SICK AS A WET DOG
Ao3
In which Robert finds Waterboy sick with a fever, and has to learn very quickly how to take care of a sick hero with water powers.
CONTENT WARNING: can be read as platonic or romantic (personally i ship), takes place around chapter 2, sick waterboy, caretaker robert, beef is there too, fever, social anxiety, waterboy stutters, food poisoning, vomiting, graphic descriptions of vomiting, waterboy vomits mostly water, sickie has super powers, hero sickie, waterboy gets called boy and kid a lot in this, robert is soft with waterboy.
WORD COUNT: 5,2k~
A/N: long time no fic for you guys. it took a hyperfixation this strong to make me actually finish something and post, so enjoy. waterboy is so cute, i had to make him suffer a little more. this turned out long, but writing dialogue for them was too much fun. i plan on a second chapter i'm already writing, but have no idea when i'll be able to post it.
“Fuck.”
Robert pinned the bridge of his nose as he swore, loud and clear to the empty office, and to the spilled coffee on the floor. Just what he needed. Now he would have to make another— His anger fizzled out the moment he heard the scratching of tiny paws quickly making way to the forbidden treat.
“No, you don't”, he reprimanded, snatching the small round dog with seconds to spare, it's tongue desperately reaching for the spill. “Don't be nasty, bud. You've got food and all the treats you could want.”
Beef, flipped on his belly let out an undignified huff, struggling against his restraints for a fierce second until he gave up. His ears perked up at the mention of treats, but when that proved to be a false alarm, he accepted defeat. His prize of consolation was a belly rub.
Robert heard and felt his knees creak as he bent over again to pick the thankfully whole SD mug off the floor, the added chub earning another swear out of him, muttered under his breath this time. Beef eyed him with judgment, but let it slide, tongue sticking out from the side of it's mouth.
It had been a full day for SDN's newest dispatcher. Between his shift and staying past hours to help Royd with the repairs, he couldn't go to the gym, couldn't be bothered to do his stretches before he sat at a desk for eight hours, and now his back was paying the price. To make matters worse, his warm coffee, what was supposed to be his salvation on the drive home was now soaking on the carpet flooring.
“Ugh…”, Robert groaned, heading for the janitor's closet before the stain got out of hand. As tired as he was, it would pain him to make more work for poor Waterboy.
Thinking now, he hadn't seen much of Waterboy.
The two had crossed paths once or twice that day, the young man had muttered a good morning Robert could barely make out, pausing his meticulous wiping of a table to greet him. He had answered him with that same lazy smile that came when he saw him, even stopped to chat for a couple minutes.
He figured out the kid should've gone home already, which would be a relief. Mandy had shown some concern about how much of a hard worker he seemed to be, staying hours past the end of his shift to tidy up. He couldn't imagine having that much dedication to work.
Then again, he could.
Tomorrow he would talk to him properly, ask if everything was alright at home. He deserved that, at least.
Still tucked in his owner's arm, Beef let out a heavy sigh only a full-time employee could, resting his chin down in his hand. Robert gave him pets behind the ear, feeling his paw kick his arm, a cute small growl with it.
“Won't take up much of your time, bud”, he told the dog with a chuckle.
Eyes fixed to the hallway, he stopped in front of the closet. Beef's ears stood on end and he sniffed the air, his tail wagging. It was eerie, he had to admit, being just the two of them in the building, like something out of a cheap horror movie.
He pushed the door open.
“I'll just clean that up and we're good to—” Robert took one step inside the dark closet and froze, feeling his foot sink into something wet. “Go?”
Horror movie, the comparison wasn't for nothing. For all he knew he could be walking to his death, but one quick look and he discovered it was just water. Lukewarm water, strangely enough, pouring from an overflown bucket by the door.
Who left it here? He thought, trailing the puddle and finally spotting the long pair of legs sticking out of it. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw more clearly, the familiar yellow and blue wet suit.
”Waterboy?”, the dispatcher exclaimed, loud enough to rouse his coworker from his after hours nap, but he didn't move.
Beef found the floor under his paws and sat, head cocked to one side in confusion. Robert, just as confused, squatted down to his level, doing a one-over the sleeping form of Waterboy tucked inside the bucket. Sitting flush against the wall, his arms were wrapped tight around his stomach, head lolled to the side as wet hair dripped steadily onto his face.
“Hey, buddy…? Wake up”, the older man tells him, gently nudging his shoulder. Beef tried and failed to climb the bucket, settling on just sitting by, tail still wagging.
A familiar sense of anxiety coiled in the pit of his stomach, imagining the worst. Up close he could see Waterboy seemed off, as if refusing to wake up wasn't enough of a tell, but the kid was warm to the touch, even through his clothes.
