Nov(emeto)ber

a month of prompts blog for emeto-loving writers, artists, and readers AO3 Collection

[monthofsick]

Announcement

No event this year! Sorry y'all, I burned myself out a bit. I'm considering changing the event month because November is not great for me at this point in my life, but I'll have to reassess and will update you all on that when I have time. I'll try to recharge to be back on schedule with the event some time next year!

[tuntalia]

Day 2 – Sick During Transit

@monthofsick

Content Warning: Foul language, graphic depictions of vomiting and illness, medical inaccuracies probably

The Time Edward Scared Colonel Mustang Shitless

Series: Fullmetal Alchemist

Summary: Lieutenant Hawkeye finds herself looking after Ed on an overnight train ride. Things are more critical than they first appear.

Notes: Don't ask when it takes place, I didn't even think of it until centuries after finishing it. My cat helped me edit, so shoutout to my moral support

Word Count: 2,675

●●●

Alphonse had been observing in the dim, ever-changing moonlight through the train windows his brother, who was fitfully tossing and turning on the makeshift bed made from the train cabin's seat and his coat covering him. Edward made small noises of audible discomfort, making Al uneasy the longer time marched on.

The elder brother turned again, quietly lamenting in pain as he slept— or so he led Al to believe, and the other boy wasn't so easily fooled. Al had studied his brother just about every night, being that he couldn't sleep himself. "I can tell you're awake, brother."

"...No you can't." Ed's voice came out strained. Al sighed, the sound reverberating through the big, hollow suit of armor. "Just tell me what's wrong," he pleaded. Conveniently, or lesser so in Ed's case, the older brother's stomach gurgled angrily. He bit back a whimper. "Damn it."

"You're sick, aren't you?" The question itself was an active deterrent, judging by the way Ed cringed and groaned. It seemed his enraged guts were also offended at the inquiry, a sickening squelch rippling through them. "No..." Al's head moved with a drawn clack as it cranes forward.

"You don't look good... Or sound good." Al could see the pained grimace on a significantly paling face partially hidden under the coat hood and overgrown bangs. Ed buried his head further. "I really don't feel good either." Al also knew what was up depending on his brother's posture. When in pain, he tended to curl up or hunch. Years of study, years of being soul–bound and resigned to a fate of being alone in the dark of night. Forgotten, even.

After another particularly tumultuous grumble from his upset stomach, he tensed and curled up tighter. "...I really don't." Al made a somber sound in reply, before rising with a suggestion. Ed's head popped up to listen with intent eyes.

"I'm gonna get someone–"

As quickly as hope entered his gaze, it all but extinguished. "Not Colonel asshat, please..." Al figured as much. Someone else on the journey popped into his head and he perked up. "Then... Lieutenant Hawkeye?" A beat of silence followed, punctuated by the low churning of Ed's stomach. "Fine." His voice only above a whisper, he watched the suit of armor much too big for the soul inside exit.

...

"Come in." Her voice was soft, but keel. Riza looked a bit concerned when it was Alphonse who was outside her cabin door knocking as softly as his too–large for comfort hands allowed. "Alphonse. What brings you here at this hour?"

For a beat, Alphonse stood in the entry-way, 'breathless,' so to speak. "Brother isn't looking too good." There was a frown that prominently settled on her features at this. "What of Fullmetal?" Al paused, before stepping in further with determination. "He told me twice already that he didn't feel good at all. You know how he is."

"Lead the way." She stood. Unmistakably, Hawkeye's expression was pensive at the image Alphonse painted for her. Edward was not one to openly discuss how he felt. He kept a lot of secrets, and everyone who knows him also knows never to ask. If that boy wanted you to know, you would know, he’d show you. Someone who spoke with his actions.

He led her down the corridor, her lamp faintly illuminated in the night as she carried it in tow. The sound of the train on the tracks was soothing at best, but right now... it instilled a sense of dread.

She knocked twice. "Fullmetal. It's Hawkeye, coming in." Before opening the door and holding her lamp forward. A head perked up to look at her, the shine of sweat along his face and glazed eyes. She kept the sentiment to herself that he really did look small, like the child he still is. Much too young for all the shit he and Alphonse have been through.

"...Hi." The almost depressed voice responded. Hawkeye closed the cabin door behind her and approached the boy. She crouched down and with a hesitant hand, reached out to brush back his bangs. He didn't do so much as flinch, almost resigned to the pain. He was hot to the touch.

"Hm," She frowned. "Definitely feverish..." Now she was worried. They were on a train, and while there may be a med bay somewhere, she wasn't keen on getting outsiders involved with a case such as the Elric brothers. Too many risks, without mentioning their status as military dogs. Not a good reputation.

"Woohoo." The boy rolled his eyes. A particularly horrible cramp must have tore through his insides, as he clenched his teeth and a quiet whine left him. His eyes shut tightly and another whimper squeezed through his teeth. She saw tears.

"Can you show me where it hurts?" She frowned only deeper when the boy unfurled himself, so tense he trembled. She could tell that moving was agonizing. Through heavy breathing, he kept gesturing over his abdomen. She noticed him gravitating towards one side subconsciously and she stopped. That can't be right. Not here!

Please be a fluke... "...Right there?" She hesitantly reached her hand to touch the lower right side of his tummy. He slapped her hand away and pulled his knees up, hardly able to muster any fighting words, blinded by the agony. Hawkeye caught herself freezing.

"Alphonse." She kept her voice even to prevent hysterics as her gaze fell on the younger Elric brother. "Get the Colonel."

As the suit of armor began to move, the older of the two brothers reached out towards him with a shaking automail hand. "No– no, no, no no..." Edward spoke as he shuddered. "Anyone but..." Strained as his words were, he made his point clear. Riza bit the inside of her cheek. This is bad. What're the odds this boy lost an arm and a leg but kept his appendix?

"Full—" She sighed. "Edward. Listen to me." She kept a hand braced against his arm. "I know you and the Colonel really don't get along, but please. We need to find you a doctor, now."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, what's wrong with him..." Alphonse started, but she glanced to him with a firm expression. "Alphonse, everything will be okay. You can get the Colonel for me, I'll explain when you return with him. I need a second opinion." The younger brother nodded and hurried out of the train cabin, his heavy footsteps stopping by a nearby cabin.

...

"Colonel! Help!" Of course, the boy was panicking. If even the straight-laced and stiff-lipped Hawkeye seemed shaken, Ed must be dying. Mustang very calmly turned to him.

"More hijinks?" The sharp voice said.

"No, brother's really sick. Please come quickly! I–I'm really scared for him—" Al cried out desperately. Ed murmured for his brother, hearing his distress and calling out to him. The footsteps indicated that Roy had taken the sheer terror in Al's voice as a signal.

...

Hawkeye could hear the boy from here, and she sighed silently. Ed was beginning to breathe quicker as the panic finally set in, she needed to do something. "Hey, it's alright. I know you don't trust anyone, Ed... but trust when I say that you will be fine. Focus as hard as you can on breathing." She watched him tremble and draw in excruciatingly long breaths. "Just like that. You can rest for now."

"What's... happening to m–me?" She could hear the pain in his voice. How his voice strained against his vocal chords. Her heart squeezed. "You're sick, try not to move. I know it hurts."

"But..." Riza shushed him, and he didn't protest. Something about the sullen, obedient Edward was uncanny. That's how she knew this was not just any case of food poisoning or motion sickness. He was completely undone. Delirious and in horrible pain, he didn't have any will to fight against the orders she was giving, just sunk down in resignation.

She pulled off her own coat and draped it over him, rubbing his back. But she had no other words of consolation. In those few seconds, Alphonse returned with the Colonel, who stared at the shaking figure curled up under his and Riza’s coats, absolutely dumbfounded. One glance at Riza and her concern made Roy's own expression tense. "Fill me in."

"Can't be sure, but... My concern right now—" In unison, they both answered, as if they both knew immediately upon linking their brains together. "Appendicitis."

"The next stop isn't for another 3 hours... fuck." Roy hissed, fists clenched at his sides. "That's why we need a doctor to have a look at him now. The med bay, do you know where it is?" The man knew where a layout might be located. "I'll be back, Lieutenant. Make sure the little shit doesn't retire early." He was off like a shot.

"Yes, sir."

Once he had departed from the doorway, Ed let out a breath he had unknowingly been holding. "It was really killing you not to yell at him, huh brother?" Alphonse sat next to him, and Ed leaned against him, curling up against the hard, cold metal. He shivered horribly. "Al, I–" His breath hitched and he drew in quicker, shorter gasps of air.

Before he could warn anyone, he began to emptily retch. Riza didn't shy away, only moving to the other side of him to hold him up. Without much care about getting himself dirty if he really did puke, he kept his knees up and made himself as tiny as possible. So utterly drained that no shred of dignity was left. A strangled sob left him between gags.

Every breath ushered more retches and he began to tear up again. Riza frowned, almost about to join him. She looked at Alphonse, who was silent and stiffened. "Al, everything is going to turn out fine. There should be a doctor on this train who can hopefully help him." But Alphonse made a shuddering sound as he stood up in retaliation.

"It's not that simple!"

"No, of course not." She didn't want to explain this way for fear of scaring them. "If this is what we're thinking, he will need surgery. It's relatively non-invasive. This is a very common illness."

Ed hacked up a strand of stringy bile and Riza's scowl only deepened, she pushed a strand of hair out of his face. "That's why we need to get him to a doctor now. He needs this surgery to evade complications. I promise that he'll be fine, in fact... the Colonel had this procedure done before. But don’t tell him you know that."

The boy was quiet for a moment, swallowing vigorously and breathing erratically. A guttural retch brought up a mouthful of mostly fluid stomach contents. She held back his bangs and felt his face again. Dammit!

"When did this start?" But Alphonse had no reply, processing what he was hearing. For two boys of only 14 and 15, there were many daunting words, even for their intellect and maturity. Surgery, time, stuck waiting for a doctor... They were handling a ticking time bomb right here on this very train and they were wise enough to know that.

The Elric brothers were only children at their core. Alphonse was scared of the dark and hated sleeping alone, and Edward was afraid of needles. He was scared something was horribly wrong with him and that he would die before getting Al his physical body back. They surely knew what appendicitis was, but among everything that could happen to them, it was completely out of left-field.

"I–" Ed breathed. "Don't know..." More sick rushed up his throat with a gurgle and Riza rubbed his back, her other hand guiding his head down so he would not choke. The meager remains of his partially digested dinner splattered into his lap. He coughed and retched for several minutes, gradually tapering into quiet breaths.

"...Colonel Mustang should be returning real soon. I think you might have frightened him." She remarked cooly. Seeing as Ed was steadying his breathing once more despite the likely excruciating abdominal pains was relieving enough. However, she had noticed his lethargy and withdrawn mood early into the evening and his typically ravenous appetite seemingly vanished into a memory. Nothing evaded the hawk’s eyes. That's... at least 7 hours ago up to now.

"Coming in with a doctor." Roy and a medic had stepped inside. It was a pathetic sight, curled into a ball was a trembling boy under two coats, burning up and crying out in pain when the doctor attempted to move him. It took effort to unfurl him just long enough so that the medic could have a look at him.

Unfortnate that she needed to examine him. However, at a single touch of the lower right quadrant of his tummy proved something is amiss. He cried out in such visceral pain that there was no doubt. However, this something is not something she is equipped to treat in a moving train's cabin.

"Can I stay with my brother?" Alphonse's voice sounded heartbroken, defeated. Both officers simultaneously looked down.

"You may stay with him in the med bay until we reach the nearest stop, child." It was an older woman with a white coat and dark teal scrubs. Her brown hair was down and tousled. A tired face stared back at him. "But listen to the medics at hospital when your brother gets taken in to surgery. That's what the prognosis looks like to me, anyways."

"Thank you, ma'am! Will he be okay?"

"He's young, strong. He will be just fine."

...

"Brother?"

Everything felt fuzzy, hazy, clouded. As his heavy–lidded eyes opened, everything blurred together. "Mmmnh...?" Everything went dark again before he could move his lips to form a reply. He heard the garbled, distant cries of his name. There were other voices that he didn't recognize, and some that he did.

Then everything got quiet, so he tried calling for Al, but he had already phased out again.

...

He opened his eyes again, only this time everything was brighter, but still blurry as hell. He felt numb and he could tell his arm was detached. His head lolled to the left and to his mild frustration, an IV drip was in his arm. He couldn't muster a curse, only a low groan of displeasure at the sight of the IV needle.

"Brother!"

Ed blinked his eyes open again and went to sit up. "No, not yet!" Alphonse held out an arm to prevent him from sitting up. Through the haze, he was able to focus in on Al's form. Although, his visage was getting farther and farther away the longer he stared through the tunnel vision... "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"

"I... ugh, sleepy..." Eyes threatening to never open again when he blinked, Ed responded. "I'm... okay... Al. Yeah..."

...

The third awakening, things were clearer. Then there was the pain, a deep pain that reminded him of the night prior. Did he already go through surgery? He... he didn't even remember the transfer between train and hospital. Had they put him under before?

Next to him sitting was Hawkeye, intently watching and a ghost of a smile graced her lips upon seeing him regain consciousness. The ranting and raving of the Colonel was about the room, and Ed was unsure of his position. Most of the conversation was that an emergency came up and their return was postponed, but those back at Central headquarters were not pleased.

He almost sounded distressed. Hawkeye glanced over her shoulders and called out. "Colonel Mustang, your "headache" is awake." Apparently, he was never even in the room. The man swung the door open and approached the bedside... Speechless? Surely he was dreaming.

Al was on his other side. "Good morning, sleepyhead. You're looking way better..." Al began going over what Ed had missed while he was unconscious and what would be happening from here. He wasn't quite listening, just happy to see Alphonse again.

"Hey, Al... Morning."

[tuntalia]

Day 4 – Messy

@monthofsick

Content Warning: Depictions of vomiting, mentions of scat, minor Xianzhou story spoilers, spoilers for Yukong's companion mission

Immortal's Distraught

Series: Honkai Star Rail

Summary: Lactose intolerant Yanqing hours, ft. Mother Yukong is mothering.

Notes: Special thanks to @bugbytez13 for the HC that this delves into.

Word Count: 2,950

●●●

"Sushang mentioned that you have some meeting in an hour?" Stelle sipped from her own drink. They were quite good, very sweet, caffeinated the right amount, and customizable. The Sleepless Earl had new drinks, and the four were trying them all. They had a guest, who had time and who himself had been curious in passing.

"Right." Yanqing nodded, pausing to drink from his own. Something tasted different. "Although, the Palace of Astrum isn't that far as you know."

"Well... it's only Madam Yukong. Why go through you?"

"The General has other matters to attend to." The smile starting to sneak up on his features was unmistakably— swindling the general into attending alone.

Stelle sipped hers again. "Is it about anything we can help with?" Yanqing shook his head and dismissively held up a hand. "No need. It's actually an exchange of paperwork..." Maybe it wasn't on his insistence after all. Everyone knew how the general felt about his paperwork.

"Huh, and I'd have guessed you're doing some really important stuff, dude." Gui rests her chin on her palm. "Oh, you know–" Sushang interjects. "It's all probably..."

"Not really. It also has to do with some damage I caused during the heliobi scare..."

"What... What damages?" Sushang whispered. "Casualties. No major injuries, by some miracle. The armor distributed to the cloud knights recently really minimized risk."

"Yeah, but you're a tough opponent." Stelle then suddenly smirked, eyeing a certain brunette. "But Sushang might be a worthy one after seeing how she held her ground."

"Y–Yes, she looked really cool." Huo Huo piped up, halfway through her drink. She had spent much of the time chewing the straw and listening to their conversation.

"But–"

"Quite. Her tenacity and technique is where her strength lies. For such a large sword, it for some reason is not a major detriment to her stamina..."

"Wait!" She raised her hands. "Warn me first before you start analyzing me!" Guinaifen patted her shoulder with a well-meaning sigh and a knowing grin. "She means go easy on her."

"Oh," Yanqing stared blankly between everyone's expressions, taking in the atmosphere. "I get it. But I do mean what I said. It's no easy feat to wield such a magnificent— yet burdensome weapon." Yanqing leaned forward with interest.

"Y-Yeah." Huo Huo nodded in agreement. "I tried to pick it up once, b–but I dropped it..."

"It– It was really funny, I'm so sorry!" Gui cackled, while Huo Huo sunk into her seat in embarrassment. "But it's INSANELY heavy, sis has serious muscle to swing that around like she does!"

"I agree." Yanqing studied Sushang, to her mild disturbance. She stuck firmly against her seat. "So... uh..."

"When I have more time, I'd like to hold it. Briefly, of course. Just as it is." Stelle couldn't help but grin at the thought of him, short as he is, holding the 3 ft longsword. He could not be much taller than 5'3" tall. Taller than Fu Xuan, but apparently not much of an accomplishment.

"Uh, yeah... Yeah, I don't mind. I'd actually be flattered with you having a look at it... being a swordsmaster among swordsmasters. It's actually a family heirloom." Sushang muttered. It would take time getting used to the attention she'd attracted after her face-off with the possessed Yanqing not long ago. She had grown quite a following of admirers after the Ghostly Grove post.

"A family heirloom." He echoed, Stelle could detect a faint melancholy in his voice, knowing he had no biological family to speak of. She kept that part to herself, it was not for her to mention.

She recalled a text conversation between them, which he confided in her a gripe about his past, and whether or not his mother wanted him. However, he turned the conversation down after assuring Stelle that he did not think about it often, and that not knowing his parents at all lessened the sting.

Yanqing finished off his drink. "Perhaps I should meet madam Yukong before the palace gets too packed. She's a very busy woman." He stood up and discarded the empty cup in one of the nearby wastebaskets. "See you around." Stelle said with a lopsided smile.

"See ya later, kiddo." Gui waved as she leaned back in her chair, intending to finish her own drink in one go. She dared to refer to him as a kid, and got away with it purely by respect. Being a prodigy swordsman and watching a street performer swallow one of his swords gave her some social credit.

Huo Huo waved meekly goodbye, and he waved back. Sushang gave a little wave. "Good luck with madam Yukong. Let us know when you're free next!" He promptly nodded and went on his way.

...

