap, turning to the pots of plants outside the house. Seriously? He was surprised the plants were even still alive.

As obvious at that spot would have been, Dazai found the key he was looking for under a pot of cacti. He unlocked the door, hauling Chuuya's body in with him.

The living room was a familiar sight. The couch was in the same position, and so was the dining table. It was as if all those years had never passed.

Dazai looked at the body sprawled across the floor.

So what now? Should he leave? Chuuya hadn't asked him to do anything else, not that he would have complied anyway.

..He would probably be much more comfortable lying on the couch. Yeah, he could do that.

Dazai looked at the body sprawled across the couch.

So what now? Why wasn't he moving to leave? Chuuya probably didn't want to open his eyes only for Dazai to be the first thing he sees.

..That thought alone almost made him sit down and wait for Chuuya to wake up.

However, a small whine dragged Dazai out of his scheming. When he looked down, there was a pained expression on Chuuya's face. Even in the dimmed lights, Dazai could partially make out the feverish flush on the other's cheeks.

..He could wet a towel for Chuuya. Yeah, he could do that.

And so Dazai stands up, making his way to bathroom. Just being in the room brought back a few memories. All the times that he would sit, propped up against the sink as they tended to each other's wounds after a mission.

Dazai pulls open one of the cupboards below the sink in search for a towel, and that's when he freezes.

All the way to the back of the compartment, there was a small stack of bandages, the same ones that Dazai liked to use. But why? Chuuya rarely got injured, and if he did, like heck he was using those bandages. Knowing him, Chuuya would probably just walk it off.

Maybe he just didn't want to throw away the leftovers. Yeah, that was it.

He found a towel after that. Wetting and wringing it, Dazai stepped back into the living room. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Chuuya's open bedroom door.

A peek inside would never hurt, right?

Making a slight detour, Dazai popped his head into the doorway. Surprisingly (or maybe not), everything looked pretty much the same. The bed was still haphazardly made in a sort of neat, Chuuya way.

A stray hat sat in the center of his desk. Dazai couldn't contain his eye roll.

He approached the table, his eye catching onto a dull shine of metal. It was a tablet tray of pills. He flipped it over. Paracetamol. And it was half empty.

So the fever wasn't a recent thing.

===================================

He hoped the wet towel would help.

Chuuya never fell sick often, and when he did, he was rather augmentative and closed off. To Dazai, that was Chuuya just being Chuuya, so he never treated the other differently in those moments, not that they happened often enough for him to act any other way.

So this was new. It wasn't an unpleasant type of new, just a little awkward. It was never quiet when Chuuya was around, unless they were sleeping, and Dazai was wide awake.

Maybe he should busy himself with cooking something. Cook. For Chuuya.

..What where they? Married? Dazai felt his tongue stick out at the thought. But still, he got up and headed for the kitchen.

Maybe he should try poisoning Chuuya's portion. That would be fun to watch. Unfortunately, he didn't have any vials on him at the moment.

Even better, he could pretend that he did something to the food.

That thought alone gave Dazai the motivation to look through the fridge. In the main compartment, all he found was alcohol. The second eye roll of the day ghosted his face. Chuuya was a lightweight after all.

Moving to the vegetables drawer, he was pleasantly surprised to see it filled. He never took Chuuya as someone who knew how to cook. Dazai himself normally ate at the cafe downstairs with the rest of the agency.

Though.. on the off-chance that someone would cook for the whole office, those meals always felt a little more homey.

Picking a variety of vegetables, Dazai turned towards the kitchen, sliding the door shut behind him.

========================================

It was at that moment that Chuuya decided to wake up. He knew he was at home, on his couch? What happened?

Fuck. His head hurt. His limbs hurt. There was something pressing his head down. Lifting a heavy arm, Chuuya reached for the item on his forehead.

A damp cloth?

That idiot Dazai probably put it there. Sleeping gas? It made sense, since he was knocked out for so long..

Or at least it felt long; with how sore his neck was feeling from lying flat on his back. Couldn't the bandaged disaster at least be considerate enough to put a pillow under his head?

..Come to think of it, Dazai did carry him home, which was a far cry from what he normally did to begin with. Whatever, he'd let it slide.

"..snff-"

"..hH'!! hAH'gGnshH-w!! G'nNEsHH!!"

So that's what he would have to deal with for a few days, huh. He had really thought it had been nothing more than a slight fever.

Maybe using Corruption had made it worse.

"..hiH'!! hH- hhH'!! h'ERrshH!"

When he sniffled into the back of his palm, Chuuya found that he could hardly get any air through. This sucked.

A shower might help.

=====================================

In the closed kitchen, Dazai barely heard Chuuya's movements as he reached for a knife. Staring at it, he pondered for a moment if he should just-

No. Chuuya would kill him if the white counter was stained with his blood. It would give the shorty a good scare, but his fun could wait.

While it wasn't his first time chopping vegetables, it certainly had been awhile. Still, the carrrots, potatoes and corn were all sliced up in minutes. He didn't brag about his dexterous fingers for nothing.

