#vomit trigger warning

Malcolm struggled to lift his feet enough to stop him from tripping as he walked the route to the precinct. 

Sleep was not his friend again and his meds were messing with his stomach something fierce, to the point that he had struggled to keep them down with the sip of water he took them with this morning. Food was just completely out of the question today. Avoiding it, likely being the only way to prevent a complete revolt of his stomach contents. Not that there was much in there right now.

Malcolm sighed heavily, head tilted to the sky as another wave of nausea crested and slowly settled in his gut. 

Today was not going to be a great day. Hopefully the current case would keep him occupied and distracted from his rebellious stomach.

Malcolm mounted the steps of the precinct and braced himself for the smells of the press of too many human bodies all in one space and then pushed through the doors.

The first few steps in were ok, the rush of fresh air from outside followed him in. The next few were ok too as he held his breath, delaying the inevitable a little longer. As he made it into the bullpen he was past the point where he could hold it any longer and stupidly left it so long that he needed to draw in a gasping breath to compensate.

The onslaught of smells that hit him from the overheated space was just too much for his already mutinous stomach. Slapping his hand to his mouth, he raced through the halls towards the bathrooms, ignoring the indignant yells that followed behind him as he barrelled through whatever happened to be in his way. The fight to not embarrass himself by vomiting all over the floor was too close a call to care about upsetting a few of his colleagues. 

Malcolm flung open the bathroom door, the sharp curse as the door thumped into a solid object had him urgently swallowing the pooling saliva in his mouth as an undignified whine left his throat at the delay in reaching his goal.

The door was pulled out of the way to see Gil framed in the doorway, his hand rubbing at his shoulder that must have taken the force of the door swing.

Malcolm lurched forward, frantically scrambling under Gil’s arm and squeezed past his side and launched himself over to the sink, just in time to lose the battle with his nausea.

“Jesus Bright, what the hell is going on?” Gil questioned as he turned back to Malcolm and gently stroked his heaving back.

It took Malcolm a few minutes to finish and be able to respond, “Sorry Gil, are you ok? Did I hurt you?” he rasped out as he wiped the remnants of his sickness from his lips. His throat felt raw after his stomach acids scorched it on the way up.

“Kid, my shoulder is the least of my worries right now. Are you ok? Do I need to take you in?” Gil’s hand curled around the back of his neck and gave a gentle squeeze. Malcolm sighed heavily and slumped back against the sinks.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just...I’ll be ok. You know, some days are a little tougher than others,” Malcolm croaked out, clearing his throat and pressing his hand to his still rebellious stomach.

Gil looked at him with that face that Malcolm knew so well from his childhood that made him feel chastised and loved all at once. A muffled groan escaped him as Gil pulled him into a tight hug. The sudden motion, seeing his nausea crest and almost get the better of him again.

Gil quickly let him go and cupped his face with his warm hands, looking him in the eyes before turning him back towards the sinks and rubbing at his back as his nausea won the battle again and left him to heave nothing but saliva and bile at this point.

“Come on Kid, you look greener than a frog right now, I’m taking you home and you can sit today out. I will be coming to check on you at lunch and if you aren’t looking any better, I’m taking you in. You aren’t even keeping water down, are you?” Gil said as he helped him rinse away the mess he made and rinse his mouth.

Malcolm shook his head minutely, too scared to move it much, lest he trigger another agonising bout of nausea.

Gil caught his eyes in the reflection of the mirror as he slowly pushed himself up bracing on the counter top.

“Kid, you know it’s ok to need help sometimes. The dehydration from not being able to keep anything down…” Gil started to say as he frowned at him. His mentor’s, well Father’s, disappointment hurting more than that cramps now pulling at his abused abdominal muscles.

“I know, Gil. The vicious cycle. The meds make it so I can’t keep anything down then the dehydration makes the nausea worse and the cycle continues. I’m trying, I promise.” Malcolm pleaded, unable to maintain eye contact as Gil’s frown deepened.

“Malcolm, I don’t blame you for this. I know this isn’t your fault and it’s a shitty situation you have to deal with. I just mean that it’s ok to admit that you need some help from others or even medical intervention to get through sometimes. No one, and especially not me, will think less of you for getting help. Hell, I would be proud of you.” Gil admonished with a little squeeze to his neck.

“You done for now? Or do you need to rest in my office before I take you home?” Gil asked his brow furrowed with what Malcolm knew now to be concern.

“I’m done...for now. Going home now would be good. Just give me a minute to get ready for out there,” Malcolm said as he rubbed at his cramping stomach and regulated his breathing to calm the stormy sea in his belly.

“Take all the time you need, Kid. I’m here for you,” Gil said with a touch to his shoulder, the simple touch enough to help him steady himself. He looked up to meet Gil’s worried stare with a tired smile.

“I know...thank you...you...I’m not sure I...yeah...thanks for always being here when I need you,” Malcolm’s voice was low and tight with the swell of emotions he was feeling about his surrogate Dad who had really been the one to save him all those years ago and continued to save him over and over again.

Gil’s gaze wavered from his as Gil’s eyes glistened as he cleared his throat and nodded his head at Malcolm.

Gil’s voice cut out as he started to respond and suddenly Malcolm found himself back in Gil’s embrace, his firm hands rubbing a steady rhythm across his back that had him sagging into him. Gil’s familiar scent enveloping him, a calming balm to his nausea.

Gil’s arms shifted to pull him to his side and rub at his shoulder, “let’s go Kid.”

Malcolm nodded into his shoulder and looked up at him with a small smile. 

