#sicktember day 23
Text
cinnamon and myrrh
Events: Sicktember, Whumptember, Bad Things Happen Bingo
Prompts:
Desperate measures
Head lolling
Coughing fit
Preventative Measures (Not taken)
Side effects/Adverse reaction
Uncooperative Patient
Confused
Disoriented
Hurts to Breathe
Warnings:
implications of depression
This fill is written as a one-shot of my original story, Saudade. You can find my info page for Saudade here.
What context you need to read this is:
In Saudade, the Archangel Raphael Fell during the Rebellion. It was a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, and he was thrown out by four angels while his partner, the Power Camael, tried to help him.
The angels who didn't Fall were made to forget those who did. They don't remember they ever knew them. As far as they know, all the Fallen were on the fringes of Heaven's society. If they asked around, they might go, "Wait, no one knew a Fallen?" But they Don't Ask Questions.
Raphael worked to gain Camael's trust again, and eventually won it. Camael learned he did, in fact, know Raphael before the Fall by regaining a memory, and convinced Raphael's siblings to hear him out. Now they're trying to figure out WTF to do.
Who, in their right mind, burns myrrh for funsies?
Humans, apparently.
And in the middle of the holiday season no less, so the smell of it is covered up by the reek of all that damn cinnamon.
Raphael really should have learned by now.
Whumptember: Desperate measures, head lolling
Sicktember: Coughing fit, Preventative Measures (Not Taken), Side Effects/Adverse Reaction, Uncooperative Patient, Confused, Disoriented
Bad Things Happen Bingo: hurts to breathe
can be read on AO3 or below the cut
Raphael watched the little blurs that were the light-up battery-powered fish in his fish tank.
When he’d moved into this apartment, he’d thought about getting a cat. But they had such short lifespans compared to his. It just wasn’t worth getting attached. Dogs were the same. Rodents were even worse. It felt like they barely took a breath before dying. It was nearly impossible to find an apartment that would allow a bird, though even they didn’t live terribly long in the span of his life, and he hated turtles.
A hellish animal might have been an option, but he didn’t like any of them. Hellcats, with their too many tails, disturbed him greatly and brought to mind Kitsune, who he didn’t want to think of as he cleaned a litter box. (Their litter boxes had a nasty habit of bursting into flames, besides.) Hellhounds came in every shape and breed of dog, but being around Lilith’s was enough. He didn’t have nearly enough water to keep an ahuizotl, and he already had plenty of nightmares without inviting in a Pesanta.
So, finally, he’d bought a fish tank and some light-up, battery-powered fake fish and been quite happy with them.
Through the poorly insulated walls of his apartment, he could make out general merriment. Carolers on the street, the buzz of countless lights, cheerful voices. Could smell pine from pine trees, burning gingerbread from a few doors down, and tried not to cough at the thickness of cinnamon in the air. It had been strong for days, no matter where he went. Cinnamon brooms lingered on his neighbors’ doorsteps, and it seemed every shop he passed was cluttered with them.
He’d never liked Christmas, not really. Though the Giant Lantern Festival was beautiful, he’d admit that, and he always had fun trying to burn the Gävle Goat. Any Fallen loved Krampusnacht, none more so than Krampus himself. But Christmas was a time for those with friends and family. He might have called Maalik a friend once, but he was long dead. Lilith and Lethe, perhaps, but they were busy doing their own things, and they saw each other only every few decades, besides. He still wasn’t sure if he could call Samyaza a friend.
And he certainly had no family.
He had Camael back, somewhat. But Camael, though he knew now, didn’t remember, surely wasn’t willing to spend a holiday with him. And Gabriel and Michael still looked half-ready to run him through if he sneezed wrong, though they knew too.
So he hadn’t even bothered to ask.
Raphael sighed, trying to tune out the music his neighbors were listening to: the one above him was listening to some caterwauling cover of All I Want for Christmas is You, the one below him Last Christmas, to the right a pop cover of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (why?), and to the left Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (again, why?). He could make out the neighbors further down the hall, but it all clashed together into raucous noise.
He rolled over, stretching out on his bed. It smelled far better than the cloying cinnamon. Though lingering sulfur and rain-dampened dirt weren’t exactly appealing either.
It wasn’t Christmas Day or Eve. At least, he didn’t think so.
He couldn’t hear wrapping paper tearing—well, that was a lie. The gender-optional tenant three doors down was wrapping gifts it sounded like—or smell ham or turkey or baking cookies.
Then again, he’d slept for quite a while, so he couldn’t be certain. He’d only gotten up long enough to duck into the corner store and wolf down the taquitos whose wrappers lay crumpled on his nightstand.
Raphael clutched his pillow, curling up. Hell, but he was tired. He’d slept the better part of the last two days, and still, he was exhausted.
So what was the harm in sleeping? It wasn’t as if he’d miss anything.
His phone rang, and he grumbled. Blearily, he thought that he needed to take it into the store to get it looked at because the voice announcing the caller was so muffled that he couldn’t make out what it said. Raphael reached for it, fumbling, but it was out of his reach, and he was still so tired.
If it was important, whoever it was could leave a voicemail.
Someone banged on his door, and he groaned. Did they have to be so loud? He could hear the door rattling in the frame. It was probably someone looking for the man down the hall. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had someone knock on his door by mistake, so he didn’t feel sorry that he didn’t even open his eyes.
There were voices, and he felt he should wake up. Because sleeping while someone was near him was never a good thing, barring a few people. And those weren’t Lethe or Lilith’s voices. He could tell. But his bed was so warm, the blankets so soft and comfortable, so surely he could sleep a few minutes more?
Besides, those voices felt safe. What was the harm?
Hands—cold hands, familiar, rough hands, though who they belonged to escaped him at the moment—grabbed and shook him. He wanted to tell them to let him sleep—even with their hands on him, he felt leaden—but his voice wilted and died in his throat before he could make a sound.
The voice called his name again, and two more hands, rougher and larger, joined the first.
His name was called again, this time by a voice deeper than the one before, and the hands became so rough that his head rolled on his pillow. It was irritating, and he tried again to tell them to leave him be. But his voice died, and his eyelids were so heavy that he couldn’t even glare at them to go away. His breath hitched, as sluggish as the rest of him, and struggled in his throat.
Raphael felt that should have worried him, but he was too comfortable and tired to care.
The hands went away, and he was grateful. Now, surely they’d leave him alone? Whatever they needed couldn’t be that important. It could wait.
Surely, they’d finally let him sleep.
A pair of hands slid under him, separating his head from his pillow and awkwardly gripping the underside of his knees. He shivered as he was torn away from the warmth of his blankets, the cold biting into him worse than the blizzards of Cocytus. A complaint started, then died, in his throat. His head lolled back, his neck arched painfully, and while one arm had been scooped up so it rested on his stomach, the other dangled uncomfortably.
The person carrying him moved jerkily, jolting him violently, even as they rubbed their thumbs along his skin as if to try to warm him. They came to an abrupt stop, and he tried to open his eyes. Some part of him was alarmed when he couldn’t get them to respond, but he was too tired to get anxious.
One hand came up to cradle the back of his head as he was made to stand. Well, stand by the faintest gasp of the word. If it wasn’t for the hand, or the body he was propped against, he surely would have collapsed. His feet tingled differently than usual, more numb than throbbing or sensitive. Even when he tried to make them, his knees wouldn’t support his weight. The person behind him, a sturdy wall, held him carefully upright. Raphael felt he should recognize them, if not from everything else than from their height, his head coming up to their chest from the feel of it as it lolled on his irritatingly unresponsive neck.
The first, smaller pair of hands, fingers slimmer than the ones holding him, tugged off his sweats, boxers, and nightshirt. Some part of him felt he should cover himself, like there was something he needed to hide, that he despised, tried to never let anyone see, and was forgetting.
But that would mean moving, which he didn’t think he could do even if he tried. His arms were so heavy, and was it really so bad if they saw it?
He lost time.
And then he was scalding, dragged beneath a spray of water. He gasped through a barely open mouth, his breath rasping loudly in his throat, then started to cough violently.
Were they trying to drown him?
A heave ran through him as he coughed, desperate for breath he didn’t actually need, feeling as though he were fighting to breathe through wet cloth. One of the hands, the one with the thicker fingers, caught his chin and squeezed the joints of his jaw. He tried to jerk back and felt like he was back in Boston, struggling to wade through molasses. His body wouldn’t listen to him, every moment slow and faltering, a twitch of a movement if he managed to move at all.
"Shit, he’s covered in it."
Raphael retched as a wet finger pressed down on his tongue, sweeping along his throat. It was a horrible feeling, but when the finger drew out, he could finally breathe. He coughed harshly, gulping air down greedily.
His fingers twitched, and the hand on the back of his head tightened in his hair to keep him from doubling over. He could taste rotten sulfur, his throat stinging as he struggled to get his coughing under control. There wasn’t an inch of his skin that hadn’t begun to tingle unpleasantly, bordering on a faint burn.
The smaller set of hands left his skin, replaced a moment later by a washcloth. The tingling quickly built to a burn, and as energy began to return to his limbs, he struggled weakly. Being pinned had never resulted in anything good, and slowly awareness was filtering to him; he shouldn’t be so confused and so tired; he should have been wide awake long before they’d made it into his apartment. He’d never known the touch of holy water, but having water flow over his body just before he began to burn did not bode well.
The arms tightened around him, and a familiar voice grunted as he managed to brace one foot on the slippery tile and drive the heel of the other into the shin of the person behind him.
"Stop fighting us, dammit!"
Wait—he did know that voice. Now that it didn’t sound so far away, so muffled, he did know that voice. And those hands felt familiar, as did the body behind him. And now, with the insulated walls of the shower between him and that awful, seeping cinnamon scent, he could make out the strong bite of petrichor.
He forced his eyes open, though they were very reluctant. His vision swam, eyes stinging, and they’d only open a slit. But even through a film of silver tears, he’d know that angel anywhere. She was too close for him to make out her features, but even darkened and flattened to her scalp by water, that red hair was unmistakeable.