And if the knife came too close to his fingers too many times, no it didn't.

Throwing all the ingredients into the simmering pot, Dazai poured in some chicken stock. He didn't know how much was the recommended amount, so half the carton would have to do.

Besides, there was no way he'd even look at the instructions behind. He was already cooking for the chibi, he didn't want to have to read for him too.

Dazai stared at the stove.

..What now?

---

The moment Chuuya stripped off his clothes, he had to grab the edge of the sink as he was hit by a dizzy spell. Fair, he did get up from the couch rather abruptly. He hadn't eaten since the morning either.

He was shivering, despite the buckets of sweat he produced in the recent battle.

Chuuya hated falling sick, hated the weakness and vulnerability that came with it. He was supposed to be the one who people depended on. How could he protect anyone when he could barely even stand straight?

Without his strength there was little use for him.

"..hH'!! H'gKsHHew! heH'DzzchH!!"

And there was that too.. but at least this part of his forming cold proved that he was human. The inability of controlling his sneezes.

In any case, he should get into the shower quickly before his thoughts got the better of him.

Scalding hot water.

==================================

Surely the pot should not be boiling that heavily. Dazai stared at it, wondering how the surface would feel under his fingers should he touch it. The fleeting thought brought a smile to his face.

A rather rough bunch of bubbles almost caused the lid to fly off entirely. He should probably turn the fire down.

A gentle, warm aroma slowly filled the kitchen. Dazai estimated that it would be ready in a couple tens of minutes.

Perfect, he could use that time to-

The kitchen door slides open.

..To check on-

"Chuuya?"

The couch was empty. Did someone break into the house to steal him? Dazai didn't remember locking the door. Chuuya was really compact and pocket-sized too, but who would want to kidnap that feisty thing?

So of course, he deduced that Chuuya probably moved himself somewhere else.

"Chibi?"

Dazai stepped into the hallway, his gaze casting down upon the trail of water leading from the bathroom to is bedroom.

Seriously, did Chuuya not know that towels exist? Someone could slip and fall and die here! Someone like Dazai himself!

Playing with the possibility of such a humorous death, Dazai followed the trail to the room, poking his head into the doorway for the second time that day.

With the ends of his feet barely touching the edge of the bed, Chuuya laid in the center, neck tilted back on the pillow, snoring softly.

It was a familiar sight, Dazai noticed himself staring. The bed was once big enough for the two of them.

Not now, of course, Dazai muses. Even if Chuuya hadn't grown an inch, he sure did. There was no way they'd fit on the mattress together now.

..Not that he wanted to or anything. No, definitely not.

Chuuya's hair was still damp, and there was a strained expression on his sleeping face. Moving by himself, Dazai reached for the neatly folded blanket by the foot of the bed.

=====================================

1hr later:

Chuuya woke with the edge of his blanket pressed under his nose. He didn't remember pulling it up. After he took a shower, his body was too exhausted to do anything but collapse facedown into the pillows

Or.. maybe he had done that. Chuuya lived alone, there was no way someone else had done it instead.

"..hIH'NgtxchhH!! haH'gtcHH-w!" That being said, it was still way too cold even with the blanket covering him.

He rubbed the back of his fist against his nose roughly before tossing around in bed, annoyed.

Everything felt too stuffy, too hot. He was hungry too. Maybe some takeout would be good for today.

Chuuya stretched out a tired hand, groping around for his phone. Finding nothing, he sighed, faintly remembering that his coat was still outside on the floor somewhere.

"..hih'hA-Ngxt!!"

Guess he won't be getting any food today, then. Chuuya prided himself as a strong, capable man, but when it came down to times like these, he was willing to be weak.

As long as he was alone.

=======================================

Dazai looks up towards the bedroom, eyes flickering between the television screen and the hallway.

Despite himself, he was still at Chuuya's apartment, nevermind that an entire hour has passed.

Instead of wandering around, Dazai chooses to set up the gaming station below the television. He and Chuuya used to go on at it for hours against each other.

"Take this!"

"Not so fast, Chuuya. You think you can beat me that easily??"

There was a layer of dust sitting on top of console, showing obvious signs of disuse. His old controller was laid against it next to Chuuya's, the plastic worn down and peeling.

Lost in his daydream, Dazai barely manages to catch the smell of ready-soup coming from the kitchen. Now to get a couple bowls.

Transferring the soup into them should have been an easy task, if Dazai had remembered that heat existed. Well, excuse him for trying to pick up the pot with his bare hands and pouring it into the bowl, it's not like he cooked on a regular basis, or knew that there was a special spoon for such occasions known as the ladle.

Whatever the case, it took all but a few minutes to find a tray, put the bowls on it, and walk out of the kitchen.

==================================

Maybe he should have sucked it up and went to get his phone, Chuuya thinks and he stares at the ceiling. His stomach was screaming at him to fill it up with something, anything.

