a place for my emeto obsession

Isaiah laughed softly, his stomach muscles vibrating under Hector's ear. "It's a rehydration solution. You can't take more than a few tiny sips to keep it down and this actually helps. The water does not do enough."

Isaiah's voice was still a picture of calm, but Hector thought he was staring to pick up on the difference between real calmness and fake, carefully controlled big brother voice. He talked with authority, the intent to reassure dripping from each syllable.

Hector also noticed Isaiah talked more formally when he did this. The opposite of relaxing, truly.

Isaiah's hand landed on his shoulder. He rubbed little circles on his arm, waiting for Hector to tense up to start lifting him. He always waited for Hector to make the first move, the decision to get up, even if it was just a little twitch to his hands. As if he was scared not to do something Hector wasn't ready for.

It was kind of nice. It made Hector feel like he was in control of what could be controlled. Otherwise he was content to leave the rest to Isaiah. There was something very relieving about it.

It allowed Hector to whine and complain about everything, even though he could hardly come up with anything better himself.

His insides were boiling. Weren't you supposed to be cold with a fever? His clothes were sticking to his skin with sweat.

The cut on his lower right side was radiating pain. There was no comfortable position to be in, it just hurt. He shifted around sometimes just to try it, but every movement just send more spikes of the searing heat up.

Hector took shallow short breaths, as little as he could just to not move his stomach too much. It even still felt bloated, although he couldn't eat for the last two days.

Hector groaned when Isaiah helped him sit up, leaning back against his brother's chest. Isaiah held the glas with a straw to his lips. Hector drank greedily, his throat dry and hot.

Although the liquid was nicely soothing and cold, the sweetness almost made him gag. He held it in, swallowing heavily before almost choking on the next sip.

He coughed, doubling forward. His eyes went black with the pain that clawed at his stomach with the movement.

Isaiah quickly put the glass away, tucking Hector back against himself as his chest heaved with the painful coughs. He murmured something that Hector couldn't understand, carding his cold fingers through Hector's hair.

Hector whined quietly, glad for the contact. At this point it was a shock to him that he wasn't steaming from the way his insides cooked in his skin.

"You are okay, you are okay. Just breathe."

Hector managed a pained scoff. "It fucking hurts. Keep your stupid advice."

On some level he understood he was being mean and whiny and that he probably shouldn't be relying on Isaiah's endless well of patience. But he also couldn't really formulate why it was bad, his brain breaking his sentences in two before they were finished. He was going to figure it out later.

"Just four more hours to go," Isaiah said, but his hand froze in Hector's hair. He turned back towards the door as if hearing a noise Hector wasn't catching.

It was just great, that without his shadow he was basically deaf. Like a damn human.

"Could you hold on for a minute? I need to check something," Isaiah said, looking down at Hector.

"Yeah, yeah. Get out. I need a break from you anyway," Hector said acidly.

Isaiah sighed quietly. He gently maneuvered himself from under Hector without jostling him, easing him down on the pillows.

Hector slumped back against them, stretching his hands. There was a warm spot left after Isaiah.

He rolled a bit away from it, looking for coldness in the sheets. It was soothing for just a bit, the cool part of the pillow and the untouched cover...

Hector opened his eyes. Even his skin hurt. Looking up the ceiling felt nauseating and he felt like he was choking a bit more with every breath. They came hard and short. Hector was too fearful of the pain that would explode if he let himself take a deeper one.

He hated the way his stomach rose and fell so obviously. The round puffiness around it, the way his loose shirt brushed against the gauze on the wound.

He hated everything.

The wounded wolf reached for his shadow on instinct, trying to coax it up ahead of time. He could feel it stirring under his call, like a quiet warm presence at the end of his mind.

That was progress from the numbness from before. But it wasn't enough. It made Hector's chest hitch with a quiet sob at the helplessness.

He balled his hands into the sheets, digging his fingers into the fabric. Trying to find something grounding.

At least Isaiah's calmness, the warmth of his concern at Hector's back, the soothing trust this was just temporary small discomfort and he would be okay...Even just the pathetic way he would pet Hector's hair or rub those little circles onto his shoulder...something soft and pleasant to focus on in the sea of pain made a huge difference.

The weight of not having it suddenly hit him like a brick in the head.

Did he say something again that pissed Isaiah off? This was still such a new territory. It didn't feel natural to be so...so careful around Isaiah. Hector had never done it and he wasn't sure he knew how.

But Isaiah required more sensitive treatment now...why was it again?

Hector felt a wave of guilt and sadness wash over him, but just as it hit he couldn't remember why he felt that way.

There was just a new load of horrible-ness on top of the pain and heat and general ickiness.

"Is-" Was he really going to beg him to come? For real? Wasn't that even more pathetic?

He grid his teeth together, not sure why he felt like crying. He wanted...he didn't know what. To go home? To go away? How would that help?

Everything was so confusing. Why was he in this state again? And more importantly, why was he alone?

"Zaya?" Maybe he would know. Isaiah always knew everything. Especially about what to do next. "Arnie?" Or maybe Arnie. Arnie knew more about emotions than Hector ever could. His younger brother understood what hurt people and what pleased them with a skill of a chessmaster. Hector should ask him...what did he want to ask? It felt important. How could he forget?

He sobbed quietly, chest constricting with panic. The panic made the nausea worse, slimy heaviness pooling in his stomach.

Hector tried lifting himself up on unsteady arms, his mouth dry, but he could feel the goosebumps of nausea climbing up his arms and neck. His teeth throbbed. Oh god, he didn't want to throw up again, it always hurt...

No such luck though, his chest heaved. His stomach rolled, sqeezing and contracting back into itself as he gagged. He manged to drag himself over the rim of the bed, before his arms buckled underneath his own weight.

He dry heaved painfully over the edge, the pain in his wound burning like he was on fire.

That's when the door burst open. Isaiah gave him a shocked look, before his features smoothed out and he climbed up into the bed behind Hector.

One cold hand went to Hector's shoulder to prop him up, the other to his forehead. Isaiah helped him to lean over the edge. A splash of the sweetened water made its way up.

Hector whimpered from the pain, the gag turning into a ruthless cough right after.

"Shhhhh. I'm here, I'm here. You are okay. All good now. Deep breath."

I can't fucking breathe, he wanted to protest, but all that left his lips was a whine and a strangled burp, punctuated by more coughing. His chest hurt, another little note in the cacophony of pain.

Isaiah turned Hector over gently to prop him up against his chest again. It made breathing a little easier. As if he had heard him after all.

Hector closed his eyes. They were burning with the tiny drops of liquid that managed to force their way out.

Isaiah wrapped an arm around his forehead, petting his cheek and then his hair, pushing the sweaty blond curls behind his ear.

"Shhhh. Sorry, bud. I just called the hospital to check over the symptoms. They say the nausea is normal, but we should check you in if the fever doesn't go down soon."

"I'm not going back there," Hector moaned. "Look what they did."

"They helped you. If they didn't operate, your appendix would have burst and killed you. It's not that much harder to kill a wolf than a human," Isaiah said sternly, not leaving room for an argument. "Now try to relax. Your breaths are too shallow, that's why you keep coughing. You need to breathe properly."

"I want to lie down," Hector whined. Even slumped against Isaiah like a toddler and his head spinning, he wanted to lie lower.

"Can't do. Breathe for a bit. Your lungs need more space to stretch out. Sitting up will make it easier."

