Olruggio was shivering. His body burning against the blankets Qifrey had brought over in hopes of keeping the brunette warm; sweat paling down his face as every shadow illuminated from the phantasmal, swirling in a dizzying array that made Olruggio want to puke. But there was nothing left to purge; all of his stomach’s contents left hours ago, leaving him cursed with futile dry heaving and acidic stomach bile.
Gentle fingers carded through his hair, pushing away sweaty strands that matted against his brow, and Olruggio bit the inside of his cheek as a pathetic whimper clawed its way up his throat. Beside him, Qifrey hummed, his posture relaxed as he knelt down beside the bed, a fresh wet towel in hand. He set a cup of water on the ground next to him before rubbing his thumb over Olruggio’s cheek lightly.
“Your fever’s getting worse,” the white-haired man whispered, a sad smile toying at his lips as Olruggio curled in on himself. Olruggio swallowed, salvia sitting heavily at the back of his throat as he clenched his eyes shut. This sucked. Everything about this situation sucked, and the fact that the miniscule amount of medicinal herbs he’d managed to keep down were doing very little to ebb his symptoms, coiled guilt in the pit of his stomach.
The bed shifted slightly as Qifrey moved to its edge, his hand once again finding stock in Qlruggio’s sweaty locks. He hummed again, cool fingers chasing away the fire etched on exhausted skin, and the brunette bit back a gag as he pressed his forehead against the other’s thigh. His head was killing him, a sharp stab behind closed eyes as Olruggio tried staying as still as he could, any movement manifesting a new wave of nausea. His surroundings spinning as shivers wracked through him, heat pressed against thin flesh as sweat ate through his clothes.
The girls had panicked, meeting Qifrey at the door the second he stepped over the threshold, fresh vegetables in hand. Tetia was in tears, pulling Qifrey’s hand as Coco spoke frantically, shoving him towards the bathroom under the stairs. The only explanation Qifrey got was that Olruggio had come through the window portal while he was away and that something was very wrong.
“Master Olruggio is sick,” Richeh whispered, her soft voice barely audible over Tetia and Coco. Beside her stood Agott, her ear pressed against the wooden door as she glanced towards Qifrey, “He’s been very quiet over the last hour…”
“What if he’s dead!” Tetia shrieked as Coco gasped loudly, pressing her hands to her mouth before glancing towards Qifrey, tears swimming in her eyes.
“Now, now, girls, I’m sure Olruggio is fine,” the white-haired man said gently, scratching the back of his neck as he swallowed down any worry that might be visible. Olruggio getting sick wasn’t unusual as the brunette tended to overwork himself to utter exhaustion… but hiding away in the bathroom for hours was far more concerning.
“Why don’t I check, hm?” Qifrey hummed, smiling softly as he pulled Agott away from the door slowly. He held his breath for a second before knocking lightly, “Olruggio? Are you alright?”
Silence met him, worry pitting in his stomach, and the white-haired man swallowed as he knocked again. Qifrey fidgeted, leaning his head against the door gently, "The girls said you weren't feeling well…"
Again, silence met him as Qifrey held his breath. Behind him, Coco burst into tears, clinging to Qifrey's skirts.
"He's dead! Master Qifrey! Master Olruggio is dead!"
Qifrey forced a gentle laugh, turning to meet the tears rushing down her face, "I'm sure he's fine, Coco. No need to worry."
The hypocrisy sat bitter on his tongue, and Qifrey turned back towards the door as Coco again pulled at his skirts.
"Olruggio?" Qifrey knocked again, "Could I come in?"
Whumpee has a terrible fever, and an even worse headache. When they're awake they can't look at or think of anything, else it feels like their skull is crushing their brain. And when they sleep, the headache is gone, only to be replaced by the nightmares
Sick/tired Whumpee that will sleep literally anywhere if left unsupervised. The bed, the car, a dumpster, a ditch, the top of the fridge.