He stares at the stain next to the lightbulb and scowls. Years ago, the bulb and blown a fuse and needed repairing. But like hell Chuuya was going to put the stepladder on his bed, even if he was too short to reach it otherwise.

Thankfully, Dazai had shown up like a Saint at the time and fixed it for him, not without leaving his mark, of course. Like a damn animal he marked the ceiling with a dusty handprint that Chuuya could never clean off.

His fever must be off the charts if its enough to make him recall anything that had to do with his ex-partner. If Chuuya had had the strength at that moment, he would've slapped himself silly. That being said, he could probably wrap a damp cloth around the end of a long pole and bring it up to the stain to-

"ChUuYA!!"

"oH FUCK!"

Jumping out of his skin high enough that maybe he didn't need that pole after all, Chuuya sits up in his bed. His pillow, the blanket, the chair, his hat, everything glowed red and was ready to be used as a weapon.

"DAZAI, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Aw Chuuyaa~ That's the kind of greeting I get even when I'm trying to do something nice? You're lucky I'm touching this tray, or it might've went up with all the other things and split all my hard work!!"

"Never mind the fucking tray! What are you doing here?"

Dazai opens his mouth, a tone of mockery already ready at the tip of his tongue, yet nothing came out. Chuuya was right, what was he doing here? How would he explain why he was carrying soup to Chuuya in bed without the other thinking he had lost his mind?

Come to think of it, he didn't even know himself why he was doing this.

Chuuya stares at the Dazai in his room. Seriously, what was he thinking? Coming over uninvited like that, especially knowing the state he was in right now. There was no way this was a planned move to take him out at his weakest. As shitty as Dazai was, Chuuya knew at the back of his mind that the other would never harm him intentionally without the confidence that he won't die from it.

So that only left one explanation, one that Chuuya refused to even entertain - that Dazai was actually trying to take care of him. He almost laughs at the thought.

And he might've, if this was another day in which he wasn't hazed in fever. Plus the silence was getting awkward, so Chuuya forced himself to say something.

"..I'm not interested in your answer anyway. So are you coming in or not? You're being an eyesore just standing in the middle of my room."

"A tall eyesore?" Dazai chirped back, his behavior instantly returning to normal once he was in his element, (that being in a state in which he endlessly makes fun of Chuuya).

"Yeah yeah, a tall eyesore that he trying to poison me. Is this the Agency's masterplan after all? Poison?"

"Me?!" Dazai dramatically puts his hand on his forehead. "Poisoning you?? Before I use the poison on myself to end my own miserable life? Oh ChuUya, you should know me better than that!"

"Whatever. Just give it to me." Chuuya rolls his eyes, snatching a bowl over and eyeing it suspiciously. "You went through all the trouble of buying takeout?"

"Of course not! Why would I ever do so much for a slug like you?"

"So then you cooked for me." It was phrased more like a statement than a question, and for the second time that night, Dazai didn't know what to say.

"The uh- the knife. It looked tempting."

"Uh-huh. Bet it sure was difficult to keep all 10 of your fingers intact."

"You know me so well!"

"..Right." With the conversation not going any further, Chuuya picks up the spoon, stirring the liquid gently. It smelt good, and the steam coming from the bowl really helped to loosen up the congestion in his nose.

Which was good, but also bad timing, as Chuuya was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to sneeze. Hitching ever so slightly, he turns to face the wall, using his skill to control the gravity of the mucus such that it wouldn't irritate his nose even more as it threatened to drip out.

The last thing he wanted was to give Dazai something else to make fun of him for.

It was silent for a moment as Chuuya lifts the spoon to his lips.

"..."

"What?"

"..."

"I swear I did not poison the soup."

"No- it's not that. The soup.. it tastes.. good."

Dazai stares at Chuuya as if he'd grown an extra head. "..Chibi's lying!"

"I'm not, you idiot. Sigh, why do I even try?"

Before Chuuya could even shake his head in exasperation, a flash of brown jumps his soup.

"What are you doi-!?"

Dazai grabs onto Chuuya's arm, somehow managing to miraculously not spill a drop as he grabs onto the spoon to try a sip.

This is bad. Bells rang in Chuuya's head as he felt his skill get nullified by Dazai's.

"M-hH!!" Move! He wanted to scream, would have, if the tickle in his nose wasn't this extreme.

Well, the suicide maniac asked for it anyway.

"Hh'! HNNgxt! ..hA'DzzchH!!" Chuuya gasps, pressing a wrist tightly against his nose. "hIH' gZZtchH!!"

"Chuuya is so rough with himself!"

"Don't talk like you're not the one who c'hh!-caused this!"

"Really," Dazai started, brushing a bit of his arm that had been in the crossfire of the spray upon his pants. "If anything Chibi's the one who caused this onto himself."

"Hah? The fuck did you say?"

"Now now-" Dazai places his index finger directly between Chuuya's furrowed eyebrows. "I'm not the one who decided to use corruption through a fever and then pass out in front of everyone."

Chuuya clenches his teeth, swatting the other's arm away. "Don't talk like you don't make shitty decisions all the time, suicide-obsessed mackerel."

