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rae-is-typing · 4 years

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Sick Day

Notes: This was requested by a lovely anon, and it was inspired by my past few days. Enjoy :)

Original request from anon: Can you write an Avenger imagine, where the reader is the youngest of the cast and gets sick/has an accident on set?

Description: You get sick. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Characters: reader, original female and male characters (manager named Masha, assistant named Alis, an EMT named Esme, trainer named Nick), RDJ, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Scarlett Johanson, Elizabeth Olson, the Russos

Warnings: Swearing sickness, vomiting, mention of pepto bismol (that shit’s NASTY), swearing, homework

Word count: 2.9k

You don’t get sick.

You don’t have time to get sick, so you don’t. Between filming, training, and school, sickness is absolutely not an option Simple as that, right?

Well, your body didn’t get the memo.

Your body is racked with chills, but you’re sweating profusely. You chalk it up yo the intense scene you’re filming; your character and Robert’s character just got into a massive screaming match over your character’s secret identity being revealed. But in the middle of the second take, your words dissolve into coughs.

"No, Tony! It's not okay!" You shout, whipping around to face a very pissed looking RDJ. "I-" A cough disrupts your words. "I don't-" This time you break down into a fit of uncontrollable coughing, even going as far as doubling over.

"Cut!" Robert rushes over to you, placing a hand on your back. He makes you stand up fully. He speaks up when you finally stop coughing. “You alright, kid?" You nod your head, rubbing at your throat.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm sorry, I have no idea where that came from." A smile tugs at his lips. "Don't apologize, Y/N. It happens."

Alis, an assistant, comes over with a bottle of cold water, placing it on your hands with a curt not. You thank her and open the water, taking a few slow sips as the Russos offer feedback on what you managed to get through.

"That was are best take until the coughing. Whatever you did before, do that again." You try not to beat yourself up over the coughing; it's show business, it happens.

Getting back into position, you two manage to finish the scene with minimal interruptions. During your yelling match, your head begins to pound. It's not the light pounding you get when you didn't get enough sleep or you're dehydrated, it's the kind where you're sure that your old band director is leading the entire drum line on your brain tissue, or something is punching your skull with little pistons.

The second "Cut!" rings out through the set. You deflate, rolling your shoulders and rubbing your head. You trudge over to a small bench near the set and plop down, stretching your now aching limbs in the process.

Being the (mother hen) good mentor and costar he is, Robert realizes something is wrong very quickly. You're usually very bubbly after scenes end, the adrenaline still coursing through you. He can only think of one time he saw you like this, and that was right after you took the SATs. He calls over Alis again, asking her to get some green hibiscus tea with honey and acetaminophen. Alis is back within five minutes. He walks over to you and sits by you.

"Here, take these." You frown at the to-go cup and the small container in his hands, but ]take them anyways.

"What is it?"

"Tea, and tylenol. They'll help with your headache and cough." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, thanks, Robert."

"Course, gotta help my favorite kid." He says, pushing himself off of the bench. "Now, I don't know about you, but I am starving. What do you say we get a bite with the others?" He extends a hand for you to take

"Sure," You say without thinking. Any time with the cast is great, even if you're extra tired and achy. You let him pull you up. The cast orders sandwiches from a little shop in downtown Atlanta, very close to the set.

You're gathered in a larger, mostly empty save for a few couches and chairs part of the set where you often meet. Everyone is talking. They're either going over that days work and characterization, recent events in the news, and their weekend plans. Your sandwich is a little off. It smells fine, it's exactly what you ordered, but it tastes... off. Something in it is making your stomach churn and grumble. You place the sandwich back in the wrapping it came in, fold it up, and throw it away.

That's enough for tonight, You decide. "I have school stuff that I need to get done." You say.

"Aw, okay. See you tomorrow!"

"Fuck school,"

"Language!"

"Shut the hell up, man."

You smile as you walk to your trailer. You do have school, you always have school, and it sucks major ass. The suckiest thing you have to complete is a seven page, MLA format, argumentative research paper about birth control in the developing world. And, oh my god, you would rather be hung upside down by your toe hair than write that fucking paper.

But you write it anyway.

Why? Because it's due in two days and you haven't started it yet. So you buckle down, ignoring the headache you have and your churning stomach, and do the damn thing.

You get three pages in before you decide that being tired isn't worth this paper. Getting up at 5:30 in the morning each day to train for two hours is definitely not your favorite part of your job, but it is some of the only alone time you’re able to get, so you'll take it. You stand up from your desk and immediately regret moving. Dizziness overcomes you. You flop back onto your office chair and press a hand to your forehead.

Taking a few deep breaths, you get back under control and stand up much slower. This time, you're able to walk to your small bedroom area with an attached bathroom. You wash your face, being extra careful as to not make yourself pass out from dizziness. You do the same when brushing your teeth.