Isaiah still petted his hair and Hector didn't have enough strength to his pride to dislike it. He leaned more into the touch.

The panicked emptiness from before dissolved at Isaiah's touch and explanation. His chest undone from the knot, he dared to take a bit longer breaths, head clearing out as oxygen refilled his lungs.

"I got a new towel." Arnie stuck his head into the room, whispering like Hector was sleeping. "You think-"

"Yeah," Isaiah said, voice vibrating under Hector. "The fever isn't any better. Not climbing up though."

Hector forced his eyes open so he could brace himself for the cold touch of the water-soaked cotton.

Isaiah unwrapped his arm from Hector's forehead so Arnie could circle the towel around his head instead.

Hector sighed contendly at the coolness. He was starting to see a way out of this by focusing on everything nice that he could feel. Like little beacons of light in the suffocating fog of pain.

Fog was way better than a fire, after all.

He focused his bleary eyes at his youngest brother. The kid had dark circles under his eyes and there was a telling redness to them. With the wet eyeslashes and the shaky way he moved, Hector knew he must have been crying.

Was that why Hector saw so little of him?

The night felt like a week to him and Arnie was absent for most of its days.

"Hey, pipsqueak," Hector said in a rough voice, opening his palm.

Arnie knelt down on the floor, throwing the previous not cold towel at the splash of sick next to him.

He took Hector's hand in both of his, a tiny quiet sob escaping him at the contact.

"It's alright," Hector said. His voice sounded like he gurgled nails before. "Don't cry."

Arnie's breath hitched, but he tried to smile. He pressed his cheek to his own shoulder for a second to wipe it dry. "'m not."

"Did someth'ng happen?" Hector asked, suddenly confused at the possible reason for Arnie's distressed. He thought he understood just a second ago.

Arnie blinked at him, his eyes going to Isaiah in concern. He squeezed Hector's hand. "It's nothing."

"Uhmmm....Liar."

Arnie's giggle was watery. He climbed into the bed beside Hector, curling up against his middle brother's side, the only one of the three that was lying instead of sitting.

Hector made great effort to lift his hand and put it onto the top of Arnie's soft blond head.

Isaiah made a pleased, almost approving noise at the back of his throat, relaxing under Hector's weight.

The oldest wolf adjusted the towel around his forehead, then wrapped his hands snuggly and gently around Hector's waist. Avoiding the injury, but also holding him a bit straighter. Tighter.

"Just three more hours."

Hector nodded, leaning his head back, tucking it under Isaiah's chin.

“Okay, I’m down,” Adam says happily.  “Phil?”

“Okay, I’m down,” Adam says happily.  “Phil?”

Phil’s stomach had flipped at the mere suggestion.  Something’s definitely off.  He needs to sit this one out.  “Uh, actually, I’m not feeling too well. Think I’m just gonna head to bed early.”  He shrugs because it’s no big deal and he doesn’t want to hold them back. “You guys should still go.”

They’re both frowning at him.  “You don’t feel well?” Scott repeats, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m just really tired all of a sudden,” Phil tells them.  “I’m fine, I just need to crash.”

“Okay, man,” Adam says.  “Hope you feel better.”

“Yeah,” Scott echoes.  “Want us to bring you back a shake?”

Phil brushes it off with a wave of his hand.  “No, thanks. I’ll try it some other time.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time Phil makes it up the two flights of stairs up to their third-level dorm, he barely has enough energy to kick off his shoes before collapsing onto the bed.

He falls asleep almost instantly, but it’s short-lived.

He wakes within the next half hour, stomach rolling and saliva filling his mouth at an alarming rate.

He concludes pretty quickly that he doesn’t have time to make it to the communal bathrooms.  As it turns out, he doesn’t have time to even make it to a trashcan.  He manages to get himself into a seated position, feet on the floor, but then it’s Game Over.

Instinctively, he tries to catch his stream of vomit in his hands, but it’s to no avail and warm, vile liquid spills into his lap.

He freezes for a moment, trying to wrap his foggy and sick brain around what had just happened.  But he doesn’t have time to fret about it because the pressure is still building in his stomach.

He lets adrenaline carry him to the trashcan by his desk where he’s promptly ill for a second time.  His arms shake as he grasps the rim and black dots dance in front of his eyes as he stares down at his mess.

He audibly groans because yikes, he’s really sick. He has that all-over ache and chills and — he projectile vomits again — unrelenting nausea.  He tastes movie theater popcorn in the back of his throat.

He’s panting now, during a brief reprieve.  His legs are shaking, barely able to support his weight, so he drops down right there in the middle of the floor, not wanting to make a mess of any of the furniture in the room.

He’s not finished yet.  He’s still salivating and his stomach hurts.  He needs to get more up.

He heaves hard, hand pressing into his gut, but nothing happens.

“Guh,” he moans, then involuntarily heaves again, the nausea so intense that his body can’t stop trying to purge  “Ugh.”

His head pounds and his stomach cramps with each unproductive heave. He can’t stop and the smell is unbearable.

And that’s what Scott comes back to.

Phil doesn’t even hear him unlock the door over the ringing in his ears and his sounds of distress.  So he flinches hard when Scott puts a hand on his back.

“Whoa, it’s just me,” Scott says.  “Buddy…”

“H-Hi,” Phil breathes into the trashcan between retches, not able to even lift his head  “Sorry.”

Whatever Scott says in response to that remains a mystery because a torrent of vomit gushes out of Phil at that exact moment and echoes noisily into the bottom of the lined plastic can.  Then another.

It’s disgusting and it leaves Phil totally spent, draped over the bin like a wet noodle.

He’s not sure if he’s finished, but his stomach has stopped activity trying to turn itself inside out for the time being.  He’s vaguely aware of Scott saying something.

“—okay, man?  What can… do?”

Phil can’t form words right now, so he just groans to acknowledge that he hears Scott talking to him.  He swallows a few times to try and get his ears clear and to get the ringing to stop.  His breath is still coming back to him.

He feels a cold hand on his forehead and chill runs all the way through him.  “I’m gonna help you lean back, okay?” Scott says gently.

“‘Kay.”

Scott moves the trashcan to the side and guides him so that he’s leaning against the wall adjacent to the door.

“I didn’t know you were feeling this sick,” Scott says.  “I wouldn’t have left you.”

“Thought I was just tired,” Phil mumbles, wrapping his arm around his aching middle.  “I fell asleep for a bit, but when I woke up…” he motions to the trashcan and then down at his soiled lap.  “M’sorry.  I couldn’t make it…”

Scott kneels down next to him.  “Hey, it’s okay.  It’s not your fault.  I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad.  You’re burning up, by the way.”

Phil shivers.  “Awesome,” he deadpans.  He can feel the heavy weight from his soiled pants in his lap.  “Ugh, I’m so gross,” he groans.  “I n-need to clean this up.  I-I need to—”

“You need to just sit there and breathe for a minute,” Scott interrupts firmly.  “You look completely wiped.  I’ll help you get cleaned up, okay?  But just give yourself a minute.”

Phil closes his eyes and rests the back of his head against the wall.  “Okay,” he sighs. Scott stands and pats his shoulder, then starts piddling around their room.

“Here, Phil,” Scott says after a while, and Phil opens his eyes to him kneeling back in front of him.  He’s holding a water bottle out to him.  “Rinse your mouth out.”

Phil takes it from him reluctantly and squirts some water into his mouth.  He sloshes it around then spits it back out into the bin.

“I texted to Jimmy to see if we can use his shower,” Scott tells him.