"M’ch’l?" His tongue was slow, heavy, and unresponsive in his mouth. Just that word, if you could call it a word, made him cough again, tearing at his throat. He whimpered, and the angel behind him held him up when the force of it tried to bend him over. Ichor sprayed, foul and thick, across his tongue. Before he could do anything, Camael reached up and swiped his fingers across his tongue and throat. Raphael retched, but strangely, his throat hurt far less.
"Shut up," she snapped as he panted, stooping and running the washcloth down his legs.
"You’re a real idiot, you know," she said as she straightened.
"Wh-?" He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice to obey him. His voice sounded ridiculous, slurring and rough. "Why?"
Finally, he got his legs to support him, though they shook violently. Still, when Camael pushed him forward and Michael pulled him towards her, he went easily. He slumped, head resting on her shoulder, letting her take most of his weight. Behind him, Camael wiped him down with quick, rough movements. His skin burned, too sensitive, under the touch of the rag, and he whined as his hands and feet began to sting. He hadn’t even realized how numb they’d gone, but now that they felt as if they were being lanced with needles, he wished they’d go back to being numb.
Camael knelt, pushing him so he put more of his weight on Michael, and pulled up his foot. He did cry out, then. They were always either sensitive or numb, but the feel of the rag was agony. Then he began to cough again, struggling against the burn in his chest. Each small gasp of breath he managed to get only fueled the burn, and he sobbed.
"Sorry, sorry," Camael muttered, hurrying to finish. The other foot hurt just as badly, if not more, and it was only because Michael braced herself that they weren’t both taken to the ground when his leg gave out.
"Close your eyes," Camael said, and then Michael guided him to stand upright and bend over. He wheezed, beginning to cough again, wrinkling his nose at the foul taste of sulfur. When the stream of water was aimed at his hair, he flinched, so Michael brought one hand up to cover his eyes. Hands ran roughly through his hair, tugging at tangles, Camael murmuring apologies every time he tugged roughly at his scalp.
"Is that all of it?" Camael asked, helping him to stand upright. He wavered, blinking blearily at Michael as he struggled to catch his breath.
The burning was starting up again in his throat, and he managed to say "All of-" before it irritated his throat so badly that he started to cough again. When the force of it, pain shooting through his upper back, threatened to take him to the ground, Camael held him upright. Heat filled his mouth, and he tasted sulfur as the water shut off.
"Don’t let him get any on his skin," Camael said as Michael pressed the cloth to his mouth.
"I know," she scowled. "Next time he can catch his breath, hold his head up and his mouth open."
It felt like ages as he coughed. His throat and chest burned, and tears trickled down his face. Camael slid one hand up to rest over his racing heart, Michael replacing his grip on Raphael’s arm with her own.
Finally, he was able to take a breath. It wasn’t much, but for a moment, he could stop coughing. His breath whistled in his throat, an awful sound that set his teeth on edge. Camael grabbed his jaw, making him tilt his head back, then, as gently as he could, squeezed the joints of his jaw.
Raphael coughed, jerking awkwardly at the angle his throat was forced to. He didn’t struggle as Camael lowered him, and Michael stood on the tips of her toes. She raised her hand, and Raphael’s instincts screamed as divinity spiked strongly in the air. Gold-tinged smoke trickled from his mouth as Michael pinched the air, then pulled back. There was an awful tugging feeling in his chest before the burning flared. He struggled against Camael’s pinning grip, but as the agonizing burn rose through his throat, his chest stopped hurting.
With a gasp, he began to gulp down air. Each breath came easier than the last, the burn moving to his tongue, then gone completely. Camael loosened his grip, letting him slump against him as he gasped for breath. Camael was saying something. He could tell by the vibrations of his chest against his back, and maybe Michael was, too. But his heart raced loudly in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything else. He twisted, spitting ichor into the drain.
Michael stepped out of the shower, and scooping Raphael up, Camael followed.
Please tell me I’m not naked.
Michael looked away as she grabbed a towel. "Can you stand?"
He cleared his throat, basking in being able to breathe. "Y-yeah," he said, though he wasn’t really sure. Camael carefully set him down, making sure he could take his own weight before releasing him.
Raphael hadn’t known this Camael could be so gentle or kind. He wished he’d been aware enough to enjoy it.
Hands shaking, he took the towel she offered. His head was still a bit foggy, the world moving slowly around him, but now he could feel the alarm he should have felt before creeping up on him.
"How dumb are you?" Michael asked as he toweled himself dry before he could ask what the hell had happened. It was only as he carefully picked up a foot to towel it dry, leaning into Camael’s supporting hand, seeing the discolored flesh that went up nearly to his knee, that his heart dropped into his stomach.
His glamors.
He wasn’t wearing his glamors.
They’d have seen the discolorations for sure, and they certainly would have felt them. It was a miracle he hadn’t, in his daze, brought out his spines.
The thought made him feel ill.
And–his eyes. His eyes didn’t have the reassuring, faint warmth of his glamor, the one he applied without thought the moment he woke. That glamor—they'd have seen his eyes; they’d have seen those monstrous eyes. How had Michael stomached seeing them?
He took deep breaths, reveling in them, and answered her. "I don’t know... I don’t even know what happened." Frantically, he tried to call up the glamor. It was child’s play—something he could do when bleeding and half-dead. But his power, usually burning and riotous, was barely more than a smolder in his chest. His eyes remained unchanged.
"Myrrh," she said as she walked out of the bathroom, speaking over her shoulder as he tied the towel around his waist. Camael helped him follow on shaky legs. "You got yourself covered from head to toe in myrrh." When he walked into the rest of the apartment, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The entire place smelled like ozone, divinity sparking along his skin.
Michael rummaged through his dresser, pulling out a shirt and tossing it to him once he’d sat on the edge (well, his bed was round, so it didn’t have edges) of his bed. It had been stripped down to the mattress, and the rough mattress itched his sensitive skin.
"And inhaled it," Camael added as he pulled the shirt on. He sounded pissed, and Raphael cringed. "How the hell did you manage that?"
"I didn’t mean to," Raphael protested as he wriggled awkwardly into a pair of shorts that landed in his lap. He mourned his boxers but would rather that Michael didn’t go into his underwear drawer. Remembering the days of robes and little else, then the days of kaunakes, which covered even less, he wondered when he’d become so prudish. What Fallen would mean to inhale myrrh? "Who burns myrrh anymore?"
Michael wasn’t far enough away for him to make out her expression, but he was fairly certain she was looking to Heaven for strength.
He didn’t need to look to know that Camael was rolling his eyes. "I’m serious," Raphael said. "I haven’t been able to smell anything but cinnamon for weeks. You think I’d’ve stuck around if I smelled myrrh?"
Of all the things hellish beings were weak to—blessed objects, certain sacred symbols and objects, holy water, purified salt, consecrated ground, certain sigils and runes, among other things—Raphael found myrrh the most insidious. Sacred symbols and objects you could avoid; you had to touch them, usually, to be harmed by them. Pick them up or have them thrown at you. They were only dangerous if they touched bare skin. Any hellish being knew well what those tended to be. Blessed objects were more dangerous; anything could be blessed. Sacred symbols and objects counted among blessed objects, like crosses, ushabti, and holy books. But it was entirely possible to rummage through a pile of clothing and find a blessed shirt. Sigils and runes had to be carved or painted, and were far less reliable. They were so finicky that a shaky hand or a shed eyelash in the wrong spot could ruin the entire thing. They were usually best at keeping hellish beings out, or he’d have considered them much worse. But if someone knew what they were doing, they could make the barrier far more dangerous, even lethal. The ones he’d painted around his cave served as an electric fence, although he’d seen an imp fried to ash when it insisted on continuing to try to come in. Once, though, he’d seen a demon walk over an intricate rune set, unaware, and be instantly and mercilessly erased from existence.
Consecrated ground, well. Raphael, personally, hated consecrated ground after spending years recovering from a run-in with it. But provided you weren’t him and weren’t foolish with it, it wasn’t too much of a danger. Consecrated ground was almost always a holy building, religious or spiritual retreat, sacred grove, or sacred site. So long as you avoided those, you were just fine. That wasn’t a hard rule—he was still deeply confused by a six-inch-by-six-inch patch he’d found deep in Baikunthapur Forest—but it was a safe one to live by. And, if you were unlucky enough to find some random patch, you just had to step off of it.
It was only when you stayed standing on it that it started to eat away at your being.
Purified salt, unless consumed, was only really useful for making a salt circle. If it touched the skin, it acted as a bit of an irritant, but when consumed in large amounts, it became an anticoagulant. ‘Large amounts’ being the key word; it diluted in drinks, and any amounts that would be dangerous to a hellish being made food noticeably salty. And holy water—well, any self-respecting hellish being feared holy water, especially with people carrying it around now. You never knew how pure it would be, whether it was just tap water with a prayer said over it by some human or water properly blessed by an angel. The former, a Fallen or demon would have to be dunked in or guzzle to be killed by, and it would be a long, drawn-out, preventable death. Otherwise, it hurt like hot oil.
Not pleasant, but better than the latter. The latter was like acid; a few drops would eat away at your skin, but any significant amount was liable to outright dissolve you away.
Myrrh, though. In its natural state, it was harmless. He could hold it with his bare hands if he wanted to. But when burned, which humans had taken to doing, it became smoke. And it was the smoke that was so dangerous. That it had such a strong, distinct scent meant it was one of the easier dangers to avoid. Still, if, somehow, you breathed it—perhaps being a new demon, or a Fallen with little experience of Creation—it settled in your lungs, clinging to your throat. Often, it coated your skin as well, if you were unlucky enough to be too close. It ate away at you slowly, siphoning away your power. This made you tired, too dazed to register that something was wrong. If you fell asleep, you never woke up again.
Raphael remembered how groggy he’d felt, how tired and listless, so certain that it would be no harm at all just to go back to sleep. How he hadn’t cared though there’d been hands on him, strangers (or so they’d seemed at the time) crowded around him while he was vulnerable. If that had happened in Hell...
He shivered.
Michael had been talking, and he quickly scrubbed his hair dry, trying to pretend he’d been listening.
"–lucky we found you when we did!"
"I know," he said. There were so many ways he was lucky, as much as he sometimes thought himself otherwise. When it mattered, he was damn lucky.
