#starstwinkleplanetsshine

It had come out of nowhere, and if he was honest. He was lucky he'd even made it to the bathroom before he started puking. He'd gone from a dead sleep to awake and moving too quickly, and it had done nothing good for the other things that had started to become apparent as he knelt there, praying to any god that would listen for it to stop.

The dizziness had come second, or, at least the realization of it had. He hadn't even noticed that being dizzy was the reason he'd nearly gone careening to the floor when he'd scrambled out of bed. Coupled with how cold he was, enough to run awful chills up and down his back, and the awful full-body ache that had settled in, he had to be realistic.

He was sick. Not just “under the weather” either, like Annabeth sometimes said, but truly and properly ill.

It wasn’t long, maybe five minutes and a few rounds of hell, before Annabeth pushed the door the rest of the way open and flicked on the lights.

To say they were murder on his throbbing head, add that to the list, would be an understatement, but he was relieved not to be alone. Especially since about a minute before, he’d rocked forward so hard to heave that he’d whacked his head on the porcelain.

“God, Perce, what the fuck.”

Mad? was as far as his brain got before he was reeling again, but he didn’t feel her hand on his back, comforting him like he wanted.

Why was she mad? Was she mad that he was sick? He knew that she had midterms coming up, and really couldn’t afford to get sick herself, and that he had a ridiculously flighty immune system compared to her rock-solid one, but she wasn’t normally hostile to him.

“Huh?” he managed, holding his head between his hands while his elbows rested on their toilet seat. He squinched his eyes shut, reaching out a hand that was shaking way too badly and trying to find the handle to flush his stomach away.

Annabeth’s hand swatted at his, and she flushed the toilet, shifting her weight back again to cross her arms.

“Why do you do this?”

She’s mad you’re sick, again, his dizzy, pounding brain chided him. He, Leo, and Jason had passed a cold back and forth most of the winter, and he’d gotten over it for maybe the fifth time just the week before.

“I…” he started, and then stopped to stifle a gag into his fist. “I’m sorry,” he eventually rasped. “I know it’s annoying–”

“You have to stop drinking so much when you go out with Angie,” she said, frustration heavy in her voice. “It sucks that I have to deal with the aftermath of you two deciding to overindulge in whatever you decide is the ‘drink of the night.’ I have drafts to work on today, and that second interview this week that I need to prepare for. I don’t have time to deal with you hungover all day.”

It was as if the wild spinning of his head and stomach stopped for a moment. Which, would have been nice, except he realized why Annabeth was so angry. She thought he’d decided to get fucked up with his sister, not that he was sick.

Which, his stomach reminded him, settling back into heavy nausea with a painful cramp, was very much the case. 

He was about to tell her as much when he was sent over the bowl again, retching violently enough to nearly make him hit his head again, which he would have if he hadn’t blocked it with his hand. 

It was a minute before his body let him rest, and he pushed backward enough that his back hit the wall, letting it bear his weight as he dipped his head between his knees. Somewhere in his fever-brain, he recalled Cady making him do that when he was really dizzy and nauseous, but he couldn’t come up with anything else that might have helped.

Annabeth was still standing in the doorway, he could feel her presence there, and he heard himself whine before rasping, “Beth–”

“I don’t want to hear it, Percy. Seriously–”

“Beth, I– I’m not hungover,” he pleaded, closing his eyes so he didn’t feel like he was seasick. Or, airsick. It was worse that he’d ever felt on a plane, though. He definitely hadn’t been this sick in a long while. “I’m not hungover, I’m just sick.”

It was quiet for a moment before Annabeth said quietly, “Bullshit.”

“I sw–swear,” he pleaded. “Angie and I didn’t even drink last night. We decided we’re trying to save–” He took a breath, trying to steady himself so his voice would stop shaking so badly. “Money. To go see Stellie for her birthday.”

Silence hung in the bathroom again, though Percy nearly didn’t notice. It felt like nausea was pulling him under in waves, and it was hard to focus.

Then, there was a freezing hand on the back of her neck, and he heard her sigh.

“Fuck,” she whispered, and then her hand was gone, and he started to hear her move.

He couldn’t focus very long on where she’d gone or what she was doing, because no sooner had the thought come to ask her that he was sick again, and everything in his brain was focused on not falling over while he dry heaved miserably, nothing left in his system for him to throw up.

