in my dandelion dreams

Kas! ♦️ they/she; 20 ,,,, whump/snz bullshit when my life is together enough

[hehhllo-world]

hey, you!

im kas. im glad you found me. i just got here recently, so thanks for looking my way. stick around for my mediocre writing, ever-changing obsessions, and the depths of my twisted mind ☺️

shoot me a dm if you want to chat!

also- i follow from my main blog: @dandemouse, so dont be alarmed

[hehhllo-world]

and oh how the age-old question Should I Post My Shit On AO3? keeps me up at night

[hehhllo-world]

theyre just saying anything

[hehhllo-world]

the tags-

[hehhllo-world]

theyre just saying anything

[bloodyassboots]

Someone removing their hand/arm from their face to grab a tissue or hankercheif only to end up sneezing openly because they don't get it on time

[sf-libet]

love it when someone is annoyed by sneezing. like aww you look so pissed off rn. you embarrassed that you can't stop, that everyone can see it? and you just can't help but hitch up and up and just sneeze and sneeze every time? your face going from enraged, aggravated, rolling your eyes in frustration, and then each time, slowly melting into desperation, as your eyes narrow, your eyebrows go slack, your nostrils flare as you feel the tickle, tickle, tickle, you try to control your breathing, failing, until finally--oh, there you go again!

[hehhllo-world]

thinking about kink!r/obby and sick!a/bbot where j/ack is puttering around the ed all day, catching up on charts and doing busywork because he refuses to see patients while he’s all drippy and germy and r/obby just gazing at him for the entire shift. and everyone thinks aww what a concerned husband but in reality he’s just trying not to shove his tongue down j/ack’s throat while he watches him stifle fits of 5+ sneezes, all breathless and pink afterwards-

[hehhllo-world]

“I am not compromised—” [pt 2]

A continuation of “it’s been rainy in pittsburg,” wherein jack’s intentions start to shift a bit… after getting off an exhausting double, jack and robby hang out in jack’s living room as a storm rolls in.

(set a few years later.)

i finally finished it! i played a bit more with their characters here, tried to get robby more to where he was (or we assume he was) pre-covid: a little more witty and playful and sweet, with less of that edge he had in pt 1 before he really knew jack. this was so much fun to write; hope you enjoy :p

The storm rolls in like it has a personal agenda. It starts as a low grumble somewhere beyond the horizon, the kind you can ignore if you try hard enough, hope against all hope that it might blow over without making a fuss. But of course, Pittsburg rarely has such luck, and the sky over the city has gone slate-dark within minutes, the rain coming down in sheets so thick it blurs the world beyond the windows into something abstract and shifting.

Jack Abbot is safely home, warm and dry, draped over his sofa half asleep with a blanket flung over his lap and crutches conveniently within arm’s length. His shift, though not particularly exciting, had been draining in a way that doubles hadn’t been ten years ago. But he really can’t complain, considering that he managed to escape before the storm—and its accompanying pathologies—started piling up at PTMC. There is truly no where else he’d rather be, especially considering his company—

“het’tKXxT!”

A certain dark-haired doctor, sitting cross-legged on Abbot’s carpet in the process of re-organizing Abbot’s CD collection, has his face buried in the collar of his crew neck. He’s twisted (somewhat uselessly) towards the wall with one had still clutching the Bruce Springsteen CD he was in the middle of criticizing. He gives a thick sniffle, then twists back to face Jack again, staring at him for a moment.

Robby arches a suspicious eyebrow. “What, no bless you?” He sniffles again.

Abbot gives an exaggerated long-suffering sigh. “Why bother? You’ll never stop at one. Take a look out the window, my friend.”

As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder rolls in the distance. Abbot starts a bit, embarrassingly, and if he didn’t know better he might have thought he saw Robby’s face soften just a fraction. But no sooner than that (alleged and highly contestable) affection crossed Robby’s face did it disappear, his features falling into a dazed 100-yard stare. Clearly not listening.

“You okay there?” Abbot asks, raising his brows.

Robby doesn’t answer. There’s a very specific silence that follows, a tense, anticipatory kind, until:

“heh—hh’EStCHHhu!”

“You want me to grab you a benadryl?” Abbot asks, instead of laughing.

“I sneezed twice, Jack,” Robby drawls from the floor. He looks entirely too attractive for someone in a 15-year-old sweatshirt and the beginnings of a very pink flush creeping over his nose, surrounded by CDs like some kind of advertisement for Radioshack. “I’m hardly having an allergy attahh—ahem—an allergy attack. You don’t need to bother getting up.”

Abbot stares at him for a moment as he paws at his nose rather aggressively. “…Right.”

And as much as he would love to argue (let it be know how much Jack loves to argue), his eyes have been getting awfully heavy, and the rain is plinking softly against the window panes, and there’s a pleasant smell wafting from the general direction of the kitchen (did Robby bake something earlier?), and he really was enjoying listening to Robby berate him for owning no fewer than six copies of Born To Run, and if Robby said he was fine then surely—

“ETSCHH! het’EtCHUU! hhhah… hhh— hehh—HeH’RESHHUUu!!”

BRRBOOM!! Another clap of thunder.

Jack snaps up on the couch, startled. “Jesus, Robby.”

Robby has the grace to look sheepish at least. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know why I’m so irritated right now.”

Abbot slumps back, narrowing his eyes. “I could think of at least one thing—” he starts to say, casting another glance at the window.

“Don’t even snf start with that bullshit.” Robby grumbles, congestion starting to creep into his voice.

“Mm,” Abbot says, burrowing deeper into the couch.

Robby points at him immediately. “No.”

It’s becoming difficult for Abbot not to laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a noise.”

“It’s an observational noise.”

Robby sniffles indignantly. “It’s a judgmental noise.”

“It’s a correct noise,” Abbot posits, already half-asleep again.

Robby scoffs, scrubbing at his nose. “It’s a coincidence.”

There’s a crack of thunder overhead, loud enough to rattle the glass. Right on cue—

“heh—hh’KeTSCHHu!”

Abbot doesn’t even try to hide it this time. He laughs. Loudly, fully, hard enough that he has to sit up again. “Bless you, Michael.”

“Fuck off, Johnathan.”

Abbot sits up fully now, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees. Openly gazes at his disgruntled guest. Up close, it’s even more obvious: the pink flush across his nose, the watery eyes, the way he keeps blinking like the air itself is irritating.

“You came over clear,” Abbot says, thoughtful.

“Yes.” Robby feigns disinterest, turning back to the veritable mountain of CDs.

“No symptoms.”

“Nope.” He pops the p, still refusing to look up.

“And now—”

“And now, I’m fihh—fihhne—hah—” Robby shakes his head violently, as if he could shake off the prickling irritation in his sinuses— “hhah—hhhn?!” before admitting defeat, diving into cupped hands at the last possible moment, “heh’ESTCHHHUU!”

Abbot gestures lightly. “Very compelling argument, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby makes a frustrated noise, one hand still lingering by his face.

Abbot softens just a fraction. “Tissue?”

Robby nods, a little helplessly. “Where, please?”

Abbot feels a smile tugging at his lips, though now for an entirely different reason. Of course, even suffering as he clearly is, Robby would never make Jack get up when he can tell how comfortable he is in his pillow-nest. “Check the kitchen.”

Abbot watches the other man as he practically stumbles out of the room, feeling an odd, tingly warmth in his chest. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you think about it), Jack doesn’t really have the mental wherewithal at the present to examine what that tingly warmth might be, so he tucks it away. When Robby returns, he’s armed with a box of tissues and two mugs of water. He sets all of it on the low coffee table, other than one mug, which he hands to Jack.