"Really," Camael said behind him, his voice soft. "You were almost dead, Raphael. If we had waited a few hours–"
Raphael was startled when Camael’s voice hitched. And, he realized, Michael’s had sounded decidedly rattled. They cared. He barely managed to keep from smiling, as inappropriate as that would be. They still didn’t remember him. Camael hadn’t told him what he’d seen, but he’d seen a memory, or more than one. Enough to know he had known him once. That, for all these years, Raphael hadn’t been lying. He didn’t know the depth of their relationship, but that was fine. Gabriel and Michael, through Camael, had come to accept that they’d known him as well.
It was hard to deny, especially once he showed them their feathers on his necklace and that his were on their jewelry. He couldn’t fake the feathers on his necklace. They shed feathers, sure. But the feathers on his necklace sparked with their divinity—the remnants of when they’d shrunk them, solidifying them so they wouldn’t be ruined in his day-to-day. There wasn’t any of his foul power on them.
Right, his power. It was a bit of a struggle, but after a moment, he managed to pull a glamor over his eyes. He’d done his best not to look them in the eye, but they’d certainly noticed something was off, even if they’d been distracted when they’d seen it.
How they hadn’t realized they had his feathers—well, he had his suspicions. They’d worn them since before Creation, and that was a very long time not to question the seemingly random feathers they shared. Then again, there were so many things that didn’t make sense that no one in Heaven, it seemed, had questioned.
His necklace-! He reached for his throat, fumbling where the cold chain always was. He’d only taken it off once since they’d given it to him, when he’d handed it to Michael to prove he really did have their feathers. But his neck was bare, and, to his horror, so was his wrist. Camael’s bracelet was gone, too.
"Here." Michael’s voice was undeniably strangled. When he looked at her, he sighed in relief. A little smear of gold and what looked to be a miniscule streak of the same with three white blobs dangling from it hung from her hand. They reeked of ozone, and divinity brushed against his skin when he took them.
"We-"
"We?"
"Michael banished your bedding. It had myrrh all over it." Raphael had liked that bedding. "Your clothes too. She cleaned everything. We didn’t want to risk missing some."
"When did you manage to do that?" He gaped at Michael. Everything between falling asleep and Camael washing his hair was blurry, with massive blank spots. Still, he was fairly certain there hadn’t been a moment when she wasn’t there.
Camael took the clasp he’d been struggling with, ignoring his startled flinch, and fastened his necklace for him. Feeling was still coming back to his extremities, and he felt rather fumbly.
"Right after I took off your clothes," she said plainly. Raphael was sure he turned an impressive silver as he remembered her stripping him under the water, Camael holding up his dead weight. She was his sister, but still. He’d have been just as embarrassed if it were Gabriel. Hell, Camael being there was almost as embarrassing.
…wow, he really had become a prude.
"I did it all at the same time. It’s not that hard if you’re doing all the room at once. Though, uh," she sounded sheepish. He remembered the way she’d avert her eyes when embarrassed, dark skin taking on a twinkling gold glint. "I might have been a bit overzealous. Some of those lights went out… and I might have vanished some of your towels."
That did not surprise him. You didn’t have to put much thought into using power—or divinity, as the case might be—but the less you focused, the more mistakes it might make or the more liberties it might take. If she’d thought ‘bedding and clothing’ it might have included ‘fabrics’ in that, and he should feel lucky he had any clothing or towels left at all. Hell, if she’d been rushing and had intentions such as ‘purify everything’, he was lucky he had anything left; such broad intentions could easily have ‘purified’ his apartment by emptying it.
He laughed. It felt good to laugh, to enjoy being able to breathe without that awful burn. "Don’t, don’t worry about it. Those were shit towels."
Forgetting himself, used to only letting Lilith and Lethe at his back, he reclined back against Camael. Camael stiffened against him, and he went rigid. Then, slowly, Camael relaxed.
Michael moved to sit next to him, sighing loudly.
"You have to be more careful," she said, sounding her age. Not the one her physical body appeared, but how old she truly was.
"I usually am." Sometimes. With some things. He was still alive, wasn’t he? And in (mostly) one piece.
Camael snorted.
"I avoid myrrh, I promise. We all do." He winced. Usually, he did all he could to keep from mentioning Hell, demons, or other Fallen. "If I have to get close to it, I layer up and wear masks. I avoid anywhere that burns incense or anything." This did, however, make it very hard to source materials for runes and sigils. Oh. The fucking corner store! The person who ran it was always burning candles. He’d been going there for years. "And if I even think I’m exposed to it, I shower. I just couldn’t smell anything through that damn cinnamon. It’s been strong the last few years, but never this bad."
...then again, he forced himself not to grimace; he hadn’t even worn his mask. Some dumbass had yelled at him the last time he had, and he hadn’t had it in him to get into an argument if he ran into someone else who took issue with him. Of course, that would be the one time Georgie burned fucking myrrh instead of their ‘field of fresh-mown grass’ candles.
In fact, he had sneezed. But their candles usually made him sneeze, and the cinnamon brooms irritated his nose, so he hadn’t thought anything of it.
Damn, he was stupid.
"Well, it is. What are you going to do now?"
Camael asked a good question. Raphael pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. "I’ll have to be more careful. Cover up as much as I can, stay away from any shops if I can, wear a mask. Definitely will shower as soon as I get home no matter what... that was dumb of me."
"Very."
It was funny when Michael and Gabriel did it. When Michael and Camael spoke together, it was just disconcerting.
"Burn any cinnamon brooms I find," he added, sotto voce.
"Why are they even a thing?" Michael shook her head. "Makes you feel like you shoved a bar of cinnamon up your nose."
He laughed, enjoying the rumble of Camael’s chest behind him as he did the same.
God, he’d missed this.
"What were you doing here, anyway?" He'd been sure he’d be spending Christmas alone. But here were Michael and Camael in his apartment, having saved his life. "Not that I’m not grateful!" He was quick to add.
Camael didn’t laugh again, but Raphael could feel the rumble of his chuckle against his back. The warmth that spread through his chest, then, was anything but painful.
"Well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?" Camael said, and now that he paid attention, Raphael realized he was right. Even through the cinnamon, he could smell turkeys and hams baking; his gender-optional neighbor had, it seemed, procrastinated and was only now baking an over-sweetened apple pie. Children were shrieking (he grimaced. Michael snickered.), and adults and older children were laughing. Awful Christmas music was playing, muffling the tearing of wrapping paper and the high-pitched noises of children trying out their new toys.
"You really thought we were going to let you spend it alone? Our own brother?"
Yes.
"I didn’t think you celebrated, honestly."
He knew they celebrated. He’d seen them more than once, participating in so many holidays over the centuries. So many New Year's celebrations, sometimes more than one in the same year. Why humans couldn’t pick a calendar and stick with it, he’d never know. Sometimes it was just Michael and Gabriel. Others, it was Michael, Gabriel, and Camael, and he was glad about it. It was nice to know they were still close. Rarely, it was just one of them. Often, it was Michael and Raguel, Camael, and, bafflingly, Gabriel and Kushiel. He’d seen them giving gifts of protection during Handsel Monday centuries ago, helping with the harvest and blessing the loaves of Lammas, preventing injuries during Gŵyl Mabsant, betting on who’d fail to carry the burning barrels during Up Helly Aa, throwing tomatoes at each other (from what he could tell through watching from afar, they lost points if they hit humans) each La Tomatina he’d seen, and, on one memorable occasion, Gabriel, Kushiel, and Raguel, glamored to appear as a man, competing in a heated discus throwing competition at one of the last Ancient Olympic games while Michael and Camael egged them on. This had ended very quickly when Gabriel, scowling at Kushiel, had flung his discus an impossible distance and lodged it into the wall of the stadium. There had been a very brief chaos as the angels rushed to make the humans forget what they saw.
Raphael would have helped, honestly, but he’d been too busy laughing until he cried at the horror on their faces.
And, in recent years, Gabriel seemed to have found it great fun to participate in Blasphemy Day. Michael always followed him, telling him he shouldn’t, but if Raphael got close enough that he could make out her face, she was always grinning.
But why should he think they’d want to celebrate with him?
"Of course we do," Michael frowned. "Actually, Camael, can you text Gabriel? He’s probably wondering where we are."
"Wait, Gabriel–?"
"He’s at Camael’s apartment. We’ve got a tree up and everything. If you’re feeling up to it, of course?"
Of course, he was up to it. He’d drag himself across shards of blessed glass if only to have a moment with any of them. His skin was a bit too sensitive, but otherwise? He’d have had no idea that he’d almost died in such a stupid way.
"Yeah, of course." Michael stared him down, but she’d raised him, insofar as any of them had been raised, so he didn’t squirm or look away.
"Tell Gabriel we’re about to head over," she finally said, apparently satisfied. Then she leaned forward, grabbing something out of his sightline that crinkled loudly. When she leaned back, she held a lumpy package in her hands, covered in gaudy, multi-colored stripes. At least, he assumed so. They smeared, hurting his eyes. She dropped it in his lap.
"What’s this?" He picked it up, wrinkling his brow when it gave under his touch.
"You have to look the part." Even still, she sounded tired, and he felt horrible for scaring her so badly.
Look the part?
Finally, he really looked at her. And then he had to laugh. He’d been a bit distracted, but now it was impossible to miss the garish red sweater she wore. It clashed horribly with her hair, and he wished more than anything that he could make out what those twinkling, white blobs were.
"Camael’s is worse," she grumped. That he had to see. He twisted, then laughed harder. Raphael hadn’t known blue could be that bright, and the fuzziness of it explained the coarseness he’d felt against his exposed skin. Lights of various colors twinkled, and he snorted, then laughed at that.
"Oh God," he rubbed at his eyes as they teared up, "that’s bad."
"Wait until you see yours." Camael patted his shoulder.
"Mine?" The word came out far louder than he’d intended it to.
They really did want him, didn’t they? A gift, a Christmas tree, and now an ugly Christmas sweater. His grin, he was sure, was wobbly. Raphael had gifts for them too, of course. But he’d had no delusions of being able to give them to them. He had intended to give them to Camael the next time he saw him, Oh, I saw these, thought of you guys. Mind giving those to Michael and Gabriel next you see them? Thanks!
He’d never dreamed of being able to see them open them.
"Now, get dressed. Put that on, get some pants. Sister or not, I’m not going through your underwear drawer."
