I'm back, maybe! I've definitely been missing my babies. Here's one that takes place a little less than a year before Jack moves in with Leo.
It’s been busy at Angelo’s all week, unusual for the week after Christmas. Angelo's has a C rating and makes barely edible pizza, so it's weird that they're busy ever, Jack thinks as he dumps another tray of dishes next to the sink and sneezes into a wad of napkins he fishes from his apron.
“Gross, Monty,” Nicky says, “Dafuckouttahere with that nasty shit, you’re gonna give us all the fuckin plague.”
“Shove it,” Jack says, blowing his nose loudly into the same wad of napkins. His eyes are watering, his head is pounding, his throat feels like it’s full of broken glass, every fucking inch of him hurts and he’s honestly not sure if he’s going to make it to the end of his shift or just pass away standing in this disgusting kitchen.
“Montelione, get your ass out here,” Sal calls.
Numbly, he grabs another bin and cleans off the two tables that just left. He rests it on the edge of the second table for a second, coughing into his elbow, feeling hot and dizzy, sweat running down the back of his neck.
Somehow he makes it through the next hour and a half and stumbles home, practically crawling by the time he reaches their apartment, praying to whatever deity is out there that he can sleep this shit off.
Too bad god’s dead. He wakes up feeling even worse, something he didn’t think was possible. His shirt is soaked with sweat, his skin hurts, he feels so hot and dizzy and strange. All he can think about from the moment he wakes up is that pint of Haagen-Dazs he stashed in the freezer a couple of days ago. If he can just get his hands on that cold ice cream he’ll be okay for sure.
He manages to get himself out of bed and to walk to the kitchen, leaning on the wall for support. When did his head get so heavy? He can barely hold it up. And the apartment seems to be tilting like a ship at sea, rocking back and forth. He wonders for a second if he’s even awake or still dreaming. And then, finally, he feels the frosty freezer air on his face and the holy grail is in his hands, his precious pint of vanilla bean. He gets a couple of spoonfuls of the good stuff down and then there are all these black dots in the corners of his vision and then they’re spreading and then everything goes black.
He wakes up freezing, shivering. He opens his eyes and has no idea where he is. He’s staring at the underside of some cabinets. There’s a glue trap nearby with a couple of dead bugs in it. His face is pressed against some familiar looking tile. Kitchen. He sits up. He feels awful but at least his brain is working this time. Looking down, his pint of ice cream is lying on the floor next to him and he’s in a puddle of melted vanilla bean.
“Denise?” He calls tentatively, though his voice is rough, then a little louder, “Denise!” He needs help. He’s too fucking sick to deal with this, but predictably there’s no answer. He groans, pulls off his t-shirt and uses it to scoop up as much of the melted ice cream as he can. He tosses it and the empty carton in the kitchen garbage, which already stinks so bad it makes him gag. He stands up, leaning on the kitchen counter and there’s Denise, not even ten feet away on the sofa, empty fifth of vodka next to her and a roach still smoking in the ashtray. He grabs the mop from the corner behind the fridge and wets it in the sink, then mops the floor best he can. He just has enough brainpower left to snag a bottle of water from the kitchen counter before he goes back to his bed, crawling under the blanket and passing out cold again.
“Hey baby, why are you sleeping in the middle of the day?”
Oh god, the hot spins are back. His head hurts, his throat hurts, he just hurts everywhere.
He rolls over to see the blurry outline of Denise in the doorway.
“Mom, I’m sick,” he says in a voice that seems weird and small and like it’s coming from far away. He drops the mom with a vague hope that it will inspire some small amount of mothering from her. He coughs and it feels catastrophic, like he’s breaking apart.
“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.” She’s sitting on the edge of his mattress holding out a glass of water. It worked, he can’t believe it worked. He props himself up on one elbow and drinks greedily, his throat protests but his mouth is so dry. “Do you need anything else before I go?”
“Go?”
“I’m going to Atlantic City with Bruce for New Year’s Eve. I told you.”
She didn’t, but who cares. He doesn’t want to do what he’s about to do but he’s so sick he kind of feels like he might actually die if she leaves him here alone. “Can you stay? I really don’t feel good.”
She laughs. “Aw, my sweet boy, still wants his momma,” she ruffles his hair. “I’m sure it’s just the flu, baby, you’ll be fine.” She leaves and comes back with a bottle of water and some Advil, leaving them on the milk crate that serves as his bedside table. “Here, take some of these and I’m sure you’ll feel better, I gotta go. Love ya!”
He takes three of the pills for good measure and wraps up in his blanket. He coughs up some gobs of horrible slimy yellow shit into a wad of toilet paper from the roll he brought to bed (last night? two nights ago?) and hot tears run down his cheeks.
He dreams about roller coasters, then he’s having a fight with Fonzo at Coney Island, he’s alone in the desert, he’s on a plane, he’s in a trench with Paul Baumer. He’s never been on a plane. He throws up and he doesn’t know if it’s real or part of the dream. Roller coasters always make him sick. It’s wet and cold in these fucking trenches.
The next time he wakes up his head is literally pounding, wait no, someone is pounding on the window. He opens his eyes and there’s Fonzo’s face pressed up against the glass, pounding and yelling his name. He can barely get his limbs to cooperate, but he makes it to the window and unlatches it for Fonzo before falling back into bed.