"Woah dude, are you alright?" Sam asked as Dean walked into the dining room. It was almost noon, but Sam hadn't been surprised that Dean wasn't up yet. After all he'd been through hell the past few weeks. But Dean looked like hell too.

Dean shrugged, slumping down into a chair, which was... uncharacteristic to say the least. No snarky retort or eyeroll. Not to mention that he was ghostly pale with dark circles under his eyes, gaunt almost, with a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead.

"You want some coffee?" Sam nudged his mug forward toward Dean.

"Mm, no," Dean shook his head, quickly pushing the mug away from him back toward Sam.

"Hey, what's going on man?" Sam asked, leaning forward in his chair. Dean turning down coffee? Something must really be wrong.

"Feel like I got run over by a truck," Dean mumbled, dropping his head down into his hands, as if he could barely hold it up.

"Yeah, I'd say you look about like that too," Sam teased, expecting an eye roll or a smack. But Dean didn't even react.

"Seriously Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked, feeling genuinely worried now.

"Don't know. Feel awful," Dean mumbled, shrugging.

Frowning, Sam stood up and walked to the kitchen to get Dean a glass of water. They could at least start there.

"Here, I got you some water," Sam said, setting it down on the table in front of Dean.

Warily, Dean picked up the glass and brought it to his lips with a shaky hand to take a sip. But almost instantly he set it down harshly, water splashing over the side onto the table. His face went a shade paler, which Sam hadn't thought was possible.

"Dean?" Sam asked, reaching over to grab his brother's shoulder.

But Dean stood quickly, knocking over his chair in the process, and bolted out of the room and down the hall. Sam blinked in surprise, confused, until he heard Dean retching. Shit.

Sam followed Dean down the hall to the bathroom, finding the door open. He stepped inside to find Dean hunched over the toilet. Dean coughed, which morphed into a gag, and brought up what looked like just stomach acid and bile.

"Jesus Dean," Sam breathed, moving to sit on the edge of the bathtub behind Dean. Tentatively, he reached out a hand to rest on his brother's shoulder, unsure if the touch would be wanted. Dean was stubborn, and usually when he was sick he didn't want any help from anyone, especially Sam. But to his surprise, Dean didn't react.

In fact, Dean just groaned, slumping over even further to drop his head down onto his arm. His body continued to convulse with heaves, but nothing was coming up anymore.

"Dude, I think you're done. Maybe you should go lay down, seems like you've got one hell of a bug," Sam said, squeezing Dean's shoulder.

"Can't" Dean groaned.

'Can't what?' Sam wondered. Can't leave the bathroom? Can't move? Dean didn't answer.

"Well lets at least get off the toilet" Sam said, pulling Dean's shoulder back until he was leaning up against the wall behind him.

He stood up to grab a thermometer from their medicine cabinet and checked Dean's temperature. 102.3. Yikes. No wonder he felt so sick.

"You need to take something for that fever, here," Sam said, opening their medicine cabinet to grab the ibuprofen. He poured out three pills and held them out to Dean, who swallowed them dry.

"You think you could drink some water?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean said quickly, shaking his head.

"Okay, we'll try later," Sam sighed. Hopefully the meds would do their job. "Do you want to go back to bed?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, swallowing convulsively. He must still be feeling nauseous.

"Well how about you at least lay down in here then," Sam suggested. Dean didn't answer, which Sam took to be an acceptance of the suggestion.

"I'm gonna go get you a pillow and blanket, okay? I'll be right back," Sam said.

When he returned, Dean didn't look like he'd moved at all. Still slumped over the toilet, shivering now. Sam reached over to lay the pillow down and set the blanket down next to them.

"Alright, here, why don't you lay down," Sam said. Wordlessly, Dean flopped down onto the pillow, silent as Sam draped the blanket over him, then reached up to flush the toilet.

"Do you need anything else?" Sam asked, feeling somewhat helpless. He'd never really had to take care of Dean, because Dean had never let him.

Dean didn't answer, his eyes had drifted shut. If he wouldn't drink any water, sleep was probably the next best thing he could do.

"Alright, just rest then. Hopefully you'll feel better when you wake up," Sam said.

But then Dean mumbled something. All Sam caught was 'Cas'.

"Cas?" Sam asked, "What about Cas?"

"I want Cas," Dean mumbled again. Sam's heart dropped. The fever must be so high it's making him delirious. He'd never say that in front of Sam in his right mind.

"Cas isn't here right now," Sam answered. "I can call him and see when he'll be back," he added, seeing Dean's face fall. His eyes were glassy, which was probably from the fever, but he looked like he was almost near tears. "I'll, uh, be right back okay? Hang in there," Sam said awkwardly as he stepped out of the room.

He pulled out his phone and called Cas, who answered after a few rings.

"Hello Sam,"

"Hey, Cas, where are you at?" Sam asked, not sure how to approach this conversation.

"I'm at the store doing a supply run, why?" Cas asked, understandably confused. Sam wouldn't normally call Cas out of the blue.

"Do you know when you'll be back?" Sam asked.

"Well I still have a few more errands to run... Sam what's going on?" Cas asked.

"Uh Dean's sick. Like pretty bad actually, I've never seen him like this," Sam finally explained.

"That makes sense," Cas said, "His body and his immune system are likely weak after being possessed by Michael for so long," he explained.

Sam hadn't thought about that, it did make sense. Dean was more or less dormant inside his own head while Michael was in control, so his own systems have been unused for a while and probably are weak. But Cas surprisingly didn't seem very concerned.

"He's throwing up, and he seems weak. He's got a fever of over 102," Sam went on.