"Thank you for that."
He had so much to thank her for. Raphael didn’t think he’d ever be able to say them all.
#whumptember2023#whumptember 2023#whumptember2023 day 25#whumptember day 25#day twenty five: head lolling#day twenty five: desperate measures#sicktember2023#sicktember 2023#sicktember day 5#sicktember day 23#sicktember day 25#sicktember day 27#sicktember day 29#bad things happen bingo#prompt: hurts to breathe#saudade#original writing#one-shot#original story#raphael#michael#gabriel#camael#implied depression#lore#world lore#worldbuilding#bthb
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Sicktember Day 23
Coughing Fit
Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Mushroom Strikes Back
The mission goes well until it doesn’t. They’re pushing the droids back quickly, until they stumble into a group of the mushrooms. The plants are enormous – several feet tall - which makes them harder to avoid when they’re trying to fight here.
Anakin knows it’s about to happen a second before it does; several stray blaster shots hit the mushrooms. A faint cloud of brownish spores floods the air literally right in front of him, and he’s trying to deflect several blaster shots away to protect the clones behind him, so he doesn’t have time to duck away from them in time.
And he promptly inhales a lung-full of them instead.
It makes his nose and throat itch terribly, and he turns sharply away from the mushrooms, coughing.
But it doesn’t seem to help much, and now he can’t stop coughing.
Ugh. Cody warned him about this, and he should’ve been paying a little more attention.
“We need to keep moving,” Anakin coughs, the moment Cody appears at his side, before he can ask if he’s alright. Even if he’s touched the clones are so worried about it.
“Sir,” Cody objects, reproachfully, “The side effects can be serious. Perhaps you should –"
“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he replies, fiercely.
They don’t have any longer to debate it, because the droids are swarming on them again, and Anakin jumps back into the fight, attacking the droids. Though, it’s a lot harder when his lungs are still burning, and he keeps coughing in between deflecting shots. And It's becoming annoying because it’s making him sloppy. The coughing starts to fade a few moments later, but he just… doesn’t feel so good anymore. Like, at all.
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#fanfiction#sicktember#sicktember 2023#sicktember day 23#sicktember day twenty-three#day twenty-three#day 23#anakin skywalker#commander cody#cody#anakin#anakin and cody#hurt/comfort#friendship#coughing fit
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Sicktember #23
Prompt #23: Tepid Bath
Fandom: Merlin
Title: Night Fever
Summary: Merlin can’t use his magic to heal Arthur, but perhaps his company is just as potent of a cure.
It was well, well past midnight. A sliver of moon that rose high in the frosty night above Camelot, but in Arthur’s chambers the temperature, if nothing else, was pleasant, the flames from the hearth and the flickering candles casting their dancing glow across the twilit room.
Merlin knelt in the shadows, hunched over a metal tub as he carefully and quietly whispered the bath water therein to a suitable temperature. Arthur’s ailment was not magical, and so no magic could be used directly to cure him, but that would not stop Merlin from using it in his treatment in other ways: to save time, to provide more comfort. He dipped his fingers in the water and shook his head. Still too cool. He didn’t want to shock Arthur—gods knew the man’s heartbeat was frantic enough—only lower his fever slightly.
“Hléowe,” Merlin murmured, his eyes glowing golden in concentration as the temperature rose slowly. A shifting noise from behind drew Merlin’s attention, and he turned over his shoulder to look at Arthur, who had thrown off all his blankets and furs and lay spread-eagle on his back. Even in the low light Merlin could see his eyes glisten with fever, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“So hot, Merlin,” Arthur moaned. He shifted again, weakly, and whined when the movement brought him no relief.
“I know, sire,” Merlin said, swallowing down the worry that rose in his chest and made him feel ill himself. “I know. The bath is almost ready.”
Merlin tested the water once more and found it lukewarm. He dried his hands on a towel, and went to Arthur’s bedside, stopping for a moment to brush damp hair away from the prince’s sweaty forehead.
“Come, sire,” he said softly, biting his lip at the pallor of Arthur’s skin, the angry scarlet of his cheeks. “Let’s get you in the bath.”
Arthur made no sound, but allowed Merlin to maneuver him, limp and weak and gangly, out of bed and over to the basin. His head lolled and his uncooperative weight seemed double his usual, so Merlin muttered a few words to make him feel lighter, confident that Arthur was too lost in his illness to notice.
Merlin deposited him gently in the water, guiding him as he sank down, but he had hardly been in the tub for a few seconds when Arthur started shivering so violently he was almost seizing. His eyes flew open, wide in alarm.
“Freezing!” Arthur grit out, his teeth locked against his tremors.
“It’s not,” Merlin assured him, trying to coax him downward even as Arthur did his best to pull himself up, out of the water. Merlin dipped a handkerchief in the water and tried to wipe down Arthur’s face with it, but the man jerked away. “It only feels that way because you’re—Arthur, Arthur please stop,” Merlin begged as Arthur thrashed, trying to duck away from Merlin’s hands. “We have to get your fever down.”
Soon, though, Arthur was too weak to keep up the fight, his protestations fading to slight grimaces and then nothing at all as Merlin wiped cool water across his hot skin. “There we go,” Merlin sighed as Arthur deflated, reclining back against the walls of the tub. “That’s it, just relax.”
Merlin soaked and re-soaked the handkerchief, squeezing out droplets of the tepid water to cool the places the bath alone could not reach: chest, neck, head. Arthur sighed now at the ministrations, the coolness seeming now to soothe rather than agitate him, and Merlin sent a prayer of thanks to any of the gods who were listening.
A hand caught Merlin’s as he gently splashed water on Arthur’s chest. “Merlin?” His eyes were glassy, lethargic, but more lucid than they had been, and he watched Merlin innocently, like a child who depended on him entirely for protection.
The openness of his gaze sent warmth stirring in Merlin’s chest. He took Arthur’s hand in his own and stroked his fingers over Arthur’s knuckles. “Yes, sire?”
Arthur watched him for a moment longer before his mouth twitched sleepily, as though he were trying to smile but hadn’t the energy, and his eyes drifted shut. “Mmm,” he hummed, sounding content.
“That’s it, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “Just rest. I’ve got you.” He stroked Arthur’s hair again, surreptitiously feeling his forehead and finding the skin marginally cooler. He smiled. “And I always will.”
#sicktember 2022#sicktember day 23#sick arthur#sick no snz#my writing#according to the old english translator i used what merlin says means ‘warm’ as an imperative
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Sicktember Day 23 & 25 Tepid Bath & Alt Prompt Vapor Rub
Follow up to this Sicktember prompt ft Ambrose and Cecil.
It's late and this isn't beta'd.
~~~~
When Cecil suggested a bath, Ambrose imagined himself relaxing in a steaming tub, inhaling the herbs which soothed his ragged chest. Instead he was huddling in the tepid water which he swore wasn't as warm as Cecil said it was.
Cecil claimed it was because Ambrose's fever had risen but right now all he could concentrate on was not having his teeth chatter. He mournfully gazed up at Cecil who pulled out his pocket watch.
"A minute more, if you please." He didn't look down as he stuffed the watch back into his waistcoat.
Ambrose muttered under his breath, bringing his arms closer around his knees in a vain attempt to conserve any warmth.
Finally, Cecil unfolded the plush robe Molly had brought and held it with one hand while holding the other out.
Shaking, Ambrose reached out, placing his other on the tub hoping he had the strength to stand. The air chilled him worse than the water, shivering fiercely as the robe engulfed him, Cecil hiking the collar around the ends of Ambrose's wet hair.
"Molly has changed your bedding, Philip started the fire again." Cecil said in hushed tones as his hands ran over Ambrose's arms.
"Many...thanks." Ambrose rasped leaning in resting his head on Cecil's shoulder, pivoting his gaze down. Bringing up a sleeve he masked a cough into it. "I truly didn't wish...to disturb anyone..." His breath ended in another wheezing cough as he bent over, he felt Cecil steady himself as he gripped Ambrose.
"I know." Cecil whispered while he helped Ambrose right himself again, "Let's get you back to bed."
The walked silently down the hall, a few gas lamps lighting their way back to Ambrose's room. Twice he paused to shield his cough away from Cecil, who kept his arm firmly around the sick man's waist.
The fire crackled away in the bedroom now much more pleasant to sleep. Molly greeted the two.
"Fresh sheets and duvet for you, Mr. Beaumont." She smiled.
"Thank...you..." Ambrose rasped as he sat on the bed, Cecil pulling back the covers. "Please, return to your own bed now."
Molly glanced quickly at her Master, who nodded. "Yes sir." She said, "Goodnight."
Exhaling a small cough, Ambrose rolled back onto the pillow which sat to keep him upright. Looking over he went to reach for a handkerchief when his breath hitched. He managed to turn enough to muffle both sneezes into his elbow before grabbing the cloth.
Ambrose sighed as he nestled back, pulling the collar of his robe up around his neck.
"I'd hoped...the bath would relief a bit more congestion." He sniffled, rubbing his nose.
Cecil went to the bedside table, pulling open the drawer. He removed a small tin causing Ambrose to frown.
"Cecil...I do not wish to cough all night." He said twisting his handkerchief.
"I know Ambrosia but we must try to keep your lungs clear." Cecil said as he sat on the bed, his hand hovered above Ambrose's chest.
Casting a glare, Ambrose waved a hand dismissively before craning his neck up.
Dipping his fingers in, Cecil gingerly massaged the medicated balm onto Ambrose's chest and along the sides of his neck. The sensation sent shivers up Ambrose's back as his hand gripped the handkerchief tighter.
"There, just a bit to help you breathe." Cecil said removing his own handkerchief to wipe his hand.
"Thank you...Hart..." Ambrose coughed.
Cecil tried smiling but his grey eyes remained sad. "You still feel a bit warm."
Ambrose shrugged as his eyes closed, "I'll be fine."
Neither spoke and a few minutes later Cecil listened as Ambrose's haggard breathing evened out as sleep came again.
"Promise me." He whispered, taking Ambrose's thin hand cupping it to his cheek.
