Rebel Whump

Rebel, She/Her, 18+ Into emeto, whump, angst. I write for fandoms (Supernatural & Shameless), and for my OC’s. Accepting requests or asks for my OC’s!!

[rebelwhump]

Masterlist

My OC's Background | Appearance

Brett Double Date: Part 1 | Part 2 Jasmine Phobia (+ sick Paul) Bathtub: Part 1 | Part 2 Tessa Endometriosis Alice After Party Donuts & Tummyaches Breweries & Beautiful Women Aaron Midterm Nerves

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Supernatural: Gunshot & Dental Floss Trials

Shameless: The Fairy Tail Double the Tummy Trouble Road Trip Ralphing

[random-fandom-whump]

Supernatural S04E09 ↳ RFW's Favorite Supernatural Whump Moments

[bellysoupset]

Conniving

"Morning Bell," Vin entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes as he did that and blindly going for the coffee machine. He wasn't the biggest coffee drinker, not like Bella was, but he did drink it, unlike Luke.

"Morning," she sat on the counter, feet dangling in the air, trying to ignore the queasiness deep inside her belly. Probably just her period again. Sure she had just finished a period a week ago, but whatever, God fucking hated her.

Vince pressed around the buttons, shoving a mug under the machine and waiting for his cappuccino, "you got plans today?" he yawned. That was unusual. Bella knew for a fact that Vince was as much of a psycho as her husband, that he too got up at 6 AM on weekends and went to the gym.

"Nuh-huh," Bella shook her head, swishing the coffee around her mouth, which caused Vince to wrinkle his nose in distaste, "vegetate in the couch. Put on a horror movie. Wait until Luke is back from work."

Yes, it was a Saturday, but most events were during the weekend. It was one of the reasons Lucas' hours were so flexible during the week, he didn't have a time to leave when he went to events, nor did it matter if it was a weekend.

"You need more hobbies," Vince mumbled and she hit his bicep with her knee, since he was standing next to where she was sitting, "that's depressive."

"I have hobbies," Bella huffed, "I got a DnD party and I have the concerts. I'm getting into witchcraft."

Vince stared at her for flat fifteen seconds, then did the cross sign and Bella let out a cackle, the lethargic feeling slipping from her bones for a split second, "you're such a dick."

"Witch," his lips quirked as he spat the word like an insult, amusement in his eyes, "well you need hobbies that include other people. Socializing. With flesh and bone humans."

"I do plenty of socializing, I married Lucas Atwood," Bella jumped from the counter, then regretted it as her stomach rolled from the sudden position change, "you have any idea of how many dinner parties I've been to this year?"

"Socializing with people you like," Vince mumbled, his voice echoing in the mug.

He didn't expect her eyes to cast down, pouting, "I did that and then I ended up hurting her and another close friend," Bella said, sadly. She shuffled awkwardly, hugging herself, "I can't even go back to the boxing class. I can't face Jon."

"Jonah isn't pissed at you," Vince frowned, "besides, I thought you had apologized to him?"

"I did!" Bella nodded, eagerly, "well, I tried. He was pissed, so he sort of kicked me out."

"Jonah needs to get his head out of Wendy's ass," Vince rolled his eyes, following her as they walked into the living room. She sat down on the couch and Vin threw himself on it as well, causing Bella to bounce and glare at him when she felt the liquid slosh inside her stomach, a little burp coming up.

She planted her feet on Vin's lap, as he put his on the coffee table and threw his head back staring at the ceiling. Bella was so...Tired. Achy, lethargic, even though they had gone to bed early the previous night.

"So," she toyed with the hem of Vin's pajamas, rolling it between her toes and giggling when he slapped her foot away, since it had been tickling his belly, "what are your plans for today, O'Great Extrovert?"

Vince shrugged, "I'm gonna have lunch with Wendy," he stared down at the rug, sulking, "don't even know what I'm gonna tell her."

Bella let out a little sympathetic noise, "Vin... Forget about what everyone thinks for a moment, forget about me, about Luke. It's okay if you want her back... You love her, I get it."

"I do," Vince nodded, not bothering to pretend he didn't. He grimaced, muffling a belch in his hand, "ugh, sorry- I do love her, Bell, but the thought of just... Ignoring how vicious she's being... I can't do that either. I can't pretend she's right, that everything is okay."

"That's fine too," Bella snuggled in the cushions, yawning, being slowly lulled back to sleep because whether Vin realized it or not, he was rubbing up and down her ankle in a soothing manner, "gonna go back to sleep..." Maybe she could sleep away the weird ache gnawing at her stomach. Too much coffee, too early, Bella guessed.

She was out like a lamp before Vin answered.

Bella woke up feeling like her eyes were glued shut. The body ache had increased tenfold and the sourness in her belly had pivoted to full blown nausea. She gulped down, straightening up on the couch and looking around.

Vince was passed out, still where he had been, head thrown back and snoring. Bella knew for a fact that he didn't snore, not just because she had known this man for six years now, but because Wendy had mentioned it at least twenty times.

She groaned, cradling her head and sitting up correctly, searching for her phone to check the hour. Although Bella felt like she had slept through the evening, one of those naps that left you with no sense of time or direction, only two hours had passed and it was now 10:30 AM.

Her stomach hurt, cramping and sending up a little frothy burp, that burned the back of her throat. She grabbed on the couch's arm to pull herself up, but the movement sent her head swimming and Bella had to pause and take deep breaths as she struggled to not collapse back down. It felt like moving through molasses.

"Are you okay?" Vince called, jerked awake by her getting up. His voice was raspy and deep and when Bell managed to focus his face in the twirling room, she groaned. He was the color of spoiled milk, truly green at the edges of his face.

"Better than you, I think," Bella mumbled, bending over so she could plant her forehead to the back of the couch, wrapping an arm around her stomach as it cramped violently, "feel sick."

"Bath-" Vince interrupted himself with a tiny dainty burp, "bathroom, Bell... You're all clammy."

Pot calling the kettle black, Bella thought with a snort, squeezing her eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over her. Her spine curled and her mouth got sticky, but she gulped down the thick saliva.

Vin's hand wrapped around her arm, "c'mon, I'll help you to the bathroom," he ushered her and she let him guide her, dizzily, although they didn't get very far before Bella had to brace against a wall, pitching forward with a deep, gross burp.

They had had a farfalle salad for dinner and she could taste the garlic, mixed with her black coffee. She gagged, "fuck, I can taste dinner."

Vince's face had deteriorated from spoiled milk to corpse white, his lips pale as he gagged too, "don't say that, you'll make me puke..."

Bella pressed her forehead to the cool surface of the wall, trying to take a deep breath. It was so sudden, she should have a better grip on this. Breathe in, breathe out. She could ride out of the nausea, if only she could lie down and maybe sip on some chilled water-

Vince hiccupped. His whole frame shaking with it and Bella squinted at him with annoyance for breaking her breathing exercises. He wasn't even looking at her, a hand pressed over his mouth and eyes squeezed shut, throat bobbing up and down.

"Shit," Bella pushed his bicep, "you're worse than me," she shoved him towards the downstairs bathroom, trying not to trip over her own feet or walk them straight into a door.

They stumbled in the downstairs bathroom, Vince lurching for the toilet, while Bella braced against the sink, opening the faucet and splashing her face. She was so warm, it was claustrophobic.

Behind her, Vince let out a retch, but didn't bring up anything except for a bubbly burp.

Bella leaned in, squeezing the sink's granite and staring at her shoes, trying to keep her stomach in check.

"Fuck," Vince whined and she could hear him move around, in order to sit on the ground instead of just leaning over the bowl, "my stomach's killing me..."

"Hurts," Bella agreed, her face burning and perspiration running down her neck. She wanted to pull the hair off her face, but if she let go of the sink, she wasn't sure she would stay standing. Another cramp squeezed her middle, like a hot knife and Bella's mouth watered. She couldn't even bring herself to lean over the bowl, just letting it fall on the little rug under her feet.

"Ew, Bell," Vince groaned, "hol'-hol'on-" he shuffled around, then Bella let out a whine as she felt his hands on her shoulders. He had gotten up and was holding back her hair, twisting it around itself and away from her mouth, a hand opened flat on her back and forcing her to be over the bowl, not the rug.

"Gon'-Gonna puke..."

"Good for you," Vince caught her eyes in the mirror. The hand that wasn't on her back was hovering hesitantly near his mouth, "can't bring anything up..."

He muffled a burp in his palm and just the vague smell of dinner was enough to do her in, Bella's whole body lurched with a sharp retch, a splash of brown falling in the bowl.

"God..." Vince's hand vanished from her back as he took a step back to the toilet, bracing against the wall and drooling. An empty heave, just as Bella managed to get a much bigger, chunkier wave out of her belly.

"Ew-" She sniffled, turning on the tap and washing away the mess, gagging as the water struggled to get down the drain for a second, "eweewewwew, gross..."

Vince glanced in her direction, only to pinch his face as if he was in pain and hurry back to the toilet, projectile vomiting a huge wave, which splashed on the lid and the seat. Bella gagged at the sight, turning her head and squeezing her eyes shut. Gross.

She vaguely heard him cough, choking up and then the noise of Vin falling to his knees, more liquid hitting liquid.

"God-" Bella burped wetly over the bowl one more time, bringing up a little trickle of puke, "you think it's food poisoning...?"

Vince clearly wasn't able to answer her, too busy gasping for air between huge productive waves.

Bella coughed, forcing herself to take a gulp of water, which landed o her belly like a brick, and washed her face and the bowl once more, before wetting the little hand towel and moving back to her friend.

It was a fucking gruesome sight. Even though he had been right over the toilet, the sheer volume of it had already caused a mess. She muffled a burp in the wet towel, but grit her teeth and forced herself not to pull away, crouching down behind him and pulling back Vin's curls before they got, even more, covered in slimy puke.

"Ew, Vin..." She groaned, wiping away at the raven dark strands, and then holding the clean side of the towel to his neck, "breathe...Oh, you're really warm..."

"Not-" He coughed, spitting a glob and Bella couldn't help a retch as she saw an actual fully intact farfalle fall in the water. He needed to learn how to chew, "not food poisoning..."

"Yeah, one hell of a bug," she pressed her forehead to his bicep, "are you done...?"

There was a beat, Vince trying to assess his stomach, while Bella muffled a little airy burp to his shirt, wanting nothing more than to lie down.

"Maybe... Feel gross still."

"Yeah, me too," she wiped at her sweaty forehead, "c'mon, let's lie down... You probably need some fever medication."

Unlike Luke, who was a whiny baby, Vince was mostly cranky and pliable. Not bothering to speak or say it wouldn't stay down, even though Bella saw the doubtful look on his face and she shared it. She popped the last two tylenols of their first aid kit, one for her and one for him.

"Cheers," Bella held up the pill as if to toast, but Vince didn't give her any time to joke around. He swallowed it dry, with a grimace, and she let out a sigh, planting a hand to his back, "c'mon, back to bed."

They stumbled upstairs, Vince heading to the guest room he was occupying, while Bella hesitated for a second, then turned around and entered her own room, falling into bed.

She expected to be knocked out immediately, given how exhausted she felt even after sleeping through the night and napping in the couch. Instead, Bella was plagued with the most horrid cramps, causing her to curl up and hug her belly, tossing and turning. The blankets were too warm, then when she kicked them off, she was too cold. Her oversized — Luke's — pajama shirt was suffocating her, but when she crawled to their closet to put on one of her actual tanktops, goosebumps broke over her skin.

Her mouth kept watering up, nausea washing over her in waves. One deep breath, sitting against the headboard. Think of anything but food, Bella instructed herself, puppies and kittens. Cute babies. Slipknot. Vampires.

Nothing helped.

Eventually she heard a noise from down the hall and Bella was almost glad to have something to break her out of her misery.

She needed to lean against the wall in order to go to the guest room, not because she was too weak, but her surroundings kept twirling whenever she moved her head too fast.

Bella wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't Vin to be sitting up on the bed, a puddle of sick on his lap, soaking the blankets, his big metallic bottle of water fallen on the floor, spilt.

"Uh," Bell grimaced, her stomach churning at the gruesome sight, "that's a mess."

"M'sorry," he slurred, jaw heavy and still slightly drooling, face red as a tomato, "don'feel well..."

"It's fine," Bella stepped further into the room, folding the blankets inwards, to contain the mess, "shirt. Strip."

If it had been Jonah or Leo, maybe they would've questioned her, but it was Vince and he obeyed immediately. Uncoordinated, sluggish movements to strip down his shirt, scrunching it in his hand and muffling another retch against the fabric, "gross..."

"I've seen worse," Bella promised, then lost her flooting and collapsed against the chest of drawers. One of the handles dug into her hip and she let out a yelp, then another one as she saw Vin struggling to get up and help her, "no, don't get up! You'll make a bigger mess!"

Vin collapsed back against the twisted iron headboard, frowning. His sweatpants were also ruined and she could see he was shivering.

With some struggle, she opened the first drawer, taking two different tries since she kept missing the handle for some reason. Vince had moved into their place for just two days and he hadn't brought a lot, but Luke always kept a bunch of their friends' old clothes around, just in case, so she dug through the neatly rolled — Lucas' organization, definitely not hers — until she found something that looked large enough to fit Vin.

"Here," Bella held it out for him and Vince took it, but made no movement to put it on, "Vince."

"A little privacy?"

"Ah," her face burned and Bella let out a little chuckle, "sorry. Uh- I'll take these to the laundry room downstairs-" she took the ruined blanket and shirt, "just throw the pants in the bathroom basket, okay?"

"O-Okay," he gagged in his hand and Bella cringed, taking the messy sheets and stepping out of the room.

She threw the bedding in the washing machine, then had to step away, because the simple act of leaning over it had been enough to send her stomach to her throat. She stumbled and fell into the kitchen, belching up a mouthful of bile and water inside the sink. Her belly was hurting like hell and once she started throwing up, she couldn't stop. Empty heaves left her dizzy and Bella was convinced she was done, but her stomach squeezed with a vicious cramp and then a mouthful of bitter dinner splattered in the inox.

"Fuck," she whimpered, wiping away the tears that were clumping her eyelashes and washing away the mess. She took a greedy mouthful of water, feeling heavenly against her achy throat, but that came back up as soon as it landed in her stomach, sending Bella gagging and spluttering once again.

Deciding against anymore water, after she finally managed to make the room stop swimming, Bella grabbed a bucket in the laundry closet and a new water bottle, walking back upstairs.

Vince was standing awkwardly in the hallway, in a way that reminded her of a kid or some kicked puppy. Luke when they had a small argument and he came to apologize.

"What is it...?" Bella held up the new items, "what's wrong?"

"Where are the sheets...?" Vince was hugging himself, "I'm sorry, the bed is wrecked..."

"Ah forget about that," she leaned forward, in order to press her overheated forehead to the doorway of the main suite, "c'mere. Lie down in our room."

"Bell, the bed-"

"Luke can handle it later," she squeezed her eyes as another stab of pain hit her gut, "please, Vin, I just wanna lie down..."

That seemed to do it and he nodded, walking closer and taking the items from her hands. Bella silently thanked him, even holding up the empty bucket was taking a lot out of her.

They fell into bed, Vince curling up in fetal position, one arm curled around the bin as if it was a teddy bear and causing Bella to scoff. Vaguely, she wondered what time was it, how long Vin had slept before waking up sick in the guest room, how long she had taken downstairs.

It didn't feel like more than minutes, but everything felt weird. Freezing cold and slow.

"Vin," Bella scooted closer, seeking out the warmth. He was like a space heater, so she pressed her forehead to his back. He had changed into a hoodie as well, old merch from their college days.

"Hmmm," he didn't seem to feel her trying to steal his body heat, nor was he aware of how warm he was, given he was shivering. Medication, Bella thought, but the thought dissolved before it found her mouth.

"Drink something," she mumbled, instead, then pressed her cheek to his back and closed her eyes.

Next time they woke up, Bella was sure time had passed. Unlike the nap on the couch early morning, when she had blinked and was suddenly awake, this time she had had dreams. A colorful amalgamation of images, green eyes floating in and out of focus and a frozen lake; Toasting under New Mexico's sun, outside in her mother's backyard; People laughing; People laughing at her.

"Bella," Vince shook her awake, a little too roughly, "Bella, wake up. You're mumbling in your sleep."

Vince, laughing at her. Vince, blowing the candles out.

"Isabella!"

Her eyes snapped open, blood singing in her ears. Her heart was racing and she was staring at the ceiling — into round, concerned dark eyes.

"Bell?"

She tried to say "I'm fine", but her throat was aching too much and all that came out was a raspy whine. Vince sighed, pulled away and she scooted up against the pillows.

The room was no longer freezing, but burning instead. She was covered in sweat, literally running down her brow. Her stomach felt disgusting, sour and churning away, making all sorts of little noises.

"Are you okay?" Vince asked, touching Bella's knee. He was sitting back on his heels on the bed and unlike her, Vin wasn't drenched in sweat. His cheeks had two bright red splotches on them and she could tell from the sparkly nature of his eyes that he was burning up.

"I think better than you..." Speaking caused the queasiness to increase and Bella leaned back her head, staring at the ceiling. She really wanted Luke... Was it too early to call him to come home? Could he get away from work?

As if on cue, a cellphone started to ring. Bella's head snapped and Vin straightened up, looking around the room in a confused manner.

"Luke?" Bella asked, as the man crawled out of the bed, in search of the noise. He didn't go far, she saw him stumbling in the hallway, entering the guest room and then back-

"Uh- Hi?"

"VINCE!?" Wendy's voice travelled and Vin's face scrunched up in distaste at the scream, since the phone was on speaker and nearly deafened him.

Bella raised her eyebrows. Was Wendy calling her? What?

"Wen?" Vin fell on the bed, panting as if he had run a marathon, even though it had taken him about fifteen steps to retrieve — Ooh that was his phone, not Bella's. That made more sense — his phone.

"OH MY GOD, Vince!" Wendy cried out, "I've been calling you for hours! Are you okay!? Are you hurt?! What happened-"

"Hours...?" He pulled away from the phone, clicking around the screen and turning off the little airplane icon. Suddenly his phone was flooded with text notifications and missed calls.

Bella cringed in sympathy. That was bad.

"Yeah, hours!" Wendy exclaimed, "honey, are you alright!? Talk to me, you sound weird, where- Where are you- I'm so-"

"I'm fine," Vince grumbled, rubbing his chest as if it was hurting. It probably was, given how violently he had been heaving before, "I was asleep, I'm sorry, I missed track-"

"Asleep?" Wendy sounded confused, "what do you mean asleep, it's like- 5 PM? Since yesterday!? How-"

"No, he's sick," Bella interjected, glaring at Vince for not explaining himself properly. Really, the man could be so dense sometimes. That was why he always landed himself in miscommunication issues, because he communicated like a grumpy seventy-five year old or a moody teenager, with half sentences.

"Bella?" Wendy asked, causing Bella to cringe. Maybe speaking hadn't been the smartest idea.