By the time he entered the Palace of Astrum, he figured out what tasted off about the beverage. It was made with dairy products. No substitution (even though he specifically ordered it to be, but too late for complaining). That sour turning of his stomach meant it was downhill from here, paired with the constant burbling sounds it started making.

He was really in for it now. With the files in hand, talking to cover up the angry gurgling of his stomach, he approached the Helm-Master. His confidence smashed into little pieces right in front of him.

"This is the paperwork..." Yukong noticed the way he suddenly grimaced and went rigid. Yanqing handed her the paperwork with a stiff hand. He winced again and cursed under his breath, there was no way he could make it back home before his digestive system spontaneously combusts itself. If he didn't leave right now, he'd already be too late.

"Madam Yukong, one moment please. I forgot one of the papers." She had no time to voice her doubtfulness before he calmly strode past her. She was already aware he walked in the opposite direction of the exit, and that she'd just counted the pages. He did, in fact, turn in all of them in order.

Suspicious, she tailed him after setting the paperwork aside on the standing desk. It was not a sizable stack, but worthy of a little paperclip with a bird decal on it. One of the few things that reminded those around him that Yanqing was only still a child and fancied such frivilous things most adults forget about among other needs.

And so she pursued him. Her motherly senses were tingling, to put it simply.

...

"Dammit. I thought I..." He breathed. Of all places to be, he was in the Palace of Astrum's restroom. "...Dammit." He at least hoped that his gastrointestinal distress was not too apparent. What's worse is there was no time to get back home, he already was fighting the nausea and losing the battle. If it wasn't one end making him suffer, it was the other end.

But he needed to try, or he'd be here all night, and then everyone would start noticing his absence.

Still, after he was done the cramps only got worse. Yanqing shuddered and groaned audibly as the stabbing pains assaulted his abdomen, nearly paralyzed waiting for it to pass. After 10 minutes of sitting and waiting for the agonizing pain to end or the lightheadedness to subside, he gave up on waiting. He cleaned himself up and staggered towards the door.

Yanqing could hardly stand, shaking from the pain and the... exertion. Standing up post-attack was an unwise decision, too. Spots danced around his vision that wouldn't go away no matter how much he blinked or rubbed his eyes. Still, his loudly churning stomach spasmed with cramps. Aeons, this is so unfair...

He just wanted to lay down.

...

Nearly colliding with Yukong, the teen veered back into the doorway and leaned heavily against the frame, resisting holding his ailing stomach with his free hand. "Huh...?" He slowly gazed up. "O– Oh." Almost instantly (to Yukong's astonishment), he stiffened his expression and cleared his throat, addressing her calmly. "Madam Yukong. Sorry for my sudden leave."

"Yanqing." Damn, she was already studying him. "If you would spare some time, follow me." The Foxian suggests.

In her mind, she'd become fully convinced that he was not well. She saw the way he staggered against the doorframe and hunched over with pain. How his face twisted with a certain discomfort. His arm shook and as did his knees. She could hear aggressive churning and grumbling from his belly.

"...Yes, ma'am." He mumbled, exceedingly pale and heavily leaned against the doorframe. The woman scowled at this sight and held out her arm. "I insist that you accept my assistance, Yanqing."

As if this were a signal, the mask dropped immediately. He allowed her to hold his shoulder as he pressed against her side while he was cradling his middle. "Okay..."

She led him to her office. He would have protested for longer, if his stomach wasn't already doing that for him. He was just in too much agony to put up any resistance when just laying down was so alluring. "I'm sorry–"

"Don't be. Lay down and rest for a while." Yukong directed, motioning to the sofa. Usually where guests sat, but it was comfortable enough to be used to lay on. Yanqing quietly hissed and gingerly laid back on the surface, still with his hands over his tummy defensively.

She wondered if calling for Bailu or Jing Yuan (or both) was in the cards. Wordlessly, she approached him with a trash bin, and still without a word returned to sit at her desk to give him space. Was it really so obvious? Or perhaps, her ears picked up the noisy churning of a gut, maybe her eyesight was just that good, inpenetrable.

Or... intuition of some kind?

It had become policy to turn a blind eye to Yanqing when he was sick or hurt, pretend you cannot see it unless you're keen on facing the wrath of an armed teenager in pain. In times when he accepted help, he took it best quietly. He disliked being seen in such a way by anyone, even Jing Yuan. It was a rare thing to experience when someone held such a high position at such a young age.

She abruptly stood again when she heard him gag. Despite the pain, reflex took over his body quickly and he jolted upwards into a sitting position. Unfortunately, this heave brought with it a torrent of sick into his lap. He only managed a gasp for air between the violent retches.

Yukong rushed over and picked up the bin in one hand, holding it under his chin, and the other hand placed between his shoulders. Instinct had kicked in to comfort him as he brought up wave after wave of sick.

He could not see her look of worry as she rubbed between his shoulder-blades during the brutal fit of vomiting.

The aftermath was a messy one. It was actually a little sad to see that drink go to waste. But that same thought made Yanqing a bit upset with himself. Why couldn't he be normal? He wouldn't have this problem if he was. And didn't that shit always taste so horrible coming back up— This sucked.

Without speaking, he closed his eyes and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, not wishing to meet eyes with the Helm-Master. She, however, only continued gliding her hand along his shoulder-blades now that the bout of vomiting was over for now.

It was a certain tenderness that he would allow just this once. Her gentle hand almost felt like it was filling a void he didn't know he had in his heart.

A maternal bond, maybe? Unknown to him, it might be something like that.

"Is that any better?" Though he didn't want to admit it openly, that was slightly better. It felt so childish to say after making a mess in Helm-Master Yukong's office. Still, the cramps were excruciating and the nausea left him speechless. He felt completely impaired. His abdominal muscles were sore and he was shaky and weak following the attack.

He managed a few words. "I... apologize," and Yukong shushed him with another stroke against his back. "It's alright. What's more important now is who I call to come get you. I won't allow you to go back alone in this state." Yanqing opened his eyes and stared back at her in uncomfortable silence.

The foxian frowned deeply, taking in the sight before her. He was pasty, shaking, and looked miserably nauseous. "You look like you're in a lot of pain right now. Should I fetch a healer from the Alchemy Commission to give you a once-over?" She inquired as she grazed the back of her hand against his cheek. Yanqing turned his head away, doing too poorly to put up a fight. "Good, no fever."

"No— home. Please." Yanqing muttered, both arms wrapped around his tummy as it protested loudly. "I just need to lay down in bed..." He hiccuped and a hand rose to his mouth uncertainly.

"You're implying that this is nothing new." The boy swallowed thickly with a nod and laid back again slowly, his hand still grazing over his tummy delicately. He pulled his knees up as he lay there as still as possible.

"It– Ugh... Lactose intolerant."

A sigh of slight relief paired with a wince of sympathy. "I... understand. My apologies if I encroached on personal affairs. Being a parent, you always expect the worst when a child is sick."

Yanqing was silent, but that was okay. Yukong could do the speaking. "Here, let's move somewhere clean." She wasn't keen on letting him lay in such a mess, but... He shook his head with a strained hiccup. "No– ugh... Can't move... right now." She could see the spasming of his abdominal muscles from under his layers of clothes. He was still fighting against another round of vomiting, no doubt.

"I will return shortly with the General. Hang tight." Yukong stole a single glance at the boy before stepping out to call the General, closing the office door behind her.

...

After a few tones, her call went through. "Madam Yukong, what do I have the pleasure?" Jing Yuan's voice through the receiver was like music to her ears, and his sillhouette graced her presence via a jade abacus. "General." She started with a long breath. "You're needed at the Palace of Astrum, Yanqing needs to be escorted home."

The hologram left by the jade abacus hummed as he moved. A beat of silence. "...Yanqing?" On his side, he could see worry creasing the Helm-Master's brow. Expecting the worst, his heart dropped.

He cleared his throat and revisited her request. Unmistakably, he faltered for a moment at the mention of his protege. "Yes. I'll be on my way now." He hung up before she could explain any further. The figure illuminated by the jade abacus vanished and left her alone in silence. With a sigh, Yukong paced back to the main hall.

She returned to her standing desk to review the paperwork turned in to her. Within minutes, the General snuck in, breathless.

"Did something happen?"

"No, however... He is feeling very sick. He agreed to let me call you for assistance." She explained, already leading the General down the long corridor. "He's in a great deal of pain and I don't think he's well enough to head back all alone."

She knocked twice before opening the door to her office, letting Jing Yuan in first. "Oh..." He must have realized what she was referring to, how he frowned at the sight of Yanqing. "General– damn it..." He moaned in frustration through clenched teeth. Honestly, he had the right to be irritated.

"Ready to get home?" Jing Yuan reassuringly smiled as well as brushed back the boy's bangs, that had become tousled from his earlier bout of puking. "Yeah, but..." Yanqing murmured uncertainly. "...Can't move or I'll be sick again. I don't want to."

"I can carry you. I promise I'll walk slowly." Yanqing opened his eyes and subtly nodded, looking up at the General almost pleadingly. The hardest part was moving. His stomach had settled just enough to allow him to speak, and he really wasn't ready to kickstart another fit all over again.

He let Jing Yuan carefully slide his arms under him and lift him. The General found himself slightly shocked at how much he'd grown. It wasn't often that Yanqing needed to be carried. It had to of been a year ago the last time he picked him up... or had it been even longer than that? Yukong observed his reaction and a soft smile graced her lips.

"Time sure does fly by, doesn't it?" Jing Yuan nervously chuckled. "That it does. Thank you for the hospitality."

"Nonsense. Take care."

...

Yukong and Qingni were each doing their respective tasks in tranquil silence that evening. When Yukong's phone vibrated, she set down the book she had just picked up mere minutes ago. It was a message from someone, she opened it to find it was from Yanqing.

< Yanqing: Thank you >

Qingni noticed her mother smile slightly to herself. She cocked her head and dropped the paper airplane she started making using scrap paper from an old manual that Yukong was going to throw away. "What's got you smiling like that, mom?" She saw the skeptical glare Qingni was making at her.

"Nothing really, I'm just glad that manual went to good use, on second thought." She hit send while she spoke, her gaze falling to view the origami gliders and starskiffs.

< Me (Yukong): You're welcome. >

Qingni looked down and back up, feeling like she got duped somehow. "Huh?"

[tuntalia]

Day 13 – Late Caretaker

@monthofsick

Content Warning: Extremely graphic depictions of vomiting and illness, and major FMAB spoilers.

Proshippers DNI, thanks!

Never Late Again

Series: Fullmetal Alchemist

Summary: On a day trip back to Central and on poor timing, Alphonse comes down with the flu and gets it bad. Sometime after Promised Day.

Notes: I think a demon possessed me and made me write an entire novel about the blorbo brothers. I should mention that I reference CoS Alphonse’s design (cause it’s objectively better 🙄/j). Shoutout to @bugbytez13 for the plot idea and turning me into a fervent Al enjoyer

Extra Note: I can't believe I fucked up when the EdWin confession happened, I'm such a fake fan,,,,,, Just like pretend that the last chapters were like a proposal and they are already dating or something to spare me the humiliation 😭🤚

Word Count: 10,041

(I swear to god this is the last edit I make)

●●●

The trip back to Central to visit old friends was supposed to be tranquil.

The brothers had grown used to the hustle and bustle of the city from their time in the military before the Promised Day. Still, it was weird that Alphonse no longer took up most of a seat across from him. If they ever chose to, they could fit in the same seat with room to spare. Sometimes, he still acted like he was that large hunk of armor that bumped into things, back when he was that size. And after regaining his human body, he was still getting used to being, well, human sized again.

Their day started early, and yet Edward was watching his brother sleeping deeply on the brief ride there. His cane was across his lap with his head against the glass. A halo of foggy condensation surrounded his face against the cold window. He'd been acting a bit off all morning, but he'd been chalking it up to a lack of sleep. Given some time to reflect, he wasn't so sure if that was the truth anymore.

Something was wrong with Alphonse today.

Usually, he was very patient and good-natured. Since waking up, he seemed slightly off-kilter and sullen. He was quiet to begin with, but the silence he gave Edward had an air of irritation to it, like a storm cloud was rolling in over his head. It looked like a hellishly bad mood, which, for Edward, was not unheard of with his bad temper— but Alphonse, he wasn't like that just randomly. He asked Al if something was bothering him, but his brother dismissed his concerns politely as if he wasn’t glaring daggers at the breakfast table.

Now Edward was stumped.

As much as he didn't want to wake him up, he gently shook his brother's shoulder right before their stop to give him ample time to collect himself. "Psst. Al, our stop’s coming up soon."

"Oh," Al mumbled, cracking an eye open. Goodness, he looked tired. "I'm awake." He brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. Straightening up in his seat, Alphonse gazed out the window vacantly as the train came to a steady stop. The world around him felt fuzzy and the air was heavy, making it difficult to breathe in. It felt like the air got trapped in his throat and chest. It made his airways ache down to his lungs.

Unknowingly, he was making that irritable face again. Edward recoiled in his seat, regretting his decision to wake him up at all.

The train came to a complete stop just moments later. He stood in tandem with Ed, firmly planting his walking stick down. He needed it less and less, but was not past the point of using it to walk longer distances. Today, however, he found himself supporting his whole weight on it, not trusting his legs to hold him up.

Furthermore, he was feeling a bit of vertigo. Paired with a gradually developing headache, it left him feeling unsteady on his feet. Since being on the train, he found that his head was not the only part of him feeling unsteady. After getting his body back, he noticed moving vessels made him feel queasy, which he recalled Edward struggling with early into their commutes from place to place when he first joined the military. He grew used to the travel sickness, and Alphonse hoped that he would too. Because boy, it wasn’t a fun time.

Today, the turning of his unsettled stomach had him looking even more annoyed. Was it because he was already so done with today? Because he was just feeling so exhausted and just... blah?

Alphonse tripped on the way out of the train, grateful for his cane and Edward's steadying arm to break his fall. Ed was talking, but Al wasn't paying all that much attention to the world around him beyond watching where he stepped. He was a bit cold, which perhaps was only making him moodier. Speaking felt like too much of a chore right now. He felt bad for his attitude up to now, truthfully.

Reaching the headquarters, the two enter and Alphonse audibly sighed, relaxing his tense muscles that he was unaware he had been tensing until now. It's so much warmer here.

What the two boys did not foresee was the flight of stairs. "It's fine, brother. I'm feeling kind of tired, I wanna wait down here." Edward turned to Al with a pensive expression, that look of worry and apprehension from earlier returning. Alphonse hoped he could dissuade him from worrying about him. "You sure, Al?"

"Positive, I'll be fine. Tell them I said hello for me." Shooting Edward a reassuring grin, he waved him off and listened to his brother's footsteps ascending the stairs before turning the corner on the current floor. The look on his face stuck with him, fastened to his psyche like a tumor. Al took a second to reconsider, and despite the lack of motivation and the fatigue, he felt a rush of determination as he stared up at the flights of steps twisting over and above him.

He would go up there to say hi to everyone with him, albeit a tad late. With a deep breath and a grunt, the boy experimentally took a few steps. The world went out of focus and he felt like he was falling. Clutching the barrister by one arm while the other was braced against his cane, he waited out the wave of vertigo. That very brief surge of adrenaline kept him standing just long enough to reach for support.

He just couldn't do it.

He shuffled back down the few steps he successfully went up defeatedly. By raw determination alone, he still wouldn't have made it up the stairs before his legs gave out on him, or worse if he blacked out. That would really have the opposite effect than intended. Al intended on staying out of the way of his and Ed’s pleasant day back in the city.

Using his walking stick to cement each step, he approached the waiting room that was primarily for subordinates awaiting a receptionist or their superior officer themselves to initiate their mission briefing or issuance. It was a mostly vacant space filled with chairs.

Alphonse couldn't help but let himself fall onto his side into one of the chairs towards the corner of the room, lay there and close his eyes. Idle chatter from the farther sides of the room reverberated with high sensitivity that he couldn't block out, exacerbating the throbbing headache and causing the world around him to crash into him in waves.

The ache that formed behind his eyes continued to pound with his heartbeat, he hoped laying down might relieve it some. He also hoped the remainder of this motion sickness would fade away after some rest. Now that he was laying here inside headquarters, it was too warm here.

It was a heat that felt like it was baking him from the inside like an oven, no hint of coolness from the air. It was as if the air itself had turned into a dense, thick gas tainting the oxygen on a molecular level. He was just waiting for the sweltering fumes to break him apart just like the oxygen. Unlike the dry heat of the desert, the air pressing against his skin was humid and unavoidable. Heavy, hot, and uncomfortable.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to move, his entire body felt like lead. Like a blessing from the great beyond, he drifted into a light sleep.

...

He woke up feeling more miserable and for extra measure, alone.

That fuzziness around himself evolved into a spiny, prickling sensation. His brain felt like it was being bashed in with a mallet to his skull and making his head hurt like mad. As well as the sweltering warmth of the building and his pounding headache, his stomach turned and flipped with nausea of higher intensity. It still wasn't gone. He didn't miss any part of that sensation back before regaining his body. It never even crossed his mind, but if it wasn’t on his list of things to do after getting his body back, he didn’t want any part of it.

Opening his eyes, he pulled one of his heavy, shaking arms to push himself to sit up. A dull ache reverberated through his limbs down to the bones. His aching head spun at the sudden change in posture, stomach doing somersaults.

He swallowed hard and dropped his head in his hands, willing the queasiness to subside. He really didn't want to throw up or pass out. Alphonse wasn't sure which it was gonna be, but he was expecting one of these outcomes in the near future. The tumultuous churning of his stomach never ceased, it only intensified.

He found himself holding his breath to stave off heaves hiding in the way back of his throat, lying in wait for the slightest spasm. Holding his breath made him even more woozy, and thus more nauseated. The world swirled and warped around him and against his skin, the humid air shoved and morphed like a dense, sweaty, massive crowd. Every molecule and microbe flitting around him, invisible to the naked eye, were pressing down on him with an immense atmospheric pressure that squeezed his organs, threatening to pop him like a balloon.

God, he did not feel good.

This was starting to feel less like a migraine or motion sickness, and more like an actual illness. Even with his head in his hands, he couldn't determine if he had a fever or not. He knew he was sweating and shaking simultaneously, which according to most medical documentation could be a sign of elevated body temperature... But thinking about it was making his headache even worse.