That was unusual for him. Always being wet meant he had trouble maintaining any body heat, Robert knew as much for the brief taps on the shoulder they exchanged. How the boy would always speak like he was trembling, though his anxiety had a bigger part in it. Now, the rubber of his suit was drenched, lukewarm as if the material itself was sweating.
That can't be comfortable, he thought, noticing his face, his eyebrows pinned in a frown, his mouth tight. Robert caught a string of wet gurgles coming from his stomach, quite upset by the sounds of it, be quickly understood. With a faint groan, the janitor stirred in his sleep, hugging his middle tighter.
“Poor baby…”, he murmured, his thoughts making it to his mouth before he had the chance to wrangle them. Good thing he was still asleep.
Breathing out, Robert wagered feeling his forehead, thinking if that woke him up he at least would have one less worry. Waterboy's face was flushed red, from the tip of his hook-shaped nose to his ears. He had seen the boy blush before, it happened every two words he stuttered, but this was nothing close. His hand slipped under the mop of wet hair, eyes going wide only to confirm what he already knew.
“Shit, kid. You're boiling…”, he muttered, pressing his palm to the hot skin.
Whimpering, Waterboy shifted, head whipping to the side as if he was having a bad dream. Water splashed out of the bucket with the sudden movement, making Beef jump out of the way with a yelp.
“—huh!? W-W-W— W-”, he came to with a sharp inhale, trying to speak amidst his panic, but it was as if the words were stuck to his throat.
“Easy… It's just me”, Robert said, the hand resting in his forehead moved to his scalp, petting it slowly. He seemed to relax at it, the tension slowly unfurling from his shoulders. “You're okay.”
Realizing what he was doing a bit too late, petting one of his coworkers like a dog, he pulled his hand away, the water running down it in rivulets. One look at Beef, sitting on a dry spot of the closet with his head cocked to the side, and he knew the little guy was jealous.
The wet janitor whimpered softly and Robert found odd the way he seemed to almost lean into the touch as it left him, eyebrows joining in frustration when it was gone. His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and glazed over as if only now he managed to recognize him. His goggles sat skewed on his nose, the lenses fogged up beyond use.
“S-Sir…? R-R– Rob… Rober…t?”, he mumbled, the name coming to him slowly.
“Hey… Whatcha doing here so late?”, Mr. Robertson asked, in the same tone he would use to ask a lost kid where their parents were.
“L-L-Late…? N-No, wait– It-It can't be that— C-Can it?”, he forced out through his stutter, his words sounding slurred in his tongue, as if there was something in his mouth. “W-What time– What time is it?”
Robert dug his phone out of his pocket, drying the screen on his shirt before he looked.
“About… three hours past the end of your shift, bud.”
“O-Oh, wow… right, I… I must've—”, Waterboy trailed off, his eyes still hazy going to his own shoes, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I-I…'m sorry, s-sir, um, b-boss.”
The dispatcher risked putting a hand on his shoulder, only lightly resting it on him, as if he was afraid he could scurry away like a scalded cat. He couldn't recall another moment where Waterboy had so much trouble looking him in the eye, he knew this kind of a response didn't come easy to him, but he seemed too tired to even try. He didn't blame him.
“Hey. You're okay, kid. I'm sure Blazer won't mind”, he said, reassuring him, and earning a glance that quickly returned to his shoes. Given how Mandy was, he was surprised if she even batted an eye. “You should be heading home though.”
Hearing that, Waterboy's lips parted, then closed, being pressed into a thin line. His throat moved behind the high collar of his wet suit, making an awful gulping sound, as if he was swallowing in reverse. He didn't respond, and didn't try to for as long as he felt the dispatcher's eyes on his face.
“I know it's late. I can give you a ride if there aren't any buses left”, he offered, hoping that was the root of the problem. The janitor didn't move, but Robert could see him trying to, shaking, fingers twitching over his belly, mouth moving with mumbled half words. “Not feeling alright, huh?”
Waterboy's eyes went wide behind his goggles, a rivulet of water streaming down his forehead.
“Y-Yeah. Uh, N-No! Alright, I'm alr–urp!”, his voice caught in his throat and he swallowed, making that awful noise again. “G-Good, I'm– I'm fine.”
“You don't sound fine to me”, Robert pointed out, and saw his lips quiver slightly.
“I-I'm– I'm…”, he tried to speak, quickly running an equally drenched hand over his forehead. “I'm f-f-fine…! I'm sure it's n-nothing. I-I think I s-sat down for a nap… W-Wasn't– Wasn't feeling so– t-too– um… tired. I was feeling t-tired.”
Robert heaved a tired sigh, disappointed the boy wasn't being entirely honest.
“You're very warm, do you know that? I felt your temperature”, the dispatcher told him in a placid tone, cocking his head to the side. “You're definitely running a fever, kid. There's no arguing that.”
