Fandom: Captain America (Heroverse, Howling Commandos era)
Warnings: none
I’m pretty sure @taylortut said something once about the way illnesses would work once Steve had the enhanced metabolism from the supersoldier serum: coming on fast and getting over them fast. So here is a very short fic about a fever.
_____
They’re hiking through a mountain range when Steve stops suddenly.
“What? You see something?” Bucky asks. He hooks his thumbs under the straps of his pack and squints into the distance.
“No, it’s nothing,” Steve assures him. “I just…felt weird for a second.”
“What kind of weird?”
“I don’t know.” Steve shakes his head as if ridding water from his ears. “Just…weird.”
“Well, that clears that up.” Bucky grins and swats Steve’s arm. The touch turns to a caress, then he drops his arm to his side.
“Sorry.” Steve takes a breath and looks around self-consciously before he starts walking again. “Didn’t mean to hold everybody up.”
The group traipses through the pass until night falls, then they make camp at the edge of a babbling stream. The sounds of Dugan and Morita whooping and skipping stones carries into the tent, but Bucky’s content to stay put. Steve seems to want to call it an early night.
“You really gotta pipe down, there, Stevie,” Bucky says. He’s on his stomach on his bedroll with his head in his hands. Steve’s similarly reclined, but on his back, and his closed sketchbook rests on his stomach. “Someone might hear you.”
The corners of Steve’s mouth turn up in a smirk. He pushes his sketchbook onto the trampled grass and turns on his side to face Bucky. “Yeah,” he sighs. His eyes are glassy in the dark.
“You ok?” Bucky asks. “You look like you aren’t feeling too hot.”
“Honestly?” Steve says, pushing his hair off his forehead. “I’m not.”
“I thought the serum was supposed to keep that from happening.” Bucky pushes up to his knees and reaches across to feel Steve’s temperature.
“So did I. But I guess it doesn’t guard against everything.”
“Shit, Stevie. You’re boiling. Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Bucky fumbles for a towel and his canteen. He splashes water on it and tucks the compress against Steve’s forehead.
“I didn’t feel bad earlier,” Steve says. “Just…I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”
“Try me.” Bucky nudges Steve over a few inches so he can lay beside him.
“It’s like…” Steve starts. “Like I could count the seconds. My head didn’t hurt, then it did. My throat was fine, then it was sore.”
“And now you’ve got one hell of a fever,” Bucky finishes. “Well, the serum speeds up your metabolism, right?”
Steve nods, not entirely hiding the way his teeth are chattering.
“So maybe you’ll get over it just as quick.” Bucky presses his chest against Steve’s shoulder and throws his arm around him.
“Somebody’s gonna see you,” Steve warns.
“Naw,” Bucky dismisses. “Besides, I got a good excuse. You’re sick.”
“Probably not for long.”
“See?” Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Gotta take my chances when they come.”
Sickdays 5: Day 4: Illness or Discomfort not Related to Bacteria/Virus
art by @lickstynine, aka Mod J of SickDays
Character: my OC, Siofra
(Sorry this is kinda late, I drew it the other night and then misplaced it without taking a picture of it. Also pardon the iffy anatomy, I couldn’t find a good ref to save my life.)
Siofra always feels rough around a certain time of the month; she hasn’t done much today but just lay around and feel sick. She hasn’t thrown up yet, but she’s spent far too much time lingering in the bathroom, and her stomach still isn’t happy.
Ok, ok, I’ve been trying not to do these marathon author’s notes on my sickdays fics, but I have to talk before this one. To the original anon who requested Steve having issues from being on ice, THANK YOU. When your prompt first landed, I was like, ehhhh, whatever. Not impressed. Then the sickdays prompts came out, and it was such a perfect fit I decided to write it anyway. Now it’s one of the best things I’ve written. I’m extremely proud of how this one turned out. There’s no puke, so it might not appeal to the masses, but there’s angst that translates to physical feelings of illness, plus emotional turmoil, plus relationship stuff… It’s a good one. Trust me. (Egotistical Laur, signing off.)
_____
The rain starts to fall as they round the block behind the high school’s football field. It’s only the beginning of the third mile, and there’s a long way left to go.
Steve looks up at the sky without breaking pace. A fat drop hits him in the middle of the forehead as he squints up at the clouds. He wipes his brow and looks to Bucky jogging beside him.
“You wanna turn around?” Steve asks.
Bucky shakes his head. “Rain won’t hurt me. I’m not made of sugar.”