In the hazy state he was in, he stood with a hand over his eyes and swallowed back coppery saliva. He was determined to just splash some water over his face and ride it out until Edward came back, then they could go home and he’d sleep off this horrible illness.

Only for short periods could he look around before needing to cover up his eyes again, lest he collapse from the sheer force of gravity paired with swirling vision. Had he kept them open the entire time, he would have lost the battle against his nausea sooner. All while he stumbled through the corridor towards the nearest washroom.

What's more of a miracle is he never bumped into anyone or hit a wall in doing so.

Upon entering and slamming the door behind himself, the vertigo returned at the sight of the tiles. He emptily gagged and all but collapsed in front of the latrine like diving for safety in a disaster. Alphonse heaved unproductively for a while, no definite time applied other than it sure felt like an eternity, so it must be.

He groaned and put his head down, resting on his hand. Nothing was happening, exacerbating his suffering exponentially. Even though nothing was coming up, his stomach felt full and churned incessantly. He seriously considered inducing vomiting, but as he lifted his other hand, he dropped his head again, too scared to pull through with it. He really wished Ed was here, but he was too far away to reach. He was too busy catching up with old friends and comrades.

Besides, what's more burdensome than taking care of your sick little brother? Way to kill the mood, what a surefire way to ruin the day…

Al was hellbent on not being a burden to Ed any more than he already is.

He kept his eyes closed not to stare down into the bowl, not wishing to increase the already unmanageable nausea. He was earnestly praying to whatever god may hear his desperate pleas, that maybe, just maybe— Ed would find his way over to him. It was just wishful thinking, for if it actually came to pass, he'd be genuinely torn on how to react.

Hardly wasting his energy on swallowing, he let the thick saliva drip down into the water. Suddenly his mouth like it had dried up, rendering him temporarily unable to swallow. He attempted to swallow in futility, but it made him gag until it brought up a small mouthful of sick. I hate this so much...

He coughed and spat into the bowl, out of breath and shaking horribly. More unproductive retches tore up his throat, each cough sending burning pains to shoot through his esophagus. He reached to flush and took several seconds to stand. Between the weakness and the shakiness, getting up without his walking stick in this state was nigh impossible.

He left his cane behind in the lobby and now had to traverse back there. Not before his knees buckled and he hacked up another torrent of sick, reeling in the prospect of standing up all over again. He felt crushed.

With one hand over his cramping abdomen that churned under his touch, his other hand kept slightly out to the wall to maintain balance, he stood as slowly as his body allowed. So excruciatingly slow his aching and sore limbs trembled and locked up and the lights around him were stagnant.

Needing to grasp the doorframe as he transitioned to holding the wall for support, he staggered and willed his knees not to buckle again. His breaths shook and felt like the magnitude of air he was inhaling contorted his ribs, popped his lungs like balloons. His chest hurts, his stomach hurts, his head hurts, God... Everything hurts.

It felt like every gear in his body was turning in opposite directions. Head spinning... stomach turning... limbs not cooperating...

... So ... dizzy ...

Alphonse felt the floor pull out from underneath him like a rug, fully prepared to just fall unconscious at this point. Until he brushed against someone's shoulder, he didn't open his eyes. The two figures fell to the floor and Al was reeling. The floor felt so nice he could just... fall asleep...

"OOF!"

A momentary pause as the mystery voice huffed and fumbled with something small and metal, judging by the clicks and lack of a hollow reverb. Glasses, maybe? These sounds made his ears hurt, he was sure they'd start to bleed. "Phew... are you alright?" Alphonse opened his eyes to– is that...? Sheska?

He must have said her name out loud on accident, because the woman perked up. "That voice... Alphonse?!" She all but jumped up and shook his hands while he stared back sheepishly, equally bewildered, but blank. "I–It's so wonderful to finally meet you in the flesh!! I'm sorry I didn't recognize you, I'm better with faces. But hey, now I'll never forget you."

Al shook his head, trying to smile through the pain behind his eyes that worsened with the volume of her voice. He must have winced, because she made a face. "Yeah... it's me, miss Sheska." She offered to help him up and Alphonse closed his eyes as he stood with her assistance, not intent on allowing a second chance to faint. Not while talking to someone, that would be rude of him to do.

"Um... Forgive me for asking, but..." He cleared his throat and wryly smiled. "I need to sit down... I don't feel very well at the moment." Upon hearing this, she clicked her tongue in sympathy with a frown, she looked like she was thinking.

"Oh dear. You can sit down in the library since it's right here! Nobody else is using it if that's a concern at all." Sheska replied, sounding a tad bit concerned and outstretching an arm to hold Alphonse upright. He did not comment on it aloud, but man, was he grateful for her. Either she's really strong, or he's still standing on his own two feet. He honestly couldn't feel his anything, just a pins-and-needles sensation buzzing through his body. Blissful numbness.

"Thank you... brother is upstairs at the moment. I... don't want to bother him." He knew he looked rough, but hadn't actually caught a glimpse of his own face. Alphonse was pale and disheveled, and seemingly overnight he developed dark circles under his eyes. His skin was almost sheet white, as if all the blood drained from his head. She must have been worried he'd black out on her.

To anyone, he looked dead on his feet.

"Are you sure you don't want me to phone for him? You're..." Sheska started, and Alphonse hiccuped uncertainly, pausing to swallow back another, not trusting it to be just air. "No, I... I've worried him enough already. I want him to– hic... Sorry. I want him to have a good time while we're in town..." Sheska pursed her lips into a thin line as she listened to his train of thought derail.

She could tell he was a bit delirious, supported by the heat pouring off of him through their clothes.

...

Sheska led him in to the library and watched him slump down into one of the seats with his head rested against the back of the chair. Al closed his eyes once more, sighing deeply. "You do look awful." She remarked before covering her mouth and retracting her statement. "I–I mean—" But Alphonse nodded in agreement. "Ah... I know what you meant." He responded gently. "I feel awful, too."

Sheska was silent for a moment, then she strode over to him and experimentally reached out her hand to feel his face. Naturally, Alphonse jumped a little at the sudden gesture. "...Oh— forgive me. I was thinking." The woman said, frowning. "You feel really warm, like you have a fever. Do... you actually want me to fetch your brother?"

Alphonse was silent for a moment. "No... I don't want him to worry, or worse go home early because of..." He paused, suddenly feeling his stomach flip inside out. Oh no. He swallowed hard, bracing himself and feeling lightheaded. "Sheska, I think–"

"You what–?" Sheska gasped when Al gagged into his hand, feeling slick bile coating his palm. "Hurry—" His muffled pleas were lost in Sheska's panicking. Without thinking, she rushed over with a half-full coffee mug. "Uh, uhh here!!" She then yelped as the boy heaved over the cup. He coughed and whimpered and spat a mouthful of stomach acid into the mug. "I–I'm so sorry... miss Sheska..."

There was a moment of lag where she was thinking something over. Suddenly, she blurted out: "I—I'm so sorry for this!!" She ever so delicately set the mug on the floor below him and sprinted out of the library. On a mission to find Edward, but Alphonse was unaware of the true intent behind her actions and thus he felt abandoned.

Alphonse sat in the now quiet room, only his panting breaking through the dead silence. He hung his head between his knees, watching stringy saliva drip slowly into the ominous mix of coffee and stomach contents.

Now he really felt alone.

A clock ticked overhead, each tone sending a shockwave of pain through his head. He shivered even through the sweltering heat underneath his coat, he shrugged off one shoulder, but hadn't realized it was clasped. Suddenly, he hiccuped and weakly gagged, mostly liquid vomit rushing up his throat and splashing into the mug. It burns...

Suddenly, a strange thought popped into his head, courtesy of that fever of his.

... Does this mean I look like a coffee machine? ... ... Even when I'm human I'm not human anymore. ... ... ... Woah... I need to get a grip. ... ... ... ...

He closed his eyes and let it happen, drawing in a shuddering breath as tears stung his eyes, and sinuses already burning. Maybe it was the fever, but he really wished their mom was here. She would know how to make everything feel just a little bit less miserable.

… Why think of HER all of a sudden …

"AL! ALPHONSE, WHERE ARE YOU?"

He flinched. The shriek hardly penetrated his hearing at first, delayed, accompanied by hurried, pounding footsteps. They echoed distantly until he could no longer hear them, no matter how hard he tried listening for them. Impressive feat, when everything in the near vicinity was making his eardrums bleed.

Without opening his eyes, he silently pleaded (or rather, repeating his name aloud unknown to himself) that it was Edward while everything went completely still around him.

…

Down the stairs and to the far left, as he remembered. The brothers had memorized the layout of the buildings all the way down to each floorboard and overhead light. He did a thorough sweep of the waiting lobby, down to each individual seat and the floor. He reached one of the sofas and only came upon Alphonse’s walking stick.

There was a dark haired woman in red clothing sitting on the other side of the seat, now with her attention on Edward. On the armrest was a notepad she’d been perusing. “Hey– Ah, excuse me, ma’am. Have you seen a boy that looks kinda like me around this area? Or might you know where the owner of this cane is?” He held up the walking stick in question to potentially grind some gears.

“Mm. The boy must have been long gone before I took this seat.” Her droll voice slightly grated against his eardrums, her tone was one of boredom. “Of all people who came and went, none of which have looked… like you.”

“The fuck you mean by tha– Ahem.”

“You really are as I’ve heard.” She grinned, crimson lipstick contrasting with the stark paleness of her face. “However, I am not lying about my answer. This cane was already sitting here on the ground, I merely set it next to me. Surely whoever it belongs to would prefer it is easily accessible.” She placed a hand on her notepad, the other hand gravitating to her mouth as she coughed softly.

“In that case, thanks for… almost nothing.”

She was unfazed by his attitude, like it was just as she’d expected. “Go on and continue your search. Hopefully it will not be long now before you find your brother.” The woman flipped to a page of the notepad filled with writing and what looked like revisions in a different colored pen.

“Wait, how did—”

“E– ED!”

Edward turned around to see Sheska racing towards the lobby following her exclamation. She skidded to a stop and had her hands braced on her knees, taking a breather. It was as if she’d been running all around the place.

“What is it?” She must have seen the walking stick in his hand and pointed to it, looking up at him breathlessly. With a slight movement of her fingers, she stuck up her index finger signaling him to wait. “Hah… Ah… It’s Alphonse. He’s in the library—” She sounded frantic, and in turn made him fear the worst.

That was when he bolted without hearing the rest.

Through the corridors leading to the room they’d spent most of their time in when they were inside this building, he sprinted. It didn’t matter how many people he nearly collided with on the way, more pressing, terrifying matters were on the brain– like Al’s safety. He’d already lost him once, it was perfectly justified why he was so afraid of anything happening to him.

Losing him a second time would mean the end of the world all over again.

"Alphonse! Al!" He skidded into the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks. There was Alphonse, crumpled over himself to one side. He looked like he might be unconscious. He was so pale, almost gray, sweating through his shirt and soaked his fringe. "Al? Al!" He rushed over and shook his shoulders, all his brother could muster was a faint murmur.

Sheska caught up and watched, panting in the doorway. "I–I'll hail a cab to the train station! I'll be right back!!" And she was off like a shot again. She definitely hit her weekly quota of physical activity.

He embraced his brother, hand on the back of the other boy's head and stroking his hair, which had begun falling out of the ponytail he put it in. He wanted to keep his hair long for a while longer, because he liked how Edward's hair looked pulled up. Even though his hair turned darker the older he got, they still looked so similar. "Yes, yes... I'm here now..."

"... I'm sorry..." Al muttered, letting his head rest against Ed's shoulder limply, devoid of energy. "... I threw up, and I'm sorry." Edward grimaced, shaking as he silently nodded along with the delirious mutterings. Guilt pierced through his chest like an arrow. He was hardly even conscious and yet he was sorry for... just what exactly?

Now he knew how he must've sounded to granny and Winry after his initial automail surgery, drugged and feverish out of his right mind. He didn't remember a damn thing.

"No, no. I'm the sorry one here, Al... but I'm here now. Let's go home." He broke apart from their embrace, and he watched his ill brother slump against his arm. "I'll take you home, don't worry about a thing... I'm here." Edward positioned himself so he could carry Alphonse on his back, and once he took a (weak) hold, he situated him and held his legs. Al rested his head against the back of his neck.

"Jeez, and you're burning up, too..." He bit his lip as he began walking. After everything he put his little brother through, he'd gone and done it again. He fucked up. Again.

"I'm so fucking sorry." He said softly, and the brunette weakly nodded, not even listening. "You can... carry me now..." Al chuckled a bit to himself absently. Ed felt his heart shatter into a billion pieces. All of this was his fault. Even after getting his body back, Al saw himself as that huge chunk of steel that got in the way and made lots of noise, drew attention.

He'd been treated like a grown, hulking man because of his appearance, everyone thought he was the Fullmetal Alchemist. He was only 14 then. He was still scared of the dark. He hated sleeping alone, and even the reprieve of rest was stolen from him. He always loved picking up and taking care of stray cats.

But after all this bullshit Ed put him through, he persisted, because he trusted Edward.

He didn't realize he had tears streaming down his cheeks until Sheska encountered them. "Are... you okay?" She frowned, the glare over her glasses briefly obscuring her eyes as she stared. "Well– the cab's here. I'll... I'll get the doors." Perhaps she knew that her question fell on deaf ears. And Sheska didn't like stirring up trouble, she preferred maintaining the peace.

"Thanks." He mumbled to her as she opened the door for him. He then noticed in her hand Alphonse's cane, her eyes followed his gaze and she perked up, having forgotten she was still holding onto it amidst the chaos. "Oh, I– I picked it up after you rushed to his side. I figured that it belonged to him if you were running around with it while looking for him."

"Thanks again." He said. Sheska seemed to think of something, and tapped on Al's shoulder. He opened his eyes, just barely. "I wasn't running away to leave you—" Alphonse closed his eyes again and smiled, nodding to himself. "You led him over to me... Thank you, Miss Sheska..."

Tears even stung her eyes, moved by the pure gratitude. "P— Please come back when you're feeling better, okay?! Don't be strangers, now!"

Edward nods, briefly locking eyes with her before looking away. "Sure." Sheska opened the cab door and helped Ed get Al situated inside. "Thanks again. Guess I owe you." Sheska waved her hand. "Nonono...!! I'm just helping because I want to. Well– I was squeamish but held it together! Then I found you, and—"

"No, no, you're good. Thanks."

...

He helped Alphonse out of the cab. Turns out Sheska even paid the right amount to get them to the station... He really does owe her. That memory of hers has saved their hides more times than he can count.

Alphonse supported himself using his cane, allowing Edward to guide him, being his eyes. Ever since getting his body back, gravity has hated him, and vertigo was a real pain to deal with. It never helped that his muscles were still weakened from long term deterioration. Ed knew this, some days were worse than others. It was not uncommon for Alphonse to be glued to the floor just to not lose consciousness.

Alphonse forgot how much bodies ached and throbbed whenever something was wrong with it. His head pounded, his stomach was cramping and doing flips, and his entire body was just sore and shaky and stiff. Being sick sucked, but he would never take it for granted ever again. He was eternally grateful to just feel anything. Still hated every minute of this, though.

As they were walking, something hot rushed up his throat and he pitched over, hacking up a stream of bile. Edward kept a hold of his shoulder and pushed back his bangs. He gathered his hair that since was falling out of the ponytail. Alphonse coughed and gagged up a thicker mouthful of sick. The kind that sounded like he was choking on it.

"Hey, Al... I'm sorry."

Al just groaned, spitting and catching his breath. "No sorry... please."

Silence fell between them. While Al was not blaming Ed, he was irritated that he was always apologizing to him. Not everything required apologies, especially multiple. He knew apologizing helped Ed feel better when he wasn’t sure how to approach his emotions, but it wasn't working right now. It only made him tweak out more when he didn't receive specific feedback. Al had no energy left to respond to his apologies adequately.

Alphonse was far too miserable to spare any of the energy he had left towards pulling Edward out of his thought spiral. And he was aware of himself enough to admit that he'd say something stupid out of frustration if he allowed this to continue. He hated losing his temper because it hindered his ability to listen and comprehend. You can't reason in the face of anger.

Edward on the other hand, took his words as just that— anger, subsequently blame. Guilt-ridden, he said nothing as they waited at the station. Al sensed his brother's hand weigh less against his shoulder, as if wary. Walking on eggshells, even. It really didn't suit him to be so meek, being the more confrontational brother.

The boys settled down on a bench, waiting for the hour that the train back would be arriving. Ed was still worried about the ride back, being as how sick Alphonse was already, not even mentioning that he suffered motion sickness terribly since getting his body back. He was seriously considering just booking somewhere local for the night.

The air was chilly. Noticing Alphonse sighing and relaxing against the back of the bench possibly out of relief, Ed frowned at the sight. "Before we get on the train... want me to remove your coat? We need to keep that fever down until I get you medicine." His brother nodded, his eyes opening to glance up at his face warmly. He felt more at ease, making eye contact and communicating wordlessly.

"Mmm... yeah."

As he unbuttoned his brother's coat, he sighed. He hated seeing him this feeble and miserable more than he hated when Alphonse was mad at him. After all, he deserved to be resented for everything he put them through. For both at the same time, Ed felt like the sky was falling. Even if it wouldn’t be unfounded, the sting wouldn’t lessen. "I know you're annoyed with me, but... be honest. Are you—"

"...Mad at you for leaving me?"

"Ah, yeah... that." Edward watched Al's expression as he shrugged off the coat. Underneath the coat was his white shirt and black vest. He looked... utterly miserable. But unmistakably, he was also smiling softly. Just having company was enough to make everything just a little bit more bearable.

"Not really... I was scared, but... not mad at you at all." Al mumbled, suddenly leaning against Ed. The older of the two could feel Al's fever even through all his own layers. "I didn't wanna tell you, cause... Well, you were so... excited. To see everyone." Ed bit his tongue, waiting. "It's not your fault for not knowing... I didn't want you to know because you’d worry."