Fonzo climbs in from the fire escape, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Jack, what the actual fuck? What’s wrong?”
Fonzo will make everything okay. “Fonzie,” he whispers, “I’m sick.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Fonzo kneels on the bed next to him and feels his forehead and then his cheek, and then puts both of his cold hands on Jack’s neck. It feels like salvation. “Madre de Dios,” he hisses under his breath. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower.”
“Nooooo,” he whines.
“Yes,” Fonzo pulls him upright, hugging him to his chest, “come on, help me out, Jackie, I need your help, move your feet.”
Fonzo needs his help. He can move his feet to help Fonzo, so he does. He moves them and Fonzo’s holding him up, and their feet are moving and then he’s in the shower and it’s so cold. Why would Fonzo do this to him?
“Wh-y-y-y,” he groans, shivering.
“I know, baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” Fonzo’s leaning past the shower curtain, his hoodie getting soaked, holding Jack up in a sitting position in the grimy bathtub. He coughs and coughs under the shower spray while Fonzo rubs his back. 'Fonzo’s here, it’ll be okay,' repeats on a loop in his brain.
The next time he’s aware of his surroundings he’s on the sofa, his head in Fonzo’s lap. He knows it’s Fonzo because the lap is Fonzo shaped and he can smell old spice and Drakkar Noir. There’s a hand carding gently through his hair, and he still feels kind of horrible but regular horrible, the kind of sick he’s used to.
“Fonzie?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.
“There she is, welcome back to the land of the living,” Fonzo says, his voice warm with relief.
Jack squints up at the face hovering over him, his eyes not used to the light yet. “How long was I out?”
“About three days, near as I can figure, but just twelve hours or so since I got here.”
“Three days? No, I worked at Angelo’s yesterday.”
“You worked at Angelo’s Friday night. It’s Tuesday morning. When I stopped by there to see you on New Year’s Eve because you weren’t picking up the phone Sal said he hadn’t seen you and that you must have either quit or died because you missed two shifts, so I came looking for you.”
“No way, it can’t be Tuesday.”
“Well, it is. Happy new year, by the way.”
He turns his head to take in the living room, which is much cleaner than it was the last time he saw it. “What…?”
“Shhh, here, drink some water.” Fonzo pushes a bottle of water in front of his face and he drinks some, still looking around.
“You cleaned?”
Fonzo leans over him, looking a little guilty. “My mom.”
Jack groans, “Tell me you did not let your mother see our apartment,” he thinks he’s going to be sick just thinking about wonderful, tidy, hardworking Doris in their awful shit hole apartment.
“Sorry, just you were so sick, I didn’t know what to do and I needed to do your laundry and get you groceries but I couldn’t leave you.”
Jack squeezes his eyes shut again. “My laundry?” He croaks, already reddening at the implication.
“Baby, don’t worry about it, you were really sick, okay?”
“Did I fucking—“
“No, just you threw up in your bed…kind of a lot, but it’s okay, you’re okay, no one blames you. You were so sick, Jack, Jesus Christ. You scared the fucking shit out of me, god, I’ve never seen anyone so sick.”
Jack coughs heavily, nearly choking. Fonzo pushes him up and holds a handful of tissues in front of his mouth and he spits up more of the awful yellow mucus before Fonzo spirits it away, gently laying him back down.
“Shhh, just rest, okay. I’m here, I‘ve got you.”
Jack can feel his face burning with shame and fever, but he's too weak to do anything but follow orders. When he opens his eyes again he’s back in his bed, in sheets that smell clean, and Fonzo’s sitting at the foot of the bed reading. Jack coughs into the blankets, which summons his friend to his side instantly.
“How are you feeling?” Fonzo asks.
“A little better, I think,” he rasps.
Fonzo holds the bottle of water for him again. The cool liquid feels soothing on his raw throat.
“Do you think you could stomach some broth? Mama made some for you.”
Jack nods. He needs to eat something if he really hasn’t eaten since those bites of ice cream that he guesses he probably threw up at some point. Fonzo vanishes and returns a few moments later with a mug and a spoon. He puts another pillow behind Jack’s head and sits next to him, spooning the broth into his mouth.
“I could do it myself you know," Jack rasps, though he makes no effort to grab the spoon. "I feel like an injured samurai being cared for by his wife."
“See, I was thinking an old west outlaw with and a beautiful saloon girl with a heart of gold, but they’re basically the same thing,” Fonzo says.
It takes ages, but Jack manages to get most of the broth down. When he's done, Fonzo curls up behind him, stroking his hair.
“Jack,” he asks, “Where’s Denise?”
“Atlantic City, with Bruce.”
“When did she leave?”
“I don’t really know. Saturday or Sunday, maybe?”
“She knew you were sick like that and she left?”
“I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t that bad yet?”
Fonzo huffs, “I doubt it. Did she even check on you?”
Jack nods miserably. “She brought me a glass of water and some Advil. I asked her to stay with me, but…”
“Oh, baby,” Fonzo says, wrapping his arms around Jack. “You asked her to stay?”
Jack can’t look at him. His face is hot with shame and he can hear the tears in Fonzo’s voice and it just makes him feel so fucking stupid. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”
“Hey, it’s normal to want someone there when you’re sick. It’s not normal to leave your fucking sick and delirious kid alone. You’re not the one who’s fucked up.”