There were 5 seconds of deadly silence, Vin had just opened his mouth to break it, but Wen beat him to it, her voice now steely cold, "You mean that I've been freaking out for the past five hours worrying about you, meanwhile you've been sleeping with BELLA?!"

"What the fuck, it's not like that," Bella cringed, disgusted at the mere idea, while Vince groaned.

"Ew, Wen, sleeping with Bella?" He wrinkled his nose, "be real-"

"I was about to call the police and this whole time you've been at the fucking Atwoods?!" Wendy cut them both off, "you left me planted in that restaurant, to hang out with- Really, Vince!?"

"Hey, that's not what happened-" Vince tried to interject, at the same time that Bella said:

"No, Wen, he's been sick-"

"Bella shut the fuck up!" Wendy's false calm broke, voice nearly breaking as she shrieked, and Bella's eyes widened, in shock. She knew her friend was pissed — or better, furious — but that was a little much... "When I want to talk with some backstabbing cunt, I'll talk to you, until then, shut your mouth."

Oh. Wow.

Bella would later blame this on the fever she was for sure sporting, but her eyes stung and there was a knot in her throat. Her voice trembled as she said, "Wen, don't say this, chill out-"

"Wow," Vince scoffed, swaying a little on the spot, white knuckling the headboard, "Wendy, what are you doing!? Why are you talking to her like this!? Calm do-"

"You're telling me to calm down!?" Bell was pretty sure Wendy was reaching dog whistling levels of high notes, "Vince you need to grow a spine and realize that I'm your girlfriend, not Bella, certainly not Luke. You need to be looking out for me, after she hurt me! What the fuck, are you stupid or-"

It landed on Bella like a bucket of cold water. A punch to her stomach. Not Wendy being mean to her, but the way Vin's eyes welled up and he sniffled pitifully, a man of his stature reduced to a blubbering mess.

The tears in her eyes dried up. Face flushed.

"Wen, what the fuck?" Vin said in a small voice, "who are you? I don't recognize you, what is happ-"

"You don't recognize me!? I'm your girlfriend! The one you abandoned at home so you could go snuggle up with the enemy, you fucking snake!"

"Wen, you're breaking my heart," Vince whispered, eyes wide and there was a frustrated huff as his response.

"Yeah, join the fucking club, Vince-"

That did it. Like a switch flipped, all hurt vanished and Bella just felt anger. Wendy wasn't just hurt, she was being cruel and to someone she allegedly loved and had just been worried about. Nothing justified this.

Protectiveness tasted metallic, like blood, soaring forward and filling her body with the strength that flu had depleted her from, "Wait a minute," Bella snatched the phone out of Vin's limp grip, holding it up to her mouth so she was heard loud and clear, "you shut the fuck up, you conniving little bitch. Why are you talking to him like this!? Really, you don't deserve a guy like Vince, listen to yourself! You're hurting the man you allegedly love!"

There was a dry, wounded chuckle, "and you know so much about hurting people you love, Bella."

"Wow," Bella rolled her eyes, "I can't believe I spent the past three weeks begging you to forgive me. Grow the fuck up, Wendy, you're the problem."

She heard, vaguely, Wendy starting to sneer back at her, refusing to back down, but Bella clicked the big bright red button before the other woman could finish.

Her heart was pounding again, adrenaline waking her up better than a caffeine shot could. Next to her Vin let out a hiccup, then another, and she realized they were sobs.

Head bowing and face hiding in his arms as he hugged his knees like a kid would, whole frame shaking. Her heart squeezed, "Vin..."

Just touching him was enough to cause bigger sobs to come up, a loud, genuine cry, none of those macho tears concealed away, "I don't- I can't- I- Who is that-"

"I guess, Wendy...?" Bella couldn't bring herself to be sympathetic and graceful, not when her whole body was burning with rage. Hurting her, whatever, but hurting Vin? What the fuck was wrong with Wendy?

Vince let out a choked wail at her words, "it can't- Can't- Can't be-be..."

But it was. Just Wendy, at her worst, flaws in full display. So calcified, there was no way this was a passing fit. Bella understood Vin's denial, it was so tempting to chalk it up to some insane hormonal imbalance or just her mental health acting up... But it didn't seem like that. This was just plain, old, Wendy.

"I can't- I don't- Fuck-" Vince lurched to the side, grabbing the bin off the floor and hugging it to his chest, heaving loudly, "my heart- Hurts..."

Bella had been there once, years before, when Luke and her had broken up. A pain so deep it felt like a heart attack. A whole life planned, crumbling to pieces... And even then, Luke had never stoop as low as Wendy just had.

She never wanted Vin to go through something like that, "I'm so sorry," Bella threw herself against Vin's side, hugging him sideways, pressing a kiss to his sweaty curls, "shhh, that's okay-"

Vince kept crying and gagging, not making any sense. His body seemed hellbent on purging some venom.

"I got you," Bella rocked them, her arms folded around Vince, "that's fine, let it out. I'm so sorry, Vin."

He sniffled, tears finally seeming to dry, voice raspy and sticky, words pressed to her collarbone in their half fallen position, "I can't do this anymore. I'm done."

She was done too.

"Good," Bella squeezed her arms around him, "goo- You're burning up, Vin."

Well, not really. He was feverish, not burning up, at least that was what her body was telling her.

Vince sniffled, grossly, and it ended up causing him to gag, "it's fine-"

"No, you're pretty warm," Bella pressed her lips to his temple, like her mother did to her when she was little and she did to Luke, "you need more meds, it's- It's 5 PM..."

He didn't argue that, instead Vin pulled back, resting against the headboard and shrugged. He looked a mess, one Bella wasn't sure how to deal with. Emotions were pretty hard for her to navigate and Vin was so incredibly vulnerable, she wanted Luke to come home and take over. He had red tear tracks on his face, the two bright blotches still on his cheek, nose running, eyelashes clumped and lips chapped.

"I'm really sorry," Vin mumbled, staring ahead as if all fight had left him, "I know she's not my responsibility, but Wen was awful to you-"

"She was awful to you too," Bella scoffed, her face tingling with anger, "whatever, don't apologize... We ran out of Tylenol," Bella sprung up, which was a bad idea. Her head kept swimming, "I'll get us more. Gotta bring that fever down."

There, practical things that she could focus on, that weren't hugging a sobbing Vin or burning with anger.

"Don't go," Vince frowned, "stay, Bell, I'll be fine... You're sick too-"

"No, I'm going," she shook her head, "can't wait for Luke and it'll be worse later, if your fever climbs..."

"Please stay," he shook his head, "it's not safe to drive, Bell, please just stay-"

"It'll be fine," she circled the bed in order to grab some jeans and a shirt, pausing to squeeze Vin's shoulder and plant a kiss to the top of his head, "I'm so sorry about Wendy, Vin," Bella whispered, "you don't deserve this bullshit."

His hands clung at her shirt as Bell pulled back after a minute hugging, "Bella, don't go, it's not safe-"

"I'm fine," she insisted, "nothing's gonna happen."

TBC

[bellysoupset]

Peace Treaties

"Yeah, sure, whatever you pick is fine," Luke said causing Vin's eyebrows to raise all the way to his hairline.

While it wasn't weird for Lucas to be happy just by hanging out, it was unusual that he didn't have an opinion on food. Something was afoot, obvious enough that even Vince could tell.

"Okay, so I think I'll go vegan today and order the tofu option-" he said, as bait, hoping to get a rise out of Luke. Instead, his best friend barely seemed to be listening. He was staring ahead out of Vince's balcony, off to the park that was in front of their building.

"Something is seriously wrong if you're agreeing to tofu," Vince wrinkled his nose in distaste, clicking out of the delivery app. Whatever, he could whip something up in the kitchen since Lucas clearly wasn't hungry. Besides, priorities. Right now he needed to decode his best friend.

It shouldn't be hard, Luke was, usually, an open book.

"Stop standing there like a statue and come sit down," Vince scolded him, patting the empty space next to him on the couch. Luke turned around, a soft smile tugging his lips up, but not reaching his eyes. Progress?

"So what's goi-"

"What are you doing on your birthday?" Luke blurted out, rubbing his temple as if his own voice was grating on his nerves. Vince paused, surprised.

"Uh-" he let out a little chuckle since Max had asked that exact same thing, "no idea. Whatever Wen has planned, you know how she is-"

"We had planned on having a surprise party on the 5th," Lucas aired out. Weird and getting weirder, Vince thought, frowning.

"Do I need to explain to you what a surprise party is, buddy?"

This earned him an amused snort, "no, I think I got the gist," Luke teased him back, smiling. Vince relaxed against the couch pillows, spreading out slightly, as much as he could when sharing with the other man.

"You sure? Because I think there's a key element that's going over your head, Luke..."

"No, you asshole," Lucas was giggling now. That dumbass smile that had made Vince decide he'd follow this idiot around for the rest of his life, back in his first year of college, "I asked," he cleared up, voice strong so Vin wouldn't interrupt, "because I think the party is not gonna happen..."

"Uh, ma chi cazzo, why not?" Vince cried out, feeling offended. He didn't particularly care for his birthday, in the sense he never planned anything, but Wendy (and by extension Lucas, let's be honest) had spoiled him rotten. He fully expected a celebration of some sort.

"Vin," Luke was shaking with a giggle still, but his voice was serious, "the girls aren't talking... Do you really think it's- wise?"

Like a bucket of cold water, Vin snapped out of his offended but amused mood. Oh yeah, Wendy and Bella were not on speaking terms and judging by how red and furious his girlfriend turned whenever Bell was so much as brought up in passing, they probably weren't making up in the next six days.

Shit.

"Ah... Yeah, you're right... I guess not, that hadn't even occurred me," he rubbed his face, "Bella really fucked up, Lucas."

They hadn't talked about it, ignoring the elephant in the room until it all but vanished. The girl's issue was the girl's issue. Except that it wasn't really. Vince felt a burning pit in his stomach, defensiveness washing over him, as he remembered how horribly Wendy had broken down at the revelation Bell had betrayed her secret. And for what, a little snide remark at Jonah?

"She apologized," Luke's voice was calm, collected, and betraying just how not collected he was about the whole issue. Vince knew, had known way before Wen ever came into the picture, Bella was no joking matter for him. Well, Luke could get pissy all he wanted, that didn't change Bella had made Wendy sob like a little kid, betrayed her trust and hurt Jonah to top it off.

"A measly apology doesn't fix everything," Vince snapped back and Luke's clear eyes squinted, annoyance dancing in them.

"I guess not," he relented, diplomatically, mayor Luke for the win, "but what would fix it then? Proof of how regretful she is through action? That'd require Wendy to be in the same room as Bella."

Vince rolled his eyes, "no need to bring out the formal speech, Luke," he called out the behavior he knew well, "your wife fucked up, she's just gotta deal with the consequences. I'm sure they'll make up eventually, but in Wendy's time, not on Bell's. A break of trust is a break of trust, I'm sure you realize that."

"Oh yeah, I fucking do," venom was dripping from his words and Vince stared at the ceiling, counted to ten. It was like talking to fucking Sophia, sometimes. Passive aggressive idiot.

He bit the inside of his cheek, decided he'd not fall for the bait and shrugged, staying on topic, "so Bella will live."

"Of course she'll live," Luke scoffed, crossing his arms in a defensive manner, "so your party."

"I guess it's cancelled."

"I guess so," but Lucas wasn't ready to drop the subject so they could get back to their chill hang out. Clearly he had a bone to pick, "I want you to come over for dinner. Wendy obviously won't want to come, but it's an open invitation, in case she changes her mind."

"Uh," Vin stared at him, trying to figure out what exactly Luke was playing at here, "uhm- dinner? A birthday dinner?"

"Yes."

"On my birthday?"

"It's a birthday dinner, so yes," now Luke was smiling, for real, using the same tone Vin had used to pick on him about the surprise party.

"Uhhh... Luke, I'll spend it with Wen, c'mon. I'm not gonna ditch my girlfriend-"

"It can be on the 3rd," Lucas shrugged, nonchalantly, as if it hadn't occurred him that oh, maybe Vince would want to spend his birthday with his girlfriend of nearly three years. Yeah, Vince believed that.

"Friday," Vince nodded, slowly, "sure, that'll be fun, just as long as Bell doesn't cook."

A snort, "no, she won't. We'll order in, it'll be nice, right?"

"Of course," Vince smiled brightly at him, "so you don't want Bella to realize the party isn't happening because of her, uh?"

To his credit, Luke did blush. He had thought he was being so clever, Vince mentally eye rolled.

"It's not that- She's just feeling bad enough as it is, she doesn't need even more added to her plate."

"The plate she made," Vin pointed out, unable to help it. He picked at his nails when Luke glared at him, "fine, yeah. It'll be fun."

Luke beamed, a hand coming up to cradle his forehead and rub at it, "so were you planning to tell me Daniels is moving to town or I was supposed to find out by running into him at the grocery store?"

"I doubt you'd go to the same grocery store," Vince blurted out, but his heart did a skip. He had no desire to keep Max a dirty little secret, but he was far from ready to disclose their relationship to Luke, who'd throw a fit. Dating Max, as a throuple, was new and unusual, they were all just figuring out how to do it. Vin didn't need Luke losing his shit on top of that.

"I thought I was your best friend," Luke sighed and he sounded genuinely hurt, so much that Vince considered for a split second fessing up to the rest of it, wasn't it for Luke's following words, "but I guess it's Max now."

"Oh, grow up," Vin rolled his eyes, "we've been over it, Lucas. I can have multiple friends. You really need to get over your aversion of Max, he's here to stay."

He expected some sort of fight, but instead Luke only stared at him, hard and long, for a full minute, "okay."

"Okay?" Vince parroted, surprised, then blushing. Wasn't this what he wanted? For Luke to be mature and accept the situation?

"Yeah, alright," Lucas shrugged, curling up slightly on the couch, "so- he's living with you?"

"No, he's crashing here starting tomorrow, but just until he closes the deal on a new place. It's a permanent change, Luke, he can't crash the couch forever," not that Max had spent a single night in the couch.

"Hmmm- and he's got a job?" Luke was being deliberate in his questions, trying not to imply anything or pick a fight, but Vince felt a swell of annoyance nonetheless. How was this his business?

"Yes, he's teaching at my school. Chemistry teacher."

A cloud of something passed over Luke's features, but just as quickly as it came on, it vanished.

"Nice," he said, with no emotion behind it, then settled further down, "weren't you gonna order food?"

"No," Vince forced out a breath. This was good, no meltdowns... He'd take the win. He got up, "I think there's fruit salad, hold on. Ice cream too, you want some? The real deal, not my fake one."

"Not hungry," Luke shook his head, lowering his glance to his phone as he squinted at his notifications.

Vince rolled his eyes at the childishness, but didn't say anything. He'd take pouting over arguing, Luke was gonna drop it soon. Progress was progress.

He went to the kitchen, then felt a twinge of guilt, so instead of just grabbing the fruit salad for himself, Vin brought over the carton of ice cream as a peace offering, dropping it alongside a spoon on Luke's lap, "here, take it."

"I said I'm not hungry?"

"I don't care," Vin fell next to him with a happy sigh, "okay, put on the movie, what are we watching again?"

"Caught Stealing."

Vince didn't particularly care about heist movies. Mostly he liked historical dramas or political thrillers, so he was pretty sure he hadn't agreed to this choice at all. Whatever, it was pretty entertaining, the problem was Luke's pissed off frown, arms crossed to his chest the whole time, not touching the ice cream.

"Really, Luke? Stop sulking, we're watching what you picked," Vin kicked his best friend's thigh in a friendly manner, since his socked feet had been buried under it. Outside the wind was howling despite the warm day, a storm forming.

"I'm not sulking," Lucas scoffed, rubbing his face, "leave me alone."

Vin rolled his eyes and withstood ten more minutes of that awful, heavy silence. Normally Lucas rambled through movies, to the point they had been asked to leave at theaters before — back when they were drunk idiots in college! — and he always paused and rewound fifty times, since he had the attention spam of a coked up squirrel.

This was so unnerving, the opposite of the chill night Vin had been eagerly waiting for all day-

"I'm heading home," Luke announced, causing Vince's thoughts to come to a screeching halt.

"What? No, you're not, I thought you were crashing here and we were gonna marathon-"

"I don't feel well, I want my bed and my wife."

This was about Max. Fucking hell.

"Jesus, Lucas, stop behaving like a toddler! The Max issue is over, sit back- Sit back down-" much like he would've done with Sophia, Vince reached as Luke got up, grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking at it, shoving him sitting back down, "we're gonna finish your stupid movie and you'll stop acting thirteen-"

"Vince," Luke glared at him, trying once more to get up. He looked pissed off, "let go of me."

"I will as soon as you quit being a little shit," Vince tried to mask his genuine annoyance with teasing. He could still salvage this night, "come on, you know you and Max are not the same at all, right?" Because I'm dating Max and you're basically my brother?

Instead of answering him, Luke shoved Vince's hand away from his shirt with all his force, much more than he ever used when playing around, and Vin let go out of sheer shock.

"Dude, what the fu-"

He never finished that sentence, because Lucas tried to stand up once again, only to lose his balance and go down like a collapsed tower, face first towards the coffee table.

"SHIT, Luke, what are you doing!?" Vince shouted, getting up to grab him. Luke had barely avoided getting his nose split, bracing on the table with his elbow, which must've hurt like hell, because the next thing out of his mouth was a retch, "merda, Luke..."

Vince sank down to his knees in order to try and pull Luke from the weird crumpled position, "are you so mad at me you're willing to split yoUR-LUKE!" He interrupted himself with a shout as Luke slammed his forehead, purposefully, to the wooden table.

Vince's heart picked up. This was so much more than sulking and bad balance, did Luke have a concussion? Was this a migraine?

"Don't- Quit that-" Vince roughly grabbed Luke's chin, stopping him from giving himself a concussion in case he hadn't already and twisting him around so they were face to face.

Ah shit. Half of Luke's face had collapsed.

He had also managed to split his brow on the table and although the cut was minimal, it was bleeding, sticky red running to his droopy right eye.

Vince could have seen this every day and yet it wouldn't be less scary.

"Aw man," he whispered, realizing all the shouting and roughhousing he had been doing probably had just made the pain worse, "that's ok, I got you-"

Luke's eyes squeezed shut, which was a good thing because Vince was panicking seeing the different sized pupils, and he let out a little gag, "gon'hurl-"

"Alright, alright," Vince reached blindly behind him, finding the carton of now melted ice cream and shoving it under Luke's chin. He didn't look particularly nauseous, but the smell seemed to do him in and he rocked forward with a heave.

Vince's heart was drumming in his ears, as he slowly tried to gain control of the situation. He felt an avalanche of guilt as all the previous signs he had missed hit him at once. The shitty mood, lack of appetite, forehead rubbing, squinting and glaring, soft speaking even when arguing.