"Did you want me to pick something up for him while I'm out?" Cas asked, still not understanding the gravity of the situation.

"He asked for you," Sam said.

Cas was silent for a moment at that.

"He asked for me?" Cas repeated.

"Yes. He's laying on the bathroom floor looking like he could cry or pass out at any moment and he said 'I want Cas'," Sam explained.

"I'll be home soon," Cas said, then abruptly hung up. Phone calls with Cas were always interesting. But at least he'd finally gotten how serious this was.

Although Sam knew that Cas and Dean were... something... it wasn't exactly out in the open. Sam had suspected for a long time, but had gotten somewhat of a confirmation from Cas a few years ago when Sam caught him coming out of Dean's room in pajamas one morning. Cas had reluctantly told Sam that although they'd never given it a label they were more or less 'together'.

Cas had also asked Sam to keep the conversation to himself, which is a promise he'd kept. He figured that if Dean wanted him to know he'd tell Sam himself. And so far he hadn't.

So for Dean to ask Sam for Cas like that, meant that he was really really sick.

Sam headed back into the bathroom, thankfully finding Dean in the same position he'd left him in, huddled under a blanket on the floor. He sat down on the floor near Dean's feet, leaning back against the bathtub.

"I just talked to Cas and he'll be back soon okay?" Sam said, reaching out to give his brothers leg a gentle pat. Dean groaned in response and curled in on himself further.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Dean suddenly shot up and lurched over the toilet, vomiting stomach acid and bile. He was clearly empty, with nothing left to bring up, but his body didn't seem to know that. He retched harshly, making Sam wince. It looked and sounded painful.

With the next heave Dean pitched forward so far he almost smacked his forehead on the toilet seat. Sam quickly reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulder, holding him up as he continued to gag emptily.

"Oh Dean," Cas said sadly, appearing in the doorway. "I got him," he said, moving forward to take Sam's place.

Sam stood, letting go of Dean, as Cas swiftly took his place. Cas slid in behind Dean, wrapping one arm around Dean's chest to hold him up and placing the other hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing up and down his spine.

Almost instantly, Sam saw Dean relax a little. Even as he continued to retch and heave, he allowed himself to lean fully into Cas's arm, letting Cas take his weight.

"Cas?" Dean whispered, voice raw, as soon as he was able to breathe.

"I'm here Dean," Cas said, pulling Dean away from the toilet to lean back against his chest. "Shh, just relax," he said softly, reaching up to brush Dean's sweat damp hair off of his face.

"Could you grab a rag and wet it down a little?" Cas asked, turning his attention to Sam for a moment.

Sam nodded, quickly stepping out of the bathroom to grab a wash cloth from their hall closet. He brought it back, wetting it with cool water under the sink.

"Here you go," he said, handing it to Cas.

"Thank you Sam," Cas said, taking the rag and pressing it to Dean's forehead, to which Dean audibly sighed, leaning forward into Cas's hand. Cas gently dragged the rag over Dean's face before setting it on the back of his neck.

"He's burning up," Cas said to Sam.

Sam nodded, "I know," he winced.

"What did you say his fever was?" Cas asked.

"It was over 102 when I checked," Sam said, already reaching for the thermometer to check it again. He cringed when the screen showed 103.1, turning it around to show Cas.

Sam and Cas exchanged a glance, silently asking if this warranted a trip to the hospital. After a moment, Sam shook his head. For people like them, with no real identity, no insurance, the hospital wasn't really an option unless it was life or death. They weren't there yet.

"He needs to drink something. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did," Sam said, grabbing the glass of water from the counter and handing it to Cas.

"Dean? How are you doing?" Cas asked.

"Don't feel good Cas," Dean groaned, his words slurred.

"I know," Cas sighed, "Maybe you should try drinking some water, it might help," he tried.

"Mmm no," Dean shook his head.

"You're dehydrated Dean, it will help," Cas tried again.

"I can't," Dean rasped, sounding so small.

"Come on darling, just one drink. For me?" Cas practically pleaded.

Sam's eyes went wide at the pet name, but he didn't say anything. Even though he'd known for years now that this was... whatever it was... but seeing it so openly like this was still kind of a shock.

But apparently Cas's pleading was enough. Dean finally gave a hesitant nod. Cas carefully brought the cup to Dean's lips and tilted it slowly to give Dean a small sip.

They all waited apprehensively to see if the water would stay down, and it seemed like Dean's body was at least willing to accept one single sip of water. Sam counted it as a win for now.

"We still need to get his fever down," Cas said, frowning as he pressed the back of his hand to Dean's cheek, feeling the warmth.

Sam nodded, sighing, as he tried to think of anything else they could do. He racked his brain to try and come up with what Dean would've done if the roles had been reversed. That was when he remembered.

"When I was really sick during the trials, I got a super high fever and passed out this one time, so Dean put me in a cold bath. I think it worked cause I remember waking up and being a lot more coherent," Sam explained.

"Let's try it," Cas nodded in agreement.

Sam reached over to pull the stopper on the tub and turn on the water. He remembered reading somewhere that you shouldn't put a person with a fever in a cold bath, cause it can cause shock or something, but it just needed to be a little cooler than their body temperature. So Sam adjusted the temperature until the water felt lukewarm, then waited as the tub filled.

"Alright, I think that should be cool enough but hopefully not too cold," Sam said.

"Okay, help me move him so I can get up," Cas said.

Sam moved to stand in front of his brother, looping his arms under Dean's. He pulled him forward just enough so that Cas could slide out from behind him, then gently leaned him against the wall.