Edward couldn't help but interject on that front. "I should have stayed with you or interfered, you're literally burning up, Al. I should've—"

Alphonse hiccuped into the other's shoulder, pausing. He fully intended on not puking any more today, though deep down he knew it wouldn’t be the last time. He’d prefer to stall as much as possible in favor of savoring what little energy he had left for the exhausting train ride back. "... Should've never come? Hm?"

"...That's right," Ed was interrupted. "You're so difficult, brother..." Al's eyes flutter open briefly to watch for the train. "Just let me win this argument, just this one... Okay?" Edward turned to feel his brother's forehead, a frown prominent on his face as he examined him. Still on fire… "With that fever, you won't remember winning this argument anyway." He attempted to lighten up the conversation.

Al pondered for a moment before sighing. Thinking was too hard, between the throbbing of his head and the brain fog. "Probably not... but you'll remember. You never forget things like that... I trust you'll remember. So… don’t let me down, brother." A ghost of a smile crossed his exhausted features, reassuring Ed.

Al's hand gravitated towards Edward's, bumping his fist weakly against his, despite how much his arm trembled at the exertion. Such a minute task still consumed energy he hardly spared. The other boy chuckled. "Then I'll make up for abandoning you by remembering who won this debate." Ed bumped fists back. Alphonse huffed a laugh. "I'll let that slide... Deal?"

"Deal. Now let's go home so you can get some rest, in a bed this time."

"Sweeet..."

Time dragged on in mostly silence, and Alphonse drifted off into a restless sleep fueled by exhaustion. Edward busied himself by thinking of every element and chemical that he memorized and whispered them to himself. He often did that to distract himself when he was under a lot of stress. A conductor in passing approached the two boys, noticing them waiting there. "Trains are delayed due to technical difficulties."

Edward looked up in disbelief. "Huh? By how long?" The man assumed a thinking pose. "...For the forseeable future." Ed cursed under his breath, but avoided making a scene in favor of letting Alphonse get some shut eye. "Thanks for the heads up." The man nodded and continued walking, explaining to other waiting future passengers.

Ed lightly brushed a hand against his brother's forehead. The other boy murmured softly and cracked open his eyes. "Mmmn... Brother...?" He smiled reassuringly and nodded. "Yeah, I'm still here." He faintly shivered despite the earlier complaint of being too warm.

"How much longer? I don't feel very..." He hiccuped. His arms tightened around his middle and he leaned into Ed again. Edward frowned, hesitant to break the news after seeing that spark of hope that he had woken Alphonse to board the train. But this was one of those inescapable truths. "So, Al... We need to book a room for tonight. Trains are delayed."

"......." He gazed down at Alphonse in response to the silence. Honestly, he looked on the brink of tears... or maybe on the brink of puking. It was actually quite a challenge to guess. "To be real with you for a second... I think you'd be even more miserable on the train if we left now." Al swallowed thickly and nodded slowly. "Maybe– hic– ugh… Maybe you’re right…"

"We'll head home whenever we’re ready tomorrow, but you need some time to recuperate before charging back into the fray." He patted his shoulder. Then silence. "...That also means we need to get going now before it gets dark." It took Alphonse a second to not only process, but realize he was being spoken to. He was in such a daze between the excessive tiredness and overwhelming nausea. "Oh... Yeah."

"On three. One... Two... Three."

He helped Alphonse stand, but to his surprise, at the same moment they both stood, Al all but projectile puked up some murky stomach contents with zero resistance. The muddy liquid splattered against the concrete. Edward grimaced in sympathy as his brother heaved weakly. He patted his back and glanced away, not too keen on contributing to the mess. "Yeah, you would actually die if we took the train right now."

...

Checking into a hotel was the hardest part, between supporting Alphonse and finding a place that wasn't booked. There came a point where Al couldn't walk much farther, feeling overwhelmingly lightheaded and weak with illness and dehydration setting in. Their final stop was made with Al on his back and praying that there was an open room.

Upon entering, the innkeeper lady smiled. "Hey, do you have any open rooms?" To the boys' relief, she nodded attentively. Her gaze switched between both of them at random. "Yes, we actually have a room available."

"Thank you so much..." He signed the room in and she handed him the keys. She kept stealing glances over his shoulder at Al, who kept quiet in favor of getting by as fast as possible by pretending to be asleep. If it were up to him, he’d rather be asleep for real. However, as Edward climbed the stairs with him on his back, he briefly stirred to view the surroundings and source of the movement. "Sorry if I'm jostling you around too much." He said between breaths. Alphonse only sighed. "It's fine... I hope I'm not too heavy."

As he'd anticipated, this made Edward walk up the (admittedly long) stairwell with newfound strength. When he reached the top, Al carefully stepped down and leant against Ed's shoulder, using his cane to also support himself.

"You said that to give me a second wind."

"And if I did?"

"Then... Thanks, Al." He chuckled at that.

The moment he unlocked the door to the designated room, he realized that he made a grave error. He didn't ask for the bed count. Alphonse noticed the way Ed all but deflated the moment he heard the door creak open. He kept his eyes closed to stop the world from spinning. Otherwise, he'd certainly fall. "Brother, what is it?"

"How do you feel about sharing a bed again after all these years?"

"Oh..." He unexpectedly brought a fist to his mouth and hiccuped. The two stepped inside, diverting paths as Alphonse escaped into the solace of the bathroom, gagging painfully and falling to his knees. Edward watched for a moment, hesitating. He approached his brother and leant against the doorframe. "Need anything?"

Catching a break from the unproductive heaving, he looked up. "Kinda doubt it'll be needed, but... my hair— mmph—" His mouth suddenly shut as he raised a finger to signal 'wait'. He muffled a warning gag and closed his eyes. A productive retch made his cheeks puff out and he buried his head into the bowl again. Ed grimaced as the mouthful of vomit landed in the water with a sickening splash.

"No, I get what you meant." The elder of the two kneeled behind him and gently eased the hair tie out of Alphonse's hair. He gathered the brownish-blonde hair and began to braid it. Unlike a ponytail, it would create less tension against his scalp and it would be more comfortable to sleep with. "All done."

"Thankyou..." Alphonse breathed, seeming to be done for the time being.

"You're not gonna like it, but we've gotta get some water in you or you'll shrivel up." Al groaned and plopped his head against the rim of the seat. "Can I at least shower first before you initiate my timely demise...? I don't wanna die feeling sweaty and dirty..."

“You’re not dying, Al. You’re just a bit sick, that’s all.” The look that Alphonse gave him could kill a man. Turning his head slowly, eyes watering and vomit still on his bottom lip. “...I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that to me.” Of course, it made Ed snicker. Al tiredly smiled and chuckled, then groaned. “But I still want a shower, man…”

"I don't know if a shower's the best plan right now, Al... You can barely stand, and I don't want your fever getting any higher." Ed tried reasoning. But Al stared up at him pitifully, clearly using his current condition as leverage against his brother. Something he knew he picked up from Winry, the puppy dog eyes. Even knowing that, Ed couldn't just say no.

"...Ugh, fine. On one condition."

...

The heat of the shower felt nice beating against his back. It was almost enough to help him forget that Edward was in there with him because he was too worried to let him shower alone. While part of him felt loved, the other part of him rejected being coddled so vehemently. These two sides of him were battling it out inside his pounding head, but he hardly noticed. Amidst his spacing out he nearly dozed off standing up.

With a slight jolt, his head snapped up after nodding off. “You good, Al?” He heard his brother ask. "Uh-huh, yeah. Feels nice.” He went back to washing his hair, taking brief pauses to rest his achy and shaking arms. His stomach had settled for the time being, but his headache felt worse.

Al’s head felt like it was stuffed with cotton or filled with a dense smog that clogged all of his senses. His face felt unbearably hot, despite the water running down his skin it felt dry. Dizzying heat enveloped his body and constricted his lungs, he felt like he was suffocating. The air was too heavy, too humid.

Ed briefly glanced back as his brother quietly cleaned his hair. The way Alphonse's spine still jutted out never failed to make Ed shiver.

That mortifying image of Al so emaciated still haunted him, but he saw progress. He was still spindly and bony, but no longer just a grotesque shell of his brother with diminished humanity. Though he was recovering, being sick like this would set him back a few days, needing to rest and all. Not only that, but his current predicament of being unable to hold anything down would certainly cause him to shed weight he really can't afford to lose.

One of Alphonse's knees bent and he crumpled down to the linoleum tiles. Ed only had a few second window to dive in to catch his brother by the shoulder and support his head. "'M sorry." Al mumbled between laborious breaths. His face was flushed, he was definitely overheating.

"Yup, shower time's over." Ed reached one hand up to turn the water off. He helped his brother lean against the walls of the shower. Brandishing a towel, he draped it over Alphonse's shoulders. He looked so small. He opened the washroom door to vent out some of the steam. “Lay me down.” Al mumbled. Hesitantly, Edward complied, familiar with this request. He gently lowered Al to lay flat on the floor, eyes closed and breathing slowing.

“Thank you.” He whispered, taking a deep breath in. Breathing was still hard, with the humidity caused by the steam making the air feel so thick you could chew it. Ed stood to dry off and wrap a towel around himself, but was wary to leave his brother unattended in the scenario he loses consciousness or attempts to stand while his back is turned.

“You can go… get dressed. ‘M staying here till the room stops spinning…” Alphonse sighed. The elder of the brothers also sighed. “Alright. Let me know when you’re good to stand up.”

…

"Shit. We don't have any other clothes."

"'T's fine..." Edward turned his head towards the doorway and frowned at how out of it Alphonse was looking. He laid there for a good few minutes, by now Ed had finished putting his clothes back on and awaited his word. “Think I’m ready now.”

“Alright.” He stood and walked over to the washroom, kneeling and helping Alphonse sit up. “One, two, three. Up.” He kept an arm around his waist to support him as he walked him over to the edge of the bed, to which Al flopped on his back on the bed.

"Can I have my shirt 'n pants...?" He huffed a small laugh and nodded. "Course. Just take another minute to cool off first, 'kay Al?" He looked back at his brother, who was laid back flat across the bed. Ed picked up the clothes haphazardly laying on the floor, like a trail of breadcrumbs almost. He then carried them to Al in the crook of his arm.

"Mmhmm..."

When Alphonse did sit up, he was muffling a weak burp behind his hand, abrupt and urgent enough to warrant a fight or flight response from Ed. "Woah, hold on." Ed reached for the small wastebasket by the door and held it under his brother's chin. Al coughed into it, and then nothing else happened.

Alphonse belched over the receptacle and shuddered with disgust. He then placed a shaky hand on the rim of the wastebasket, lowering the container. "...Sorry– false alarm."

"No sorries out of you. And while you're upright, let's get dressed, a’ight?" Edward urged him, noting how he shivered so violently as the air hit his skin. His temperature regulation was poor at best, and the last thing he needed right now was for his temperature to jump up and down and serve to make him even more miserable. He could tell that Alphonse was in delirium already, only worsened by the hot shower. Any longer and he’d be suffering from heat exhaustion too.

Alphonse was able to dress himself fine, all Ed did was tidy up their space some. When the younger brother was done changing into what he opted to just be his shirt and boxers, he shuffled under the covers to escape the chilled air and pull the duvet over himself, curling up. The effort of fiddling with the belt to his slacks was too much at the moment.

When Edward returned from putting away the towels, he paused in his tracks when he noticed his brother curled up and trying to sleep. With just his head poking out from behind the blankets and his wet hair splayed across the pillow and sticking to his face. Ideally, he would've liked to braid his hair again before he laid down to minimize knots, but he didn't have the heart to disturb him.

A thought occurred to him, with their departure being delayed until further notice, Edward needed to call Granny and Winry to alert them. After briefly pausing to tie up his hair, he quietly creaked the door open. “Be right back, Al. Gotta call home.” His voice was hardly above a whisper as he said so sadly, closing the door behind him and shoving the key in his pants pocket.

…

He dialed the number at the payphone and anxiously waited, the tone stuck in his head long after Winry picked up. He had spaced out. “Rockbell residence. … Hello?”

He snapped out of his trance. “Oh. Hi, Winry.” He cleared his throat after hearing how soft his voice sounded. “I heard that trains got delayed earlier. They’re still not running?” Ed’s silence must have been telling, because she paused and asked another question, this time her voice was tense. “Is everything okay? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourselves into trouble, even after everything…”

“Yeah, about that… Had to book a room until tomorrow. Al’s pretty sick.” A beat of silence followed his statement. “Is it bad?”

He had to think about it, because Al really looked miserable, but ‘bad’ is usually used to constitute ‘needing immediate medical attention’. Al was in bad shape, yes, but not in a dangerous state. A doctor wasn’t a bad idea, though… “He’s not well enough to travel right now.” Edward said. “He’s been throwing up since earlier, and has a fever, not sure how high.”

“I see.” The tone of her voice was one of unease. “Keep him hydrated and focus on lowering his temperature, cool compresses work just fine.” She explained. Seemed easy enough, most of it he already knew how to do. Although, having Winry saying the same thing gave him the confirmation that it was the right thing to be doing. “Got it–”

“No blood or anything, right?”

“Not that I noticed. Thankfully.”

“Alright. Doing those things should hold him over until you’re both back, since I don’t imagine you have medicine or the money on your person for a doctor.” Edward sighed defeatedly. “Nope. Hardly.”

“How is he right now?”

“Sleeping, I think. Earlier he finessed me into letting him shower and he almost passed out. It was a good thing I refused to let him alone.” He then sighed. “Am I being… too protective?”

“Hmm,” Winry chimed. The silence had Edward bracing for something. “You always are, but I think this time, your intuition was right on the money.” Hearing that made his heart ache just a bit, knowing he had abandoned Alphonse just hours earlier in his condition. “Your concern is definitely not unfounded. And you know he’s more reasonable than both of us put together. He understands, I know it.”

He paused. “I should get back to him.”

“Yeah, you should go do that.” She said, admittedly worried. After all, they lost him once, for anything to happen to him again would shatter him and Winry. “Please call before you take the train back, I want to be there at the station when you’re back. I wanna accompany you to visit a doctor if he isn’t any better.” Ed was actually glad to hear that, undoubtedly he’d be exhausted by the time they returned (not that he was worried about himself).

“Yeah, I will…” He paused, and the two were in silence for a moment, both hesitating to say the same thing. “Love you.” His face heated up as he said it and his hand trembled slightly, he was resisting the urge to hang up before he could hear her response. She, too, hesitated. It was hard for both of them to get used to the whole ‘being in love’ thing. “Love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.” He placed the phone back and exited the phone booth. Ed walked back inside, waving to the receptionist and climbing the stairs, down the hall to the room he and Alphonse were in. He hesitated to open the door for a split second, but swallowed his worry and opened it, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He tiptoed to the other side of the bed and climbed in carefully, to which Alphonse just shifted and groaned, murmuring a greeting.

He still looked miserably sick and exhausted, under his eyes were dark and his face was flushed, twisted into a grimace of discomfort. Occasionally he would inconspicuously swallow and wince, making Edward wonder if his throat was sore along with everything else. On second thought, of course it was. It had to be, considering the violent retching over the course of what now had been a few hours.

He reached to turn off the lamp by the bed, hoping that Al could catch some shut-eye. Getting some sleep himself wouldn’t be so bad, either.

...

"Your leg keeps touching me... It's cold." Alphonse mumbled, his head still resting against his brother's back. Sometimes, Ed forgot about his automail leg, having it for so long that it felt more normal than a real one.

"Heh. Sorry, restless legs." Edward uttered in reply, pulling his knees more towards his chest. It didn’t help that his anxiety about Al’s current condition was also making him all fidgety. "I remember we always had to sleep separately because I would kick you so much that you always woke up with bruises. Remember that, Al?" He felt his brother nod against him.

"Mhmm..." Ed turned slightly to look back at him. Alphonse was quiet, laying still while pressed up against him. "Feeling sick again?" He thought about it for a moment before shrugging and shuffling closer. While his stomach felt unsettled and ached, it was tolerable so long as he stayed still. The subtle shivering of his body kept him on edge about it, though. "Not badly… but laying down helps a lot… Just cold all of a sudden."

"Huh. I wonder if you've got the flu. Maybe that shower was a bad idea." Edward took a pause before turning over to face his brother. To none of his surprise, Al looked no better (from what he could see in the darkness).

"No... it actually helped a little." The darker-blonde responded, laying flat like a pancake as though the weight of the atmosphere was crushing him like a hydraulic press. Ed placed one hand against his brother's cheek, all with a straight face. Alphonse shivered at the touch and shrunk into the warmth of the duvet. "Ah–! Your hand's freezing… Stop that."

"Still have a fever too." He removed his hand and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. In comparison to the sauna that was being under the covers with his feverish brother, he shuddered when the cool air of the room hit him. “That fever’s almost as stubborn as you are.”

"Pshh… Wait. Don't leave." Al murmured, curling up to preserve warmth. Unbeknownst to him, he was like a space heater on his own right now. "You're nice ‘n warm..." He continued tiredly, keeping his eyes closed not to disrupt the sleepiness overtaking his senses. Sleeping was hard for Alphonse, he lost the ability to sleep soundly even when getting his body back. After being incapable of sleeping for so long, you need to relearn, similarly to how Ed had to relearn how to write and walk after getting his automail.

They spent many sleepless nights together after the Promised Day, in part due to the immense trauma of it all and the events that transpired. Scared to face the light, to go outside, to enter the reformed world that they helped to save.

But damn, the world was beautiful when they had the strength to see it.

"Sorry, but you should drink some water before going to sleep. You'll feel even worse if you get dehydrated." Al opened his eyes a crack and watched Ed fill a paper cup from the tap and moaned as he buried his face in his pillow. The cups must be left by the coffee machines for those who actually drink the stuff. As he walked over to his side of the bed, Al laid completely still as a form of defiance. “I’ll get back in bed after you drink some. Deal?”

“Ugh, deal.” He grumbled, squinting up at him just to see a bit in the pitch darkness. The sun had fully set by now and the moonlight hardly cut through the clouds and the curtains. Ed chuckled at Alphonse’s hint of attitude. "Here, sit up a bit."

"If I get sick again it's your fault." Alphonse said with amplified drama, intending it to be a joke. However, he saw Edward's eyes go sad, even in the dim lighting. "...You're so sensitive sometimes, brother, I'm just kidding. I'll live."

