#feveruary

1. "Don't get too close." 2. "You're going to get yourself hurt." 3. Migraine 4. Whiny Sickie 5. "I told you to wear something warm!" 6. Flu Shot 7. "Did you seriously think I wouldn't notice?" 8. Sharing Blankets 9. Unlikely Caretaker 10. "You can't catch it... Probably... Maybe." 11. "We better get you cleaned up before (blank) sees you like this." 12. Sent Home From Work 13. "Are you alright to drive like this?" 14. "I'd kiss you right now if you weren't contagious" 15. "I don't think I've ever seen you ill before." 16. Sneaking Out of Bed 17. Bad Timing 18. "You're not being needy. You're being human." 19. Refusing Medicine 20. Cancelled Plans 21. "Don't lie to me. You're pale, you're sweating, and you can barely stand." 22. Ear-Infection 23. "Jeez, if that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own." 24. Contagious 25. "It's just a cold." 26. Pharmacy Run 27. "I don't think that's exactly hygienic." 28. "Your boss called..."

Alternates:

Hiding the Thermometer

Refusing to Leave Work

“Is that my hoodie?”

“Not to say I told you so but…”

"I told you, I ain't got a choice," Darry grits out. "You think I don't want to take the day off and lay around until I feel less like I'm about to die? There's no other option!"

Two-Bit gets a determined look on his face, and marches over to the phone.

"What are you doing?" Darry asks, and Two-Bit holds a hand up for him to wait.

"Mr. Johnson?" Two-Bit says, and then Darry is hissing at him and trying to grab the phone. "I'm a friend of Darry Curtis. He's real sick today, and he's stubborn enough that he thinks it's a good idea to come to work." Darry keeps whisper-yelling at him while trying to get the phone. The fact that he can't just take it says something about how sick he is, but hell if he's gonna admit to it. "Of course, I'll make sure to tell him. And sir? I know this ain't the common practice, but you know Darry's the sole provider of their house. You think I could cover his shift for a couple of days, so he still gets a paycheck?" Two-Bit pauses. Darry is just looking at him in horror now. "I'll be honest, I ain't done the work before. But I can lift a good hundred pounds, and I promise you I'll do anything you ask." He pauses again. "Great. Thank you so much. I'll get the address from Darry and head straight over."

Two-Bit hangs up the phone. "There. All taken care of." Darry is gaping at him. When he makes another call. "Hey, Sodapop." Darry's gonna kill him. "Your brother's real sick. I took his shift at work and made him stay home. You think you can either check in on him or get one of the other boys to?"

"What the hell?" Darry says, then immediately starts coughing.

"Go back to bed. Everything's taken care of. All you gotta do is tell me the address of the job you were headed to."

"You can't-"

"It's done," Two-Bit says. "Now give me the address and get your ass back to bed."

Meanwhile, at the DX....

Soda feels even more like he made the right decision coming to work. They need the money, and if Darry is too sick to go to work, they need Soda's paycheck more than ever.

It was the right call, he thinks. He just feels a little bit woozy at the moment. "I'm gonna go on break," he calls to Steve. When he gets into the bathroom, he does a double take at his appearance. He successfully snuck out of the house this morning, but Pony was half asleep and apparently Darry was not in good shape either. Here he was just thinking that he was extra sneaky. (Maybe he's only medium sneaky.)

He splashes some cool water on his face and dries it. His face is hot, but he's so cold that he's chilled to the bone. His face is still flushed, and his eyes are glassy.

Steve has been busy working on cars all shift, and he has spent more time looking at an engine than looking at Soda. So Steve isn't really paying a lot of attention.

Soda just needs to make it through this shift. He'll be fine.

And then everything goes black.

Steve is swearing up a storm when Soda comes to. He doesn't catch the beginning, but he realizes Steve is also muttering about a damn fever, so he supposes the cat is out of the bag.

"I'm taking you home to your brothers. The hell were you thinking?" Steve asks, and Soda closes his eyes just before he feels burning hot tears roll down his cheeks. His breath hitches. "Soda..." Steve says, much softer. Soda lets out a sob then. "Christ. It's gonna be okay."

"We need the money," Soda gasps out, tears still rolling. "Darry's home sick. Which means he's probably halfway to dead, if he took a day off."

He feels Steve push his hair out of his face. "Don't worry about that," Steve tells him. "I got you covered." Soda starts to protest. "You know it drives me crazy that Muscles won't take money from us when we try to kick in. Hell, we should be buying groceries as often as we all eat there. So I got you. Damn thrilled about it, actually." He helps Soda up. "Now let's get you home to your brothers. I'll put up the 'back in fifteen' signs, and let's hope ol' Wanda don't require a push-start to drive you home."

When Steve brings Soda in the door, he finds Darry already on the couch. "Pepsi, what happened?"