"Hey Dean," Cas said softly, crouching down in front of Dean to be at his eye level.

Dean cracked an eye open, "Cas I'm scared," he whispered.

Cas closed his eyes for a second, heart aching for Dean. Sam was right, he'd never seen Dean like this either.

"I know," Cas said sadly, reaching up to cup Dean's face in his hand.

"Why is this happening to me?" Dean asked, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Your body is just recovering from being Michael's vessel. You'll be okay, I promise. I'll take care of you, okay?" Cas said, swiping the tear away with his thumb.

"Okay," Dean said quietly.

"We're gonna put you in the bath now, to get your fever down alright? It's going to be uncomfortable, but you'll feel better after," Cas explained.

Dean nodded, eyes looking glazed in a way that told Sam he wasn't really even comprehending what Cas was saying. He'd probably go along with anything right now.

"Lift your arms," Cas instructed gently, pulling Dean's t-shirt off.

That was when Sam realized that Cas was going to be taking his brothers clothes off. When Sam had been sick, Dean had put him in the bathtub with his clothes on. But Cas didn't need to do that because Cas was Dean's... person? Close enough.

"Uh, Cas, do you, uh-? Sam asked, trailing off.

"I got it, Sam," Cas nodded, understanding that Sam was asking if he was needed here.

Sam didn't need to be told twice, quickly exiting the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Although he was very worried about his brother, he didn't need to see him naked and being helped into the bathtub by his... angel? No, that one doesn't seem quite right.

Once Sam was gone, Cas helped Dean to his feet. Dean was shaky, but Cas held tightly around his back, keeping him steady as he pushed Dean's sweats and boxers down off his hips.

"Alright, step up with this leg," Cas instructed, tapping Dean's right hip.

Obediently, Dean lifted his leg and stepped into the water. When Cas tapped his other hip, he shifted his weight - with Cas's help - and stepped fully into the bathtub.

"No, Cas-" Dean gasped as Cas lowered him down into the water.

"I know, I know it's cold, I'm sorry. We have to bring your fever down though," Cas explained, reaching out to run his fingers through Dean's hair.

"C-cas," Dean said through chattering teeth, already shivering with lips tinged blue.

"I'm right here," Cas said, quickly grabbing one of Dean's hands in his. Dean leaned toward him, head coming to rest on Cas's shoulder.

"I've got you," Cas continued, draping an arm over Dean's shoulders, feeling how violently he was shivering. Cas's heart ached. He could hardly stand it, but he knew he needed to leave Dean in there for at least a couple minutes to get his temperature down.

When Dean let out a muffled sob into Cas's now very damp shoulder, he decided that was enough.

"Let's get you out okay?" he said, standing up. Dean whimpered, reaching for him. "You're okay," Cas said, wrapping an arm around Dean to help him out of the water.

It was even harder getting him out than it had been getting him in, because now he was shaking violently. But Cas managed to get him out and dried off. Dean was still shivering when Cas ran to grab him a fresh pair of clothes.

When Cas returned though, the shivering had slowed, and some color had returned to his lips and face. His eyes were clearer too, more aware.

"Cas?" he asked, as Cas set the clothes down on the counter.

"Hello Dean," Cas said, reaching out to cup Dean's cheek with his hand. The warmth was still there, but he no longer felt like he was burning with fever. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned into Cas's touch for a moment. "Not great," he answered, opening his eyes to look up at Cas.

"You're pretty sick," Cas nodded, moving to run his fingers through Dean's hair before reaching over to grab the clothes he'd grabbed for Dean.

Although shaky, Dean was able to stand and get himself dressed, which was a large improvement over the state he'd been in just a few minutes ago.

"What happened?" Dean asked, sinking down heavily to sit on the closed toilet lid.

Cas sat down on the edge of the bathtub, facing Dean. "Your fever got so high we had to stick you in a cold bath to bring it down," Cas explained.

"We?" Dean asked.

"Sam," Cas said, "I wasn't here this morning but he called saying you were really sick."

Dean was quiet for a minute, processing. "So Sam saw me...?" Dean trailed off, not wanting to say what he was thinking.

"Naked? No. He took care of you until I got back but I sent him away before undressing you," Cas said.

Dean winced. "So he knows now I guess," he said.

"Dean, he already knew," Cas told him.

"What? Did you tell him?" Dean snapped, although there wasn't much bite. He was still too tired.

"He came to check on you one night, when you were having a nightmare, yelling woke him up. And he saw me laying with you. Once you'd calmed down I went to talk to him. Tell him that I'd just woken up from the yelling and come to check on you too. But Dean, he already knew. Said he'd suspected it for years," Cas explained.

"Oh," Dean said, confused. "I thought we kept it hidden well enough," he said.

"Apparently not," Cas chuckled.

"Well I guess there's no use hiding it now," Dean said.

"I guess not," Cas agreed, "Now let's get you to bed, your body needs rest to heal," he said, standing up and holding his hands out to Dean.

Dean hesitated, "I still feel a little nauseous."

"I'll put a bin next to the bed in case you need to be sick again," Cas said.

Dean thought for a moment, then seemed to accept that answer. He grabbed Cas's hands, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Dean swayed, vision darkening for a moment. But Cas was right there, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist to hold him steady as his vision cleared. Jesus. Dean's legs felt like jello, he wasn't sure he could make it to his bedroom.

"We'll take it nice and slow," Cas said, as if reading Dean's mind.

With Cas's hand pressed against Dean's lower back and his other hand on Dean's arm, they made their way slowly down the hallway to Dean's room. Cas helped Dean lay down, pulling the quilt up over him. Then he grabbed the trash can from the corner of the room and set it next to the bed, just in case.