Lucas jerked under his hand, heaving loudly, and bringing up just a pathetic mouthful of bubbly spit. They hadn't had dinner and clearly Luke hadn't had lunch either. Had he been feeling sick the entire evening?

"You're empty, buddy," Vince whispered, lowering the carton away, "take a deep breath, I'll help you up..."

"M'deez- Urp," he burped up another measly mouthful of spit, "I'm dizzy..."

"I know, I got you," Vin reassured him, wondering if he should take Lucas to the ER. Had he hit his head hard enough to concuss himself? "put your arm around my neck- Yeah, like this," he spoke as he manhandled his best friend into position, throwing Luke's right arm around his neck and hugging his waist, pulling them up.

The second they were vertical, Luke pitched forward with another heave. His head hung and he whined, continuing to dry heave, even as Vince moved them around.

"That's ok, that's ok-" Vince chanted, even as he heard Luke managing to bring up something. A pitiful whine, followed by hiccupy-sobs that shook his whole frame, "shhh, c'mere-" Vince dizzily, panickily, reached out, pulling Lucas' head towards his and hiding his face against his neck, "close your eyes, let me help."

"Jusst- Just give me a minute," Lucas tried to argue, as they walked down the hallway, "I'llbefineandthenI'llgo," he didn't seem to realize how his words were sticking together. Vince felt an anvil sink into his stomach.

"You're not going anywhere, except to sleep," he corrected Luke sharply, putting him down on the bed and taking a small step back to access the damage. He had a mouthful of bright yellow vomit staining the front of his baby blue t-shirt. Luke's face was still doing that terrifying Harvey Dent thing, one eye wide and skeptical, the other one with blown pupils and droopy, tears leaking from the corner, his mouth in a tilde shape, bright blood running down his split eyebrow and getting into the messed up eye.

"I'm sorry," Luke reached to rub his face and Vince winced as he saw him go right for the wound, hand pressing into it like he wanted to open his skull, "made a mess..." he ducked his head, letting out another frothy, empty burp, "hiC-ruined your night..."

"God, Luke, stop," Vince sat on the edge of the bed, "stop, what are you saying? You're not ruining anything..." except maybe for his shirt, "let's get you lying down and comfortable, okay man?"

A minimal nod answered him, followed by Luke gagging as he really shouldn't be moving his head. Vince snorted, then grabbed the back of his friend's shirt, stretching the neckline in order to get it off of Luke without staining his hair. As soon as it was out, Vin balled it up, using the clean side to wipe at Luke's mouth and the bloody cut.

"There we go," he gently pushed Lucas back into the pillows, rolling his eyes as he offered resistance, "don't, just sleep, Luke. I have some of your meds here, I'll get them for you," after that day during moving when Vin had been scared shitless, he'd not take any chances.

"its not hurting as much," Luke mumbled, eyes closing, "not like the other migraines, just- Pulsing. Shiny. Swirling."

"And you wanted to drive on top of this? I'm not that bad of a company, am I?" it was meant to be a joke, but as the words came out, Vin realized just how genuine they were. He cringed, hoping Luke was too out of it to catch on the very real insecurity he had just voiced.

There was a moment of silence, as Vin rummaged through his bedside table turned pharmacy, pushing aside Wen's migraine meds and Max's antiacids and landing on Luke's hard drugs.

"No, you're not," Luke breathed out, rolling onto his side, hiding the fucked up half of his face against the pillow. Now he just looked sad and pathetic and Vince wanted to smother him into a hug. He settled for grabbing his water bottle and popping out a couple pills.

"Here," he held them out for Luke, who took it with shaky hands, gulping down the meds with no water and shuddering violently.

"Urgh, stuck on my throat."

"Drink the water then, dumbass."

"No-" he muffled a burp in his hand, "gonna come back up if I do..."

Vince let out a frustrated sigh, planting a hand on Luke's arm and rubbing it up and down, "no water then," he moved his hand up, swiping his bangs back away from his sweaty forehead and petting his hair, "get some rest. If it's not as bad, it'll be over soon..."

"About Max-"

He was like a goddamn dog, refusing to let go of his bone. Vince sighed.

"My god, Luke, forget about Max-"

"I'll be good," his best friend promised, in a tiny small voice that suddenly caused Vin to second guess all of his decisions, everything he had said all night, "you said- He's here to stay, I'll- be nice and good and you- You don't have to pick."

The fact that he clearly didn't think Vin would pick him was so loud that Lucas might as well spell it out. Vince felt sick. He wanted to rattle Luke and explain to him it was different. That he could love multiple people, all in different ways, that no one was taking his spot.

However, that would require explaining the situation at hand, and even though his heart was breaking, Vin was not ready to face another uphill climb, not when they had just reached tentative peace treaties.

Did that make him a bad person?

"Vin?"

"Good, Luke," Vince gulped down the nausea burning his throat, "that's good. I'm glad we're on the same page," there was a little spot in hell reserved just for him.

A smile tugged at Luke's lips, the half of his face that wasn't crumpled, beaming like a kid, "I love you, Vin."

"I love you too, you sappy mess," Vin teased him softly, continuing to pet his hair, "now quit talking."

[lisupandowntown]

Adam Just Keeps Revealing

A/N: Life - and the dumpster fire that is the U.S. - has been kicking my ass lately but I've missed writing. This was actually supposed to be more about Drew and Jeremiah and their reconciliation, but Adam insisted on taking over. I wrote this in bits and pieces over a very crazy week so if it feels disjointed and choppy that's why. But Jer and Drew will get their moment soon . . .

Adam didn’t mind admitting he was wrong, it’s just that he didn’t think he was wrong that often. He was a good judge of character, paid attention to details, worked hard. He didn’t make a lot of mistakes, but when he did, they tended to be big ones.

Today, he’d made two.

The first mistake he was trying very hard not to think about, but the second he couldn’t ignore. At the same time, he didn’t want to make a bigger deal of it than it was, so instead of reaching out to Jeremiah or rushing off to the ER, he called Drew. Thank god he was still waiting for his nursing license to get transferred back up from Georgia and not allowed to work. From the bits and pieces of news he got, Adam knew the nurse was mostly at home or the gym right now, and bored out of his mind when Jeremiah was at the hospital. So Adam didn’t feel at all guilty about ringing him late on Tuesday afternoon. 

“Uhh hello? Adam?” Drew sounded confused which made sense, because who called anyone without texting first anymore? Adam did, that’s who. It was easier to get people to agree to things you needed when you called versus texting, and Drew was no exception. 

“I was hoping you could stop by and check my incision? It’s been bothering me since breakfast and now my stomach is upset.  I’m not sure if they’re related or not.” He conveniently left out what activity he’d been doing before breakfast that might have irritated the incision. It also didn’t seem important to say anything about the conversation he’d had with Avery during the meal, because he refused to believe that’s what was making him feel sick now. 

“Sure . . . give me about  20 minutes.” If Drew had any hesitation about Adam’s request, he kept it to himself, and knocked on Adam’s door 18 minutes later. The nurse was in scrubs that had rainbows and smiley faces on them and was carrying a large medical bag. He immediately frowned at Adam’s hunched over posture.

“You look like shit; let’s get you horizontal.” Drew was all business, but Adam couldn’t resist an innuendo anyway. 

“Does Jeremiah know youuurURRP!” The burp fell out of his mouth without warning. He’d called Drew because of pain but he was nauseous too, and trying to joke was too much. “S’cuse me.” Since it hurt to straighten up Adam couldn’t really see where Drew was, until there was a hand on his back. 

“Don’t worry about it; let’s figure out what’s going on with your body and then if you want, we can call Jeremiah together.” Drew shuffled Adam over to the sofa and helped him lie flat. “He’ll tell you all the reasons he’s not even slightly concerned that I’m here.” Drew sounded amused and calm and nothing like the defensive man Adam had spoken weeks earlier, refusing to come back to Boston. Adam had taken care of Jeremiah while he literally got sick from heartbreak over losing a patient and the absence of his boyfriend, and at the time it had been Drew being the unreasonable one.

“Fair . . . ugh . . . fair enough,” Adam grunted. If he’d been feeling better he might have asked more questions about how the couple was recovering from whatever had happened in Atlanta. Since he’d witnessed part of the situation first-hand Adam didn’t consider it nosy to ask. Besides, when you knew what questions to ask, most people liked to talk about themselves. Not right now though. Lying down on the sofa took some of the pressure off the sharp pain across his middle but it made the queasy feeling in his chest rise up into his throat.  He lifted his head off the cushion and gulped a couple of times but he couldn’t get the bubble of air to move any higher. “Fuck.” He let his head fall back and blew air out through his mouth. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up or can I examine your incision?” Drew stopped lifting up Adam’s shirt and peered at his face. “Hmm. Not quite pukey, but tell me if that changes, okay? Do you have a trash can around here?” 

“I’m not going to puke,” Adam lied. He was starting to regret calling the nurse, especially when Drew opened up the bandage on his side and made a tutting sound. 

“Looks a little irritated. I’ve got something for that. But it also looks like some of the stitches are pulled loose; you haven’t been trying to work out, have you?” He put his medical bag on the coffee table and opened it up like a tackle box. “I’m going to need to replace a few of the sutures.”

Adam closed his eyes. “No,” he muttered. “Haven’t been exercising.” He hoped Drew didn’t ask him any more questions about his recent activities. He knew he should be honest so that the nurse could treat him properly,  but that didn’t mean he wanted to explain exactly what he’d done to pull out his stitches. Especially not to Drew Thorton. Because even if Adam wasn’t uncomfortable about seeking help from Jeremiah’s boyfriend, he was conscious of the fact that it was a little unconventional. Jeremiah was the only person Adam had been with where both of them had walked away unscathed and still friends, and as good as he was at reading people, Adam wasn't quite sure what Drew thought about that.  

That thought made his stomach clench and he shuffled uneasily on the sofa. Drew stopped poking around his middle. “You okay?” 

“Fine.” Adam lied again. The dishonesty wasn’t helping his stomach ache, that was for sure. He swallowed hard. “Can you help?” 

Drew nodded. “I can; I just need to soften the stitches before I pull them out.” His mouth quirked. “Something tells me you have really plush hand towels.” 

Adam managed a weak grin. “Under the sink in my bathroom. The dark gray ones.” He raised his head to try to swallow back the sliminess in his throat. “There’s uhh, a garbage can in there too.” 

“Gotcha.” Drew squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll have to call in a script for anti-nausea unless you want to try to keep down some Pepto in the meantime?” 

“God no -” Adam tried not to gag - “won’t keep it down.” 

Drew thrust a plastic emesis basin into his hands. “In case you can’t wait.” He disappeared down the hall.

As soon as the nurse was gone, Adam fumbled for his phone. There were no messages, and he told himself it wasn’t a big deal. His stomach turned over anyway and he gagged up saliva and then choked, his body spasming as he tried to control the coughing. The pain across his stomach spiked. 

When Drew returned. Adam had managed to roll onto his side and was curled into a ball with his knees to his chest. It should have been humiliating - he was pretty sure he’d whimpered - but it didn’t really matter to him what Drew thought. 

And apparently, what he thought was frustration. 

“So based on what I saw in your bedroom I’m going to assume you know how you pulled your stitches out.” Drew grasped Adam’s knee and shoulder and rolled him onto his back again. “That might have been useful information about half an hour ago.” 

Adam hissed, both because the maneuver made his incision burn and because he was annoyed with himself. He’d forgotten how they’d left the bedroom - condom wrappers and lube and half the bedding on the floor. Avery had left so quickly - he hadn’t even tried to listen to Adam’s explanation - the last thing Adam had thought about was cleaning up. The remains of their breakfast was all over the kitchen too, he realized. Drew probably hadn’t been fooled for a second. 

“Morrison was here,” he admitted. “We might have gotten a bit . . . carried away.” His phone buzzed with a text and it was all he could do not to grab it and see if he’d finally gotten a response. He’d only sent two texts, and that was two more than he normally would have.

“And you thought sex less than a week after surgery was a good idea . . . why?” Drew asked dryly. He snapped on a pair of gloves and began rubbing cream into Adam’s surgery site. “I’m going to do us both a favor and not ask for the details because honestly, whether you’re a top or bottom doesn’t really matter right now.” 

“Thanks,” muttered Adam. He was relieved that the specifics of his and Avery’s night was going to stay private. Adam may have had a decent number of sexual partners but he always practiced safe sex and he refused to kiss and tell. “Why . . . why aren’t you doing anything?” After he’d put cream on Adam’s incision Drew had sat down on the coffee table and was just watching him.

“Numbing agent needs time to kick in; unless you’d like me to suture you now, without it?” Drew lay one of Adam’s towels over his stomach.

“Fuck no; I’m not that much of masochist.” Adam shifted on the sofa cushion. “How long?” He tried not to sound whiny but everything hurt. He really just wanted to be out of pain enough to be alone so he could try to figure out exactly what Avery Morrison’s problem was. Apparently it hadn’t been good enough for Adam to agree that he wouldn’t pick up any other guy as long as he and Morrison were hooking up regularly. Nope, that wasn’t it - Avery somehow thought that meant something a lot more exclusive and permanent. Adam was pretty damn positive he hadn’t promised anything like that, hell, he wouldn’t even know how. And Morrison knew it too; that was the most frustrating part. 

“I’ll check in 10 minutes and see if you’re numb.” Drew was observing him as if he knew everything going through Adam’s head. “In the meantime, do you want to tell me about breakfast? How long ago did the two of you eat - looks like - “ Drew glanced back towards the kitchen, “omelets?” 

“Is that really . . . relevant?” Adam’s attempt at a glare got lost in a hiccup instead. “We fucked, we ate, we fought, he left. End of story. Can you give me something for the pain, please?” He flinched as soon as he finished his outburst, feeling exposed.

Drew raised his eyebrows. “So that explains why he’s not here taking care of you instead of me.” He held up his hand to quiet Adam’s attempt to interrupt. “And you don’t have to tell me those details either, except for the ones that relate to your health. For example, to let me know if the breakfast you ate is making you too queasy to keep down any pain meds.” He lay a hand against Adam’s forehead. “No fever, so hopefully no infection, but you’re definitely clammy. Is the nausea worse? I’d like to know before you revisit your breakfast in the middle of my suturing you up.” 

Adam shrugged. He’d already said too much and even admitting to feeling sick felt risky. Maybe he was certain that his nausea had nothing to do with Avery leaving this morning, but Drew clearly thought otherwise, and Adam didn’t want to give him any more ammunition. Although the man had a point that throwing up all over himself wouldn’t be a good look either. When his stomach did a flip, he relented. “Maybe a little worse,” he conceded. 

“Thought so.” Drew plunked the small garbage can from Adam’s bathroom on the coffee table. “So we’ll wait until you either vomit or your incision gets numb and I can stitch you up.” His mouth quirked. “And then you can vomit. So which is it?” He paused for a second. “Unless . . . you want to talk about it.” When Adam didn’t say anything right away, Drew shrugged. “I do know a few things about almost ruining an important relationship, you know.” 

“We aren’t . . . HrrurRP -urgh  . . . in a relationship.” Adam’s attempt to sound decisive was lost in a gagging burp. Drew moved so quickly Adam didn’t even realize the nurse had grabbed the garbage can until it was under his chin, catching the liquid he coughed up. His stomach burned, right under his ribs, the pain making his eyes water. “Can you just fix the stitches please?” He could throw up on his own; he just needed Drew to fix his other pain and get out of there first. And then he could lie on his sofa and recalibrate. Remind himself of all the reasons he’d always limited his hookups to one or maybe two nights at most. Because look what had happened when he’d broken that rule. 

Adam had given Avery Morrision more time and attention than any other guy - including Jeremiah even - and now everything was a mess. “It’s not a relationship,” he repeated, trying to swallow back the nausea. Puking was going to hurt, even more than he was already hurting.

“Not all relationships have to involve sex you know.” Drew spoke mildly, his attention firmly on Adam’s middle. He poked it a couple of times. “Can you feel this?” 

Adam couldn’t, but the pressure worked up a burp. When he was finished panting over that wave of nausea he tried to glare at Drew - not really effective from his position on his back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he gasped. Honestly, didn’t the guy understand that Adam’s entire career depended on how well he understood relationships?

Drew carefully cleaned around the sutures on Adam’s stomach and then began clipping the loose ones. “Just that it’s not as black and white as you seem to be making things.” He pulled out the stitches and efficiently ripped open a package of sterile needles. “Whether you sleep with someone or not, you can still have some sort of relationship, right?”

Adam was too nauseous to put together a rational response. “B-bin,” he stuttered. There was liquid pooling in the back of his throat and when he tried to clear it he started to choke, wheezing and coughing and struggling to suck in a breath.  

“Hang on.” Drew sounded calm but moved quickly, sliding his arm under Adam’s back and shoving the gray towel against his mouth just in time for Adam to burp up a mouthful of saliva and half-digested breakfast into it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will his body to behave. 

“Just let it out, Calder; the garbage can’s under your chin.” 

Adam’s stomach spasmed and he heaved, vomiting up most of his breakfast.  Pain exploded across his middle and only Drew’s hands on his shoulders kept him from pitching forward and curling up over his lap. “Hang on,” the nurse muttered. “Do you have to puke again?”

“Dunno,” Adam gasped. He retched over the bin anyway but couldn’t get anything up. “Why’s . . .it hurt?” 

“The numbing cream’s topical; you’re feeling pain from deeper down.” Drew planted his hand on Adam’s chest. “Let it up, Adam. Once you’re empty the nausea will ease and I can restitch you.” 

Adam really didn’t want to throw up again and risk the pain, but his body had other ideas. When his stomach clenched again he whimpered, gagging emptily until his belly felt like it was on fire and finally bringing up a few mouthfuls of bile. 

“Oh god make it stop,” he groaned. 

“Stop having sex before you’re cleared for it then,” retorted Drew. “And maybe ease up on the heavy breakfasts afterwards,” 

“Won’t . . . won’t happen again,” Adam promised bitterly “Ever.”

Drew opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Give me about eight more minutes and I’ll be out of your hair,” he said finally.  “But I’ll be back later with your prescriptions.” He paused, and then asked casually, “I assume you don’t have someone else coming over who can pick up the meds?”

Adam’s temper, which he was usually good at controlling, flared. “Fuck you; I’m not talking about this with you.” It was childish, but he wished he could stomp out of the room or at least roll over and hide his face - anything to end the conversation. But Drew was still stitching, calm as ever, and feeling trapped was not a situation Adam liked being in. That was probably why he let himself say what he did next. “I was the one sitting with Jeremiah, you know. When his patient died?” It was a bit of a low blow and he saw Drew’s mouth tighten, but he didn’t take the bait.

“I don’t think it’s me you’re mad at, Adam.” Drew knotted the last stitch and began swabbing the incision with antibiotic cream. “And thank you. For being there when I wasn’t. Like you just said, I won’t let that happen again, and Jeremiah knows that.” His voice had gone formal and Adam felt like an ass. It was rare he let his emotions dictate his actions like this. He blew out a breath.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my . . . personal situation . . . out on you.”  That earned him a small smile from the nurse.