"He's sick, too. Needs something to bring his fever down, passed out at the damn station." Darry moves to get up. "You take him, I know where y'all keep the medicine."

Then Soda is leaning against his big brother, and next thing he knows he's got tears running down his face again. "Aw, honey. You feel real bad?" Darry murmurs, his own voice raspy. "I'll save the lecture for when you're feeling better, but I don't want you going to work when you're sick like that, little buddy." Soda buries his face in Darry's shirt.

"But we need-"

"We're gonna be fine," Darry tells him gently. "Because Two's stubborn as hell, and he took my spot on the crew when he made me stay home."

Soda slumps against him, exhausted and breath still hitching. He takes the medicine that Steve gives him, and he doesn't remember much else after that because he drifts off, half in Darry's lap.

He wakes up to Ponyboy's voice. "I can't believe he tried to go to work." Pause. "I can't believe you tried to go to work. You're both ridiculous."

"Come on, Pony," Darry says wearily. "You know why we got to work."

Soda keeps his eyes closed. Maybe that will keep the lecture focused away from him.

Ponyboy's mad, though. "You both woulda skinned me for going to school in that condition. And most of the time at school you're sitting. You were gonna climb around on a roof? And it ain't like Soda don't spend most of his shifts at the DX running around." Well, guess he's gonna hear the lecture either way. "You need to use your head," Ponyboy snaps.

Soda cracks an eye open when Darry asks, "how long you been waiting to use that one on me?"

"Since my fourteenth birthday," Ponyboy says drily. "And we all know you're playing possum, Soda. You snore when you're sick."

"Do not," he mumbles, and he feels Darry's chest rumble a little when he chuckles.

"You two knuckleheads-" (man, Pony is going all in on this lecture) "so focused on paying the bills, you ever stop to think about what would happen to me and if I lost the two of you?" His voice catches in his chest.

"I'm sorry, baby," Darry says. "Don't cry."

"I ain't crying," Ponyboy says, sniffling and scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "But you two can't leave me. You just can't."

"Pony, you're getting dangerously close to me pulling you down into a big sandwich hug, germs be damned," Soda warns, and Ponyboy smiles a little, then.

"Y'all sit back and cuddle each other. Somebody's gotta be conscious to bring you soup and medicine. And it's Friday, so you're both gonna have more nursing back to health than you can stand. I got all weekend to take care of you, stubborn asses or not."

Soda wants to argue, he really does. But when Darry lets it go, he just snuggles back into his big brother's chest.

At the two week mark, on a Thursday night, after a grueling day of rehearsal that Yeosang had been sent home early from, Yunho sat despondently on their dorm couch, staring blankly at his lock screen. He hadn’t seen his roommate since returning home an hour ago. To be fair, he hadn’t gone looking. Rehearsal had been hell, especially for Yunho as the guest choreographer had been particularly harsh on him as the main dancer, so a petty part of Yunho was jealous Yeosang had gotten out of it. Sure, Yeosang had looked worse for wear, paler than the past week, cough somehow more constant too. It made sense for him to sit out, but… still. The mental and physical exhaustion weighed heavy, and Yunho felt that an hour of staring into space, completely alone, was warranted. 

But when Yunho finally stood to head for a shower, Yeosang stumbled into the room. Yunho pressed his lips together, biting back a wave of unbidden irritation. But then Yeosang paused, one hand grasping the kitchen counter for support as he bent in half with a desperately painful cough. That was… wrong. 

“Sangie?” Yunho felt his stomach twist, concern peaking. 

“Yunho, I… I’m not… I’m not feeling very well,” Yeosang stammered, voice ragged and breath wheezing as he tried to inhale. He gasped once more before stumbling forward, knees giving out. Yunho lunged forward, hooking his arms beneath Yeosang’s and gently guiding him to the floor. 

“Yeosang?!” Yunno exclaimed as the shorter man continued to wheeze in his arms. The dancer pushed Yeosang’s hair back from his eyes. “Sangie, what’s…?” Pausing in a lighting bolt moment of realization, Yunho pressed his hand back against Yeosang’s forehead. “You’re burning up!” The panic in Yunho’s stomach wound tighter. “Holy shit, Yeosang, you’re burning up…” 

Shaking his head, in a split second decision, Yunho hoisted Yeosang up to his feet and dragged him towards the bathroom. And it truly was a drag, as Yeosang hung like a sack of wet noddles in Yunho’s hold. Heart thundering wildly, Yunho deposited Yeosang onto the closed toilet lid before turning on bathroom lights. Now, the labored sound of Yeosang’s breathing echoed around them, and Yunho bit his lip, desperate to keep the panic at bay. He turned to the shower knobs, the whole reason he’d come in here; done right, a little water could fix anything. Hot water helped ease congestion, yes, but cold water brought a fever down. With a decisive nod, Yunho twisted the cold water knob, and then turned back to his roommate. 