Cas sat down at the edge of the bed, carding his fingers through Dean's hair. "Close your eyes," he said.

Dean sighed, but did as he was told. "I'm okay Cas. I can feel you worrying," he said.

"I'm allowed to worry about you," Cas answered. "And you're allowed to let me."

"Hey Dad, can I have a sec before we head back?" T.K. asked as the crew all headed toward the truck now that the scene had been wrapped up.

Owen followed his sons gaze and saw Carlos standing off by himself, one hand braced on his patrol car.

"Yeah, just try to make it quick okay?" Owen agreed, understanding that TK needed to go check on his boyfriend.

TK nodded and jogged away from the truck toward Carlos. He had known something was up with Carlos since the moment they arrived on scene. Carlos had been on crowd control, making sure the gathering of people stayed back. But he was moving sluggishly, slightly hunched over himself unlike his usual tall and confident posture.

"Baby?" he called as he got close to Carlos, "You feeling okay?" he asked.

"No." Carlos answered shortly, taking TK by surprise. He had fully expected to have a pointless back and forth where Carlos insisted he was fine even though there was obviously something wrong. His voice sounded weird, choked up almost.

"Hey, what's going on?" TK asked, moving closer to rest a hand on Carlos's hip.

Instead of answering Carlos leaned forward with a wet belch that morphed into a heave, bringing up a wave of vomit onto the pavement.

"Woah, okay," TK muttered, taken by surprise again. That was definitely not what he was expecting. "Alright, easy babe, I've got you," TK said, moving to stand slightly behind Carlos, rubbing a hand gently up and down his back over the uniform.

Carlos coughed and spit into the pile of sick on the ground, then slowly straightened up. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes, forehead damp with sweat now. Carlos's eyes were wide, glancing around nervously. TK knew he was worried about all of the prying eyes of both their teams and the bystanders.

"Hey, come here, it's okay," TK said quickly, turning Carlos to face him by the hand on his hip and wrapping an arm around his back. Carlos leaned into him, pressing his face into TK's shoulder.

"Baby what happened?" TK asked quietly.

Carlos shrugged, "Woke up with an upset stomach but got super nauseous when we got to this call," he mumbled, voice muffled against TK's uniform.

Carlos's partner, Grace, walked around the other side of their patrol car to face TK. "Go home Reyes, I'll take care of the reports," she said, reaching out to give him a pat on the shoulder.

"Thank you," Carlos responded weakly.

"I don't think he's felt well all day," Grace added, to TK this time. Then she nodded her head towards the firetruck, giving TK a questioning look. TK nodded, confirming. She gave them a sympathetic smile then headed around to the drivers side of the patrol car and got in.

"Come on babe, let's get you home," TK said, keeping his arm around Carlos's waist as he pulled slightly away from the hug.

"Where-? What are-?" Carlos asked, confused as TK began to lead him away from his patrol car and toward the firetruck.

"You're gonna come back to the station with me and lay down in the bunks until I can take you home," TK answered.

Owen, who'd been watching them from the passenger seat of the truck, had understood TK's plan and let the crew know. They silently rearranged themselves to leave two open seats right next to each other as TK helped Carlos climb into the truck.

"Right here man," Paul said, patting the open seat across from him. Carlos gave him a strained smile as TK climbed in behind him and shut the door, taking the seat next to Carlos. He was thankful that the crew had given them the foreward facing seats. Riding backwards can be a little nauseating when you aren't used to it and probably wouldn't have done any favors for Carlos's stomach.

"Everybody set?" Judd asked over the headset from the front seat.

"All set," Paul answered.

As the engine lurched forward, turning sharply to head back to the station, TK felt Carlos stiffen next to him. Carlos brought a hand up to rest on his stomach and his face went a shade paler.

"Hey, you gonna be okay?" TK asked, leaning close to Carlos so he could hear him over the engine. Carlos nodded slightly, but fumbled for TK's hand. "I'm right here," TK said, taking Carlos's hand and resting their joined hands on Carlos's thigh.

"Is he gonna make it?" Paul asked over the headset.

"He looks like he's about to hurl again," Mateo added.

"Both of you shut up, you're not helping," Marjan scolded them.

TK gave Marjan a grateful look, thankful for her stopping the commentary. Although Carlos probably couldn't hear them, since it was loud and he didn't have a headset on, TK could, and he needed to focus on taking care of Carlos.

"TK, we'll be there in a few," Judd said.

"Hey, just breath through it babe. In through your nose, out through your mouth," TK instructed, squeezing Carlos's hand. "Judd says we're almost there," he added.

"TK I don't-" Carlos pressed a hand to his lips, cutting himself off.

"Dude he's totally about to puke," Mateo laughed.

"Shut up!" Marjan hissed, elbowing Mateo in the ribs.

"Try to hold on just a little bit longer baby. But if you need to be sick it's alright, I'm right here," TK said, cringing as he remembered he was on headset and his whole crew could hear him.

"Ay TK he wouldn't be the first person to throw up in here," Paul said, giving them a sympathetic look.

This was true. The rig wasn't exactly a smooth ride, which had a tendency to cause motion sickness until you got used to it. Especially if you were hungover or something to begin with. And especially if you were riding backward. While TK had never been sick in this rig, he had thrown up in the rig back in New York once when he was riding backward with an impending migraine.

"TK? I'm assuming Carlos is off duty for the day?" Owen asked over the headset.