“Especially when I’m holding a needle to your skin,” he agreed. He carefully bandaged the site. “I’m not going to bother instructing you about prohibited activities until this heals.” He gave Adam a pointed look.

“Fair,” Adam sighed. “Although I think we’ve established that won’t be a problem for me now.” 

Drew packed up his medical bag. “Again, none of my business. He picked up the garbage bin Adam had vomited in. ”I’ll clean this out and be back in an hour with your meds. Lie still until then so you don’t irritate things more.”

“Are you saying I’m irritating enough?” It was as close to an admission as Adam was willing to make. Drew gave him another small smile and Adam let him off the hook. “My pharmacy delivers, so I think I’m set.” Adam had been expecting to spend a long, lazy day with Morrison and he didn’t want to think about what he’d do instead. But he didn’t need any pity, or advice, or anything else Drew might dole out. He’d rather be alone.

“If you spike a fever or start feeling worse, call me immediately, or go to the ER,” Drew instructed. Adam was relieved he didn’t expect him to walk to the door. 

“I will, thank you.” Adam was reverting to his business voice, but at least it wasn’t giving anything more away. 

And then Drew was gone and it was too quiet. Adam finally grabbed up his phone to check his texts - and saw he had two, both from his pharmacy confirming the prescriptions. He swore softly to himself. He was still a little queasy, although not enough to be a real distraction. Instead he turned on the television and searched for something mindless to watch while he waited to feel better.

[sickly-qt]

Stop Apologizing

This is so long for unapologetically self indulgent bullshit. If it seems a little bit of everywhere, it's probably because it is. I wrote it while unintentionally going through SSRI withdrawal... brain zaps are real and unpleasant.

I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless and remember to take your meds folks.

Amy wasn’t bothered by vomit. She was a nurse, she was a mom, she was near and/or covered in gross bodily fluids probably more often than not. With all that being said, getting vomited on not once, but twice in one shift still made it a pretty bad day. No one could blame her for being mildly grossed out and more than a little bit nauseous as she squished down the hall toward the locker room, her pink Croc puddled in vomit that was slowly soaking into her sock.

As soon as she pushed through the door, she stepped out of her shoes and pulled off her socks, promptly throwing them in the trash. 

“Rough shift?” Mary shifted her eyes from her magazine and looked Amy up and down, taking in her mismatched scrubs and bare feet as she walked across the locker room and threw her shoes in the sink.

“You could say that.” Amy sighed, laying her head in arms as the sink filled with water. She was exhausted, and she had enough years under her belt as a nurse to know it wasn’t just a shitty shift that had her feeling this way.

“You alright?” Mary got up and shuffled across the room, stopping behind Amy and reaching out to rub her back. “Jesus, Amy. You’re burning up, are you out of here soon?”

Amy lifted her head and nodded, reaching into the sink to clean her shoes, “I’m okay, I just have to de-puke my crocs and then I’m heading out.”

Mary sighed and sat back down, “I don’t want to see you here tomorrow, I’ll cover your shift.”

“I’m really okay, it’s probably just a virus.”

“You’re green Sweetheart, and you have a decent fever. You’re not going to be feeling up to work, take tomorrow to rest and thank me later.”

“I’m going to kill Matt.” Amy groaned, accepting that she caught whatever plague he brought home earlier that week.

“The way you’re looking, he probably deserves it.”

Amy grabbed her things and started towards the parking garage, finally allowing herself to acknowledge how unwell she was feeling. Her stomach was churning from more than just sympathetic nausea and she had the chills even though it was well over 60 degrees. 

She got into the car, taking a sip of water out of her Stanley, hoping that it would help settle her stomach. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, triggering her to muffle queasy burps into her fist as she drove the 15 minutes home.

At a stop sign less than a block away she felt her mouth flood with saliva and she attempted to swallow it down, which was only partially successful as she gagged into her hand. A small miracle that she didn’t puke in her car right then.

Finally, Amy pulled into the driveway. Leaving her purse, she jumped out of the car, carding through her keys with shaky hands as she bolted up the steps to the porch. 

Now, only minutes away from a bathroom, Amy’s body was violently revolting, struggling to get her keys in the door while dry heaving into her shoulder. 

She let out a small sigh of relief after unlocking the door and turning the handle for it not to budge.

Matt must’ve locked the top lock out of habit after grabbing Oli from school.

Amy gagged in earnest for the first time, leaving her keys in the door to cover her mouth with her hand, vomit dripping through her fingers onto the porch. She turned around and leaned over the railing, retching into the bushes below.

She heard the door open behind her, but didn’t even bother turning around, her fingers tightening around the rail as she coughed and gasped for air.

“Aw, Ames…” Matt said with sympathy, placing a hand on Amy’s back and pulling her ponytail from over her shoulder. “Did I give you my bug?”

Amy couldn’t answer, her breath hitching as more vomit poured out of her mouth into the shrubs. She coughed harshly, clearing her throat before lifting her head.

“You think you’re done for now?” Matt asked, patting her back gently.

Amy stared blankly across the street, clocking their old neighbor looking through the window.

“You think Dot genuinely doesn’t have anything better to do than watch everyone from her window?” Amy sighed and pushed herself away from the railing, wiping her hand on her scrubs before turning around and leaning her forehead against Matt’s chest.

He wrapped an arm around her and rubbed up and down her back.

“She’s retired and needs entertainment.” He raised a hand and waved across the street, the curtains closing now that Dot realized she’d been spotted. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

“I’m going to be the talk of the HOA.” Amy groaned, letting Matt usher her into the house.

“Mommy!” Oliver called from the living room, launching himself off the couch and running to her.

Amy grimaced as her son collided with her body.

“Are you dying?” He asked, obviously having witnessed some of the ordeal on the porch through the window.

“No Bean, I’m not dying. Mommy just isn’t feeling very well.”

“Why don’t you go pick a movie for us to watch when I come back downstairs? Mommy’s going to go lay down because her tummy’s upset.” Matt cut in.

Oliver gave them both a look but went back into the living room and settled on the couch while she and Matt went upstairs.

“You don’t have to do that, you know? I can handle Oli.” Amy mumbled, shuffling into her room and collapsing onto her bed.

“I know you can, but you don’t have to.” Matt leaned against her doorway and watched as she kicked off her shoes. “I got you sick, I know how shitty you’re feeling right now and I can watch Oli until Pete comes to pick him up for the weekend. So get changed, lay down, shower maybe? You have puke in your hair and you’re a little smelly.”

Amy sat up and pulled her ponytail over her shoulder, gagging when she felt the vomit in her hair.

“Shit.” she groaned, “I’ll get a shower, but you don’t have to do the handoff with Pete. He’ll be a royal dick to you.”

Matt shrugged, “Oli’s bag is already packed, I literally just need to hand the guy his kid. I think I can handle it. You can stay up here and sleep, or shower, or puke if you feel inclined.”

“Shut up.” Amy got up and peeled her shirt off, throwing it on the floor on her way to the bathroom.

Matt averted his eyes, staring at anything but her as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. “Uh, I’ll come back up and check on you after Oli gets picked up.”

~~

“Where’s Amy?” Pete asked, taking Oli’s bag from Matt.

Matt shrugged, “Upstairs.”

“She won’t even see me for Oliver?” 

“It’s not personal Pete, she’s sick.” Matt turned to the side and called for Oli.

“Sick? Amy doesn’t get sick.”

Matt rolled his eyes, “She does, and she is.” He smiled at Oliver as he came down the stairs. “You ready to go? Did you say bye to Mom?”

Oli nodded and ran to his dad, laughing as Pete reached down and picked him up.

“Remind Amy that she has to pick him up on Sunday since I came here for pickup this time.” 

“I’m sure she knows.” His tone and face changed completely as he turned to Oli. “Bye Bean, I’ll see you on Sunday.” 

“Bye. Take care of Mommy.”

“I will, bud. She’ll be in tip top shape when she picks you up.”

Matt closed the door behind Pete and Oli, watching from the window as they drove away.

He grabbed some water and meds before making his way upstairs. Her bedroom door was open from Oli, and Matt could see she wasn’t in bed. His eyes zeroed in on the closed bathroom door.

“Amelia?” He called, knocking gently on the door to her ensuite. “Are you okay? I brought you up some water.”

Matt jumped when the door opened, revealing a pale and unsteady Amy.

“This sucks.” She took the water and took a couple sips before handing it back and placing her hand over her stomach.

“Are you going to-”

Amy held up a hand, cutting him off. She closed her eyes and gulped, grimacing as she muffled an airy burp into the back of her hand.

“I’m okay.” She said breathily, pushing past Matt to crawl into bed. “How was Pete?”

“Exactly like you said, a dick.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not responsible for your ex being a piece of shit.” Matt held out the pills to her and she scrunched her nose, shaking her head at him.

“No, I mean that I’m sorry I rely on you so much with Oli.” Amy got comfortable under her blankets, resting her hand on her stomach. “It’s not fair to you, he’s not your kid.” 

“Amelia, don’t apologize to me.” Matt sighed and sat next to her, on top of the comforter. “I wouldn’t have offered you a place to stay if I wasn’t alright with helping out.”

“Will you sit with me? We can put something on the TV.”

“Yeah, I can stay.”

Matt had every intention of leaving after Amy fell asleep, but Amy’s head dropped onto his shoulder about 2 episodes into Bob’s Burgers. He had begun to doze himself when Amy suddenly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and freezing.

“Are you going to throw up?”

Amy shook her head, staring at the ground. 

“Are you sure? I don’t think it’s possible for you to get any greener.” 

She went to nod but her stomach tensed and her hand went to her mouth as she sprung out of bed.

Matt grimaced when she gagged again, vomit spraying between her fingers in the doorway of the bathroom. She took a long step over the mess before collapsing in front of the toilet, burping up a mouthful of water.

Matt followed her in, rubbing her back as she shifted from productive retches to dry heaves.

“I need- I need to-” She heaved between words as she held her hand away from her, vomit dripping from her fingers, “I need to wash my hand off.”

She flushed the toilet and stood up shakily, running her hand under the faucet. She continued to dry heave and gag over the sink until another mouthful of whatever she had consumed in the last 48 hours reappeared.

“Alright, Ames. Let me help.” Matt grabbed a hand towel off the ring and wrapped it around her hand. “Just breathe through it, deep breaths for me.”

When her stomach finally stopped turning itself inside out, she was able to finally breathe in. Taking deeper breaths, interspersed with coughs and unproductive gags.

“Fuck.” She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Matty.”

“Don’t apologize, just lay down, drink some water. I’ll get all of this cleaned up.”

“Matt-”

“Amy.” he turned and grabbed a towel, throwing it over the mess on the floor. “Everything’s fine, drink some water and lay down. Please.”

Amy was tired and feverish and wrung out. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Laying in bed, she swiped angrily at the tears that ran down her face, despite how hard she tried to hold them back. She had always been a crier when she had a fever, some things never change.

“C’mon Ames, no tears.” Matt sighed from across the room. “You know I don’t know how to deal with tears.”

Amy let out a watery laugh, another thing that hasn’t changed.

She felt the bed sink next to her, “Why are you crying?”

She cleared her throat and sniffled, “I just don’t feel good.” She took a deep breath and looked over at Matt with teary eyes, “I feel sick, and I feel like an inconvenience to you, and I feel like a bad mom.” She let out a small sob, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Matt sighed, “You are sick. You took care of me when I was going through this so I owe you. And I’ve never met someone who was built to be a mom as much as you. Sometimes you need help and that’s okay. It takes a village or whatever… Now stop crying, you’re weirding me out.”

“Okay.” Amy whined, swiping at her face again. 

“I’m putting the trashcan next to the bed. If you need anything just yell okay? I’m right down the hall.”

“Matty?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you… For everything.”

“No problem. Get some rest before you start puking again."

[spiciestpotatoes]

A sweet girl is curled up beside me, stomach in knots again. I hate seeing her like this—face pinched, breath shaky—her belly all tight and crampy from another IBS flare-up. But she lets me help, which means everything.

I've got my hands gently on her lower tummy, pressing slow circles with just enough firmness to ease the ache. She guides me where it hurts most—'right there,' she whispers—and I focus there, palm warm and steady. Her muscles tense under my fingers with each cramp, but slowly... slowly... they start to soften.

She sighs into the touch, legs still drawn up but relaxing inch by inch. 'Your hands feel so good,' she murmurs. 'Don't stop.'

And I won't—not until the storm passes. There’s something so deep about being trusted like this: not just to touch her pain, but to hold space for it… press it away with love."

[shion-yu]

First Time

Fall 2010: Cliff and Elliot meet on Cliff's 18th birthday. Includes parts originally from the drabble "Experiment.” Cliff and Elliot both get drunk, emeto. 2,399 words.

This is the beginning of my attempt at (mostly) chronologically reimagining my modern OCs as a group of friends who all go to the same school in the Hudson Valley. Some stories will include parts from old drabbles, which I’ll be slowly working out of my masterlists. All parts will include sickfic! I really hope someone enjoys.

It would be Cliff’s first and last time at a frat party. On the first weekend that students at Isherwood University were back for the Fall semester, excitement was high and parties were easy to find even for those who had never gone out in high school. The house was so crowded that it was impossible to walk in a straight line, while the music blared so loudly that Cliff could feel his chest vibrating. So far, he wasn’t understanding the appeal. But when it’s your eighteenth birthday, you’re supposed to celebrate, right? And he hadn’t made any friends yet, so… Strangers it was.

So far, Cliff had learned two things about life after high school. One, people in college seemed to care less about everything and anything - for good and for bad. And two, he was never going to make friends here. At least, Cliff was worried he wouldn't. It wasn't like he'd had many friends in high school either, but he had people he liked and talked to every day. Here, he felt surprisingly lonely for someone who was sure he was an introvert. He'd even started texting his older sister sometimes just so he had someone to interact with. She was the only person who had texted him for his birthday, and Cliff had replied with a ‘Thanks!’ that was overtly enthusiastic by his standards.

Cliff had been passing through the dorms last night when he heard several people discussing an open house party that one of the fraternities held every year. It wasn't exactly recruitment, maybe pre-recruitment. Cliff didn't think that was his scene, but that's how he ended up here. He had gotten maybe ten steps in when a girl far taller than him bounded up and said, "Aww, he's so cute!” and shoved a Four Loko in Cliff's hand. 

“Oh, I never…” Cliff trailed off as she threw an arm over Cliff’s shoulders and grinned.

“My own pet freshman!” She exclaimed. It was uncomfortable, but there was also a touch of satisfaction at being approved of even if it was only by a drunk stranger. She led him to a game of beer pong and announced she and Cliff were a team. “You take a drink every time you make the shot,” she explained to him. “Sometimes they put beer in the cups but that’s just nasty, so it’s water and we just have you take a sip of your own drink.” 

“Alright,” Cliff said. He still hadn’t taken a sip, but after making his first point he tried it. The flavor was sickly sweet and bitter at once, and Cliff tried not to make a disgusted face. His reaction didn’t escape a round of laughter anyways. Somebody said he was adorable. Cliff didn’t love that description of himself, but at least they weren’t making fun of him. Well, not too much. 

As the game continued, and a second and then third round started, Cliff lost track of how many sips he’d had. The flavor get less terrible the more he drank, and his reserved nature began to melt away. Cliff found he was surprisingly decent at beer pong and began cheering along with the others when he and the girl made a point. He realized he hadn’t even gotten her name, and when he asked she laughed and told him only for Cliff to forget immediately after. He wasn’t good with names at baseline, let alone right now. He also had no idea that drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t the best idea, not that he could do anything about it now.

The fun was interrupted by whatever-her-name-was’s shrill voice saying, “Stop it! Don’t touch me!” Looking up, Cliff realized the game had paused because one of their opponents had crept over to their side of the table and was trying to feel the girl up.

“C’mon Linds, don’t be a bitch, you’re embarrassing me,” he said. Right, Lindsey, that was her name, Cliff thought. 

“I’m serious, you better get your hands off me this instant,” Lindsey said, but she’d been backed against the wall and looked scared now.

Cliff had never been a proactive bystander in his life - just the opposite really. But being drunk apparently brought out a new side to him because he slid between the two upperclassmen with his hands up. “Hey, she said stop,” Cliff said awkwardly. 

“What’d you say? Did you hear what this kid said?” The upperclassman snorted. The good news was, this gave Lindsey enough time to dash. The bad news was, the guy threw a punch squarely into Cliff’s cheek. Cliff had never been punched in the face before and wow it hurt a lot more than he expected. He was knocked to the floor, dazed and one hand to his smarting cheek, but made no move to fight back. Fighting, like getting drunk, was not on Cliff’s list of experiences before today. “You’re lucky I don’t beat the crap outa you, kid. Get outa my house,” Cliff heard. By the time he looked up, the guy was nowhere in sight.

Cliff stayed on the floor for another minute just clutching his face before he pulled himself up by the beer pong table to leave, swaying slightly on his heels. The game was very much abandoned. Did getting punched have anything to do with how hard the alcohol was hitting him suddenly, Cliff wondered? He looked for Lindsey, but she really did seem to have gotten away from that creep. Good. Satisfied by the outcome even if it had resulted in getting punched, Cliff turned to leave - and ran straight into another body. He heard a sharp yelp and the feeling of liquid being poured down the front of his shirt. 

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" 

Cliff looked up in shock as a red plastic solo cup clattered onto the floor. A boy with curly dark hair and shiny green eyes was across from him and clearly the reason Cliff's shirt was now soaking wet. He was trim but sturdy - handsome, Cliff thought drunkenly - and began frantically looking for something to wipe the mess up with. The nearest thing that met this description happened to be a random piece of loose leaf paper on the ground, which blotted basically none of the liquid up as the boy pressed it to Cliff's shirt.

"I don't think it's working," Cliff said faintly, startled by the openness with which this guy was touching him. Not that he had moved away. The taller male looked up from his task, paused and then cracked up laughing. Cliff couldn't help but smile too, although it hurt his cheek. 

"Jeez, you’re right," the boy said, still giggling. "I'm really sorry. Want my shirt?"

"Your shirt?" Cliff repeated incredulously. "I can't take your shirt, you’re wearing it.”

"I meant my jacket," the boy blushed. "Sorry, I'm kinda drunk. I don’t drink much. Ah, crap, I don't think I'm supposed to tell people that, that's not really cool."

The awkwardness was endearing to Cliff and he could certainly relate to being uncool and awkward. "Okay, sure, your jacket,” Cliff accepted the offer. He turned away and quickly tore off his wet t-shirt, not liking to be exposed in public even while drunk. He slipped his arms into the jacket that the boy was holding up and zipped it up immediately before turning back around. The dry jacket felt warm and smelled good, Cliff thought. "What's your name?" He asked, shoving his wet t-shirt as far into the back pocket of his jeans as they would go.

"Elliot," the boy said with a grin. "You?"