#sicktember#sicktember day 23#sicktember day 25#kaze writes: drabbles#kaze writes: ambrose and cecil#sick fic
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@sicktember Day 23: Alt Prompt 3: Cuddling on the Couch
Warning for Illness, skipping school, nightmare, and negative comments about weight.
#sicktember#sicktember 2022#sicktember day 23#alt prompt 3#cuddling on the couch#tmnt#tmnt 2012#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt 2012 casey jones#tmnt 2012 donnie#tmnt 2012 mikey#tmnt 2012 raph#jonatello#Illness#skipping school#nightmare#negative comments about weight#fanfiction#archive of our own
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22 & 23. Common Cold/Flu & Tepid Bath
These two fit so well together we couldn't help but do a combined little ficlet
@sicktember
Hars hadn't been feeling well for a while. After adding in a few too many late nights and even more bad decisions, it well and truly reared its head.
He'd been unable to settle overnight, tossing and turning, somehow both too hot and too cold.
Steve was worried about Harrison too. He could see him getting more and more run down, late nights and too much alcohol. He’d not long been part of the family, the adoption papers having only come through a couple of months ago.
When Monday rolled around, he got dressed as usual, intending to go to college. He struggled to actually dress, ending up with his shirt on backwards and two socks on the same foot. He didn't seem to notice, and headed downstairs for breakfast, apparently missing the fact it was almost lunchtime.
From his position on the sofa, Steve looked up from his laptop. Harrison looked a state, hair a mess, clothes all over the place, bags under his eyes.
“Where are you off to?” He asked, trying not to grin.
"College." He said simply, attempting to pack a lunch.
“What time is your first lesson?”
"Same as always." He grumbled. "You know that."
“Have you checked the time?”
"My alarm went off."
“And you’re wearing that?”
"It's clean."
“It’s inside out. And it’s nearly 1pm.”
"Is not." He wasn't entirely paying attention to Steve's conversation, and headed to the front door, still determined he was leaving.
“Go back to bed, Harrison.”
"I've got college." He said firmly, struggling with the door.
“You’ve already missed the entire morning. I called you in sick at 8.”
"Because I can't get out of the house!" He argued, frustrated. "What have you done to the door?"
“It’s locked, because you’re sick and you need to go back to bed.”
"I'm not sick! It's just a cold or something. I just need to go to college."
“Do you remember what happened last time you got sick and it was ignored?”
"Wasn't even sick then." He grumbled, though gave up with the door.
“Go back to bed, Harrison. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
"Just half an hour, that's all."
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
"Yeah." He sniffed, his determination and energy gone.
“Go on, to bed with you. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”
"Thank you." He gave a weak smile. Steve always knew how to make it better. Bed sounded great, and he dropped his backpack on the floor, slowly padding upstairs.
Steve shook his head fondly, going to the kitchen to make Harrison’s hot chocolate. He’d want it, and hopefully it would make him feel better. The last thing Steve wanted was him getting any worse - the admission the last time he’d been sick had been absolutely terrifying.
Harrison didn't bother changing out of his clothes, though shuffled out of his jeans. He wrapped himself up in his duvet and blankets, his little excursion downstairs having tired him out and made him cold to the bone.
Steve came up after a few minutes, knocking on the door before he pushed it open and headed inside. “Hot chocolate. Have you had any meds?”
Harrison was barely visible through his cocoon, but he shook his head. He’d had none in his room, and hadn't wanted to go downstairs or disturb Steve.
Steve tutted. “I’ll go and get some.”
"Do you have to?"
“It’ll make you feel better.”
"Okay." He said quietly, taking Steve's bribe of hot chocolate.
"I'll be right back." Steve promised, grabbing some paracetamol and a thermometer while he was there. A bottle of water wouldn't harm either, so he brought one up with him, knocking again before entering.
"Hars? Got you some meds and some water to take them with."
Harrison jumped slightly, having drifted with the silence. He reached for his chocolate again, swallowing the meds with a grimace. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Can I take your temperature? You look really flushed."
"Do you have to?"
"Yeah, I'm afraid so." Steve said gently, sitting on the side of the bed.
Harrison sighed heavily. "Okay."
Steve patted Harrison's leg, shooting him an encouraging smile. He was quick to check his temperature, frowning at the numbers.
"Let me check the other ear." He'd hoped it was a mistake, but he knew it wouldn't be much different.
Unfortunately, it was even higher than the first, and he sighed heavily. They really didn't need him being this sick again.
"That bad?" There was a flash of panic across Harrison's face.
"You've just got a fever, kid. Just means your body is fighting off what it needs to do. But, it does mean you can't be swamped by your duvets. I can get you a sheet instead?" He offered.
Fear settled in his features. "No. I need the duvet. I need my blankets."
"Hey, it's okay. It's just to keep your temperature down. Just like taking a cool shower or bath, it just makes sure you're not going to overheat." Steve kept it simple, aware Harrison wasn't entirely firing on all cylinders. "Tell you what, eh? You can keep your duvet but you need to keep it at your feet or by your side. You're not allowed to wrap yourself up in it, okay?"
Harrison hesitated. Steve had just told him he wasn't allowed it, he hadn't dragged it from his grip, hurt him to try and get them away. He took a deep breath, and slowly pushed it to his feet.
"There you go. Thank you, Harrison. I know it's not nice to take it off when you feel rubbish. I'll let you get some more sleep, okay?"
"'kay." Harrison nodded, snuggling under the blanket he'd been allowed. "Thank you."
Steve left Harrison to sleep, hoping that just being under the thin blanket would be enough to stop him getting hotter. He really was worried about the kid, all too aware how it had ended before. His chest seemed okay, at least, just the fever that was concerning. Surely the sleep would help, as would the meds and the water. It was just a waiting game, hoping his body would fight off whatever he’d picked up. Didn’t help that he’d been so run down, the alcohol certainly not helping him.
A few hours later, Steve returned. Harrison had been quiet, hopefully sleeping, and he knocked on the door again before he stepped inside.
“Harrison?” He asked gently.
He stirred slightly, squinting at Steve. He didn’t quite understand why he was so insistent on pestering him.
“Can I check your temp again?”
"No."
“Please?”
"No." He whined. "I wanna sleep."
“It’ll take two seconds, and then you can sleep again.”
He groaned, pulling the sheet over his head. "No."
“Come on, Harrison.”
"Steve, please."
“I just want to check it’s come down.”
"It has."
“I don’t know unless I check.”
"Fine." Harrison was always more agreeable when Steve was around, and he couldn’t help but try and do what he wanted.
“Thank you.” Steve said gently, pulling the blanket back.
The lack of blanket made it so much colder, the small pocket of warmth quickly dissipated. He whined despite himself, burying his face in his pillow as he curled up tighter.
“I know.” Steve soothed. “Just check your temp, won’t take long.” He said as he did it.
"It's better?"
“Afraid not.” Steve said. It was worse, but he wasn’t about to tell Harrison that, he didn’t want to panic the poor kid.
"Oh. Okay. More sleep, then."
“How are you feeling?”
"Cold."
He hummed. “Your temperature is pretty high.”
"That's okay."
“No, it’s not.”
"I'll fix it."
“Oh?”
"Yeah." He settled back down. "It's all fixed now."
“Not sure I share your confidence.”
"That's a shame."
“Here, let me check again.”
"You just checked."
“I need to double check.”
"No you don't."
“I do.”
"I'm asleep."
“Funny, talking whilst you’re asleep.”
"You can check it later."
“If you’re asleep I could just do it now.”
"No."
Steve huffed. “You’re not well.”
He couldn't help the tears that started falling. "I'm sorry."
“Hey, don’t cry.”
"'m cold and you won't let me sleep an' you keep taking my blankets."
“Alright, I know. But you’re far too warm.”
"I'm not."
“You really are.”
Harrison shivered as if to prove his point, managing to push himself up and into Steve's side.
Steve wrapped his arm around him. “I know you feel miserable.”
"A lot."
“Yeah. You’ve got a bad temp.”
"I'm cold." He murmured, snuggling in properly.
Steve sighed, patting him on the shoulder. “Alright. Get some sleep. I’ll pop back later.”
"No." He said quickly. "Don't go."
Steve softened. “Oh. I’ll stay.”
Harrison gave a quiet, happy noise. "Thank you."
Steve settled down to sit with him, still worried but glad Harrison wanted his comfort.
Harrison slept for a while, only growing increasingly warm by Steve's side. At first, it was quiet, but soon enough the nightmares leached into his dreams. He struggled against the sheets, whimpering and crying quietly. Nothing changed, and his nightmares only grew worse, the fever only adding more power to them. He woke with a shout, trying to make himself smaller, to keep himself safe.
Steve hated Harrison’s nightmares. He felt so powerless to do anything about them, unable to wake him and worried as he got hotter and hotter. He managed to get the blanket off of him, hoping that would at least help, but he doubted it would make much of a difference.
“Harrison?” He said gently, once he’d shouted himself awake. “It’s alright, you’re okay.”
He fought against Steve, torn between trying to get away and trying to disappear into the bed. His cries and pleads didn't make sense, talking to people that weren't there.
He was much, much worse than before. Steve’s stomach twisted with nerves and he sighed. “Alright. We really ought to get you cooled down.”
Harrison pushed at Steve's hands, uncoordinated and weak. He was already cold, and couldn't understand how Steve didn't get it. He was supposed to be smart.
Harrison’s skin was so hot it almost burned. Steve didn’t have much of a choice, he needed to cool him down, else he was going to end up in hospital again. Harrison was too agitated for him to bother with trying to take another temperature, and instead he just scooped him up in his arms and carried him to the bathroom.
His heart almost stopped as Steve carried him onto the bathroom, suddenly gaining strength. He writhed and fought against Steve's arms, begging him to stop. After everything, Steve was going to kill him.
Luckily Steve was stronger than Harrison, still skinny and weak. He kept him close to his chest, his heart breaking as the teenager fought him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m gonna help, I swear.”
Harrison gripped tightly onto Steve's shirt, tears streaming down his face. He'd turned to begging, trying anything to stop it.
Steve hated it, apologising constantly as he turned the tap on and waited for it to warm up a little before he set Harrison in the tub. Clearly he was upset, and ordinarily he’d never push him this hard to do something that was this upsetting, but it needed doing. He let the water run over his legs, cupping his hands to trail it over his back. “It’s okay, I promise you’re going to be okay.”