Caretaker can count multiple times when they found Whumpee asleep on the floor, NOT EVEN COLLAPSING. They would just stare down the floor when walking from the bathroom, think to themself “ah yes an adequate resting place”, get comfy lying down and fall asleep.
My favorite whump trope is utter confusion. It’s just so innocent and also a big “oh shit, this is bad” indication. Nothing shows helplessness more than confusion or even amnesia as the result of illness, injury, or deprivation.
When a whumpee wakes up ill or rouses from passing out and they have no clue what’s going on, what happened, where they are, or even who they are. They might not recognize familiar people. Maybe they feel affection, safety, relief, or fear towards the person/people above them, but can’t recall names.
Alternatively, a whumpee gets more and more confused as their condition progresses. This can be from blood loss, intense pain, shock, concussion, hypothermia, heat stroke, dehydration, starvation, and exhaustion as well as fever.
Always remember to give your whumpee slurred, spacey dialogue. Here are some examples:
“….ngh….w-wh’re m’I…..?”(a classic. It’s especially good when the whumpee is in their own bed)
“…wha’s…goin on….?” (when they don’t want to open their eyes and/or people are freaking out over them)
“…wha hppnd...? (When the floor/bed/cold bath/hospital/person’s arms they’re on/in is very different from the last thing they remember)
“…m’scared…” (because that’s their reaction to knowing nothing)
Of course, Caretaker will have to collect themself enough to explain to Whumpee in simple sentences what happened in a way that lessens the severity of what’s really going on. For example:
“It’s okay, it’s me. You had an accident, but we’re patching you up.” (Whumpee’s body is completely broken)
“You’re in bed. You’re not feeling well” (Whumpee passed the fuck out)
“Hey, shhh shhh… We’re just getting your fever down” (Whumpee wakes up thrashing in a cold bath)
This is a direct continuation of "You're only making it worse" and won't make much sense without that.
When Hitoshi wakes up, he feels floaty and sore. His thoughts are sluggish and slow and for a long moment he doesn't know what's going on.
The last time he felt like this was with his old family, after one of their more thorough beatings, but Hitoshi is pretty sure that he's out, that he's no longer with them, so why is he feeling like that?
He somehow manages to turn his head to the side, blearily checking if he's still in the by now so familiar room but a blinding pain in his temple makes everything hazy for a moment.
And then everything comes rushing back.
The excruciating pain. His cries and pleas that all fell on deaf ears. The cold, robotic voice that was his only conversational partner for those days.
Hitoshi bites back a whimper, the headache still persistent even if it dulled down somewhat, but he knows better than to make a sound.
He knows better than to make a sound, to talk, to be himself, and he should have known better, too, should have known that nowhere is safe for him, no matter what pretty, pretty words Aizawa and Yamada told him because in the end—they are just like everyone else.
And the only thing Hitoshi is deserving of is pain.
Which he knows; he knows that, they just—made it easy to forget. They pretended as if he was worth more, as if he was deserving of more, of gentler things and Hitoshi should have never believed them in the first place.
It was beyond stupid of him to trust the lies, no matter how much he wanted it and he guesses the pain he suffered through for the however many past days is what he gets for being stupid and gullible and himself.
Hitoshi fights the urge to curl up small and instead gets back into the position he woke up in because he's not ready to let them know he's awake yet. He doesn't know what he did to deserve a punishment so severe, doesn't know how he fucked up and made them angry and worst of all, he doesn't know what they did to give him such a debilitating headache and he'd rather not provoke them again.
Living through that once was more than enough, he's not looking for a repeat of it but for that he has to figure out where he messed up first.
He has just closed his eyes again, when he hears the door to his room open almost silently, and Hitoshi forces himself to breathe evenly.
"He's still asleep," he hears Aizawa mutter and Yamada makes a sound that could almost be classified as sad.
"You think we should wake him?" he wants to know and Hitoshi has to work hard not to freeze or tense up.