Jack closes his eyes and lets Fonzo pull him against his chest.
A cute Shu, Alex and Fulu (Shu’s mom) sickfic for @sicktember day 25, Summer Flu, taking place when Alex was 16. Nainai is the word for paternal grandmother in Chinese. 2,339 words, no TWs.
Out of all the times to get the flu, Shu didn't expect it to be in the middle of July. He was all too familiar with waking up with the viral infection each winter, vaccination status be damned. Getting the flu every year felt like an annual tradition for him at this point. But in the summer? Definitely unexpected.
Last night at dinner, Alex had been coughing and irritable, clearly under the weather. Shu sent him to bed early and told him if he still felt icky in the morning, he should stay home. Based on how pale Alex was, and the low grade fever he definitely had, Shu suspected exactly that to happen the next day. Waking up to his own full blown fever was the surprise.
Shu groaned and sat up, fumbling to turn off his alarm. His head was pulsing and his chest was tight, signaling to himself that he needed to use his rescue inhaler. First, though, he wanted to check on Alex. Shu got out of bed slowly, feeling dizzy as he unsteadily went next door to Alex’s bedroom. He knocked and let himself in, where he saw Alex still asleep under a pile of blankets in bed. This included the extra blankets that were kept in the closet for winter, despite it being nearly eighty degrees outside.
Shu sat on the edge of Alex’s bed and pulled back the mound of covers to reveal a flushed teenage boy. He sighed and pressed his hand against Alex’s cheek. At first he was surprised not to find it warm, but then he remembered he himself was running a fever and wouldn't be able to feel anything. “Alex, honey, wake up,” Shu said. He wanted to at least get Alex to at least take some Tylenol before they both went back to bed for the day.
Alex whined and pulled the covers back over his head. Shu decided to get the thermometer, water and meds first before he tried any harder to wake the boy. He gathered the supplies, blinking away the little black dots that floated in the edges of his vision. “Open up,” he told Alex. His son, still mostly asleep, allowed Shu to take his temperature.
101.8. Shu grimaced, wiped the tip of the thermometer off with the sheets and then popped the instrument under his own tongue. “Take two Tylenol and you can go back to sleep,” Shu said, voice muffled around the thermometer. After another beep, he got his own reading. 102.2.
Shu sighed and wiped the thermometer off again before placing it on Alex’s bedside table. “Alex, c'mon, just wake up for a second and swallow your pills, and you can go back to bed.” He interrupted himself with a harsh, wet sneeze into his elbow that made his head throb.
Alex finally seemed to gather enough energy to lurch into a sudden sitting position and downed the pills in one gulp. He flopped back down immediately, but noticed Shu’s own look of misery before he did so. “You’re sick too?” He asked incredulously.
“‘Fraid so,” Shu said with a loud sniffle. “Not sure what’s hit us so suddenly.”
Alex shivered and piled the blankets back on top of himself, the mystery clearly not important to him. “Call if you need anything,” Shu told him. “Or come join me in my bedroom.” Alex didn’t answer, but Shu knew Alex had heard him.
Shu retreated to his own bedroom where he called into work, then was halfway through calling Alex’s high school to report that Alex wouldn’t be in attendance today before he remembered it was summer vacation. He hung up hastily before anyone could answer and then made sure to take his own dose of Tylenol, as well as his rescue inhaler.
There was nothing else to do now but hopefully sleep off this sudden cold. Shu fell asleep relatively quickly and woke up around noon, teeth chattering and shivers coursing through his body involuntarily. He felt terrible and struggled to sit up, looking around to find Alex sleeping next to him in his bed. He glanced at his alarm clock - it had only been five hours since they’d had Tylenol, but even without the thermometer he knew they were both running a high temperature. Dragging them both to the doctor sounded painfully complex.
Shu fumbled with his phone, finding he had a text from his mother, Fulu, mentioning a random sale at Kohl’s that he definitely didn’t care about. It prompted him to call her though, feeling like backup was needed. If only he or Alex was sick, he could deal with it. But he didn’t want Alex to suffer because Shu wasn’t well enough to take care of him.
“Shumei?” She answered the phone. Shu could hear the tumble of clothes behind her - she was at work at the laundromat. “What is it?”
Shu didn’t usually call her during work hours. His mother was as much of a workaholic as he was after all, and he didn’t like to disturb her. “Ma,” was all he said before he had to cough. It already sounded far worse than it had this morning. Shu reached for his water on the bedside stand, only to find it empty. He swallowed several times trying to breathe normally instead.
“You are sick?” Fulu asked, her voice already concerned.
“Alex and I both,” Shu choked out.
He never had to ask his mom to come over. Any struggle and she was there immediately - and this why Shu tried not to rely on her much, otherwise she’d be there all the time. “I come after work,” she said. Then she hung up. Shu sighed, feeling a little better than his mom would be there in a few hours. She was not warm and fuzzy, nor did she have a way with words in either Chinese or English. But she was always there when they needed her, and Shu didn’t know how he would survive without her.
“Nainai’s coming?” Alex’s sleepy, congested voice came from beside Shu.
“Yeah. Thought we could use some backup,” Shu said, coughing some more. He really needed water, but the kitchen was oh so far away. “How do you feel?”