Steve laughs. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah. I think I’m just about anything but.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The way you’ve gotten into cooking lately, you’re turning into a regular housewife.”
“A little like you before the war, eh?” Bucky raises his eyebrows.
“I guess so,” Steve says. “It is getting to be kind of like old times again. Except now I can race you.” He pushes himself into a sprint. Bucky doesn’t miss a beat and speeds up to match.
Neither of them tire easily, so they keep up the pace for the rest of the mile. When they turn onto the main drag, a woman with a dog and an umbrella is coming down the sidewalk, so Steve slows to a fast walk and files in behind Bucky.
Now that he’s not pushing himself, Steve’s chest heaves from the exertion. He’s not exactly winded, but each inhale burns as he sucks in the cold, humid air.
Bucky gets to the corner and seems to realize Steve isn’t beside him. “Hey.” He looks over his shoulder. “You ok?”
“Yeah.” Steve quickly catches up. It’s not cold enough to see his breath, but he could swear a thin fog is developing in front of him. Goosebumps erupt down his arms and make the hairs stand up. As he picks up his pace again, he rubs them back down.
“Ok.” Bucky shakes his damp hair out of his eyes. “But we don’t have to do this. There are other ways to spend quality time together.” The corners of his lips twitch. “Like a long hot shower.”
Steve tries to smile back, but uneasiness prickles up his spine. He fights the desire to look over his shoulder. Bucky’s been doing so well lately. Why can’t he have a good day to match?
“It’s probably the same distance to finish the loop,” Steve says. “No sense in turning back halfway.”
“Fair enough.” Bucky steps in a puddle, sending splashes of cold water onto Steve’s legs. Another shiver runs through him. He’s glad he’s running. He doesn’t want Bucky to notice the shallowness of his breaths.
Steve doesn’t remember being on the ice. Maybe if he did, he’d realize there’s nothing to be afraid of. He was just asleep. What he does recall is the plane turning nose down. The impact with the water. The knowledge he was going to die. And the hope he’d get to see Bucky again.
You did see him again, Steve thinks. You have him back. Now pull yourself together. Steve shakes his head and promptly trips over the curb.
“Whoa, ok,” Bucky says, catching Steve around the waist as he stumbles. “Here.” He shoves Steve toward a bench at a bus stop in the middle of the block. He forces him to sit on the cold, wet seat and plops down beside him.
“What’s up?” Bucky asks shortly.
“I…nothing. I’m fine,” Steve says. But he wraps his arms around his chest. He has to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Bullshit.”
Bucky’s gotten good at speaking his mind. It reminds Steve of the old days, and somehow that makes everything worse.
“Just…give it a rest, Buck. I’m ok,” he mutters.
“You wouldn’t, if it was me.” Bucky looks at him unblinkingly, his mouth slightly open. Steve wants to kiss him. He also wants to throw up.
Emotion curdles in his throat and sticks to his tongue as he sighs and whispers, “Right.” Steve swallows hard. His face is already wet enough that it won’t matter if tears fall. He doesn’t need to fight that too.
“We can stay here as long as you need,” Bucky says firmly, pressing his shoulder against Steve’s. “I’m ok.”
In the cold, he means. He’s not going to have a flashback or a breakdown because of the trigger. Steve knows him well enough that he doesn’t need to finish his sentence. But at the same time, they’re too estranged for Steve to tell him he’s triggered by the same things.
“It’s not right,” Steve bursts out. “You were with Hydra, and I was…I just…” He bites his lip.
“So what?” Bucky tucks his arm behind Steve’s back and holds him close.
“I have no right to be upset about what happened to me. It was nothing.”
“That’s not true.” Bucky murmurs.
“Yes it is. Compared to you, it was nothing. Literally. I slept. That’s it.” Steve swipes the heel of his hand under his eyes.
“We’re not comparing. Shit happened.” Bucky shrugs. “Sometimes it’s easy to push down, sometimes it’s not.”
“I should be able to deal with it,” Steve says.
“You do deal with it. You’re just…having a bad moment.” Bucky rests his cheek on top of Steve’s wet hair for a moment. “How can we fix it?”
“I don’t know,” Steve breathes. “I’m just cold.”
“The let’s go home.” Bucky stands and reaches for Steve’s hands. “I think you owe me a nice hot shower.”
Steve hesitates, then lets himself crack a smile. “Oh, I owe you one?” He gets to his feet.