“Alright, Sang, work with me,” Yunho mumbled as he reached forward, lithe fingers pulling off Yeosang’s hoodie. He wore a thin, white t-shirt underneath, and was already wearing sports shorts. Yunho nodded, deeming that enough. So he hauled Yeosang to his feet and dragged him into the shower. Yeosang immediately started whimpering like a wounded animal as he fought weakly against Yunho’s grasp, the icy water crashing down upon them both. “I know, love, it’s so cold, but we have to get that fever down…”

Yeosang gasped, a terrible choking sound, and suddenly clutched at his throat, coughing desperately. He went completely limp in Yunho’s arms, the dancer nearly slipping in his effort to keep them both upright. 

“Fuck,” Yunho whispered, his left arm wrapped across Yeosang’s chest while his right scrambled to turn the water off. Stumbling back into the bathroom, Yunho fell back against the wall with Yeosang landing in a heap on top of him. That terrible, rasping wheeze, punctuated now by harsh coughs was the only sound in the room, echoing louder and louder in Yunho’s brain. The dancer squeezed his eyes closed, terribly aware that he was seconds away from a full on panic attack despite the fact Yeosang needed him to be rational. With a steadying breath, Yunho put that thought on repeat: Yeosang needs me, Yeosang needs me, Yeosang needs me. 

Snagging the towel from the hook above them, Yunho wrapped it around Yeosang’s shoulders before settling him against the wall. Yeosang whined pitifully as Yunho stood up. He slipped on his water-logged socks, left knee colliding painfully with the floor. Hissing in pain, Yunho pushed himself back to his feet, now limping slightly to the dining room table where he’d abandoned his phone. Fingers trembling, Yunho opened his most recent calls and clicked a number without looking, knowing that no matter what, a hyung would be with whomever he called. 

*

A phone on the coffee table began to buzz. Mingi looked up from his Switch. “It’s Yunho, hyung,” he called over his shoulder to Seonghwa, the owner of said phone. 

“You can answer it!” the eldest called back, nearly done preparing dinner for the trio. 

Mingi snatched up the phone and hit ‘accept.’ “Hello?”

“HYUNG! You need to… it’s Sangie, he…”

Mingi’s spine straightened at the rushed tidal wave of words screeching from the other end. “Whoa, whoa, Yunho, slow down…” Out of the corner of his eyes, Mingi saw both Seonghwa and San freeze, eyeing him nervously. “What are you…?”

“Help! He needs HELP!” Yunho sounded no less panicked. 

“Okay, we’re on the way. Hang tight.” Mingi hung up, jumping to his feet as he met the worried eyes watching him. “Something’s wrong downstairs.” With a nod, Seonghwa turned off the stove, abandoning dinner, and following after Mingi as the rapper dashed to the door. San grabbed his keys before following the other two into the hall and down the stairs, allowing them to enter the apartment shared by Yunho and Yeosang. 

As soon as they pushed the door open, Seonghwa called, “Yunho?” “In here!” The trio followed his voice to the bathroom where they found the dancer, sopping wet and trembling, desperately holding up an unconscious Yeosang. Despite the water dripping from his hair, it was obvious that Yunho was crying. “He’s so sick, hyung,” the dancer exclaimed, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. Seonghwa nodded, eldest brother mode taking over. 

“Mingi, take Yunho out of here. Sannie, I’m gonna need you to hold Sangie while I call a manager,” he ordered, calm and firm in just the way the others needed. San instantly slid to his knees, pulling Yeosang into his lap. 

“Come on, love,” Mingi murmured gently, holding his hands out to Yunho to pull him to his feet. As the rapper dragged his best friend from the bathroom, Seonghwa heard Yunho begin babbling again, his voice getting higher and higher and tearier as it disappeared down the hall. He shook his head; he had to trust Mingi to solve that one for now. 

Seonghwa pulled out his phone, dialed their manager and waited only two rings before he heard that familiar voice. “Hyung, we need an ambulance. Yeosang’s currently unconscious.” Seonghwa’s lips pressed together as he listened, San watching him intently as the eldest started rummaging through the drawers of the vanity. “No, we haven’t checked yet, I just got here and Yunho’s practically hysterical.” A low growl sounded in his throat as Seonghwa shut the last drawer with frustration, clearly not finding what he needed. “Can’t find the thermometer. He’s definitely burning up, though.” San pressed a hand against Yeosang’s forehead, shooting Seonghwa a thumbs up of confirmation. As Seonghwa nodded along with the other side of the conversation, San readjusted his arms around Yeosang, who’d started slipping from his grasp. The harsh grating of Yeosang’s breathing was one of the most terrifying things San could ever remember hearing. 

“Okay, thank you, hyung. We’ll be here. See you soon.” 