“I hope you don’t mind that I raided your meds cabinet for an antihistamine,” Robby says, settling back onto the floor across from Abbot. “I figured we could skip the whole song and dance.”

“Mm, good call, doc.” Abbot reaches forwards to put his mug on the table after taking a sip. Before he can shift up fully to reach the table, Robby stands, takes the mug from his hand and sets it down for him. Abbot blinks at him sleepily. “Rob—”

“—hehh’ETSCHH! Hh’rESCHUU!”

Abbot jumps a tad, startled out of his sleepiness again. “Bless you, bless—”

“hEH—ektCHHhh’h’SChUU!!”

“Bless you, aaaand bless you.” Abbot gives him a moment to blow his nose. “Is that all?”

“I’m going to leave now,” Robby drawls, already pulling on his coat. “You’re exhausted, and I’m keeping you up—”

Abbot moves faster than expected, lobbing a cushion at his head with startling accuracy “No, you’re not.”

Robby blinks at him. “Jack. Come on.”

“Visibility is poor, roads will be slick, and you are—” Abbot gestures vaguely toward his face, “—compromised.”

“I am not compromised.”

“You just took diphenhydramine,” Abbot says. “Can’t drive on a drowsiness-inducing med.”

“I took a non-drowsy one,” Robby counters, pulling another tissue (which really does nothing for his argument). “Zyrtec or something.”

Abbot throws another pillow, this time nailing him in the chest. “You’ve sneezed a dozen times in the last three minutes.”

Robby exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s a twenty-minute drive.”

“In a downpour.”

“I’ve driven in rain before.”

“Not the point, Rob. Just, do me a favor,” Abbot says, tilting his head toward the window where the storm is now hammering the glass like it’s trying to get in, “give me some peace of mind.”

As if on cue, lightning flashes—bright, immediate—followed by a crack of thunder that feels too close. Robby glances toward the window, seeming to consider. Then, as if his own biology wants to strengthen Abbot’s point:

“heh—hh… heh’ErDJCHUUu!!”

He sniffles thickly, looking down at Abbot with watery brown eyes. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“It is,” Abbot agrees easily. “Which is why you should stay. Just until the storm passes.”

Robby looks back at him. “You don’t get to decide that.” He’s just being stubborn now.

“I do when it intersects with basic safety. I’d hate to have to say I told you so over something like this.”

Robby huffs something that might be a laugh despite himself, then immediately ruins it by sneezing again, stifled into his tissue. “hh’hkXxnT!”

“Don’t do that, Robby,” Abbot scolds, then gestures toward the couch. “Come here. Sit.”

“I’m not—”

“Sit with me.”

“I don’t take orders from you off-shift.”

Abbot cocks an eyebrow at him. “You don’t take orders from me on-shift either.”

Robby scrubs at his nose. “More to my point.”

“Then consider it a strong recommendation.”

Another roll of thunder.

“heT’erETCHhu! huh… hheh—hh’ESHUUU!!”

Abbot doesn’t say anything this time, just watches, patient, certain in a way that is somehow more persuasive than all his earlier arguments combined. He pats the sofa beside him.

“Fine,” Robby mutters finally, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping onto the couch. “Just until it lets up.”

“Of course,” Abbot says, far too agreeable. He makes a weak attempt to throw part of his blanket over Robby’s legs.

Robby huffs what might be a laugh. Pulls the blanket over himself, sliding a little closer to Jack in the process. Then, of course, because Robby can never win, he twists away and buried his face into his sleeve.

“Eh-heh’tcHH! HheH’etCHRUU—! H’HheTCHH!!”

Abbot sighs sleepily. “Bless you three times, Rob.” He makes a vague motion towards the table.

Robby sniffs and, because he can read Jack’s mind more often than not, knows to reach for the tissue box on the table. When he settles back on the couch, Abbot leans back even more and drapes his leg and stump over Robby’s lap.

“Good? Are you satisfied?” Robby’s voice is low and thick with congestion.

Abbot just hums in response, resting his heavy eyelids. For a moment, neither of them speaks, letting the storm fill the silence—rain against glass, distant thunder, the low hum of electricity.

“You know,” Abbot says eventually, voice barely there, actively fighting the pull of sleep, “you don’t actually have to argue every time.”

Robby blinks over at him. “About what?”

“Oh, you know what.” The he opens his eyes. “You’re allowed to be,” He gestures—not just at the sneezing, but the whole situation: the storm, the apartment, the fact that Robby is still here. “A mess. Sometimes. It’s alright.”

Robby exhales slowly. “You’re insufferable when you’re right.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me,” is Jack’s reply as he sinks into sleep.

And if he didn’t know better, and if he wasn’t already asleep, he would’ve heard Robby’s reply,

“Neither do I.”

[hehhllo-world]

me when i want nothing more than to finish editing the next section of my r/abbot fic and i cant because of the dysfunctional executives living in my mind-palace

[softblesses]

just leaving this here before i sleep. gn x

[hehhllo-world]

spent all day sleeping and rewatching e/r… was rewarded with sniffly c/arter at the end of s4e11. oh, the small joys of life

[hehhllo-world]

getting top surgery today :D

[hehhllo-world]

survived 👍

[hehhllo-world]

getting top surgery today :D

[svftstar]

a really harsh and aggressive sneeze being muffled by a sweater

[hehhllo-world]

“It’s been rainy in Pittsburg…” [pt 1]

Jack notices an odd pattern in Robby every time it rains. Robby doesn’t like being perceived, or that the new attending, who seems to have wormed his way into Robby’s heart, thinks he knows him better than Robby knows himself. (Or, Jack follows Robby around the ED on a slow night trying to convince him he’s allergic to rainstorms.)

Set pre-C19!! Sometime during the early 2010s

Writing this was my self-gift for surviving another finals season. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing! Also special thanks to @softblesses for letting me yap about my ideas for this one :p

Dr. Jack Abbot considered himself a touch more observant than the average guy. Years of military and ED experience tends to do that to a man—sharpen his eye, hone his pattern recognition. So he really couldn’t help but notice how consistent Dr. Michael Robinavitch was. He was certainly a bit of an stickler, very particular about everything from arriving at the hospital at least 20 minutes before his shift actually started, to religiously using hand sanitizer every chance he could, to the way he knotted his boot laces. And yes, the man was introverted on a good day and downright antisocial on a bad one (although always friendly and compassionate with his patients), but Abbot made it a personal goal to wear him down until the pair was teaming up for traumas, working in easy tandem, and eventually even spending most free evenings together.

So it was really just proximity that made Abbot start noticing those little things, the things that even Robby himself didn’t seem to notice. Quirks, mostly. Like how he always took his third coffee of the day black, no sugar, but always chased it with something sweet. Or the way he rotated between his two most well-loved zip-ups in three-day intervals. Or perhaps the fact that he really did try not to smoke, but always found himself bumming one off of Dana after losing a kid to a trauma. And like most of Robby’s little quirks, the rain one started as a coincidence. At least, that’s what Abbot told himself the first six times.

But by the seventh—well, by the seventh, he was leaning against the central hub, arms folded over the counter, watching Robby try (and fail) to stifle his fourth sneeze in under a minute into the shoulder of his hoodie (because God forbid he put down his newspaper for a second).

“Hh—h’Kkxtch—TCHhh—eh’EHTCHUUu”

“Bless you, bless you, bless you” Abbot said, with a very careful neutrality, like he didn’t want to scare the other man off.

It was a slow shift, around 2 a.m. on a summer night cooled by the unexpected precipitation. These moments, the slow ones between the thrilling rush of multiple traumas and back to back to back patients that seemed to stream in endlessly during day shifts, were the ones when Abbot really got to know his fellow attending in the first year or so of working together. When they could pass off the odd walk-ins to residents and pass the time by catching up on charting and reorganizing the staff room snack stash.