Sitting up with the back of his head pressed against the headboard, he accepted the water and drank slowly. Drinking it soothed his throat and eradicated the sour taste stuck to his tongue, but feeling each mouthful of water plop against his stomach lining stirred it up again, little by little. Enough small ripples can make a tidal wave big enough to level a village.

"Heh, sorry. Still on my mind I guess." He watched tentatively and held out his hand as Al handed him the cup, only a few milliliters remained. "That's all I can do... it hurts." He sunk back down into the pillow and wrapped his arms around his middle. "It's okay. You did pretty good." Edward reassured him.

After a beat of silence, he shifted his head to gaze up at Ed, who was rounding the bed to climb in on his established side. "Strange question," Al cleared his throat, cringing at his own voice as it croaked against his raw and sore throat. However, the action of clearing his throat jostled his stomach. He winced as it sloshed uncomfortably, a bitter taste stinging the back of his throat, threatening to spill over like a teapot. "I didn't... ruin your day, did I?"

Ed slid into bed and turned to look at him, the faint clicking of his automail leg as he fidgeted restlessly. "No, you didn't ruin anything. My day would’ve been ruined if something terrible happened to you and I didn't show up in time. I could never have a bad day again knowing my little brother has his flesh body back."

"Oh... Okay. Cool." Al muttered, going rigid and lowering his head under the covers. Edward bit his cheek, taking notice of the shorter responses. Not wanting to prod too much, he just laid on his back with his face still towards his brother. Alphonse had his face scrunched up, eyes screwed shut tightly. That's when Ed knew he messed up again.

"Do you feel sick again?" He started to sit up, eyeing his younger brother in concern. Unexpectedly, Alphonse reached out to hold his wrist before Ed could even stand up.

"Don't." He jumped when Al grabbed his wrist. He still poured off heat like a furnace, and his hand was clammy and sweaty. "Just for a few minutes... stay here." He pleaded, still feeling too ill to open his eyes. "Please?" How could Edward say no? Telling his sick brother no was about as evil as kicking a puppy. It’s the same crime against humanity, only a different font.

Edward hesitated before relenting, just this once. He slid back under the covers with a sigh. "Okaaay. Just don't puke on me."

A huff in reply. "I'm not planning on it... So stop talking about it." Ed just grinned and settled back down on the bed. "Okay, okay. Just go to sleep and block me out till morning." His smile broadened when he saw Alphonse crack a smile and sigh. He still faintly shivered, his grasp loosening to nothing when he knew Edward wasn't going anywhere this time. He’d be staying with him where it was quiet and warm. Feeling peaceful.

"Al," He whispered, wary not to wake him if he did finally sleep— or slightly bashful in admitting his feelings toward his beloved family in the immediate vicinity of the subject of those emotions. Truly, they couldn't live without one another. It had always been Ed and Al, and especially in this moment, it felt like they never grew up. They were kids again, back when things were mundane, and things were still new. "I'm so happy I get to see you smile again."

It didn't matter if he heard him, because he knew already. The effort they gave going through the same back-breaking, soul-crushing, death-defying things together to restore their original bodies, for each other. Ultimately they would end up saving their world and everyone they hold dear, past, present, and future– they didn’t even need to tell each other those little things. Both brothers went through literal hell and back, and their trust never wavered even when their hearts or minds did.

All that mattered was that they were able to live normal lives again, together with their loved ones.

[tuntalia]

Day 15 – Waking Up Puking

@monthofsick Novemetober Rescheduled

Content Warning: Depictions of vomiting, minor HSR spoilers

Even Swords Crave Rest

Series: Honkai Star Rail

Summary: Jing Yuan comes across Yanqing being sick one night. They have something of a bonding moment for the first time. 

Notes: This takes place a couple years before the main plot of HSR. I headcanon there was a point where Yanqing was subconsciously pining for parental bonds. He never let the General see moments of weakness as he became a teen because he bought into the idea he was only being raised to cultivate an heir/exploited for his talents. Became paranoid that if Jing Yuan saw him show weakness he would be abandoned. 

Extra Note: Unintentionally made this perfect to read while listening to Class of 2013 by Mitski. I proofread to the song on loop to confirm.

Word Count: 1,150

●●●

The General had been blissfully unaware up until the point when through the dark, a grating and painful retching sound cut through the night like a spear. In the pitch-blackness, he stared into the empty void. For a moment, he was convinced he dreamt the sound. At a second iteration of the sound, the man slowly climbed out of bed, joints popping and his neck aching from the deep sleep he had been in prior. 

He staggered out of his bedroom and felt his way through the corridor, coming upon the oppositely blinding brightness from the bathroom door, very subtly cracked open to lock in the light.  He creaked open the door just as he witnessed his retainer violently heaving into the porcelain bowl, trembling from the exertion. “Yanqing...?” He mumbled, squinting and stepping inside. 

It seemed he was struggling to make any progress, only dry heaving. “General– mmn—” The blonde uncertainly covered his mouth with a closed fist, muffling behind it a wet hiccup. Another followed, and he swallowed back a mouthful of stomach acid. “I'm fine, General– I'm sorry for– urp– ugh…” An unexpected hiccup bubbled up his throat, needing to pause. 

Jing Yuan shook his head. “Worry not.” His voice was thick and basey with sleep, though his mind began to clear up. Without saying much of anything, he stepped inside and kneeled next to the boy and gathered his hair up in his hands, stroking the sides of his bangs. Yanqing hiccuped, mouth still covered and his eyes closed. As he did so, his cheeks would fill with air and he'd exhale shakily until they deflated. 

“Quit holding it in, Yanqing.” Feeling the side of his cheek against his fingertips, he tutted. “You're warm.” He noted how much the kid was shaking and sweating, he was horribly pale, too. Almost gray he was so ashen. To him, it was obvious that he was sick with something. 

One of these rogue hiccups must have been more than just air, sending Yanqing to duck into the toilet and cough then spit. He managed a miserable groan before a guttural hiccup brought up a mouthful of puke, splashing into the water. Jing Yuan kept his hair held back for him, frowning as he did. A deep belch brought up a larger wave of the remains of that night's dinner. The sheer volume was enough that some came out of his nose. 

Poor thing, Jing Yuan's frown deepened. It seemed that once the vomiting started, it was as though Yanqing couldn't stop heaving. He would cough and whine between retches, pausing as a strangled burp would bring forth another round of puke. It took a few waves before he was definitively empty, weakly gagging up pitiful mouthfuls of stomach acid and spitting bile into the murky water. 

“Think you're done?” He asked, and Yanqing slumped against his side, leaning against him heavily in the throes of his exhaustion. “That's a yes, then.” The man mused, reaching for tissue and helping the young lieutenant clean himself up. Wiping sweat from his brow, tears from his eyes, product of the exhausting ordeal his body just put him through. Still, he noticed the way that Yanqing stiffened whenever he did so. 

“Blow,” he instructed gently as he held one over his nose, and he noticed Yanqing scowl. Trembling hands took hold of the tissue and Jing Yuan let him blow his nose himself. "No doubt you've caught quite the bug, hm?" Yanqing answered with a deafening silence, clearly brooding silently over his current position. The man answered himself somberly, trying to recall a time when he may have upset Yanqing for him to act so standoffish around him. It felt as though he grew distant. “...Yeah.”

“You can go back to bed, General…” The boy croaked, straightening himself up. Hollow, biting pains spasmed throughout his stomach and his esophagus all the way to his throat burned, raw and certainly going to be more sore come morning. Nausea continued to crash over him in tidal waves, washing over him in the form of a clammy, cold sweat and tremors. “I'm... fine.”

“Not until you are safe in bed first.” Jing Yuan reasoned, extending an arm around his shoulders to guide him to bed. Yanqing gives in reluctantly, not further explaining. 

He walks him back to his room across the hall, heartbroken when he realizes Yanqing's earlier unwillingness to go back to bed. He was trying to hide the mess from him. “You should have told me, Yanqing…” The sheets were already soaked with watery vomit, having already been sick before he made it to the toilet. “Sorry, General.” He quietly murmured, too tired to defend himself. The tone of his voice alone was saddening. 

“Never apologize for being sick.” He lightly scoffed at the politeness Yanqing exhibited. The lighthearted response harbored a sinking feeling. Yanqing looked down, though his face was obscured by the darkness of the corridor. “I was going to change the sheets, provided I didn’t wake you.” 

“Oh,” Jing Yuan’s heart dropped. Despite being sick and with a fever, Yanqing planned to resolve everything alone and hoped he wouldn’t alert the General? Had he planned to never tell him? Still, he focused on the small figure standing in the hall, nearly up against him. The exhausted boy stepped forward, about to gather up his sheets to clean, when Jing Yuan found himself stopping him. “I have a better idea.” 

Yanqing didn't expect Jing Yuan to go through the effort of creating a setup in the living room, intricate and admittedly looking very temptingly comfortable. 

It was already nearing 3AM, and here he was making a blanket fort for him despite having to be at the Seat of Divine Foresight the next day. Yanqing stood against the wall, guilty. The General took notice of his unease, that alluringly reassuring smile showing up on his face. “Come, I'll sit out here with you until you fall back asleep.”

“But... General. You have work in a few hours.” Despite the shaking of his legs, body yearning for sleep, he stayed standing there. “Sorry for…” It might have been the fever making him emotional, but he paused as he choked on his words. He masked it as a cough. …Don’t cry.

“Hey, come here…” The man approached him welcomingly, wrapping his arms around him loosely in a gentle embrace. “What kind of father would I be if I let you alone in such a state?” Yanqing softly gasped, having never heard that word as part of their relationship. All this time, he felt like a tool– and he had been perfectly okay with that feeling. He felt Jing Yuan's arms tighten around him just a tad bit more, making him feel safe and secure. 

He buried his face in the man's chest, whimpering and surrendering to the exhaustive sickness he was fighting against. “I'm tired.” 

[tuntalia]

Day 23 – Subtle Support

Friends Help Friends

Content Warning: Graphic depictions of vomiting and spoilers for the end of Pokémon Scarlet.

Series: Pokémon Scarlet

Summary: Juliana wakes up sometime following the Paradise Preservation Protocol. She does not see Arven in class and doesn’t hear anything from him. Juliana finds him collapsed on the floor when she goes to look for him.

Notes: I’ll make a longer version and post it to AO3 when the inspiration strikes me.

Word Count: 1,544

@monthofsick

For Novemetober in February

●●●

Monday’s were always slow to start for Juliana. Her alarm was blaring, and she attempted to raise her hand to shut it off. Only, the signals her brain was sending out to move her arm, hand, and fingers weren’t working. Ugh. Experimentally, she opened her eyes to confirm her suspicions. She was correct.

It's there again.

That thing.

Juliana gazed warily at the AI incarnate of Professor Sada— and it just stared back at her with blackened eyes, expressionless. This time, it wasn't edging towards her in a bizarre and glitchy fashion, it just stood there. Can’t a girl wake up in peace and not have a sleep paralysis demon watching her?

Nothing else in her body was moving except for her eyes, there was never any use in trying to escape and willing herself to start running. She squeezed her eyes shut to wait it out.

When the girl opened her eyes again, the thing had disappeared. She sighed and stared up at the ceiling, making her brain send signals to her limbs to start moving and waiting until she could flex her hands and feet and ball her hands into fists.

She sat up slowly. I'm so tired. As much of a pain as it was sometimes, she didn’t want to miss class. There was a test in one of her general education classes, more specifically— biology. Hopefully the studying she, Penny, Nemona and Arven did together paid off. Not all of them had the same class period, but it was always the same professor, Jacq.

…

Alas, biology. Juliana and Nemona shared a glance and nodded as the tests were passed around, and a quick overview of the procedure by a student aid. In the period before them, it would have been Penny and Arven taking it. No news was good news when it came to taking tests.

When the period ended, Juliana put down her pencil, she had been absently doodling on a scrap piece of paper while she waited. The test wasn’t too difficult in her opinion, rather straightforward and no essays.

Nemona waved her over after Juliana exited the classroom. “How do you think you did?”

“I think I did alright. At the very least, I think I passed.” Juliana said with a hand fidgeting with her backpack strap. “How about you?”

“I think I did pretty good. I’m sure you did too, you’re a genius!” She beamed at Juliana, who chuckled. “I gotta bounce, see you later!” Nemona waved and flashed her a toothy grin as she departed from the lockers. Juliana waved back with a smile.

She pulled up her Rotom phone and shot a message to their group messenger.

— — —

AirBuddies

Juliana: How did y’all do?

Penpen: good

Nemo: Hehe. Great!

Juliana: HBU Arven?

Penpen: idk if he showed up

Penpen: gtg

Nemo: I have math with him next period, I’ll see if he’s there.

Nemo: Prof. Tyme warned us there would be a pop quiz this week. 😣

— — —

By lunch period, she still didn’t see any sign of him. Juliana bounced her leg nervously.

Finally, the girl stood up after having enough of this feeling of anticipation. She can make up her work and talk to Clavell after she’s found out what’s made Arven radio silent.

Maybe she’s worrying too much, but something doesn’t feel right.

...

Everything is spinning when his eyes open, rotating in a nauseating cycle. He closed his eyes again to make it stop.

Dizzy.

Really, really dizzy.

Something's nudging him. "Mmm... Mabo...?" The pushing ceased for a second before the unknown entity began to shake his shoulder. That's... not something Mabosstiff would do... What's shaking him so annoyingly? "Stop..."

"Arven—!" Who is that? His eyes opened again to someone kneeling in front of him, in an orange striped uniform, his surroundings were still upside down. "Arven— wake up!" Wake up?

He tried to push himself up by the arm under his head, but it had gone prickly and numb. Moving it sent shockwaves of tingling pain as the limb woke up. He extended his right hand and whatever is manhandling him stops shaking his shoulder and holds it. A human hand.

"Arven, come on!" The person gently prodded and poked at his palm, stubbornly attempting to annoy him into a waking state. "You're– you're scaring me..." In a moment of frustration, they shook his hand while they held it, sighing in exasperation. In truth, it was closer to panic than aggravation.

“Who is it?” He finally forced out, prompting them to stop, at long last. “Wait, wait… I know this one. Just… gimme a minute.” Instead of guessing, he fell silent again. His arm went limp and slipped out of the person’s grasp, the mystery person must have run out of patience judging by the sighing.

“Uh, it’s Juliana.” His buddy replied. The voice was a whole lot clearer now, but he was too tired to raise his head in attention. “None of us heard from you at all today, I got worried.” Juliana didn’t feel any less concerned after he came around enough to respond.

She noted the signs of a fever. He was worryingly warm to the touch and visibly in delirium. “How long have you been like this?” Juliana’s voice was low. She didn’t recall him acting off in any way. Although, his claiming to be busy over the weekend should have clued her in, in retrospect. You oaf...

“Hi, Juliana.” Arven responded, turning on his side to look up at her. Everything was spinning, effectively making him feel sicker. Juliana had to help him sit up when he started gagging in order to prevent him from choking. Mabosstiff was alerted by the commotion and pawed at Arven’s thigh with a low whine, distraught at the state his companion was in.

“O–Okay, I guess we’re doing this now…” She watched with a grimace, hands braced on his shoulders to hold him up. He put up no resistance at all, only lurching forward with dry heaves. Only a thin trickle of stomach acid made an appearance, followed by a series of coughs. It sounded pretty painful.

She brings a hand to his face to push back his bangs, pulling away any stray hairs that might get in the way of the splash zone if there was more to come. Nothing else came up.

“Back to bed you go.” She tried to raise him up in futility, grunting. Granted, she probably couldn’t lift her Meowscarada if she tried. Instead of standing up, Arven just whined. Juliana didn’t know what to do. Getting the cooperation of a delirious Arven is no easy task, apparently. “Doesn’t sleeping in your bed sound better than sleeping on the floor?”

“Hmm…” Arven mumbled, to which Juliana stalled that thought quicker than he could form a thought. “Totally rhetorical, bud. C’mon, I’m helping as best as I can.” She continued to prompt him and tried pulling him up by his arms again, but still to no avail on his behalf.

“Can’t. Just so dizzy…” He answered rather glumly. “‘M sorry…” She noticed his eyes closing again and she touched the side of his head to bring him around again. Mabosstiff licked the side of his face with a determined growl, wanting to help out too. Arven groaned in response to all of the prodding.

“Can you try? You’ll feel way better somewhere soft and warm.” Juliana tried to entice him enough to encourage him to try standing. “Hmm… okay.” Arven responded, sounding wishy-washy as his eyes crack open and he supports himself on his arms to stand.

When he was upright enough to make traveling easier in light of Juliana needing to drag him, he surprised her with a wet hiccup and a stream of vomit splattering on the floor. Juliana didn’t know what to make of this anymore, nerves already fried beyond repair. “Oh Arceus.” Well, there’s no sitting back down here now.

Mabosstiff approached and sniffed the carnage. “Do. Not.” Juliana blurted out, and the old dog looked up at her slowly. “You heard me, you weirdo. Don’t eat that.” Maybe she didn’t need to say it so pointedly, but the last thing she wanted engraved in her brain was that image.

Fortunately, Mabosstiff was too fixated on Arven to give in to the intrusive thoughts.

To her further shock, Arven choked on a sob. Not that she blamed him, he seemed pretty miserable if… this was any clue. “‘M sorry…” He whimpered, taking in a long, gasping inhale and sobbing it out. Juliana patted his arm. Mabosstiff licked his hand and Arven cried harder, deeply moved by the dog’s kindness. “Aughh…”

“It’s fine. I can worry about it later.” This made her reconsider her options. Setting him up on the couch might be easier than dragging him all the way to his room. Not that it was a great distance away, but the living room was the most central location within the dorm rooms. “C’mon, big guy.” Juliana urged.

The two shuffled over to the sofa where Arven flopped down almost instantly. Mabosstiff looked up at Juliana expectantly, panting. She pet his head as she typed up a message to their friends with her other hand. She’s gonna need more hands on deck.

[tuntalia]

Akivilli Forbid you Dry-Clean your Sworn Enemy's Favorite Velvet Coat

Prompt: Undesirable Caretaker

@monthofsick

Content Warning: Vomit, very minor HSR spoilers

Series: Honkai Star Rail

Summary: When Himeko sees Kafka being sick during an unexpected visit, she finds herself begrudgingly looking after her, despite their own pride.