“Um, y-yeah. T-That happens, s-sometimes. I'm cold– always, always cold. Usually! Cold… because of– of– wet, water, so-so, when I get–”, even still, he tried to argue, patting his gloved hand to his forehead. “When I get warm, I get– I get– h-h-hot? Warm, warm, I get, a f-fever.”
For the first time he had uncrossed his arms, and Robert quickly understood why he had kept them so tight. It looked like he might've had trouble zipping up his suit. His belly looked bloated, a good three sizes bigger than his usual pouch after lunch. Robert could only wonder what he had eaten to make it this loud.
“That's an everyday thing, then?”, the older man challenged, raising an eyebrow.
“Y-Ye– I m-mean, n —h… urm”, he paused, as if catching his breath only to close his mouth again, his cheeks puffing out. “Urk…!
His throat bobbed, trying to hold back a noise that made Robert think of a cat hacking up a hair ball. The janitor sank further into the bucket, as if wanting to disappear with the water falling out of it. His arms were on his stomach again, pinching the fabric of his suit, as if trying to make room for his tight stomach.
”Waterboy…”, Robert began, standing up to his full height.
“Isss fine, —gulp. Mmm fine… m-my p-p-powers”, he quickly replied, giving an attempt at a lie.
Robert shook his head, digging his phone out of his pocket.
“Look, you're clearly not well. We're way past hours so everyone's has already gone home”, he said. The shaking boy shrunk with each word, like he was being yelled at, except Robert's voice couldn't be more mellow. “Is there anyone I can call to come get you? I can take you to a hospital if—”
Sucking in a breath, Waterboy made a horrible choking sound.
“N-N– No…! Please! I'll– I'll go, I'll go! H-H-Home. Just d-don't– don't b-bother my… my g-g-grandma”, he sputtered, grabbing the sides of the bucket he had been sitting in. Robert had a bad feeling, but couldn't stop him in time. “Please, s-sir, it's– it's late.”
Waterboy holstered himself up in one fell swoop and Robert grabbed him by the waist before he could smack his face on the tile floor, grabbing the next best thing since he didn't quite reach his shoulders. The boy landed on his feet, but knocked the bucket to the side, all the water inside of it splashing out. He heard Beef scurry out of the way with a surprised bark, his nails scratching the floor.
“S-S-Sorry…! Sorry! I'll– I'll c-clean it! It's mine– w-water.”, the sickly young man told him, standing awkwardly before the mess, almost swaying in place. His hands were raised and limp in front of his body, locked in place.
“Hey, don't worry about it. I'm not reprimanding you”, Robert told him, looking over him. Now his shoes were finally wet.
“I-I know, I'm– I'm s-sorry. My p-powers get– out of hand when I'm– When I don't– don't feel…”, he paused before he could admit it, and Robert felt him tense up again. “I'm– I'm so sorry, s-sir. P-Please…!”
“Okay, it's okay. I won't call her”, Robert repeated, waving his hands in front of him. It was like trying to calm down a rampaging horse. “There's no one else?”
Even though he was finally at his eye level, the feverish boy didn't look at him, though he tried, his gaze lost somewhere around the buttons of his shirt. Robert could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing becoming ragged, noisy. He tried to ignore how much it sounded like he was drowning, the same wet gasping breathes he would hear from someone he had just pulled out of the water.
“You're okay, Waterboy. Try to stay calm. I'm not calling anyone”, he said, his voice measured, his hand wandering to his shoulder again. “Breathe, okay?”
Heeding his warning, rather, taking it as an order, he breathed in deep, pulling in a long shaky breath.
“Just tell me what's wrong.”
“I-I d-d-don't… know…”, he murmured, eyes filled to the brim with tears. “I don't know h-how to– what's h-happening… how to e-explain it… how to, gulp, s-say it. I-I-I…”
The boy trailed off, giving a frustrated huff when his mouth just didn't work as intended.
“Hey, you're okay”, the dispatcher reminded him. “Take your time.”
“P-P-Please… don't be– don't be– m-mad…”, he begged quietly, biting his bottom lip.
“Of course I won't”, Robert responded, taken aback by the thought. There wasn't a thing Waterboy could do that would make him mad. “None of this is your fault, bud.”
Waterboy breathed out.
“I-I feel like— I feel– I'm– I'm– hulp, a-about to— g-going– I'm going to– guh, throw up…!”
“Oh, okay– hold on. Do you wanna another bucket, or something?”, Robert asked, and immediately felt stupid for it.
“Um, I-I– I–, m-maybe, h—Urgh!”, his voice cutting off by a dry heave over his own feet, his head dipping below his shoulders. Then sheepishly, eyes brimming with tears, added: “Y-Y-Yeah, I n-nee... need it. Urk— P-Pleaseeee...”