During the night, you get all of two and a half hours of sleep. You toss and turn all night, unable to ignore the churning in your stomach for long enough. And the fact that you're hot one second and then freezing the next. it is impossible for you to sleep for more than a half hour at a time. But you eventually do.

Assuming that's the end of it, you sleep deeply until cramping in your stomach forces you out of bed. you make yourself sit up. A wave a nausea comes over you like a tidal wave. You hobble to the bathroom and lean over the toilet just in time.

Bile and your half-eaten sandwich forces its way from your stomach, up your throat, and into the toilet. It's gross. It smells vile, its chunky and the strain makes tears come to your eyes. You dry heave and cough until you're sure everything is out. Feebly, you flush the toilet and leaned back against the wall across from it, deep breathing until you stop crying.

Unaware of the time, you stay there until you feel strong enough to get up and brush your teeth. You hobble back to your bed, and lay back down. This time, falling asleep again.

A knocking on your door pulls you out of your slumber.

"Y/N? You need to get up." The smooth voice of your manager, Masha, floats through your door.

You jolt awake, now remembering that you have to train. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Six AM. I'm opening the door," Masha says, while opening the door. You wince as the light seeps in, covering your eyes.

"Whoa, what happened to you?" She asks. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, I'm good. Shit Nick is waiting. I'll get ready, gimme like two seconds," You ramble, stumbling out of bed.

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, hold on." Masha says, putting both hands on your shoulders, steadying you. Huh, you didn't realize you were wavering.

"You're burning up, Y/N." She observes, pressing the back of her hand on your forehead. "I think you're sick. Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing."

"Have you thrown up or anything? Headaches? Lie to me, and it won’t be pretty."

“I threw up,” You croak, flopping back on the bed.

"Alright, I'm going to get Esme, stay here, lay down." Masha speaks quickly, pulling out her phone.

Esme is the lead EMT on set. She was an RN for years before transferring to emergency medical services. The stunt doubles and the actors take major precautions before stunting. However, some things can't be avoided, hence the EMTs.

Esme comes into your room in no time, followed closely by a worried Masha.

"Alright, Y/N. What's wrong?"

"I'm a little sick right now."

"Alright. Symptoms?"

"Chills, headaches, I uh threw up a few hours ago..." You hate admitting it. That means you won't be able to do much today. It's apart of your contract. If you get sick, you have to take at least two days off because you're a huge liability for Marvel. Being a minor kinda sucks.

She nods. "Alright hon, follow my directions." Esme checks you out thoroughly. After telling her about your weird sandwich, she nods knowingly.

"It looks like a fever, and that sandwich made you throw up. Get some pepto bismol and tylenol. Make sure to drink a lot of water and other clear liquids. Eat the BRAT diet, and you'll be good to go in a few days. I suggest making a doctor's appointment today, though. I can’t diagnose you."

"Alright, thanks Esme." Masha says as Esme leaves. She turns to you, sighing. "I'm sorry, N/N. I'll get what you need from a store, let the Russos know, and make the appointment. I think you should go back to sleep if you can."

"Thanks, Mash. You're the best."

She smiles gently before leaving. You turn on your side and pull the blanket over your head, eventually dozing off.

The veil of sleep is slowly lifted as you blink your eyes open. Thanks to some great blackout curtains you have, no light seeps into the trailer. This time, you don't feel nauseous. However, an inkling of dizziness is still there. You stay in your position for a few minutes until you reach for your phone. A ton of notifications appear on your lockscreen.

3 missed calls from Masha the Manager

Messages from Masha the Manager

Y/N, Nick is waiting. Where are you? Sent: 5:30

Get up now, Y/N. Sent: 5:30

Y/N. You're scaring me. You're never late. Sent: 5:43

Everything you need is on the counter. Read the note first though. Sent: 7:00

Message from evans

Hey Y/N. Heard you weren't feeling well. Lemme know if I can help, okay? Sent: 7:15 AM

Message from Romanian Bitch™

Masha told us you're sick. Feel better we need you! Sent: 7:19 AM

Message from Stanky Stark

Get better soon okay? Sent 7:19

Messages to No Boys Allowed!!!

ScarJo: get well soon babe. let us know if you need anything 7:20

Scarlet Bitch: aw, feel better N/N Sent: 7:21

It warms your heart knowing that they care so much about you. You send a simple thank you to each one of them and close your eyes again.It only takes a few seconds for you to remember all the homework you have to do. Your eyes snap open and you groan.

You do not want to do homework. But you have two whole days with no training and no work, so why wouldn't you? That thought is all you need to get out of bed. You don't bother changing. You migrate to the small living area, and go to the counter where Masha had set all the stuff. You found the note quickly, and read Masha's half print, half cursive writing.