San watched, silent and scared, as Seonghwa hung up the phone, then clicked another number and held the device to his ear again. 

“Joong, Yeosang needs to go to the hospital. I already called management, and they’re calling EMS.” Seonghwa nodded to whatever the captain was saying. “Okay. Figured as much. See you momentarily.” 

*

As Hongjoong opened the door, Wooyoung sprinted past him towards the bathroom, which the captain expected. But Hongjoong and Jongho were stopped in the den, caught off guard by the sounds coming from the room. Mingi and Yunho were the couch, Yunho nearly shouting incoherent nonsense, nearly hyperventilating. Mingi looked up, helpless, at the newcomers. 

“What’s going on?” Hongjoong asked, rounding the couch and kneeling in front of the duo, his hand finding Yunho’s knee and squeezing. He started a bit to find the cloth of the dancer’s pants were soaked, but figured that was a story for another time. 

“It’s my fault!” Yunho gasped out. “I-i-i didn’t, I didn’t check on him, and…”

“Hey, hey.” Hongjoong grabbed Yunho’s tearstained cheeks, forcing eye contact. He could feel Yunho’s teeth chattering. “Breathe with me. In.” Hongjoong sucked in an over exaggerated breath. 

“Hyung! He… Sang collapsed!” Yunho exclaimed, hiccuping panickedly. He shook his head. “I almost drowned him!” 

The captain pulled one of the dancer’s trembling palms against his own chest. “Breathe, Yu. In.” Hongjoong inhaled again. Yunho mimicked him, admittedly very shallow. “Out.” Hongjoong kept it up until he felt Yunho’s hand stop shaking in his. “Good man.” 

Yunho’s free hand clasped at Hongjoong’s fingers, the ones still resting against his cheek. “I’m sorry…” he sniffled quietly, the last few tears leaking from his eyes. 

“Baby, no.” Mingi reached forward, squeezing his best friend’s shoulder. “You did so good tonight, Yunho.” The dancer shook his head, lips still wobbling. “Yes, you did. You tried to help Sangie however you could; that’s what matters.”

“Not to mention, hyung,” Jongho spoke up, leaning over the back of the couch, “there’s no way you could have predicted or prevented Sangie taking a turn for the worse. It was definitely him pushing himself at practice so much. Nothing to do with you at all.” The maknae ran a soothing hand through Yunho’s still damp hair, frowning a bit at that but, like Hongjoong, determining that could be clarified later. 

“Yeah, you’ve been taking such good care of our Sang the past two weeks,” Mingi said, smiling softly, encouragingly, adoringly. Yunho bit at his lip, sniffling again. 

“And I’m sure that hasn’t been easy on either of you,” Hongjoong added. 

Yunho nodded, scrubbing at his eyes. Then his hands fell into his lap. “I’m just so tired.” 

“Joong?” The voice was Seonghwa’s. Obviously, the eldest was oblivious to what was happening out here, but it tore the captain’s heart in two nonetheless, to be needed elsewhere when one of his crew was so visibly upset. 

“Go, hyung,” Jongho insisted. “Mingi and I got this.” 

Yunho nodded, grabbing Hongjoong’s hand and squeezing. “Sang’s more important.”

“Not true,” Mingi muttered as he pulled Yunho against his chest while Hongjoong stood and rushed towards the bathroom. Jongho looped around the couch, nodding to the leader before taking his place on the floor next to his tallest hyungs. Hongjoong felt his chest swell with pride. Damn, why were they all so good at this?

Hongjoong’s reminder that the eight of them were, after all, just humans came in the form of yelling as he got closer to the bathroom. Well, yelling wasn’t the correct term; harsh talking was more like it. 

“…are not going,” Seonghwa was saying, tone a sharp, dangerous warning. 

“Like hell I’m staying here!” Wooyoung shot back. As the captain settled into the doorwary, he saw San glancing helplessly back and forth between them. Wooyoung’s glare was pure fire as he clutched a pale, unconscious Yeosang against his chest. It shattered Hongjoong’s heart on sight. Which gave him the courage to step into the room, to take charge as ATEEZ’s Captain. 

“Wooyoung, Seonghwa’s right. I’m the only one going to the hospital with Yeosang.” As Wooyoung began to protest, Hongjoong held up a hand, silencing him. “I know how you feel right now, I do. But what’re you going to accomplish at the hospital, Woo? I’m just going to sit in that waiting room for god knows how long. We have to let the doctors do their thing. That’s what Yeosang needs right now. And the second he wakes up, I will call you and get you into that room. You too, San, if you want.” San perked up instantly at the promise, nodding enthusiastically. Wooyoung’s lips were a tight line of discontent, anger warring in his dark eyes as he glared at Hongjoong. “You can be mad at me all you want. That’s not going to change anything.”