How long she was gone was a mystery, but he was slouched over the bowl, his forehead resting on his forearm, waiting to be sick again, when she came back.

“Perce? Honey, can you sit up?”

All the frustration was gone, and pity had taken it’s place. Percy didn’t even care, he was so relieved she wasn’t mad at him anymore. He took a shaky breath and sat up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t set the world spinning even more than it already was.

He blinked his eyes open. Annabeth was a little blurry, since he wasn’t wearing his contacts, but the look on her face was clear enough. He must have looked awful.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and she shushed him, pushing his bangs back and resting her hand on his forehead.

“No, hon, I’m sorry,” she said, her frown deepening. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to that without figuring out what was going on, I’m just so stressed out with other things that I let them take over.” She was still frowning, moving her hand to cup his cheek. “That fever’s awful.”

“I feel awful,” he said, letting himself lean into the coolness of her hand. “Everything hurts and I’m so nauseous.”

“I know, honey.” Annabeth rubbed her thumb over his cheek before biting her lip. “Do you think you can get up from here? I know you prefer the couch to the bed while you’re vomiting so I moved your pillow and the quilt your mom made you out there.”

“But, you draft at the table,” he said, blinking at her slowly and trying not to let anxiety start in his chest. He really didn’t want to throw up anymore, but he knew he wouldn’t be so lucky. “It’ll be distracting to try to draft while I’m puking out there.”

“Honey, I’m not drafting today,” she said simply, and even blurry, he could see in her eyes that she meant it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

“Cady takes care of us when we’re sick,” he said automatically. Annabeth wasn’t really the caretaking type. Every so often she would, but he knew she didn’t love it, and it didn’t come easily to her. Usually, when he was sick, they called Cady, and she came over and dealt with him so Annabeth could still get things done. That, or she shuttled him over to her and Angie’s apartment, where he stayed on the couch until he was good to come back home.

Annabeth didn’t have time to be sick. She had so many amazing and important projects she was working on. He couldn’t take her away from them because he had what was probably a nasty stomach virus from hell itself.

Still, she was looking at him with such earnest determination that he might have fallen in love with her all over again.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging simply. “But, maybe I want to. You’re mine.”

He sat up slowly, his head pounding in time with his heartbeat. It felt like all of his muscles were screaming at him to lay his head back down, but he didn’t like the way Rosie’s face pulled into worry.

“I don’t think so,” he said, and when he swallowed, it felt like there was shrapnel in his throat. “What time is it?”

“Almost lights out,” Rosie said, brushing his bangs back to press a hand against his forehead. “You look awful, Ev. And you feel like you’re on fire.”

“S’always hot in here,” Evan mumbled, rubbing at his eyes to try to make them stop aching. “An’ we run warm. God of the forge, and everything.”

“This is way more than that,” Rosie said, and the next thing he knew, he was being hauled to his feet. The world swam a bit, and he had to reach out a hand to steady himself on the edge of his desk.

“Woah, Posie, slow down.”

She stilled, eyebrows furrowing at her step-brother of sorts. Their godly parents were married, which had always meant more to Rosie than it had to the rest of her siblings, and his. But, she took it seriously, and so did he.

“Sorry, sorry. I just– you need to go see Cady. You’re definitely sick, you’re all pale and flushed and weak looking.”

“How can I look pale and flushed,” Evan asked quietly, putting his warm face in his freezing hands for a second.

That’s probably not a good sign, he thought.

“I don’t know! Like, pale on your whole face, but your cheeks are flushed. Like when someone has a fever. You know?”

“Not really,” he mumbled. The more he spoke, the more his throat hurt, and it sounded like he’d decided to swallow screws instead of using them for the… something he’d been building. He couldn’t really remember what he’d been in the forge for, anyway. Everything was foggy and disrupted, what with how badly his head was throbbing. And, now that he was thinking about it, he sort of felt like he was made of jello. His muscles were all protesting being upright.

“I’m gonna sit back down,” he said, and Rosie grabbed his arm.

“No way, Ev. You’re going with me to the infirmary. Cady can fix you up and then you can go to bed. Probably in there, she’s going to want to watch you. You know how she worries.”