Notes: Favorite idea conceptually, but rushed it. Finally an excuse for my gayass to write sapphic enemies/lovers.

Word Count: 1,011

●●●

The view should have been relaxing, amidst the lovely music from the gramophone and tranquility of the endless expanse of space… but Kafka could hardly do so much as enjoy it. Each string and key was too loud, every thread and accessory was too tight around her waistline and neck, her heels too unsteady to hold herself up comfortably.

So uncomfortable…

Even if everything constricted her organs in a way she couldn’t stand, she sheltered her arms under her coat for warmth. One of her hands jumped up to her mouth uneasily as she hiccuped. The boundless space behind the thick plexiglass swirled like a disquieting and complex painting, defiled by an uncaring finger smearing the paint around.

How distasteful.

The longer she stood the colder her blood ran, she felt her blood pooling at her feet and felt pins and needles in her face. She didn’t even notice how nauseous she was until she leaned against a table, fingers grasping the surface in futility. Another queasy hiccup escaped her throat. If she didn’t leave, it might be too late.

For that hardy navigator to find out I was here…

To her misfortune, there was the ‘shff’ sound of a door sliding open and closed. Kafka held a fist over her lips, facing the window and making no sudden moves. One of her hands was against the window to hold herself up. Her glove had a fog around it as it pressed against the glass.

“Why are you here?”

“Can’t an old friend pay a visit–?”

Himeko was quick to march over and reached out a hand, an experimental gesture to figure out if this is the real Kafka in the flesh, or a hologram produced by an Abacus-like device. She was surprised when Kafka jerked away and a torrent of indeterminate fluids rocketed past her lips. Suddenly, Himeko felt fortunate that Kafka had enough restraint left to turn away.

She removed her hand, crossing her arms and thinking. This doesn’t feel like a Kafkaesque trap, but what if it is…

The world was spinning upside down for Kafka, she was hunched over at the mercy of the Express’s navigator, sputtering to exterminate the taste of vomit from her mouth and struggling for breath. The smooth, cool hand of the redhead returned to her aid and held her up.

She couldn’t hear her, or maybe she wasn’t speaking at all. Maybe the IPC news broadcast was playing over their imaginary dialog that Kafka often found herself fantasizing about. Himeko wouldn’t admit it, but she daydreamt about Kafka too.

Her other hand gripped Kafka’s other shoulder and guided her to stand up straighter. She whisked her over to one of the sofas on either side of the Express, not sure of which direction.

She kept her head down, staring absently into her lap, as she was unable to muster the strength to even keep her head up. Her biggest mistake was complying in the first place, as now she couldn’t bring herself to get up. Himeko’s gentle hold left her for minutes– until something cold (and damp) held up her face towards the light. She winced at the brightness.

Kafka couldn’t believe her eyes once they adjusted, because surely she was dreaming of the image of Himeko holding her face in her hands and wiping her face so carefully, like Kafka was made of fragile materials. The words just slipped out. “You’re an angel.”

“…Shut up.” Himeko quietly interjects, avoiding the Stellaron Hunter’s vacant gaze.

She closed her eyes, the comfort brought by Himeko’s soft hands and the cool cloth was so euphoric that she couldn’t resist. When she found herself too blissfully comfortable to open them, she settled for closed.

Himeko noticed Kafka’s slack posture, leant heavily into her hands. Something felt gratifying, with the power her position held in this moment. Now, she could really study this femme fatale up close— but why did it make her heart flutter looking into the sleeping face of her nemesis? She looked so peaceful, but why?

Did Kafka trust her?

She sighed, careful to rest the woman’s head against her ribs as she pulled off Kafka’s coat which was damp with sweat. Once discarded beside her on the floor, she positioned Kafka against the cushions, where she could rest comfortably. The other members always said they were so comfortable that you could just fall asleep on them. Maybe they were right.

Himeko watched Kafka writhe subtly in the absence of her embrace. She turned away so as not to feel too guilty for being distant.

Instead, she busied herself with the task of fetching a trash bin, a clean cool cloth, and a spare blanket. Setting down the bin, she unraveled the blanket and carefully laid it over the other woman’s sleeping form.

She laid the cool cloth over Kafka’s eyes, but not before she stared down at her, reconsidering her earlier train of thought. Did she have every intention for me to find her like this? Why? Because surely she wouldn’t have come here just randomly. The Stellaron Hunters and the Trailblazers are like natural enemies. Any other story didn’t fit the…

…Script.

Himeko shook her head, stepping back to extinguish that thought. There’s no way Elio’s “script” is that precise.

Her gaze shifted downwards at the crumpled velvet coat at her feet. She crouched down to pick it up and held it out in front of her, finding herself admiring Kafka’s taste in clothing. It made her remember what she said earlier.

“You’re an angel.” The redhead scoffed at their absurd behavior. They’re supposed to be enemies, maybe putting it more kindly; rivals, not friends, family, or– or—

Lovers!

She clutched the velvet tightly as she pulled it closer to herself and turned away, in a hushed breath sighing in frustration. She still had to clean up the vomit on the carpet too (or come up with a real good excuse for what happened). I should get to cleaning this now so she can leave as soon as she wakes up…

[caspersickfanfics]

Weathering the Storm

AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: vomiting, migraines, discussions about death in hypotheticals, discussions about life threatening illness (Eleazar), arguments, anxiety, grief, nausea, fear, one (1) awful pun

(it sounds scary but no one dies, I promise)

Takes place shortly before all the stuff with Azar and the archon quest!

Fill for @monthofsick Novemetober Rescheduled day 27 (Head pain/injury/ache). Cyno gets to be in the caretaking role for once for his birthday ! :D

It feels like the sky is bleeding.

Water splashes heavily onto the ground, softening it so that Cyno’s steps fall almost silently. His pace is quick, even as the muddy earth seems to cling to his bare feet. There’s no deadline; only his own desire to be home is urging him forward. His last mission had gone well, but it had been longer than Cyno preferred or had planned for. It’s not the first time he’s gone weeks without sending word to Tighnari. By now, the forest watcher has his own ways of gathering intel. Cyno knows that, regardless of direct communication, Tighnari will have reached out to his contacts. A necessity to calm his ever present and very valid fear for Cyno’s wellbeing. Still, something about Tighnari's lack of recent communication makes him vaguely uneasy. As he nears his destination, his steps pick up speed. The clouds continue to pour.

Gandharva Ville, when he finally reaches it, feels subdued. The rain drops onto the rooftops, a blanket over the town, drowning out every other sound. The hazy mood reminds Cyno of his own weary bones, at odds with the itching, restless energy that buzzes beneath his skin.

Through the darkness, he realizes that Tighnari is waiting for him. He’s momentarily impressed that his partner could hear, let alone recognize, his footsteps through the storm. Something inside him settles. Then, almost immediately, Cyno reverts to a state of high alert, picking up on subtle indicators that all is not well.

Tighnari’s ears are turned backwards and pressed against his skull, his posture rigid. Years of practice mean that Cyno can read Tighnari easily. He’s disgruntled, high strung, and upset; entirely in contrast with his typical laidback demeanor. As soon as Cyno is within reach, the forest watcher drags him inside with an expression that stings to look at, almost akin to a snarl.

Cyno nearly relaxes again when Tighnari begins to look him up and down, clinically, assessing for damage. His body is begging to unwind, and this is their normal routine. And yet, even as he yearns to turn off his mind, he can’t help but notice that while Tighnari is as gentle as always, he’s notably less steady. Rushed, and also… clumsy. When his hands start to shake, Cyno grabs them.

“Stop. Tighnari. I’m fine.”

His partner scowls. He pulls away, and then returns to his initial task without a word. He pushes and pokes and prods, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath, and although Cyno wants nothing more than to smooth the wrinkles between Tighnari’s brows, he doesn’t think it would be welcomed. He maintains as much stillness as he can, the way one might freeze in an attempt to avoid startling a skittish animal. Tighnari only seems to become more agitated. Cyno is still sopping wet, trying to rack his brain for what might have caused the other man such distress.

“Did I wake you up?” He asks. It’s only 8 pm.

Tighnari scoffs. “Of course not.” He manages to look even more annoyed at the question.

Cyno flounders. This was not at all how he’d imagined his return home. He mourns his hopes for a warm welcome and suppresses a very physical urge to shiver. When he speaks again, his throat is tight and his voice sounds small. “Nari?”

Frown deepening, Tighnari remains silent, frantic in his movements. His breathing kicks up its pace as he putters about. He’s finished assessing Cyno’s state and begins the process of cleaning small cuts and slathering salve on bruises that would be just fine to heal on their own. Cyno hadn’t even noticed them; compared to the last time he was here, the damage its negligible. Cyno has shown up on Tighnari’s doorstep poisoned and dying in the past, and the extent of his emotional response then had been an eye roll and an exasperated (albeit fond) sigh. To see Tighnari this frazzled now, without knowing why, is concerning.

The rain outside continues, relentless and loud on the rooftop. Cyno’s chest prickles. His brain strains for some kind of explanation for Tighnari’s strange mood, and he feels a cold fear shoot through his veins at the answer his brain supplies.

Cyno starts scanning Tighnari’s body wherever he can see exposed skin. He’s pacing now, and his movements do seem oddly stilted. Cyno catches his arm, breaking the rhythm of his strides.

“Are you injured?” He can’t see any bruises or blood, but that kind of thing could be easily covered by the casual cloak that blankets most of Tighnari’s body - not to mention the possibility of internal injury. The thought causes a sharp, stabbing sensation just below his collarbone. “Are you sick?”

“Don’t be silly,” Tighnari hisses. He turns away, seemingly looking for some other way to heal Cyno’s near non-existent wounds. The matra’s jaw tightens.

“Something’s wrong, Tighnari. Tell me.”

Tighnari’s shoulders hike up with a jolt, tension evident throughout his whole body, and he whirls around looking about ready to shake Cyno by the shoulders. He doesn’t, but his hands curl up into fists at his side, spine gone rigid.

“You! You’re what’s wrong, Cyno. You’re never around and— and why are you such a mess every single time you show up here, always injured or exhausted or ill, why– why can’t you take better care of yourself?” Of us, he doesn’t say, but Cyno hears it anyway, because this isn’t the first time it’s been a problem.

Tighnari is trembling.

Cyno thinks he should probably be more worried about the venom in his partner’s voice than he is. He’s only ever heard Tighnari speak with this tone during discussions about morally corrupt institutions and the people who reinforce them. Probably, Cyno should be much more worried about this and the fact that it is now directed towards him. And yet… His gaze zeroes in on Tighnari’s unsteady, balled up fists with the highest degree of intensity.

Tighnari is trembling.

“Let’s sit down,” Cyno suggests, biting back his fear and finally moving away from the entrance of the hut. He reaches for Tighnari’s arm out of habit only to see it snatched away. The forest watcher whirls around, tail snapping back and forth behind him.

“You’re dripping water everywhere,” Tighnari seethes as Cyno moves to settle in the chair near his desk. Cyno is quiet; he doesn’t bother to mention that he would’ve dried off had he been offered a towel. He’ll clean the mess later. He can feel his body flagging, having been traveling nearly the entire day, but he forces himself to focus so that he can study Tighnari carefully.

The other man sits on the far end of the bed, practically on the opposite side of the room to himself, arms crossed, ears flat. He’s still grumbling about Cyno’s belated visit and lack of self-preservation, and Cyno feels his frown deepen, more confused with each passing second.

“Tighnari—” He has to interrupt to get a word in. “I’m sorry. I know my work is… inconvenient.” Tighnari scoffs at the word choice, thunder crashes, but Cyno presses on. “But— I want to make sure you’re okay. You don’t look well.”

In fact, Tighnari looks remarkably worse for the wear. With the storm's most recent roar, the fight seems to have drained out of him, and he rubs a hand over his frighteningly pale face. “I’m tired, Cyno. Let’s just… go to sleep.”

It doesn’t sit right.

Cyno complies only because he has no better suggestions, and because a small, hopeful voice suggests that rest may be just what they both need in order to clear up this mess tomorrow. Tighnari says nothing when Cyno stands to clean up the water. The forest watcher readies himself for sleep without a word, and stays silent when he slips into bed. He turns so that his face is nearly pressed against the wall of the hut.

“Goodnight,” Cyno whispers, trying to ignore the hurt in his chest when he receives no response.

They’re not the kind of couple to fall asleep angry. They never have before - Kaveh and Alhaitham’s ability to do so repeatedly and maintain any kind of relationship stability is utterly baffling to Cyno. Indeed, he’s even had conversations with Tighnari about it.

But this isn’t that. Cyno doesn’t even feel mad. He probably should be, he thinks - he and Tighnari have both gotten upset at each other in the past, often for good reason. Tonight, though, he just feels tired, worried, and confused.

He gets into bed and doesn’t move. He doesn’t sleep, either, and hours of the night pass slowly. Cyno isn’t known for his patience, but he has a great capacity to endure. He’s restless but still, making use of meditation skills he’d learned as a child.

He smiles at the memory, recalling how Cyrus, who’d taught Cyno, had given up on his own attempts at meditating soon after. He'd been all the more proud that Cyno had taken so naturally to it. It’s a comforting thought, and he allows his mind to wander. It drifts easily this way and that until settling upon an adjacent recollection - Tighnari, many years later, managing to guide Cyrus through a successful meditation, seemingly as easy as breathing air, just weeks after they’d first met.

“Anyone can learn,” he said when Cyno thanked him for his help. “It’s a simple matter of clear communication and mutual trust.”

His chest tightened. Clear communication and mutual trust. It could just as well function as the motto for their relationship over the past five years. What could have possibly happened in the time he’s been gone?

Cyno catches himself gnawing on his lip, relaxes his body, and takes a deep breath.

Reset.

Breathe.

Relax.

Repeat.

With more difficulty than he’s had in many, many years, Cyno allows the thoughts and feelings and fears to wash over him as he slips back into a silent and deliberate meditation practice.

———

It’s similar to waking up, in some ways, when a gentle touch pulls Cyno out of his meditation. He opens his eyes. He reconnects his body to the material world around him and peels himself away from a more comfortable state of being.

Unlike waking up, there’s no moment of confusion over where he is or who’s lying next to him. There’s no fear from lingering nightmares, but there is an immediate anxiety over the sound of his partner sniffling. Cyno blinks into the darkness. His eyesight hasn’t yet adjusted and the moonlight isn’t quite enough to make out anything other than shadowy forms. Tighnari is whispering something, so quietly that it’s hard to comprehend, even with their proximity.

“Get up… Cyno… please…” Distress drips from each word.

“Nari?” Cyno sits up, taking his partner’s hand in his own. The next thing he hears sounds suspiciously akin to… a sob. He squints, to no avail. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Tighnari mumbles. He’s pushing away, now, although one hand lingers on Cyno’s chest, near his heart, as if he can’t bring himself to move it. When he finally does, Cyno has just enough vision to see him wipe his cheeks.

“You’re crying…” Cyno’s voice trails off. He can count the times he’s seen Tighnari cry on one hand. The forest watcher immediately moves to deny it, shaking his head, only to wince. “Tighnari, if you’re injured—”

His partner laughs, and it’s strangled, wet. “Not injured, just a headache.” He shifts a bit and looks away. “You weren’t sleeping.”

The night air hangs in the space between them, humid and heavy. Their conversation is framed by sounds of the storm, and Cyno can’t help but think how loud it must be, for Tighnari, who can tell based off of breathing alone whether he’s dreaming or meditating. Still resting above Cyno’s heart, Tighnari’s fingers curl slightly. He clears his throat, and just like that, the crying stops, the vulnerability in his expression hastily hidden away like windows shuttering closed.

“It’s my fault, right? For treating you so horribly.” Tighnari's voice is resigned, having regained its usual stable cadence, but when he pulls his hand away, it shakes as he holds it to his own chest. “I’m sorry, Cyno. It was wrong of me.”

“I forgive you.” The words come quick and honest. Tighnari sighs and trembling fingers pinch his nose.

“You really shouldn’t forgive people so easily.”

“You shouldn’t doubt forgiveness given freely.” Cyno switches a lamp on and sits up, arms crossed.

Tighnari is avoiding his gaze, a sure sign of lingering guilt. Observing him closely, Cyno notices dark bags under his eyes, which, when they flicker to him briefly, are uncharacteristically bleary. His breathing has grown ragged throughout their short conversation. A loud boom sounds - more thunder - and his skin takes on a greenish tint.

“You should sleep,” Tighnari rasps. His arms are crossed, hands gripping his elbows, in a tremulous and incomplete hug.

“… Will you?”

“What?”

“Will you sleep?” It’s a quiet question, as the words leave Cyno’s mouth, but it’s a straight shot to Tighnari’s final, sorest hurt.

He crumples. His head drops into his hands, which scrub angrily across his face. His body shakes with sobs.

“Oh,” Cyno breathes.

Carefully, he gathers the shuddering figure into his arms and holds him through the ache, letting it infiltrate his own heart in hopes of sharing the burden. He sinks with Tighnari’s every heaving wail, and splinters with each whimper. In an awful moment of clarity, Cyno realizes that crying has only exacerbated his partner’s physical pain, but he seems unable to stop himself. It’s the kind of breakdown that’s been pushed to the wayside again and again, until it simply demanded to be acknowledged.

“I’m sorry,” Tighnari wheezes. He’s still clinging to himself, refusing to reach out for help. Cyno tries to be grateful that he isn’t being pushed away.

“You shouldn’t be,” he says. Tighnari feels unusually small in his arms - his shoulders are sharp, almost jagged, jarring with their lack of padding. Alarm slices through him, a knife wedging itself in his gut, and Cyno grits his teeth against its urgency. It’s there, it's important, and it won’t be going away on its own, but it cannot be addressed immediately.

“No, I– I’m fine.” Tighnari can hardly speak, between the vicious trembling, tears, and agony. He clutches at his head. “I’m fine.”

“Look at me, Tighnari.” When Cyno pulls away, Tighnari moves, face tilting upward, eyes wet and fearful. “It is okay for you to hurt.”