He's not ready for a new round of punishment and he doesn't even think his body could take it, so he forces himself to be relaxed and still. It's something he's good at, something he had to get good at if he wanted to avoid beatings and he hates that it comes in handy even here.
"Let him rest some more," Aizawa gives back before the door closes again, though Hitoshi doesn't hear it click shut.
He stays where he is for at least five minutes before he dares to slightly turn his head and just like he feared, the door to his room is still ajar, as if they want to be alerted to his state at all times.
Hitoshi's eyes start to burn and he desperately squeezes them shut, unwilling to bury his face in his hands because who knows what kind of motion will get them back into his room but like this there's no stopping the hot tears sliding down his face.
He thought he was safe here. He thought he could have a somewhat happy life here. He thought he could have parents who cared for him.
Turns out, he was just being stupid.
Hitoshi stays in bed and unmoving for the rest of the day. He tries his best to melt into the mattress, to disappear completely, but of course it doesn't work.
He hears Aizawa and Yamada quietly talking in the living-room and he wonders if this will be his new normal.
Quiet, whispered conversations away from him, where he can't hear, where there's no danger of him ever taking control of them and otherwise cold, detached robotic voices, reading out what no one dares to say to him directly anymore.
The thought brings new tears to his face and again, he wonders what he did so horribly wrong that they resorted to hurting him like this.
If they will do it again or if there's a way for him to prevent it.
Hitoshi knows that he'll never get to know that, that he doesn't deserve an answer to it and that no matter what, they could lie to him anyway but he can't help but to wonder.
He gets so lost in his thoughts about that, that he barely hears them approaching again and by the time the door gets pushed open it's too late.
Hitoshi got caught.
"Oh, baby, you're awake," Yamada almost cries out and rushes to his bedside, though he stops when Hitoshi can't quite hide his flinch.
He hasn't flinched in their presence in a while, and it's almost laughable how easily his body remembers to be wary of them, of movement, of people moving fast and coming too close and Hitoshi fists his hands in the blanket as he sits up.
His head is still aching faintly, hasn't let up at all since he woke up, really, and he figures crying didn't make it better and he almost feels sick with the fear of that blinding pain coming back.
'Sorry' he shakily signs out, his movements still unpractised and the shaking of his hands doesn't help.
"Sorry for what?" Aizawa wants to know as he slowly comes closer as well and Hitoshi ducks his head.
His vocabulary isn't very big and he's not certain it'll be enough to convey everything so he has to stick with the basics.
'I not speak' he manages to say and then repeats 'Sorry' over and over again, until gentle hands cover his own and stop his frantic signing.
"Sorry for what, kid?" Aizawa asks again and Hitoshi's eyes burn once more because he can't say, he can't speak or they'll inflict that horrible headache on him again, he just knows it.
"Why won't you speak to us anymore?" Yamada asks, his voice shaky and his eyes watery and Hitoshi wonders why he's trying so hard to play a role, still.
They showed Hitoshi what they really are. There's no reason for them to play him like this anymore, to keep up this pretence of caring and worrying and being invested in his well-being.
It's clear that they are not.
But he can't say that, can't tell them that he figured them out because speaking might get him hurt again and he would rather die mute than ever have that pain inflicted on him again, so he shakes his head and continues to sign that he's sorry and he just has to hope that it's enough.
It would help if he knew why they decided to hurt him in the first place, so that he can try his hardest to avoid doing that ever again, but maybe he can appease them like this.
Maybe it will be enough.
"Kid," Aizawa says, almost gently and Hitoshi's eyes burn at the perceived kindness in his tone. "You're not in trouble and we're not going to punish you for anything," he says and it's such a lie, it's such an obvious, blatant lie—because they have hurt him already—that Hitoshi bursts into tears.
"Oh, baby no, no no, come here, sweetheart," Yamada mutters and scoops Hitoshi up to hold him close and Hitoshi thinks he should tense up because surely more hurt is in his future, but Yamada's arms are as gentle and careful as they have always been and it only makes Hitoshi cry harder.