“The uprisings in Russia in the first half of the 20th century, most notably the revolution of peasant farmers uprising against their feudal lords, whose land they toiled, greatly tied into the events of Orwell’s Animal Farm. He used animals as an allegory to retell the end of feudalism, however the use of the pigs…
Gabriel paused a brief wave of dizziness engulfed him; hand tightly gripped the back of the chair. His vision blurred slightly a few quick blinks the room came back into focus.
Heaving a heavy sigh Gabriel massaged his forehead wishing the Advil he’d taken earlier curbed his throbbing headache.
“Professor?” A girl’s voice broke the silence. Gabriel glanced up to the faces of his students staring back; he’d momentarily forgotten he was still in class.
Running a hand through his hair he turned hoping to conceal the blush burning his face. Clearing his throat he took a quick breath, “Apologies class, where was I?”
“Pigs. The same girl replied her face breaking into a smile.
The professor stared befuddled then remembered. “Quite right.” Gabriel ignored a few giggles coming from his students. Struggling to maintain his composure while finishing the lecture he finally made the last 20 or so minutes of class free time meaning a good majority of students left. Not that Gabriel minded sitting behind his desk head leaning against his hand, eyes closed.
“Professor Herondale?”
His hand slipped at the voice, “Hmm?” He looked up, “Oh Trenton? How can I assist you?” Gabriel forced a smile.
“Are you feeling okay?” The young man with short blonde hair, oval wire frame glasses over his dark blue eyes asked looking quite concerned.
“Oh fine fine, bit of a headache is all.” Gabriel lied through his teeth. He could tell the English student did not believe him. “Maybe a slight fever. I, uh, didn’t sleep too well last night.” He flushed embarrassed about admitting all this to a student.
“Need anything?” Trenton adjusted his bag over his shoulder.
All Gabriel wanted was a nap, “No no perfectly fine.” He forced another smile. “Just study for the exam next week if you could.”
Trenton agreed, hoped Gabriel felt better soon and exited the classroom. Resting his head in a thunk on the desk the feverish professor remained that way for several minutes until the realization of probably falling asleep and waking up there tomorrow became too much to ignore. Throwing on his coat he nearly reached the door before back tracking to the desk grabbing his briefcase.
Exiting Baker Hall, Gabriel headed down the path towards his office not all looking forward to working in the dusty mess. Pushing open the outside door he stumbled on the stairs catching himself at the last moment. Muttering a curse under his breath he proceeded down the hall to his office. Entering his tired eyes noticed something rather peculiar, a person sitting on his desk. Gabriel blinked as sandy blonde hair and a black hoodie appeared in his vision.
Bewildered at the sight before him Gabriel scratched the back of his head. He stared at the figure smiling back at him then confusingly looked around the room just to make sure he’d entered the proper office.
Convinced his exhausted body was in the right room he frowned checking his pocket watch, “Now you’ve done it Gabe, your feverish state is creating hallucinations of your dear Liam.”
“Gabriel Lane you’re simply adorable.” Liam hopped off the desk.
The professor’s mouth dropped. “Dearest, oh my, forgive my comments, it’s only… I’ve had a right miserable day, didn’t sleep well, nearly drifted off in class, I didn’t….” He paused feeling Liam’s warm comforting embrace surround him. The stress of the last several days evaporated like steam from a bath, his throbbing head leaned against Liam’s as his partners fingertips gently grazed the outline of his face. “I…what was I saying again?” He brought a hand up running the back of his fingers over Liam’s cheek. Liam cupped his face, their lips met Gabriel let an audible sigh escape, disappointed when his partner pulled away.
“Love, you’re burning up.” Liam kept a hand on Gabriel’s face.
“I know dear, felt quite awful the past few days.” The professor finally walked over to his desk. Setting his briefcase down he noticed something. “You cleaned, didn’t you?” He smiled forcing his eyes to focus.
The neat freak returned the smile, “Guilty as charged.” He stepped over to the desk. “Gabriel cancel your class tomorrow, I’ll take you home you need rest.”
The professor scoffed while removing his coat, “I’ve told you before my job I cannot freelance.” A quick wave of dizziness forced Gabriel to support himself against his desk. “I’ve an exam next week, need to prepare for it.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Besides I’ve one more class tonight, must…” He slumped into his chair massaging his temples furiously. “My kingdom for relief.”