“What?  You shouldn’t have done that.”  Phil’s really fucking sick, yes, but he doesn’t want to get in the way of someone who actually needs the handicapped bathroom.  Phil could make it to the communal bathrooms if he tried.

Scott raises his eyebrows at him. “It’s closer and he has a bench in there.  He said it’s fine.  He’s out of town this weekend anyway for a tournament.”

Jimmy is a paraplegic and he competes in wheelchair rugby tournaments regularly.

“Okay, I guess. But only because he’s not here,” Phil gives in.

It’s secretly the biggest relief ever that he has access to a bathroom so close.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

As Phil sits on the shower bench, stripped down to his boxers while Scott sprays him down with the detachable hose, he’s fairly certain he’s never felt so sick in his life.  Even sitting, he has to lean against the wall of the shower to stay upright.

He’d be embarrassed about another guy bathing him if he had the strength.

Right now, he’s just grateful he landed a roommate who is a willing to go these lengths for him.

Scott has just put a glob of shampoo in Phil’s hair when the nausea comes back to him at full force.

“Wait, stop,” Phil says as Scott starts to lather it in.

Scott stops abruptly.  “Why? What’s wrong?”

“‘M gn'a throw up ‘gain,” Phil mumbles out frantically.  “Toilet.  G-Get me to the—”

He can’t finish his sentence before more liquid is spilling out of his lips and splattering between his feet.

Scott jumps back a little in surprise.  “Whoa, okay,” he says.  “It’s okay, man, it’ll wash down the drain.  Just let it out.”

Phil leans forward to put his elbows on his knees so he can rest his head in his hands.  He vomits again, mostly just bringing up bile at this point.

Everything feels hazy around the edges.  “I don’t feel good,” he groans.  He spits, still so nauseous and wondering if there’s more to bring up. “I know, man.”

Phil’s vaguely aware of a gentle hand on his back while Scott uses the hose to spray between his feet to wash down the mess.  As Phil watches he realizes that he’s seeing spots and he feels so hot all of a sudden.

It’s like his head is disconnected from his body.  Everything is so foggy.  He presses his feet harder into the tile floor because he feels like he tipping forward. His vision is getting darker.

“T-Think… m’gonna pass out…” Even through his haze he’s able to put a name to what’s happening.  He’s slowly, but very surely losing consciousness.

If Scott says something back to him, he can’t hear it. It feels like he’s underwater.  He feels himself falling - as if in slow motion - and he’s limp and heavy, and it’s going to hurt when he hits the floor…

But he never does.  Soft hands are pillowed under his head until it rests on a cold surface, and now his feet are being raised up.  His heels are resting against something hard.  His vision still hasn’t come back to him.

“Phil? Hey, are you with me?” He hears Scott talking to him.

“Mm,” he moans and blinks.

His vision comes back slowly, in fragments.

He realizes he’s lying on the floor of Jimmy’s shower, his feet up on the bench.  A pins and needles sensation washes over him as he starts to get his bearings.  He tries not to think about the fact that he had puked right where he is lying just mere seconds earlier.

“Okay, take some deep breaths,” Scott coaches.  “You’re okay.”

Phil does as he says and takes in some air.  “I’m a fucking mess,” he groans on an exhale, because the embarrassment is catching up to him.

“No, you’re not.  You’re just sick.  You feel any better in this position?”

Phil nods.  And then he realizes something.  Scott is sitting on the wet floor with him.  His sweatpants are soaked.  He’s still holding the shower hose and letting the warm water rush over Phil.

“You’re getting all wet,” Phil says.

Scott shrugs.  “Yeah, figured I’d join you,” he says easily.

And in an attempt to bring some humor into the situation, Phil croaks, “That’s kind of kinky.”

He earns a spray of water in the face for that.  “More like kind of necessary.  You were almost out, dude.  I had to catch you.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks for that by the way,” Phil says.

“Anytime, man.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They camp out in Jimmy’s bathroom for almost 40 minutes longer.

Scott stays with him, even after Phil had been rinsed (again), dried and clothed.  At that point, Phil was still feeling intensely nauseated and he wanted to stay in reach of the toilet.  Something he figured he could do on his own.

“I’m not leaving you alone like this,” Scott had retorted, leaving no room for argument. Instead, he produced a deck of playing cards from out of thin air, and they played a mindless game of War until Phil’s nausea crested and he threw up again, making it - finally - into the toilet instead of all over himself or the floor.

Phil feels a fraction better after that upheaval, and he lets Scott talk him into going back to their dorm room to bed.

He is exhausted, after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Phil sleeps like a rock for a good four hours, until he wakes from some intense cramping in his lower belly.  It’s dreadful, and he curls into the fetal position to try to get some relief that never comes.

He locates the trashcan beside the head of his bed in case he needs to use it and wills himself to fall back into oblivion.

But for an entire hour, sleep never comes. He can’t sleep, no matter how hard he tries.  His stomach feels so sick and he’s freezing.  He’s also very aware that Scott keeps getting up and leaving the room.  To go to the bathroom, Phil presumes.  And when Scott comes back, he seems to be having trouble falling asleep, too. He keeps tossing and turning in bed. Quietly grunting and groaning.

Phil decides to confront him about it when he comes back from his fourth trip to the bathroom.  Even sick, Phil’s roommate senses are tingling.  Something’s up.  He turns their shared nightstand light on and pushes himself into the seated position with shaky arms.

Scott is gone for a long while.  When he does open the door to their dorm upon his return he does it quietly, clearly trying to avoid waking Phil.

He winces when he’s sees the light on and Phil awake.  “Are you okay?” Scott asks immediately, concern evident in his voice.

“Are you?” Phil returns. “That’s the fourth time you’ve been to the bathroom in the past hour.  Is your stomach okay?”

Scott swallows hard.  “Um…” he shuffles his feet.

“It’s not, is it?”

 Scott looks down.  “No. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t.  What’s going on?”

Scott closes their door and crosses the room to have a seat on his bed.  He leans forward to cradle his head in his hands.  “I don’t think you want me to go into detail.”

Phil swallows.  “Yeah, not really, no…” he agrees.  “But tell me what I need to know. Have you thrown up?”

Scott shakes his head. “The other end is kind of my issue right now.”

Phil crinkles his nose. “Do you feel nauseous at all?”

Scott lets out a deep breath.  “Yeah.  I mean… I-I don’t know.  I just feel really weak.” “I know the feeling,” Phil empathizes, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

“I know you do,” Scott groans.  “Ugh, this is the worst possible time for me to be sick.” “How come?” Phil asks.

“Because you’re sick.  Really sick.  You need looking after,” Scott tells him.  “And with how I feel right now, I-I don’t know if…”

“We’ll just have to look after each other.” Phil tries to sound reassuring, but now he has a hunk of anxiety and concern for his friend swirling around in his gut along with his lingering nausea.

Scott doesn’t buy into his reassurances, anyway. “Phil, you almost passed out in the shower tonight,” he reminds him.

“Yeah, ‘almost’ being the operative word.”

Scott lifts his head up to look over at him.  “You said I didn’t wake you?”

Phil shakes his head.  “I’ve been awake for a while.  Can’t sleep.”

“Because of your stomach?” Scott asks.

“Yeah.  And I’m freezing.”

“Ugh, same,” Scott groans.  Phil knows that’s the truth because he can see that he’s visibly trembling.  Scott pushes himself back into bed and gets under the covers, but remains in a seated position, arms wrapped around his belly at the navel.  “I think sleep’s out of the question for me, too.”

