Okay, this is my first time writing fanfiction! It's kind of new to me, and Dave's character is a little hard for me to write. I would REALLY appreciate critiques/reviews!

Anyway, this was an idea I had the other night and I just had to write it down, it just seemed like such a cute scenario. I actually wrote two different versions of this, just let me know in the reviews if I should post the other. Okay, enough of my rambling.

Enjoy!

Title: Stomach Flu

Dave Age: 11

-start fic-

Dave was sleeping fitfully.

His dreams seemed too fast-paced, and were making him dizzy. His hands twitched, and he rolled to his side, waking himself up.

It took him a moment to realize that it had been a dream. Once he'd come back to reality, he turned his slightly aching head to look at his clock.

8 am. Fuck.

Why was he up so early? He usually didn't wake up 'til at least two hours later than that. He realized he couldn't go back to sleep, and laid still for a few minutes. His body felt heavy and he felt a little dizzy. Bro must have been out early at the gym like he always was on Saturday mornings, because Dave didn't hear the TV running.

A few more minutes passed relatively the same, with him trying to shake the dizzy and weak feelings, and failing to. And just to make things worse, he began feeling nauseous.

He sat himself up slowly and tried to breathe deeply, hoping that would quell the nausea. But his stomach was audibly churning up a storm. His palms began sweating, and his mouth was beginning to over-salivate.

No. Please, fucking no.

His body screamed at him to get to the bathroom. He hurriedly scrambled out of bed, so much so that he forgot his shades.

He fell to his hands and knees in front of the toilet, and retched into the porcelain bowl. His breathing was ragged, and he threw up a second time before he felt somewhat finished. He weakly flushed the toilet and closed the lid. Remembering his brother's advice from a past time he was sick, he took deep breaths and closed his eyes, sitting back on his heels.

Dave wished he had the energy to go get back in bed, but in his current condition, the walk seemed far too long. He briefly considered calling Bro and asking him to come home, but he knew he couldn't do that. He wasn't about to lose his dignity right along with his previous meal. Although he would never admit to it, he did wish he wasn't alone right now.

He curled up miserably on the floor next to the toilet, and moaned quietly in discomfort since there was no one around to see how uncool he was acting.

He must have fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, because next thing he knew, he awoke to Bro bending down over him, still in his gym clothes, and gently shaking him awake.

"Dave, man...can you wake up for me?" He murmured, rubbing his shoulder. Dave's sleep-heavy and disoriented mind tried to formulate the response any self-respecting cool guy would say in a situation like his own, but all he could manage was a small groan, and blinking his unshaded eyes, trying to adjust to the bright bathroom light. He didn't know if he'd ever been so relieved to see his brother before.

Bro continued to rub his arm, unsure of what else to do. "Did you throw up?" He whispered.

Dave didn't answer, he just curled himself tighter together. He didn't want to come right out and say yes, he'd look like such a pussy.

Bro laid a hand on Dave's forehead, and he didn't bother to shrink away from it. Too tired. Hand felt cool, and cool felt nice.

"Dave. Seriously man. Did you get sick?"

He was quiet at first, but finally nodded slowly. Bro patted his shoulder.

"Do you need to any more?"

Dave thought for a moment, then became aware of the nausea he was experiencing.

"...ugghhh...yeah..." He managed to reply, his voice significantly raspy from disuse and rawness from his episode earlier.

Bro helped Dave off the hard tile that was making him sore all over, and into a kneeling position in front of the toilet. Bro sat down next to him.

A few minutes passed, and sure enough, Dave found himself throwing up again. Bro rubbed him between shoulder blades sympathetically as he vomited.

"It's cool, Dave, it's cool. Happens to everyone, even chill guys like you..." He reassured calmly. Dave tried hard to focus on the comforting hand on his back rather than the nausea and unreal burning in his throat. He went rigid when his stomach heaved again, but nothing came up. He desperately tried again.

Dave wanted to cry, but resisted the urge. He was miserable. Why wouldn't his body just get rid of what was in his stomach? Every inch of his body hurt, and with his current lack of energy, his body felt like it weighed a ton.

"Whoaaa, chill out...there's nothing else in your stomach. Deep breaths, man, close your eyes. I'm right here."

Dave did as he was told, and shut his eyes and began slowly taking breaths in and out. Soon, the urge to vomit seemed to dissolve.

"U-um...s-sorry you have to see this shit..." he croaked.

"'S okay, bro. You can't help it," Bro reassured him with an ironic smirk. "Don't be embarrassed. It's nasty and all, but it's natural."

The younger of the two nodded numbly, before he tiredly groaned a little and started to curl up on the floor again when he felt his brother gently stop him. He lifted him off the floor bridal style and carried him back to his room.

Bro laid Dave down on his bed and pulled his covers over him. Now that he could actually see his little brother's face, he noticed how pale he looked, except for his cheeks, which were flushed red with fever. His eyebrows were knit together in discomfort, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Dave desperately pulled the sheets close as a shiver raced down his spine, and he realized how cold he was. 'Fucking awesome,' he thought. 'Now I have a fever too?'