“Probably as bad as you look,” Alex responded.
Shu looked at the clock again, as if these five minutes could have possibly moved time forward an entire hour. “It’s a little early for Tylenol, but to heck with it,” Shu said. He tapped out two Tylenol for each of them and then finally forced himself to get up and get two new glasses of water. He grabbed the thermometer from Alex’s room on the way back, but he didn’t think he wanted to know the number at the moment.
He and Alex both took their pills and Alex fell back asleep quickly. Shu, on the other hand, simply felt too sick to relax. His whole body was aching, the pain all over and feeling like a heavy cloud that squeezed him from all angles. He could feel his heartbeat in his aching head, and the shivers didn’t stop for another half hour before the Tylenol finally kicked in and let him sleep.
The next time he woke up, his mom was there coaxing him to sit up and drink a cup of tea. “Alex,” Shu said immediately.
“Here,” Alex said. He was still next to Shu, already sitting up and sipping on his own cup of tea. Shu knew for a fact that Alex didn’t really like tea, but he drank it for Fulu’s sake. They had a tender spot for each other, ever since they’d formed a connection when Shu had first brought Alex into their home. Alex had trusted Fulu first, and they seemed to be able to communicate without actually exchanging words most of the time.
“He fine. You sicker,” Fulu said disapprovingly. “Drink tea.” Shu did as he was told. The hot liquid was soothing on his swollen throat, the familiar herbs his mom used whenever someone was sick comforting. “Foolish boy. Who gets sick in summer?”
Shu rubbed his eyes, the headache still piercing. “It feels like the flu,” he croaked. “But it can’t be.”
“Actually, Ryo looked it up,” Alex piped in. “The news said there’s a random wave right now.”
“Seriously?” Shu groaned. If there was a wave of flu, especially a strange one, he was definitely going to be the one to catch it. “Ugh.” Sitting up was making him feel nauseous and Shu handed the cup of tea back to his mom, suddenly paler.
Fulu caught the look on his face and offered him the small plastic trash bin, but Shu leaned back and was able to breathe through the wave of nausea before he needed it.
For the next two days, Fulu doted on both Alex and Shu in their home. Alex stayed in Shu’s bedroom - partially because it was easier to keep an eye on both of them when they were together, but he also always seemed to end up in here when he wasn’t feeling well anyways. The bedroom was a mess of used tissues and empty mugs of tea that Fulu kept bringing them. Alex was feeling better, but Shu was not. Whereas Alex’s fever had retreated to something low grade and manageable, Shu was still spiking high numbers that left him with severe chills every few hours. Was this the difference between being sixteen and late thirties, Shu thought miserably? He was getting too old.
By the third night, Alex went back to his own bedroom. At this point there was less camaraderie and more just being kept up by Shu’s terrible cough. Fulu was getting worried now, wondering aloud if Shu should go to a doctor. Shu tried to brush it off, but when he began coughing so hard that it was making it impossible to hold anything down, she forced him into the car and drove him to his primary care provider..
Shu’s PCP did swab him for flu, which immediately came back positive. He went downstairs for a quick chest x-ray, which also came back with findings that indicated he had double pneumonia. Shu had had pneumonia a handful of times before, but he found it utterly unfair that he had a bad case of it while Alex was very much on the mend. Not that he wanted Alex to be any worse off - he was just envious of his son’s clearly superior ability to deal with this stupid summer flu.
Fulu set him back up at home with his nebulizer, steroids, and of course, more tea. It reminded Shu of all the times he'd been sick growing up and his mother had doted on him whenever she didn't have to be at work. He had a different appreciation for her now as a parent himself. Had she done everything perfectly? Certainly not, and Shu liked to think he was able to provide Alex a more stable home life than Fulu had for him: constantly on the verge of eviction. But he most certainly knew his mother had tried her best.
As he slept, Shu dreamed about the time when he was sick with the flu in sixth grade. His mom had to work, leaving him at home alone with a blazing fever. He’d woken up delirious and scared, and remembered crying until she had hurried home to check on him during her lunch break to find him a complete emotional mess. They couldn't afford for her not to go back to work though, and she’d dragged Shu under the cold shower in a desperate ploy to quickly combat his fever.
“Please stay,” he had begged her as she had put him back to bed, hurrying to dry him off so she could return to work. She was already late, and her boss would doubtlessly chastise her. Shu knew this, but in the emotional state of slight delirium, he just wanted his mom.
“Shumei, you will be fine, you are big boy now,” she told him. Shu knew now if she could stay, she would have. But that day he'd just cried as his mother left him, feeling like she didn't love him enough to call her work and tell them he was too sick to be alone.
As he woke now, he found he had tears running down his cheeks from reliving that painful memory. “He’s okay,” he heard his mother’s voice say. Shu looked up and found her sitting at his bedside, addressing Alex who was standing in the doorway. A wave of emotion hit Shu as he realized now, twenty years later, his mom was in a position where she could call into work to take care of him, and Alex. And it was in no small part that thanks to her, he himself had never had to even consider leaving Alex’s side when his son had needed him.
“Shu, stop crying,” Alex told him awkwardly. “We’re both right here.” Shu looked at Alex in confusion, unclear why Alex would say such a thing. “Oh. You were calling for me and nainai,” Alex explained, obviously embarrassed.