“Want to put a movie on?” Phil asks.

“No, too much effort,” Scott says.  He reaches for the remote on their shared nightstand.  “Let’s just see what’s on cable.”

Reruns of Seinfeld are playing, and two episodes or so help to lull them both back to sleep.

That is, until Scott wakes up heaving.

It wakes Phil, too.  There is light still illuminating the room since they’d both given into oblivion without shutting the lamp off.  Which means there’s enough light for Phil to see Scott struggle to lift his head up before he’s vomiting all over himself and his sheets.  He hadn’t been able to locate the trashcan in time.

Phil barely registers what’s happening.  He feels so out of it, and weak, and dizzy, but he manages to spring into action to push the trashcan closer to Scott so that the rest of his upheaval makes into the can.

Scott is groaning, hanging halfway off the bed, covered in foul-smelling liquid and still gagging. 

“Oh, gosh,” Phil breathes, a hand up to his mouth to try to keep his own nausea at bay.  The smell is overpowering.  “Dude…”

“Sorry, m’sorry,” Scott says through heaves.

“W-We have to get you c-cleaned up…” Phil says.  But his vision is going cloudy again and standing up seems like an impossible task.

Scott shakes his head and spits into the can.  “No… I’ll handle it.  Y-You’re sick, t-too.  You c-can’t…”

Phil wants nothing more than to help Scott, the way he did for him, but he’s feeling scary-weak again, and Scott is right.  He just… can’t.  He feels like his brain is melting.

“I’m g-gonna call Adam,” Phil decides with a brief moment of clarity.  “We n-need help.”

Scott isn’t able to say anything to that because he’s throwing up again.

With an arm that feels like lead, Phil reaches for his phone and tells Siri to call Adam.  It’s 3:00 in the morning and Phil doesn’t know what they’re going to do if he doesn’t pick up.

But he does.  Thank God, he does.

“Lammers?” Adam greets him, groggy.  “Is this a butt dial?”

“N-No…” Phil breathes.  “Hey.”

Immediately, Adam is on high alert.  He must be able to hear it in Phil’s voice. “Everything okay?”

“No… Scott and me.  We’re r-really sick.”

“Yeah, Keene texted me earlier saying you’d caught a bug or something.  Stomach thing, right?  But now he’s feeling bad, too?”

“Y-Yeah.  He’s in really b-bad shape, b-but I can’t… I-I’m too sick to help.”

Phil winces as Scott moans pitifully over the can.

“Can you come?  P-Please?”

“I’m already on my way, man.  Are you gonna be able to let me in?”

Phil swallows hard.  He’s really not sure at this point. But he says, “Yeah, I think so.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You guys need to go to urgent care.”

That’s the conclusion Adam comes to after he’s balled up Scott’s sheets and gotten him changed out of his soiled clothing.  Scott is still hunched into himself, trashcan close by as he breathes through nausea.  Phil is bundled under his covers clutching a plastic grocery bag that Adam had found because he still feels like he could vomit at any moment, too.

“Nah…” Scott croaks. “Phil, maybe,” he concedes.

“Phil definitely,” Adam emphasizes and meets Phil’s bleary eyes.  “I’m pretty sure your fever is off the charts, bro. And Keene, you haven’t stopped puking for more than 30 seconds since I got here, and that was twenty minutes ago. That equals urgent care to me.  Y’all are dehydrated and you won’t feel better until you get some fluids.”

Again, Scott isn’t able to give a rebuttal because he’s reaching for the trashcan again.

“I rest my case,” Adam says.  “I’m gonna call Dean.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean, of course, comes to the rescue like he always does, lending his time (and his car) to the freshmen in need.

Phil had drifted to sleep by the time Dean arrives.  He wakes to a gentle hand running through his hair and his surrogate big brother kneeling next to him. Immense relief washes over Phil at just the sight of him.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says softly, smiling reassuringly at the sick boy in front of him.

“Hey,” Phil croaks back. 

“We’re gonna get you guys some help, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“Let me help you sit up,” Dean offers, and slides one hand under Phil’s armpit and the other around his backside. “Nice and easy, man.”

And as Phil lets Dean hoist him up into the seated position, he sees Adam doing the same to help Scott.  And catches sight of the alarm clock on their nightstand that reads 3:58am.  And he feels safe, and warm, and supported in Dean’s arms and all of that together causes a wave of emotion to wash over him.

He starts to cry, almost choking on a shuddering breath.

Frowning and concerned, Dean draws back to study Phil’s face.  “Are you crying?” he asks and immediately sits down beside Phil on the bed and puts a comforting hand behind his head and pulls him into his chest.  “Gosh, you really feel rough, huh?”

Phil nods into his chest.  “Yeah, b-but that’s not…” he trails off, trying to explain the reason for his tears.  It’s gratitude.  Pure gratitude.  He pulls back and meets Dean’s eyes.  “Just… thanks for c-coming.”  He meets Adam’s eyes too.  “B-Both of you.”

Dean runs his hand through Phil’s hair again, eyes fond.  “Of course, kid,” he says easily.  He stands from the bed and helps Phil do the same, so they can all start heading down to the car. “Now c’mon, lean on me.  I got you.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Adam says, echoing the sentiment that’s felt throughout the room. . . .

And they were.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I don’t feel good,” says Andy's voice, as soon as Jack picks up. Even over the background chatter and phone static, he can detect the quiver in their voice. Uh-oh. Andy is never so forthcoming about how they’re feeling, at least not physically. It’s a sore point for them, even with Jack. He tries not to be too hurt about it because they’re like that with everybody, even with Elle, who’s their best friend in the world. Secretly, though, he savors those rare, fleeting moments when Andy allows themself to be vulnerable. Those moments happen more and more lately, and as much as Jack hates for them to be in any kind of pain or discomfort, he’s grateful that Andy is finally starting to let him in. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, already reaching to close and put away his laptop. He has a four-page paper to write for German—in German—that’s due in two days, but God forbid he lets it get in his way of being a good boyfriend. God forbid he lets anything get in his way.

“Um, I–I had a burger for lunch earlier, and y’know how sometimes they make me feel kinda sick? But, like, lately it’s been fine, so I just got one, whatever. But now my stomach hurts and it’s—I’m—I feel like I’m gonna puke, like I can feel it, but I don’t—it’s—I dunno. It hurts and I don’t wanna be sick, and usually I feel like shit right after eating it but it’s been five hours and I feel terrible.” Andy sounds like they’re on the verge of tears, and Jack’s heart aches. He hates that this happens to them so often. 

“Sorry,” Andy blurts suddenly, before he has the chance to respond. “Sorry, it’s—like, I’m fine. I’m literally totally fine, I dunno why I’m freaking out, I just…” They pause, and Jack doesn’t think it’s his imagination when he hears a tiny, queasy hiccup, the sound of spitting. Then, in the smallest voice, “I just don’t feel good. And… and I want you.” Jack’s already shoving the last of his things into his backpack and slinging it, unzipped, over one shoulder. He walks with purpose toward the library exit and asks, “Where are you? I’m on my way now.” Andy sniffles wetly. Jack thinks he can hear what sounds like a toilet roll being unraveled, if the metallic clinking in the background is anything to go by. 