Robby scrubbed at his nose with the back of his wrist, not looking up from the crossword he was working on. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that every time,” Abbot replied mildly.

“Maybe that’s because I am fihh—hhah’tIUSHH—” Another sneeze escaped, seeming to have snuck up on him—sharp, sudden, violent enough that he folded slightly forwards in his chair.

Abbot tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Mm.”

Robby glared at him through watery eyes. “Don’t ‘mm’ me.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Abbot pushed a tissue box toward him.

He snatched up a tissue with more force than strictly necessary. “You mm’d. That’s worse.”

Abbot pushed off the counter and stepped around the desk to where Robby was seated, taking a stool closer to him, gaze flicking briefly to the window. Outside, rain streaked down the glass in thin, steady lines—gray sky, slick pavement, the whole dreary package. He looked back at Robby. Then back at the rain. Then back at Robby.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Robby said immediately, “keep it to yourself.”

Abbot couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re about to.”

“I’m just thinking, Robby.”

“That’s worse.”

Abbot stood up again, clasping his hands behind his back and starting to pace the length of the hub. “Out of curiosity,” he said, in the tone of someone who was absolutely not asking out of curiosity, “have you noticed any correlation between—”

“No.”

“—your symptoms and—”

“No.”

“—precipitation patterns—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—because I’m starting to notice that—”

“H’eHHsTCHUU—”

Abbot stopped pacing to arch an eyebrow at him. “You did that on purpose.”

Robby sniffled indignantly. “How could I have possibly—?”

“That was eight, by the way.”

“You’re counting?”

“I started after the third.”

“Why would you—” Robby broke off, pinching the bridge of his quickly reddening nose. “It’s just allergies.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know. Dust. Pollen. Life.” He looked up from his crossword with a rare wry smile. “You, probably.”

“You’ve never had allergies like this because of pollen.” Abbot’s mouth twitched. “Other than when it rains—”

“I am not allergic to rain, Jack.” His usual edge was undermined by the congestion in his voice.

“I didn’t say you were.”

Robby blew his nose (rather obnoxiously in Abbot’s opinion, but that’s neither here nor there). “You’re certainly implying it.”

“I’m considering it.”

Robby opened his mouth, probably for another snippy retort, but was cut off by— “hahh—TCHHUUh’H—h’hih’tCHKx’uh”

Abbot didn’t even bother hiding his interest now. “Bless you again. That’s ten, Rob.”

“Jesus Christ, stop counting!”

“I’m collecting data,” Abbot replied easily with a small shrug.

“I am not your—heh—dahhta—hihh’h’etrUSHCHU!” Robby scrubbed at his nose, more frustrated with the misbehaving appendage than with Abbot.

Abbot hummed sympathetically. “Bless you, Robby.”

Robby just grunted in response, not looking at him as he attacked his nose with a fresh tissue.

Abbot tapped his chin thoughtfully. “We could test it.”

That made Robby look up. “No.”

“Controlled exposure—”

“No.”

“Short intervals—”

“Jack, stop talking.”

“Indoor versus outdoor variables—”

“Dr. Abbot.”

He finally paused, looking at Robby with wide, innocent eyes. “Yes, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“If you try to walk me outside in a storm like a lab rat, I will report you.”

Abbot considered that. “Ethics board might frown, yes.”

“Might?”

“They’re notoriously anti-rain-allergy research.”

Abbot was rewarded by a short, surprised laugh for that one. He grinned back at Robby widely.

Robby stood, slamming his pencil down on the desk like he was betrayed by his own expression of amusement, and started stalking off. “I just have a cold or something.”

“Only when it rains?” Abbot trailed after him into the staff room, where Robby was pouring himself a glass of water.

Robby glared at him over the rim of his cup. “It’s a coincidence.”

“Eight instances is not a coincidence.”

That gave Robby pause. He looked back at Abbot, an odd expression on his face. “You’ve been tracking this for eight instances?!”

Abbot shrugged, indifferent, reaching out for Robby’s glass for a sip of his water. “It’s been rainy in Pittsburg.”

Robby stared at him for a minute. “That’s deeply weird.”

“It’s medically thorough.”

“It’s obsessive.”

“It’s science.”

“It’s insahh—insahhne—heh’het’TRCHUU—Jesuhhs—HEH”TTRUUSHU!”

Abbot’s eyebrows shot up, slightly startled by the force of them. “…Bless you.”

Robby sniffled weakly. “I hate you.”

“I think the traditional response is ‘thank you,’” Abbot replied drily, holding out the tissue box he’d (rather cleverly) brought with him like an olive branch. Then added with a a smirk, “And you don’t hate me.”

Robby snatched the box, bringing another handful of tissues to his streamy face. “I hate this conversation.”

“Which is about your possible hypersensitivity to—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—rain.”

Robby made a sound somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh, throwing the (now empty) tissue box at his head. “You cannot be serious.”

Abbot stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing something confidential. “Think about it.”

“I refuse.”

“Every time it rains—”

“I’m leaving.”

“—you exhibit acute nasal—”

“I am actively leaving.” Robby, voice thick, brushed past him to the hallway towards the back storage room.

Abbot followed immediately. “—symptoms consistent with—”

Robby stopped short just outside the storage room and turned on him. “If you say ‘rain allergy’ one more time—”

A cold gust of air swept through the corridor as the automatic doors at the far end slid open. Someone rushed in, dripping, shaking water from their coat.

Robby inhaled, burying his face in his sleeved elbow—

“—hEH—eStCHUUU!! rETCHHUu—” he gasped slightly, folding at the waist, one hand braced against the wall— “hHEH—TRUSHHUU! Fucking Christ.’

Impeccably timed. Abbot placed a gentle hand at the small of his back, steadying him. Robby straightened carefully, eyes glistening with irritated tears and nose red. He looked at Abbot with a dignified levelness (particularly valiant considering the display he’d just put on). “Don’t.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Robby sniffled again. “You’re thinking it.”

“I am.”

“Well, stop thinking it.” Robby’s usually kind brown eyes were red-rimmed but cold as ice. His withering glare, of course, was weakened by the fact that his nose was red, slightly drippy, and (believe it or not) twitching.

Abbot barked a laugh, unable to help himself. His 6-foot-1, motorcycle-riding, medical-stunt-pulling, objectively badass (and occasionally terrifying) colleague had a nose twitching like a bunny rabbit. “I can’t.”

Robby dragged a hand down his face, trudging into the storage room with a defeated resignation. “I’m transferring departments.”

Abbot trailed after him, still smiling more than he really ought to be. “You’d still encounter rain.”

“I’ll move to a desert.” He reached up to the top shelf for a new box of tissues. The bottom of his scrub top lifted with his arm, revealing a trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the hem of his pants. (Not that Abbot was looking. The redness creeping up his ears had nothing to do with Robby and the warmth of their proximity and the fact that they were so close now that Jack would smell the cigarette smoke clinging to hhis shirt. Obviously not.)

Abbot just poked him in the side. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit.”

“Don’t.” Robby, having retrieved his chosen prize, left the room, not even looking to see if Abbot had followed.

Abbot clasped his hands behind his back again, insufferably pleased, still tailing him like an overexcited puppy. “We’ll need to design a study.”

“We will be doing no such thing.”

“I already have a framework.”

Robby plowed back into the break room, all but collapsing onto the sofa. “I’m begging you to delete it.”

Abbot lingered in the doorway, blocking the view of any stray passers-by. He tilted his head, watching as Robby scrubbed at his nose again, eyes watering, dignity rapidly eroding under the weight of relentless, poorly timed sneezing.

