stomach hurts is the first thing misa thinks when he wakes up, it’s not serious, just sort of there. they have a game though, and misa’s not really thinking about his stomachache during warm ups, or the first period where mack almost wipes out in front of the net and zack drops his gloves, or during any of the periods actually. misa categorizes the discomfort after the game like he does the light throb of his ankle, and sore shoulders, just facets of playing hockey. he’s not even really thinking about it until sam parks in front of the toffoli house and misa has to brace to get out of the car.
sam is shooting him concerned looks, like he’s seconds away from saying should have talked to the trainers, mis, but he doesn’t and they’re letting it go. misa curls up in his bed as sam putters around his room, threatening to play his own round of rocket league on misa’s account before plopping down on the bed next to him and ordering doordash. it’s probably that point that sam gets clued into something being wrong, because misa doesn’t want chipper, doesn’t want sandwiches, doesn’t greek, doesn’t want anything because he’s too nauseous. sam has to hold himself back from being too patronizing, or maybe being too earnestly concerned about the way misa is pitifully curled into himself on the bed, hand protectively over his stomach.
it’s not like misa doesn’t have an abundance of stomachaches, he probably has the weakest gut sam has ever seen. misa will think about something too hard and then exclaim his stomach hurts and he needs to lay down. sam has literally pulled off the highway for the guy so he could sit with his head between his legs for awhile. sam even sits next to the guy on the bus, and makes sure he doesn’t try something as stupid as reading while they’re moving. the nausea and the stomachaches are common enough, misa being curled up in the fetal position is not. he’s sick, and sam doesn’t know exactly what to do to make it better.
he sets up a little trash can with a plastic bag already inside it next to the bed, just in case, and makes misa down two ibuprofen when he feels his forehead. then he lays very carefully next to misa, does his best not to shake the bed, and he doesn’t touch his stomach because misa whines when he tries that, so sam slides in behind him instead. it should be weird. even if they cuddle sometimes, they don’t spoon, they’re not like that. but misa looks so pathetic lying there and sam can’t just leave him be, so sticks his own knees into the backs of misa’s and lets himself brush through misa’s hair with his free hand. he doesn’t do anything stupid like lean over and kiss the back of misa’s neck, even if it’s tempting. sam likes the plausible deniability that he’s only doing this because misa’s sick, and incapable of taking care of himself, and sam has a very big heart. it’s not gay if your bro is bedridden.
somewhere between dinner time and late late evening they fall asleep, or sam does because he wakes up to what sounds like misa groaning or crying. mis? he doesn’t get any response but misa’s shoulders shake. when sam peers over him, misa has his face screwed tightly together, hand still over his belly, and yeah, he’s making little pitiful pained whines under his breath. sam wants to say it’s a night terror again but misa’s awake, and still in pain. hey, hey, you’re okay, sam tries. and he tries again when misa shakes his head, i’m here, i got you. it’s all nonsense because sam doesn’t know what else to do but lay there next to him. valiantly, sam does kiss the back of misa’s neck, and up his hairline, and down to his cheeks, and even kisses one tightly shut eye. hurts, sammy, misa whines again.
it’s so wrong. i’m gonna be back, sam whispers into his hair, and slips out to almost no reaction. it’s bad. it’s so bad. sam is getting visions of misa back from juniors laying on the ice writhing in pain. he finds toff on the couch watching an old western with stella in his lap. all it takes is something’s wrong with misa, for toff to come clamoring up the stairs with him back up to misa’s room. sam watches with bated breath as toff leans over misa’s body on the bed, what’s wrong, baby? because toff gets to call misa baby. sam answers for him, nauseous, stomachache, fever, shaking. toff takes it in and gets misa to peel his hand back from his stomach so he can feel it. all it takes is one loud pained gasp from misa for toff to say they’re going to the er.
appendicitis. that’s a thing, sam completely forgot that was a thing. toff says he doesn’t have to come with when he’s bridal carrying misa down the stairs, and then says he doesn’t have to stay when they’re checking misa in, and the same thing when they’re sitting in the waiting room. sam is staying, he really doubts there’s even a version of him out there that doesn’t. he sits there and replays misa from juniors, and misa on his bed an hour ago, and his imagined misa laying there under the knife. it takes an hour and a half, sam keeps track. it takes another three hours of sam staring at misa in his hospital bed, groggy and as good as asleep before he gets released. sam sits with him in the backseat while toff drives.
cat greets them at the door, two in the morning, with stella at her feet. toff gets all worried about sending misa up the stairs which seems maybe overkill but sam is just as content to get misa to lay down in the downstairs guest room. he makes misa turn onto his side so sam can line up behind him again, can put his own hand protectively over misa’s fresh scar, can kiss the side of his neck and tell him, we’re all good. sam pointedly does not think about what this might look like when cat will come check on misa in the morning.