Shu wiped his eyes and managed to smile for Alex’s sake. His mom was right, he was okay. He had his whole family close by, that he loved and cherished regardless of how unexpectedly life had turned out. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I just love you both very much.”
Both Fulu and Alex looked put off by this openly sappy confession and Alex scurried off to his own bedroom without another word. His mom shook her head. “So soft,” she muttered. It was something Shu had heard from her many times over the years - sometimes in disapproval, but always with a touch of buried affection too. Shu chuckled and closed his eyes. He felt better now, far away from the past of his dreams and in his own home with his whole family. He slept better after that, and later his fever finally broke.
okay hear me out: when a character is very sick, like i’m talking fever, chills, dizziness, nausea, and so sick they can hardly keep their eyes open. they decided to force themselves through the day but they also happen to be the target of relentless bullies. at the end of their work or school day, they’re trying to leave and get home but they recognize the heavy steps that follow them. unfortunately, they’re too weak to escape it and they are beaten up. they lie on the pavement for however long, drifting in and out of unconsciousness until they are found by a kind stranger, a concerned peer or co-worker (romantic or platonic). however the story ends is up to you
A feverish Cliff is seen in the emergency room. For @monthofsick Day 18 “Unfamiliar surroundings”. 2,965 words, original work, TWs emeto, hospital content.
Part 1 | Part 2 - I swear this was supposed to be 2 parts but now it’s gonna be 4? Lol whoops.
Elliot supported Cliff into the busy ER. It was a Saturday, of course there were a lot of people there, Elliot thought regretfully. Silly to hope otherwise. Elliot eased Cliff into a seat as close to the reception desk as possible and then checked Cliff in, presenting Cliff’s ID and health insurance card. He was grateful Cliff’s wallet and phone were the two things his boyfriend had actually brought with him when he left his parents’ house, although a jacket and his inhaler would have been useful third and fourth choices.
“What’s this visit for?” The receptionist asked after scanning the cards and handing them back to Elliot.
“My boyfriend is having trouble breathing,” Elliot said, hoping this concerned her as much as it concerned him. “He has asthma, he’s wheezing, and he has a high fever. He didn’t know who I was earlier.”
The receptionist stood up a little to catch a glimpse of Cliff in his seat, who did look like he was struggling. “Okay, we’ll get him triaged as soon as possible,” the receptionist said. Elliot chose to believe her for his own sanity’s sake. “In the meantime, have him wear a mask.”
Cliff sagged against Elliot when Elliot sat next to him. He was in no shape to do paperwork, so Elliot tried to fill it out as much as he could. Fifteen minutes passed. Cliff was whimpering in pain and his wheeze had grown louder. “Just a few more minutes, Cliffy,” Elliot said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. Thirty minutes passed. Cliff was now insisting he was fine after all, and that they ought to go home. But that was when he was lucid, which would last only a minute before he’d follow up by saying something that made very little sense and reminded Elliot exactly why they couldn’t leave. Finally, about forty minutes after they’d checked in, a nurse called Cliff’s name and brought them to a small room between the waiting room and the actual ER. Elliot repeated the story he’d given the receptionist although more aggressively this time as the nurse nodded and took Cliff’s vitals.
Elliot never wanted Cliff to be so sick. However, his vitals did prompt some action and for that Elliot was grateful. Cliff’s fever was 103.5 now, his oxygen running lower than expected at 92%, and his heart rate and blood pressure were both high. The nurse led them to a stretcher in a curtained off bay and told Cliff to change into a gown. Elliot had to help Cliff climb up, his boyfriend’s coordination poor. His hands were shaking too hard to button his own gown up, so Elliot did it for him.
“Don’t feel good,” Cliff mumbled, swaying even as he sat up on the stretcher.
“I know, just lie back,” Elliot said. “They’re gonna help you.”
Thankfully, this time they only waited about ten minutes before a new nurse came in with a small bucket full of supplies. She introduced herself as Anna and said she was going to insert an IV, take some blood, and hook Cliff up to oxygen and fluids. She was also going to swab Cliff for flu and strep, but Elliot explained the urgent care had already done that. “Well, this tests for some other stuff too, it’s a full respiratory panel. I’d recommend we just do it anyways.” Elliot agreed on Cliff’s behalf; Cliff seemed to be communicating only in nods at this point.
Nurse Anna looped some oxygen tubing over Cliff’s ears first and plugged it into the wall. She also attached a blood pressure cuff and oxygen probe that she said would stay on for now for monitoring. Elliot felt like all the devices only made Cliff look sicker. Anna swabbed Cliff’s nose, which made him cough harshly to the point of gagging, and then got ready to insert an IV.
Cliff looked to Elliot in panic, swallowing rapidly. ‘Faint,’ he mouthed to Elliot helplessly. “Um, I think he passes out when there’s needles,” Elliot spoke up for him. Cliff nodded gratefully.