"Slug."

"Why do you even care anyway?!" the porcelain bowl cracks under his grip. "You never had before so don't act like you do now."

Dazai opened his mouth to answer with a witty remark, but nothing came out. This outburst was different from the rest that Chuuya normally gave him. Insults, he could handle, but this? What was he supposed to say to that?

'Yeah I don't care about you?' 'No I do care about you?' One was a lie and one made him sound like a bottom.

Chuuya just stared at the bowl in his hand, watching as the soup drip, drip, dripped down his forearm. He knows what he said wasn't true, the fact that Dazai stayed was evidence enough.

Fucking fever, always making him say the wrong sh-

"I'm sorry."

The fuck? Chuuya snaps his head upwards, looking at Dazai from between the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. He scanned the other's expression, expecting something akin to a smirk. But there was none.

"I mean- Well! I'll leave Chibi to his tacky hats then." Dazai suddenly says, his voice lively yet strained. He reaches for the stray hat on the table, putting upon Chuuya's head and pulling the brim over his eyes.

Annoyed, Chuuya whips the damn thing off his head, prepared to shove it into Dazai's chest. But by the time he looks back at the other, all that could be seen was the tips of Dazai's coat-tails rounding out of his bedroom door.

"Hey wai-" Tears shot to Chuuya's eyes as he choked on air. With one leg on the floor and the other still nestled under the covers, he bent over coughing violently as his lungs struggled to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

His throat was burning. There was no way he could catch up to Dazai now.

-

After what seemed like forever, Chuuya's lungs finally decided to restart, allowing him to breathe in his first huge breath of air. Through blurry eyes, he barely managed to focus on the mess of beige in front of him.

"Chibi's so small he choked on air molecules?"

"Ah fuck you," Chuuya mumbled. He grabbed the glass of water Dazai held out for him, purposely avoiding eye-contact to prevent the other from noticing his shock and gratitude.

"You're welcome~ aand, you should probably put that down," referring to the bowl of soup that was barely holding itself together.

'Right." Chuuya placed it upon the tray. "Well," this was awkward. Just 2 minutes ago they were at each other's throats, and now they were.. staring at the ground in silence. "..I should, wash these. Plus you probably wrecked the kitchen, so I'll- yeah."

"Chuuya- are you sure you should-" Dazai started, then stopped.

Curse being partners for years, Chuuya knew what he meant even before he started. "It's just a cold, idiot. I'll be fine washing dishes. Stop cari- ahem. You look like shit, go shower or something."

When he got no reply, Chuuya continued. "There's bandages below the sink you can use, and- well. There's a set of clothes your size somewhere in my cupboard."

And this, snaps Dazai out of his silent trance. "So ChuuUya was planning a sleepover behind my back?"

"It was for emergencies, dammit! If you ever needed somewhere safe to stay, or something." Leaving it as that, Chuuya briskly walks out of the room, leaving Dazai to his own thoughts.

-

The bandages, Dazai later notices, were manufactured a mere 2 years ago, right when he had joined the Detective Agency, back when Chuuya had no way of knowing if he was alive or not.

But he still thought about me. Still bought them with a chance that I would use them someday.

"You even got my favourite brand, Chibi."

Staring at the "ON SALE!!" sticker on the back of the box, Dazai breaks into a soft smile.

Maybe, if Chuuya would allow him, he'd stay the night.

-end-

---------------

ugh that ending felt so rushed but honestly i feel like it fits them, since i think that initally, caretaking would be really awkward for them.

Notes: thank you so much for reading, and i hope its alright that i branch out of j/jk since, well, everyones fucking dead (/j) but moreso because i fell in love with characters from other fandoms too <3

#b/sd #d/azai #c/huuya #snz #i feel like i lost touch with their personalities towards the end #forgive me/ its been *awhile* since i touched anything b/sd related #i /really/ did start this fic late 2023 you see #was really struggling towards the end part with the dialogue #because the nature between these two.. well.. ugh/ #so much pretense #but i reeeally wanted to get this fic out asap bc i have another one (not b/sd) planned and it was also it was rotting in my drafts haha

[honelle56]

17 & 28 for the fanfic asks :)

Okay so I just answered 28 haha so you can check out my last ask :D

17. What is your favourite trope to write?

Definitely some sort of hurt/comfort. While my number one favourite trope to read is sickfics I interestingly struggle a lot to write them 🙃 but yeah, I usually go for some sort of h/c paired with established relationship. So the hurt is usually something outside of the relationship, I don't like making them suffer too much 😂

Although I have some paragraphs in my notes that.... definitely hurt but I don't have any story around them yet so I am not sure if they will have come out

#honelle asks

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

7. are there any writers/ artists you drew (or still draw) inspiration from?

8. are there any whumpy quotes that have stuck with you throughout the years?

9. what’s your controversial whump opinion?

Thank you for the ask! :D From this ask game.

7. are there any writers/ artists you drew (or still draw) inspiration from?

