Stardew Fic for Shane (aka babey). Hope y'all enjoy.
You've been living here in Pelican Town for roughly a year now. Long enough for people to know you're just a little bit strange, yet endearingly so. You're the first to get to the bottom of the mines, talk with the mysterious beings of the town, and even rebuilt the community center. With the help of the Jumino spirits, of course.
But by far, the strangest choice you've made was falling for the grumpy, moody drunk who first showed his affections for you by cramming a whole-ass pizza into your mailbox. All the same, you saw something in him. You saw the hurting inner child who just needed to know he didn't need to be ashamed, that there were people who loved and supported him. He still had some trouble opening up, but slowly, you were helping him learn to feel safe. True, the other residents could never understand your ultimate choice, but they could appreciate it. After all, Shane did seem much happier with you. He even quit drinking, and every other week went into the city to talk to a therapist. Things were going well...
But the day you find him asleep on the bathroom floor, the thick stench of vomit hanging in the air, a familiar fear creeps into your stomach... Your mind flashes back to finding him on a cliff, drinking away his inhibitions, trying to work up the nerve to jump. Had he fallen off the wagon? He was doing so well... You start practicing in your head what to say to him. Relay that you aren't angry, that you still love him. That you're just disappointed, because you know he can do better.
However, you're both relieved and confused when you come closer, and the smell of alcohol doesn't seem to be anywhere on him. Okay, so he's not drunk... You reach up and feel his cheek with the back of your hand. Oh... Now it makes sense. His skin is clammy and sweaty. You can hear his teeth chatter as his stomach squelches and roils. Shane was doing better (quitting that awful job at Joja and coming to live with you helped), but he was still learning how to take care of himself. You didn't put it past him to eat something bad and give himself a case of terrible indigestion in the process.
Your warm touch brings him around. He opens his bleary eyes with a moan, a few lingering tears sliding off of his cheek. "Unngh... Babe?"
A sigh of relief escapes you. At least he's somewhat aware. "I'm here, Shane..." Your hand moves from his forehead to cup his stubbled cheek. "How long have you been here?"
"Don't know," he admits, shuddering as another noisy gas bubble churns its way through his system when you help him sit up. "Just woke up, maybe an hour ago? Came in here, and I-" He was cut off by a small, strained burp, covering his mouth with a fist. You brace yourself for action, but thankfully, it seems to be just a burp. "Ahhh... Sorry." He blushed. "M-my belly's not really happy with me right now..."
"Let's get you into bed, ok?" You figure he'll be more comfortable there. Pulling his arm over your shoulder, you make sure to move slowly as you stand him up.
As you make it from the bathroom, his hand comes up to absently rub his bloated tummy to try and ease whatever's going on in there. His brow pinched as another squealing gurgle pushed his intestines around. "O-oh, Yoba..."
"I know, babe. I know it hurts..." You pause a moment, letting him regain his composure. When he nods, you take baby steps with him down the hall. Making it to the bedroom without incident, you help him stagger to the bed. It breaks your heart the way he curls up on his side, arms around his noisy gut. His shirt is tight around his bloated middle, still churning with whatever wants out. "I'll be back, okay? I'm just gonna grab a few things."
He nodded, though you're not sure if he really heard you. Not that you could be upset with him for it; he was probably focused more on the immense pain in his belly.
You come back up with a bucket, along with a clean rag, a few bottles of water, and some mint candies. You remember Carol telling you that mint helps a bad tummy. Tentatively, you sit beside him and rub your knuckles against his scratchy cheek again. "You awake?"
"Can't sleep with a demon inside me," he half-jokes.
"Aww, sweet potato... Can I help?"
At your question, he blushes a little. His voice is barely above a mumble. "C-could you... Maybe you could just rub my belly...?" He avoids your line of sight for it.
You smile sympathetically. "Of course. C'mere." Positioning yourself against the headboard, you encourage him to sit up and lay against your shoulder. Rubbing your hands together to warm them up, you lift his shirt a bit and tenderly press your fingertips into his angry tummy. He closes his eyes with a contented sigh, letting his head fall back. One hand works the front of his achy belly, while the other rubs the side in up and down motions. Another gurgle stirs around in his digestive system, telling you that something is moving. Another burp escapes him before he can stifle it, though he at least manages to turn away from you. "S'cuse me," he mutters, still embarrassed, but looking a little more relieved at the room it made for his stomach.
You can still feel his intestines shifting around, quite noisy as they did. "Can you remember what you ate?"
"Urm..." He turns away again and burps into his fist. "Oysters. They... They tasted a little off, I think. But I was so hungry..."
Food poisoning. Somehow, you're not surprised... But if it gets worse, you resolve to take him to Harvey.
He lets out another little belch, this one airy and choked off.
"Shane?" You pause your ministrations, watching the color drain from his face.
"I d-don't feel so good," he stammered out, voice thick with nausea.
You act fast, swiping up the bucket from the side of the bed. Switching your positions, you bring him to his knees and help him lean over the plastic container. You're long since used to this from his mornings of hangovers in the past. You just hope it doesn't hurt him as badly.