“Well you’re in the right place if you do,” Nurse Anna said. She lowered the head of the stretcher and told Elliot to hold Cliff’s hand as she looked for a vein in his other arm. “I’ll go super quick,” she reassured them, and she was right. It was quick. But Cliff turned sheet white and got really sweaty and by the time she’d collected enough tubes of blood, flushed and secured the hub and hooked him up to a bag of fluids, Cliff was barely conscious. “Don’t worry, it happens,” she said. She put a pillow under Cliff’s legs and told him to breathe deeply through his nose. Elliot found her calm demeanor the only thing keeping him calm, because it seemed terrifying even if it was normal. Cliff followed her directions and eventually gained some color back. Anna said his blood pressure was coming back up and that he should just lie there with his feet up for a few more minutes, then left the room.
“I’m sorry,” Cliff apologized miserably for the tenth time since they’d come back here.
“Baby, please, stop apologizing,” Elliot told him. “You’re here because you have to be and you’re not doing anything bad or wrong. Just rest.”
Cliff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered them with his forearm. “I suck,” he whimpered, Elliot’s words clearly not having reached him as intended. Elliot sighed and put one hand on Cliff’s head to stroke his sweaty hair. It wasn’t worth fighting Cliff on this right now. Elliot just had to be there for him.
Cliff fell asleep to Elliot’s relief. Elliot texted his mom what was going on and hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Cliff snored quietly until a woman came with a huge portable x-ray machine. “Sorry to wake you up,” she said, “Cliff? I’m here to get your x-ray. I’ll go fast.”
Cliff opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. Elliot wasn’t sure if Cliff knew what was going on at this point so he stroked Cliff’s arms and explained, “Cliff? She’s gonna take the pictures of your lungs now.” He helped the x-ray tech manipulate Cliff’s torso so that he was lying on a hard board. Elliot stood in the doorway while they did the films.
“Alright, take a nice deep breath for me and hold it,” the x-ray tech said. “I know, good job, got it. You can cough.” And cough Cliff did, that same desperate wet cough that had made Elliot’s mind up to bring him here. He managed to catch his breath, but it wasn’t over. “One more,” the tech said, moving the boards and machine around to point at Cliff’s side now. “Again. Deep breath. One, two, and good. Let it out.”
This time Cliff didn’t seem able to stop coughing. He coughed until each gasp sounded like a Herculean struggle and Elliot wasn’t sure that any of that air he was gulping in was actually reaching his lungs. The machine that was measuring Cliff’s oxygen levels started to beep and the tech told Elliot she was going to find the nurse. Elliot held on to Cliff and tried to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to work. Cliff just kept coughing until suddenly his eyes flew open and he spewed a sharp wave of vomit from his mouth all the way to the end of the stretcher. Elliot winced, pulling back and trying not to look at the mess. Cliff spluttered and coughed between additional harsh gags that produced little besides a stream of thick brown saliva that pooled in his lap. Elliot prayed the nurse would come in soon and hesitantly rubbed Cliff’s back. He didn’t know what to do and Cliff seemed frozen, unable to lift his head or close his mouth.
Thankfully the nurse showed up then and said, “Oh no!” Oh no was right, Elliot thought anxiously. “Did we just get coughing too hard?” She glanced at Cliff's oxygen levels and turned a small green dial on the wall, which made a quiet hissing noise for a second as the flow of oxygen increased. “Don’t worry hun, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” She found a change of sheets in one of the cupboards behind the stretcher and changed the blankets and top sheet in record time. She checked Cliff’s fluids which were nearly done and then charted standing in the room for a few minutes on her rolling computer.
Cliff was silent, hunched over holding a pink plastic basin in his lap in case of another incident, and Elliot couldn’t tell if he was just out of it or humiliated. The room still smelled of putrid stomach acid; Elliot breathed through his mouth. His phone dinged in his pocket and he saw an alarmed text from his mother. He didn’t have time to reply though, as the doctor walked in at that moment.
“Doctor Jim,” Anna greeted him politely, scooting her computer farther away from the bedside. “He just threw up coughing and I turned up his oxygen.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Jim said. He looked to be in about his forties, was mostly bald and had tiny round glasses that looked too small for his face. “Cliff? I’m Jim, I’m a physician here. How are you doing today?”
Elliot thought that was a stupid question. Cliff looked at Dr. Jim with hazy eyes and mumbled, “Sick.”
“Well, that makes sense. You’ve got yourself a nasty case of double pneumonia,” Dr. Jim said. Elliot’s heart sank. “Has this ever happened to you before?”
Cliff shook his head no. He moved his hand to the edge of the bed that Elliot understood as a silent signal to hold it, which he did. “Well, I think it’s best if we admit you for observation overnight with the vitals you have. I’m going to order two IV antibiotics and some steroids, try and get that swelling down in your lungs and hopefully you’ll be feeling better in no time. How’s that sound?”
Cliff didn’t answer. “That sounds fine,” Elliot said, squeezing Cliff’s hand. “Can I stay with him?”
“Once we move him to the floor, visiting hours are eight to eight,” Dr. Jim said. “But you can stay with him for as long as he’s in the ER.” He turned to Anna and gave a few other orders for Zofran, Tylenol, albuterol and budesonide treatments. It all seemed so casual to them, but Elliot was still disturbed by how sick Cliff looked and seemed to him.
Dr. Jim physically examined Cliff next. Cliff shuddered and Dr. Jim apologized for his cold hands, but Elliot knew that the temperature hadn’t had anything to do with it. He hummed a lot, wrote down some notes, and then left with a “Hope you feel better soon.” Elliot wondered if he told all his patients that, or just the ones who could actually get better soon. Nurse Anna also excused herself to get the ordered medications, leaving Elliot alone with Cliff once again.