I think I draw inspiration from pretty much everything I come across (even if it's just a case of "oh my god not like that" 🤣)

A big inspiration for worldbuilding and vibes are video games, which are harder to pin on an artist, but does it count as inspiration to wonder "what would it take for @starlit-hopes-and-dreams to call me a bitch? 🤔"

8. are there any whumpy quotes that have stuck with you throughout the years?

Not really. I'm bad with quotes.

9. what’s your controversial whump opinion?

I believe a lot of people only consider whump as a genre as far as they like it, or it's currently popular. A lot of "general" statements fall flat and are outright ridiculous once you move away from "rather young male char gets actively hurt by a second char."

In my opinion, the things that make whump whump are: a) it's fictional b) it's not desired by the char (hello horny kinkposting in the whump tag) c) it is created or consumed with the focus on the pain.

For me, the char could be alone in a cell for a decade, with no one outright hurting them. The char could fall down a cliff and get impaled on a broken log. The char could get chased out of the village by an angry mob. The char could have to use their magic for some reason until they faint. The char could need wound treatment without painkillers. There are so many wonderful ways to hurt our poor fictional guys out there.

Now I do think certain sub-genres under the umbrella do well to have their own tags, because angst and sickfic for example are less physical. People browsing them probably don't want to see someone get disemboweled, and I really do not wanna see a runny nose. That doesn't mean I don't consider them part of the wider community.

#salad-ask #clairelsonao3 #it's me i'm the oc #don't get me wrong I know whump is a k*ink for some people and that's fine #but I do not believe written in first person c*nc fantasies belong in that tag (:

[sleptwithinthesun]

happy belated birthday! if you’re still taking requests, could you write spencer reid with a headcold and no one can convince him to go home until morgan steps in and works his magic charm

thank you so much!! ngl writing has been a STRUGGLE for me lately so i can't promise that this is going to be great, but i'll try :) here's a funky 1.8K words of fic for you, anon; i sincerely hope you enjoy it.

"I don't even know why he's trying to hide it," JJ comments, casting a side-eye in Reid's direction as Morgan nods acquiesce at her side. "Seriously, we're a team of profilers. Does he think we won't notice?"

Morgan shrugs. "I have no idea what's going on in that genius brain of his half the time. All I know is that all his common sense was removed to make room for those statistics." He laughs with JJ at that, shaking his head slightly in disbelief of their youngest profiler. Somehow, Reid still hasn't quite managed to figure out a proper work-life balance like the rest of them, and shows up even when he has sick days that he could take. Every single member of their team has talked to him about it before, and he still hasn't learned anything.

From across the room, they watch as Reid shudders with a slow string of six sneezes, his shoulders jerking forwards and body hunching over with the force of them. "Yeah. He's going home early," JJ says.

"Not if he can help it."

~

JJ, of course, is the first one to approach him about it. She barely makes it fifteen minutes into their work day— mercifully, just paperwork, unless she gets a call —before she walks over to Reid, who's frowning at the mug in his hand like he's never seen it before. There's a teabag slowly steeping into the hot water he's poured in, and JJ thinks, strike number one.

Innocently, she glances over at his mug, obviously enough that Reid will notice it. "What's with the tea?" she asks, casual, even though she knows the answer. JJ long ago figured out that if she could get Spencer to admit that he was sick, the whole process would go much more smoothly from there.

"Hm? Oh, the tea. Yeah, I was reading a study last night about the amount of caffeine in different products," Reid starts, a slight rasp undercutting his tone, "and turns out black tea has a higher amount per fluid ounce than regular coffee does. Hence, the teabag."

And sure, that's definitely a Reid thing to do. If JJ weren't already suspicious, she definitely would have accepted it, and chalked the hoarseness up to an all-nighter. However, this is a conversation they had almost a week ago and are currently repeating, and JJ's willing to bet that Reid's tired enough right now that he doesn't remember it. The tea is likely for a sore throat, if the quality of his voice is anything to go by. Strike number two.

"But Spence, it's only a paperwork day," she points out, silently cheering to herself on calling him out. He's going to have to admit it after this, and she'll be able to send him home. "Why would you need more caffeine if we're doing less work?"

Three strikes...

He smiles at her, the grin rueful as he shakes his head. "Morgan keeps slipping his into my pile, since I read faster than he does. Plus, on a case, there's always adrenaline to keep me going. Paperwork tends to be monotonous; I need something else to keep me stimulated." As if in answer, he holds up his mug, then walks over to his desk and sits down.

...and she's out.

~

Rossi's the next one to try, and his M.O. is much more direct than JJ's. Rather than trying to goad Reid into a conversation, he simply waits until the kid stands up to make his way over to the printer to follow him, blocking the path back to his desk when the younger profiler turns around with papers in hand. "Are you feeling alright?"

Reid blinks at him, clearly confused. "...I'm fine?" he says, tone pitching up at the end and making it sound more like a question. Rossi's caught him off guard, which makes it much more likely that he'll slip up and accidentally admit to being sick. At least, that's Rossi's hope.