Liam knelt down to Gabriel’s computer. “Ok here’s the deal,” He started typing on the ancient keyboard. “I’ll accompany you to your last class, keep a watchful eye on you from the back or assist if needed, then…” His voice trailed for one moment as he read over what he’d written before continuing, “You’ll send out an email stating your lone Friday class is cancelled.” Liam emphasized the lone part. “We’ll head home bright and earlier tomorrow or tonight if possible. I’ll help you with your exam preparation and you can rest in those adorable blue pajamas of yours.” His brown eyes sparkled as he finished the layout of his plan. “I’ve already formatted your Cancelled Class reply, we can send it tonight.”
Gabriel sighed stifling a cough, “Well, dear you know I’m not keen on cancelling and I don’t…,” He paused momentarily a quizzical look graced his weary face. "How did you access my email?“
“You never log out.” The writer giggled.
“Log…out?” Gabriel’s reaction forced Liam to cover his mouth with a hand though he was sure the smile leaked out the sides.
“Here I’ll explain.” He started but Gabriel waved a hand.
“No need too. I wouldn’t understand anyways.” He grumbled.
“Oh stop, you’re brilliant love, look.“ Liam motioned to the green scale screen. "See the button that says Log Out? If you click it you won’t be signed in anymore.” Liam was going to advise Gabriel to do this but then realized who really would ever want access to his prehistoric computer. “I’ll show you.” He logged out of Gabriel’s email.
The professor’s brow crinkled, “Now I’ll need to access it again.” He replied tiredly pinching his forehead between his thumb and middle finger.
“I can do it.” Liam smiled at the look he received. “I know your username; it’s the beginning part of your email, standard college practice. I used it for your Skype remember. And I pretty much guarantee I can guess your pass.”
Liam pressed his lips together and typed in the username. His eyes then shot to Gabriel as he slowly typed M I C H A E L in for the password. Hitting enter Gabriel’s email popped up. The professor brought a hand up covering his beet red face.
“Told ya.” Liam said with a hint of smugness. “My dear Gabriel Lane you are quite predictable you know.”
Gabriel remained quiet folding his shaking hands together. Small beads of sweat formed around his hairline.
Liam pushed up from the desk. “It’s alright love. Honestly it was an easy guess.”
Gabriel sighed closing his eyes, his color drained from the blush leaving him paler than when he’d first entered the office. “That doesn’t mean I wanted you to know.” He turned away.
Realizing this entire situation had inadvertently upset his ill boyfriend Liam tried to explain. “Gabriel it’s fine, I figured that was your pass months ago, makes sense…considering when you got your email. I’m going to take a guess the reason you never changed it is you don’t know how.”
The professor wiped a stray tear and nodded, “Affirmative.”
“Let’s forget about that for now. It’s not important.” Liam rushed to change the topic as Gabriel’s eyes became pools. “What about my plan?” He crouched down setting his hands on his boyfriend’s knees.
Exhaling the professor leaned back in his chair. His mind lost in a fog of pain and exhaustion, he wouldn’t admit it to his Liam but Gabriel wasn’t even sure he’d survive the final class. Running a hand from the top of his head down to his chin he merely gave a halfhearted shrug. “I must lessen his infernal headache first.” Opening the desk drawer he rummaged for a bottle of painkillers, tapping the bottle until two fell in his hand. He swallowed them without any water as Liam watched, then rested his arms on the desk laying his head in them. “Wake me in half an hour.” His request slightly muffled. Laying his coat over him Liam set the alarm on his phone but only to vibrate. A few minutes later Gabriel snored softly while Liam stroked his hair.
****
In all their time together Liam never had actually seen Gabriel teach, it was quite something. The subject matter might not have been the most interesting but his boyfriend morphed from the shy introverted Gabriel to the confident Professor Herondale. It reminded Liam how Gabriel acted when destroying Bryce that thought alone drew a smile.
Even severely under the weather, Gabriel’s tone grew stronger than normal while lecturing his class, today on different cognitive abnormalities of the brain. He was posed walking from one side of the class to the other maintaining eye contact with students, asking questions, promoting discussion.
However with about 30 minutes to go fatigue set in, Gabriel fumbled a few words, used his chair more as support and could no longer hide the fact he was sweating due to his fever. Mopping his brow with a handkerchief he forced himself to finish up his current thought.
Liam sat edge of the chair, knee twitching, ready to dash if needed. He’d promised Gabriel not to move unless asked for but it was getting harder and harder to endure watching his visibly ill boyfriend work.
Finally just as Liam could not take another minute, Gabriel pulled out his pocket watch.
“Forgive me class but I must cease for today.” The professor sat on his desk rubbing his forehead, “You’re dismissed.”
Liam ran down the auditorium style stairs, bypassing the students exiting, to Gabriel’s side clasping a hand on his arm.