“Alright, sit– sit back down”, Robert ordered, flipping the bucket upside down and guiding him to it. Waterboy obeyed, slumping down with a shaky heave and putting his head between his knees.
“O-Okay… okay… this is happening… okay”, he kept murmuring to himself, wet hiccups under his breath.
Robert scanned the closet for anything he could shove under the Waterboy's mouth before he power washed the closet's floor. Grabbing the first thing he reached, a bright yellow mop bucket, he ran back.
“Uh, use this. There you go”, he said, sliding it between the gap in his legs.
The janitor grabbed onto it for dear life, stuttering out garbled apologies before he shoved his head in. There was a harsh chemical smell to it, but it didn't seem to phase him.
Robert knelt on the floor beside him, putting his palm to his back, and feeling the young man shrink at his touch, as if he didn't know what to do with it. He could feel his heart hammering through his ribcage, going faster as he scooched closer.
“Look, if it's just water, you might be better off just letting it out on the floor”, he told him with a chuckle, trying to ease the mood. “The worst you could make it is wet.”
Waterboy peeked over the rim of the bucket, shooting him a pleading look behind his skewed goggles, his eyes brimming with tears. His mouth parted, his lips glistening with saliva, a near river of it dripping down his chin as he struggled with words.
“S-S– S…! I-It— N… N–No…t—”, he only managed to make what quickly turned into garbled noises, his voice growing deeper with nausea until: “BuuR— BLuUueEeRrghH!”
Waterboy retched, a violent and loud sound that had Robert wincing slightly, feeling for his poor throat. It was productive, cloudy water gushing out of his mouth in a torrent. He could only liken it to an open faucet at full blast as it hit the bottom of the bucket, grateful he had found a big enough container. Given how his powers tended to work, it could overflow in a second.
“Kh, kh…!”
Reeling from the first wave, Waterboy sat back, coughing a few times, then sniffling. His eyes were red when Robert caught a glance of them, a few tears he had been holding onto finally breaking free and pooling at the base of his goggles.
“Feeling better, bud?”, Robert asked, way too early.
The young man gave a weak nod before his jaw went slack, his eyes rolled and his lips puckered. He was back retching into the yellow bucket before he could answer.
“EuRrGHH!”
Robert could only pat his back through it, murmuring “there, there” in the quick moment of reprieve he had in between bouts. Watching him be sick was like waiting on a geyser, anticipation coiling in his stomach then releasing in a lengthy jet of cloudy water that lasted long seconds.
His bony shoulders rolled as he heaved, his back arching and stomach squeezing as it forced out another huge wave of whatever he had eaten earlier that day. The dispatcher tried not to look at the contents of the bucket, affording his coworker a smidge of privacy.
The smell was acrid and sharp, filling the entire closet with the pungent stench, it was strong even in the watered down slurry that was pouring out of his mouth. He could smell something like rotten eggs in it. He hadn't braced himself, it didn't even cross his mind this could be vomit vomit as he was so used to seeing the janitor spew clear water. He had seen him knock over some guy with his hydro breath, the better alternative to water puke.
“You're good, kid. Just get it all out”, the older man told him as he rubbed his back diligently, breathing through his mouth. “Let it out.”
“—hurm… BleEeUuUUuRrRrghHH!”, Waterboy moaned quietly, a sound akin to a drowned cat, before another huge wave was forced out of him. It looked it hurt, he shrunk into himself, arms curling around the bucket as he vomited yet again, without a second to breathe. “EeUuUrRgHh—! Kh, kh!”
Robert shushed him gently as he burst into a fit of coughing, his hand rubbing smooth circles onto his back. It only took a pathetic sound to make him forget this whole thing usually was seen as disgusting.
“Gah… hah… S-S…S-So— I”, Waterboy gasped, his mouth wide open, threads of watery bile hanging down his chin. He tried to speak, only producing cut up syllables.
“Make sure you're done, kid. Don't try to speak while you hurl”, Robert told him, his tone coming off harsher than he intended.
Waterboy's head dropped in frustration, hands balling for a second, before they grabbed the rim. His hair was dripping steadily, glued to his face in thin coils, another puddle had already formed beneath his feet. Cleaning up was the least of Robert's worries now, the more pressing matter was where he was going to take him. How he could possibly care for a sick man with water powers on his own.
He breathed in deep, bony fingers clinging to the sides of his puke bucket anxiously. Robert could see he was trembling, could see the muscles of his throat tight against his skin, his failed attempts at holding back his gagging, the way his chest was rapidly moving. He wanted to tell him to relax, but from his own experience, anxiety seemed to have a mind of it's own sometimes, growing out of spite, refusing to settle.
“I'm here”, the older man murmured gently, trying to reassure him through his touches. “I'm right here. You're okay. Just focus on getting it up.”