“You know,” Abbot said, softer now, voice somewhere between gentle and conspiratorial, “for the sake of medical advancement—”

“Abbot.”

“—and your own well-being—”

“Jack.”

“—you might consider—”

“Jack, pleahhh—hehh—”

Robby squinted at the overhead lights, eyes watering and nose quivering, trapped for a moment in the limbo.

“hh—hehh—come ohhhn—”

A beat of silence while Abbot watched, waited for the inevitable while Robby resisted in vain until—

“HheH’teCHRUU—! H’HheTCHHUU’uH!!”

Abbot nodded to himself, as if that settled it. “And that makes one hundred sneezes, folks,” he said to no one in particular.

“HaH’iRRISHUU!”

“Our lucky winner is Dr. Michael Robinavitch—“

“hn'HUH—heH’etCHHUu! Hah—hhh—”

“—whose grand prize—“

“Hh'ETSCHHh—ETSCHH’uh!”

“—is an antihistamine and a nap.” Abbot paused, shutting the door and setting down on a chair in front of the couch. “Seriously, brother. Take a benadryl and draw the blinds. I promise I’ll wake you if anything good comes through.”

Robby, breathing through his mouth and looking absolutely spent for the fit, stared at him with wet eyes. He looked exhausted and maybe a bit bewildered. “You promise you’ll wake me?” His voice was gravelly (even more so than usual) and congested.

Abbot made an X over his heart. “Scout’s honor. Trust me,” he added, softer, genuine now.

And to Abbot’s surpirse, Robby did.

[softblesses]

Students Turned Friends.

~ An au where Doctor C/arter is friends with D/octor W/hitaker. Unfortunately for them, he catches a pretty bad cold.

Word count: 2.3k.

Part: 1/2.

CW: fever, contagion, illness, snz. <3

One side of the hallway was home to the twin room — Dennis Whitaker and John Carter were closest to the shared kitchen, next door to them were two med students named Trinity Santos and Victoria Javadi. Santos was an M3, and Javadi had just moved in to begin her time as a student doctor. And, beside them lived Samira Mohan and Mel King. Samira was an intern, trying to save money on rent by room sharing, and Mel was an M4.

Opposite them were the single occupant rooms, home to intern Parker Ellis, intern Frank Langdon and intern John Shen. They all usually kept to themselves, clearly living in shared accommodation to try and save money — the lot of them racking up horrific student loan bills daily. Overall, it was a pretty decent set up, and they all somewhat got along. As long as certain members of the dorm stayed out of the others way.

However, Whitaker and Carter? They’d become pretty close over the last year or so.

—

It’s a misty afternoon in September when Dennis gets back from his day shift at the hospital, and then the library where he’d been studying for the past couple of hours. It’s dark outside already, and there’s a chill in the air as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He’s not expecting anyone to be around — night shift slept during the day, and Carter usually stayed out late to finish charting at the hospital he was learning in.

The city itself had multiple hospitals, and so each student or intern was scattered around and didn’t always cross paths. Not to mention the fact that there were different departments to rotate around. But, both Dennis and Carter were doing rotations in the ER at the moment.

But, when he opens the door, Carter is indeed there; sitting in bed with a book in his hand, and reading glasses propped atop of his head.

“Oh!” Dennis startles slightly. “You’re here. I didn’t think you’d be back yet.” He toes off his sneakers at the door, and hangs up his coat on one of the hooks upon the wall.

“Yeah, I…” he trails off, and it’s clear by the sound of his voice alone that he’s not well. “I came home early.” He coughs slightly, the sound ticklish and throat scraping. “You should probably not come near me at all costs, by the way.”

Whitaker’s eyebrows raise. “You were fine this morning? What happened?” He sits down on his own bed, grabbing one of his blankets (gifted to him by Carter last Christmas) and wrapping it around himself immediately. He hated the cold.

Carter just shrugs, eyes lazily going back to the book he clearly wasn’t paying much attention to. Hence the whole glasses on his head thing. “I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t just tired and dehydrated like I thought.” He grumbles, the admission hesitant on his tongue.

Dennis hums to let the other know he’s still listening, glancing at him more thoroughly to take account of any visible symptoms; his cheeks were flushed - fever, his nose was red and sounded stuffy - congestion, and there was a slight wheeze whenever he breathed. Probably a cold? Maybe a slightly more sinister virus?

“You need anything? I can go out to the store.” Dennis offers, leaning his back against the wall with a small sigh of relief — it’s nice to be resting, finally.

Carter shakes his head. “Took everything when I got back. Santos said I looked high when she saw me, so I think it’s working.” A small threatens the corners of his mouth.

Dennis chuckles. “She says stuff like that. Do you at least have an inhaler?” He knows Carter comes from money, and so he doesn’t have the same issues with affording meds, but that’s not the usual issue. The usual issue is stubbornness, or forgetfulness. Or both.

“Yes, Mother.” Carter rolls his eyes, and closes the book, setting it down on the nightstand. “Now Santos knows I’m sick, I’d get threatened daily if I didn’t have it. I have both — in my drawer. Don’t worry about it. Dr Greene prescribed me double before he forced me home earlier.”

“Well, I can make us soup for dinner? You know my recipe is superior.”

“Please, I’m fine. You should rest, and stay away. Or we’ll both be miserable.”

“Pretty hard to do when we’re roommates,” Dennis points out, “sorry, Carter.”

“I was going to go back—“ he’s cut off by an almost immediate sneeze ‘HHuH-KSH’KSHhiew!’ The usual rapid double that spares him even the chance to take a single breath between each one. Caught in his elbow, the force knocking his glasses off of his head and onto the floor.

A little, defeated “ohhh,” falls from his lips, and he simply gives up on retrieving them and lies down. “—home.” Carter finishes his delayed sentence, sniffling.

“Bless you,” Dennis comments quietly. “And, don’t go home. You hate going home.” He’s very familiar with the notion himself, infact. “It doesn’t matter if I get sick — I’ll probably catch it anyway, and you’ll feel guilty no matter what and then eventually we’ll both be fine and this’ll be a memory. I’m gonna go make us soup.” He hops up to his feet, slides on his slippers and leaves the room without another word or chance for his friend to argue.

The kitchen is usually busy at five pm, so it’s not surprising that 3/6 of the housemates are in there. Santos is sitting on the couch with Javadi, eating what looks like Ramen, and Ellis is cooking something on the stove. They mutter quiet greetings, and he starts prepping the soup.

“Carter looks like shit today,” Santos announces to Dennis, glancing over her shoulder. “And, Langdon’s left another note on the refrigerator about stealing his avocados. I told him it was you.”

“I didn’t —“ Dennis pauses. Maybe I did? “Okay, that was one time and I thought it was yours. I’ll write back to him and pay for new ones if he’s that upset.” He sighs.

“That makes it worse!” Trinity huffs.

“Do you want to borrow my humidifier for John?” Javadi offers next. “I know he gets, like, asthma flare ups when he has a cold. He really did look sick.”

Dennis ignores Trinity, and turns to smile at Victoria. “Yeah, that’s great actually. Thanks. I’ll grab it later, if that’s okay?”

He waits for Parker to finish making her food, bringing it back to her room like usual, and then starts to cook up the soup ingredients. Using a fairly cheap hand blender, which takes a lot longer than the fancy thing Langdon has (which he doesn’t dare ask to use yet), the dinner is ready and he can carry it out toward their dorm.

Carter is still lying down when he gets back, facing the wall, so he isn’t too sure if he’s awake or not. Although, the lack of snoring tells him that he most likely is. The steaming bowl is set down upon his nightstand, and then Dennis sits at his own desk to consume his own portion.