“Hyung.” All four of them looked up as Jongho appeared in the doorway. The maknae flinched a bit, not expecting such a rapt reception, and thus focused his attention on Seonghwa. “Mingi and I are going to take Yunho up to your place,” Jongho said quickly. “I fear seeing the paramedics would send him into another meltdown.”

Seonghwa clasped the maknae’s hands. “You are a saint.” Jongho nodded, shooting one worried glance at Yeosang before hurrying back down the hall. “And on that note, we need to prep our boy for lift off. Sannie, come help me pack him up a bag?” 

The air was thick in the cramped bathroom as the two men disappeared into the hall. Hongjoong watched, expression guarded, as Wooyoung repositioned Yeosang so the performer’s body was more upright; he’d started wheezing again, that terrible rasping sound he’d been making when Wooyoung had arrived. It got a little less aggressive the more vertical Yeosang’s torso, which was difficult to maintain given the man’s current state.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung muttered, eyes cast down towards his best friend. His fingers tightened against the towel still snugly secured around Yeosang. “I… I’m scared. For him.”

“I know, Woo. I’m sorry you can’t stay with him. I just… I don’t want the hospital to freak you out more.” 

Wooyoung nodded, reluctant but resigned. 

EMS arrived shortly after their manager, and whisked Yeosang away in a cloud of professionalism. When the door closed behind them, Wooyoung stood motionless in the hall, unsure of what to do with himself until a warm hand clasped his shoulder.  

“Come stay with us.” Seonghwa nodded his head back towards the hallway, to San, who’d left on a mission to grab a few of Yunho’s things. “You and Sannie can have a sleepover.”

A few minutes later, the trio quietly entered the dorm. Jongho sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. The sound was so low, it was obvious he’d just turned it on to avoid dead silence. 

“Everything go okay?” the maknae asked as San collapsed next to him, immediately resting his head against Jongho’s shoulder. 

“Smooth as we could hope for,” Seonghwa sighed, watching as Wooyoung followed San’s movements, curling up on the performer’s other side as Jongho began to play with San’s hair. “Where’re the twins?”

“Asleep in Mingi’s room. At least, Yunho’s asleep. We slipped him some extra strength Benadryl to knock him out. Not that he needed it, but still.” Jongho shook his head. “I haven’t seen Yunho that worked up in a while. Maybe ever.”

“He’s scared,” San spoke up. “And he’s tired. That’s a bad combination when you throw in stress like your roommate passing out in your arms.” 

“Thank you, Jongho, for being so calm through all that,” Seonghwa added, smiling with pride. 

Jongho shrugged. “Hey, we can only have half of the team freaking out at once. Wasn’t my turn today.” San snorted out a laugh, and Seonghwa could see Wooyoung also fighting a smile. He had little choice when San threw an arm around his shoulders and tickled Wooyoung’s neck, eliciting a squeal from the younger man. 

As the couch descended into light chaos, Seonghwa padded down the hall. He peeked his head through the doorway of Mingi’s room. The rapper’s eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of his phone screen, turned towards him instantly, followed by a small wave of the phone hand. His other arm was trapped under a snoring heap of Jeong Yunho.

“Everything good?” the eldest whispered. 

Mingi nodded. “We might have to do some damage control in the morning, but…” He paused, beaming down at his best friend, “I think he just needed to sleep.” Then his face turned serious again. “How’s Sangie?” Seonghwa shrugged. “We’ll know when we know. All we can do is get some rest and be ready to help tomorrow.” 

Mingi saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”

It's not his business, though. In this new, government controlled hellscape, they all do what they need to survive. It's not like Eddie was a paragon of ethics and morals before all this. He's only stopped dealing because he ran out of supply. Murray's already smuggling what he can into Hawkins, Eddie isn't going to make him run drugs, too. Besides, Eddie doesn't even know what the supply chains were before this happened. That was Rick's responsibility. Eddie just handled disbursement.

Either way, Eddie isn't sure what he was expecting when he stepped into WSQK, but it certainly wasn't endless, unlit hallways, with faint flashing lights coming from equipment rooms. He's glad that Robin had been able to give him clear directions when she'd requested he come and pick up Steve.

"Ok, Eddie, I have two minutes and twenty-eight seconds until this song ends, so you need to listen up. Steve is sick and won't get out of here, but he keeps cueing up the wrong sounds and coughing when we're on air. I need him gone. Can you come and get him?"

She had barely waited for a yes before barreling on. "Great. Come in the front, then take a left. It's up the stairs. He should be napping in the breakroom, if he listens to reason." There was a faint grumble of dissent behind her. "Shut up Steve. Anyway, up the stairs, second door on your right. It's the only one with the door open and the lights on, unless Stevie here turns them off. Don't you dare, Steve. Ok, I've gotta go. Give me a sign when you get him, ok?"