Harrison screamed as the water touched him, trying his best to arch away from it, his hands clawing at Steve's chest. He couldn’t breathe, and each drop of water burned his skin.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please." He begged, his words split by sobs. "Dad, please, I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please."
Steve’s throat tightened, and he tried his best to keep Harrison’s face from getting wet. He knew he’d fucked up, he’d hit a trigger or something, clearly that he knew nothing about. It must have been his old family, his biological family, and Steve hadn’t had any information. But Harrison needed this, else he was going to get much, much sicker. After a while he stopped the running water, just leaving the teenager sat in the tub. He did his best to keep the water moving over him, where he could avoid clawed hands and kicking legs. Steve himself was soaked, his T-shirt clinging to him, but he pushed on. He needed to get Harrison’s temperature down. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re okay, you’ve not done anything wrong. Cooling you down, kid. Cooling you down.”
His words didn't register with Harrison, still fueled by adrenaline and terror. He continued to try his best to scramble out, grabbing at Steve where he could. Steve kept putting water on him, kept him trapped in the bath. He was obviously just dragging it out, making sure Harrison knew how much trouble he'd caused, how much he deserved the punishment.
Steve hated it, the way Harrison grabbed a t him and tried to free himself. It seemed to be working, though, the boy’s skin wasn’t so warm to touch, he seemed slightly more with it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to help you. I promise I’m helping you.”
Eventually, his strength died down. He didn't have the energy to fight any more, and slowly resigned himself to whatever was coming.
When he stopped, he expected punishment, to be pushed under and held there, but it didn't come.
The hands on him no longer burned, and he slowly realised they weren't pushing him down but keeping him up, out of the water. They were slow and gentle, each move careful and considered. Gradually, his sobbing stopped, though his breath continued to catch in his throat. He couldn't help himself as he collapsed into Steve, unable to hold himself up any longer.
“Well done, that’s it. You’re alright, I’m not trying to hurt you. Just helping you cool down, yeah?” He said gently, stroking through his hair. “I’m sorry. You’re going to be okay, Harrison I’ve got you. Just breathe. It’s okay.”
#sicktember 2022#sicktember day 22#sicktember day 23#common cold/flu#tepid bath#harrison is very very triggered by baths#whump prompt#whump writing#whump#harrison#steve cunningham#dad!steve#steve doesn't know harrison's triggers#which is unfortunate really#hars never does anything by halves#if he's sick he gotta be *sick*#triggered hars#ptsd#past child abuse tw#referenced child abuse#triggered#nightmares#poor hars im sorry bby#steve feels really bad
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@sicktember Prompt 23 - Tepid Bath
Set during Season 11
(This fill is still unfinished but I wanted to share at least the first chapter - RL rather interfered but hopefully I'll get it finished in the next few days.)
Julienne stretched her side slightly and tried not to worry as the pain running around the right side of her chest sharpened in response. She couldn’t think what on earth she’d done, perhaps pulled something during what had been a long drawn out, if ultimately undramatic labour. It was the wrong side for her heart and too high for it to be her appendix though, so it was likely muscular. Maybe a strange sort of cramp. Whatever was causing it though, when the pain flared it was enough to take her breath away. She’d take a couple of aspirin and fill her hot water bottle before she laid down and hopefully it would ease before tomorrow.
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#sicktember 2022#sicktember day 23#fanfic#call the midwife#sister julienne#trixie franklin#sister hilda#phyllis crane#sister monica joan#pain#infection#uncomfortable but not fatal (julienne's take)#brutal to watch (everyone else)#caretaking#sorry guys#prompt challenge fail
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It's Nothing
Sicktember one-shot 5/6
Fandom: Transformers
Characters: Jolt, Ratchet, Jasmine, Ironhide, Sideswipe, soldier
Prompts: Day 9; white coat syndrome, Day 23; coughing fit, Day 27; Uncooperative patient, Day 30; Patient 0
Warning: None
A soldier wakes up, realizing they have a cold, but ignores it. They have a full training day, and they're certain a soldier gets a longer lecture than any other employee when they say they're sick. The soldier takes a shower and gets ready for training.
The shower helps the soldier feel better.
The soldier tries to keep up with the others in Sideswipe's training class. Wishing this was the last thing on their schedule, and they could go to bed. Instead, they have to do an intense workout, run five miles then go to Ironhide's gun training class.
By the time Sideswipe's class is finished, the soldier feels awful. Sideswipe notices, but the soldier claims they're fine.
I don't think Ratchet would consider this a concern if I told him. Sideswipe believes.
The soldier hoped lunch would be enough of a break to feel better, but they felt worse.
I am a soldier; we don't show weakness. They remind themselves.
Sideswipe watches the soldier, wishing one of the medics were also in the cafeteria. Seeing the soldier is clearly not fine, but none of the medics would come to the cafeteria unless it's an emergency, and a soldier ignoring they have a cold isn't an emergency.
"Someone doing terrible in your class?" Ironhide asks.
"No, one of the soldiers seems off by the end of the class, but they claim they're fine. That's them," Sideswipe points to the soldier. Ironhide sees the soldier is unwell: "I was hoping one of the medics would be here."
"We do have the right to make them go to the medbay," Ironhide says, "that's what I'll do if they refuse to go by the end of my class."
The two watch the soldier leave the cafeteria.
Ironhide watches the soldier walk into the shooting range, noticing how unwell they are. He pulls the soldier to the side.
"Why are you here? You should go to the medbay," Ironhide insists.
Just like with Sideswipe, the soldier claims they're fine.
The soldier does well in Ironhide's class. Relieved class is over. They head to the stairs to go to their room.
The soldier hopes to act ok as they walk by Ratchet but coughs in a way that anyone would consider a sign of sickness.
"You are clearly unwell," Ratchet comments, "you are coming with me."
The soldier cannot refuse as Ratchet forces them to go with him to the medbay.
The two walk by Ironhide and Sideswipe, who follow the two. Ratchet is aware and believes he needs to talk to both of them.
Ratchet has Jolt examine the soldier while he talks to Ironhide and Sideswipe.
"I know this soldier was not pleased to see me for their physical," Ratchet comments, "I could tell they do their best to avoid doctors."
Ratchet talks to the soldier while Ironhide and Sideswipe leave the medbay.
The soldier is too sick to argue with the medics as they figure out the soldier has been hiding being sick. Now, to figure out how sick they are. They get a little rest while waiting for one of the medics to return and lecture them.
"Consider them patient zero," Jolt comments while handing Ratchet test results, "they're at the beginning of the flu, but ignoring the symptoms made them feel worse."
"We sure this is the first patient then rather than there aren't other soldiers that avoided coming here?"
"I'm certain. Even with everyone's busy schedule, no one can hide they're sick with the flu. Maybe a cold, depending on their schedule. Both Ironhide and Sideswipe noticed something was off with this soldier."
Ratchet talks to the soldier, finding out they left the base all weekend. Which increased their chances of catching the flu from someone. It's now Wednesday. Plenty of time for the virus to affect them.
"….I want you to be admitted to the medbay until at least tomorrow," Ratchet finishes.
"I'm fine," the soldier argues before coughing and lying back down.
Ratchet is tempted to let the soldier leave, but they worry the soldier will get worse and face complications without treatment at the medbay. Instead, he has Jolt help him get the soldier into an in-patient room. Both medics are used to Autobots putting up a fight in their bipedal form. They both can tell how little effort the soldier is putting into fight them, knowing it's a sign of how sick they are.
By the time the soldier is getting treatment, they feel like shit. They give up trying to leave.
"Are we going to have to add sedition?" Jolt asks.
"No, they're causing symptoms to feel worse, and can't ignore how awful they feel. I just hope they will be getting better without complications."
"I hope we don't have to deal with many like them this flu season."
As Ratchet planned, the soldier is released the next day, feeling a little better but still having to test in their room. Ratchet tells them they must report to the medbay first thing Monday morning. Hoping not to have to force the soldier to come to the medbay just to be cleared to return to training.
#transformers#transformers fanfiction#transformers autobots#transformers ironhide#transformers jolt#transformers sideswipe#transformers ratchet#being sick during training#hiding being sick#sick with the flu#sicktember#sicktember 2023#sicktember day 9#sicktember day 23#sicktember day 27#sicktember day 30
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Fic title : What Could Go Wrong?
@sicktember 2023 prompt : Coughing Fits
Rating : General Audiences
Fandom : John Lennon & Me (Stageplay)
Pairings : Courtney/Star, Star & Dr. Scott Rhodes, Courtney & Dr. Scott Rhodes
Additional tags : Cystic Fibrosis, Coughing, Chronic Illness, Mild Blood, Overexertion, Caring Courtney Cambridge, Hiding Medical Issues (mild though since this is in act 3), Good Friend Courtney Cambridge, Medical Setting, Residential Treatment Centers, Dr. Scott Rhodes is the G.O.A.T. (John Lennon & Me), Reassurance, Bad Decisions
Word count : 249
#sicktember 2023#sicktember day 23#fanfiction#fanfic#fanfic challenge#fanfic prompts#theatre#theater#plays#john lennon & me#john lennon and me#cystic fibrosis#chronic illness#coughing fit
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Introducing Whumpcember 2022!
Everyone's heard of Whumptober or Febuwhump, Angstpril or Sicktember, but get ready for Whumpcember! Whumpcember is pretty much exactly like Whumptober or Febuwhump, except in December.
Whumpcember is born out of a love of monthly whump challenges but with zero time to complete them. I also want to complete these challenges, but never have the time! So I came to realize that, from an American perspective, December is the month I get the most time off. So, I decided to create this event for people who have too much time in December, but so little across the other 12 months. Of course, this is most definitely an American experience and not universal; so if you don't have free time during December it is still perfectly alright to participate! This event was just made to cure my December boredom, and anyone else's.
Now after that ramble, onto the actual rules:
Prompts should be answered with whump as the main focus (i'll let angst slide though, since it's similar enough to whump)
Fanfic! Gif! Text post! Fanart! Fan video! Any piece of media that you can possibly make that has whump counts!