"What's going on, Hitoshi?" Aizawa mutters as he cards a hand through Hitoshi's hair and it soothes the lingering headache even though it's confusing and scary and nothing makes sense with them anymore and it's enough to make him blurt out his thoughts.
"Please don't hurt me again, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I promise, I won't do it again, just please don't make me hurt like that again, I'm sorry."
He feels more than hears Yamada suck in a breath and Aizawa's hand falters on his hair before he picks up the motion again though it feels more careful than before.
"Please, I'll do anything you want, I'll behave, I won't—I won't say a word, just please don't ever make me hurt like that again," Hitoshi sobs out but he freezes in terror when Yamada's arms tighten around him.
"You think we did that?" There's nothing but horror in Yamada's voice and Hitoshi thinks it's so unfair, it's so unfair of him to sound like that when they were the ones who inflicted this on Hitoshi and it only makes him sob harder once his breath stutters back up in his chest.
"Shhhh, sweetheart, it's alright, let it all out," Yamada mumbles, swaying Hitoshi in his arms as Aizawa continues to pet his head and they don't say anything more until Hitoshi's sobs have quieted down into soft sniffles.
"Can you listen to us, kid?" Aizawa asks and he leans down to catch Hitoshi's eyes.
It's not as if there's anything else to do for him, and he wonders when they will get out their phones with the robotic voices again, and for a moment he thinks he should remind them that he's dangerous to speak to but Aizawa continues to stare at him, clearly expecting an answer and so eventually, Hitoshi nods.
"You were sick," Aizawa says. "You caught a virus. It's called Quirk Pain, have you heard of that before?"
Hitoshi thinks he might have, that there was some talk about it in school, but his head is still hurting and he's tired and continues to be confused, so he can't quite remember anything about it.
He shakes his head and when he immediately tenses in fear afterwards, Aizawa moves a bit away from him.
"We're not going to hurt you, Hitoshi, we're never going to hurt you," Yamada tells him, his arms still around Hitoshi and they are gentle and soft again and Hitoshi thinks he wants to believe him, but he can't because the pain is still so fresh in his mind.
"Quirk Pain is a very smart virus," Aizawa explains as if Hitoshi's reaction didn't even matter and Hitoshi doesn't know how to feel about that either.
Aizawa waits after that and he waits for long enough that Hitoshi understands that he wants him to ask a question which is just—don't they want him to be quiet?
"Come on, kiddo, you know how to ask questions," Yamada gently coaxes him and Hitoshi worries his lower lip before he does what they both so obviously want from him.
"Smart how?" he whispers, his voice barely audible but Aizawa gives him a smile for it anyway and Yamada presses a kiss to his hair and it all seems so normal except for how Hitoshi's head is still slightly pounding.
How can they act like this when the pain is still so close?
"The virus wants to eat your quirk factor—the genes that activate your quirk," Aizawa goes on and despite everything, Hitoshi finds himself listening to him, not only because he answered a question without hesitation but also because—Hitoshi likes learning.
Deep down he just wants to know all the things, and just because he wasn't ever allowed to ask questions doesn't mean that changed in any way, so he's soaking up Aizawa's words like a sponge.
"But the virus can't get to it because—" Aizawa hums for a moment, clearly thinking on how to explain it best and then he gives Hitoshi a small smile. "The quirk genes are like watermelons. They have a very thick rind and the virus can't get through that. So it has to crack the watermelon open somehow."
He pauses again and this time, Hitoshi is faster with his question because he wants to know and he wants to learn and Aizawa is looking at him with such patience that maybe nothing bad will happen even if he does speak up.
"How does it do that?"
"The virus gathers in the place where the quirk is located and makes you think you're in pain."
"So for you, it was your head," Yamada says and drops a kiss to Hitoshi's hair. "For Aizawa, it would have been his eyes. And for me—"
"Your throat," Hitoshi finishes and Yamada nuzzles his cheek for it.
"Exactly, you smart bean."