And then she had disconnected, and her voice had come through seconds later on the car radio. "What's up Hawkins! That was Boys Don't Cry by The Cure. Of course, if you know the boys certainly do cry, about all sorts of things. I think boys cry more than girls actually but maybe I just hang out with more boys. Ok! Enough of that. Let's go to an old standby! This is Shadows of the Night by Pat Benatar."

Eddie had laughed. Of course Robin liked Pat Benatar. It hadn't taken him long to get to the radio station, but it was long enough for Robin to get through two more tracks, Fever by The Cramps, and Rainbow in the Dark by Dio, which she only played because she knew he liked it.

But as soon as he pulled into the parking lot of the station and shut his car off, everything went quiet. The only sound was his own footsteps on the linoleum floor as he walked through the station. He couldn't even hear Robin, though he supposed it made sense since she was in the broadcast room, running the show. He hoped she was fine to run it alone, since it was normally a two-person job.

As soon as he made it to the top of the stairs, it was easy to find the room that Robin had mentioned. The second floor was much better lit then the first for one. It was clear this was where the two of them spent the bulk of their time. He could see straight ahead of him the recording room, with it's wall of windows and Robin moving around manically inside. Across from that, a smaller room with the door cracked had to be the breakroom.

Eddie pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was a small, cramped room, but it had everything he supposed a person might need at work: there was a table with four chairs, a counter with a sink and a microwave, a fridge, and a small, squashed olive-green couch. Steve was spread out on the couch, eyes closed.

"Hey Stevie," Eddie said softly.

Steve's eyes snapped open. "I'm good here," he broke off coughing.

Eddie winced. This clearly wasn't a recent development, Steve had had to have that cough for a while to sound this bad.

"Need some water?" Eddie asked, already moving to check the cabinets above the sink for glasses.

"I'm good," Steve said, pushing himself up into a seated position and grabbing a glass of water that Eddie hadn't noticed before.

"Are you?" Eddie said, arching an eyebrow.

Steve nodded, still sipping at the water in his hand.

"I don't want to leave Robin here alone," he said.

"I think Buckley will be fine," Eddie said. "She's the one who asked me to come get you."

Steve shook his head. "It's not..."

"It's not what, Harrington," Eddie asked. He couldn't think of a single reason that Steve would need to stay at the station. He clearly wasn't working, and Robin had said she had kicked him out because he couldn't keep the coughing under control on air.

"She shouldn't be here alone," Steve said, softly.

And oh, that made sense. No one was supposed to be alone in this fresh new world, with its seeping wounds bleeding demogorgons and other monsters, with their streets patrolled by government officials who were trigger happy and untrustworthy. Especially not in a guerilla radio station that had its name clear as day on the side of the building.

"How much longer is Robin gonna be on air?" Eddie asked, dropping down on the couch besides Steve. If they were going to stay, he might as well be comfortable.

Steve immediately relaxed. Eddie could see the tension drop out of his neck and back. "Not much longer," Steve said. "Only an hour or so."

"Ok Stevie," Eddie said. "We'll wait, but then I'm taking you straight home, you hear me?"

"That's fine," Steve said sleepily. He slid down on the couch, eyes falling shut.

"Oh-" Eddie bit off the rest of his sentence. "Come here," he said, tugging Steve gently until he toppled over sideways, head in Eddie's lap. "You'll breathe easier this way," Eddie said, combing a bit of Steve's hair away from his face.

"Hyung?" he calls out, finally working out the nerve to ask to turn back early.

"Yeah?" Just as Changbin turns to look, his foot slides on a patch of gravel. It seems as if he moves in slow motion as his knee gives out and his whole body hurtles towards the ground. Crying out, he collapses onto the path and several yards down the mountainside. A sickening snap sounds from his knee and an audible thud echoes from his body slamming onto the rocks. Changbin grasps at his right knee, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

"Changbin?" Seungmin's face pales completely as he jogs towards the older's side. His knee is shifted slightly out of place, leaving a hollow dip where his kneecap should be resting. Upon rolling up his sweatpants, Seungmin's stomach lurches—and not from his illness. The skin is already tinted an angry purple color, making it incredibly clear that they now needed to make it to the hospital, not home like Seungmin had just been about to ask.

"It's okay. It's… fuck," Changbin finally curses, no longer able to keep up with his tough persona as he takes in deep breaths to calm his nerves. He can tell the joint is dislocated, and with as severe as it looks, he won't be dancing for a while. He's letting his members down, letting STAY down, all over dragging his friend out for a hike that he wanted to do. The only thing that snaps him out of his spiral was the sight of his friend fighting back tears.

Seungmin, not often one to cry, is fighting a losing battle. Seeing his hyung so injured, yet remaining so calm, elicits a tearful reaction. That's how he knows he's getting sick—he's never so emotional otherwise. Thick, hot tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to help Changbin up off the gravel.