“Mhm,” Evan said, though he didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to stay in the forge, where it was warm. “Are you sure I can’t stay here?”

“Evan Knight, you come with me right now.”

Oop, full name. Better listen.

He knew better than to fight with Rosie when she was set on something, and followed her as she started to pull him out of the forge and into the night air. As soon as they crossed the threshold he shivered, crossing his arms over his chest as he pulled out of Rosie’s grip.

“Gods, it’s cold.”

“It’s not,” Rosie said, worry inching back onto her face. “It’s actually really nice tonight.”

“Can I grab my sweatshirt?”

“No,” she said seriously, grabbing one of his arms, but letting him keep it crossed over his chest. “You don’t need to be any warmer than you already are. You’re going to melt your brain or something, or die from fever poisoning.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Evan said, frowning as Rosie marched him toward the Big House. “I don’t think fever poisons you.”

“Well what do I look like to you? A healer? An expert on fevers? That’s why we're going to see Cady.”

“Cady can’t fix everything, Posie. Maybe she won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“She absolutely can,” Rosie said with such conviction that Evan’s next comment was stopped in its tracks. 

“Okay, Rosie Posie,” he said softly, trudging along with her even as each step made his muscles scream. “I believe you.”

As it turned out, Cady could do something about it. 

“Did you know you didn’t feel well when you went into the forge?” She asked, a hand against his forehead, and another on the back of his neck. She had her eyes closed as she concentrated on his body systems.

Or, at least that’s what she said she was doing.

He liked the way Cady talked when she was working. It made more sense to him; sharp and clinical, without all the emotions and niceties that made communication… difficult for him at times.

“No,” he said honestly. “But I’ve been really focused on this problem with my helicopter backpack thing, so I’ve sort of had my mind on that.”

She nodded. Cady understood that sometimes when he was focused on a project, his body cues went by the wayside. Maybe he had been feeling sick – he’d never know, and he’d never be able to tell her.

“Sounds about right,” she said, pulling her hands away and settling them on her hips. “That’s a pretty nasty cold. I can do some things right now, but sleep is really what’s going to help. In the morning when Will gets in, he’ll be able to deal with the rest of it. But, I can ease some stuff. Take the fever down. Help you sleep and stay asleep. Okay?”

He nodded, hoping that the sleep part would come sooner rather than later. The longer he was awake, the more miserable he felt.

Rosie was sitting next to him, worry literally radiating off of her, and Evan tried to give her a small smile.

“See, Posie? Sleep.”

“And other stuff!” she said, exasperated. “She literally said other stuff too. She’s gonna fix it. I told you, Cady can fix anything.”

Cady’s cheeks darkened, and she pulled at the navy scrub pants she wore during her shifts. “Gosh, Ros, you’ve got way too much faith in me.”

“No! You don’t have enough faith in yourself.” Rosie turned on Evan, pointing a finger at him. “And you don’t have enough faith in your friends. We love you. Let us love you and take care of you. I’m your big sister, damn it, and I’m going to act like it!”

Evan stared at her for a moment, the passion and fire in her eyes making him forget how awful he felt, until he had to turn away to stifle a bone-rattling cough into his elbow.

A hand was on his back in a second, rubbing gentle circles until the coughing fit passed, and when he looked up and shivered, Rosie was there, giving him a concerned and pitying expression. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible, and she shook her head.

“No, don’t apologize. Just let us take care of you instead of bruising it off as not a big deal. Sometimes things are a big deal, and that’s fine.” She nodded at him. “You’re allowed to be a big deal.”

They’d told him that before. That he was allowed to take up space and ask for help, and that he needed to take better care of himself, but he usually fell back into the old habits he’d gotten used to as a young kid. Fend for yourself, don’t take up space, and stay out of the way. 

But, it didn’t seem like Cady or Rosie minded that he was sick, or that he was going to take up their time, so maybe he could let himself have some attention. Just this once.

“Okay,” he said quietly, shifting so he could lay his head on Rosie’s shoulder. 

She stiffened for a moment, maybe surprised that he was actually listening for once, and then relaxed, pulling him close to her side. 

“Cady’s gonna do some stuff, and then you can go to sleep, okay?”

He nodded, closing his eyes against the harsh fluorescent of the infirmary, and snuggling a little closer to her side.

“Uh huh. Thanks, sis.”