“Carter?” He calls softly.

“If I move from this spot everything spins.” He mumbles. “I’m comfortable here. Leave me.”

Dennis’ eyebrows raise for the second time that evening. He stands, padding over to the side of his friend’s bed, and reaches over to touch his forehead. He’s burning. “Shit, that’s a pretty bad fever. When did you say you took something for it?” He gently rolls him over, and Carter just looks at him with a rather displeased expression.

“Around… three?”

“Hm. Almost three hours ago.” Dennis muses to himself. “I’ll get you some water with ice, and a cloth.”

He does both as quickly as possible, apologising in advance for switching on the ‘big light’ instead of just the lamps — but, he needs to get a proper look at Carter’s physical status. Giving himself a few seconds to prepare for his own sneezes, Dennis then hands Carter the drink.

‘hhh’tsHhiew! ‘TchHh!’ Ah, the photic reflex. Even Carter, already being sick, dives into his own elbow.

‘kKKksHH-KSH!’ He stills for a few seconds afterwards, clearly dizzy. Dennis places a steadying hand on his shoulder until Carter opens his eyes.

“Bless you,” they both say in unison, causing smiles.

“Drink this, and then leave this cloth on your forehead. Just have the soup when you feel up to it, okay?” Dennis offers. “And, you should take off your jacket. You’re burning up pretty badly.”

Despite knowing that he’s right, Carter scowls at the idea. Dennis helps him discard of the item of clothing, feeling the heat radiate from his roommate’s skin as he does so.

“That’s better,” Dennis hums. “You want, like, a granola bar or something instead? Just to at least line your stomach?”

Carter shakes his head. “I ate fruit at lunch. I’m really not hungry, I’ll just have the water. Thank you.” He gives a tired, yet defeated smile. After sipping the drink for a minute or so, he puts it back and lies down again. “You really will regret catching this, Den.” He mumbles, staring at the ceiling. “I can see stars.”

“You’re pretty sick,” his friend muses back, “we should probably at least go to the campus nurse.”

“Ew. No. She’s really mean.” Carter pouts. “And, absolutely no urgent care. No ER.”

“It doesn’t have to be the ER where you work. There’s some pretty good residents where I’m at — Dr. Abbot does the night shift. He’s really good.”

“If you take me to the ER I’ll kiss you on the mouth, Whitaker.” Carter snaps back, and Dennis almost chokes on his mouthful of soup. “To give you the plague. Obviously.” He looks over, and smiles.

“I… gathered as much. Okay. No ER, but I’m allowed to give you all of the home remedies and you can’t complain when I check your temperature or your breathing.” Dennis counters, quirking an eyebrow upward.

“Deal.”

“But—“

Here we go.

“You’re not allowed to climb into my bed. No matter how much I ask you, or how sad I look. Because you’ll get sick.” Carter croaks, sniffling again and reaching for the tissue in his hoodie pocket.

Dennis just rolls his eyes, holding back a smile. “Fine. Now get some rest.”

—

Carter fell asleep around eight pm, and Whitaker stayed up reading until ten. He checked on his roommate, and friend, multiple times. Carter’s temperature stayed warm, but stable. He took Tylenol before bed, and cough syrup, and the portable neb was already waiting nearby in case he needed it in the night. He was definitely wheezy, but things seemed under control, and that’s around when Dennis finally drifted off to sleep himself…

Until around two am, when a quiet whimpering sound begins. Thrashing in the sheets, which eventually knocks off the neb and the crash is what wakes Whitaker first, with a start.

“Carter?” He whispers into the darkness. “John? Are you okay?”

The whimpering persists, and Dennis sits upright, switching on his bedside lamp. ‘Hh’tsHHiew! ‘Ishhiew! Ugh.’ That really does get tiring.

“Carter?” He walks over to his bedside, pressing a careful back hand against his forehead. “You’re really warm. I don’t think it’s dangerous though…” he trails off, listening to the wheeze and the frightened noises that the fever dream must have his friend caught in.

“Carter… wake up for me. It’s time to do some breathing treatment.” He gently shakes his shoulder, flinching when his friend jolts awake with a gasp, that obviously triggers a coughing fit. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. Sit up. Take this.” Dennis hands him the now switched on nebuliser.

Staring at the object like it’s from a different planet, Carter shakes his head, eyes fever bright and watery.

“It’s going to help you. You just had a nightmare, it’s okay. It wasn’t real, I promise.” Dennis stands momentarily. “You want me to sit beside you? Will that help?”

Carter still looks dumbfounded, eyes barely focused. He tries to inhale, but it just sounds strained and painful. Dennis places the mask gently over his face, thankful that he doesn’t fight it this time.

“Scoot over. I’m comin’ in.” He climbs under the covers, immediately feeling the sticky warmth from his friend’s high temperature. “Better?”

Carter has a loose grip on the neb now, holding it himself as he comes around a little more from the bad dream. He just nods. With practiced ease, as if the pair were two parts of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, he then rests his head against Whitaker’s chest and shuts his eyes. He’s safe now.

After a little while, the nebuliser has clearly done its job and switches off; the wheezing and struggling for intakes of breath almost non-existent now.

“You need to take some more Tylenol.” Dennis whispers, taking the device and putting it back into the drawer. “Okay?”

Carter nods. He’s still a little out of it, and Dennis isn’t sure if it also just hurts him to talk. He hands him the pills and water, which are taken with wordless cooperation, and then two very warm arms wrap around Whitaker’s torso.

“Thanks, Den,” it definitely sounds as if his voice is almost gone. Dennis is thankful he has a day off tomorrow, so he can help out.

“You’re welcome. Go to sleep, huh?” Dennis smiles. He’s not too worried about the fever just yet, and so allows himself to relax a little in the bed, too. “I’ll be right here.”

[softblesses]

Word count: 2.3k.

Part: 2/2.

Enjoy! <3

Dennis must sleep soundly (which also must mean Carter does too) until daylight, because the next thing he knows he’s being woken by the sound of the shower in their adjoining bathroom. He groans, stretching and squinting open his eyes to see if there’s any sign of Carter sneaking awake and not feeling well. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be anything out of place at all, aside from a small pile of dirty laundry at the end of the bed. 

He decides he may as well get Carter some clean sheets, finishing up with the bed as his roommate reemerges from the bathroom. His hair is damp and messy, his nose is red and cheeks still flushed. He still looks pretty awful. 

“You did it again,” he greets, voice having recovered a tiny bit after sleeping for so long. 

“What?” Dennis turns, moving to sit on his own mattress. 

“You got into my bed!” Carter coughs into his elbow, a harsh, bark-like sound that knocks him dizzy. He recovers by quickly taking a seat opposite his friend, who almost rushes over to help. 

“Oh. Well… I was cold.” Dennis shrugs. “You were warm.”

“Liar.” Carter climbs back under his covers, now that they’re clean; his current outfit of choice being boxers and a hoodie that were fresh from his clean laundry pile, too. “But, thank you. For all of the stuff you did.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, “I’m gonna go grab breakfast. You want anything?”

Carter shakes his head, rubbing his nose with the cuff of his hoodie. “I’ll just grab an energy bar later.” 

So, Whitaker makes his way to the kitchen, greeted by Santos who’s currently making iced coffee. “Hey, nursemaid. How’s Carter?” She hums, shaking the bottle of creamer in her hand. 

“Still pretty sick. Did… we keep you guys awake at all?”

Knowing that’s not what he meant, Santos still wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, earning a glare (and a blush) from her friend. “Not really. I heard some coughing, but that was it.” She reassures. 