"You sure about that?"

The kid frowns at him, suspicious. For all that they complain about him trying to hide his illness from a team of profilers, they often forget that Reid himself is also a profiler and knows how to read them just as well as they can him. "Yes, Rossi, I'm sure. What do you want?"

He raises his hands in mock-surrender. "I don't want anything, Reid. I'm just trying to check on you."

"Well, I don't need to be "checked on", thank you," Reid snaps, his tone pure ice. The irritation is familiar and almost reminiscent of the last time he was ill on a case. That had been a few months ago, approaching half a year, and Rossi distinctly remembers his behavior towards not only the team, but also the other members of the police department they'd been working with. Needless to say, Reid's social skills weren't great at the best of times, and when he was sick and irritated, they were even worse. Hotch had been forced to keep him at the hotel for almost the entire case.

"Reid," Rossi tries, placing a hand on the kid's shoulder as he turns away. "I'm serious. I just want to know that you're okay."

"I'm fine," he insists, the wording a perfect example of how not fine he is. Still, Rossi knows when to stop pushing and lets up on the kid.

He takes his hand off. "Alright, Reid. Take it easy, though."

"No promises," Reid mutters, walking back to his desk, where he stays for the next hour.

~

Emily barely even makes an attempt. They're sitting in the break room together for lunch when Reid suddenly pulls away from the table, smothering a pair of sneezes in his elbow and sniffing back the congestion when he's done. "'Scuse me," he murmurs, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"Gesundheit," she says, casual, not even trying to prod. "I'm sure everyone's been riding your ass about this cold, haven't they?"

Reid only nods, face hazy with that pre-sneeze expression before sneezing again. This time, it's a triple, and he's almost breathless by the end of it, each one forcing itself out of his lungs despite their soft quality. "Christ, gesundheit," Emily says, eyebrows starting to furrow a bit. "I don't mean to be like the rest of them, but—"

He cuts her off with a small groan, which, fair, but still. Reid has always slowed down for the rest of them in his explanations during cases, but they all know that his brain works much, much faster than the rest of theirs. Hearing all of their concerns on repeat must be like them asking him to describe his exact thought pattern through a connection on a case: nearly impossible to deal with. "Yeah, okay," she says, laughing. "Here's the tissue box."

Emily smiles at Reid, who smiles back at her before blowing his nose. "Thanks for not making this a big deal, Prentiss."

"Of course," she agrees, "I'm just leaving you to Hotch's silent fury."

The kid blanches, and Emily grins even wider.

~

Hotch leaves his office to check on the rest of the BAU in the bullpen around one-thirty, as he usually does on paperwork days. He and Rossi switch off this way, the elder checking in during the morning while Hotch does the afternoon.

They seem to be doing fine, which is unexpected, to be honest. When they're not focused on the life-and-death consequences of a case, his team tends to dissolve into pure chaos on paperwork days. Rossi has to be in his office, whereas Morgan and JJ are holding a conversation over by the copier. Garcia has a day off and Prentiss is nowhere to be seen, leaving only...

Reid.

He turns his gaze to the desks, expecting his youngest member to be fiddling with a Rubik's cube or some other brain teaser. There's been an accumulation of logic puzzle books in his desk over the past couple years, and he tends to pull them out on paperwork days when he can't yet leave but is bored. Instead, though, he's sitting almost perfectly still, face cupped in his hand with his elbow on the desk. Morgan's not even trying to slip him paperwork; Reid's desk is almost completely empty aside from a couple of crumpled-up tissues to the left side.

Looking more intensely at him, Hotch can see the flush across his cheeks and nose, as well as bags under his eyes. It's concerning that he can see them, standing where he is, but Hotch honestly doubts that they've been brought on by whatever illness Reid's currently trying to kick. Surely, though, it hasn't helped him recover in the slightest, if the pure exhaustion weighing on his features weren't so present. The kid needs a nap. Or to go home. Or both, which seems to be the best option.

Still, Hotch knows that Reid is stubborn on the best of days and downright mulish on the others, and if he's come into work today, there's no point in trying to get him home early. The only thing that'll work is convincing him to stay home tomorrow, which he'll have a better chance of doing on his way out. For now, though, it's just the two of them playing the waiting game.

~

Morgan is seated at his desk across from Reid an hour and a half later, his eyebrow raised as the younger profiler directly contradicts his seconds-previous statement about feeling "fide" with a fierce coughing fit. "Sure, Reid. Whatever you say," he tells him, sarcasm morphing into concern as it doesn't end. "Hey, man, you alright?"

"Peachy," Reid rasps, once he gets his breathing under control. He takes a deep swig from his thermos, which had been filled with tea that afternoon, and exhales slowly.

He smirks. "Forgot how sassy you got when you were sick, kid."

"I've been saving it just for you," he snarks, slumping back in his seat. "I'm starting to think that the others might have been right."

"What, about you going home early because you're sick? Yeah, they were totally right. You're just stubborn and have no regard for your health." Even as he says it, though, his tone softens. "Want me to drive you?"