"Yeah, his partner told him to go home and that she'd take care of everything," TK answered, draping his arm around Carlos's shoulders and rubbing up and down his arm.

"Just get out of here and get him home then okay? You're dismissed for the day," Owen said over the headset, turning to give TK a nod.

"Thanks Dad," TK said, giving Owen a grateful smile.

Thankfully Carlos managed to make it back to the station. The rig parked in the bay with a lurch, making Carlos draw in a breath. Carlos pressed his face into TK's shoulder.

"We're at the station baby, you're alright," TK soothed, pressing a kiss into Carlos's hair. At this point he didn't care that his team was watching and listening to him, he just needed to make sure Carlos was taken care of.

"All clear," Judd said over the headset, indicating that the rig was in park and they were safe to get out.

Paul jumped up and opened the door, "Y'all go ahead," he said, nodding to TK.

TK nodded, hanging his headset up above his seat and undoing his lap belt, before reaching over Carlos to undo his as well. He stood up and held his hands out. Carlos took his hands, letting TK pull him toward the door. TK stepped down backward then helped Carlos down out of the rig.

"How's your stomach? Better on solid ground or do we need to head to the bathroom?" TK asked, pulling Carlos a few steps away from the rig to allow his team to get out and start getting cleaned up.

"Better, I think," Carlos said. He no longer looked quite as green. Plus, Carlos did have a tendency to get carsick when he wasn't driving. But he was also in no shape to drive himself.

"Alright, let's get you laying down in my bunk while I get changed okay?" TK said, wrapping an arm around Carlos's waist. He led Carlos through the bay and up the stairs to the bunkroom.

"You're still on shift?" Carlos said, although it came out as a question.

"Dad said I could go home for the day," TK said, leading Carlos over to his bunk.

"Here, sit for a second, I'll be right back" TK said. Carlos sat at the edge of the bed while TK walked to the far end of the room to grab the trash can and bring it over, setting it next to Carlos. "Just in case," he said, giving Carlos a sad smile.

Carlos nodded, he no longer felt like he was in immediate danger of throwing up, but his stomach still felt pretty sour and queasy.

"Let's get you a little more comfy so you can lay down for a sec," TK said, crouching down in front of him. He unbuckled Carlos's utility belt, setting it on the end table next to the bunk. Then he undid Carlos's regular belt and pulled it out before setting it down on the table as well. TK unbuttoned his uniform top, pulling it down off Carlos's arms to leave him in just an undershirt and his uniform pants. Lastly, he pulled Carlos's shoes off his feet, leaving them on the floor at the edge of the bed.

"Better?" TK asked.

Carlos nodded, it did feel better not to have his gear and full uniform on. He realized though that TK was still in his full turnouts, which couldn't be comfortable. He must be burning up.

"M'okay, you can go change," Carlos said.

"I will. Why don't you lay down," TK nodded, patting the bed.

Carlos laid down on his side as TK moved the trash can to set it on the floor next to the bunk, just in case. TK pulled the blanket he kept on his bunk up over Carlos then leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"Alright, I'm gonna go change and get cleaned up real quick and then we'll go home. The crew might be in and out of here but no one will bother you, I promise," TK said. Carlos nodded in acknowledgement, so TK squeezed his shoulder then stood, heading out toward the locker room.

"Hey, how's he doing?" Paul asked as TK walked over to his locker, stepping out of his turnouts.

"He's doing alright, laying down in my bunk while I get ready to go," TK answered.

"Well tell him we hope he feels better," Marjan called from across the room.

"Thanks guys," TK said, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers before heading into the showers. He quickly hosed off and got dressed in the t-shirt and joggers he'd brought in his duffle today. Then he headed back to the bunkroom.

Carlos was laying exactly as TK had left him, scrolling on his phone. The trash can, thankfully, was unused.

"Hey," TK said, crouching down in front of Carlos. "You ready to go?" he asked.

Carlos nodded, pushing himself up slowly. TK put Carlos's shoes back on, then grabbed his uniform and gear from off of the end table and shoved them into his bag with his own stuff.

TK stood up, tossing the duffle bag over his shoulder before holding a hand out to Carlos, pulling him to his feet. With a hand on the small of his back, TK led Carlos back down the stairs and through the station. They left through the bay doors, a shortcut to the parking lot, and walked to TK's car. TK helped Carlos into the passenger seat and headed toward home.

"Doing okay?" TK asked as he drove, glancing over at Carlos, who was slumped against the door, head leaned against the window.

Carlos hummed noncommittally in response, which told TK that maybe he was feeling nauseous again. Although the ride was a lot smoother than the back of the rig, the motion might be bothering his already sick stomach.

"We'll be home in a few minutes baby, just keep breathing," TK said, reaching over to gently squeeze Carlos's knee.

TK parked in front of their townhouse and got out, moving around to the passenger side to open Carlos's door and help him out of the car. He quickly grabbed his duffle bag from the backseat and then took Carlos's hand, leading him toward their home.

They were only a few feet away from the door when Carlos suddenly stopped.

"TK-" Carlos said, his voice breaking. When TK turned, Carlos was frozen mid-step, one hand pressed to his stomach and the other hovering over his mouth.

"It's okay," TK said, moving to stand slightly behind Carlos to rub his back. That was all the permission Carlos's body needed, pitching forward with a retch to vomit into the grass in front of their house.

"Easy love, you're alright," TK soothed, rubbing up and down Carlos's back over his white tee, which was now damp with sweat.

Once Carlos was finished, he straightened up slowly, leaning against TK's side. He was exhausted.