“Gabriel Lane?” Liam failed hiding the worry in his voice. Sweat beads ran down his boyfriends face the edges of his grey hair glistened, Gabriel removed his tie and undid his top shirt button.
“I’m spent my dear.” Gabriel laughed drawing Liam in.
“Come love, let’s go home.” Liam took Gabriel’s coat, briefcase and arm leading the professor out of the hall.
No surprise Gabriel fell asleep immediately on the train ride back to Newhaven. Thankfully he’d taken medicine which Liam hoped would reduce his fever. Coat draped over his frame Gabriel’s head lay in Liam’s lap, the writer lovingly gazed down at his sleeping boyfriend. Never had five hours on a train seemed like heaven.
“Can we just call it a failure and go home?” Jason asks, removing his baseball cap to wipe sweat from his forehead.
“This is supposed to be a really good spot,” Colby says, dropping his rented fishing rod on the shore beside Jason’s. “All the guide books said so. I can’t believe we didn’t catch anything.”
Jason shrugs. He’s glad he hasn’t had to deal with any flopping fish or whatever Colby intends to do with them once they’re caught. “’S ok,” he says. “We still got to spend the whole day outside. You like that.”
Colby grins. “I do like that. I wish we could do this every weekend.”
“That might be a little much.” Jason pulls a bottle of water from their cooler and holds it against his cheeks.
“Every weekend in the summer?”
“Still too much,” Jason says. “What time do you have to get this stuff back to the tackle shop?” he asks, nodding at the fishing poles.
“Not till 6.” Colby squints up at the sun. “It’s, what? 3? Ish?”
Jason shakes his head and checks his watch. “You’re gonna hurt your eyes doing that,” he says. “It’s 3:30.”
“I was close.”
“Not really.” But Jason spoils it with a grin.
“I was!” Colby insists. “And we’ve still got time. Let’s do something fun.”
Jason’s about to say that something fun would be to hike back to the car and head back toward civilization, but Colby’s too happy. He’s not going to spoil it yet. “Like what?”
Colby toes off his shoes, then bends to peel off his socks. He leaves them in a pile and carefully steps into the water. “Come on.” He waves for Jason to follow.
“Ugh, no, thanks,” Jason says, wrinkling his nose. “You’re gonna smell like lake on the drive home.”
“There’s a spigot outside the bathrooms,” Colby points to the structure a ways down the path from the lake. “We can clean up.”
“We?” Jason repeats, not liking where this is going.
“Yeah. Come on,” Colby says again. “It’s really shallow. It’s fine.” He’s right about the shallow part. The water laps around Colby’s knees.
When he was younger, Jason thinks he’d have been ecstatic to splash around in the lake. Now, though, has a hard time picking excitement out of the mess of worries swirling around his brain. It seems like more trouble than it’s worth.
Colby’s grinning like an idiot, though. Jason sighs and starts to untie his sneakers.
“There you go,” Colby laughs.
“You’re a bad influence, you know?” Jason edges down the bank and steps into the water.
“I’m a good influence. A little dirt’s good for you.” Colby reaches for Jason’s hand.
“If you say so.” Jason playfully rams Colby with his shoulder.
“I do.”
They hike downstream in silence. Jason shuffles his feet through the mud at the bottom of the lake. He has to admit the squish between his toes is oddly satisfying.
“How about we go down to that log, then turn back.” Colby nods in the direction of a fallen tree another hundred yards or so down the shoreline.
“Alright, cool,” Jason agrees.
Though it’s still several hours till sunset, the rays of light reflecting off the water give the afternoon a heavy, tranquil feel. All they need is a campfire and a jar of fireflies for this to be the stuff of childhood daydreams. Jason isn’t sure he’d admit it out loud, but he finds himself enjoying the walk more than he’d expected.
They reach the log and double back the way they came. Jason’s hand is sweaty in Colby’s, and he can’t stop his mind flicking to Mike, school, dinner, and a thousand other things.
Colby sees he’s lost in though and drapes his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “Summer’s almost over,” he says. “Be happy while it lasts.“
“Who says I’m not happy during school?”
“I didn’t say that,” Colby says. “Just…I like this. I wish we had more of this.”
“Yeah,” Jason sighs. “I guess I do too.” He circles Colby’s waist and gives him a squeeze. “You’re all sweaty,” he complains with a laugh.
“Hey, so are you,” Colby jibes back.
Their shoes and fishing poles are back in view. Colby strides toward the shore, making ripples in the calm water as he moves. As he steps onto the sandy bank, Jason sees something dark clinging to Colby’s ankle.