"Now, the quirk makes you think you're in pain, all so that you use your quirk. To crack open the watermelon."
"And then?"
"The virus eats all of the watermelon. All of it, until nothing is left."
Hitoshi frowns.
"It—eats the quirk?"
"It destroys the quirk," Aizawa corrects him, but his face stays just as kind as before. "And most of the time also the place the quirk was located in. I could have gone blind."
"I could have lost my voice," Yamada chimes in. "And you—"
"My—mind? I could have lost my mind?"
"Yes," Aizawa says with a nod. "And since the mind is so essential and so very fragile, it could have killed you."
"So we couldn't answer you, baby, we couldn't say anything to you at all," Yamada shakily says and hugs Hitoshi tighter for a moment. "Do you understand?"
"You used the phones to make sure I couldn't activate my quirk," Hitoshi slowly says, frowning while he carefully sounds out the words and the faint pounding between his temples is still there. "My head still hurts."
"And it'll be a while yet. It's an after effect. You didn't eat or drink enough and all the crying didn't help either. Adding that in with the lingering effects of the virus means you'll have a headache for a while. Sorry, sweetheart."
"So you—didn't make me hurt like that?"
"No, Hitoshi, we didn't. We would have made it stop if we had that power."
"You tried to help me?" Hitoshi wants to know next because he faintly remembers them hugging him and petting his hair just like Yamada is doing now, and he remembers the robotic voice telling him to take his pain medication, to just hold on, reassuring him that they are there for him.
Maybe—maybe they are telling the truth.
Maybe they didn't hurt him and maybe they never wanted this to happen either.
But what are they going to do if it happens again?
"Can I get it again?" Hitoshi whispers out, unsure if he could stand that much pain again but Aizawa gives him a smile.
"No, kid, you're done now. There's no chance for you to get it again. You won't ever have to live through something like that again, I promise you."
Hitoshi sits with that for a moment and allows them to hold him, to look at him and he lets out a sigh when Aizawa reaches out and cards his fingers through Hitoshi's hair.
"How are you feeling now? Any better? Or is there something else you want explained?"
Hitoshi worries his lower lip for a moment, unsure if he can simply ask what's on his mind but Aizawa gives him an encouraging smile and so Hitoshi speaks up.
"You didn't hurt me?"
"No, kiddo, we didn't," Yamada immediately says and Aizawa nods.
"And we're never going to, either," he promises, just like he has done countless times before and Hitoshi slumps against Yamada's chest.
"I was so scared," he admits, his voice wobbly and his eyes getting teary again and Yamada peppers his face with kisses.
"We know, sweetheart, we know," he mutters. "But it's all good. You're safe here with us."
"And—you're not mad?" Hitoshi asks because he needs to know.
He needs to make sure that they aren't fed up with him, that they won't just discard him because he was ungrateful and wrongly accused them of something.
"We're definitely not mad," Aizawa reassures him. "We're just very, very happy that you're feeling better now."
Hitoshi ducks his head at that because Aizawa sounds serious and why would that be enough to make them happy, but they seem so earnest and as if they mean it and Hitoshi is too tired to wonder about this further.
"You ready to catch up on some more sleep?" Yamada asks and moves to lay Hitoshi back down in his bed, but Hitoshi panics and clutches at his shirt.
He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to be on his own anymore but he's not entirely sure how he's supposed to ask for them to stay, not after what a nuisance he was but Aizawa seamlessly takes him from Yamada's arms.
"You can watch a movie with us on the couch," he decides and simply carries Hitoshi over to the living-room as if it's easy, as if spending time with him could be something he wants to do and before Hitoshi really knows what's going on, he's all bundled up between Aizawa and Yamada and he's drifting back to sleep before he knows it.
The last thing he hears is a muttered conversation around him—not because he's excluded and they don’t want him involved but for once because he's wanted, and they want to make him feel included, make him feel as if he belongs, no matter if he participates or not and Hitoshi drifts off, thinking that maybe he could get used to that.