Reid glances up, making eye contact with him for the first time that day. "Would you mind?" His voice is small, strangled from his illness, and Morgan can feel himself slipping into the mode he usually uses with victims. The kid doesn't seem to notice, thankfully.

"Of course not," Morgan says, standing. Reid takes a second to gather his belongings in his satchel, time that Morgan uses to head towards Hotch's office.

Poking his head in, he finds that Hotch is already staring at the door, clearly expecting him. "You're taking him home?"

"If that's alright," Morgan answers easily, unsurprised.

"Please," Hotch says, giving him one of those small, rarely-afforded smile. "Make sure he doesn't come in tomorrow, alright? He needs a day off."

Morgan nods, ducking back out and descending back into the bullpen, where Reid is ready and waiting for him. "Are we good?"

"Yup," he says, draping an arm around his shoulders. "Let's head home, pretty boy."

#askbox #promptfic #c/riminal m/inds sickfic #sickfic #c/riminal m/inds #s/pencer r/eid #d/erek m/organ #b/au t/eam #swts fic

[turningtummyrubs]

When you don't know which of the responses the sickfic bot give you to go with not because its being weird or buggy but because they're all just so d e l i c i o u s

hahahaha, the best feeling

[182-ash]

hi!! i loveloveloved ur poly headcanons for samxcolbyxreader :,) like they were so so so comforting and (especially GOOD) poly writings are so hard to find 😭 if you get a chance i'd dieeee to read more poly s&c x reader headcanons or fics or loterally anything!!! i hope you have a good day and look at some cool fish soon!!! 💘💘💘💘

Oh my god thank you- I'd definitely write more soon- my poll decided I am writing a snc x reader sickfic but I've slightly lost motivation for that so if u Want to see anything specific pls pls lmk :D

[thatswhatsushesaid]

time travel, 3rd party pov (is that a trope? idk but i'm asking anyway), sick fic!

time travel: (C: Neutral. A good author might be able to sell it, but a bad one will kill it deader than dead.) I answered this one in a previous ask but in general it's just very hit-or-miss for me depending on authorial choices.

3rd party POV: idk if it's a trope so much as a style choice, but it is my preferred way to read most fic (the exception being fic written for the realm of the elderlings fandom since the fitz books are all written in the first person anyway). I don't mind flipping between present or past tense though!

sick fic: (D: Not my favorite. I avoid it if I can, but it won’t necessarily put me off reading something.) oof the only reason this one isn't a flat out F from me is because I really can enjoy sickfic if the sickness itself has no corollary in the real world. like weird mythological or fantasy ailments are fine, but the second something veers too closely towards real sicknesses real people can enjoy, I have to backpedal out of it. (got some personal baggage there that I just derive no enjoyment from unpacking in a fictitious universe).

#asks answered #fanfic trope meme

[nebulousfishgills]

fanfic tropes! chosen at random bc idk

high school au, unrequited love, coffee shop/flower shop au, slow burn, sickfics, and childhood friends to future lovers

Thanks for the ask, bestie!

I'm giving short answers for once, look at me be concise for once!

High School AU - B

I enjoy a good high school AU since it can be fun to figure out what certain characters would be like in high school, but I don't actively seek it out.

Unrequited Love - D

It's too painful for me to read most times, but if I'm in a really peculiar mood I'll probably do that.

Coffee Shop/Flower Shop AU - C

It has potential, but it seems a bit basic to me sometimes. That, and I don't frequent either of these places, so there isn't that personal connection I have to it (I have never had coffee).

Slow Burn - B

I'm impatient and oftentimes slowburns make me antsy, but sometimes the kush is just too damn good.

Sickfics - A

Top. Tier. I love reading fics where characters just have to care for one another. There's a certain vulnerability that comes with it that just scratches that good itch... maybe I should write and Emily/Henry sickfic now that I think about it.

Childhood Friends to Future Lovers - A

I live for this shit. I love the idea of people just meeting when they're small, innocent (sometime's not, let's be honest) children and then growing into adults that know each other more than anybody else, it's just the Good Shit. It can get a bit sappy or cliche sometimes, so usually as you can probably tell, I'm not gonna give you sunshine and rainbows with that trope (...well, Rainbows maybe).

#fishgills speaks #ask game #trope ask game #writing asks #writing tropes #beloved mutuals #my inbox is open

[warmblanketwhump]

Hey there! First of all, I wanted to let you to know that I really like your blog. ♥♥♥ I'm really glad I found you, your content is completley like my cup of tea. :D

Most of the other whump content here on Tumblr is way too whumper/torture heavy for my liking.

I started to write on a Bad Things Happen Bingo (on this blog @mtap-comics) for a small fandom a while ago and just wrote my first own sickfic (with the help of your ideas among others :D) and thought the beginning of it might be something more people would be interested in and rewrote it a bit (first time doing the A and B thing, too and hope I did it right):

With an exhausted sigh, A stepped through their garden gate. It was just before 3 a.m. and they were looking forward to getting into bed, snuggling up to B and finally sleeping in again.