“You’ve got some mud,” Jason says, pointing. “Or a leaf or something.”
“Huh?” Colby looks down. He lifts his foot and brushes at the mark. It doesn’t come off. Colby scrapes his thumbnail across his skin. The black thing plops into the sand, and a trickle of blood runs down his foot. “Aw, shit,” Colby says. “I think it’s a leech.”
“What?” Jason all but screams. He can’t get out of the water quickly enough. The shallow waves feel like weights around his legs. He frantically splashes up onto the shore, and his heart thumps in his chest as he looks down.
Two leeches cling to his left calf, and one to his right. “Fuck,” Jason mutters. He looks to Colby, his eyes wide. “Get them off me.”
“Ok, stay calm,” Colby says.
“They’re sucking my fucking blood!” Panic ignites vertigo, and it’s suddenly a challenge for Jason to stay on his feet.
“It’s no big deal,” Colby reassures him. “You’re not gonna lose that much.”
“Oh god.” Blood loss hadn’t even been on Jason’s mind. “Just get them off.”
“Ok, just stay calm.” Colby bends over and peels the first leech off. He throws it into the lake, then reaches for the second one.
“God. Get them off,” Jason mumbles. Blood drips from the two small wounds on his leg. Jason wants to look away, but he can’t. His stomach turns and his throat goes tight.
“I am. Just hold on.” Colby picks off the third leech. “There. They’re gone, ok?”
“Ok,” Jason breathes. “Fuck.”
“It’s ok. They’re not poisonous. It’s just a little cut,” Colby says.
“I know. Just…” The world pitches and Jason’s knees collapse beneath him.
“Whoa, ok.” Colby squats at Jason’s shoulder. “Just breathe.”
Nausea rises in Jason’s chest. He stays on his hands and knees, sucking in shaky breaths as bitter saliva pools on his tongue. He closes his eyes in an attempt to ground himself, but he sees rivulets of blood all over again, and dizziness surges. Jason quickly opens his eyes, but he’s too late to stop the retch from tearing out of him.
“Hey. It’s ok,” Colby says, patting Jason on the back.
Jason heaves again, vomiting water and bile onto the sand. He breaks off coughing, praying he’s finished. “Ugh,” he chokes. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. I’m really sorry.” Colby squeezes his shoulder. “I didn’t think that was gonna happen…”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Jason breathes, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“For sure,” Colby says. “Whenever you’re ready to go, we’ll get out of here.”
“I’m ready,” Jason says, swallowing the urge to gag and getting unsteadily to his feet.
“You sure? You feel ok?” Colby spots him with a hand on his waist.
“No,” Jason admits. “But…I gotta get home.” He keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead so he doesn’t have to see the sand-caked wounds on his legs. Just the thought is enough to turn his stomach again, and he clings to Colby as he dry heaves.
“Alright,” Colby soothes. “We’ll go.”
As soon as Jason can move again, he grabs his shoes and socks and trudges away from the lake. “I never want to do this again,” he mutters.
Colby follows with the fishing poles and cooler. “Yeah,” he agrees with a sad smile. “To be honest, I don’t really want to, either.”
Warnings: emeto, hurt/comfort, drug use, implied previous physical abuse, foster care
Summary : I’m blaming this one on my fervent hatred for all forms of spinning carnival death traps, okay guys? Also possibly on not nearly enough hours of sleep this week. Pick one. Either way, have some teenage Tasha and James from the Chasing Ghosts story verse and a bit of a losing battle against the rides.
~~
James doesn’t usually give a shit about the broken kids who filter in and out of the home he’s going to age out of in another year. Tasha’s unique, though. She’s sharp tongued, quick to rise to a fight and equally quick to win them decisively. He hasn’t quite figured out what her damage is, but she keeps it wrapped up tight and deep. It’s not a coping strategy he’s unfamiliar with. What he does know is that she’s not looked this much like a kid in the six months since she arrived with a duffle worth of stuff and a thousand yard stare.
“Come on, Jamie,” she tells him as she meets him outside the ladies room, giggling when he scowls at the diminutive of his name. Everyone else finds his scowl frightening. Tasha seems to actually enjoy provoking it.
She grabs his hand and pulls him back into line for what may very well be the hundredth time on a roller coaster that was probably cutting edge twenty years ago when it was built. Now, it’s a rattling line of cars trundling along a track that he hopes has been inspected recently enough to be sure it won’t come apart mid-descent. Tasha loves it.