"Clifford Barrows," Cliff said, automatically reciting his full name as he was accustomed to back at his stuffy private school where last names meant as much as grades. But Barrows signified nothing to Elliot, and that was refreshing. A relief Cliff hadn't anticipated. “Just Cliff is fine though,” he added.

"Cliff, like Clifford the big red dog?" Elliot asked. "You've even got the red hair to match!" Cliff had heard this before and usually didn't appreciate it, but Elliot didn't seem to be unkind in saying so. In fact, he seemed earnest and sweet and Cliff felt drawn to him. He had a dopey, genuine smile. And he’d literally given Cliff his jacket off his back, even if he’d ruined Cliff’s T-shirt first.

"Yeah," Cliff said. "Like that."

"That’s awesome," Elliot grinned. His eyes wrinkled at the corners and he had dimples on either side of his mouth. "So... Do you know anyone here?"

Cliff considered lying. But then he remembered he was actively being kicked out anyways and shook his head. "No one. Do you?"

"My roommate invited me, then ditched me," Elliot sighed. "Why'd you come if you don't know anybody?"

Cliff hesitated, but Elliot had admitted his drunkenness so Cliff figured he would admit his intentions. "Don't laugh," he said. "It's my birthday."

Elliot's eyes widened in shock. "Seriously? Wow! Happy birthday!"

"Thanks," Cliff said. Elliot opened his mouth and took a deep breath. "You're not going to sing, are you?" Cliff asked quickly.

Elliot looked at him sheepishly. "Not anymore," he said. "But we have to do something to celebrate. You must have wanted to. Why else would you be here?"

Cliff shrugged. "I don't know. Experimenting or something. I already got kicked out though.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Elliot said, causing Cliff to blush. Good thing it was dark in here. “That was pretty cool.”

“Getting punched was cool?” Cliff repeated incredulously.

“Well, no, but sticking up for that girl was,” Elliot answered. “But I guess we should get out of here before you get punched again.”

“We?” Cliff repeated with a smile he couldn't help. Even though the room was spinning a little, he felt more himself while talking to Elliot than he had all night. 

Elliot lead Cliff to the door, then paused and said, “Wait one second.” He darted away to the kitchen, then came back with a chunk of ice from the beer cooler in his hand. “For your face,” he explained. “Let’s go.”

The two boys stumbled off the frat house porch and headed down the dimly lit street. Cliff had no idea where they were going, or if Elliot lived in the dorms like he did, but apparently they were headed in the same direction for now. Cliff held the quickly melting chunk of ice to his cheek, which did feel nice but made him cold.

“Woah,” Elliot said suddenly, stopping and grabbing Cliff’s forearm. “I think I’m drunker than I thought I was in there.” 

"Me too," Cliff said. Now that they were out of that weird cramped environment and trying to walk, he was more aware of his own drunkenness and the sense of nausea bubbling in his stomach.

“Hey, you said you came as an experiment, what kind? Elliot asked, his hand still on Cliff’s arm. His fingers were warm, the opposite the crisp Fall evening.

"To see if I could make a friend,” Cliff admitted woozily. He wasn't sure why he was telling Elliot this, it sounded pathetic and weird. It must be the alcohol, he thought to himself. Making him brave and warm all over, or maybe it was Elliot.

To his surprise, Elliot didn't call him strange. He just grinned. "Well, I think you succeeded," he said. "Friends?"

Cliff blinked. "Us?"

"Yeah. If you want," Elliot said, suddenly a little shy. "Do you want to?"

Cliff nodded quickly, eagerness winning over any reservations. "Yeah." He just couldn't believe it.

"Perfect,” Elliot grinned. "Now… we could hit up another party, but I have a feeling this frat party stuff isn't really either of our thing. Wanna go to the diner instead?"

It sounded ten times better than a noisy party, and something about being alone with Elliot - just having the opportunity to get to know his enthusiastic and mysterious new friend - made Cliff's stomach flutter with excitement. "Definitely. Let's go."

They made it another block before Cliff stopped them this time. The dizziness was getting more intense and he didn’t think he was walking in a straight line anymore. The taste of acid rose in his throat. “You okay?” Elliot asked. 

“Uh huh,” Cliff said, right before pitching forward and throwing up on the curb. 

“Oh, shit,” Elliot said, scratching the back of his neck, “Uh… It’s okay. Get it up, buddy.” 

Cliff didn’t have to be told twice. There wasn’t a ton in his stomach since he’d skipped dinner, but there was plenty of fluids which left a decent puddle in the road. It tasted even worse than the drink had going in which cause more heaving, and Cliff swore he would never drink Four Loko again. A few cars and people went by seeming to pay him no mind, but Cliff was embarrassed regardless. By the strangers, but more so for making a fool of himself in front of his new friend. Every time he tried to choke out a “Sorry,” he would end up puking more. Mortifying.

“Maybe you should stop trying to say sorry,” Elliot suggested. “It’s okay, really. I - ugh.” He turned around and Cliff assumed it was for privacy before Elliot suddenly spewed his own wave of vomit right onto the pavement.

Hearing someone else throw up triggered Cliff to get going again, which in turn seemed to get Elliot, and so on... Cliff didn’t dare look at Elliot throwing up, not when the sound alone was setting him off, but he could tell it had significantly more volume than what he was getting up. Elliot had probably eaten dinner, Cliff thought vaguely. The back and forth vomiting lasted for another minute before Cliff was empty, and Elliot seemed to be slowing down at the same time. Cliff felt responsible for setting Elliot off and was so embarrassed that he couldn’t look at his new friend - if Elliot still even wanted to be his friend when he was so gross.

“Cliff?” He heard Elliot’s voice. God, he was going to tell Cliff to fuck off, wasn’t he? 

“Yeah?”  

“You still want to go to the diner?”

Cliff was so surprised that he couldn’t help but laugh. "Yeah.”

He finally looked at Elliot, who was grinning again despite his pale, sweaty face. “Me too,” Elliot said. “Let’s go.” 

[a-cup-of-sick]

Paris (2008) |vomit scene|

[ernestonlysayslovelythings]

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

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gilmore Girls (TV 2000) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luke Danes & Jess Mariano, Liz Danes & Jess Mariano Characters: Jess Mariano, Luke Danes, Liz Danes Additional Tags: Sickfic, Family Summary:

The adults in Jess’s life don’t have best track record of taking care of him, but things are different this time. A then and now Jess Mariano sickfic.

[lisupandowntown]

Ya know what's been festering I'm my brain? Obviously you know I want a sick Logan/caretaker Adam fic (yeah still thinking about that 😅) Maybe a Logan getting served something not GF when out with Adam getting to know each other? Or having him over not realising she'd accidentally consumed gluten and it hits when he's there? No pressure as always, just thoughts floating round my brain and infiltrating my life 💞

A/N: this worked well with an idea I'd been kicking around for a while. It was actually supposed to be a bit more comedic, but things didn't go that way. It's also slightly out of order because I've got an Adam/Drew fic planned to answer another ask that will take place before this. It's also very long and ends kind of abruptly because I was in Logan't head and she was pretty out of it, so the significance of the things she was saying was going to be lost on her.

Logan Has A Temper Tantrum

“If one more person points at me and says ‘you’re next’ I’m going to break something.” Logan slumped into Gabe’s apartment and ignored his welcome kiss to go straight to his fridge. “Plus there was nothing I could eat.” She pulled out a bowl of grapes, frowned at it, and dropped it on the counter. “These are soft. Also, Rory’s mom’s a piece of work and I need a drink.” She opened his pantry, stared for another minute, and then closed the door with a bang.

“Well hello to you too, grumpy.” Gabe turned Logan to face him and tried again for a kiss but she barely pecked his lips before pushing him away. 

“I’m not grumpy,” she grumped. “I’m just . . . tired of people. Especially people who assume things. And hungry.” She glared at Gabe as if all of this was personally his fault.

Instead of being put off by his girlfriend’s mood, Gabe switched into problem-solving mode. He only followed about half of what she’d said, so he focused on the parts he understood. “Why don’t I go out and pick up food?” he suggested. “That takes care of both needing to eat and wanting to be alone.” His forehead wrinkled. “Am I allowed to assume what you want to eat or is that another thing that’s off limits?” Somehow he had a feeling that Logan’s mini tantrum had less to do with being hungry and more with something that had happened while she’d been out with Noa and “the moms,” as everyone referred to Rachel Calder and Cindy Landis. “I thought you were going to a flower arranging class.” Gabe prided himself on the fact that he’d become a much better listener since he’d started dating Logan and he was sure that’s what she’d told him. 

“It was a bridal expo!” she practically growled. “And yeah, there was one booth about DIY floral decoration, but the rest of it was DJs and caterers and florists whose ‘minimum decor fee’ was $10,000, and Cindy kept telling the vendors I have a boyfriend so they started giving me their business cards and warning me they were booking almost two years out so I’d better get going - even the guy who carved custom ice sculptures!” Logan said all of this very fast, the horror in her voice growing with every word. She shook her head. “Even Noa and your mom got into it; they dragged me to one of the ring designers and kept asking my opinion about brilliant cut versus princess or some nonsense like that.” Her face said exactly what she thought about that. “To be honest I think your sister was relieved to have the attention off her for a little while because both of the moms seemed to have opinions about every single thing for her and Rory.”

This was a lot of information Gabe wasn’t sure what to do with. Sure, he knew he was a good boyfriend now but wedding talk was an entirely different thing.  It was definitely not something he and Logan had ever discussed - hell, they’d just gotten past the misunderstanding about living together when her lease was up.  Had she been thinking about them getting married? Gabe had no idea, but she looked upset, so to deflect his confusion and cheer her up and made a joke. 

“What, you don’t want a double wedding? Let my crazy sister do all the planning and we’ll just show up for the good parts.” He gave her a cheeky grin, inviting her to laugh or roll her eyes or do something to join in the teasing. But Logan didn’t even smile.

“Can you just go get food? Please? I don’t care what it is.” She stared at him, eyes wide and lips tight, until he nodded. 

“Yeah sure, just give me . . . uhh . . . about ten minutes.”  A year ago Gabe would have asked what she wanted to eat and stressed about what he’d done wrong, but now he knew to just do what she asked and leave. Two blocks away was a make-your-own-bowls Mediterranean place and despite his girlfriend’s bad mood Gabe felt a tiny bit of pride that he knew what she’d want to eat, ordering her a chicken shawarma bowl with cucumber yogurt sauce and no pita, and a spicy lamb bowl with tahini for himself. The restaurant had gluten free brownies so he got one of those too.

And the entire time, he was thinking about what he could do to ease Logan’s tension. Gabe wasn’t entirely sure what was causing it other than it had something to do with weddings. Was she upset they hadn’t talked about marriage yet? Possible but doubtful, he decided.  She wasn’t really the type of girl to have a deadline in her head about when things like that should happen. More likely it had just been a long day with his sister and the moms - all of whom had apparently been very talkative and opinionated on all things having to do with weddings. It would be a lot for anyone, but especially someone like Logan, whose social battery needed regular recharging. That was fine with him; there was work he should do to prepare for a call with Germany Monday morning anyway. They’d have a quiet night in and she’d be fine.

Although for a while, they were even quieter than usual. Logan seemed happy with the food Gabe had chosen for her dinner and sat next to him on the sofa while they ate and watched an episode of The Bear. But she didn’t talk much and her shoulders were set stiffly and her body didn’t touch his at all. 

Gabe was pretty sure he wasn’t responsible for Logan’s poor mood, but it felt like his job to try to improve it, especially since it seemed like his mother and sister had been part of the reason. So once they were mostly done eating, instead of going to his office and reviewing the German deal, he took her hand and squeezed it.

“I’m sorry if it was a lot today. When my mom and Cindy get together it can be hard to get a word in edgewise. And then when you add Noa, who I’m sure is trying to stay in control of the wedding plans, and -” he rolled his eyes. “-  well I can understand why you need some time away from all that.” 

“Yeah.” Logan looked down at her lap but didn’t say anything else. It was very unlike her; if there was one thing Gabe had learned from eighteen months of dating her,  it was how important honest communication was.  So he tried again.

“Hey.” Gabe touched her cheek until she looked up. He was surprised to see a hint of panic in her expression and he rushed to reassure her without thinking. “Don’t worry; I’m sure not all wedding planning’s so intense. I mean, your mom seems a lot less . . . insane about all that anyway.” He’d meant it as a compliment, but Logan’s expression shuttered even more and Gabe wondered if he’d misread the situation. “I mean, unless you want to do all that stuff?”  It occurred to him that maybe she was just missing her other mother. “I’m sure your mom would fly out here, or . . . I guess you’d want to get married in California  - most of your family’s there, right?” He’d meant theoretically; Logan was from Los Angeles and had no relatives on the East Coast. So he was shocked when she suddenly pulled her hand away from his.

“Can we not talk about this please?” she asked peevishly. “My god; why does everyone keep acting like we’re about to get engaged?” She huffed with irritation.  “Cause we’re not, right?” Her tone made it clear there was only one right answer to that question. But Gabe was thrown off; did she want him to agree they weren’t getting engaged right now? Anytime soon? Or ever?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she blew out another frustrated breath.

“I think we need some time apart.” 

“What?” Gabe was so startled he thought he’d heard wrong at first.  He squinted at his girlfriend, waiting for the smirk, the just kidding - but it didn’t come. He grabbed for the logical thing. “You want to go to your apartment to sleep?” Maybe this was one of those times Logan needed a little extra space. But she shook her head. 

“You’re my first really serious boyfriend, Gabriel, and I’m your first girlfriend at all. And everyone’s acting like this is it so what are we waiting for anyway?” She stood up and began pacing back and forth across his living room. “Why can’t we just enjoy ourselves without having to put labels and timelines on it?” She stopped walking when she got in front of him and pointed sharply at his chest. “We’re not Rory and Noa.” 

“Of course we’re not,” he said immediately. And then, because it was true and also he thought it would help, added, “thank fucking god.” That won him a brief smile but then Logan went back to pacing. Gabe still wasn’t sure she was serious so he didn’t feel that panicked. Something was clearly upsetting her, though. He tried to put the pieces together. “So . . . you don’t like that people keep assuming we’re going to get married?” Gabe felt a brief, unreasonable stab of annoyance at his best friend for putting him in this situation. Why’d he have to go propose to Gabe’s sister anyway? “Or you don’t like being compared to Rory and Noa?” 

“Yes! And yes!” Logan responded emphatically. She seemed relieved Gabe had figured it out and he gave himself a mental pat on the back. “They dated for years and years so of course it makes sense they got engaged. And they broke up, too, right?  When Rory went to college? So when they got back together they knew what they were doing.” She gave Gabe a beseeching look. “Maybe we don’t.” 

“Sweetheart -” Gabe tried not to blurt out the question that was really in his head - are you saying you don’t want to marry me, ever? - “I thought you said you don’t want to be compared to Rory and Noa, so why does it matter what they did?” Okay, that was good, he thought. It was a reasonable question and didn’t have anything to do with whether Logan wanted to marry him. But she still looked frustrated. 

“I don’t want to be like Rory and Noa.” She spoke slowly, as if she was talking to a child - or Gabe in the first months of their relationship when he didn’t know anything. Not a good sign. “But people all seem to think we are, so how do we make sure we aren’t making a mistake? I don’t want us to just - - keep going the way we are, or whatever - -  and then suddenly decide one day ‘Okay, long enough, time to get engaged.’” She wrung her hands together. “I hate that.”

Gabe answered equally slowly, although in this case it was because he wasn’t sure what the hell Logan meant. “So are you saying you want to . . . take a break,” - and god he tried not to wince when he said those words -  “because we’re not like Rory and Noa and you want to make sure of that?” 

“No, or maybe . . . or . .  I don’t know!” Logan wasn’t exactly yelling, but it was clear that Gabe’s failure to follow her train of thought was winding her up even more than she already was. Logan wasn’t normally prone to tantrums and Gabe felt out of his element. Normally when she was mad, Logan was very direct with him, and he usually deserved it.  Before he could figure out what to say next that wasn’t going to put his foot even deeper into his mouth, both of their phones dinged with a text.

A Calder; hey people I love, anyone free for a drink? I’m right down the block at Murph’s 

Gabe wasn’t sure if his brother’s timing was perfect or terrible, but at the least it was a distraction. Logan’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and Gabe allowed himself a small grin. “I wonder what plans of his just ended that he’s suddenly got time for us. Remind me, how far away does Avery live from here?”

“Why is everyone so eager to get them paired up?” Logan immediately sounded cranky again. “Maybe he was with a friend, or working or something.” If she didn’t quite glare at Gabe, it was close. “My god, let them make their own decisions.”  She crossed her arms as if the matter was closed.

Gabe knew he hadn’t done anything wrong and he suspected that if he pushed her, Logan would agree. He just wasn’t sure if pushing her was the right tactic here. He definitely didn’t want to give her any reason to repeat that they needed to take a break. He couldn’t believe she meant it, but he really didn’t like hearing it. Just then their phones buzzed again.

A Calder: Answer me, please - Margs or Sangria? Getting a pitcher 

Gabe quickly texted back: Margs we’re coming. Maybe it was cowardly, but getting Logan out of his apartment and in front of a margarita and his brother Adam’s charm seemed like his best bet right now. And if Logan was going to be uncharacteristically irrational, then it was Gabe’s job to be the voice of reason.

“You didn’t ask me if I wanted to go meet up with your brother.” Logan was still standing with her arms crossed. Gabe shrugged.

“Nope. But I’m pretty sure Adam has no interest in talking about wedding plans. And he’s got margaritas, which are gluten free. So we’re going.” Gabe didn’t look at Logan while he picked up his jacket and keys from the counter. He made another quick decision. “Actually . . .” - he turned around and pointed at her, “- you’re going. I’m staying here.” When Logan opened her mouth, probably to protest, Gabe held up his hand. “You said we need to take a break. For the record, I don’t agree. But I’ve got work to do so go let Adam amuse you for a couple of hours. Have a few margaritas, and then, if you still need some time alone in your apartment, I’ll understand.” He tried to put as much sincerity as he could into his tone. His heart was beating too fast though, and he hoped Logan couldn’t hear it. “But if you want to . . . come back here,” he continued, voice shaking just a tiny bit, “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

For the first time he could remember in his and Logan’s relationship, she seemed to be at a loss for words. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, staring at Gabe as if expecting him to say something else. But he stayed quiet and finally she nodded. “Good . . . good idea. I’ll, uh, tell Adam you’re sorry you can’t come. 

“You do that,” he nodded, and then walked over and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” she responded immediately.  “I’ll uhh, text you when I’m on my way home.” 

Gabe tried not to wonder whose home she meant. He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be awake.”

*******

If Adam was surprised when Logan showed up at the bar alone, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked completely delighted to see her, jumping out of his seat and giving her a hug that she didn’t think was an act. Some of her anxiety eased. If anyone wasn’t going to be interested in predicting when she and Gabe should get married, it was Adam Calder. She dropped into a seat and gratefully accepted the margarita he pushed across the table. 