The last three days had been extremely stressful. They had to get up before sunrise and came home very late. More than a short goodbye kiss on B's sleeping head wasn’t possible the last few days and they missed their little spouse.

But C had been sick at work and in addition there was a problem in one of their patrol areas. So, in addition to more patrols, D and A had the task of keeping the monsters in check until the problem could be solved.

Fortunately, they had succeeded today and after spending the last hours writing a detailed report, A was now actually looking forward to two days off. C was well enough to return to work tomorrow (or today, if you will), and D had convinced them to take a break and spend some time with B. A couldn't resist this suggestion, of course, and they hoped that they could get B to take a few days off as well.

Should B be too busy, however, A would be content to watch B work as well. It was always fascinating to see how much power resided in this small body and what wonderful things B could create with their equally small hands.

Carefully A opened the door to their house and entered as quietly as they could. B was a very light sleeper and they didn't want to wake them up. To A’s astonishment, however, a small light was still burning on the coffee table and their eyes continued to wander to the couch. 

A wave of affection washed over A. 

B was curled up on the sofa, an open book lying forgotten on the floor in front of them, and they were wrapped in A’s grey sweater that B loved to wear. It swallowed B almost completely and made them look even smaller than usual. 

The sight awakened in A the need to wrap B in their arms and protect them from all the evil in the world. Not that B needed that, they could take care of themself without any problems, but that was a feeling A couldn't just turn off. Especially not when B looked as fragile as they did now.

With an affectionate smile on their lips, A quietly took off their shoes and jacket, picked the forgotten book up to put it on the coffee table and then knelt in front of the couch, level with B’s face.

Intently A looked at the peacefully sleeping face, which was softly illuminated by the light. Examined B’s soft features, their long eyelashes that gently caressed their cheeks, their small snub nose and their sweet pouty lips that A loved to kiss.

The longer A looked at B, the more the tension of the last three days disappeared from their body. They had been married for almost a year now, and seeing B’s face every day had been the highlight of their day ever since. The fact that A hadn't had this the last three days had bothered them more than he had thought.

Probably noticing A’s gaze, B's head turned slightly in their direction, causing a strand of hair to fall into B’s face, tickling their nose. Cutely, B’s nose scrunched up and with a tender smile, A gently brushed the offending strand back behind their ear. 

As soon as A’s fingers came into contact with B’s forehead, however, their smile disappeared and was replaced with concern. That definitely didn't feel normal.

Concerned, A lightly pressed the back of their hand against B’s forehead, confirming their suspicions. B definitely had a fever.

wow, thank you so much, anon!! So happy that you were inspired by some of my prompts 🤩 and this SO good!! You did A and B perfectly, and I’m such a fan of when one character is so soft for the other 🥹 and of course, you’ve got to have a fever…..thanks so much for sharing, op!

#anon #sickfic #this is so sweet I’m melting

[silvercaptain24]

C A P M Y B E L O V D for the ask game :)

...

Wow, actually, that's impressive.

C- What character do you identify with most?

Oof. That's hard one, because I tend to (consciously or unconsciously) give characters some of my own traits.

Probably either Hyrule or Twi? Blame the older sister in me for wanting to make sure everyone's okay. XD

A- how did you come up with the title for [insert fic]?

Well, I don't know which fic you want- but honestly half the time I HAVE NO IDEA.

P- Are you a 'architect' or a 'gardener'?

hmm... a mix of both? I usually start with a basic premise, but then sometimes things just take on their own life!

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd like to share?

Hehehe...

I'll give you two from my 'list of things to write'

"too much too fast sickfic"

and

"Mask finding Warriors nearly getting killed by a traitor because Cia and gets Tune involved’ fic"

Y- A character you want to protect

ALL OF THEM. But if I had to pick, Red. I angst Wars WAY too much to let him be the answer. XD

B- Any stories based off of real life?

NO, and I want to write one SO BAD. The closest thing to it is some of the traditions in I'm Dreaming of A White Christmas.

E- If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic] what would it be about?

Give me a fic and I'll tell you!

L- What's the weirdest AU you've ever come up with?

Okay, so I technically haven't written it yet, but that would probably be the Frozen AU where Twi takes the place of Elsa. (Time is a sort of Kristoff esque character? But everything between him and Wild [the Anna] is platonic. Oh, and some of the boys are rock trolls.)

O- How do you begin a story- with the plot, or the characters?

Depends! Usually I'll have some sort of situation I want a character in and I'll go from there.

V- a secondary (or underrated) character you want to see more of in fics?

...hmm.

There's a lot of fics for each of the boys, so I'm going to go with if I wanted that, I'd want to see more of Four and Warriors working together, or Hyrule and Warriors.

D- is there a song or playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

Once again, I'll let you know if you give me a fic!

#asks and answers #dragon!! #lu warriors #lu time #lu four #lu twilight #lu mask #lu red