All in this BHNA Headcannon ATM for Dadzawa with Hitoshi (I might dabble in this weekend) - lmk if anyone is interested.
Basically Dadzawa/ Mic have Eri, but Hitoshi is still either with his abusive dad or abusive foster. He consistently shows up at Aizawa/ Mic's house over a couple months to stay the night or have dinner, etc. (Basically avoiding his living situation - both Aizawa and Mic are aware of the kid's situation and are in the process of trying to foster/ adopt him).
This being said, Hitoshi has shown up on their doorstep on several less than ideal occasions, either drunk or high or beat-up; he's having a hard time dealing with his situation and school and love, etc. Normal teenage angst stuff.
Anyway, the kid shows up at their doorstep one night. Both Aizawa and Mic could tell the kid felt like shit the whole day and told him repeatedly to go to the nurse (if Hitoshi did he would be caught in a potentially worse situation with his current guardian). He has a bad cough, and consistently says, he's fine. Additionally, it's been cold and rainy the whole week. Mic and Aizawa took Eri to her dance recital, shopping, etc before arriving home to find Hitoshi sitting on their steps, beat-up; his cough sounds worse than earlier and his clothes are drenched. Basically, Hitoshi gets worse while staying with Dadzawa, he deals with trauma and trauma response, and Dadzawa have a serious conversation on adopting him. Hitoshi has a hard time accepting Dadzawa's kindness, on why they would want someone like him, and once his fever spikes, has an even harder time telling where he is. Que Eri also being the cute adorable little sister.
Kind of want to write a drabble (maybe later today):
Olruggio, exhausted and feverish, keeps falling asleep while eating dinner. He keeps jerking awake when the girls squeal or talk loudly or when Qifrey nudges him gently. Eventually, Qifrey lets him fully fall asleep, his cheek pressed against the table next to his bowl, spoon still in his other hand.
Qifrey and the girls clean up, asking Qifrey if Olruggio was okay. They go off to do their own thing and Qifrey sits next to Olruggio for a while, watching him sleep. Basically a short and sweet headcannon of a sick Olruggio and gentle Qifrey.
Agott had made it. A shiny red little gemstone with bright blue incantations that allowed you to keep your clothes warm in the winter. She’d been excited to share it with Olruggio, although trying hard to convince him that the little spell wasn’t ready and needed refinement. Olruggio, of course, disagreed, briefly telling her he would bring it with him to his newer clients and get their opinions. After all, no spell was perfect and the only way to improve was to test it out.
Perhaps thats why he was in his current situation. Staring down at the otherwise appetizing stew, head pulsating with every heartbeat, his stomach angrily threatening to bring up what little he’d choked down, his body burning against the lite fabric of his clothes as cold sweat spread over him in unwanted waves. And his shoulder. His damn shoulder- the cut searing against the shitty patch job he’d done yesterday evening once he’d arrived back to the atelier.
He wasn’t hungry. Not even in the slightest. And the dizziness that clouded his mind every few minutes was making everything hard to concentrate on; the room, the table, the girls, the food: all of it a wavering spinning mess that made Olruggio want to throw up. But he’d missed two meals yesterday and breakfast this morning, so it was only right he tried to drag himself downstairs for lunch. Otherwise, Qifrey would come looking for him; he’d see the bloody shirt and the broken red gemstone. He’d see Olruggio’s state and force him to the hospital; it wouldn’t matter much as the symptoms would still be the same… at least here he had his own bed.
“Is the food not to your liking, Olruggio? You’ve barely touched it,” Qifrey’s voice filtered behind him, followed by a soft, “Here, Coco.”
Olruggio nodded slowly, the bowl of beef stew swimming in front of him as his hand wavered against the rim. Normally, Qifrey’s cooking was a godsend, much better than their younger years. But right now, right now, Olruggio couldnt think of anything more revolting than forcing food in his mouth; especially when the small piece of bread he’d barely swallowed sat heavy in his stomach.