He follows along with her, and she leans against him while they wait in the line. Her pupils are blown and she sniffles a little every so often. James politely ignores the fact that she’s high, has been since they arrived, and is probably going to be until they are close enough to leaving to risk the adults in the care home noticing. She’s happy, and that’s rare enough that he doesn’t much care how she got there.
She’s such a kid like this, giggling herself breathless as the ride takes them swooping down and around a couple loops and a few short corkscrews. Whatever is running through her veins makes it tricky for her to stand well when they climb out of the car this time. He wraps an arm around her waist to steady her, whispering in her ear to pull it together when she stumbles. He deposits her on a bench with orders to stay put and goes to grab soda. It’s not so much that he thinks it will sober her up as that he’s fairly certain she hasn’t bothered to eat recently and crappy blood sugar can’t possibly be doing her any favors.
She grumbles when he returns but sips at the fizzy sugared syrup obediently. She’s starting to settle in a bit, less giddy but definitely not quite sober either. It’s a better state of mind for her and one that makes James a lot less nervous that she’s going to get them caught. She hands the cup back to him after finishing better than half of it and asks if they can go ride something else. She sounds nervous, and he claps a hand on her shoulder to break the tension there. Instead, she startles and he remembers the bruises on her skin half a year ago.
“Hey,” he says, drawing out the vowel in an effort to calm her. “It’s all good, Tash. What do you want to hit next?”
She shakes her head, as if trying to clear it and the mask falls almost instantly into place. A bright smile that goes nowhere near her eyes is suddenly plastered across her face. “Monster?” she asks, gesturing toward the ridiculously named mass of swirling black metal.
“Sure, kid,” he tells her.
She promptly punches him in the arm. It’s not exactly gentle, either. Tasha hates a lot of things, but being called a kid is pretty high on the list.
“Fine, fine, not a fucking kid. That better not leave a mark, you beast!”
They head for the spinning monstrosity and are in a little black capsule within a few minutes. Once the ride gets going, the capsule is spinning on itself at the same time the entire behemoth is rotating around the fenced enclosure. Tasha’s back to giggling maniacally, and when she demands a second ride immediately after they exit, he goes with it.
He half expects her to ask again when they disembark the next time, but she reaches for and grips his forearm tight enough that her nails are digging into the skin a few feet outside the gates.
“You okay?”
“Just, little dizzy,” she mumbles.
He wraps an arm around her back to steady her and guides her toward a bench, pressing her onto the seat and keeping a grip on one of her slim biceps to keep her from falling sideways. A close look at her eyes reveals that while the dilation is much less than earlier, they’ve started a rhythmic back and forth twitch. <i> Nystagmus, <i> a mostly dormant part of his brain supplies. He remembers it from a health class, maybe? Something he read at some point? At any rate, Tasha’s eyes are jerking back and forth and she’s biting her lower lip, hard. He crouches so that he’s near eye level with her.
“Give me some input, here? You gonna pass out on me or something?”
She shakes her head and grimaces, closing her eyes as she shudders. There’s a distinct sheen of moisture at her hairline now, and the color is draining from her face in a hurry.
“Do you think you’re going to be sick?” he asks.
That gets another shake of her head, but the frantic swallowing isn’t giving him much confidence. There’s no time to get her anywhere near a trash can before she lurches forward. A couple soft belches give way to a groaning heave, and the soda he coaxed into her is spattering the ground a second after he thinks to jump out of the way. She coughs and sputters for a few minutes before her body figures out that she’s empty.
James rubs her back, one hand keeping the wisps of hair that escaped her ponytail away from her face. “You good now?” he asks.
“Still feel gross,” she stammers, eyes looking up at him with the most vulnerable expression he thinks he has ever seen on her.
“Think we can get you to a bathroom?” he tries. Not that he cares who’s looking, but people are definitely staring at the hurling redhead and he’s fairly certain she’s not going to appreciate the audience once she’s a bit more aware of it.
Tasha shakes her head miserably, crossing her arms around her stomach and bending so far in half her head is nearly against her knees. She pants harshly a few times before bringing up the remains of whatever she ate that morning. When she tapers down into empty heaves, James pats her back awkwardly until it’s finally over.
“Think m’done,” she finally tells him, lifting her head and wiping at her mouth with the back of one wrist.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” he tells her, levering her to her feet and guiding her toward the nearest restroom. He ignores the glares from a couple parent looking people as he ushers her into the one designated for families. She drops into a heap over the toilet almost the moment he lets go of her and retches up what James is pretty sure must be nothing but bile at this point.