"We need to get you home. There's no way we can go any further," Seungmin sniffles, stating the obvious. "Hyung, it looks so bad."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Just… let's go slowly, yeah?"

Seungmin clears his throat and slowly, painfully helps Changbin stand up.

An immediate shriek. "NO! No, no, no, put me down!" At Changbin's panic, Seungmin lowers him to the ground as fast as he safely can.

"I’m so so sorry, Bin," Seungmin squats down next to him. "I don't think we can move you safely."

Like a cruel joke, the universe chooses this moment to open the skies. Mercifully, it is only drizzling.

"You have to be fucking with me," Changbin starts to truly panic as Seungmin digs in his backpack for his poncho. "No, Min-ah, you take it!" He protests as Seungmin puts the raincoat over his hyung's head.

"You need it more than I do," Seungmin chokes out. He is in completely over his head and has no idea what he should do. Rain is coming down in sheets, pattering against the dirt. Worst of all, his headache is wringing his brain out, making him impossibly dizzy and his thoughts sluggish.

"I… I'm going to call for help."

Changbin's eyes immediately narrow. If they could get through to help, it would likely be a whole public scandal. STAY would panic. STAY would get mad. Mad at JYPE, for 'letting their idols run loose and risk getting hurt,' or mad at Chan for 'not taking care of his dongsaengs.' As much as he wants to avoid the whole potential situation, he realizes that they are quite honestly fucked, and lets Seungmin dial 119.

Seungmin stares at the call that won't go through. Once, twice, three tries, to no avail. The drizzle turns into a steady tapping against Changbin's poncho as Seungmin tucks his phone back into his bag, the "Call Failed" screen causing the tears that had been brewing to finally roll over. He swallows hard and the movement spikes the pain in his throat, causing it to shoot up into his temples.

"Changbin," Seungmin croaks out as he curls up next to his side. "It won't go through."

"What? We can't just sit here!" Changbin continues grabbing his thigh. The higher pressure seems to ease the pain below it, even if it's only in his head.

"We have to go back down. I can try to get you up again," Seungmin suggests shakily. He thinks back to where they are. Luckily, due to the nature of how the trail loops around, they're about a kilometer from the company car they took out today. Unluckily, it's almost completely on a steep decline.

"Slowly, Min," Changbin warns, and they try again. Seungmin awkwardly maneuvers the bigger man up over his shoulder until he can straighten out his body, then acts as a crutch on the same side as the swollen knee.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Ever so slowly, they set off down the trail. Every lurch makes Changbin's knee hurt more and more as the adrenaline wears off. Not only is Changbin's condition worsening, Seungmin isn't as stable a crutch as he ought to be. With the fever burning full force in the base of his skull, dizziness threatens to send them hurtling hundreds of feet down. It's a wet, rocky slip and slide.

Suddenly, "I need to stop."

The quiet words don't come from Changbin, but from Seungmin.

"What?"

"I need to stop. Hyung, I'm dizzy, I don't want to drop you," Seungmin's voice cracks as he turns Changbin into a hug against his chest. Taking his weight on more evenly helps calm the gray blurs in the younger's vision.

"What? Why are you dizzy? The altitude isn't that high, Min-ah," Changbin replies through gritted teeth.

"No. No, Binnie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Seungmin tears up for the third time that afternoon. His face is soaked with an indistinguishable combination of salty tears and thick raindrops. Underneath the dampness, his skin is flushed a deep, red color.

Changbin leans all of his weight into the singer. "What? Why are you sorry?"

"I… I was running a fever this morning. But you were so excited about this hike, and I wasn't feeling too bad, and now my throat is on fire and my head is spinning, and I feel achy, and I'm scared I'll drop you, and what if we both die out here-"

"Whoa, whoa!" Changbin frowns. This entire rant is news to him. "We're not dying. But Seungmin, you can't hide stuff like this!" The rain continues falling in heavy sheets.

"I'm so sorry, hyung. But we need to get back, now. You need a hospital," Seungmin cries and tries to head forward again until the dizziness sends him tipping and he has to fold strategically to get Changbin sitting back on the ground with his poor knee stretched out in front of him.

"Fuck!" Changbin yells out. All of the adrenaline has worn out at this point, making every movement beyond painful.

"I genuinely… I can't…" the younger scrambles to explain. His hands shake with guilt and he struggles to justify his hiding his condition. There really is no excuse.

"I'm not mad at you, Minnie, just… there's at least 300 meters until we're back flat. And then another 400 to the car."

An idea strikes Seungmin. Despite the violent shivering wracking all of his limbs, causing a trembling all the way through to his fingers, he takes off his jean jacket.

"You'll freeze!"

"Hear me out!"

He lays the jacket out on the gravel and helps Changbin sit squarely on the thick body of the fabric.