“Thank you; I really needed this,” she admitted. 

Adam clinked his glass against hers. “Anything you want to talk about?’ He leaned forward. “Fifteen minutes ago my brother said both of you were coming to the bar and now only you’re here. Neither of you are particularly hot-tempered, so I’m wondering what exactly happened.”

The same question, had it come from another of Logan’s friends, probably would have sounded intrusive. Annie would have been eagerly looking for a hint that Logan and Gabe had fought, and then offered thinly veiled sympathy while secretly reveling in the news. But Adam had no ulterior motive, and a way of inviting confidence that made Logan lean forward - all intent to steer away from relationship talk suddenly forgotten. “I told Gabe I thought we needed to take a break,” she confessed.  

If she expected shock, that didn’t happen. Instead, Adam looked thoughtful. He was quiet for so long that Logan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m not ready to get married,” she added defensively. Adam raised his eyebrows.

“Did I miss the news that he proposed?”

“No, of course not, it’s just . . . “ For some reason Logan felt her face heating up. “Everyone else seems to assume we’re getting engaged soon, as if some invisible clock is ticking, now that Rory and Noa did it.” The prickle of heat in her face moved into her chest and sent up a burp before she could stop it. She rubbed self-consciously at her chest. “Sorry.”

Adam waved off the apology. “So I’m hearing two different questions here, sweetheart. Are you saying you don’t want to think about getting engaged right now?” He reached forward and refilled her margarita and then took a sip of his own, watching her the entire time. “Or that you don’t want to get engaged . . . at all?” His voice got serious. “Is telling my brother you need a break a softer way of saying that you don’t see a future with him? Because if that’s what this is about then I’m taking you back to his apartment right now so you can tell him that.” He shook his head, looking almost disappointed. “I’m not here to help you figure out how to lead him on for a while longer.”

Logan’s flushed again, this time with shame. “No, I know,” she clarified quickly. “I mean, I don’t want . . . that’s not it, I swear.” Her stomach twisted with the difficulty of trying to justify something she didn’t quite understand herself. “It just all feels too settled already, or . . .” she gulped down, the stress she’d been feeling all day morphing into something that felt uncomfortably like nausea, “I don’t know. . . .”

“What don’t you know?” Now that Adam honed in on Logan’s distress, he wasn’t going to let it go. Not when his brother’s well-being was at stake. “Why do you want to take a break? There’s got to be a reason.” He tented his fingers and watched her calmly. The subtle message - you’re the one who said it so now you have to explain - felt blaring. 

Logan didn’t know how to explain -  how she’d spent the day feeling suffocated by other people’s expectations, hating herself for not embracing what everyone else accepted as a given. Feeling like a bitch because it must mean she was doing something wrong, making her question everything. She went on the offensive.

“Why do I have to know? Right now?” she demanded. Her belly was practically churning with the anxiety and she roughly swallowed a burp so she could keep talking over whatever Adam was going to say.  “I know what you think, that if I don’t -  if I can’t just say it, then I must not love Gabriel enough. Isn’t that it?” She stared at him openly. “I certainly put him through hell, getting him to change and become a real boyfriend, and now I can’t even . . .” Her mouth felt disgusting; she  picked up her drink to clear it and then abruptly put it back down. The heartburn was worse now, or whatever it was. A guilty stomach maybe. The burp she’d been trying to hold back came up, tasting of the spice from her dinner, and she tried not to grimace.

“Do you think you love him enough?” Adam didn’t look disappointed anymore. If anything, his expression was calculating. “Don’t tell me what you’re worried other people think you should do - I want to hear it from you. Do you love him . . . enough?” 

“Enough for what?” Logan wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be angry at Adam or not. Gabe had promised that his brother wasn’t going to have any interest in talking about wedding plans, and to be honest, Logan wasn’t sure if they were talking marriage or relationships in general, or love. Adam’s questions were making her head swirl almost as much as her stomach, and she couldn’t tell what was more important to focus on. What she did know was that the thought of not being with Gabe was making her feel physically ill, even if she hadn’t been able to explain that properly. But telling Adam that before her boyfriend felt like a betrayal. “Why can’t I just love him, and have him love me?” she almost pleaded. ‘Why do we have to be Rory and Noa 2.0? Cause we’re not anything like them, and I felt like a phony all day trying to get excited pretending that we are.” That was a lot to say with an air bubble sitting in her throat and Logan’s voice had gone thin and tinny by the end. Fuck her body, deciding to give her a nervous stomach for the first time. Wasn’t the celiac enough?

To her shock, Adam started to laugh. Logan stared at him while he chuckled and nodded and finally reached out and grabbed one of her hands. “Stop overthinking it, sweetheart.” 

Logan gulped down a queasy hiccup. “I’m not overthinking,” she said defensively. “I’m just . . . trying not to let other people make my plans for me.” Her upset stomach was getting annoying and she palmed it under the table and pushed out a sour burp that made her shudder with revulsion. The sooner she was able to make her point, the sooner the acid climbing her throat would ease and they could stop talking about whether she needed to make huge life decisions just because a bridal consultant said so. The bar wasn’t too crowded, but Logan was starting to feel claustrophobic anyway. She tugged at the collar of her sweater, trying to remember if she was wearing a tank top underneath so she could take the sweater off.

“But why is your response to not being like Rory and Noa that you and Gabe have to take a break? Seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?” Adam remained oblivious to Logan’s gastrointestinal problems. “You don’t strike me as someone who tends to overreact like that.” It was a reasonable question and Logan wanted to agree, but her throat felt tight and prickles of sweat were breaking out across her skin. She pushed her chair back from the table and sat very still.  Adam finally seemed to realize something else was going on with her. He leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

He was probably expecting her to burst into tears or yell at him and run out of the bar, but Logan had a more pressing need. She gulped down, trying to form the words through a mouth full of sticky saliva. 

“I . . . I think . . . I need to throw up,” she stuttered. Saying the words made her nausea real and she realized how terrible she felt. 

“You think? Or you . . . you know what, nevermind.” Adam peered at her for half a second and quickly stood up. “You just went white. C’mon.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her in the direction of the bathrooms. 

Logan stumbled along with him and tried to keep her stomach in check. Now that she was on her feet, cramps had joined the churning, squeezing everything into a gluey mess in her middle. The feeling of her sweater against her skin was unbearable so she pulled it off, not caring where she dropped it in her rush to get to a toilet. 

Murph’s Tavern had four gender neutral, single person bathrooms down the back hallway. Three of the doors were closed and Logan lurched towards the farthest one, unsure she was going to make it. She got just inside before her stomach rebelled and she threw up a mouthful of watery vomit all over her shoes and the floor. But Adam had his hand firmly on her shoulder and his momentum kept moving her forward, burping and leaving a trail of drool and puke but getting her face over the bowl before she completely lost it. “There you go,” he said tersely, all amusement gone from his voice and relief there instead. “You made it.”

Her barely digested dinner came up immediately and violently, splashing into the water and across the back of the seat until Adam pushed her down onto her knees. For a few horrible seconds Logan’s entire self was consumed by the crushing nausea - she shoved her belly against the porcelain bowl to try to force up more as quickly as possible. Instead she belched, deep and wet, and gasped as the pain and cramps dropped suddenly lower, as if in an elevator whose cables were cut. She struggled to her feet but couldn’t stand up straight past  the bubbling in her middle. 

“Oww - out,” she commanded as firmly as she could past the shaking in her jaw. She pushed weakly at Adam’s bicep. There was puke in her hair, she realized, but that was the least of her worries.

“You’re about to fall over, I’m not leaving . . . “ Adam began, and then realized that Logan was fumbling with the button on her jeans. “Ohhh. Right. I’ll just be . . . umm . . .” If Logan had been in any shape to tease she would have been amused at Adam’s flustering. At the moment, all she cared about was the twisting in her intestines. 

“Here.” Adam had pulled the bathroom’s garbage can out from underneath the sink and shoved it at her, eyes averted. “I’ll be, uhh, right outside.” He didn’t wait for a response and rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

Logan didn’t care. She just managed to sit down before her guts began evacuating themselves southward.  She bent over herself, grunting in pain and wondering what the hell was going on. The diarrhea hadn’t ended when the nausea came back, made worse by the fact that she was practically folded in half on the toilet. Blindly she grabbed for the garbage can and just managed to shove it between her thighs before she had to vomit again, every contraction of her stomach sending fluids up and down until she was completely wrung out. Somehow, she managed to get to her feet and clean up her lower end, but when she tried to stumble to the sink her legs nearly gave out. 

“Adam,” she rasped, sinking to the floor. Her vision was blurry and she might have been crying but nothing felt entirely real. “I need help.” The words disappeared into the air, so quietly Logan herself could barely hear them. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. It could have been a minute or an hour that Logan sat slumped on the floor. The worst of the queasiness had eased after she threw up but now it was coming back, and she almost cried at the thought of having to lift herself up again. 

The door creaked.

“Logan? I’m coming in, sweetheart.” Familiar hands cupped her cheeks. “Are you with me? Yeah she’s dressed.” 

Logan forced her eyes open. “D-dressed?” she slurred.  Her stomach rolled and she gagged weakly.

“I was telling Adam he could come in.” Gabe braced her upright until she was done retching. “Did I give you food poisoning? What happened? Were you feeling sick when you left?” His fingers brushed her jaw. “You know you could have told me. I wouldn’t have . . .  I just thought . . .”

“Stop.” Logan squinted in the direction of Gabe’s voice until her eyes focused enough to see him.  Even feeling like hell, she could recognize the panic on his face and hated that she had put it there. She grabbed for his hand, managing to close around his wrist. “I’m sorry. I din’ . . .AhemurRP!” she tried to clear her throat and instead burped, spraying her lap with a mix of saliva and bile. “Fuck.” 

“I’ve got it.” Adam crouched down on her other side and began wiping her hands with a damp towel. “When you’re feeling better you’ll have to reassure my brother that you didn’t start feeling sick until after you got here because he’s beating himself up right now. It’s bad enough that he’s the one who bought your dinner.” 

Logan’s stomach clenched again, this time a combination of guilt and the memory of the food she had eaten. Her body jerked with a weak heave. “Not your fault,” she gasped. “Gabe I don’t want a break.” She found his face again. “I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “Please don’t break up with me.” 

“Never crossed my mind.” Gabe tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Can I ask you for  the same promise then?” He gave a watery chuckle. “You’re a mess right now Lo, and I love you so much.” He took the towel from Adam and began gently dabbing at her lips and the front of her shirt. “Whatever happened earlier today, we can figure it out, I promise.” Despite the fact that she was covered in sweat and vomit, Gabe pulled her into his side. “I’m very happy with things exactly the way they are, okay? And if they just stay like this forever, that’s fine with me; I don’t care what my mom or my sister or anyone else says about engagements or timelines.” 

“I’d believe him, Logan.” Adam tapped her on the knee. “You may not know this, but Gabe used to be pretty shallow about the reasons he broke up with girls, so if he says he wants to stay with you, he means it.”

“I . . . know that,” Logan gulped. The nausea was getting stronger again and she grimaced at the clamminess climbing up her back. “It’s just . . .” - she stopped to muffle a burp into her neck and then couldn’t speak any more. Gabe swore.

“Get her up, she’s going to puke,” he urged, and before Logan knew what was happening she was hovering over the toilet again. This time she mostly gagged and burped and finally brought up bitter bile but not much else. The effort made her vision tunnel, and she collapsed backwards into Gabe’s lap. “Can we go home now?”  She looked blearily at Gabe. “Not sure I can walk though.” Even the effort of keeping her head up felt like too much so she rested it against his chest. Gabe squeezed her hand

“We’ll call an Uber,” he promised. “You’re coming back to my apartment though, okay? So I can keep an eye on you.” 

“Mmhmm,” mumbled Logan. “Thass what I said.”

[sickly-qt]