“So… pneumonia. That sounds pretty bad,” Elliot said. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt so sick?”
“You were at work. I didn’t want to bother you,” Cliff said in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to text you but none of the letters in my phone made sense.”
Elliot felt his chest clench painfully hearing that. “Cliff, you wouldn’t have bothered me.”
“But I’m bothering you now,” Cliff whimpered.
Elliot frowned. “I didn’t say that.” Silence from Cliff. Elliot sighed and grasped Cliff’s hand in his own. “Cliff, Cliffy, can you look at me?” It took a second, but fever-bright, hazel eyes eventually focused on Elliot. “You’re my boyfriend. I want you to be okay. Can you at least try to trust me?”
“I do trust you,” Cliff whispered, voice hurt.
“Then let me care about you.”
Cliff fell quiet again and Elliot sat back but kept Cliff’s hand in his. Cliff had his eyes closed, but it didn’t do much to hide the tears that escaped from the corners of them. Elliot didn’t say anything, just brushed them off of Cliff’s cheeks with his sleeve. Once Cliff was asleep, Elliot finally allowed his own silent tears to fall.
Eventually a CNA came to bring Cliff down to the short-stay unit. She rolled Cliff’s stretcher down the hall and into an elevator. Cliff looked nervous and kept glancing at Elliot, making sure he was still right next to him. Elliot always was. They got to a small room that had a real hospital bed in it and the CNA and Elliot both helped Cliff take two steps from the stretcher onto the bed. It was painful for Elliot to see how difficult even this brief transfer was for Cliff, and Cliff started another one of his long coughing spasms afterwards. Elliot rubbed Cliff’s arm, unsure what else he could possibly do to help. “Water,” Cliff croaked hoarsely between deep, rattling coughs.
“Sure. Um…” Elliot looked around him but this room was barely more than an ER bay. It didn’t even have windows. “Let me go check,” he said, and went to go look for the nurse’s station. There were two tired and rather bored looking, middle aged women sitting at computers at the end of the hall. “Excuse me? My boyfriend just got here and he could use some water…”
“I’m almost there,” one of the nurses said, which Elliot thought was a weird thing to say when she very much wasn’t almost there. Regardless, they didn’t seem to like him hovering very much so Elliot went back to Cliff’s room. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood at the bedside. Cliff had managed to stop coughing at least.
The nurse, despite her indifferent demeanor, did show up with a little bin that contained hospital socks, meds and a large plastic jug of water. “Clifford Barrows, hmm? I’m Carey. And you are…?” She raised an eyebrow at Elliot.
Suddenly feeling extra protective, Elliot quickly said, “His boyfriend.”
“Alright. Mr. Barrows, are you okay to have Elliot in here?”
Cliff nodded a yes. Elliot thought it was so weird to hear Cliff called by his last name. They seemed too young for that.
“Well, your boyfriend will have to leave after I finish this admission paperwork as visiting hours are over soon, but remind me to get you a chair for tomorrow,” Carey said. She started a myriad of questions, which included Cliff’s emergency contact.
“Make it Elliot,” Cliff said quickly, looking at him. “Um, will my dad know I’m here?”
“You’re eighteen, right? Not unless you tell him,” Carey said. “But I see your dad is the primary insurance holder so he may see the invoice after you’re discharged. It shouldn’t show any details though.”
Cliff grimaced but nodded. At least there would be no confrontation in the actual hospital, Elliot thought to himself. Carey kept asking questions, which ranged from did Cliff smoke to could he walk up a flight of stairs to did he have any plans to hurt himself right now. They seemed a little ridiculous to Elliot, but Cliff was able to answer all of them with simple yes’s and no’s pretty quickly since he was for the most part entirely healthy.
“You’re easy,” Carey said, winking at Cliff. “Boyfriend? Visiting hours are over now honey, so you say your goodbyes and you can come back at 8am tomorrow morning.” Elliot thought she was kind of like those old ladies at diners who yelled at you for your order but called you honey so you couldn’t feel totally attacked.
He nodded and gave Cliff a quick hug. He thought about kissing him, but Cliff didn’t like to be kissed in front of other people so he just squeezed Cliff’s hand instead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised. “Get some rest and tell them if you don’t feel good, okay?”
“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked scared, so Elliot hugged him again and kissed the top of his head this time.
“I love you,” Elliot said. “I know you can be strong for me. You’ve got your phone right here.”
Elliot didn’t look back as he left, because he could feel Cliff’s kicked puppy expression trailing him and knew if he did, it would be ten times harder to leave. He walked to the parking lot without thinking, got in his car, and drove home without Cliff beside him. He made it to the park a block away from his parents’ house before he pulled over and cried for a solid ten minutes.
Cliff was going to be okay, Elliot told himself. Cliff was stronger than he seemed, and realistically Elliot couldn’t be there for him every second of the way. But he’d promised Cliff they weren’t going to the hospital, and then he promised Cliff that he’d be right there next to him the whole time. He’d broken both of these promises and now Cliff was sleeping in a hospital bed, in a tiny room with no windows and only a crotchety old lady to keep an eye on him. Elliot felt just terrible and wondered if he’d made the wrong choice dragging Cliff to the ER. All he wanted was for Cliff to be okay, though, and he really hadn’t seemed okay today.