He keeps a white-knuckle grip on the sides of the basin, his stomach cramping and gurgling. "Ohhhh..."
"I know, cupcake," you soothe, bracing his forehead to help him stay steady. When he takes in a shaky breath, you know it's coming. His breath hitches at the end and he gags hard, belching up a torrent of sick. Violent splashes hit the bottom of the bucket as his stomach puts in overtime to get it out. This is much worse than when he'd get sick from drinking. At least then, he'd just puke and get it over with, likely feel better after. Here, you could already see him gearing up for round two, shaking and sweating all over.
"I know it does, baby, I know..." You keep his bangs out of the splash zone as another wave of bile joins the rest of the mess in the bucket, your free hand steadying the container. "Oh honey, I know that's gotta hurt... Just get that nastiness out." The third heave isn't as hard, but maybe it's because he's getting tired. You feel an ache in your chest as he's only able to let out a pitiful whine, before getting sick a fourth and fifth time. "I know, pumpkin. I know... Just get it up. That's it, good job... Good job."
"Guh..." He finally gets a moment to breathe, keeping his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the mess. His tongue felt like it was coated in fuzz. "I think... I think I'm finished." He spit into the bucket one final time.
You set it aside for now, taking one of the bottles of water to give him a few sips. "Slowly. Just to get the taste out."
He nodded, doing as instructed. He didn't feel so confident about putting anything in his system just yet, but he wanted that acrid sensation off of his tongue...
With that out of the way, you work on cleaning his face off. With the same water bottle, you dampen the clean rag and gently wipe it over his face. You wince as you realize that somehow, he'd managed to get it in his eyebrows. Once he was cleaned up, you reward him with a kiss to the cheek. "My poor baby..."
He leaned into you, taking slow, deep breaths. He looks ready to fall asleep. Or pass out. Whichever one brings him some kind of comfort...
Once you're sure his stomach has settled for now, you stand up and take the sick bucket. "Ok. I'm gonna rinse this out. I'll be right back."
He nods absently, indicating that he at least got the gist of what you were telling him. You head back down the hall, dumping out and flushing the mess in the toilet, then rinsing the residue out in the tub.
Unfortunately, Shane's stomach can't keep it in for long. You're in the middle of disinfecting the bucket, when he staggers in, sweat pouring down his face. You look back, alarmed at the sight. One hand grips the sink, the other arm around his gurgling, cramping belly. "Shane?"
"Babe, you gotta move." His voice is strained as another cramp rips through. His knees buckle.
"I don't-" his knees buckle together, both arms wrapped around his tummy. "I really can't hold it...! Please, I don't want you to see this!" His voice is filled with panic, and he goes absolutely stiff.
You get the message. You manage to slip past him, letting him quickly shuffle to the toilet as you close the door behind him, just as he's able to pull his pants off. At least one less thing for him to worry about... You wait outside to make sure he doesn't pass out on the toilet. A few seconds pass before you hear him groan in pain, just as what sounds like a bucket of water dumped into the toilet. Worried, you knock. "Shane? You okay in there?"
Another bout of diarrhea violently exits his rear. You can tell he's crying by how he sounds when he speaks. "It feels like my insides are falling out of me..."
"I know, baby... Do you want me to co-"
"No, please don't..." Another choked sob leaves him. "I'm sorry, I... I don't want you to have to see me this way..."
"I don't care about that! I just want to help you feel better. I don't want you to hurt anymore..."
Silence met you from the other side, causing your chest to seize with fear.
A few more seconds pass, before you hear the toilet flush. The water in the sink runs for a moment for him to wash his hands, before the door knob turns. He's an absolute wreck when you see him. He's pale as a baby sheep, drenched in sweat, deep violet bangs clinging wetly to his forehead.
"Oh, Shane..." You open your arms to hold him, letting him tumble into your arms. He sniffles, frustrated and exhausted as you stroke his sweaty hair.
"It hurts so bad," he whispers hoarsley into your shoulder.
This was the first time you'd ever seen him so vulnerable. Honestly, it scares you just a little. "I know it does..." You gently guide him back to bed, bringing him to lay on his side. It's easier for his achy belly and his sore backside in this position. You lay down behind him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "I'm gonna be right here with you, okay?"
He nodded, too exhausted to be embarrassed anymore. He's glad to have you here. Just the thought of being sick and alone like this scares him. He hoped you knew that without telling you. He could barely form a sentence for the moment. He can barely keep his eyes open.
Seeing this, you drag the blanket over him and up to his shoulders, kissing him again on the back of his head. "I'll be right here, muffin... Just get some sleep."
He nodded again, wincing at the residual cramps that still bubbled up from time to time. Taking your hand, he brought it back to his belly. "Please rub," he croaked. You gladly oblige, tenderly pressing your fingertips into his abused intestines. You're sure to be gentle, trying to help him fall asleep. Now and again, his breath hitches as another cramp hits. Thankfully, you feel his breath even out instead of reaching for the bucket.
But when he wakes up an hour later, you find yourself helping him back to the toilet. It's going to be a long night...