"Let me know if this hurts too bad," Seungmin rasps out. He stumbles forward, dragging Changbin by the sleeves. When he walks slowly, he's able to progress without straining himself so much, and Changbin is able to slide without hurting so badly. It's not a perfect method. The gravel claws at Changbin's lower back through the denim, sending sparks of pain straight through him, and sometimes they advance a bit too far and risk tumbling down. But the rain acts in their favor for once and they make it down to the bottom of the incline after nearly thirty agonizingly long minutes.

The company car is in sight at this point, across the rest of the trail and through the flat expanse of parking lot. Both men are entirely soaked through. Seungmin is shivering violently, his throat screaming in pain, and his whole body weak and achy. Despite the poncho, Changbin's clothes are also completely wet, and his pants are torn from being dragged along the path.

Back to playing 'human crutch.'

Powered only by pure determination to get Changbin help, Seungmin drags him up to a standing position.

"See the car, Binnie? We're close. So close."

Step. Shift. Drag. Step. Shift. Sway. Recenter. Drag.

It takes forever. Even more screaming. Stopping for dizzy spells, for pain breaks, and for readjustments. But there are no cars in the parking lot (Seungmin supposes everyone else checked the weather), and so they can cross it more easily.

Mercifully, they finally reach the car. Seungmin fishes the keys out of his pocket, so ready to finally climb back in, turn the heat on, and get his hyung medical attention. With Changbin still hanging off his chest, Seungmin clicks the unlock button.

Nothing happens.

Again.

Nothing.

Of course the key won't work. It's been sitting in water for nearly forty minutes, the battery is clearly brokem.

"Changbin-hyung?" He croaks. "The fob. It's not working. Can you hold onto the side of the car? Give me a minute." Changbin obeys, leaning all his weight across the hood. His teeth are gritted in agony but his full trust is in his member to get them out of this situation.

Seungmin steps around to the driver's side, his hands shaking violently as he fumbles with the slippery key. Eventually, he manages to pop out the blade using his thumbnail. Into the lock, turn, click. A small mercy. He stretches across the seat to turn on the ignition and blast the heat.

Seungmin exhales shakily and comes back around to face Changbin.

"We've got to get you in," he rasps.

Changbin shifts his weight from the hood as Seungmin resumes his position as a crutch. Together, they hobble as close to the side of the seat as they can. Support, pivot. With a strong heave, Seungmin pulls Changbin up so that he sits down with his legs hanging out the door.

"Be careful," Changbin pleads.

"I know," Seungmin pants. He reaches for the seat's lever and lets his hyung's seat scoot back enough so that he can rotate him to face forward in the car. It's a slow, bit by bit process, and when they finally make it, Seungmin could cry from a mixture of relief and sheer exhaustion.

The click of the seatbelt buckle is a victory cheer as Seungmin makes his way back into the driver's side and closes the door.

Now, as they soak through the front seats of the company car, Seungmin's symptoms wash over him like a wave. His entire body is trembling from head to toe. Each breath causes fire to explode down his throat and into his lungs. The mixture of sweat and rain cause his wet clothes to cling uncomfortably to his skin.

Dizziness clings to the edge of his vision even as he sits down and pulls hit seatbelt across his chest. Every tiny movement amplifies the pain in his joints.

A soft voice breaks the silence.

"Seungmin?" Changbin gasps, forcing his own breathing to stay steady even as he leans left to check on his dongsaeng.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you so much."

"What for? I got us into this situation. I put us at risk!" Seungmin's voice cracks.

"You didn't make me fall," Changbin interrupts, adjusting the heat so it blows onto Seungmin's side. "You helped me. You saved me. I didn't want to worry you up there, but I was so scared we would get stranded, or… or hurt even worse. I'm so proud of you."

"It's supposed to be you manhandling me, not the other way around," the younger hiccups.

"Seungminnie. Thank you."

Seungmin responds with a full body sob. It's a totally body release of the day's stress, exhaustion, and illness. He swallows, hard, trying to steady himself.

Changbin watches him closely. "You don't have to be strong right now, Min-ah. But we need to go."

The singer blinks rapidly as he tries to focus. He runs the windshield wipers once, then twice. The rain is still coming down, they're miles from the nearest hospital, and his fever is making his head spin.

He looks over at Changbin, who is currently leaned back into his rain-soaked seat, clutching his knee.

"I… Okay. Let's go." Seungmin puts the car into reverse but doesn't proceed backward.

"Are you alright to drive like this?" Changbin's brows furrow. He can't believe that he's about to watch a blubbering, fever-ridden sickie try to navigate the downhill, winding roads, through thick fog and the constant downpour.

"I have to be. I guess we'll find out," Seungmin makes an attempt at levity.

The joke doesn't land. But truly, they have no other choice. Changbin can't even point his toe, and there would be no way he could operate the gas pedal. Ironically, the fever-ridden boy was their best bet.