"Come on, let's get you inside. Just a few more steps," TK said softly, ushering Carlos the last few feet and letting them inside. He helped Carlos lay down on the couch, covering him with a blanket before sitting down on the coffee table across from him.

"Think you could drink a little bit of water?" TK asked, brushing Carlos's hair off of his forehead. Carlos shook his head quickly, face paling visibly at the thought of putting anything into his stomach.

"Okay, we'll try later then. You want to watch something?" TK said, reaching over to grab the remote.

"Moana?" Carlos asked quietly. TK smiled, chuckling softly as he went to disney plus and started playing Moana. Disney movies were Carlos's guilty pleasure, and were always his go-to when he was sick or after a rough day.

"Alright, there we go. You need anything else?" TK asked.

"Just stay?" Carlos said, looking up at TK with sad eyes.

Bucky isn't sure how long he's been slumped over the toilet when someone knocks on the bathroom door. He feels too weak to say anything, much less get up and open the door. Hopefully it's Steve, home from his mission, and he'll just come in when he gets no response.

"You alright in there?"

Bucky's heart sinks. It's not Steve. His head is still swimming from the last round of vomiting, and everything sounds far away, but he thinks it might be Barton.

There's another knock, then after a moment the door creaks open and knows that whoever it is has peaked their head in, but Bucky keeps his eyes closed.

"Woah, you are definitely not alright,"

Definitely Barton. Bucky cracks an eye open to see Clint crouching down next to him hesitantly. He has one hand held out toward Bucky, as if he wants to help but isn't sure if it's okay for him to do so.

"Sorry," Clint says, pulling his hand back, "I heard you getting sick from out in the hall and I know Steve isn't here so I just wanted to check on you and..." he trails off, unsure of what's allowed here. He doesn't know Bucky well, none of them do. Well, except for Steve of course.

Bucky tries to say 'it's okay', but what comes out is more of a grunt and a groan of discomfort. His stomach is still churning even though he hasn't brought up anything but stomach acid for the last couple of rounds.

"You want me to get you some water?" Clint asks.

Bucky manages to nod from his slumped position, head pillowed on his arm that's resting on the toilet seat. As much as he doesn't want to put anything in his stomach right now, he also knows that he's dehydrated and he needs something to throw up anyway.

Clint nods and disappears from the bathroom. As soon as he's gone though, he's back, which tells Bucky that he's losing time and maybe he's been in here even longer than he thought.

"Here, try a couple small sips," Clint says, holding the glass out as he crouches down beside Bucky again.

"Can't, ngh," Bucky mumbles, his tongue feeling like lead. He's so dizzy and hot. He doesn't think he can sit up.

"Oh jeez, alright. Bucky- Can I call you Bucky?" Clint asks, he knows that's what Steve calls him but he isn't sure if they're good enough friends for that. Bucky makes another small noise that Clint decides to take as a yes.

"Okay Bucky, is it alright if I touch you?" he asks.

"Hmm," Bucky hums, which Clint also hopes is a yes. He moves forward to wrap an arm around Bucky's shoulders, gently pulling him back away from the toilet to lean against the wall.

"Here, small sips," Clint says, holding the glass up to Bucky's lips, which he now realizes are so incredibly dry. He takes a small sip of water, which feels nice in his mouth and throat, which are dry and raw from vomiting. It doesn't feel particularly nice when it hits his stomach though. He groans, slumping forward.

"Woah, alright big buy," Clint quickly sets the glass down and catches Bucky around the chest to keep him from face planting on the floor. He pushes him back against the wall.

They sit there silently for a few minutes, Bucky managing to keep the water down, before Clint gets him to try another sip. Then another.

It does help. Bucky doesn't feel quite so dizzy anymore, and he can hold his head up.

"How we doing?" Clint asks. He's moved to sit on the floor with Bucky, about a foot away to give him space but close enough to catch him if he pitches forward again.

"Lil bit better," Bucky mumbles, "Thanks," he adds, trying to give Barton a smile but it probably looks more like a grimace.

"Good, good. You, uh, want me to help you back to your room? So you can lay down?" he offers.

Bucky shakes his head. His head isn't spinning anymore but his stomach still is. He knows he isn't done.

"Not even with a bucket?" Clint tries again.

But Bucky shakes his head again. He doesn't trust himself enough to not puke all over his bed at this point and that would be even more humiliating than this already is.

"Alright," Clint sighs, "I'll be right back then," he adds, standing up and walking out of the bathroom. This time, Bucky is at least aware that time passes before he returns, carrying a pillow and an armful of blankets.

"Here, this way you can at least lay down in between rounds," Clint explains, laying a couple blankets down on the floor to form a makeshift bed and placing the pillow at one end.

Bucky blinks in surprise, not used to having anyone but Steve take care of him. It had been just them taking care of eachother for as long as he could remember.

"Go ahead, I'll cover you up with this one," Clint nods, gesturing to the blanket that still remains in his hand.

Silently, Bucky carefully maneuvers himself to lay down on the blanket, his arms shaking from the effort of lowering himself down. The feeling of his head hitting the cool pillow does feel amazing though, and then there's a blanket draped over him and a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles.

Bucky stiffens for a second, more surprised than anything.

"This okay?" Clint asks, his hand stilling.

"Mhm," Bucky hums in response. He honestly feels too sick to care at this moment. "Jus don' tell anyone but Steve about this," he adds with as much intensity as he can muster, which isn't much.

"My lips are sealed," Clint agrees, chuckling softly. Then he adds, "I'll stay till Steve gets here."

T.K. had woken up with a headache. But that wasn’t uncommon, side effect of being a recovered addict he’d been told. So he didn’t think about it too much.

