To Build a Home Pt. IV (Pedro Pascal x Teen!Reader)
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
Previously on To Build a Home...
A/N: Bello, uhhhh like? comment? reblog? Hope y'all enjoy!
Summary: Pedro finds that reader is sick when he goes to check on her and decides to take care of the reader while her mom goes out of town but on the drive to the urgent care the reader shares to Pedro a nightmare she had.
Word Count: 2,426
Warnings: Uhhh none?
This was not how you imagined your weekend to go.
Well, to be fair, you did not have any plans for your weekend, but you surely did not plan to spend the rest of your Saturday lying on the bathroom floor just so your body could feel some sort of coolness. For a second, you believed it would help keep your temperature down and maybe you would wake up just fine.
But when you jolted awake in the middle of the night to a sudden knock, your head was pounding and you imagined this is what a bad hangover felt like, just maybe without the temperature and fatigue. It had been only a couple of weeks since the incident with your father. Your mom had been extra protective since and now she had been stuck in meetings all day on a Saturday that you thought you would spend with her but she was gone by the time you woke up that morning.
You had woken up with a headache and quickly after chills and the urge to vomit. That is how you ended up in the bathroom. The bathroom floor to be exact.
You groan as you hug the floor, not a thought in your mind about getting up anytime soon.
“Y/N, it’s me, Pedro. Your mother asked if I could come check on you while she’s away,” he says softly. “I meant to come earlier but I got held up in traffic, you hungry?”
There was that feeling again, you groan, “no,” you manage to yell out.
“Everything okay?” Pedro did not like how your voice sounded, if he did not know any better it sounded like you had come back from a concert and your voice was at its last hope. He heard you groan in response, “Y/N?” He waits a few seconds and did not get a response. “Unlock the door, hon. You’re starting to worry me.”
You groan at the thought of getting up, you have no energy to lift your arm. Letting out a small whine, “I can’t,” you state.
“Fuck,” Pedro mutters as he looks at the doorknob, it was an easy one to picklock. It was one of those where you can literally break a bobby pin and push it through the hole to push out the button. After rummaging around for what he needs, it only took Pedro a few minutes to unlock the bathroom door. “Y/N, I’m coming in,” Pedro announces, waiting a few seconds for you to respond. He could hear you mumble okay and it was all the permission he needed.
Pedro quickly took in the scene in front of him, “I don’t feel too good,” you mumble as you look up at him.
“Oh, hon,” He whispers as he knelt in front of you, he places his hand on your forehead, “Fuck, you’re burning up.”
“No, shit,” you sarcastically mutter.
Pedro could not help but smile at the fact that you still had the energy to be sarcastic, “Come on, let’s get you in bed,” he began to help you up. Placing an arm under your armpit to gently pull you up.
“No,” you began to protest, “the floor feels nice and cold,” you mumble.
“I know, I know, but it’s not the ideal place for you to get better,” in an instant, Pedro hesitates before deciding, he picks you up in his arms. One arm under your back and the other under your knees, you could not protest much, your body was too weak to even try to fight it. Pedro carries you into the living room, where he gently places you on the couch.
“This isn’t my room,” you say in a sluggish voice.
“I know,” Pedro says softly, “Now where does your mom keep the thermometer, I need to check your temp.”
“Bathroom,” you mumble, lazily pointing towards the hallway you two had just come from.
Pedro nods, “Of course, let me guess, that’s why you were in there.”
You nod, “That and to throw up.”
Pedro sighs, walking back into the bathroom to grab the thermometer along with some medicine. “Alright,” Pedro began as he walked back into the living room, “open up,” he instructed. He places the thermometer in your mouth.
“Why are you-”
“Ah, ah, no talking,” he instructed, a few seconds later the thermometer beeped, and he quickly took it out from your mouth, “Jesus, kid. A hundred and two, we need to get your temp down fast.”
You watch as Pedro rushes around the house, grabbing a bucket and placing it near you on the couch, he runs and grabs all the medicine from the bathroom cabinet and places it on the coffee table. You never asked him to do any of it, but somehow you liked the feeling it gave you, the fact that he cared enough to do all of this without you asking.
“Why are you here?” you manage to say as he sat down at the end of the couch, he was reading some of the medicine bottles, conflicted on which one to give you. If Pedro was being honest with himself, he never had to take care of a kid that was sick, not even his nephews. Usually when Pedro was sick he would take some sort of sleeping aid medicine and sleep it off, but this was different.
He gave you a small glance, “Well, when you didn’t answer your mom's past two phone calls, and she’s not able to step away from her meetings so she asked me to come and check on you, plus, she’s leaving for new york tonight, remember?”
“But you didn’t have to come,” you state, “I can be alone for a weekend.”
“I didn’t,” he agrees, “but I wanted to because I too was worried about you.” Pedro settled on the fever reducing medicine first, that was the main goal right now. Reduce the fever, try to get fluids in you, and something small and gentle in your stomach… and sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. He twisted open one of the medicine bottles before shaking out a few pills into the palm of his hand. “Here take this,” he hands you a couple of pills along with a bottle of Gatorade that had been sitting on the coffee table, “I’m gonna look to see if your mom has any chicken noodle soup in the pantry, you get some rest.”
Everything within you was protesting this, protesting Pedro taking care of you while you were sick. You did not want any of it, or so you thought because there was a part of you that just couldn’t help but smile at the fact. A part of you that could get used to it.
You could not help but wonder if this is what your friend's dads were like, is this what every dad was like.
Every normal dad.
Is this what it felt like to even have a present dad?