Okayyy, here we are. The first fic with Matt and Amy.

~~~

Amy: Could you maybe pick up Oli from school for me? They’re asking me to stay a little late…

Matt: Yeah, I’m home.

Amy: Home? Already?

Matt: Got sent home early.

Matt: Sick.

Amy closed her phone and laid her head down at the nurses station.

“Can’t find anyone to pick up your son?” Mary, the head nurse, asked.

Amy shook her head and sighed, “No, Matty said he would but also said he was sick in the same text. He does so much already I can’t ask him to pick up Oliver while he’s sick. I’m sorry Mary, you know I would stay if I could…”

“Nonsense, dear. Your family always comes first. I just wanted to give you the first chance to pick up the shift.”

“Thanks, maybe next time when I don’t have Oli.”

Amy: Don’t worry about it… just worry about being sick.

Amy: Thanks though.

She walked away from the nurses station to collect her things and get ready to go pick up her son. She’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t a little concerned about Matt getting sent home from work. Amy knew that he had to be on his deathbed before he would go home early.

As soon as she stepped foot through the door she knew she must be right.

Amy helped Oliver pull off his shoes before sending him to the living room to watch TV before dinner. The house was mostly dark and very quiet which wasn’t normally the drill when Matt was home before her. Usually he would be watching TV or bumbling about the kitchen. She made her way upstairs which was equally dark and quiet, save for one light coming from under the bathroom door. She didn’t even hear him moving around from downstairs. Had he been in the bathroom this whole time?

A grating retch served as an answer to the question in her head. (Probably).

“Matty?” she knocked before opening the door without waiting for a response. “Are you throwing up?”

“No, I’m looking for my keys.” He grumbled, flushing before pushing himself away from the toilet.

Amy walked over to where he was sitting against the wall and pressed her hand against his forehead. This was the first time since she moved in with her childhood friend that he’s been sick and he looked rather pathetic, in a t-shirt and sweats, his dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead, eyes dull and glassy.

“You feel a little warm” Amy went straight into nurse mode, grabbing a washcloth and running it under the sink before kneeling in front of him. “Do you think you picked up a bug?”

She reached out with the washcloth, and he took it from her, wiping his own face.

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Have you tried taking anything for your fever?”

“No, Amy, I’m fine-”

“Have you been drinking water? Does Alicia know you’re sick?”

“Yes and Yes, Amy, please-”

“Okay, then you need tylenol and water. You should probably-”

“Amelia! I’m alright. I don’t need any of that.”

Matt pushed himself up off the floor and walked over to the sink, snapping Amy out of her trance.

“Okay, sorry.” She also got up and retreated back to the doorway, watching as he rinsed out his mouth and washed his face.

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been able to stop puking. I want to lay down.”

“Okay… let me know if you need anything and I’ll come and check on you later. Please drink some water.” Amy called down the hall after him.

Matt waved her off and mumbled about her smothering him before going into his room and closing the door behind him.

The rest of the night was uneventful, Amy went through the motions of the night, making dinner and watching a movie with Oli before giving him a bath and tucking him into bed. She walked down the hall to Matt’s room and knocked lightly before cracking the door and looking in.

The room was dark except for the light streaming in from the hallway. She could see the outline of Matt sprawled in his bed, laying on his stomach with the blankets tangled in his legs. Amy walked further in and laid her hand on his bare back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, he had apparently lost his shirt before collapsing into bed. She gently felt his forehead for a fever, trying not to wake him up. He was warm, but not warm enough to wake him up for meds.

Amy backed her way into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

She went into her room, sighing when she noticed the little outline of a toddler in her bed. Ever since they moved in with Matt, Oliver had yet to sleep a whole night in his own bed.

Amy shifted him over, making room for herself before climbing under the blankets with him and settling in for the night.

She’s not sure when she fell asleep but it felt like no time at all before Oliver’s little hands were shaking her awake. Her eyes were barely open before he was trying to yank her out of bed and into the hallway.

“Oli, Oliver! Baby, what’s wrong?” She crouched down to look at him and could see tears welling in his eyes. “What’s wrong, sweets?” She asked again, wiping his face.

“Uncle Matty.” He said, grabbing her hand and pointing down the hall.

Amy was about to ask him what about Uncle Matty, when she heard a loud heave come from down the hall.

Amy sighed and pulled her five year old into a hug, “He’s okay, sweets. He’s just got a really upset tummy okay?”

“Can you make him better?” Oli sniffled, pulling back.

“Me? Make him better? Of course I can, your mom is the best nurse around.” She smoothed his hair and picked him up to put him back in bed. “I’ll fix him right up okay? In the morning it’ll be like it never happened. Get back to sleep, baby.”

After getting Oliver settled back into her bed Amy made her way down the hall. The bathroom door was cracked, and she nudged it open. Matt had his arm draped over the toilet, his forehead resting against it. He was still in his sweats from earlier, and still shirtless. That gave Amy the perfect view of his stomach tensing and his spine curling as he heaved again, watery vomit pouring into the water. He lifted his head and looked at her, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something, only for a soft burp to come up sending his face back into the bowl.

“Okay.” Amy stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder while the other rubbed up and down his back. “You’re alright. Get it all out.”

“I- I’m sorry-” He said between breathy burps, the last one only bringing up a small amount of bile. “Did I wake up Oli?”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re sick. You think you’re done?”

“I think I’m empty.” He mumbled, leaning forward to flush the toilet.

“I’m going to get you some water and meds. Brush your teeth and lay down.”

Amy went back into her room, tiptoeing into the ensuite so she didn’t wake Oli and grabbed a blister pack of meds and her own bottle of water from her bedside table before going to Matt’s room.

“Take this, let it melt under your tongue. Wait 15 minutes and see if you can keep water down.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking at the tablet she dropped into his hand.

“Something to make you a little less nauseous.”

“You couldn’t have given me this when I was puking 5 hours ago?” Matt huffed, putting the pill in his mouth.

“Sorry, someone was really insistent that they didn’t need my help.” She sat down next to him on his bed and handed him the bottle of water. “And you’re scaring my kid, so it’s also for my benefit.”

“I freaked him out?” He gave her an apologetic look and leaned back against his pillows.

“A little bit,” Amy shrugged, “He thought you were dying for a second, but then he remembered that I’m the greatest nurse.”

“The pettiest nurse maybe.”

“The pettiest nurse who gave you meds to help you stop puking your guts up.” She got up and stretched, “If you can keep water down for an hour, take some tylenol for that fever. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Amelia?” Matt called from bed, making her turn around in his doorway. “Thanks. And sorry for waking you guys up.”

Amy waved him off and shrugged, “You watch Oli for me all the time, we can call it even. Get some rest Matty, you need it.”

[seasononesam]

WHUMPTOBER 2025-No. 11: Laceration

[emphasis-0n-the-comfort-deactiv]

⭐️ sleepless solidarity (sick!Dean)

Characters: Dean Sutton, Jason Rhodes

Summary: True friends never clock out.

Author's Note: This was written for @sicktember 2025's first prompt: “It’s the middle of the night, why are you up?”

This is part of a collection of stories with my original characters. You can read the other stories in the collection here.

⚠️ Content warnings: vomiting

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jason is a light sleeper, so it’s not really surprising that he’s pulled from sleep to the sound of a loud clatter in the middle of the night.

He isn’t immediately sure where the sound came from, but he knows that it didn’t come from his bedroom.  So he slips out of bed to go inspect.

He discovers pretty quickly that the noise came from the front room.  He can hear the faint sound of the TV playing, and can see the glow from it down the hall.

Dean must be up.

Frowning, Jason walks down the hall to check on his roommate.  They have swim practice in less than three hours, so it’s a little weird for Dean to be up and sacrificing precious sleep to watch TV.

Jason has a feeling that something is wrong.

He finds Dean curled up in a blanket on the couch, blinking dazedly at the TV.  He has an episode of Suits playing softly.

Jason taps on the doorframe to let him know he’s there.  “Hey, Dean,” he says quietly.  He flips on the light.

Dean falters a bit at the light, then squints his eyes to look at him.  “Hey, Jace,” he says tiredly.

Jason yawns.  “It’s the middle of the night, why are you up?”  He eyes the remote on the floor and deduces that it was the culprit of the loud clatter.  It must’ve fallen from the armrest of the couch. Jason also notices the trash bin from their shared bathroom on the floor, close to Dean’s head.  He winces.  “Are you okay?”

Dean really looks unwell.  He’s pale and trembling under their heaviest throw blanket.

“M’not feeling too hot,” Dean mumbles.  “Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, but don’t sweat it, man.  I don’t mind.” He folds his arms across his chest, feeling awkward.  And concerned.  Dean isn’t one to outright admit when he’s not feeling well.  He tends to have a bad habit of trying to muscle through.  “What’s going on?”

Dean shrugs.  “Stomach’s a mess,” he says feebly.  “Definitely caught a bug or something.”

“Yeah, you look a bit peaked.” Jason tells him.  He regards the trash bin.  “Have you thrown up?”

Dean shakes his head.  “Not yet,” he breathes.  “Pretty sure it’s in my not-so-distant future, though.”  He lets out a shaky breath.  “I woke up feeling like my insides were liquifying,” he goes on to explain.  “Had to make a mad dash to the toilet.  I kinda destroyed our bathroom.  Sorry.”

Jason crinkles his nose.  “You’re always so good at painting a vivid picture,” he says.  “But that’s okay, man.  Shit happens.”

Dean snorts weakly at that.  “Literally.”  He swallows hard.  “Don’t worry, I cleaned the toilet after I was done.  Don’t want you catching this.”

“You cleaned the toilet,” Jason repeats, staring at his roommate in awe.  “When you’re sicker than a dog?”  Dean always puts others before his own well-being, so Jason really shouldn’t be fazed, but he’s always taken aback by Dean’s altruism nonetheless.

“It’s just a bug,” Dean says.  “It’s not like I’m dying.”

“Your complexion suggests otherwise,” Jason retorts, not unkindly.  He crosses the room so he can put the back of his hand on Dean’s forehead.  The heat he finds there is nothing short of alarming.  “You’re burning up, dude.”

Dean sighs.  “I know.”

“Did you check your temp?” Jason asks.

“Seemed like too much effort.”

Jason rolls his eyes at that.  “Right, it’s much harder than scrubbing the toilet,” he says sarcastically.

“Do we even have a thermometer?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, there’s one in that first aid kit your mom gave us when we moved in.” Jason enlightens him.  Dean’s mom is a nurse, so she had made sure they were aptly stocked up with all things medical.  “It’s in the bathroom.  I’ll go grab it.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbles after him. “Thanks.”

When Jason returns, Dean has pushed himself up into the seated position and is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Here, man,” Jason says, handing the oral device over to his friend.

Dean takes it sluggishly and sticks it under his tongue.

As they wait to get a reading, Jason goes into the kitchen to wet a cool cloth and get Dean a glass of water.  As he returns, the thermometer beeps.

“Look at that timing.” Jason sets the glass down on the end table. He drapes the cloth over the glass.  “What’s it say?”

Dean is blinking down at the device dazedly.  “Um… one hundred and—” he breaks off before he can finish reporting the number, his face paling even further.  He brings his free hand up to his mouth in a fist, and mutters, resignedly, “Uh…  I’m about t-to puke.”

Jason had already recognized that and calmly says, “Okay.  That’s alright.”  He reaches to take the thermometer out of Dean’s hand and sets it on the end table with the other items. Then he nudges the trash bin in front of his sick friend and settles in on the couch beside him, helping him lean over the receptacle.

It’s over fairly quickly.  Dean is so ill that the liquid just gushes out of him without him needing to strain much at all.  Even still, it looks dreadful; Dean is barely able to get a breath in between waves. It turns Jason’s own stomach witnessing the sheer force and volume of it all.

But then it’s over, and Dean is just panting over the bin, spitting the remnants of bile and saliva into its depths.

“God, I h-hate throwing up,” he says shakily when he has some of his breath back.  “Sorry, Jace.”

“It’s okay,” Jason assures him.  “Just take a second to collect yourself, bro.  That was brutal.”  He reaches to brush Dean’s sweaty hair out of his eyes.  “You want to lean back?”

Dean nods, so Jason nudges him back into the cushions. Then he offers him the damp cloth so he can wipe his face and cool off.  He also offers the water, but Dean just shakes his head.

Jason, still curious about the extent of Dean’s fever, glances at the thermometer.  The display has gone dark.  “What was your temp again?” he asks.

Dean meets his eyes blearily.  “102.6,” he croaks.

Jason whistles lowly.  “Damn.  Okay.  That’s pretty high, man.  Need to keep an eye on that.”

Dean shrugs.  “I’ll live,” he says, rather casually for just expelling his innards.  But that’s just Dean: he’s really freaking tough.  “Sorry again for getting you up,” he tells Jason.

Jason waves him off as he stands to tie up the used liner in the bin. “Quit apologizing,” he says, meeting Dean’s eyes sincerely.  “I mean it.”

“But you have to leave for practice in, like, what… two hours?”

Jason shrugs.  “Yeah.  So?”

“So, I’m interrupting your very precious opportunity to sleep.”

“Gee, you’re right.  Let me just ignore you puking your guts out while I catch some zzz’s.”  Jason tosses a throw pillow at Dean to emphasize just how ridiculous he’s being.

Dean huffs a weak laugh at that and hugs the pillow against his aching stomach.

“Besides, you’d do it for me,” Jason adds.  “Hell, you have done it for me.”  He takes the soiled bag, then sticks it outside their front door to be dealt with later.

“You at least had the decency to puke in the daytime,” Dean mumbles when he returns. “I’ve never lost sleep on account of your rebelling stomach.”

“Well, I think you’ve lost enough sleep on account of your own rebelling stomach,” Jason says.  “Look, I swear I’ll crash a little more before practice, but let me help you get settled first.  The only way I’ll be able to fall back asleep is if I know you’re all good, okay?”

Dean sighs.  “Okay,” he finally allows, softly.

“Okay,” Jason echoes.  “You want to go back to your bed?  Might be a little more comfortable.”

Their couch was gifted to them from Jason’s parents.  It was the couch they’d had ever since Jason was a kid, so it’s pretty worn and lumpy.

“Mhm,” Dean affirms, but he makes no effort to move.

“I’ll help you,” Jason says, offering his hand for Dean to take.  “C’mon.”

He guides Dean down the hall, one arm wrapped securely around his back. Dean leans into him, not quite limp, but close. His breaths are coming in uneven, shallow pulls from the exertion. He keeps his head low and focuses on walking straight.

They make it to the bedroom, and Jason helps him ease down onto the bed. Dean drops into the pillows with a quiet groan, one arm slung over his eyes. Jason pulls his comforter up to his chest and tucks it around him.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles.

Jason squeezes his shoulder, then heads back out to the TV room to retrieve the trash bin.  He takes it to the bathroom to replace the liner and grabs a bottle of Tylenol from the first aid kit, too.  He returns to Dean’s bedroom.

Dean watches him as he places the Tylenol on the nightstand and the bin on the floor beside his bed.

Jason leaves the room once more to go get the cool cloth, the glass of water, and the thermometer that had been left in the TV room. 

Dean’s eyes have slipped closed when he returns.  Jason sets the water and thermometer down, then places the cool cloth on Dean’s forehead.

“You can try the Tylenol later, once your stomach settles,” he says, his voice low.

Dean shifts slightly, cracking open his eyes. “Appreciate it, man.”

Jason pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket to shoot a quick text to Coach Jennings, letting him know that Dean sick.  He doesn’t expect Coach to answer at this hour, but at least he’ll be in the know for when he wakes up.

“You’re off the hook for practice,” Jason reports, re-pocketing his phone.

“Bless you,” Dean mutters sincerely.

“Coach’ll probably want you to check in with Erin at some point later today,” Jason says.  Erin is the athletic trainer, and it’s the team’s policy for sick athletes to check in with her if they need to miss practice.  “I’ll let you know what he says.”

“‘Kay,” Dean breathes.

Jason can tell that sleep is starting to pull him under. “Anything else you need?” he asks.

Dean hums a negative.  “Think m’good.”

“Okay, man.  I’ll check on you before I leave.  Holler if you need anything.”

Jason starts to head to the door and he’s not at all surprised when Dean manages one more thank you before exhaustion wins out.  “Thanks again, Jace.”

“Anytime, man.  I’ve got you,” Jason says in reply as he flips out the light.

And as Jason drifts back off to sleep, he takes a moment to appreciate his friendship with Dean.  They’ve had each others’ backs more times than he can count.  He recognizes how special that is.

We’ve got each other.

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

Thanks for reading! 💛

[acecroft]

SUPERNATURAL 8.21

[bellysoupset]

Hii

For the frisky fic 👀 I don’t have anything super specific in mind but I would loovve to see both of them DROOLING over how hot their husband is. (horny jail sorry) by the way, I think I’d sent a request about Jon being gaga over Leo being a lawyer, did you see it or did tumblr swallow it? (No pressure to write it of course)

Alsooo don’t you dare break vin and Wendy up pleasee😭😭 not now after they’ve overcome so much😭😭😭😭 I love the throuple but not at the cost of the og freaks 😭💔

Anddd I’m LOSING my mind over how domestic the first honeymoon fic is!!! 🍄

Used up this ask to write some friskyyy Jon/Leo hehehe + Very upset stomach. Smutty start!

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

Leo couldn't tear his eyes away from Jonah, which was getting a little ridiculous because they had been stranded in Milos for 5 days now, with hardly any contact with their outside world and he still wasn't sick of his husband.

In fact, Leo was convinced they could just get all their things shipped here and start a whole new life.

"I'll go by Konstantin," Leo giggled, pressing his mouth to Jon's neck as he trailed a bunch of kisses all over him, "and you can be Giorgio and we can call JD-"

"We're not changing JD's name," Jonah chuckled, rolling them on the bed so he was on top and pulling back, sitting on his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. God, Leo thought, air all but vanishing from his lungs as he could see sweat glistening his husband's chest, muscles flexing on his bicep and abs as Jon tilted his body back.

Leo gulped down, sinking further against the pillows as he trailed his hands up Jonah's naked thigh, until he could slide them under his boxer briefs and cup his ass.

"Fuck, Jonah..." Leo breathed out dreamily and the other man let out a chuckle, leaning in so he could latch his mouth to Leo's collarbone, a hand tangling in the blonde's hair and tugging slightly.

"I'm planning to," Jon teased, his lips pressing over Leo's nipple, tongue circling it and teeth lightly grazing it, causing the blonde to squirm. His thoughts were all scrambled, the previous conversation fleeing his mind.

Jonah's kisses trailed south, heated mouth pressing all over Leo's chest, his stomach, the inside of his thighs- "No," Leo breathed out, struggling to think, "no, come back here, I want- C'mere-" he tried to put into words that although Jonah gave the most earth shattering blowjobs, right now he wanted to make love. He wanted to look in his husband's hazel eyes and watch how his pupils swallowed up the green as they fit together, feel Jon's breath in his mouth and watch that wrinkle that formed right between his brows a second before an orgasm, followed by bliss that seemed to age him down five years and send Leo back to the first time he laid eyes on Jonah.

Jonah opened a smile, all boyish, then moved up, clashing his lips against Leo's.

Eventually, they made it out of the hotel room. Leo was frankly a little embarrassed by how much time they spent locked inside every day, instead of enjoying the island. Part of him, that one that worried about money all the time despite his tax bracket being different for nearly 5 years now, wondered if it wouldn't have been a smarter decision to go on honeymoon a month after they married, when they stopped being so giddy about each other and could actually enjoy the place.

"What's in your mind?" Jonah asked, an arm wrapped around Leo's waist, sunglasses planted on his face.

"Just thinking we're not enjoying Milos enough," he sighed, leaning back against Jon and smiling as his husband promptly pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"That's fine," Jon shrugged, guiding them down the street. Although Leo had planned a couple activities in each island they'd visit — Milos, Santorini and Rhodes. Leo had ruled out Crete and Mykonos when he learned through Jackie that Jonah had already been there — Jon was the one really guiding the whole thing. Leo didn't mind, he liked not having to think of maps and the order of things, as long as they showed up to the historical tours and the beaches he had delineated, "more the reason for us to come back next year."

Leo rolled his eyes, "yeah right, Dr. Banks, gotta start saving now after all we splurged on the wedding-"

"Leo," Jonah bumped his nose with his, voice all amused, "relax."

Their next stop was a restaurant named Fagitó. It had one of the best reviews when Leo had looked it up online and he was feeling very smug as Jonah opened a huge smile.

It was more of a tavern, with fishing gear scattered around and stone walls, the backside of the restaurant facing the sea and tables scattered under a pergola covered in bougainvillea.

"This place is pretty," Jonah was already holding out his phone, while Leo sat down and leaned on his chair, smiling as he looked out to the sea. This place was so sunny and colorful, he felt like he'd never even know what seasonal depression was if he lived here. It was probably the tourist in him speaking.

Because it was such a touristic place, the menu was in both Greek and English and the staff spoke it too. Leo skimmed over the names, while Jonah continued snapping pictures.

Although they had been away for only 5 days, Leo had to admit he was getting sick of seafood. He was craving a mac n' cheese already, although he didn't dare saying that out loud. Jonah didn't seem to suffer with that problem, since his choice was grilled octopus with tartar sauce, while the blonde picked the only pork option they had.

Across from them in the restaurant's backyard, there was a playpen and Leo followed Jonah's gaze as he watched the kids squeal and yell at each other as they played with the swing and the slider. It was so painfully obvious now that he knew what to look out for, how much Jonah wanted that.

"Stop staring at me," Jon scoffed, catching Leo watching him, and the blonde shrugged, his cheeks burning.

"I'm not staring, I'm admiring," he corrected, moving his chair so they were side by side, "you're the one who's staring at the children."

It was Jonah's turn to blush and Leo grinned at that. His normal brown skin had turned into a bronze shade due to the amount of tanning they both had done by now, which made Jon's smile all the more brilliant and his light eyes stand out even more than they normally did.

Well, Jonah had tanned. Leo had gained a new freckle collection and a painful pink patch on his shoulder, which was now peeling away. To his credit, Jon seemed delighted by the freckles, especially the ones that had appeared on Leo's nose bridge.

"They're cute," Jon shrugged, averting his eyes from the children, "have you change-"

"Nope," Leo planted his chin on Jonah's shoulder, "I haven't changed my mind."