You can use the prompts any time! Don't feel the need to rush
Though, prompts answered during December will most likely be reblogged
Post anywhere! AO3, Wattapad, Tumblr, or even Fanfic.Net! So as long as you make a Tumblr post with a link to the answered prompt it may be reblogged.
When posting onto Tumblr you can either @/ the blog or tag with #whumpcember2022 and the day's tag, such as #whumpcember2022 day1
Don't forget to add any warnings necessary, such as NSFW or sexual content
At the end of the month a masterpost will go out to all participants and a badge you can save stating that you are either a participant or completionist. In order to be on the masterpost though, you will have to fill out a google form at the end of month; don't worry it'll take two minutes!
I hope everyone has a fun time during the event! And if you have any questions shoot me an ask through the ask box!
(this is also my first year running this event, expect a hiccup or two)
Written Prompt List Below
-Main Prompts-
Day 1: Hypothermia
Day 2: Avalanche
Day 3: Storm
Day 4: Shortness of Breath
Day 5: “I hate you!”
Day 6: Separated
Day 7: Scars
Day 8: Faked Death
Day 9: Sacrifice
Day 10: “I won’t leave you”
Day 11: Clothing That Doesn’t Fit
Day 12: Broken Bone
Day 13: Fear of the Unknown
Day 14: Shaking
Day 15: “You’re A Monster”
Day 16: Bad Luck
Day 17: Icy Deep
Day 18: Betrayal
Day 19: Electricity
Day 20: “It’s Too Late”
Day 21: Self-Hate
Day 22: Closing In
Day 23: Stumbling
Day 24: Anticipation
Day 25: “Shouldn’t You Be Happy?”
Day 26: Free Falling
Day 27: Crash Landing
Day 28: Explosion
Day 29: Failure
Day 30: The End Is Nigh
Day 31: Slow Healing
-Alts-
Alt 1. Nightmares
Alt 2. Desperation
Alt 3. Deal With The Devil
Alt 4. Accidental Injury
Alt 5. “I Won’t Help You”
Alt 6. Revenge
Alt 7. Lashing Out
Alt 8. Secrets
Alt 9. On The Run
Alt 10. “I Would Die For You”
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A small little blurb of Matty taking care of sick reader on a cold rainy day. (Im totally not sick and I’m totally not projecting)
because ik sicktember ‘23 is happening, i just thought i would use their prompt for today "sick in an inconvenient place"
hope you feel better soon, babe. sending you hugs <33
walking into work today was a bad idea. fuck, getting out of bed in the first place was an even worse idea. perhaps the worst one ever or so you’re convinced now that you sit at your desk shivering and sweating simultaneously.
for some reason, cool air blasts out of the ac. the temperature is set so low that the whole area feels like a walk-in freezer. and then there’s the torrential rain outside on top of everything.
you know, despite having an umbrella you will be drenched by the time you make it to the bus stop. and just the thought of being cold and damp while you feel like you're on the verge of death, makes you want to burst into tears.
another sniffle from you. another glare from the new guy sitting across from you and you decide enough is enough.
matty :( is the only thing you need to text him before he’s calling you within thirty seconds.
in the background, you hear the same pitter-patter of rain, muffled and drowned out by other sounds and the riff of a guitar here or there. but it’s very much present. very persistent.
“what’s wrong, darling?” he asks as soon as you pick up.
when you pathetically sniffle some more, you hear him move. a door opens, then closes and the sounds behind him vanish.
“hello?” he asks again, “you there?”
“i feel like shit,” you croak out. maybe you even speak for the first time that day because you surely don’t remember your voice sounding this dull and hoarse.
“no shit,” he sighs. “you don’t sound all that well…”
“i don’t feel all that well…” you rub your face tiredly, massaging your achy temples. it’s only 3 in the afternoon. you still have 3 more hours of work to go.
“can you pick me up? please i can’t, i feel so shocking, i–”
“sweetheart,” he interrupts. “go tell your manager you’re leaving. i’ll be there in fifteen.”
—
and he is there in fifteen as promised. his car is parked as close to the curb as possible and matty stands next to the open door holding out an umbrella, and holding out his other hand for your bag.
the sight fills your entire body with relief, even as you watch him get half-drenched trying to hold the umbrella above your head, shielding you from any stray droplets. once you’re safely in the car, he closes the door, running to the other side to get in and tossing both your bag and the wet umbrella onto the backseat before he fully focuses his attention on you.
matty tuts in sympathy. “oh you do look awful…”
you roll your eyes, annoyed and weirdly emotional but as soon as his cool hand touches your forehead, half of it melts away.
“you’re really warm,” he frowns, bringing the same cool hand to your cheek and checking again. “lets get you home, okay? you’re practically falling asleep here.”
“i’m just really cold,” you complain in a small voice, wiping at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater like a small child. it makes him smile.
“i’ll turn the ac off,” he says and leans over to press a kiss on your head.
the car is mercifully warm after that and even though the chills are still there, at lease there’s no cold air blasting in your face. you know he must be uncomfortably warm under the flannel he’s wearing but the drive only lasts another ten minutes before you’re rounding onto the familiar street and stopping in the driveway of your home.
matty turns around to get the umbrella again, stopping halfway to press another kiss, this time on your cheek, and hurries out the door to come to your side. you coax your achy body to move, to get prepared to make a dash inside. but the most you manage is a wobble up to the front door followed by wheezing and groaning.
matty’s face falls in sympathy. “aww, c’mere baby,” he coos, letting you burrow your face into his chest while he unlocks the front door. he tries his hardest to walk like that, to let you stay close to him and steal some of his body heat while he gets your stuff inside.
“can you tell me what hurts?”
“everything,” you whine, “my head, my body. my throat hurts a bit too.”
setting the things aside, matty cradles your face, bringing you both to the sofa to sit you down.
“no more moving for you okay?” he speaks into your hair, seeing as how your face is once again tucked into his chest. “gonna take care of you.”
you nod, closing your eyes and breathing in his comforting scent.
“now how about you lay down. i’ll get you some stuff and we can just relax and cuddle for a bit. does that sound good?”
and you only need to nod once again to convey that it sounds absolutely fantastic.
#✉️#♤: matty blurbs#matty healy#matty healy blurb#matty healy x reader#matty healy x you#matty x you#matty x reader#matty healy fluff#the 1975#sickfic#matty healy sickfic
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@woso-fan13 Updated Masterlist
Updated: 04 January 2024
I have no clue why I did this, I just love this writer sm and wish I could check everything in one place since I keep re-reading the fics lol
PS: If the writer wants me to delete the post and send it to you so you'll post it, feel free to message me! I just love the fics and felt like doing this :D
It didn't fit everything so check out @woso-fan13 for the other masterlist with the rest S2
Sicktember 2023
Number 1: Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care
Number 2: Quest For A Cure
Number 3: “What Happened To Your Phenomenal Immune System, Huh?”
Number 4: Hiding an Illness
Number 5: Preventative Measures (Not Taken)
Number 6: Sick & Injured
Number 7: “You’re A Jerk When You’re Sick”
Number 8: Persistent Fever
Number 9: White Coat Syndrome
Number 10: “The Only Place We’re Going Is To The Pharmacy”
Number 11: Beginner’s Guide To Faking Sick
Number 12: Home Remedy/Old Wives Tale
Number 13: Anxious Stomach
Number 14: “I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am.”
Number 15: Sick in an Inconvenient Place
Number 16: Consulting the Internet/Web MD
Number 17: Magical Remedy/ Healing Potion
Number 18: “Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch a Cold”
Number 19: Curled Up With a Pet
Number 20: Cramping Pain
Number 21: “But if you stay, you’ll get sick too.”
Number 22: Terms of Endearment/Nicknames
Number 23: Coughing Fit
Number 24: “Did you just sneeze?”
Number 25: Confused/Disoriented
Number 26: Forehead Kisses
Number 27: Uncooperative Patient
Number 28: “I should have stayed home”
Number 29: Side Effects/Adverse Reaction
Number 30: Patient 0
WHUMPTOBER 2023
Number 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Number 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”
Number 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”
Number 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”
Number 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.”
Number 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”
Number 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”
Number 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”
Number 9: “Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days.”
Number 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Number 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”
Number 12: “I haven’t slept in days but who’s counting?”
Number 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”
Number 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”
Number 15: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle things myself.”
Number 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Number 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”
Number 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”
Number 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
Number 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Number 21: “See the chains around my feet.”
Number 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.
Number 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”
Number 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”
Number 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”
Number 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”
Number 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”
Number 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”
Number 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”
Number 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”
Number 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”
Comfortember 2023
Safe
Sweater Weather
Leaves Changing
Warmth
Treehouse
Notes
Sick/Illness
Grief/Mourning
Aftermath
Sadness
Comfort Show/Movie
Dreams
Baking
Late Night Phone Calls
Plushies
Coffee/Tea Break
Heirloom
Cuddles
Loved Ones
Shopping
Relapse
Cry
Anxiety
Blankets
Rain
Friends
Soup
Flashbacks
Sleepover
The New Normal
#uswnt x reader#uswnt imagine#uswnt players#uswnt imagines#uswnt woso#uswnt reader#woso x reader#reader insert#x reader#woso imagine#woso soccer#womens soccer#woso#masterlist
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While waiting for the Sicktember 2024, June 15th reveal, check out these past prompts and collections for inspiration!
Sicktember 2023 - 2021 Past Prompts and Collections
💚2023 💚
[AO3 Collection]
Prompts List ⬇
1. Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care
2. Quest for a Cure
3. “What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?”
4. Hiding an Illness
5. Preventative Measures (Not Taken)
6. Sick and Injured
7. “You’re a Jerk When You’re Sick”
8. Persistent Fever
9. White Coat Syndrome
10. “The only place we’re going is to the pharmacy”
11. Beginner’s Guide to Faking Sick
12. Old Wives Tale
13. Anxious Stomach
14. ‘‘I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am’’
15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place
16. Consulting the Internet/Web MD
17. Magical Remedy/Healing Potion
18. “Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch a Cold”
19. Curled Up With a Pet
20. Cramping Pain
21. “But if you stay, you’ll get sick too”
22. Terms of Endearment/Nicknames
23. Coughing Fit
24. “Did you just sneeze?”