He kneels beside her, cupping one hand under her forehead to keep her from sticking her face in the bowl while keeping the other hand at the small of her back. “Shhh, Tasha, sweetheart, you’re empty. Breathe for me, yeah? You’ve got to settle down.”
“Not your fucking sweetheart,” she growls back, before leaning back on her heels and promptly falling against James.
“Course not. You’re my fucking idiot who should really, really know better than to ride the vomitron high as a kite,” he tells her.
It’s the second time she punches him for the day and this time it’s probably going to leave a mark.
We’re visting Demi and Sasha one more time this week! If you don’t like these two, you’re in luck because hell this is the last entry this week that features them.
So, as I mentioned in my submission yesterday, Sasha struggles with Crohn’s disease. I have a friend irl who has it and gave me tips about how it makes her feel and such.
So, this fic is an episode of Sasha’s symptoms. Loosely based (with permission) on an episode my friend had that she was telling me about.
Triggers for nausea and vomit mention
-
Sasha hates this. God he hates this.
He’s tried everything he knows. He’s tried the various ways he knows how to make himself throw up, he’s tried every anti-nausea medication he keeps in his cabinet. And yet he’s still feeling ready to spill whatever was in his stomach.
After unproductively retching for what literally felt like a millionth time, Sasha felt completely done.
He pushed away from the sink, bending down to reach under the sink. With that, he pulled the basin of cleaning supplies out, removing the cans and bottles, before rinsing out the basin in the sink, taking it back.
The black haired director went back to his bedroom. He felt horrible, each cramp in his stomach sending a fresh wave of pain through his abdomen.
He wasted no time at all curling up in bed, unplugging his phone from the charger on his nightstand.
He knew Demitar was probably busy, but right now he wasn’t thinking straight, he’s in too much pain and struggling with so much unproductive nausea to do that.
He goes to the messages, knowing he probably would be in too much pain to speak.
He was quick to find Demitar in his recent messages, before typing, a cramp seized his abdomen again that he gripped his phone so hard his fingertips turned white.
It lessened after a few minutes, and briefly Sasha had wondered if this was how his older sister had been feeling when she gave birth to her son.
As the pain lessened, all Sasha could find himself doing was typing three words.
Come home soon
Before tapping send and clicking his phone off.
-
Two hours passed by in a blur of pain and nausea. Nausea that pushed him more than once to the edge of his bed, gagging again unproductively.
He hears the door open, he hears a familiar voice call his name, but hurried footsteps soon reach his door and come in.
“Sasha… oh, hon…” Demitar says, his voice gentle and sympathetic as he sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Sasha’s dark hair “Hon, why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“W-work.. c-couldn’t pull you f-from it.” Sasha stuttered painfully.
Demitar clicked his tongue, shaking his head “Please, you’re more important…” He stated “Does it hurt really bad?”
Sasha finds himself nodding. He clenches his jaw tight as another cramp seizes his stomach, a small gag trying to escape his clenched teeth.
“You’ve thrown up yet?” Demitar asked.
“N-no.” Sasha stuttered, but he can’t hold back any reactions to his pain anymore, a shaky sob pulls from behind his clenched teeth.
Demitar’s heart simply broke at the pained sound coming from his boyfriend.
“Oh… Sash…” Demitar whispered “Here, come on… sit up babe.”
The sobs are painful, and truly Sasha doesn’t understand why it’s this bad. Why it’s this horrible. But he listens to Demitar, pulling himself to sit up.
Demitar sighed softly, slipping behind Sasha.
“Jesus babe, you’re way too tense. No wonder you’re still suffering.”
Sasha only could manage a whimper.
Demitar was gentle, starting to massage the most tense areas in Sasha’s back.
Beneath his hands, he can feel how Sasha’s body shakes from suppressed sobbing. Though panic starts to set in, Demitar continues massaging Sasha’s tense back.
“Sasha… breathe love. if you get less tense, it won’t hurt as bad.”
He can feel Sasha start attempting to slow his breathing.
Twenty minutes of shaky sobs and attempts at slow breathing as Demitar continued his massaging, moving down Sasha’s back and wrapping around to his stomach. leads to a gag pulling from Sasha’s throat.
The director is quick to grab the basin again, gagging a small bit of liquid up.
“Okay… okay. Your abdomen is still tense, just keep the bucket there, alright?”
And Sasha relents, nodding slowly and begging his body that this will give him enough relief that he can sleep through the rest of this.