But it kept getting worse, even though he’d been sure to drink enough water and eat throughout the day. And then he realized when he helped Nancy lift a patient onto a gurney that his whole body ached. 

“You good?” Nancy had asked.

“Fine,” T.K. responded shortly. Nancy gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him, but she let it drop. 

By the end of their next call, he was dizzy and cold. They’d just dropped the patient at the hospital and we’re heading back to the station. 

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” Nancy asked as she drove, glancing over at T.K., who was practically slumped against the window in the passenger seat. 

T.K. shrugged, “Not feeling super great I guess,” he admitted. 

“You need to tell Captain Vega dude,” she said as she pulled the ambulance into the station bay. 

“Shifts almost over anyway,” T.K. shrugged again, shaking his head. 

But then as soon as they’d parked the klaxon sounded. ‘Aid car BLANK requested’

“Alright then, let’s just head back out,” Tommy called from the back of the ambulance. 

Nancy shot T.K. a look. His face was pale, even more than it already had been. T.K.’s stomach, which had become increasingly upset for the past hour or so, suddenly flipped. He knew he was done for. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, then threw the door open and practically fell out, landing on his knees with a retch that brought his lunch up onto the floor of the station. 

“Woah!” Someone said, then T.K. felt a hand on his shoulder and his back. 

“Who else is a certified medic?” Another voice asked, Tommy maybe. Everything sounded far away and T.K.’s head was spinning. 

“Yo Marj! Paul!” The voice behind him yelled. Judd, T.K. could tell now.

There were footsteps approaching and then “Woah what happened to him?”

“One of you take T.K.’s place in the rig with Tommy and Nancy. The other one of y’all go get captain strand,” Judd instructed. 

T.K. could hear people running around, then the siren as the rig pulled back out of the station.

"Come on brother, let's get you up," Judd said, grabbing T.K. under his arms and pulling him to his feet. With Judd's help, he walked unsteadily over to one of the benches the firefighters use to put their boots on. As soon as he was sitting he slumped over, head in his hands as he breathed through another wave of nausea.

"T.K.? What happened?" his Dad was asking, suddenly at T.K.'s side with a hand on his shoulder.

When T.K. didn't answer Owen turned to Judd for answers.

"I just saw him spill out of the rig to hurl on the floor, that's all I know. You'd have to ask the girls but they had to run back out on a call. I sent Marj with 'em since they're down a medic," Judd shrugged.

"Thanks Judd," Owen sighed. "I've got him, you can get back to whatever you were working on."

"You sure? Cause he's looking pretty green cap," Judd pointed out.

"Son? Are you still feeling nauseous?" Owen asked.

T.K. just groaned in response, he didn't think he'd ever felt this sick in his life. It had gotten so bad so quickly. He was going to throw up again.

Thankfully Judd was on it, and a trash can magically appeared between T.K.'s knees just in time for him to heave over it. His body convulsed with another gag which brought up more of his stomach contents into the bin.

"Aw jeez kiddo," Owen muttered, sitting down beside T.K. to wrap an arm around him and rub a hand up and down his arm.

T.K. coughed and spit into the trash can, willing his stomach to stop contracting. There wasn't anything left in it to bring up. He felt so weak, like he could hardly hold himself up.

"Woah alright, I've gotcha," Judd was sitting on his other side, an arm wrapped around his chest to keep him from falling forward. T.K. dropped his head down into his hands again, elbows propped on his knees to keep himself upright.

Once Judd was confident that T.K. was stable enough, he pulled back, looking over at Owen. "We need to get him laying down," he said.

Owen nodded, "I think I'm just going to take him back to the house. You mind taking over for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"Of course cap, whatever you need," Judd agreed.

"T.K.? I'm going to get my stuff and then we'll go home okay?" Owen said, leaning down to try and meet his son's eyes.

T.K.'s eyes were shut, but he shook his head in response.

"No?" Owen asked, confused.

T.K. shook his head again, "Just call Carlos, please," he said quietly.

"Right. Of course," Owen was taken by surprise, although he really shouldn't have been. T.K. had moved in with Carlos months ago, that was his home now. And Carlos was T.K.'s person, the one he wanted to take care of him.

He looked at Judd, who nodded, silently answering Owen's unspoken request to stay with T.K. while he called Carlos.

"Your dad's calling Carlos now, I'm sure he'll be here soon to get you home. Just hang in there," Judd said, rubbing a hand over T.K.'s back.

As promised, after Owen returned from making the phone call, Carlos arrived within 10 minutes.

"Oh sweetheart," Carlos sighed when he spotted his boyfriend, hunched over a trash can.

Judd quickly stood up, allowing Carlos to take his spot. Carlos wrapped his arms around T.K., gently pulling him from the slumped position to rest against his chest. T.K. went willingly, pressing his face into Carlos's shoulder.

"Thank you for calling me," Carlos said, addressing Owen.

Owen nodded, smiling softly as he watched Carlos take care of his son. He hadn't missed the way that T.K. instantly relaxed a little at Carlos's touch.

"Let's get you home baby," Carlos said quietly. T.K. nodded, letting Carlos help him to his feet with a hand on his elbow and his waist.

"Let me know if you guys need anything," Owen told Carlos.

"Thank you," Carlos nodded, "I've got him, Owen," he added, seeing the worry on the captain's face.

Owen nodded, reaching out to softly clap Carlos on the shoulder, "I know you do." Carlos gave him one last nod, then wrapped an arm around T.K.'s waist and slowly guided him out of the station toward his car.