Y/N,

Take two doses of pepto and two things of tylenol, but read the instructions!!! Eat some applesauce or toast, and call me if you get any worse.

-Masha

You unpack the canvas bag and quickly take your medicine. After that, you take all the food with you to the couch. You plant yourself on the soft sofa and dive into your work.

Being interrupted every few minutes with coughing is not the ideal space for productivity, especially because your throat is becoming increasingly raw. You put your phone in a drawer in your desk so you aren't distracted. Like most teens, you have a bad habit of prioritizing your phone.

A knock on the trailer door pulls you out of your focus. "Y/N, it's us!"

"Come in!" You say, still typing. You cringe at how sore you sound. Scarlett and Lizzie come in, still in costume.

"We can't stay for long," Scarlett starts, looking very apologetic. "We have a five minute break and we wanted to check on you."

You smile, setting your computer to the side. "Thanks guys. I appreciate it."

"How are you feeling?" Lizzie asks.

You shrug. "I'm okay, I guess."

"What were you doing?" Scarlett asks, spotting the half finished essay on your laptop. "You're supposed to be resting."

You sigh. "Yeah, but I should just get it done..."

The three of you talk about how shooting is going, and the production of the film in general. It's going smoothly. Nothing is going wrong. Soon, though, they have to leave. You're left to your own devices for another few hours.

Now that you’re revising the paper, your eyes ache, your left hand is cramping up, and you're positive you gave yourself carpal tunnel.

Another knock on the door reverberates through the trailer.

"Open up, kiddo!"

"It's unlocked." You snap back, not unkindly. Anthony and Sebastian walk in. You stop typing for a second to smile at them. "Hey,"

"Hey, N/N." Sebastian smiles back. "We brought you soup."

Your face twists up. "Is it from the sandwich shop?"

"Nah, Masha told us that made you sick. This is from the high-end shop across the street," Anthony says, handing you a warm styrofoam bowl and a spoon. he also takes your laptop. "What are you writing an essay for? You’re sick! And a kid! Kids don’t do school when they’re sick.”

“What do you know about kids?” You smile, leaning forward to reach for your laptop.

"Nuh uh, no no no. You're going to relax while we're here, okay? And for your information, I have three children."

You cock an eyebrow. "Uh huuuuhhhh," you draw out.

He rolls his eyes, saves your essay, and turns on the television that you rarely use. "Alright, N/N. Netflix or Hulu?"

"My essay."

"Hey siri, does netflix or hulu have a show called 'My essay'?" You shove his shoulder lightly with a scowl. Sebastian is having a grand time laughing at you while eating his own soup.

"Alright, alright. We'll watch The Office, it's one of your favorites." Anthony chuckles.

You huff, leaning back on the couch and pulling off the cover to your soup. "Fine."

"Michael Scott is such a bad boss." Sebastian remarks.

"How dare you!" You gasp, your voice cracking severely.

"I can't take you seriously when you sound like a twelve year old boy." He retorts.

"You're being mean,"

"Mmm sorry sweetheart," He chuckles.

The three of you watch a couple episodes before they have to leave. You thank them for their time and the soup profusely. They wave you off, saying something along the lines of 'No problem, kiddo'.

After they leave, you snatch up your laptop and make the final revisions on your essay. There, finished in two days, and all it took was eating a bad sandwich. You should totally do that more often. (No you shouldn't. Never doing that again.)

You opt for more Michael Scott and some ginger ale mixed with Gatorade. You fall asleep on the couch huddled under a fleece blanket you retrieved from your room area two more episodes in, and wake up to gentle knocking and someone calling your name.

"Y/N? You there?"

"Yeah." You call, voice thick with sleep.

"Can we come in?"

"Sure?" You say, burrowing under the blanket. The door opens revealing Chris Evans and Robert, both looking tired after a long day of filming.

"Did we wake you up?" Chris asks.

"Yeah, it's fine though," You yawn, sitting up slowly.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that kiddo,"

You shrug. "What's up?"

Robert gives you a dad smile. "We just wanted to come see how you're doing. Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I guess. Don't feel pukey anymore."

"That's good. Anthony said you were doing homework all day?" Chris asks, tone not too far from accusatory.

"I had an essay to do." You defend.

Robert clicks his tongue. "You're supposed to be resting, Y/N, not doing homework."

You pout. "I still had to get it done..."

"Alright, no school stuff tomorrow, okay?" Robert orders. "Rest only."

"Rest only." You repeat.

"Alright, now go to bed. You look exhausted."

"Okay. Thanks for checking on me," You stand up slowly, paying close attention to how you feel. You give each of them a hug before going to your room.

You check your phone, again giving in to those bad habits.

Message from Masha the Manager

Doc appointment at 1 pm tomorrow. He's gonna make a house call.

Sent 7:28 PM

You shoot back a quick 'K' before turning it off and laying down for the night.

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