The words feel lacking, to Cyno. He wishes he could say more, about how Tighnari is always so stubbornly steady, about how he’s owed a few favors from the General Mahamatra after all he’s done for him. He doesn’t know how to say it all and also convey that his support and love for Tighnari is unconditional. So he leaves it simple and specific, and is relieved when it seems to be enough, because Tighnari moves towards him.

They’re hardly a distance away but it feels as though an incomprehensibly long bridge has been traversed when Tighnari crawls into his arms. There are no more apologies, no more pleading-to-be-believed reassurances. Together they sit, waiting out the storms that rage inside and out.

The crying tapers off eventually. Tighnari stays where he is, head resting on Cyno’s shoulder. He’s quiet, and Cyno hopes that he’s asleep. He’s beginning to nod off himself when Tighnari shudders and shifts. Another minute passes, and then there’s a whimper.

“It hurts,” he admits.

“Your head?”

“Mhm. Could you massage my ears?” His tail is wrapped around the both of them - it’s his special way of mapping their closeness without opening his eyes. Cyno obliges the request without a word, and then takes a moment to assess his own concerns.

“How long have you had a migraine?” The question has been begging to be asked since he noticed the unhealthy amount of weight his partner had lost in the time they’d been apart. He feels Tighnari deflate against him.

“Four days,” he confesses. Cyno does not go rigid, but only because of years spent honing his body to wait before reacting. “It’s– it’s a stress response." Tighnari explains. "Inherited from my mom.”

“You aren’t easily stressed,” Cyno states. It’s an opening to explain further without any pressure to do so. He can tell Tighnari understands and appreciates the phrasing when he squeezes Cyno’s shoulder.

“Eleazar flare up last week - Collei’s fine. I,” he pauses. Cyno knows that he’s thinking, and simply continues massaging his ears until he’s ready to continue. “I actually reached out to you.”

This time, Cyno does tense up. His instinct, about the lack of contact, had been right after all.

He’d heard nothing about this matter, and his matra had explicit instructions to report to him immediately any time Tighnari or Collei attempted communication. In fact, it was a rule that surpassed even the strictest of confidentiality standards, meaning it should be implemented regardless of risk during missions, and was well known because of both its intensity and its rarity. The only reason it existed at all was because Cyno had stated it was a requirement to renew his position years ago, and his matra had backed him up unanimously, asserting that they would leave along with the general if Azar did not grant this single request. It had never failed him before, but now…

“Three times,” Tighnari adds, quiet. His earlier anger, his words, his worry, all start to make sense.

“I didn’t hear a word of it, Tighnari. I promise, or I would’ve–”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I knew the whole time, Cyno, I just used it as a convenient excuse to take my frustrations out on you.”

Cyno hopes this is true, though even if it is, the fault still falls onto his shoulders for his failure to monitor his men’s loyalty. This was deliberate, and it was also an inside job; there's no doubt in his mind.

“Don’t feel bad. I only thought you'd want to know.” Tighnari is right about that. When Cyno returns to work - which he plans to take a significant leave from - his first task will be to punish whoever was deliberately disrupting their communications. He won’t have to catch them, because they are clearly not clever. They were fortunate to have gotten away with it for as long as they did, though he already has a suspect. He’ll let his second in command know of the matter by the end of the day and she will surely have the culprit restrained and waiting for Cyno’s punishment in a matter of hours.

“I’ll fix it,” he says aloud. “Right away.”

“I know.”

“Is Collei…” Cyno trails off. Tighnari had mentioned that she’s alright, he reminds himself. Still, he craves details, for his own peace of mind. This, Tighnari seems to understand implicitly.

“It was a rough couple of days. She pulled through, tough as always. She’s been symptomless for a few days now, but you can go check on her if you'd like,” he suggests, beginning to peel himself away. Cyno shakes his head, pulling Tighnari closer again.

“I’ll see her in the morning,” he decides. “I trust you.”

The words bring the tears back to Tighnari’s eyes, his expression transforming into something akin to devastation. Cyno feels his own lips tilt downwards. Though the offer of open communication was meant to be used at will, Tighnari rarely took advantage of it.

“It must have been quite bad for you two,” Cyno says quietly. 

“Yes,” Tighnari breathes, like something in him has been begging to be spat out and shared. “I— I spent so much time, days and nights, foraging for medicinal ingredients, researching cures, pain management, and temporary treatments... uprooting the withering, in case it would help.” Sweat beads on his temples, and Cyno fears that there are limits to what ear massages can do. "You didn't respond, and I worried about you, and Collei was already struggling but then she got worse."

“The whole time, I just kept thinking,” Tighnari goes on, the words raw and aching as they enter the world, “What if I can’t do enough for her? What if she— and what if you never— And what if you do come back and she’s gone? Because I—” His words are choked off, and Tighnari buries his head in his hands, and Cyno is silently glad for it. Somewhere along the way, his own voice got lost in fear, and grief for something that hasn’t even come to be. He flounders, struggling again with the burden of comfort, one he accepts willingly, but feels woefully unprepared to shoulder.

“That won’t happen,” he manages.

“You can’t guarantee it won't,” Tighnari snaps. He’s correct, again, but the proud righteousness is gone from his next words. They sound hollow and broken. “I can’t guarantee that.”

“No,” Cyno says, “You don’t have to.”

For all of the anger and supposed irrationality behind Tighnari’s earlier words, Cyno sees that there is truth in them, too. He doesn’t visit often enough. He should send more letters, and more supplies. As much as he is dedicated to his job, as important as it is, his family is important, too, and he can do better at balancing them. He needs to. He takes Tighnari’s hands into his own.

“It is not your responsibility to work miracles, Tighnari. I would never ask that of you.”

The forest watcher sniffles. “She’s in my care,” he says weakly. Cyno can see the exhaustion in his partner’s every movement, can hear it in every word. He will fix this.

“Because I knew you would give her a happy life. However long it is.” He’s surprised by the stability of his voice. Cyno avoids thinking about Collei’s illness, and even more stubbornly tries not to consider the reality of her lifespan. Of the two of them, Tighnari is stronger when it comes to facing such matters head-on. It’s something else that needs to change, something else that he’s let Tighnari manage alone for far too long.

“I knew you would do that for her and I was right, Tighnari.” He brushes his partner’s hair away from his face, cupping his cheeks gently. He hopes Tighnari can see how genuine is. “She’s so excited to live, now.”

He watches the words sink in, the way Tighnari’s expression goes soft and fond and full of love. “She is,” he agrees, in disbelieving wonder.

“I’ll be here more. I promise.”

“Okay,” Tighnari accepts. The conversation tapers off, then, and Tighnari drifts into a restless sleep soon after. Cyno wonders if he was simply too tired to argue or doubt, but that’s a conversation for later. Better yet, Cyno's actions will prove the truth of his words.

The forest watcher is still clearly unwell, tossing and turning, sometimes whimpering, particularly when the storm is at its loudest. Cyno can’t help but consider how long it must have been since Tighnari got a good night of rest. It’s likely been over a week, based on what he'd shared. Unsure if it’s helping but confident that it doesn’t hurt, Cyno continues his massage, steadfastly ignoring the weight of his own exhaustion in favor of supporting the love of his life.

Later, when he wakes up, Tighnari’s ears are pressed flat to his head and quivering. His jaw is clenched tight, his skin pale, almost translucent. The tinge of green has returned, too. His breaths come out shaky and uneven.

“Cyno?” Tighnari blinks, holds tight to Cyno’s arm, and stays as still as possible.

“I’m here,” the matra says, keeping his voice quiet.

"Can you help me to the bathroom?”

It isn’t far, but they take their time getting there. Cyno is careful not to jostle the other man, who keeps his eyes closed and moves as if his limbs weigh twice as much as they should. Upon reaching the bathroom, Tighnari is suddenly coughs over the sink, pained noises escaping alongside splashes of vomit.

Cyno stands beside him, wrapping an arm around him for support, wincing as he feels his partner heave repeatedly, against his own will. With each wave of sick come more tears, the sharp movements no doubt exacerbating the migraine. When he has no strength left, Tighnari leans heavily onto the counter, wracked with queasy tremors, belching up small mouthfuls of bile.

Cyno manages to keep his hair out of the way. He cleans both the bathroom and Tighnari’s face once he’s finished. He’s still shaking like a leaf and teary-eyed, entirely heartbreaking in his misery. After brushing the sick man’s teeth, Cyno musters up a smile.

“The storm has stopped,” he says, because it has. “Just for you, I’ll save my joke about why the sun went to school for another day.”

Tighnari releases a pent up breath, which Cyno interprets as some mixture of relief, gratitude, and fond amusement. He half-carries his partner back to the bed, and then sets him down gently. Rays of light have begun to stream in through the windows, so Cyno makes sure to close the blinds and bring back a glass of water before settling in next to Tighnari. Although he’s still pale, he looks far more relaxed since the rain stopped, and Cyno assumes he’s asleep until he hears a whisper so soft, he almost misses it.

“It had to get a little brighter,” Tighnari mumbles.

“What did you say?” Cyno definitely heard, but he can’t help bit of incredulilty. “Tighnari, you– mmph!” He’s silenced, a hand slapped over his mouth, and then arms wrap around his waist and pull him close. The voice in his ear is as menacing as it is loving.

“Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep already, you big lummox.”

–––

Send asks here! Also, if you enjoyed this fic, I would really love to know - thank you so much! 🥰

[caspersickfanfics]

Keeping Up with the Passage of Time

AO3 | Ask | Rules

Fill for this ask and @monthofsick Novemetober Rescheduled days 4 (Messy), 19 (Sick in more ways than one), and 25 (Cranky sickie)!

Warnings: Vomiting, scat in the context of illness, mentions of other symptoms including headaches/brain fog/fever/muscle aches/lightheadedness

Scat parts are brief! If you want to skip, here are the contexts:

Vague, off-screen implication: "When he exited the bathroom" through the end of the same paragraph Somewhat more descriptive + mess: "Kaveh’s grip tightened" through the end of the same paragraph, and then it's vaguely referred to in the conversation between Kaveh and Alhaitham right after that in the context of embarrassment

The hands of the clock were not friendly to Kaveh. They often ran at a pace that he just couldn’t keep up with. Consequently, taking on each new project was risky business. As he finalized blueprints for his latest commission, he acknowledged the vague nausea in his abdomen with resignation rather than surprise. It was to be expected, considering he had been running on coffee and determination for the majority of the weekend. Nothing the architect hadn’t dealt with before. Two hours past midnight, he stumbled out of his bedroom for the first time that day on legs made of jelly and forced himself to eat a substantial dinner.

It didn’t sit well - Kaveh wasn’t surprised. He figured he’d eaten too fast and forced himself to drink some water. At least Alhaitham was already asleep and therefore couldn’t lecture him about it. Like the very responsible adult that he was, Kaveh swallowed back the urge to cuss at his cramping stomach and aching head and made his way to his own bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, bitter at the realization that he’d regained no strength despite doing all the right things. Instead, he’d only managed to make himself dizzy. He breathed slowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth, as the chaos that was his bedroom spun around him. Ink blended into scattered papers before his eyes like magic swirling in a way that had his most recent meal inching upwards, burning his throat.

Archons, he felt ill.

Well, a little sleep deprivation wouldn’t kill him, no matter how much his body seemed hellbent on convincing him otherwise. Kaveh curled up around his stomach as the organ clenched and gurgled. Exhaustion grabbed him tight in its claws and dragged him into fitful, incoherent dreams.

———

Kaveh woke up, sweaty and chilled to the bone, after a light sleep. It didn’t seem to have done him any favors; in addition to dizziness and a growing sickly stomach feeling, his body had begun to ache, all the more painful as shivers ran through his body. He couldn’t lift his head without piercing pain seeming to drill a hole in it, so he stilled.

He lost track of time. In some moments, he was able to remind himself that he’s been through hell and back - surely he can endure a bit of overwork. He’d been sleep deprived before and he’d survived.

But the thoughts rolled around in his mind, pounding at it along with a persistent throb, and something didn’t seem quite right. He was exhausted, though, and he couldn’t put another name to what he was feeling. Instead, he fought against a vague sort of fear - of death, of pain, of suffering alone - until he drifted off once more.

———

A guttural belch tore Kaveh out of a deep sleep. He was still halfway in the land of dreams when he lurched forward, body moving and feeling for all the world like it was being controlled by puppet strings. Jolt upright. Burp until something gurgles up and gushes forth. No time to think about the hot, sticky mess. Just continue to add to it.

Kaveh couldn’t remember ever being sick like this.

He coughed and a garbled noise followed, half-choked around watery stomach contents. It took all of his willpower to reposition himself over the edge of the bed so that he was projectile vomiting onto the floor rather than himself and his blankets. When the nausea finally let up - just barely - Kaveh was left reeling, swaying slightly. He tried to catch his breath, but the stench was overpowering. As soon as he could manage, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom.

Kaveh knelt on the floor in front of the toilet. Chills ran up and down his spine and through aching muscles, intense enough that he ended up retching fruitlessly at least twice. The world spun nauseatingly before him, and it was all he could do to remain upright and panting over the toilet bowl.

Minutes passed in a swirl of confusion. Kaveh’s brain began to tick again, an inconsistent thing. Once the adrenaline faded, he could think more clearly without the panic driving his instinct. Ragged breaths echoed back at him, and Kaveh became aware of the way the cool air stung against his raw throat. He tried closing his mouth, but that made him feel like he was suffocating. It took him far longer than it should have to realize his nose was clogged by chunks of sick, but Kaveh’s defense, all of his willpower was being used to suppress sobs into pitiful whimpers.

At least he managed to be relatively quiet, he thought. He shakily blew his nose into a wad of toilet paper, retching dryly moments later at the effort. The clock that was always far too big sat on a shelf near the shower; Kaveh glared at it. He pondered blearily whether the thing was broken or needed to be reset, because it seemed impossible that it could already be 8 in the morning. If that was the case, he must have slept for the better part of six hours - and yet, he still felt like he’d been awake for a week straight.

The nausea had subsided for the time being, so Kaveh unsteadily pulled himself to his feet. He washed out his mouth and stripped his soiled shirt from his body, shuddering at the way it clung to his skin, before dropping it into the washroom trashcan. His muscles felt weak and his brain was foggy; he was forced to take a break and sit on the cold tiled floor for some time in order to regain some strength.

“You’re fine,” he whispered to himself. “Just… get up.”

Eventually, he did. Kaveh refused to even consider returning to his bedroom until he felt well enough to clean, and not add to, the mess there. He did, however, lock the bedroom door; the last thing he wanted was for Alhaitham to stumble upon that… embarrassment. His cheeks heated at the thought and he dropped bonelessly onto the couch, curling up in a miserable, humiliated ball, just as Alhaitham emerged.

Kaveh watched his housemate with a mixture of fascination, foreboding, and something too tender to name. Amidst the chaos that his illness had brought upon Kaveh, Alhaitham’s soft-around-the-edges bedhead carried a strange comfort. He seemed younger than usual this early in the morning, eyelids drooping and body relaxed. He was still in casual clothing, which was the closest he came to wearing pajamas. Time was playing tricks again; for a minute, they were back to being students, and Alhaitham was back to being his unquestionable best friend.

Kaveh loved him. He had for a very long time. He’d thought, for a while, that hatred lived alongside his love for Alhaitham, but he’d been more honest with himself recently. More honest with Alhaitham, too, though not fully. He hoped that their relationship was on the mend.

That didn’t mean he was prepared for Alhaitham to see him at his worst and most vulnerable, though. Kaveh closed his eyes as his housemate turned towards him, hearing the exasperated sigh that followed and knowing he wasn’t quite quick enough.

“Where’s your shirt, Kaveh?”

He really didn’t want to think about that. Fortunately, Alhaitham didn’t seem to expect an answer, moving silently around the room until a blanket settled over Kaveh’s shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold.”

The reprimand left Kaveh annoyed at his own fondness. Alhaitham, of course, didn’t know the irony of his statement - Kaveh had caught far more than a cold. But he also didn’t want Alhaitham knowing that much. And the blanket was nice. He’d been shivering without realizing it. With any luck, his junior hadn’t realized either, though that seemed unlikely.

Despite his internal conflict, Kaveh found some peace in listening to Alhaitham’s morning routine. Socked footsteps padding around, coffee machine clanks portending a comforting scent, pages of a book flipping as he read while eating his breakfast. He almost didn’t want him to leave, but he knew Alhaitham had to get to work and, that aside, they’d only argue if he stayed. Their relationship had improved, but it wasn’t easy. They’d both intentionally changed their behavior, which meant breaking old habits. Whenever one of them was tired or frustrated or simply woke up on the wrong side of the bed, the delicately established truce fell apart. They were in the process of remodeling, but sometimes time would rewind and then the old bones of their relationship would end up exposed.

Kaveh didn’t want to lash out today, but he knew he would. He didn’t have any energy for change.

His stomach began to cramp, sudden and intense. Distinct from the nausea that continued to linger, sharp pain forced him to coil in on himself.

“I found your shirt,” Alhaitham’s voice cut through the fog of hurt, disgust and irritation evident in his tone. “Are you hungover again?”

“L– Leave me alone,” Kaveh grit out. The cramping had progressed from intermittent to constant, and sweat cascaded down his temples. Alhaitham was suspiciously quiet.

“Don’t you have work or something?” Kaveh snapped. As he struggled to sit upright, a supportive arm wrapped around him.

“Not yet,” Alhaitham sat beside him, as if it were normal for them to sit side-by-side. It wasn’t, and it put Kaveh on edge that Alhaitham was acting out of character. He scowled.

“Well, leave me alone until you go. A man needs his personal space. And your ugly clock is broken.” Kaveh’s palms were moist, and a trip to the bathroom was imminent. Pushing Alhaitham away, he made a run for it, hoping against reason that the younger man would get the hint and just leave.

Alhaitham sighed. Kaveh’s skillset, while impressive, was lacking in the realm of subtlety. If he’d been hungover, he wouldn’t have bothered responding to Alhaitham. He would’ve actually been asleep on the couch rather than faking it. And he definitely wouldn’t have asked for “personal space,” though on principal Alhaitham respected the request.

So no, he didn’t follow after Kaveh, but he didn’t go to work, either. He contacted Nahida to inform her that he would be out today, and then relaxed back into the couch with a book from the coffee table. It was one he’d read before, which was a good thing considering how preoccupied he was.