"Good," he leaned back, curls tickling Leo's temple, whole body relaxing, "wanna see the pictures I took? The sea here is to die for..."

Their dishes arrived 30 minutes later and Leo wrinkled his nose as Jonah tried to force him to take a bite of the octopus.

"First slugs, now octopus? No thanks, hard pass," Leo scoffed, pushing Jonah's hand away as he held up a tentacle in front of his mouth, "all yours."

"Coward," Jonah grinned, before stuffing his mouth with it, "it's really good and you're missing out."

"I doubt it," Leo shrugged, continuing to eat.

About an hour after they finished, while they sat around eating dessert and chatting about the weird wedding gifts they had gotten, Jon started to get fidgety. Leo noticed how he was bouncing one leg nervously and how he kept closing and opening his hand. Other than that, though, he seemed fine. Maybe he was anxious...?

"Here," Jonah interrupted his thoughts, shoving the rizogalo bowl he had been holding into Leo's hands, "I gotta go the bathroom."

Leo raised his eyebrows at his harsh movements and unceremonious confession, but before he could say much else, Jon was darting away. He frowned, then let out a sigh and finished up his own dessert bowl. When it took more than ten minutes for Jonah to return, Leo went to pay the bill and wait for him outside.

He checked his phone. 01:48 PM, a late lunch. Maybe they could head down to the beach once more, sprawl in the sand and take it easy? Unless Jon had different plans, he had been mentioning wanting to go to the catacombs-

"Sorry," Jonah winced as he stepped out of the restaurant, now holding a water bottle, "didn't mean to take so long."

"That's fine," Leo shrugged, studying Jon. He still seemed a little shaky and there was perspiration clinging to his neck, but otherwise he seemed alright, "are you okay? Is your tummy upset?"

"Not really," Jonah shook his head and Leo squinted, wondering which question he was answering, "I'm fine, don't worry. Let's go? The catacombs close at 3 and we still gotta get a taxi there, it's across the island."

Leo didn't think he was fine, but he bit down his retort. Maybe he was overthinking it, it was a really warm day so that explained the sweat and, besides, Jonah didn't seem sick.

"Sure, let's go," he intertwined his fingers with Jon's, letting him guide the way.

The taxi drive to the catacombs was much less pleasant. Leo's lunch churned inside his belly as they went down the dizzying streets, the fact that he was sitting in the backseat making his carsickness worse.

Just as he was about to ask the driver to pull over, the car came to a stop and Leo stumbled out, planting his hands on his knees and taking slow breaths.

"Love?" Jonah put a hand on his back, "the ride made you sick," it wasn't a question, "here, take a sip. Slow," he pushed his water botte in Leo's hands and the blonde took it, taking a couple small sips and then pressing the cold plastic to his forehead, hoping to push down the throbbing that the carsickness brought to his head.

"You need a minute?"

"No," Leo thumped his chest, until he managed to push up a small, sickly burp, "I'm good, let's go."

The catacombs were part of a volcanic tunnel web, although man had made most of the extra tunnels. There were a couple tunnels closed from visitation, but they still walked around the arcades, following the signs so they wouldn't get lost.

Leo felt slightly claustrophobic, so he was more than glad when the guide announced they were closing and everyone needed to leave. The place was gorgeous, moody and seeming straight out of a spooky movie, but they definitely didn't need to be in there when the sun started to set.

Outside of the catacombs there were several gift shops, street vendors showing little miniature of the tunnels, postal cards, little hourglasses, Christian figurines-

"Can you get us some post cards?" Jonah asked, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I'll buy some gum, you want anything?" he gestured to the little café a couple dozen feet down the street.

"Nope- Well, minty gum would be nice," Leo relented, thinking they'd need to go into another carsickness inducing ride back to the hotel. Maybe he could convince Jonah to just walk with him, the streets were deserted enough and they'd be walking down the hills, not strenuous activity...

Jonah returned almost twenty minutes later, mumbling something about a line, and shoving the gum package in Leo's hand.

"I got us some post cards," Leo raised the ones he had picked, "and this cute hourglass. I think it'll look adorable in my office."

Jon offered him a strained smile, "very fancy-" he raised a hand to his mouth, muffling a burp, "uhm- Do you still have the water bottle...?"

Leo was still clutching at it, but when he raised it, they realized it was mostly empty, only one lukewarm gulp left, "sorry, angel... I can run and get you a new one, how abou-"

"No," Jon took the bottle from him, finishing that one measly sip, "can we go? Or do you want to keep shopping?"

Clearly he was trying to keep the good spirits, but Leo knew Jonah enough to know that he was no longer in a good mood, probably cranky because they hadn't seen the whole thing.

"No, I don't wanna keep shopping," Leo relented, fixing the tote bag on his shoulder and reaching to grab Jonah's hand, only for his husband to pull it away, shoving them in his own pockets. Alright, dickhead. Leo had been considering stomaching another nauseating ride, but as he felt a wash of pettiness over the open rejection, he got bold enough to say, "can we walk back to the beach? I don't think I can deal with another crazy cab."

Jonah's face clouded even more, jaw locking in a frustrated manner and Leo let out a breath.

"Jon," he scoffed, "please?"

"Sure," Jonah nodded, "let's go then..."

They were about fifteen minutes into walking when Leo started to feel a little guilty. Jonah hadn't been that much of a dick to warrant walking for nearly an hour, even if it wasn't a difficult walk and the scenery was gorgeous. He bit down his lip, trying to make conversation, "if you want, we can come back tomorrow during morning..." Leo said, speeding up. For some reason Jon was power walking instead of enjoying the view, the nice warm breeze, the charming little houses and the pink flowers littering every corner, "I didn't realize you wanted to see the catacombs so badly."

"No, it's fine," Jonah rubbed his neck, "the other rooms aren't gonna be any different from the ones we saw."

Leo pouted, "Jon, don't sulk, c'mon. I'm sorry about the catacombs-"

"I'm not sulking," he groaned, interrupting Leo's unnecessary apology, "really. I just wanna get back to the hotel."

So much for not sulking. Leo let out a sigh, but opted for letting it go, "if you really want, we can call a taxi. It's still gonna be more twenty minutes walking-" probably more, considering the twenty minutes would lead them down to the beach, but there were another ten minutes back to the actual hotel.

Leo fully expected Jonah to stubbornly deny his suggestion, so he was surprised when the other man paused and then nodded, "I'd like that... But it's not gonna make you too sick?"

"Hopefully we can get a driver that doesn't drive like a maniac," Leo smiled at him, fishing out his phone, "give me a second."

Jon was bouncing on his feet as they waited the eight minutes for the car to arrive and slowly Leo started to piece things together. Aided entirely by the sickly growl that his husband's stomach let out as they entered the car, Leo realized Jonah wasn't pissed off — or at least, not just that — but feeling sick.

He should've guessed.

Leo opened his mouth to say something, but the driver knew English and kept talking with them. Jon had given up on answering, so the task not to be rude befell on Leo and all he could do to comfort Jonah was squeeze his nape while the older driver continued to chat their ears away.

By the time they parked in front of the hotel, Jonah didn't so much as wait as Leo paid the driver, bolting inside like a slingshot. Leo cringed, sympathy washing over him. He took his time walking inside the hotel, picking up some Gatorade in the vending machine, then getting back into their room.

The bathroom door was shut and Leo grimaced, lightly tapping his knuckles against the door, "Jon? You're okay?"

"FINE!" His answer was annoyed, voice a little too loud, causing Leo to jump away from the door with a frown. Dickhead strike number two.

He set down the Gatorade bottle on the bedside table, then turned on the TV and moved the balcony to watch the sun set over the horizon, a ball of orange melting into the sea and leaving behind a bright purple sky littered with tiny stars.

Behind him, the bathroom door opened and Leo turned around once more, only for his eyebrows to vanish in his hair, "Jon... Oh angel, you're not okay..."

He expected some sort of futile resistance, Jonah trying once more to dismiss him saying he was fine, but instead he got a pitiful groan. Jon folded forward, an arm wrapped around his stomach.

"I'm sorry..." he whined, causing alarm bells to go off in Leo's head and he crossed the room in two large steps, reaching in to grab Jon's arms, "I don't feel well..."

"I can see that," Leo scoffed, studying him closer. Now he was drenched in cold sweat and he was trembling all over, his belly was sticking out against the gauzy fabric of his shirt, gurgling loud enough that Leo could hear it even though he was a good ten inches away, "your tummy's upset...?"

Instead of answering him, Jonah pitched forward with a wet burp, barely managing to muffle it in his hand. Hunched forward, he wrapped an arm around his belly, eyes squeezed shut, "I feel really gross, Leo..."

"Oh baby," Leo cooed, his heart clenching, "you should've said something sooner, we'd have come straight back to the hotel..."

"I didn't- I didn't think it was that bad, but-" Jonah sucked in a breath as he collapsed on the bed, curling up on the fetal position, both arms wrapped around his belly, "fuck, it hurts, Leo."

Leo frowned, sitting by his side and carefully trying to uncurl his husband, "crampy? Have you been sick?"

"No, just- Just diarrhea," Jonah grimaced, his cheeks burning with humiliation, then another sickly burp rolled out of his mouth, "but I feel like it wants up too-"

"Ew," Leo couldn't help but tease, wrinkling his nose. He undid Jonah's pants, rolling down his hips and then let out a whistle at how horribly bloated the other man was, "that damn octopus wants you to suffer, uh?"

It was the wrong thing to say, because Jon pitched to his side, hanging his head out of the bed as he suddenly gagged. Now he looked grey. Leo cringed, glancing around the room for a trashcan and settling for the abandoned, empty champagne bucket.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on-" the blonde chanted, rushing across the room and skipping back, holding the bin up under Jon's chin, but all he managed to catch was some droll and a collection of pained groans, "false alarm?"

"Nhumfhgh," Jonah mumbled, pressing a hand to his belly and wincing as it forced up a brassy belch, thick and turning frothy at the end. He spat inside the bucket again, panting, "it's not gonna- Stay down..." his stomach let out a loud, watery gurgle and Leo cringed as he saw the rest of the color vanish from Jonah's face, making him look almost corpse like.

"Oh fuck-" Jonah pushed himself up, grabbing Leo's arm, "fuck, Leo, help-"

The blonde didn't need anymore explanation, not when Jonah sounded so desperate. He wrapped an arm around the other man, pulling Jon to his feet and skipped across the room with him, all but dropping him on the toilet.

As soon as Jonah managed to shove his pants down, his belly contracted and he let out a whimper, covering his face with both hands as the runs plagued him. Leo winced, happy that Jon couldn't see his disgusted frown.

He squeezed Jon's shoulder, "I'm gonna wait outsi-"

Leo never finished that sentence, as Jon's convulsed under his hand and then a wave of bright red puke fell right between his legs, splattering on the ground and his ditched pants. Leo froze on the spot, eyes wide. He wasn't sure he had ever witnessed Jonah this sick...? At least not when he wasn't sick himself as company.

"Leo-" Jon's voice was muffled, thick with nausea, "Leo, bu-URugo-bucket," he retched mid sentence and the blonde finally snapped back into his senses, rushing out of the room to retrieve the champagne bucket.

He planted it on Jon's lap just in time for his lunch to make a kaleidoscopic reappearance, a thick gush of semi digested sludge falling inside of it. Jonah whimpered, pressing his forehead to the metal and letting out a string of tiny burps. His knuckles turned white on the rim as another cramp wrecked through him and Leo felt a pang of guilt.

They should never have walked after the catacombs or set foot in that restaurant, which had been Leo's pick too.

Jonah coughed, gagging once more and leaning over the bucket to bring up a small, but much thicker mouthful of sick. Once he was done choking on it, he continued to hoover over the bin, unsure if it was safe to move away.

"Angel," Leo crouched down, trying to collect himself, "Jonah, I think you're done. Can I help you into the shower?"

"This is so-" Jonah's voice echoed inside the bin, followed by another deep, gurgly belch, "so undignified... It's our honeymoon..." he sounded close to tears and Leo let out a sigh.

"It's pretty gruesome," he relented, smoothing Jonah's curls back, then running a hand down his trembling back, "but I don't need you to be dignified, Jonah, I want you to feel better. Let me help?"

Jon let out a sigh, which was quickly followed by another angry whine from his belly, "I don't know why it's- It's churning like that. I'm wrung up."

Considering that as close to an admission of defeat as he was gonna get, Leo carefully peeled Jon's fingers off the bucket, hitting the toilet flush twice and then turning up the shower. Although it was summer and they had been taking lukewarm, almost cold shower, this time Leo turned the water warm, hoping it'd stop Jon from shaking like a wet kitten.

"C'mere," he hoisted his husband up, entering under the stream as well, regardless the fact that Leo was entirely dressed. The hot water soaked through Jonah's shirt and Leo stripped it off of him, as well as kicked his soiled pants and boxers away, "you're okay?"

Jon nodded, lowering his forehead to Leo's shoulder, "just... Gross."

Leo rolled his eyes, "you're not gross-"

"No," Jonah shook his head, muffling a burp in his fist, which turned productive and he coughed a thin stream of vomit over the drain, "my stomach feels gross still. All of me."

"I'm gonna order you some medicine," Leo decided, regretting the fact he hadn't packed up Pepto. Was that even allowed on a plane? Probably not, "and you'll sleep this off. Goddamn food poisoning-"

Jonah let out a whimper as another cramp hit him, causing him to fold and grab at his lower belly as if he wanted to dig his fingers into his intestines, "fuck..."

"You need the bathroom again?" Leo kept his voice firm, with not a trace of disgust, no matter how awful the situation. The last thing he wanted was for Jon to feel bad about himself on top of how horrible he was feeling.

"No... No, empty. Just-" he was breathless, "crampy. Nauseous."

They stood under the warm water for another minute, before Leo decided Jon was clean enough and needed to lie down. He wrapped up Jonah in the hotel's fluffy robe — despite Jon grumbling at being manhandled, folded like an elderly man as he tried to protect his tender stomach —then pushed him into the bed, exchanging the robe for just a new set of boxers.

"Here you go," Leo walked back from the bathroom after cleaning it up as best as he could, using a towel to clean the vomit on the ground — not much, most of it had fallen on Jon's pants — and washing off the bucket. He planted the clean bucket on the floor next to Jon's head, then broke the seal of the still closed Gatorade bottle, "you think you can stomach a little sip?"

"No," Jonah's eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but sleep didn't seem able to catch up with him, as the cramps continued to squeeze his belly, "can you- Leo," he rolled onto his back, a hand clutching his stomach.

"Yeah, of course," Leo climbed on the bed, falling against the pillows and cuddling closer so he could plant a hand on Jonah's tummy. It was domed, bloated up, and warm to the touch, "try to get some rest, baby."

It wasn't late, just a little past sunset, so Leo was still very awake. He quietly rubbed Jonah's stomach for several minutes, cringing at how sloshy it felt, how vocal it was, until Jon's frown eased up and he started to snore, something that he never did.

Leo moved closer, so he could press the back of his hand against his husband's cheek and forehead, but he wasn't overly warm, just clammy. He pressed a kiss to his temple, then got up from the bed in order to tidy up their room and get a decent shower himself.

Jonah slept through it all, even as Leo ordered up room service so he could have dinner, setting aside a grilled cheese in case Jonah woke up hungry. Instead of waking up, Jon groaned in his sleep and buried his face further into the pillow, curling up and betraying just how unwell he still felt.

Leo combed through their pictures, deleting the ones that were just blurs and didn't have a single thing in focus and favoriting the others he planned to have printed out and put in an album. He did this to both their galleries, then was left with nothing else to do, so finally Leo decided to go through his texts.

Luke had been steadily updating him about what was happening in Welton, sending him a collection of memes as if he really didn't need an answer to keep talking. Vince did the same, although to a much more manageable extent. There was a text from Max, which made Leo's eyebrows raise, a single heartfelt "Thank you for inviting me to the wedding. It was so beautiful and so much fun. I hope I didn't create any problems for you. Have fun at the honeymoon 🥵 make a baby or two"

The last part caused Leo to chuckle, but he hung at the words "I hope I didn't create any problems". That was out of the blue and very weird.

Behind him, Jonah let out another little groan and Leo glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see Jon sit up, face all wrinkled from being pressed against the pillow.

"Hey, angel..." Leo said softly, walking closer, "how are you feeling?"

Jonah was still half asleep, since he didn't seem to have heard, wrapping an arm around his stomach and staring at his feet like a broken ventriloquist doll.

Leo sighed, planting a hand on his naked back and rubbing it up and down, "do you think you can drink some water for me?"

It took ten extra seconds for his words to pierce through the haze, but then Jonah scrunched up his face, "Uhm-" he gulped down, but then nodded, "don't wanna... dehydrate..."

"That's right, Dr. Banks," Leo smiled, getting up to get the Gatorade bottle and holding it before his husband, "just one little sip."

Leo couldn't hold it against Jon. He truly did try to drink, but not a second after he had swallowed up the sip, his throat was bobbing dangerously and Jonah bleary looked around for the bucket, leaning over it just in time for the liquid to fall out of his mouth, not even with a gag.

"God," Leo sighed, holding him by the shoulder and wincing at the several dry heaves that followed, "I guess... I guess we can try again later..." Silently, Leo made a pray that Jonah would take the liquid later, because the last thing he wanted was to try and get him to a hospital while in Greece, not speaking a drop of Greek.

Jonah curled back up, falling back in the bed and letting out a long suffering sigh, "what- What time is it?" he asked, his voice barely above a rasp.

Leo glanced at his phone, "just a little past 9," he gently rubbed his hand up and down the side of his husband's bloated stomach, not daring to put any pressure behind his touch. His belly was churning under Leo's palm, angry gurgles under Jon's belly button and crawling up his sides, "how are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Jonah scoffed, squeezing his eyes as another cramp hit him, "I'm sorry- Making you clean vomit in our honeymoon-"

"Oh shush it," Leo rolled his eyes, moving his hand so he could swat Jon's ass in a teasing manner, "shut up about it, I'm the one who's sorry. I hate to see you like this..."

Jonah let out a little scoff, then rolled on the bed so he could press his head to Leo's lap, "just gotta- Sleep it off..."

"Uh-huh," Leo wrinkled his nose, "you've been asleep for hours now... Maybe we should ask the front desk for a doctor-"

"I'm a doctor," Jonah's voice was offended, but he didn't even bother to move from his comfortable spot, "it's just food poisoning, Leo. I won't die."

"People die from food poisoning all the time," Leo argued, struggling to push his lawyer self down. This was hardly an arguing matter, Jonah was right that it had been only a couple hours, but Leo simply couldn't help his arguments, "and you're not drinking any water, dehydration also kills-"

"Leo, your voice is giving me a headache," Jonah sounded much more like himself now, annoyance coloring his words, "just let me rest."

"Fine," Leo scoffed, pouting.

Of course, Jon couldn't see he was doing that, so it caused the blonde to smile when Jonah said five seconds later, "and don't pout."

He squirmed on the bed, so he was propped against the pillows and could continue to run his hand up and down Jonah's back, hoping he'd feel better soon.

Around 10 PM, Leo dozed off, not sleepy per se, but he had forgotten to turn up the main lights and the room was dark, Jonah was warm against him, there wasn't a single noise safe from the occasional stomach whine...

He woke up with the sound of the bathroom door opening. Leo jerked in the bed, like he had just missed an imaginary step, blinking quickly to situate himself. The room was even darker now, Jonah had turned off the soft yellow lamp that was in the "living room" area of their bedroom.

It took him a second to identify Jonah in the dark, leaning on the wall right next to the bathroom door, hunched over so his hands were on his knees and he was taking measured breaths. Leo frowned, shuffling on the bed so he was ready to bolt and catch him in case Jonah collapsed.

It was harder to pinpoint his expression, but Leo could tell his shoulders were shaking-

"Jon?" Leo whispered, crawling out of the bed and walking closer.

Jonah's head snapped up, eyes wide and confused, which caused Leo's heart to race. Please, don't let it be serious, he thought, placing his hands on Jonah's arms, "baby, what's wrong?"

"Nuuh-Nothing," Jon was slurring slightly, voice barely above a whisper, "justsssick."

"Uh-huh," Leo rolled his eyes, quickly deciding his husband was going to be of no help. He planted his hand on Jonah's neck, expecting to feel a fever, but there was none, "did you throw up again?"

A head shake.

"Okay, uhm- Let's go back to bed..." he chewed on his lip, sleepily trying to count the time zones. Would Wendy pick up if he called right now?

Jonah collapsed on the bed, moving so he could curl up under the thin blanket and blinking up at Leo like he expected him to vanish before his eyes.

"How's your belly?" Leo crouched down next to the bed, grabbing the Gatorade once more and checking the hour on his phone. 3:25 AM, "do you still feel sick?"

A nod.

Great, Jonah had puked his frontal lobe because now Leo felt like he was dealing with a five year old version of him. He let out a little huff at the thought, opening a grin, "you're cute looking like a startled kitten and all, but can you use your words, angel? How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," Jonah scoffed, causing Leo to beam with a smile. There he was, his usual grumpy husband. It was clear he wasn't speaking because he had no voice, shot from all the heaving.

"Can you drink something?" Jonah's face scrunched up with disgust, so Leo stitched in, "please? You're really worrying me, Jon."

It was a little amusing how much Jonah was wrapped up around his pinky, Leo thought, watching as his resolve melted away and he took the bottle. The first sip was met with a gag, but once Jonah managed to swallow it, he eagerly went for a second one, thirst hitting him.

Leo took the bottle back, "sorry, but we really want that to stay down. If you don't throw up in ten minutes you can drink more," he felt like he was quoting Jonah himself, "did the diarrhea stop? How's your belly-" without waiting for an answer, Leo went in, planting his hand to Jon's bloated middle.

His belly was still sticking out, but the angry gurgling had reduced considerably and it was no longer that warm to the touch. Jonah corroborated Leo's finding by grumbling "it's fine," and then burying his face in the pillow, clearly embarrassed.

The blonde let out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to his temple and climbing back on the bed, "c'mere, love," he said, pulling the sheets in order to drag Jonah closer to him and forcing the other man to uncurl, so Leo could take the spot currently occupied by his pillow.

Jon let out a grumble, followed by a happy sigh as his cheek met Leo's chest and he was wrapped up in a hug, "Greece is getting to you," he mumbled, squirming and snuggling up even more, "you're pudgy."

"Go to sleep, Jonah," Leo chuckled, rolling his eyes and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, "you're delusional."

[supernaturalnet]

SUPERNATURAL || “All Hell Breaks Loose: Part One” 2.21