He makes himself some cereal, getting ready to take it out of the room but quickly putting it down again in preparation for —

‘Hh’IsHhiew! ‘ZzYshiew—tcHHu!’ Catching three sneezes into his elbow. Dennis shakes his head, trying to recover from the itch and ward away anymore sneezes. 

“That is my cue to leave!” Santos makes a beeline for the door. 

“I’m not sick!”

“Plague rat!” And, the kitchen door closes. 

Whitaker just sighs, shaking his head (for a different reason this time) and carries his cereal back to his room. Carter’s sitting up now, scrolling on his phone with a lollipop stick between his teeth. 

“I found sore throat lollipops!” He announces cheerfully, the sentence muffled by the candy in his mouth. “They’re pretty good, I see why you like ‘em.”

Dennis just chuckles, taking a seat and spooning some cereal into his mouth. He sniffles slightly, the itch returning anew. Was he sick already? It had certainly been enough time to get sick, since you can catch a rhinovirus within six hours. Plus, Carter was most likely incubating the virus a few days ago… so, maybe. Or, maybe it was just his usual morning sneeze routine. 

“Do you need anything from the store?” Whitaker asks between mouthfuls. “I have a couple days off, so I can make a trip. Oh, I put your soup in the fridge last night, too, if you want any.” 

“Thanks,” Carter pulls his hood over his head for extra warmth, and Dennis is silently thankful because he once again has to sneeze, and would rather his roommate didn’t notice. 

He proceeds to stifle five sneezes into silence, managing to avoid spilling any of his cereal milk too. 

“Bless you,” maybe not so silent after all?

“How did you—“

“That little sigh you do after? It’s kind of ingrained into my brain now. Very impressive, by the way.” Carter teases lightly, grinning when Dennis catches a glimpse of his face. 

“Oh.” Dennis feels himself blush, then quickly sniffles before his nose can run past the threshold of where he’s comfortable. He grabs a tissue from his nightstand, and swipes it across his Cupid’s bow. 

“No, I actually think it’s impressive. I wish I could do that. Would save me a lot of stares at work.” He drops the now empty lollipop stick into the trash can beside his bed, and curls up under the covers again. “G’night, Dennis.”

“Good morning—night?” Dennis mumbles, silently debating whether or not to take a nap himself. 

——

He most definitely does fall asleep, and the next thing he registers is the fact that he’s being (quite gently) poked repeatedly in the arm. Dennis barely opens his eyes, shutting them immediately to try and ward off any incoming sneezes from the sunlight still streaming into the room — he can’t have slept that long, then. 

“Hmmm?” He mumbles, still feeling the minimal contact. 

“Den?” Carter whispers, and Dennis opens his eyes once he fully realises what’s going on. He shields his face momentarily with his elbow. 

‘Yhhh..hh’ysHHhiew! Yeah? Hh… h’ttChiEw!’ He sniffles, blinking away tears and reemerging to see a very flushed John Carter sitting on the floor beside his bed. 

“Bless you. Uh. I don’t feel well.” He whispers again, staring up at his roommate with fever bright eyes. 

“Oh.” Dennis pushes himself to sit. “Did you take anything?”

Carter shakes his head, tears filling his eyes. Oh. That’s not good. 

“That’s fine! I’ll get you something now. Uh. Sit on my bed, okay?” Dennis offers out his hand, and Carter does as he’s told. He ignores the way his body aches when he moves, and the way the light outside stings  his eyes; only focusing on helping John. 

He hands him some pills, some water, and gently feels his forehead. He really can’t seem to kick this fever. There’s a distinct wheezing sound to his breathing pattern too, so Dennis fetches his rescue inhaler. 

“Better?” Dennis asks, but Carter’s gaze is so distant. Tearful, still. “You’re gonna hate me, but I think you should take off your hoodie — let me check your temperature…” he trails off, looking around for the thermometer. “Fuck.” It’s no longer where he left it last night. 

Despite initially shaking his head as Dennis attempts to strip his friend from his last layer of clothing, Carter has little fight left in him, and allows his friend to take off the hoodie. He doesn’t let himself get distracted by the sight of Carter’s toned body — something he’s seen multiple times, and always been impressed by — and instead hurries off to dampen a towel with cool water. 

“S’cold.” Carter shivers, when Dennis returns and begins the cooling down ritual. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Whitaker says softly. “Got to get your fever down a little, then you’ll feel better. I promise.”

Carter nods back at him, lying down against Whitaker’s pillow. He coughs, half covering with a raised hand. “Am I meant to be in here?” He rasps, and Dennis assumes he means the bed. 

“I’m not allowed in your bed. So, no rule against you being here, don’t worry.” Dennis reassures with a smile, settling the cloth against Carter’s forehead. 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Dennis stands, now that Carter seems restful, and makes his way to Santos and Javadi’s room. 

He knocks twice, before Trinity answers. 

“Do you guys have a thermometer?” 

“Uhhh, yeah, one second.” She disappears, and hands him an in-ear thermometer, still in its packet. “Everything okay?” Her eyebrows raise. 

“I think he’s burning up again, but yeah. Uh.. yeah. It’s fine.” Dennis nods, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He can handle this, right? He’s quite literally (almost) a doctor.

He brings the thermometer back into their room, carefully inserting it into Carter’s ear, apologising when he flinches. The number flashes red on the screen a few seconds later: 102.9. 

“Yikes,” Dennis mutters, “hopefully that’ll go down soon, buddy.”

“Fever?” Carter blinks owlishly. 

“Yeah. You could say that.” Dennis chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

He smiles, almost looking drunk. “You’re so much kinder than my mom.” Carter murmurs. “I’m lucky I’m here.”

Dennis just smiles, although it’s slightly forced. He’s more than familiar with strained family dynamics — and, although he doesn’t know many specifics about Carter’s, he still understands. He’s just happy to be here and help make him feel like someone cares, because he’s also much too familiar with the concept that nobody does at all. 

•

‘Hh’KSH—KTtCHhhhH!’ Two sneezes tug Dennis back into the waking world, and he blinks open his eyes to the room being dark… are the curtains closed, or is it night time?

It takes him a minute or two to properly come to, and then he sits, realised that the curtains are drawn and the low hum of the humidifier fills the air. It smells like menthol and cherry cough drops, and Dennis glances over to Carter’s bed once he realises he’s once again alone upon his own mattress. 

“Sorry!” His roommate whisper-yells. “I really didn’t mean to wake you.”

He looks marginally better, still flushed, but once again lucid. He’s dressed again, too, in pyjama pants and a different hoodie. 

Dennis attempts to speak, but nothing comes out, and he coughs instead. He clears his throat, reaching for his water bottle in an attempt to soothe the issue. “It’s okay,” he manages after, “how’re you feeling?” He swallows, cringing slightly at the pain it causes; although, he may just be dehydrated. That’s all!

“Uhh… better. Better than earlier, I think? I guess my fever got high.”

“Oh, right, yeah — sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I should’ve stayed awake to make sure your fever came down and to explain to you—“ 

“It’s fine,” Carter giggles, “I know you wouldn’t undress me if you didn’t have to.” He teases slightly, toying with the tissue box that’s currently balanced in his lap. 

Dennis feels himself blush, and uses the excuse of drinking more water to hide it. He’s pretty sure he’s coming down with whatever virus Carter has by now — his limbs ache, his throat hurts and he still feels tired even after taking multiple naps throughout the day. His nose isn’t running yet, but there’s already that telltale tickle threatening to worsen at the back of his sinuses. 

