This story is partly inspired by "Human" by Of Monsters and Men
And Let It In
The boy trailed a few paces behind Otose, forcing her to slow down even more. She wanted to get them out of the cold as quickly as possible, but there simply wasn't much she could do when she could practically feel the kid getting sicker and weaker with every step he took. His health had quickly deteriorated since they left the graveyard and if before he'd looked sick and exhausted and cold, then by now he looked like death itself was breathing down his neck, whispering sweet promises about finding peace in dying.
The kid was still trying to hide how badly he was feeling the best he could by keeping his expression neutral and steps steady. Otose could tell he'd spent a long time perfecting his neutral mask, but just by listening his shallow shuddering breaths she could also tell how he just wanted to lay down in the snow and never get up again. She was actually rather impressed he hadn't done that already. It seemed as if something incredibly stupid and stubborn inside him was keeping him walking.
Just as the sign of her shop came to view and she started thinking that he might actually make it, she finally heard him stumble and stop. She turned quickly, expecting to see him face down on the icy ground, but was surprised to see him still standing, though leaning heavily on a nearby electric post, heaving like after running a marathon, and puking up her husband's offering.
'Malnutrition or hypothermia?' Otose wondered to herself as she tried sliding her hand soothingly along the boy's back. Both were a bad reason to puke up things, but when she felt how cold his scrawny body was and how easily she could trace the sharp bumps along the line of his spine, she got the feeling it was a bad mixture of both.
Not thinking about it twice, she took off her own haori and pulled it over his shoulders. That finally got his attention and he attempted shrugging it off.
"I'll get it dirty," he croaked out.
"Clothes can be washed, idiot," she snapped back, pulling the haori tighter around him and supporting him from the shoulders as he doubled over again and dry-heaved, stomach already empty, but the nausea still there and Otose felt her heart drop as his knees buckled and he struggled to stay on his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut and Otose was so sure he wouldn't even make it to the bar. He'd just die out here in the cold, so close to warmth and comfort but not having the strength to reach it.
"It's not far anymore, kid. You can actually see it from here," she still tried encouraging him and whether it was her words that worked or he realised he wouldn't be able to move anymore if he stayed there any longer, but he pushed himself away from the post and nearly fell, but stayed up by some miracle. She kept a hand on his back, leading and pushing whenever needed for the rest of the way.
He stumbled into the bar and Otose manoeuvred him to one of the couches and forced him to sit on it.
"Wait here for a moment," she told him needlessly. As soon as he sat, he just sank deep into the cushion, trying to pull the haori even closer around himself. "Don't lie down and whatever you do, don't pass out."
"I know that," the stupid kid had the actual audacity to try and sound irritated.
Ignoring how his irritation sounded more like a pathetic whimper than anything else, she snapped back, "You're a hundred years too early to act smart with me, brat."
If he had the strength to be pissed, then there was still some hope for him and Otose wasn't above feeding his irritation if it kept him alive.
She left him on the couch, looking back once just to see him absentmindedly scanning the room out of sheer habit if nothing else, then sighing, and relaxing a bit more.
First thing she did was switching the electric kettle on in the kitchen, and only then went to prepare a spare futon. She dragged out a few heavier blankets as well as a yukata that once belonged to her husband, and left them on the floor. The yukata was old and the colour mostly faded, but it was at least clean and dry, and fit for a kid who probably won't survive. By the time she was done, the water had boiled and she poured some of it into a cup, and the rest into a washbowl. Then she added a few spoonfuls of sugar into the cup, stirred it briefly, grabbed the first-aid kit and a few clean towels and took all of it to the other room.
When everything was prepared she went to get the kid, finding him with his eyes closed and in the exact same position she'd left him. He was completely still and for a moment Otose thought he'd actually died on her couch, but as she approached, he opened one eye and studied her with the same clarity and determination she'd seen in him in front of her husband's grave. The brat was obviously very sick and clearly on the verge of death, but something in him made Otose believe he had a chance to survive and recover from this.
He even tried getting up by himself, but failed every time, slumping back onto the couch with a soft grunt. After his third try Otose wordlessly grabbed his wrist and brought his arm over her shoulders, helping him up and through the bar to the futon she'd set up. At least he was supporting most of his own weight and only needed help keeping balance. She didn't think she could have carried him, even as malnourished as he was.
His hands were shaking so bad he couldn't untie the obi, damp and stiff from dirt and grime, so Otose had to help him change out of the dirty kimono. She cleaned and dressed the worst of his wounds, trying to be extra careful when he flinched in pain as the warm wet towel touched his frozen skin. He kept squirming around and trying to get her to stop by telling her he was fine and that his wounds weren't bad at all. She simply ignored his attempt to get away, and he gave up the fight soon enough, just too tired to bother with it any longer. He didn't make a sound after that, and Otose figured the sooner they got it over with, the sooner he could rest and the bigger chance he had at surviving. She decided to leave the bruises and some minor cuts unattended right now, since he seemed to have trouble even sitting up now.
When everything was done, she shoved the warm cup between his frozen fingers. He eyed the liquid inside it suspiciously, making no move to drink.
"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking."
The boy blinked. "No, it's not that. Just probably gonna puke it out again."
"Well, if you do, then sorry, but there's really nothing else I can do for you. These'll be your final hours to live. Are you content with that?"
The boy frowned. "It's not that bad. I'm just tired. Let me sleep for an hour or two and I'll be good as new. Always am."
Otose scoffed. "Sure, Just Tired, if you say so. Let's see you think like that when you're dead. Kid, you need something to give you energy if you want to live through this. If you throw this up, it'll be bad, but if you don't drink, you'll be dead for sure."
He still hesitated before taking a cautious sip and his eyes shot wide open to stare at the cup like an unexplainable magic trick.
"It's sweet!"
Otose snorted. "Yeah, sugar tends to be sweet." The boy took another careful sip and she explained quietly, "If there's anything someone in your condition can stomach, then it's warm sugar water."
"Told you already. It's not that bad. I'm not gonna die."
"Fine, fine, whatever you say, stupid brat. Just drink that and sleep and we'll see how bad it is or isn't later."
"Well I ain't gonna complain about anything sweet," he shrugged and winced as he realised sharp movements were a mistake. He still looked thoroughly frozen and exhausted to the point of passing out, but kept drinking and looked fine enough for the moment, so Otose went to search for a few more blankets, keeping a steady eye on the brat in case he suddenly decided to pass out and needed help finding the pillow.
By the time she returned, he'd finished almost half and was struggling with the rest with a deep frown upon his brow. His hands were shaking even worse than before, nearly spilling the water. She gently took the cup from him before he managed to drop it.
"No need to force it, idiot brat. You'll finish later."
He looked up at her with an inexplicable expression that made something Otose's chest ache, and just like that, it's as if all energy he had was swept right out of him and he would've fallen on his face if Otose hadn't caught him. He seemed startled, but too tired to actually care, and allowed himself to be helped properly onto the futon.
The boy didn't even really fall asleep, but more like passed out, looking so incredibly young even with bruises on his cheeks and that grey hair matted with dirt and grime and dried blood.
She pulled the covers over him and tucked in from the sides to keep him warm. She hesitated for a second, then leaned her hand over his clammy forehead, frowning when it felt way too cool. As the last thing she could think of, she found a large shawl and wrapped it around his head.
The rest was up to him.
A/N: Compulsory biannual sickfic wooo! Written to make myself feel a bit better about not posting anything. Cause y'know. Angst is easy to write. And stuff. Ye. (Someone please end me and my misery.)
I'm really hoping for a quick update. School is starting so it's increasingly easier to write angst. Sigh.