“‘m in the cafeteria,” they tell him. “I thought I was hungry, so I was gonna grab food with Elle, but—oh, fuck—” They hiccup again, louder this time, followed by a muffled groan. Jack picks up the pace, shouldering the door open and striding out into the bright sunshine. His eyes burn as they struggle to adjust, but he doesn’t slow his pace. He dodges other students as he hurries toward the dining hall.

Jonah didn't remember a single thing from driving over. He was pretty sure he had run over a red light.

The front desk girl of Leo's building was named Nicole, and her eyes got the size of saucers when Jonah mumbled some frantic story about needing to contact Leo about a family emergency and that he hadn't been picking up his phone. The panic in his voice didn't need to be faked.

She phoned his office's landline and waited, whispering in a rushed voice that Mr. Wagner-Banks was there and there was an emergency.

Not five minutes later, Leo was walking out of the elevator, holding his suitcase and clad in a suit, perfectly healthy, except from the flush on his cheeks.

"Jon? What's going on?" The damn theater kid he had married asked and Jonah knew he had been the one to propose this stupid plan, but right now he just wanted to shake Leo like a rattle toy and force him to use his words.

"My sister called, said something is wrong with my father," Jonah lied through his teeth, sending the universe a quiet don't you dare, "she said he's sick, we gotta go over to DC right now."

Dramatic much? But at the very least this would grant Leo the whole day off, if not the week. Jasper would happily corroborate whatever bullshit they needed him to, the man lived for the drama.

"Oh my god," Leo clutched his imaginary pearls, a little too into his role for Jonah's liking. He was starting to get annoyed, was this all some joke...?

They quickly moved out of Nicole's curious gaze, Leo telling her to pass the message along to his boss, but that he'd be in contact as soon as possible to explain the situation and give them a timeframe of how quickly he could be back.

Then they were out of the building and Jonah was fighting every molecule in his body not to interrogate his husband right there and then. Instead he waited until they entered his car and he had driven out of Leo's street, just to make sure, before asking, "what the fuck, Leo?! What's wrong? You scared the shit out of me, start explaining yourself-"

Leo was leaning back on the passenger seat, breathing in and out slowly, face milky pale, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"What?" Jon came to a screeching halt so sudden, the car behind them pressed the honk and sent him a string of insults, barely avoiding rear ending them.

"I'm-" Leo licked his lips, "a sense of- Of impending doom, right? Chest tightness?" Was he sounding breathless or was Jonah tripping? "Queasy..."

"Okay," Jonah's voice was alien to his own ears, "okay, baby, we're going to the fucking hospital, alright? Can you-" he took a hand from the steering wheel, clammy with sweat, "squeeze my hand? Really hard."

Leo obeyed, Jonah wasn't sure what his tight squeeze meant, because he was too busy panicking to be an actual doctor about it. Tight squeeze, probably- Probably not a heart attack, right? Normally it came with limbs heaviness and lack of strength... Right?

Sense of impending doom.

Jonah could write off everything, but that. He had way too much experience with patients feeling in their bones when something was grotesquely wrong. He pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

Leo's fingers curled around his and Jonah squeezed his hand right back, clutching on it like a toddler.

Once they pulled over at the hospital, Jon was immediately running out of the car to grab him a wheelchair, only for Leo to scoff and walk alongside him. He was most definitely wheezing.

"Jon?" Wendy was in the ER, wearing scrubs today, confused on why he was there when he had just left the hospital an hour ago, let alone with Leo hot on his heels, looking panicked, "what's going on-"

"Leo, sit down," Jonah ignored her, forcing Leo to sit on a plastic chair on the waiting room, queue be damned. Hospital queues weren't organized around arrival time, like most people thought, but seriousness of an issue. A heart attack most definitely put Leo on top of the list. He should be- "I think he's having a heart attack."

Wendy's eyes went huge, but unlike Jonah she didn't panic. She turned around, rushing to the front desk and exchanging rushed whispers with the nurse in charge, who immediately nodded and picked up the phone, her voice echoing on the floor through the speakers as she said, "Dr. Lavin, emergency room, please," three times in a row. A second nurse, Marjorie, briskly walked away and returned five minutes later with a disposable cup housing aspirins, walking over to them.

"Hi Leo," she smiled and Jonah's hand flexed on his husband's shoulder, hating the way Leo was clutching his chest and staring at the floor, "can you chew these for me? It's gonna help while we get you ready for the exams, okay?"

"He needs-"

"An ECG," Marjorie agreed before he could finish, "we're gonna get him one, let's sit in Dr. Lavin's room, alright? He was doing rounds upstairs, but we've paged him, he'll be down in a minute."

Who the fuck even was Dr. Lavin?

It didn't matter. They entered the special treatment room and Leo climbed onto the mattress, leaning heavily against Jonah's side and wheezing, sounding like a whistle.

"Shhh, just a second more, baby," Jon cooed, trying to fight the sheer panic clawing at him. Wendy came back inside, Marjorie hot on her heels.

"Hi Leo," she smiled, "rough morning, uh?" whilst talking, she was moving around the office as it was hers, turning on the ECG machine, the image of calm. Jon would've bought it wasn't it for her fingers drumming on the machine.

The office's door opened and in came Chris. Jonah's brows met, then eased. Right, Chris Lavin, their cardiologist. Why the hell hadn't he remembered that, he would've taken Leo to a different hospital-

No, he wouldn't have. There was no hospital in town more prepared than this and they didn't have time to drive to Portland-

"Mr. Wagner," Chris seemed puzzle on why there were three people, instead of solely his patient in the office, "how are you today? Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Chest-" Leo rubbed it, gulping down, "hurts. Uhm- I feel like I'm dying. I-" another gulp, Chris squinted at him.

"Nauseous too?"

Leo nodded, swallowing again.

"Here, sweetheart," Wendy moved, grabbed a cardboard emesis tray, pushing it on his lap.

"How long ago did the symptoms start, Mr. Wagner?"

"Leo," he mumbled, gagging at the tail end, "my name is Leo."

Jonah shifted his weight, impatiently glaring at Chris. Couldn't he save the fucking interrogation for another time? Get him on the ECG already, do something?

"Alright, Leo," Chris circled them, looking put off by having to side step Jon and Wendy to reach the machine, "can you take your shirt off for me? We're gonna get a read at your heart."

Finally!

Jon immediately turned to grab Leo's clothing, helping him strip, only for Chris to scoff, "Banks, I asked Leo to take his shirt off. Not you to do it for him."

Leo's eyes widened, shocked, while Jon bristled, "I'm helping, you know, bedside manners. Something you d-"

"I need to check if he can raise his arms," Chris glared daggers at him, "step out of my way and stop intruding. Leo, please remove the shirt?"

Seemingly shocked enough that the wheezing had stopped, Leo obeyed, fingers fumbling with the buttons, but managing. He already didn't have a tie on, the jacket of his suit had been ditched in the car.

"Good," Chris grabbed several different cords, with sticker electrodes to the end of them, "this will feel a little weird," he warned, before sticking them to Leo's chest, eyes glued to the screen of the machine, "how long ago did the symptoms start, Leo?"

"Uh- Two hours," Leo's fingers flinched, clearly wanting to rub his chest again, but settling for curling on the thin sheet of the bed. Jonah took his hand in his, squeezing it in a supportive manner. Leo gulped down again, paler than before.

"How much longer?" Jon asked, "he's gonna be sick."

"Just a minute more," Chris was looking at the machine, as it printed out the results of the exam in a long, skinny sheet of paper, waves drawn on them. Jonah had never been any good at reading those, but Chris hardly even looked, eyes flickering to it and then back up, starting to remove the electrodes from Leo.