He squints slightly, putting the water bottle down and having a small moment of trying to decide whether or not the itch is enough to make him sneeze. He scrunches his nose a few times, a soft hitch following after. ‘Hh—‘ the tickle now fully taking ahold, and Dennis doesn’t even notice Carter staring at him from across the room. ‘Hhh’isSzzshH! ‘shHhiew! TShH! h’zZyShHiew!’ He sniffles, pressing the cuff of his hoodie hard against his septum in an attempt to halt anymore from coming. 

“Bless you.” Carter says quietly, an air of guilt evident in his tone already. “You’re not feeling well?” Dennis looks up, catching gaze with those doe eyes and immediately also feed bad. 

“No! I’mb fine!” The congestion that was once just a threat is now present, and he sniffles quickly a few times. “Just… wake up sneezes. That’s ahh..hh-tCHh! isHiew! ‘scuse. That’s all.” Dennis sniffles again, feeling his cheeks grow warmer. 

“Even if I check your temperature? You’ll still be fine?” Carter counters, deciding to halt on the blessings for a moment, so as not to fluster the poor guy any further. 

“I don’t think I have a fever.” Dennis replies, and he’s being truthful. He doesn’t feel super hot, nor extra cold. Just sniffly and in pain. That’s all. And, tired. 

Carter pouts. “Well, can I go make you tea?” He offers, starting to move, yet the manoeuvre is interrupted by a set of sneezes and he almost goes toppling head first off of the bed instead. 

‘Hh-KTtChH-TCH-tCHhiew!’ Thankfully, he somehow manages to save himself by gripping onto the mattress and having sheer luck (for once.) 

“Maaaaaybe, we should just both stay here.” Dennis tries his best not to laugh, eyeing his friend to ensure he’s okay, before adding, “bless you.”

Carter blinks sheepishly, now fully upright in a normal sitting position again. “I actually did that on purpose. It’s a party trick of mine I’ve been meaning to demonstrate.” He runs his hands through his hair, trying to neaten it as if it hasn’t already been messy all day. 

Dennis laughs, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Carter’s voice cracks slightly, and he covers his face with his hands. “That was actually a party trick too.” He mumbles, proceeding to yawn in something of a feline manner. 

“I’ll go make us tea, soup and bring in enough supplies to last us the next few days.”

“So, you’re admitting you’re sick?” Carter calls, just before Dennis makes it into the hallway. 

“Shut uuup!”

——

It only takes two hours for the germs to fully set in to Whitaker’s system, and he goes from feeling like he’s coming down with something to definitely down with it by the time late afternoon rolls around. The two roommates are now tucked up together in Whitaker’s bed, watching Friends reruns on Carter’s iPad and consistently emptying boxes of tissues and chewing on cough drops. 

“Den? You awake?” Carter whispers, glancing down at unruly curls. Whitaker is tucked under safely and comfortably underneath one of his arms, with his head resting against John’s chest. 

“Mhm.” His voice is fully congested now, and there’s no more pretending he’s fine. 

“Okay. Just checking. You feel warm.” He reaches with his free hand to feel underneath Dennis’ curls, and there’s definitely some feverish heat there. 

“Already took Tylenol… couple hours ago. I’ll be fine.” Dennis replies, reaching up with his own hand to interlock their fingers momentarily. He’s not really thinking; only seeking comfort. Carter gives his hand a little squeeze. 

“Drink some water?” Carter counter-offers, although he knows that would require moving slightly, and both friends are very comfortable. 

After a few minutes and a little bit of shuffling around, Dennis now has his other wager bottle — the one with the straw, so it’s easier to sip half lying down — and they’re both happy. Albeit sick. 

But, they care about one another, and despite feeling pretty awful… this is a nice, safe place to be. 

End.

[softblesses]

Students Turned Friends.

~ An au where Doctor C/arter is friends with D/octor W/hitaker. Unfortunately for them, he catches a pretty bad cold.

Word count: 2.3k.

Part: 1/2.

CW: fever, contagion, illness, snz. <3

One side of the hallway was home to the twin room — Dennis Whitaker and John Carter were closest to the shared kitchen, next door to them were two med students named Trinity Santos and Victoria Javadi. Santos was an M3, and Javadi had just moved in to begin her time as a student doctor. And, beside them lived Samira Mohan and Mel King. Samira was an intern, trying to save money on rent by room sharing, and Mel was an M4.

Opposite them were the single occupant rooms, home to intern Parker Ellis, intern Frank Langdon and intern John Shen. They all usually kept to themselves, clearly living in shared accommodation to try and save money — the lot of them racking up horrific student loan bills daily. Overall, it was a pretty decent set up, and they all somewhat got along. As long as certain members of the dorm stayed out of the others way.

However, Whitaker and Carter? They’d become pretty close over the last year or so.

—

It’s a misty afternoon in September when Dennis gets back from his day shift at the hospital, and then the library where he’d been studying for the past couple of hours. It’s dark outside already, and there’s a chill in the air as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He’s not expecting anyone to be around — night shift slept during the day, and Carter usually stayed out late to finish charting at the hospital he was learning in.

The city itself had multiple hospitals, and so each student or intern was scattered around and didn’t always cross paths. Not to mention the fact that there were different departments to rotate around. But, both Dennis and Carter were doing rotations in the ER at the moment.

But, when he opens the door, Carter is indeed there; sitting in bed with a book in his hand, and reading glasses propped atop of his head.

“Oh!” Dennis startles slightly. “You’re here. I didn’t think you’d be back yet.” He toes off his sneakers at the door, and hangs up his coat on one of the hooks upon the wall.

“Yeah, I…” he trails off, and it’s clear by the sound of his voice alone that he’s not well. “I came home early.” He coughs slightly, the sound ticklish and throat scraping. “You should probably not come near me at all costs, by the way.”

Whitaker’s eyebrows raise. “You were fine this morning? What happened?” He sits down on his own bed, grabbing one of his blankets (gifted to him by Carter last Christmas) and wrapping it around himself immediately. He hated the cold.

Carter just shrugs, eyes lazily going back to the book he clearly wasn’t paying much attention to. Hence the whole glasses on his head thing. “I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t just tired and dehydrated like I thought.” He grumbles, the admission hesitant on his tongue.

Dennis hums to let the other know he’s still listening, glancing at him more thoroughly to take account of any visible symptoms; his cheeks were flushed - fever, his nose was red and sounded stuffy - congestion, and there was a slight wheeze whenever he breathed. Probably a cold? Maybe a slightly more sinister virus?

“You need anything? I can go out to the store.” Dennis offers, leaning his back against the wall with a small sigh of relief — it’s nice to be resting, finally.

Carter shakes his head. “Took everything when I got back. Santos said I looked high when she saw me, so I think it’s working.” A small threatens the corners of his mouth.

Dennis chuckles. “She says stuff like that. Do you at least have an inhaler?” He knows Carter comes from money, and so he doesn’t have the same issues with affording meds, but that’s not the usual issue. The usual issue is stubbornness, or forgetfulness. Or both.

“Yes, Mother.” Carter rolls his eyes, and closes the book, setting it down on the nightstand. “Now Santos knows I’m sick, I’d get threatened daily if I didn’t have it. I have both — in my drawer. Don’t worry about it. Dr Greene prescribed me double before he forced me home earlier.”

“Well, I can make us soup for dinner? You know my recipe is superior.”

“Please, I’m fine. You should rest, and stay away. Or we’ll both be miserable.”

“Pretty hard to do when we’re roommates,” Dennis points out, “sorry, Carter.”

“I was going to go back—“ he’s cut off by an almost immediate sneeze ‘HHuH-KSH’KSHhiew!’ The usual rapid double that spares him even the chance to take a single breath between each one. Caught in his elbow, the force knocking his glasses off of his head and onto the floor.

A little, defeated “ohhh,” falls from his lips, and he simply gives up on retrieving them and lies down. “—home.” Carter finishes his delayed sentence, sniffling.