25. Confused/Disoriented
26. Pink Eye/Conjunctivitis
27. Uncooperative Patient
28. “I should have stayed home”
29. Side Effects/Adverse Reaction
30. Patient 0
2023 Alternate Prompts
Alt. 1.“I Could Really Use a Hug Right About Now”
Alt. 2. Fuzzy Socks
Alt. 3. Pounding Headache
Alt. 4. Forehead Kisses
Alt. 5. “I’m so sorry”
💚2022💚
[AO3 Collection]
Prompt List ⬇
1. ‘Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?’
2. Homesick
3. Painkillers
4. Hangover
5. 'Great. Now I Have Your Germs All Over Me.’
6. Sick on vacation
7. A cry for attention
8. Intense coddling
9. Home remedy
10. Excessive use of tissues/ ‘Blow Your Nose’
11. Emergency Room/ Ambulance
12. Psychogenic Fever/Stress Induced Illness
13. Seasonal/Pet Allergies
14. ‘I Might Be A Teeny Tiny Bit Sick, But It’s Fine.’'
15. Frostbite/Sunburn
16. Care Package
17. Syncope/Fainting
18. Nausea/Upset Stomach
19. Whining/Crying
20. Cold Sweat
21. ‘Does this look infected to you?’
22. Common Cold/Flu
23. Tepid Bath
24. ‘I Need You To Pull Over!’
25. Acid Reflux/Heartburn
26. Tickle in the Throat
27. Sleepless Night/s
28. Chronic Illness
29. Lethargy/Exhaustion
30. ‘Get Back in Bed!’
2022 Alternate Prompts:
Alt. 1. Soft Pajamas
Alt. 2. Vapor Rub
Alt. 3. Cuddling on the Couch
Alt. 4. Taking a Sick Day
Alt. 5. ‘Can You Be Brave For Me?’
💚2021💚
[AO3 Collection]
Prompt List ⬇
1. Fever
2. Persistent Cough/Sniffling.
3. Chicken Pox/Rash
4. Headache/Migraine
5. Comfort Item (Plush/Blanket)
6. Nebulizer
7. Sneaky Temperature Check
8. Contagious
9. I’m Not Sick
10. Medicine/Injection
11. Bed Rest
12. Faking it
13. Appendicitis
14. Aches and Pains
15. Quarantine
16. Hot Water Bottle
17. Ginger Ale and Crackers
18. Fever Dream/Hysteria
19. Addiction
20. Doctor’s Visit/Check Up
21. Unlikely Caregiver
22. Toothache
23. Ear Infection
24. Sneezing
25. Sick at School/Work
26. Strep Throat/Laryngitis
27. Blankets
28. Missing Out
29. Motion Sickness
30. Food poisoning/Allergy
2021 Alternative Prompts:
Alt. 1: Warm Soup
Alt. 2: Too Many Layers
Alt. 3: Vitamin C
Alt. 4: Stay
Alt. 5: Asleep on the Couch
#sicktember#past prompts#2023-2021 prompts#archived prompts#ao3 collections#writing prompts#sickfic prompts#writing event#sick characters#sick character#whump#fanfiction#fan art#fan comic#crossover#orignial character#orignial art#original works#dr who#tardis
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@sicktember Day 23: Coughing Fit
Warning for Illness, coughing, blood, mucus, hospital setting, panic attack mention
#sicktember#sicktember 2023#sicktember day 23#coughing fit#tmnt#tmnt 2012#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt 2012 donnie#tmnt 2012 raph#tmnt 2012 splinter#tmnt 2012 casey jones#brains and brawn#illness cw#coughing cw#blood tw#mucus tw#hospital setting tw#panic attack mention tw
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23. Coughing Fit
Fao hadn’t been back in England all that long, and he’d been sharing a room with Harrison for even less time. He was still mostly stuck in bed, still awaiting much more surgery in order to get him back on his feet, but they were doing what they could. Despite his best efforts, and the breathing exercises they gave him (which he even did, mostly), he’d picked up an infection. He knew the cough was good, knew it meant he was shifting the crap off of his chest as he should be, but it was absolutely killing him. Every cough, every deep breath was agony. The incision burned, it twisted, it stabbed. No matter what they did, how many painkillers they gave him, it never made it better.
He’d been coughing all night, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, and every time he dozed off he’d been woken by the coughing or the pain. That, or Harrison would start, and that would wake him. It was to be expected, they were so close and often hugging or even dozing in bed together. It was no surprise they’d passed it to each other, much to the dismay of the nursing staff.
Exhausted, Fao sipped his water and tried to stop the cough that had been building, clearing his throat. It didn’t work, and now that he’d started he couldn’t stop. It wracked his body, his incision so painful it almost felt like his chest was being ripped apart, his ribs just agony. He tried everything to no avail, it was just so painful he wasn’t sure if he was going to cry or scream or both. He was exhausted with the effort of it, starting to taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.
Harrison had just started drifting when Fao started coughing again. He groaned, pushing himself up on one arm. The change in position set him off coughing too, his initial plan to tell Fao off quickly going sideways.
"Fuck me."
Fao groaned, trying to catch his breath and failing. The coughing had stopped, but the breathlessness hadn’t, and he looked over at Harrison, who was no better.
“Jesus.”
Harrison took a moment to catch his breath, feeling like absolute death. He glared at Fao for good measure. "Can't believe you gave me this."
“Not my fault.” He rasped.
He leaned against the back of the bed, his own ribs protesting and screaming. The pain from his shoulder was only getting worse with each cough, and he cou ld feel the muscles spasming with the effort.
"You okay?"
He shook his head. “Hurts.”
"Join the club." He managed. "Buzzer?"
Fao grumbled, just as the coughing started again. It just made the incision pain worse, and he whimpered, feeling as though he was pulling the incision apart.
As Fao started coughing again, Harrison's concern only grew. He knew how much pain he was in, and he'd not had his chest cracked. Guilt flared as he struggled for his buzzer, pressing it and hoping the nurse would be able to help.
The nurse came in relatively quickly, all things considered. Fao had just about stopped coughing at that point, but was struggling to catch his breath still, and the sip of water he’d managed hadn’t helped.
“What’s wrong?” She asked, turning Harrison’s buzzer off.
"This infection." He grumbled, his voice croaky. "We need something for the pain, he needs his obs checked."
“I can get you something for the pain, but neither of you are due obs for another hour.”
"You need to check it."
She looked over at Fao, frowning. He really didn’t look well, pale with his chest heaving, doing his best to stay upright.
“I’ll go and get the sister.” She said quickly.
"Told you so." He muttered, falling back into the bed.
The sister appeared quickly with an obs machine, and Fao didn’t even have the energy to argue. He had to fight to focus on what he was doing, unable to think of anything else. A shaky hand pressed against his incision, his eyes wide. “Pain.”
"We're getting you something for it, don't you worry." She said softly, connecting the obs machine. "We'll get you sorted."
He nodded, it becoming slightly easier to breathe. He hated it, it felt like he was never going to be able to catch his breath.
"How are you feeling, aside from that?" She asked gently, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.
“Can’t breathe.” He managed to get out.
"You're okay." She hummed, reaching behind him. "Why don't we put some oxygen on, see if that helps, hmm?"
He nodded. It had to help, surely. He kept his hand pressed to his side, the pain making his head spin, not to mention the inability to catch his breath. There was a flare of panic, knowing if he passed out things would just get worse, and he tried to fight it.
"That's it, just relax, okay? I know it's difficult. You're doing really well." She soothed.
How the hell was he supposed to relax? He felt like he was dying, and all she could say to him was relax. He whimpered, things just getting harder and harder. He looked across the room at Harrison, desperate for some more reassurance.
Of course Harrison couldn't be trusted to be left alone for five minutes. They'd been stupid enough to leave the crutches close enough for him to reach, so he did. He'd won the fight with the side of the bed and was halfway across when Fao looked to him, and he offered him an encouraging grin.
“Hars.” He rasped, reaching out for him.
The nurse turned, exasperated. "Harrison! You're supposed to be in bed."
Harrison gave as much of a shrug as he could, all but collapsing into the chair by Fao's bed. He stretched out to grab at Fao's hand, coughing himself.
"I got you, Wolfie."
Having Harrison helped Fao to get a bit more control, forcing a slower, deeper breath the best he could. He squeezed his fingers, humming. His cough sounded just as bad, but they were together and that helped.
"Just in an' out." He managed, squeezing Fao's hand back. "You're okay."
He whimpered, the fear still there despite the oxygen, though it was making it a little easier, stopped his head spinning a bit.
"You're doing really well, Fao. Keep up with that breathing, yeah? It's hard, I know, but your sats have come back up, it's working well."
He nodded slowly, focusing on his breathing, trying to control it, forcing himself to exhale slowly. It was starting to work, though the cough threatened again, and he tried to clear his throat.
"That's it, well done." The nurse praised gently. "Keep that up."
He nodded again, feeling useless. He just had to get his breath back, stop the damn cough, but every breath was agony, not just the incision across his ribs but his shoulder too, the muscles screaming at him as he tried desperately to gain control.
The other nurse reappeared, medications in hand. "Right you two, I've got your pain relief."
Harrison glanced up. "Fao first."
"Harrison! Again, really? You know you're not allowed to be up without anyone helping." She tutted at him, shaking her head as she headed to Fao's bed. "You'll end up hurting yourself."
Harrison shrugged. "Fao needed me."
Fao knew Harrison had been bad to get up, but he couldn’t complain because Hars really was a lifeline for him. He squeezed his hand again, offering him a weak smile as he continued trying to control his breathing. “Hurts.”
"Where's your cannula, Fao? There it is. Just got you something for the pain, yeah?" She said softly, flushing the cannula first.
He moved his arm slightly, so she could get at his cannula, nodding his consent. The flush was cold, but not awful, and the meds went in soon after.
"Better?" Harrison asked, his worry clear on his face.
Fao nodded again. The meds were helping, both the coughing and the pain, and he could start to catch his breath again. He squeezed Harrison’s hand again, managing a smile. “Better.”
#sicktember 2023#23. coughing fit#whump writing#whump prompt#faolan blackwood#harrison cunningham#fic#whump#coughing#short of breath#coughing fit#oxygen#chest infection#thoracotomy#incision#pain#painkillers#fao has a bad day as per#army#army hospital
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