"Good, you can put your shirt back on- Marshall, you can go," he said, dismissively, and Wendy's cheeks turned pink, brows connecting, but she didn't argue. Only huffed and stepped out of the room.

Leo gave up buttoning his shirt on the third bottom button, grabbing the cardboard tray and gulping down convulsively, "guh- Gon'besick..." he slurred, drooling over it.

"That's alright," Chris circled his desk, sitting on the big chair, leaving Jonah to fuss over the blonde. He ground his teeth, yelling at Chris right now wasn't gonna help.

"I'm here," he said, instead, stepping closer and planting a hand on the cardboard tray to support it, the other arm wrapping around Leo, who was trembling like a puppy, "shh, I got you-"

Leo jerked with an empty heave, knuckles turning white as he panted over the small bowl. Another gag and a thick line of drool fell inside of it, cloudy, but nothing more.

"Is he allergic to any medication?" Chris asked from where he was typing on his computer.

"You have his chart," Jonah hissed, teeth gritted, while rubbing Leo's back, "shh, baby, ignore him. Focus on yourself."

Leo gagged once more, and then a little dribble of vomit fell in the tray, as he panted as if he had just run a marathon. There were microtears clumping his lashes and he clutched his chest, wheezing. Jonah's heart squeezed so much, he wondered if he was the one having a heart attack.

"I'm going to order a blood test," Chris told them, unbothered, "to rule out heart attack. For now we're gonna put you in a cot in the ER and check back again in an hour, Leo."

Leo's brows twitched, he spat in the tray, "wha- What?"

"You're not having a heart attack," Chris had gotten up, grabbing a couple tissues from the box that stayed next to the cot, handing them to Leo in exchange for the sick tray, "it's a panic attack."

"Nuh-huh," Leo shook his hand, hands shaking as if he had Parkinson's as he wiped his chin and clutched the tissues, "I know- I know what a panic attack feelssslike..."

Chris' lip twitched, "I know you do," a hint of amusement, Jonah considered punching him, "that's why we're not gonna medicate you just yet, okay? We're gonna do the blood exam to rule it out and then check back in one hour, do the whole ordeal again. Then I'm gonna medicate you."

Leo's cheeks turned crimson, Jon squeezed his shoulder, "Christopher, if he says he's having a heart attack-"

"He is the patient, Banks," Chris glared at him, "not the doctor. His ECG came back clean, you're welcome to look at it. His wheezing doesn't match of a heart attack, his impending doom broke when I snapped at you. It's not a heart attack, it's anxiety, but you're welcome to do a cardiology residency if you wanna argue with me."

Jonah's whole face was burning and yeah, he was gonna punch this guy. He let go of Leo's shoulder, stepping into Chris' personal space, "what happens when my husband collapses because you are too arrogant to see what's in front of you? Leo knows what a panic attack feels like, he's dealt with them his whole life, you. Are. Not. LIS-" he jammed his finger on Chris' chest at each word, only to be cut short by a giggle.

Leo's giggling.

The blonde looked embarrassed, but amused, "sorry, sorry! I- Okay, doctor, uhm- Lavin? Dr. Lavin," Jonah looked at him, confused and nearly offended. What the hell was he doing? "blood exam, then check back, then meds?"

"Yes," Chris' voice was a note deeper, pissed off, but not directed at Leo, "I'll have nurse Marjorie shadow you, she's the best one and she's been here the longest. You're in good hands."

Leo nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, although it was clean already, "okay," he whispered, tugging on Jon's sweater to bring him back, "Okay..."

Jonah wanted to argue this. It didn't feel right, Leo knew what a panic attack felt like, he wouldn't have confused the two. Hell, Jonah knew what Leo having a panic attack looked like and-

And it looked horribly similar to this, yeah.

Wendy was in the ER and the second she saw them — Leo now forced to be on a wheelchair, hospital rules — she jogged closer, looking concerned.

"So? What's going on? How are you?" She asked quickly, as Jonah followed Marjorie to the cot she was guiding them to. A bed with privacy curtains surrounding it.

"Panic attack," Leo answered her, breathless, clutching Jon's hand for support as he pushed himself out of the chair and into the cot, Marjorie saying she'd be right back to collect the blood sample.

"Really?" Wendy's eyebrows jumped up, "I thought you knew- how are you feeling?" She changed her phrase mid sentence, shaking her head.

Leo shrugged, looking away, "embarrassed," he rubbed his chest, uneasy expression on, "queasy. Still don't feel right, it's like- Pressure," he took a deep breath, "someone sitting on my chest."

Wendy didn't look convinced, she exchanged a nervous glance with Jonah, who had posted himself right next to Leo's bed and was petting his hair, trying not to let it show just how deeply concerned he was.

Chris was asking for a lot. What if he was wrong? What if Leo was having a fucking heart attack and they were wasting crucial time with this bullshit? Had Chris glanced at Leo's medical history and seen his antidepressants listed and dismissed everything as just stress?

"Here we go," nurse Marjorie came up, holding the blood drawing kit, "it's going to be just a little prickle."

"I know," Leo leaned his head back, eyes shut, breathing heavily, "fuck..." he breathed out, refusing to elaborate.

Marjorie drew the blood and Leo kept his eyes closed, taking slow measured breaths. Wendy had to get back to work, sending Jonah a worried look before she left. Jonah started biting on his thumb, a leg bouncing nervously as he stood next to his bed and waited. He felt so fucking helpless, he should be doing something-

"Hey," Leo tugged on his wrist, since his other hand was still in his hair, supposedly petting it, although Jon had stopped, "I think he's right, Jon."

"You- It doesn't seem right, Leo," Jonah's voice wavered just a little and he gulped down the knot in his throat, "you know what- Did something happen? Something triggered this?"

"No," Leo seemed exhausted, eyes sunken in, but he opened a little smile, "we went out to grab coffee together, Dean, Chuck and I... The place was packed, started feeling uneasy there, chalked it up to being overwhelmed, then when we got back to the office it just got worse and I felt like something was so wrong, with- Me, with you, I don't know, I just needed to go home... That's when I called you," he paused, breathing in and out slowly, "then after we hung up it changed from I need to go home to I'm dying. That's it."

It did sound like anxiety. Jonah squinted, not sufficiently calmed down, "and the chest pain? The nausea? The wheezing?"

"After," Leo dismissed, sighing, "worked myself into it, I think."

"Hmmm," Jon pursed his lips, not liking this one bit and Leo's fingers around his wrist twitched, he guided his hand to his chest, pressing Jon's hand over his heart.

"It's not a heart attack, Jonah," Leo breathed out, his cheeks turning pink, "although I might die from embarrassment alone."

"Don't be embarrassed," he said strongly, "I'd rather you freaked out and we came over to the hospital a thousand times than ignoring it and it ending up being something serious. I mean it, Leo. I'm glad you called me."

If this had been at the start of their relationship, or hell, even when Leo was going through a rough patch, he'd have tried dealing with it on his own. Jonah felt a wash of fondness and relieved, giddy happiness that was out of place and fueled by adrenaline, that Leo had trusted him so entirely.

"You're turning into a sap," Leo teased him, curling slightly on the cot, "so that's Chris, uh?"

"Yeah," Jonah scoffed, good mood popping like a soap bubble, "fucking asshole."

"I don't think I ever saw someone talk to you like that... Well, Luke sometimes, but you and Luke are different. You don't mean it."