It was not long until the medicine took its effect and you were fast asleep. It seemed to put Pedro at ease to see you sleeping, knowing it was probably the best thing for your body. He was keeping himself busy in the kitchen, reheating a can of chicken noodle soup so you could eat it when you woke up.
Once the soup was done, Pedro kept it covered and left it alone. He made his way over to the couch, gently lifting your head so he can sit down, and he places your head on his lap. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table but quickly stops when he hears the sound of your breath. Every breath you took in was followed by a wheeze.
Pedro felt his heart race, he grabs his phone and dials your mother's number, “Hey,” he says as soon as she answers, “don’t panic.”
“What’s wrong?” She says in a panic. Perfect, he thinks sarcastically to himself as he rolls his eyes in annoyance.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have started it that way,” Pedro confesses. “I checked on Y/N, she’s sick and I think she might need to go to urgent care.”
Yesenia lets out a sigh, “fuck,” she mutteres. “Alright, I-I can cancel my next meeting–”
“No, no need for that, I can take care of her.”
“I hate to ask that of you,” Yesenia says.
“Then don’t. I told you I could help,” Pedro looked over at y/n, she was still asleep.
Yesenia sighes, “I knew it was too soon to leave her alone for a day, especially after what happened with her dad. Ugh, and to think I was going to go straight to the airport after this to go to New York for work--”
“Hey, don’t blame yourself for this, look I’m here and I can take care of her.”
Yesenia remains quiet for a moment, her motherly senses telling her to cancel her meetings. To stop everything she was doing and get back home, but her heart was telling her to trust Pedro. She knew she could trust him and she knew this was, in a fucked up way, a perfect time for him to be tested.
“You call me with every update you have– no, you call me every hour.”
Pedro could not help but chuckle, “I’ll text you every hour and call you with every update, how about that?”
“Even better,” She smiles. “Take good care of my baby, Pedro.”
“I will, I promise.” Pedro hangs up the phone, gently getting up from the couch, careful not to wake you. He picks you up and takes you to the car, the soup would have to wait a little longer.
This was the first time Pedro had to take someone that wasn’t himself, to urgent care and frankly, he did not know what to do. Maybe he was in over his head, especially when it was someone's kid.
It did not take Pedro long to carry you to his car, he places you in his backseat, making sure the seatbelt clicks before covering you with a blanket. He had even grabbed one of your moms tote bags and packed it with some supplies that you might need, a phone charger just in case and a book he knew you were reading in case you woke up and the wait was too long. Pedro knew he was overthinking it and maybe overpacking, but he wanted to make sure that you had everything you needed to feel just a little bit safer in his care.
When Pedro began driving he did not even bother to turn on the music, his focus solely on driving the speed limit and following every single rule of the road. Which was unlike Pedro. He was the kind of guy that sped and hoped not to get caught, the kind of guy to look at his phone at stop lights to check a text message, and feel guilty after because it was a bad habit. Yet, right now? Right now, he felt like he was eighteen again, barely learning how to drive and following every single rule like his life depended on it. Well, it kind of felt like it did.
Pedro glances at the google maps direction that was on his apple car play, “two miles,” he mutters quietly to himself. His hands gripping the wheel a little tighter as he slowed to a stop at a red light.
A soft whine coming from the backseat caught his attention, he glances at the review mirror and sees your eyebrows scrunch before your head moves like you were shaking your head in your sleep. “No,” you mutter before you jolt awake.
“You okay, hon?” Pedro asks softly. You look around confused, taking in the blanket, the seatbelt, the smell of Pedro’s air freshener, you are in his car. How you got there? No clue. “Sweetie?” Pedro calls out again.
“Wh-where are we going?” You ask softly as you adjust yourself in your seat.
“Urgent care,” he states, “are you okay?” he asks again.
You give him a small nod, “fever dream,” you mumble as you rub your eyes.
“Those are the worst,” he says as the light turns green and he slowly presses on the gas. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
You groan a little, “Like shit.”
“Language.”
“Sorry. Como mierda,” you mutter.
Pedro sighs as he could not help but smile, “Not what I meant, hon.”
“My stomach hurts,” you say softly as you look into the review mirror meeting Pedro's eyes. He gives you a small nod, “and I feel hot but I have chills,” you add.
“Your fever was a hundred and two when we left the house,” Pedro says, “don’t want to take any chances so let’s just see what the doctor says.”
You stay quiet for a moment, looking out the car window, you take in the city lights. The car slowly came to a stop at a red light, you glance at the car on the next lane over, you can spot the man on the driver's seat as he waits for the light to change. You could not help but wonder what the man's life was like, if he had a daughter waiting for him at home, or if he was the kind of father to let her slip from his fingers from his own mistakes.
“Wanna talk to me about the dream?” Pedro asks, glancing at you through the review mirror.
“It felt more like a nightmare than a dream,” you whisper.
“How so?”
“My dad was in it,” You began to say, “but… my mom was on the floor and he was standing over her,” you add.
Pedro stilled, he didn’t say a word, not yet anyway. He waited for you to finish, but his heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his ears. His hands gripping the steering wheel tighter as he mentally manifested for the light to turn green. When you didn’t continue he asked before he could even stop himself, “What was he doing?” Pedro asks.
You look down at your hands, your index finger fidgeting with a loose string from the blanket on your lap. It was a nightmare, that’s all, you reminded yourself. A nightmare, but why did it feel so real?
“I-I don’t know… but my mom was bleeding,” you say softly, “And it was like she couldn’t hear me call for her.”
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