Behind him, Tetia and Coco squealed, followed by a breathless, “so yummy!”
“It is rather good, Master Qifrey,” Richeh whispered, bringing the bowl to her lips before slurping loudly. Agott scoffed before mumbling something Olruggio couldn’t catch as tuned out the rest of the room.
He felt shaky, sweat building against his temple and causing the back of his shirt to stick against his skin. He swallowed slowly, letting his eyes drift shut for a few minutes, leaning his head against his hand as he breathed lowly through his nose.
A bowl plunked against the table across from him and Olruggio flinched, blinking several times before Qifrey came into view. The white-haired man set his bowl on the table as he smiled gently towards him, “My apologies, Olruggio, i didnt mean to startle you.”
“S’fine…” Olruggio trailed off, staring back down at the stew. He picked up the spoon and slowly stirred the contents, his stomach hitching with every piece of vegetable or meat he found. This was idiotic. Surely, he could stomach a small bowl of stew; especially given he’d missed several meals. Eat the stew, retreat back to his quarters where he could sleep off the rest of the symptoms and once that was done, thoroughly take care of the wound on his shoulder. That, and then help Agott recreate a newer improved spell.
“Olruggio, are you sure everything’s alright? Are you not feeling well?”
A hand in his peripheral, and Olruggio flinched backward, smacking Qifrey’s hand away as the world flipped. He reached for the table as the kitchen swayed around him in a nauseating mess of color and something slammed against his back. He coughed loudly as all the air left him, ringing in he ears as his name was shouted and high-pitched screams echoed around him.
Olruggio winced, bringing a hand to his head as he blinked slowly, letting the spinning kitchen still enough to see Qifrey’s worried face hanging above him. It took way longer than it should have to realize he’d fallen backwards off the stool, landing harshly against the wooden floor. How stupid could he have been, all because Qifrey’s action freaked him out. Qifrey’s hand. Qifrey touching him. How pathetic.
“Olruggio! Are you alright!?” Qifrey managed, pulling the brunette from the floor gently before Olruggio pushed away, sitting up straighter”Aye, m’fine. No need ta fuss. Just got a bit of a headache, is all.”
“Master Olruggio! You’re bleeding!” Coco shouted, her tiny fingers coated pointing to Olruggio’s back. Tetia squealed before turning on her feet, “i’ll go get some towels!”
Olruggio turned slightly, his hand flying to his shoulder before pulling away, his fingers coated in bright red. He cursed under his breath and Qifrey gasped, reaching for Olruggio’s shoulder. His fingers gripped fabric before Olruggio stopped him, grasping tightly on the other’s wrist, “I said, i was fine. No need ta fuss, Qifrey.”
…
That’s all i have at the moment but basically im gunna write it where Olruggio gets worse and obviously accepts help from Qifrey. Olruggio got hurt while dealing with a client over something Agott made and ends up getting thrown back into something poisonous. The poison is fairly harmless but can make you extremely sick for a day or two until it leaves your system.
I also have several other headcannon ideas for Sick Olruggio, Olruggio with a migraine, Olruggio with an insanely high fever- basically freaking out that the girls or Qifrey are in danger or something, Olruggio getting really hurt from a client deal gone wrong, Olruggio getting heat stroke while out with the girls; and of course, the girls getting sick, the girls getting nightmares and seeking out Qifrey or Olruggio. On a side note: i love the idea that everyone wants to be held by Qifrey when sick because he seems so warm and safe (despite all the manga stuff).
Characters that are gravely and shamefully convinced that they are dangerous, able to kill, have no control of their power, that would rather die than injure someone close to them. Characters that yell and scream and scramble to back away, throwing their hands up and crying 'Please, stay back, I don't want to hurt you.' Characters that think they are nothing but a loose cannon, a loaded gun, a ticking time bomb.
I have no idea why BNHA is stuck in my head lately, but...