The one thing that didn’t quite make sense - part of the reason he’d suspected a hangover in the first place - was why Kaveh was in the living room rather than in his bed. After drinking, he often laid himself on the couch, both as a means of self-punishment, and because he liked the attention, clingy whenever alcohol lowered his filter. But even when he had a cold, Kaveh preferred to hole up in his bedroom. He always claimed it was to avoid spreading germs, which Tighnari always warned them against when it came to contagious ailments, but Alhaitham suspected it had more to do with concealing his vulnerability. For all of Kaveh’s whining, he hated to have any real weakness exposed.

When he exited the bathroom, Kaveh was on the verge of collapse. His stomach felt hollow, as if everything in it had drained out of him in liquid form, but there was still a threat of lingering nausea. At the very least, the cramping had let up, but he clung to a plastic trash bag with one hand while using the other to clutch at the doorway for support. He looked ragged and, as if to prove Alhaitham’s theory, his downtrodden expression hardened into a a scowl the moment eyes landed on his housemate.

“Why are you still here? You’ll be late.”

“No work today,” Alhaitham shrugged. “Nahida told me I don’t have to come in.”

This was, technically, true. The archon had told him that he could take off any days he wished, as long as his work was completed in a timely manner. Alhaitham felt more relaxed when he not only caught up but ahead on his tasks, so he rarely took advantage of this offer, though he could do so without consequence at any time.

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “If you’re going to tell me I should know better than to drink so much, I don’t want to hear it. Save it for tomorrow, if you must.”

Shaking his head, Alhaitham walked over and offered Kaveh his arm for support, ignoring the way his glare intensified at the gesture. “I was going to ask if you need anything.”

“I’m sure you have more important things to do on your day off than nurse your alcoholic roommate’s hangover.”

The words, despite their bite, only made Alhaitham sad. If Kaveh thought he was undeserving of financial compensation for all of the work he put into constructing architectural masterpieces — which he often did — it was no surprise that he also felt unworthy of care in his illness. Alhaitham helped him settle back on the couch and swiftly brought the back of his hand to Kaveh’s forehead. The architect looked at him wide-eyed, as if caught in the act of committing a crime, and attempted to push him away with the frighteningly little strength he had left. Alhaitham allowed it, sitting a bit further away on the couch. He hadn’t needed any longer to check for the fever anyway - the heat was undeniable.

“How long have you been sick, Kaveh?”

It was like a pushpin in a balloon, the way Kaveh deflated, hunching forward with his arms wrapped around his middle. He was shivering again. “Since last night… maybe.” Alhaitham watched him closely, trying to determine the severity of his ailment. He didn’t think he was one to express his emotions through facial expression alone, but Kaveh seemed to disagree. “Don’t look so concerned! With your immune system, you’ll be just fine. And I’ll clean up after myself.”

Alhaitham hummed. Kaveh’s concern with clean up wasn’t something he’d considered — his housemate was typically unabashed about the disorganized state of his affairs. But disorganization and lacking the ability to maintain his standard of living were entirely different. One was for the sake of creating something he was proud of, while the other indicated only weakness.

“I will clean the house, until you recover,” Alhaitham decided. He suspected this was connected to why Kaveh was not comfortably resting in bed, so it would be best to resolve it sooner rather than later. The sick man did not look pleased.

“In exchange for what? Are you going to task me with with additional chores, once you deem me to be “recovered?”’

No, he was not. Such an nonsensical question; Alhaitham was tempted not to deem it with an answer. “I’m tasking you with resting while you're ill so that your body can recover.”

Kaveh’s skin had taken on a greenish tinge. The shivering had stopped, but was replaced by inconsistent tremors and sweating. For a moment, he looked uncertain, caught off guard by Alhaitham’s bluntness. For just a second, his face was open and pleading, a speck of hope shining in his eyes. Then he shook his head stubbornly and it was gone.

“I don’t understand why you would do that.” Kaveh covered his mouth with his fist, making a noise halfway between a gag and a cough. “Didn’t care for my body. It’s my– my own fault,” he spat out between coughs. They were becoming more frantic, and tears appeared in Kaveh’s eyes. “You should be happy… proven right, as always.”

Alhaitham breathed out slowly. Kaveh could be frustrating, at times like this. “I’ve told you already, I don’t take pleasure in your misery.”

The architect struggled with the opening of the plastic bag he’d brought from the bathroom, cursing under his breath. He snatched it away when Alhaitham moved to help. “Go away.”

Alhaitham didn’t leave. He didn’t even consider it. He took the plastic bag from Kaveh, who no longer resisted, and opened it before handing it back. He gathered up Kaveh’s bangs and used a hair clip to pin them to the top of his head, away from his face. The sick man choked out a strained giggle.

“That’s–” he muffled a hiccup into his fist. “That’s not what those are for.”

“Utility over aesthetics,” Alhaitham echoed Kaveh’s own steadfast sentiment. He put a hand on Kaveh’s back, rubbing circles when he didn’t immediately pull away. “You’ll be fine, Kaveh, just relax.”

A few seconds later, Kaveh vomited, violently, into the plastic bag. His stomach contents gushed out in a rancid liquid slurry of bile and partially digested food, and he coughed until his airways cleared enough for him to breathe. 

“There you go,” Alhaitham said. Kaveh could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. “Do you think you’re done?”

Kaveh’s grip tightened on the bag in response, just before he was heaving again. His throat throbbed, and horrifically, as he was puking, his stomach cramped and released something warm and burning from his other end. He gasped.

“Alhaitham — go away,” he managed, desperate. “Please.”

“It’s okay,” Alhaitham said.

“No, I–” he couldn’t continue, overcome by nausea once more. His body was hellbent on wringing him out completely, forcing up thin strands of bile with each back-breaking heave. A disgusted shudder ran through him and Kaveh could feel tears wetting his cheeks.

“I know, Kaveh,” Alhaitham said. His voice was unimaginably calm. Inexplicably, something inside of Kaveh settled. “We’ll clean up when you’re done.”

Several more minutes passed as Kaveh continued to empty his stomach uncontrollably. He felt more humiliated than he had in years, and sicker than he could ever remember, but something about Alhaitham’s steadfast refusal to leave him alone brought a strange comfort. It was a feeling nostalgic of his very early childhood, when Kaveh still had loved ones who cared for him without expecting anything in return. He’d never thought of Alhaitham in that way - he’d practically forgotten those times all together.

He didn’t bring it up, even when he could breathe again. As soon as he could, Kaveh made his way to the bathroom to clean himself up. He managed alright, though he still felt sweaty even after a bath. It was the best he could do. Standing made him feel nauseous again, and he feared he would injure himself if he didn’t rest soon. He had no idea how long he’d been awake, only that the simple act of keeping his eyes open was enough to make him lightheaded.

By the time he returned to the couch, the living area was cleaned. Blankets and even some shirts that were distinctly Alhaitham’s head appeared nearby, along with a glass of water and multiple types of medication. Without thinking too much, Kaveh slipped one of the shirts over his head. It was ugly, for sure, but warm and soft. Utility over aesthetics.

“If you can sleep, you should,” Alhaitham said, returning from the kitchen. Kaveh nodded. Truthfully, he didn’t think he could do much else. 

“Alhaitham…” Kaveh cleared his throat. “Can you… stay? I mean–”

“I’ll be here,” Alhaitham stated. “Just rest.”

———

When Kaveh woke up the next morning, he was clean. He was in his own clean bed, in his own clean room. He had an awful headache, a sore throat, and aching muscles. Alhaitham was reading a book beside him.

Upon seeing Kaveh awake, Alhaitham brought him soup, and Kaveh ate it without a word. He didn’t protest when the younger man took his dishes and cleaned them, nor when Alhaitham joined him again in his bed. He was drowsy again.

“We both need more rest,” Alhaitham said. “Wake me if you need anything.”

Kaveh thought that this should feel wrong. He should be pushing Alhaitham out the door. He was sick and useless and irritable, surely no fun to be around. But he’d been all of those things for the better part of 24 hours, according to the ugly clock that had migrated to his room and appeared to be functional again. Alhaitham had been nothing but kind. And Kaveh, for all of his fears, loved Alhaitham. Against his better judgement, he was beginning to hope that he might actually be loved back.

So instead of pushing Alhaitham away, Kaveh curled up close and noticed how he smiled at their closeness. And it was like they were students again, except it wasn’t, not really. Because they were everything they’d been then, and everything they were now, all at the same time.

The thought made Kaveh feel warm, despite the persistent chills dancing through his body. Alhaitham pulled him closer, and Kaveh dreamed of research and mirrors, and a very real place that two people called home.

–––

Send asks here! Also, if you enjoyed this fic, I would really love to know - thank you!

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

Yeeeeee okay so A future request for the future cuz I do not want you to over work yourself I don’t care if it’s months from now please live your life please! but, I would love love love to see a cyno dealing with a bad stomach flu. He’s queasy and feverish doesn’t feel good and maybe for once is honest to tighnari and that’s how he knows he’s REALLY feeling poorly. Maybe he gets a little emotional from puking too much? Dehydration? plz don’t stress but I’d die of joy

14. Can't Keep Anything Down

@monthofsick

Warnings for; Unrelenting nausea, mildly graphic vomiting, dizziness, fever

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

My intention was never to make you actually wait months for this fic, Anon, but... I'm sorry 😭 This request is all the way back from last year! If you're still around here anon, I'm sorry, and I hope you enjoy the one shot I finally wrote for your request!

And that finally wraps up Novemetober! Not gonna lie, I'm happy to be done, I'm itching to work on some not-prompt-specific fics! Now just to pick which one I want to write first... ohhh too many ideas...

[caspersickfanfics]

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, amnesia, mentions of other symptoms including headaches/brain fog/passing out, mentions of blood, speculated poisoning, trauma response

A/N: Yeah so... this is none of the WIPs I've been working on for months, actually, but I just Needed to get something done this weekend, so. Here we are. I have Ideas for a part 2 for this and if you read closely you might be able to pick up on some intentional loose ends but also I'd feel irresponsible adding to my WIP list at this point. We'll see. Anyway, this is for @monthofsick day 21: Sleepy Sickie

It’s the dead of night, amidst a humid summer heat, when Cyno shows up at Tighnari’s doorstep, feverish and ill. He’s trembling all over, downtrodden, and exhausted. His hair is sweat damp, his face marred by tear tracks, just barely visible in the lamplight.

Tighnari guides him inside. He has Cyno sit, and then wordlessly checks that his body is in one piece. For the most part, yes, it is, but he makes quick work bandaging a dozen or so surface level wounds. By the time he’s done, the matra has dozed off, slumped back against the chair with his head lolling on his chest. Tighnari wants him to rest, but worries about his fever and gently wakes him to gather more information.

“Hey,” Tighnari says quietly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Tighnari?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a flash of panic across his face, and Cyno’s muscles tighten. Responding immediately, Tighnari places a firm hand on his chest, and while Cyno stops struggling to stand, the tension doesn’t fade, his eyes searching Tighnari’s face. Tighnari feels his brow furrow when Cyno asks, “Where are we?”

“We’re at home,” he states. His voice is masked with a carefully curated calm. He can feel Cyno’s heart rushing far too quickly under his hand. “We’re safe.”

Cyno looks completely lost, but after checking and double checking his surroundings - as if he doesn’t believe his eyes - slowly relaxes. He still looks off-kilter.

Tighnari’s unease heightens. “You don’t remember why you came here?”

The matra’s face scrunches up, confused and distressed. “I don’t even remember coming here,” he mumbles. He hardly sounds like himself, voice even lower than usual, words slightly slurred. A shiver runs through him.

“It’s alright,” Tighnari reassures. “Let’s not worry about that. If I give you a list of possible symptoms, can you let me know which ones you’re experiencing, or if I'm missing any?”

Cyno agrees with a nod, and proceeds to respond to the rest of Tighnari’s questioning in a similar fashion. Headache, muscle pain, stomach ache, nausea, hot flashes, shivering, weakness, lightheadedness, fatigue, brain fog… Tighnari clocks the silent but affirmative responses to each item on the list with a growing sense of dread.

“You don’t remember if you ate anything suspicious recently, do you?”

“Don’t know.” It’s clear he’s running out of energy. When his head dips forward, Tighnari cups Cyno’s cheek in his hand. “Wanna sleep, Nari.”

Again, Tighnari wants to let him sleep, but Cyno’s needs take priority. “Not yet. Stay awake for me, love - can you do that?” 

Cyno sniffles sadly, but his eyes remain open, if glazed. They’re certainly bloodshot.

Tighnari cleans him up. He hopes to help ground him. Sometimes Cyno needs time to settle in a given location, and things like a warm bath can help.

It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference this time, but at least he’s no longer covered in mud and blood and… well, the sweat reappears quickly enough. Cyno all but falls into the bed, sending his partner a look of utter betrayal when Tighnari guides him to sit rather than lying down right away. He smiles in apology and squeezes Cyno’s hand. “Just a bit longer, hm? You’re doing so well.”

When Tighnari offers him water, though, any color left in Cyno’s face drains in an instant, and the next, he’s pitching forward with a retch.

“Oh–” Tighnari quickly steps back, sets the glass on a table, and helps Cyno over the edge of the bed. Nothing comes up, and it’s just strands of saliva dripping to the ground, but he heaves again and again. There’s a strangled noise, like he’s trying to speak. Tighnari tries to quiet him.

“Shhh, Cyno. Settle. It’s okay.”

“I— hurrrrgh!” His body is relentless, abdomen clenching in a cruel attempt to expel something that simply isn’t there. He groans.

“I can’t,” Cyno grates out. It hurts him to do, and he’s thrown into a violent coughing fit that devolves into more heaving and more pain. He’s shaking horribly.

“It’s okay,” Tighnari repeats. He'd do just about anything to make this stop, and yet, the only thing to do is wait it out. “Oh, Cyno… just breathe.”

When he finally regains control of himself, Cyno is gutted in a way that he can’t put words to. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and releases a single sob. Tears stream down his face - and he doesn’t understand why. Tighnari is alarmed, checking him again for injury, asking about whether he’s hurt himself internally. He shakes his head and pushes Tighnari's hands away, because there's nothing they can do to fix this.

“Need to sleep,” he moans, and it’s desperate. His stomach is going to start revolting again if he stays awake much longer, or maybe he’ll simply pass out. And he craves sleep. So, so badly. After a moment, Tighnari nods.

“That's alright, love. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

–––

Send asks here!

[aeryssickfics]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

@monthofsick

written for day 24: Panic

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Warnings: Panic, near panic attack, emeto, vomiting, loneliness.

Character: Kaeya. (and Diluc's vision)

Summary:

Kaeya is sick for the first time since the fight with Diluc, since he left the Winery, since Diluc left Mondstadt. He's miserable, he's alone. But he'll survive.

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

Hello!! No pressure but would you consider writing sick Tighnnari for the "messy" prompt with Cyno taking care of him? I feel like Tighnari is normally pretty put together and envision him wanting to keep things that way when sick, so there's something really intriguing to me about the idea of being so ill that he can't even maintain basic cleanliness on his own :3

04. Messy

@monthofsick

Warnings for: graphic descriptions of vomiting, high fever, mentions of dizziness

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

This was a stupidly fun and self indulgent fic!! I'm super excited to finally share it, seeing as just how long it's been chilling in my drafts.

Also!! We're two fics away from being done with Novemetober!

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

#1 LyneyLumi would send me OVER THE MOON i love your writing so much

01. Sharing a Receptacle & 10. Ill with an Audience

@monthofsick

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I am so sorry for the delay on this, guys, I really wanted to have this out days ago, but life just happened. To make it up to you guys, it'll only be a couple of days before the next fic!

On a different note, I had so much fun writing this! This fic has a whole new cast of characters I haven't written before, so it was a fun experience from beginning to end. It's also made me really want to write more of Lyney and Lumine!

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

11 or 14 with sick tighnari

or 1 with both tighnari and cyno

01. Sharing a Receptacle & 11. Totally Drained/Exhausted

@monthofsick

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

SURPRISE! I knew I said I wouldn't be able to post until tomorrow, but something at work came up so I had to come home a day early! I made the most of the situation and decided I just had to post this early!

I had a stupid amount of fun writing this - I think I'm realising I really like travelling scenarios?? Having a character be vulnerable and sick in the comfort of their own home is warm and fuzzy and I love it, but there's just something about them traveling when things go wrong.

Anyway! I hope you guys enjoy!!

[aeryssickfics]

Hi, i hope you're still accepting suggestion. How about the reverse of Sick for the First Time for Group Sickfic? Instead of Stelle being sick, everyone around her are. Maybe Stelle brought home some inedible food from some trash can and then March, Dan Heng, Welt, and Himeko just ate it without thinking?

Also, this is just a personal request of mine, but do you mind writing Unconventional Receptacle for Furina? Let's say it's her first time riding the aquabus, hundreds of years ago, with Neuvillette. She wasn't used to the gentle swaying of the bus, so she started feeling dizzy and slowly got sick overtime. In the end, she can't keep her meal down, but instead of asking for her colleague's help, she instinctively used her hat.

You can ignore my request if you don't think you'll enjoy writing it or if i'm mistaken and you're not accepting request. Thanks and i'm looking forward to your future works!

Thank you for your kind words and ideas! I'll definitely keep in mind the food poisoning via stelle or caelus just bringing home trash, I'm not fully sold on it at this point (leaning towards a slightly different handling of that fic! but that's okay!)

I did write the Furina one! A fun mix of the Alt Prompts!  Unconventional Receptacle/Sick During Transit/Motion sickness @monthofsick

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Sick Furina, bystander Neuvillette.

Warnings: Despite my best efforts, probably minor spoilers for the Fontaine Arc. Also Emeto. specifically motion sickness induced emeto.

Final note: I'm not fully satisfied with my handling of Furina and I can't promise I'll do a ton of writing for her in the future! I'm not good at over the top and I def didn't manage it here. All the same, I hope the fic turned out well despite my misgivings!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[monthofsick]

thank you for the all work and effort you put towards this event ❤️

Oh!! I'm happy to do it!!! Thank you for sending such a kind message, this made me smile 🥰