Elliot wiped his tears away and told himself he had to be strong. This seemed so intense and adult, but Elliot couldn’t let it overwhelm him. He tried to remember the coping mechanisms his therapist had taught him back in high school. Deep breaths. One second at a time. He could do it, and so could Cliff. Elliot turned on the car and returned home by himself.
Ryo/Alex drabble for @medwhumpmay. Ryo’s a veterinarian, but that’s a doctor right? Also this is a two parter, with the second part tomorrow!
Ryo’s graduation is one of the most significant days of his life. He’s been in veterinary school for what feels like insanely long. His relationship has survived two US and one global tour where Alex was hundreds, even thousands of miles away while he studied and stayed right in place in New York. And yet the years have gone faster than Ryo expected, even if some days felt like they would never end.
Everybody who’s important to him is there: Alex, of course. Ryo’s parents and Shu, who are all proud for good reason because this would’ve been impossible at times without them. Elliot and Cliff sit behind them, their new baby fastened to Cliff’s chest in a cloth carrier. And then all of his closest friends are here too, graduating alongside him. It’s a really happy day. At least, it should be. Except Ryo woke up in the middle of the night with a 103 fever and his teeth chattering so hard that it woke Alex up.
It’s definitely the flu, and Ryo realizes then that he forgot to get his flu shot that past winter. It’s ridiculous and maybe a little ironic: the day he finally becomes a doctor and he’s sick as a dog. Still, he’s not missing this ceremony for the world and Alex knows better than to try and persuade him otherwise. This only happens once, it’s Ryo’s crown achievement in his life thus far, and he is not going to let a little flu keep him from enjoying it.
By the end of the first hour of maudlin speeches and a painfully dull keynote speaker, Ryo’s wondering if he should’ve stayed home. Damien, his best friend, keeps nudging him to remember to sit up. It’s getting increasingly difficult to heed this advice. His head is killing him, he’s freezing even in a vinyl black gown in June, and he’s starting to see little black dots in his vision.
He’s totally, absolutely going to pass out. How he’s going to walk across that stage in front of this huge crowd is anyone’s guess. When they call his name, Damien literally shoves him out of his chair to stand up. Just one more push. He’s done this for eight long, incredible, difficult years and this is the last push.
Somehow, with blurry vision and a forced, dizzy smile, Ryo stumbles up to the stage. He shakes people’s hands, is handed his diploma, and takes a staged picture with the president of his school. And then when he walks off stage, instead of returning to his seat like he’s supposed to, he makes a beeline for the bathrooms where he knows he can finally stop pretending that he’s okay.
“Sir, you can’t go this way,” someone says.
Ryo doesn’t even look at them and just mumbles, “I’m literally gonna puke,” and pushes past them. It seems like a better excuse than ‘I need to pass out.’
He makes it down one hall inside the building, stumbles into a wall, and then things go dark.
Ryo/Alex drabble for @medwhumpmay, Part 2! Part 1 here.
Alex knows Ryo’s barely hanging on throughout the ceremony. He’s itching to march Ryo off that stage and shepherd him back home, back to bed, right this instant. But Ryo earned this day more than anything else he’s ever deserved before, and Alex won’t tear it away from him. Plus, he’s definitely gone on stage half dead multiple times before, so it’d be a bit hypocritical to insist on Ryo staying home when he’s mostly just going to be sitting.
He does, however, jump out of his seat and follow Ryo when he realizes the guy’s going the complete opposite direction of back to his chair as soon as he gets his diploma. As he watches Ryo receive that fancy folder, Alex feels warm with pride. Everybody is cheering, clapping for his boyfriend, and for a second it feels worth letting Ryo chug all that DayQuil to get here in one piece.
By the time he finds Ryo passed out in the hallway, head back and his legs sprawled at an awkward angle, it feels significantly less worth it.
“Ry, wake up,” Alex crouches beside him, alarmed. He rubs Ryo’s arms and face, but there’s no response. Ryo’s skin almost burns him it’s so absurdly hot.
“Babe, wake up,” he urges again. Panic is starting to rise in his throat. Is he supposed to call 911? It’d cause a huge commotion and everybody they know is here. He’ll try one more time, this time shaking Ryo’s shoulder quite urgently and saying, “Ryo!”
Ryo’s eyes open and slowly roll from the back of his head to forward. He stares at Alex’s face blankly for a solid five seconds before he breaks into a stupid, infuriating, relieving smile. Alex sighs and his body slumps forward. “Jesus, you scared me. You got the diploma, Ry. Time to go home, okay?”
“But lunch?” Ryo says, his voice sounding feeble. He glances around the empty hall, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Did I…?”
“Pass out? Yes. Impressively, in private. Good job,” Alex says briskly. “You cannot tell me you actually want to go to lunch with everyone still. Besides, Cliff and Elliot definitely won’t go if you’re sick.”
Ryo nods slowly, then reaches a shaky hand up to grip Alex’s shirt as if to steady himself. “You’re right. Can we go home?”
“Yes, c’mon,” Alex says, standing and reaching a hand out to pull Ryo up. “Let’s get home, Doctor. You need to rest before you go out and save the world one mangy mutt at a time.”