My brain keeps thinking about a Dadzawa/ Mic sickfic with Hitoshi (14) getting insanely sick one night, vomiting, high fever, all that jazz. He throws up in his room and in the middle of the hallway, and Eri quickly says she'll go get daddy. Hitoshi, so out of it with fever, begins to panic because he's having a hard time remembering which "foster" home he's at, and he doesn't/ he can't clean everything up right now. He feels fucking horrible, and the idea that he'll have to clean up and then either be locked in the bathroom by himself or outside for the rest of the night is making him hyperventilate/ start crying. He keeps apologizing, begging not to be punished for being sick which freaks out Dadzawa/ Mic.... Eri starts crying because her brother is crying, and Mic throws the kid in the shower because his fever is so high and it was either that or take him to the hospital. I just have this idea of Mic holding the kid under the water while the teenager cries (until he cries himself out and goes limp against the older man, his body weak and exhausted from fever); Mic whispering things like, it's alright, little listener, you're alright. you're safe... Aizawa holding Eri until she calms down and falls asleep, then helping Mic take care of Hitoshi. Yeah, idk why BNHA is on my mind lately.
Olruggio wakes up with a migraine from hell. He tries to power through it as he was supposed to help teach lessons today, and the girls were looking forward to it. Good thing he has four daughters and a worried “husband” to make it so much worse. It gets worse before it gets better.
Summary: Shinsou's first supervised patrol goes very wrong, bringing back unpleasant memories for Shouta.
Prompts: Presumed dead/ Search party/ "There's a hand, I can see them!" For the @whumperless-whump-event
Warnings: PTSD, panic attack
---
Shouta’s hands bled, his muscles screamed.
Still, he kept digging.
He moved concrete and metal and glass aside, brushed away debris. He drew in air in frantic gulps.
No, no, no.
Not again.
It was Shinsou’s first supervised patrol, it was supposed to be quiet, simple. Shouta was going to be right at his side every step of the way. He was supposed to be safe with him.
But when did things ever go how they were supposed to?
A robbery in progress, an out of control quirk. Shouta’s attention pulled away for a brief second, just a second. But it was enough.
The building came down. Shinsou, buried. Just like. Just like-
It’s raining.
“Eraser!”
Nemuri’s voice and hurried footsteps approached him, ascending the pile of rubble he was currently digging through. He didn’t stop, not for a moment.
“Oh, Shouta…”
What a sight he must have been, to make Nemuri sound so mournful upon seeing him.
“The building collapsed,” he grunted, frantically moving aside more of the rubble, “Hitoshi, he- damn it, he’s- he was right there-”
Nemuri’s hand settled over one of his and finally, Shouta went still. Her fingers gave his a light, grounding squeeze and Shouta closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
It was never raining.
He opened his eyes and gave Nemuri a nod, grateful for her presence and more than a little ashamed that he’d immediately lost his head at such an important moment.
“More backup will be here soon,” she told him, slipping into a more professional tone, and it grounded him, allowing him to focus. “Update me on the situation.”
Another deep breath. Stay calm. Keep a level head. He could do this. He’d get his kid out.
He nodded, “right.”
—
“There’s a hand! I can see him!”
The night had given way to dawn, but Shouta’s ragged body had found its second wind at the shouts. He quickly made his way to where the rescue workers and heroes had gathered, practically shoving his way to the front.
“Hitoshi!”
It was his kid, bloodied hand shakily pushed through a gap in the rubble, silvery eyes blinking sluggishly, reflecting the sparse early morning light out from the small pocket he was trapped in, miraculously not crushed by the layers of building on top of him.
“S-Sensei…” his voice rasped, scared and hurt, but blessedly alive. His fingers flexed, trembling, reaching.
“I’m here, kid,” Shouta croaked, his own battered hand carefully reached out and cradled Hitoshi’s. Those bruised fingers squeezed down for dear life, and Shouta squeezed back.
“I’m here, kid,” he said again, putting much more strength into his voice, looking into those eyes he thought he might never see again. “I’m gonna get you out of there, hang tight.”
The sun is out.
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