"Sometimes I mean it," Jonah grumbled, moving his hand to cup Leo's neck, refusing to let go of him, "Luke can be a dick."

Leo snorted, rolled his eyes, "I imagined Chris different."

"Oh yeah? How so?" Jonah looked around, found a chair and pulled it closer with his foot, collapsing on it.

"Uglier," Leo whispered, "he's kind of handsome."

"Oh, disgusting," Jonah pulled back, his whole face scrunching up, "you have a fetish for mean doctors? Is that it? Ew, Leo, ew-"

Leo giggled, color returning to his cheeks and the tight knot in Jonah's chest loosened.

"Gross."

"I just have eyes," Leo huffed, "Wendy seems..."

"Apologetic? Concerned?"

"That too," Leo conceded, biting on his lip, "she doesn't look well, though."

"Yeah, I know," Jonah clasped their hands together, running his thumb over Leo's wedding band in a soothing manner, "I don't think she's ready for me to intervene just yet. She wants to apologize to Vince and Bell..."

"That's a start," Leo nodded, squeezing his hand right back, "you think things are gonna be okay?"

"I think if you can gossip then you can't possibly be having a heart attack," Jonah teased him, shoulders starting to drop. Leo let out a snort.

"I could gossip on my death bed."

"Jon?" Leo yawned, the bedroom door opening and light spilling down the hallway. He couldn't see his husband properly, since the light was coming from behind him and bathing him in darkness, but Jonah could see the silhouetted of his hair sticking out everywhere, "Jon?"

"Hi," he called and Leo moved from their bedroom doorway, walking closer, a shadow serpentine between his legs, which was definitely JD trying to trip him.

"What-" the blonde yawned, rubbing his eyes, "what are you doing on the couch...?"

"The bed was too far away," Jonah answered, attempting to keep his voice steady and not let the nausea show. Although Leo was nearly perfectly healthy by now — even if he had whined that he had the plague during the morning — Jon didn't want to worry him over simply indigestion.

Leo huffed out a laugh, circling the couch so he was standing behind it and grabbing Jonah's hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and then pulling him by the curls, forcing Jonah to stand up, "up, up, up-"

"Noo-OURpgh-" he tried to whine, but his stomach clenched and a burp came up instead, Jonah clamping a hand to his mouth as he muffled two others, shuddering as he was forced to swallow back down some of the soup that tried crawling up. Just thinking about the meal was getting him covered in goosebumps.

Leo scoffed, "your tummy is bothering you," he said, instead of asking and Jonah shook his head.

"Just gassy," he lied, causing Leo to squint at him. The tip of his nose was red from rubbing it all day with tissues and he looked exhausted, even though he had spent all of yesterday sleeping. No way Jonah was gonna burden Leo with his own poor decision making.

"Is that why you're in the living room?" Leo guessed, rolling his eyes and scanning the floor in search of their cat, "don't be ridiculous, you don't bother me."

Jonah wrinkled his nose in distaste, while Leo successfully hunted JD down and picked her up as if she was a baby, causing the cat to meow pitifully, asking to be let go. Instead of letting her go, Leo kissed her between the ears, pushing Jon's shoulder so they'd walk back to the bedroom.

Jonah felt clammy enough he didn't want to lie on the bed, especially not with work clothes, but he also felt so queasy the idea of staying on his feet was equally as bad.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he mumbled, against his will, while Leo curled up under the blankets, turning on his side to attempt to clean his bedside table. His side of the room was a mess, the bedside table littered with different medicine bottles — cough syrup, two different spoons because at some point Leo must've gotten a second one after forgetting he already had it, vicki rub, an empty tissue box, painkillers for his headache, pepto for his stomach because Leo had been rather nauseous from the fever, an empty mug, one of his law books, his phone and a ditched churu tube for JD — and the floor had his slippers, the three different sets of socks he had circled through as his fever climbed and then broke, several balls of tissue that had missed the waste basket.

Jonah walked inside the bathroom and squinted at the bright lights, hitting the switch and killing it entirely. He heard Leo laugh, "are you gonna shower in the dark?" and then break off coughing.

He did shower in the dark. Just a five minutes rinse, bracing against the tiled wall as he stared at the water swirling between his toes and tried to convince his dinner to stay down. His back hurt, from standing during surgery and at least the hot water was helping with that. Doing fuckall to the slimy feeling in his mouth and the way he couldn't stop burping.

He committed a capital sin of ditching brushing his teeth before bed, because even swishing water around his mouth caused him to gag, let alone a toothbrush.

Jonah dried down as quick as possible and wrapped himself up in the towel, stepping out of the bathroom and regretting the fact he hadn't brought his pajamas with him already-

"Oh," Jon couldn't help but smile, Leo had set aside his favorite set of pajamas for him, as well as socks and slippers. The room was neater, although still a mess. JD was sitting on top of Leo's chest as he played with her ears between his fingers, eyes drowsy as he stared at the TV on mute, "thank you, baby."

Leo smiled, but shrugged, letting out a happy sigh as Jon slipped into bed with him, "how was work?"

"Eh, the same," Jonah shifted, realizing there was no way he could lie fully down when the position promptly sent hot liquid up his throat. He gulped down, "how's the fever?"

Without waiting for a response, he pressed his palm to Leo's forehead, letting out a pleased noise when he didn't feel any abnormal heat, "and your throat?"

"Hurts," Leo leaned into his touch, sliding under the covers to press their bodies together, "cuddle me."

"So I can catch your bug?"

The blonde groaned dramatically, "you don't love me."

"Nope, not at all," Jonah teased him, scooting closer and propping himself up against the pillows, while Leo snugged on his side, so low on the bed his head was nearly on Jon's lap. He let out a happy noise as Jonah started playing with his head, letting go of JD as she squirmed and moved to the foot of the bed, curling up near their feet.

"Your tummy's making all sort of noi-Noises," Leo yawned, "what upset it so much?"

"Soup," Jonah's voice trembled on the last note, he gulped down at the memory, "what are we watching?" He needed to change subjects, if Leo asked anything else about the food he'd end up throwing up. It wasn't sitting well at all, simultaneously seeming to swirl inside of him an sitting like a brick. Well, it had been goulash, a type of soup both very creamy and heavy, with pieces of meat-

Jonah gagged, pressed a hand to his mouth and managed to turn it into a wet, disgusting belch.

"-I don't understand why she stays with him, he sucks," Leo was saying, completely oblivious, gesturing to the screen where a black and white show was playing. Jon gulped down, shuddering. He considered getting up and pulling the trigger, get it out of his system.

"Jon?" Leo sounded pouty now and Jonah realized a second too late he had left his husband talking all by himself.

"Sorry," he wipes his upper lip, the clamminess was back, "what- We're watching Bewitched?"

"I like Samantha," Leo shrugged, followed by a yawn. If Jonah managed to stay still and kept playing with his hair, Leo would be out like a lamp in under ten minutes, he was sure of it.

He tried, he really did. Jonah leaned his head back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling instead of the TV, continuing to pet Leo's hair as he gulped down. The nausea was coming in waves, some strong enough he had to grit his teeth and wonder if he'd need to jump out of the bed, some easy enough to ignore. His hair had gotten wet in the shower and there were droplets running down his back and inside his shirt.