“Bless you,” Dennis comments quietly. “And, don’t go home. You hate going home.” He’s very familiar with the notion himself, infact. “It doesn’t matter if I get sick — I’ll probably catch it anyway, and you’ll feel guilty no matter what and then eventually we’ll both be fine and this’ll be a memory. I’m gonna go make us soup.” He hops up to his feet, slides on his slippers and leaves the room without another word or chance for his friend to argue.

The kitchen is usually busy at five pm, so it’s not surprising that 3/6 of the housemates are in there. Santos is sitting on the couch with Javadi, eating what looks like Ramen, and Ellis is cooking something on the stove. They mutter quiet greetings, and he starts prepping the soup.

“Carter looks like shit today,” Santos announces to Dennis, glancing over her shoulder. “And, Langdon’s left another note on the refrigerator about stealing his avocados. I told him it was you.”

“I didn’t —“ Dennis pauses. Maybe I did? “Okay, that was one time and I thought it was yours. I’ll write back to him and pay for new ones if he’s that upset.” He sighs.

“That makes it worse!” Trinity huffs.

“Do you want to borrow my humidifier for John?” Javadi offers next. “I know he gets, like, asthma flare ups when he has a cold. He really did look sick.”

Dennis ignores Trinity, and turns to smile at Victoria. “Yeah, that’s great actually. Thanks. I’ll grab it later, if that’s okay?”

He waits for Parker to finish making her food, bringing it back to her room like usual, and then starts to cook up the soup ingredients. Using a fairly cheap hand blender, which takes a lot longer than the fancy thing Langdon has (which he doesn’t dare ask to use yet), the dinner is ready and he can carry it out toward their dorm.

Carter is still lying down when he gets back, facing the wall, so he isn’t too sure if he’s awake or not. Although, the lack of snoring tells him that he most likely is. The steaming bowl is set down upon his nightstand, and then Dennis sits at his own desk to consume his own portion.

“Carter?” He calls softly.

“If I move from this spot everything spins.” He mumbles. “I’m comfortable here. Leave me.”

Dennis’ eyebrows raise for the second time that evening. He stands, padding over to the side of his friend’s bed, and reaches over to touch his forehead. He’s burning. “Shit, that’s a pretty bad fever. When did you say you took something for it?” He gently rolls him over, and Carter just looks at him with a rather displeased expression.

“Around… three?”

“Hm. Almost three hours ago.” Dennis muses to himself. “I’ll get you some water with ice, and a cloth.”

He does both as quickly as possible, apologising in advance for switching on the ‘big light’ instead of just the lamps — but, he needs to get a proper look at Carter’s physical status. Giving himself a few seconds to prepare for his own sneezes, Dennis then hands Carter the drink.

‘hhh’tsHhiew! ‘TchHh!’ Ah, the photic reflex. Even Carter, already being sick, dives into his own elbow.

‘kKKksHH-KSH!’ He stills for a few seconds afterwards, clearly dizzy. Dennis places a steadying hand on his shoulder until Carter opens his eyes.

“Bless you,” they both say in unison, causing smiles.

“Drink this, and then leave this cloth on your forehead. Just have the soup when you feel up to it, okay?” Dennis offers. “And, you should take off your jacket. You’re burning up pretty badly.”

Despite knowing that he’s right, Carter scowls at the idea. Dennis helps him discard of the item of clothing, feeling the heat radiate from his roommate’s skin as he does so.

“That’s better,” Dennis hums. “You want, like, a granola bar or something instead? Just to at least line your stomach?”

Carter shakes his head. “I ate fruit at lunch. I’m really not hungry, I’ll just have the water. Thank you.” He gives a tired, yet defeated smile. After sipping the drink for a minute or so, he puts it back and lies down again. “You really will regret catching this, Den.” He mumbles, staring at the ceiling. “I can see stars.”

“You’re pretty sick,” his friend muses back, “we should probably at least go to the campus nurse.”

“Ew. No. She’s really mean.” Carter pouts. “And, absolutely no urgent care. No ER.”

“It doesn’t have to be the ER where you work. There’s some pretty good residents where I’m at — Dr. Abbot does the night shift. He’s really good.”

“If you take me to the ER I’ll kiss you on the mouth, Whitaker.” Carter snaps back, and Dennis almost chokes on his mouthful of soup. “To give you the plague. Obviously.” He looks over, and smiles.

“I… gathered as much. Okay. No ER, but I’m allowed to give you all of the home remedies and you can’t complain when I check your temperature or your breathing.” Dennis counters, quirking an eyebrow upward.

“Deal.”

“But—“

Here we go.

“You’re not allowed to climb into my bed. No matter how much I ask you, or how sad I look. Because you’ll get sick.” Carter croaks, sniffling again and reaching for the tissue in his hoodie pocket.

Dennis just rolls his eyes, holding back a smile. “Fine. Now get some rest.”

—

Carter fell asleep around eight pm, and Whitaker stayed up reading until ten. He checked on his roommate, and friend, multiple times. Carter’s temperature stayed warm, but stable. He took Tylenol before bed, and cough syrup, and the portable neb was already waiting nearby in case he needed it in the night. He was definitely wheezy, but things seemed under control, and that’s around when Dennis finally drifted off to sleep himself…

Until around two am, when a quiet whimpering sound begins. Thrashing in the sheets, which eventually knocks off the neb and the crash is what wakes Whitaker first, with a start.

“Carter?” He whispers into the darkness. “John? Are you okay?”

The whimpering persists, and Dennis sits upright, switching on his bedside lamp. ‘Hh’tsHHiew! ‘Ishhiew! Ugh.’ That really does get tiring.

“Carter?” He walks over to his bedside, pressing a careful back hand against his forehead. “You’re really warm. I don’t think it’s dangerous though…” he trails off, listening to the wheeze and the frightened noises that the fever dream must have his friend caught in.

“Carter… wake up for me. It’s time to do some breathing treatment.” He gently shakes his shoulder, flinching when his friend jolts awake with a gasp, that obviously triggers a coughing fit. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. Sit up. Take this.” Dennis hands him the now switched on nebuliser.

Staring at the object like it’s from a different planet, Carter shakes his head, eyes fever bright and watery.

“It’s going to help you. You just had a nightmare, it’s okay. It wasn’t real, I promise.” Dennis stands momentarily. “You want me to sit beside you? Will that help?”

Carter still looks dumbfounded, eyes barely focused. He tries to inhale, but it just sounds strained and painful. Dennis places the mask gently over his face, thankful that he doesn’t fight it this time.

“Scoot over. I’m comin’ in.” He climbs under the covers, immediately feeling the sticky warmth from his friend’s high temperature. “Better?”

Carter has a loose grip on the neb now, holding it himself as he comes around a little more from the bad dream. He just nods. With practiced ease, as if the pair were two parts of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, he then rests his head against Whitaker’s chest and shuts his eyes. He’s safe now.

After a little while, the nebuliser has clearly done its job and switches off; the wheezing and struggling for intakes of breath almost non-existent now.

“You need to take some more Tylenol.” Dennis whispers, taking the device and putting it back into the drawer. “Okay?”

Carter nods. He’s still a little out of it, and Dennis isn’t sure if it also just hurts him to talk. He hands him the pills and water, which are taken with wordless cooperation, and then two very warm arms wrap around Whitaker’s torso.

“Thanks, Den,” it definitely sounds as if his voice is almost gone. Dennis is thankful he has a day off tomorrow, so he can help out.

“You’re welcome. Go to sleep, huh?” Dennis smiles. He’s not too worried about the fever just yet, and so allows himself to relax a little in the bed, too. “I’ll be right here.”