“Ailments and Fears” Rebels Crew x Reader Oneshot, Star Wars: Rebels
Masterlist
Star Wars Masterlist
Request Guidelines
Relationship: Platonic
Requested by: Anon (Sick reader imagine with the rebels)
Warning: descriptions of vomiting and various symptoms of illness
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Head throbbing, you rock back on your heels, removing your face from where it had been periodically leaning over the toilet for most of the morning. Your throat burns from vomitting and your stomach still swims in nausea.
You groan, tasting more bile, but elect to swallow it instead. There’s nothing even left in your stomach to throw up, and you’re thoroughly tired of retching.
A sharp knock raps on the refresher door.
“Are you done? You’ve been in there for like an hour.”
Four hours, you correct mentally.
“Just use the other one!” you yell, clenching your eyes shut as cramps begin to tear again through your abdomen.
You hear Sabine sigh. “I would, but Kanan and Hera disappeared in there twenty minutes ago and haven’t come back out.”
You roll your eyes before registering what she just said.
“Wait…what?”
“I said…” she begins before hearing the onslaught of another round of bile exiting your body. “Are you sick?” she asks, concerned.
“No,” you reply sarcastically, trying to still your trembling body. Your vision is beginning to blur at the edges. You feel weak, but shakily stand. You grip the edge of the counter like a lifeline before stumbling towards the door.
You just want to get to your room, curl up on your bed, and sleep for the next week.
The door slides open and with one foot over the threshold, you collapse in the hallway. Sabine quickly grabs you by the arm, steadying you as you try to will away your dizziness.
“Wow, you really don’t look good.”
You don’t respond, too intent on figuring how far away exactly is your room, and the probability of getting there without falling and adding a concussion on top of your ailment.
By the mercy of the force, or just common sense, Sabine seems to read your mind and guides you down the hallway and onto your bed. You automatically pull a blanket around yourself, curl into a fetal position facing the wall, mumbling a tired “thanks”.
Sabine says something about getting Hera, but by then your mind is already falling away to a desperate sleep.
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A loud clash reverbrates down the hallway, followed by irate voices. The clamor is blurred in your ears, semi-concious mind picking out Zeb and Ezra’s voices.
Chopper is likely not far behind.
You try to wake yourself, wanting to supervise, and force-willing, prevent the potential disaster. You roll over, your arms failing to respond, willing your equally uncooperative eyelids open. Your senses sharpen as you work to pull your body from its slumber, but taking a moment to breath, sleep reclaims its dominance before you can protest.
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It is the intensifying pain in your stomach that finally wakes you. Having been present for most of the night, it take several long minutes to recognize how intense the firey tendrils curling around your sides and through your gut actually are.
You roll over onto your back, laying still, and the position seems to help mildly. The sensations are more bearable, and without the distractions you take note of the scratchy state of your throat, clogged left nostril, and foggy headache.
You groan in frustration.
The door to your room slides open and Hera steps in. The darkness of the room casts her entirely in shadow, though you can make some sense of the concerned expression on her face. You look down at the tray in her hand, on which rests a mug full of some sort of steaming liquid. You scrunch your nose at the smell.
Probably medicinal Ryloth tea. You remember her making some two years ago when Zeb came down with a virus. With the way your stomach is, you’re sure you won’t be able to keep it down.
“You’re finally awake,” Hera says cheerfully, her smooth voice betraying none of the worry you saw only a moment before.
“How long was I asleep?” you croak, cringing at how raspy your voice sounds.
“About a day and a half,” Hera replies. “You woke up enough once for Sabine and I to get you to drink and little water and tea.”
You frown. “I don’t remember that.”
Hera smiles. “I’m not surprised, you’ve had quite the fever.” She walks over to the bed, placing a hand on your forehead. “Thankfully, that seems to be going down.” She then hands over the cup of tea, which you regard skeptically. The stern look you receive in response though reminds you of your lack of choice in the matter. You try to drink it quickly, the taste far from pleasant. You hand the mug back without complaint.
“How are you feeling?”
“Headache, throat hurts, stuffy nose.”
“Would you like me to get you a glass of water, a painkiller and decongestant?”
You nod. “Thank you.”
Hera smiles warmly. “It’s the least I can do.” You sigh as she leaves the room. That woman is an absolute force-send . The Ghost crew would never be able to get along without her.
Especially Kanan. You chuckle to yourself as you reminisce about the the first time you all met. You were about to kill the Jedi before Hera stepped in, risking her life for his. Even then you could sense the bond between them, one that ran deeper than simply two people leaning on each other for survival.
Even though your relationship to them has changed drastically since that day, there was always an extent to which you were an outsider, not due to their intentions, but they seemed caught in some gravitational pull drawing inevitably closer to each other, but never quite able to touch.
This little crew, or family depending on the way you look, has grown too. A warrior lasat who, despite his bold technique, is a voice of caution too often ignored. The young mandalorian girl fed up with lies and compromises with tyranny.
And the padawan, the one Kanan worries over so, a gifted boy that might be beyond his ability to teach.
You’ve meditated too, questioning, searching, and you’re worried too. You reach into the future and you know he will become great, a greatness surpassing many of legend, but the path there is obscured by so many shadows.