Leo let out a deep huff, body becoming heavy against Jonah, and he knew the man was asleep. Normally Leo wasn't a snorer, but he could be pretty loud when he was congested and tonight was no different. Jon squirmed, a new wave of revulsion hitting him as he burped once more and could smell his dinner. His mouth watered and he gulped down, deciding to get up-

Leo had hooked his fingers on his pants, like some sort of cat, and Jon breathed slowly through his nose as he tried to free himself without waking the blonde up. No such luck, because as soon as he managed to get up, Leo sensed the bed shifting and opened his eyes.

"Jon....? Wh'reougoin'?" He slurred, sounding hurt, reaching out blindly.

Jonah couldn't answer, if he tried to speak he knew he was fucked. He gulped down, but this time it wasn't just the base level queasiness, he was actually gonna be sick. He bolted out of the room, barely making it to the toilet as the soup was aggressively rejected by his stomach.

The first wave was violent, choking him with the sheer volume and Jonah knew, in the back of his mind that he had made some sort of a mess, but he was too busy gagging over the bowl.

His stomach clenched once more, as his fingers fumbled with the seat, pushing it up too late. More vomit fell inside the toilet, chunky and smelling powerfully of red sauce and wine. Rotten. Just the thought had him heaving loudly, whole body arching with disgust.

"I knew you were acting weird," Leo scoffed and then the bathroom light was turned on and Jonah groaned at the brightness, closing his eyes to avoid looking at the mess. Most of the sick had landed in the bowl, but there was thick vomit covering the seat and a bit spilt on the floor next to it.

He gagged again and then felt Leo's hand on his forehead, guiding his head back over the bowl, just in time too as another large wave came up.

"Wow, that's a lot," Leo reached for the toilet paper, grabbing the whole roll, as Jon planted an elbow on the cold porcelain of the toilet and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, holding its weight. His stomach was still far from settled, "here, angel, lemme-"

"No..." He reached in, taking the bunched up papers from Leo's hand and wiping his chin, throwing it inside the bowl, "go'back to bed... You're sick..."

"I'm sick?!" Leo asked, incredulous, looking pointedly to the mess, "shut up, Jonah. Here, blow your nose," he grabbed another wad of paper, now giving Jon some semblance of dignity by handing it to him, "was the food bad?"

"No," he scoffed, blowing his nose and leaning over the bowl to spit, gulping down as more threatened to come back up, "ate too much..."

"You?" Leo chuckled, surprised, getting up from his crouched down position and hitting the flush, "never thought I'd see the day."

"Shud'up," Jon drooled over the bowl, fingers curling on the roots of his hair as his stomach soured again, "gon'be sick'gain..."

"Who the fuck even overeats with soup?" Leo asked, sounding amused as he moved around the bathroom to grab an old towel throw in their laundry basket, so he could wipe the mess.

Not soup, goulash, Jonah thought and immediately gagged, hugging the bowl as another big wave rushed out of him, so powerful he raised from where he sat, in order to be on his knees. His ears went deaf, throat burning and head pounding. His stomach ached, fiercely, spasming several times as he tried to cough even more, failing.

"Awn, Jon," Leo cooed, when he finally stopped heaving and fell boneless on his back, staring at the ceiling that was twirling. It would be just his stupid luck, to throw up so hard he triggered a vertigo episode, "baby? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," his voice sounded like he had gargled with salt, "nauseous. Dizzy..."

"Vertigo dizzy?" Now Leo sounded actually concerned and he let out a sigh of relief when Jon shook his head, panting to catch his breath, "okay... Scoot to the side, lemme clean over there-"

"Leave it," Jonah bossed, forcing himself to sit up. The change in positions forced up a thick, wet burp and his eyes widened, not only at the volume of it, but because for a second he thought he'd be sick all over his lap. It was just air, however, and it actually eased some of the maddening churning in his stomach.

"I'm not-" Leo yawned, "not leaving vomit on the floor, move Jonah," he poked his knee, "out of the way."

Jonah was normally the neat freak of them and he understood why Leo wanted to clean, but he felt overwhelmingly guilty, "no, gimme-" he wrestled with his husband for the cloth, "gimme that."

Although he was spent, Leo was too tired to fight him for it or, probably, didn't particularly want to be face to face with the vomit, and he let go easily.

"You're gonna make yourself puke again," Leo scoffed, as Jonah wiped the floor, biting back down the nausea building once again, "I can literally see you turning gray, you stubborn prick."

"Shu-URk-" he clutched the soiled rag, turning quickly to the bowl, as even more came up. Not a lot, but chunky, causing him to strain as he heaved violently. Leo patted his back, forcing up a string of belches and then a bit of meat fell on the dirty toilet water with a sickening plop!

"Oh, gross!" Leo cried out, turning his face to the side in order to muffle a gag of his own, "fuck, Jon-"

"Get'outtahere-" Jonah shoved his husband's knee, the last thing they needed was Leo puking because he was squeamish.

Leo wasn't the sympathy puker out of the two of them, but he was trigger happy. Jonah had seen him gag when scrolling on tiktok and ending up on a pimple popping video. He was even worse when his stomach was already tender from all the medicine and coughing, so Leo scrambled out of the bathroom with a muffled, "sorry!"

Jonah groaned, clearing his throat and spitting, pressing the flush. He gagged a couple more times, but nothing other than some orangey spit came up and he finally got up to wash his mouth and face.

The bathroom was far from clean, but it was wiped down, which would have to be it, because he was exhausted. Jonah swished some water around his mouth, glaring at his reflection, and wrapped an arm around his tender stomach, walking back to the bedroom.

The bed was empty and Leo wasn't there, their door open, but the hallway light off, JD was gone. He fell onto the bed with a groan, curling up his knees to his chest and belching, thick and warm, in his hand.

"Here," Leo kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, walking back in. He was carrying a plastic bin, as well as a glass of water to join the collection already littering their bedroom, and when he sat down in front of Jonah, he saw one of those effervescent antiacids in his palm, "sorry for running out on you."

"Shut up," Jonah rolled his eyes, his cheeks burning, "sorry for eating myself sick when you're the one who's sick."

"I'm not sick," Leo scoffed, dropping the antiacid inside the glass of water and passing it to Jon as it foamed, "I'm healed now."

Jonah squinted at him, taking the glass and sipping it carefully, while with his other hand he grabbed Leo by the chin and kept him put, moving his hand to press its back against his forehead. Warm.

"Bloody hell, Leo, the fever's back."

"No, I'm fine," Leo swatted his hand away, planting the bowl on Jon's bedside table and crawling on the bed to go back to his spot, "are you good to lie down?"

"Probably not," Jonah sighed, then gestured to Leo's mess of a bedside table, "tylenol, take it."

"I'm fine-"

"Take the stupid pill, Leo," Jonah cut him off, harshly, and heard a whispered insult as Leo shuffled, lying on his stomach as he shuffled through the mess to get the tylenol packet.

Meanwhile, Jonah propped up the pillows behind his back, just right to relieve the pressure on his stomach. It was still churning unhappily, but much emptier. Just a regular ate too much bellyache now.

Leo's fingers were freezing as they crawled under Jon's shirt, resting on his belly, "let me rub for you," he mumbled, tugging on the covers to be around his shoulders.

Jonah snorted. Yeah, right. He'd be right back asleep in no time, "okay, baby," he said, indulging Leo, leaning in even if it hurt his belly, pressing a kiss to Leo's temple, partially to measure the fever, "love you. Thank you for taking care of me."

Leo huffed, a finger hooking on Jon's navel, hand already limp. Nearly out, "yeah, yeah-I'd be an amazing nurse."

He'd be a terrible nurse.