He sat down beside him on his bed and reached over to press a hand on his forehead. As suspected, he was very hot to the touch. Bro frowned.

"Shit, man...you're burning up. Do you, uh, need anything?"

He watched as the younger of the two slowly shook his head, shivering a little. He was appreciative that Bro got the message and laid a spare comforter over him.

"You can try medicine later, if you took it now it'd come right back up," He said. Dave nodded weakly.

"Dave, why didn't you call me and tell me you got sick? I would have come back here and helped a bro out, man," he asked, concerned.

He was quiet, then he finally answered. "'Cause 'm not a pussy..."

Bro sighed. "Fuck, man. I know that. But you need to tell me when you're sick, it's not like I'll think less of you for it. I mean...I always figure it out one way or another anyway."

It was true. For as long as Dave could remember, it was never a matter of Dave telling Bro he felt unwell, but rather Bro figuring it out. Dave very rarely got sick, but when he did, it was usually bad enough to warrant having to depend on Bro.

"Well, anyway, you need to sleep. Take a nap, okay? Trashcan's by your bed if you need to throw up. I'll be in and out to make sure you don't up and die on me. Just yell if you need somethin'," Bro said softly, and stood up, before patting Dave's shoulder and leaving the room.

…

Dave had been sleeping for about three hours when Bro decided he needed some medicine and a drink. He carried a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a glass of ginger ale into Dave's dark room.

He set the bottles on his nightstand and sat on the edge of his bed, and rubbed his back, letting him know that he needed to wake up for a moment.

Dave opened his eyes and groaned a little, not particularly thrilled about being brought back to the reality of being sick.

"Hey little man...how you feeling?" He murmured.

Dave shrugged a little.

"Can you try some medicine and ginger ale?"

Dave's groggy mind slowly processed his question, and he hesitantly nodded. Bro carefully grasped his shoulders and sat him up, and supported his back with one arm while he held the glass for his little brother in another.

"Slow, little sips, man. Don't push yourself," He advised, and the youngest Strider did as he was told, and took a few tiny sips before pushing the glass away from his face. Bro seemed to understand.

Afterward, Bro handed him the small medicine cup filled with Pepto-Bismol. Dave gulped it down, and shuddered from the taste. He handed the cup back shakily. Bro set it back on it's place on the nightstand, and was surprised when his brother huddled up to his side, trying to take advantage of his body heat. Bro wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him closer.

"You cold?" He asked, concerned. Dave nodded. "'n I can't fuckin' sleep...stomach's a-all pissed off..." Came the slurred reply.

"We could go chill in the living room. See what's on TV," Bro offered.

"...'kay."

Bro helped Dave to his feet, and put an arm around his shoulders. Dave lamely let his head rest against his brother's side, and trudged alongside him to the living room. Rain was heard overhead, pouring down on their apartment roof. He silently thanked the sun for not mocking him like an asshole when he was stuck inside laying around.

The two settled down on the couch as Bro laid a couple blankets over his brother. Dave flopped his head on his guardian's lap and curled up, shivering lightly.

"Christ, man. I've never seen you get cold like this. You must have one hell of a fucking bug."

"...Fuckin' hate being cold. Rather be hot."

"Same here, bro," Bro agreed, nodding his head. He clicked the TV on, and flipped around until he came across some shitty rap battle.

About twenty minutes passed, Dave's head laid on Bro's lap, slipping in and out of sleep, while Bro smirked ironically at the rap battle. Eventually, Dave managed to sit himself up a little.

"Fuck. Bro."

"Sup?"

"I think 'm gonna puke again."

"Shit." Bro responded. He'd hoped for his sake he was done with all that. "Alright, c'mon, man." He quickly pulled the small teen off the couch and hurriedly walked him to the bathroom.

Dave fell to his knees for the third time that day. Bro watched his little brother, and after a moment noticed how tense he was. It took a minute for the elder of the two to realize it, but Dave was fighting his body, and not allowing the offending substance to come back up.

"Man, just get it over with. If you're sick, you're sick. It's fine, bro," he murmured.

Dave had absolutely no desire for his throat to burn and his stomach to empty any more than it already had. He shook his head and clenched his jaw closed, determined not to vomit. Bro sighed, knowing sooner or later he'd have to let it come up.

The younger of the two moaned loudly and tightly gripped the sides of the toilet bowl with one hand, while the other clutched his middle, extremely uncomfortable from the waves of nausea. His stomach lurched, and he threw up before he could try to stop it.

Not able to control it anymore, tears spilled from Dave's eyes. The pain in his acid-burned throat was unbearable.

"Aw, Dave..." Bro murmured, and began running his comforting hand on his back. "Don't cry, man, alright? What hurts?"

Dave sniffled a couple times and quickly rubbed the tears off of his face, embarrassed by his own display of weakness. "Throat hurts l-like a bitch," he mumbled.

Bro stood up for a moment and got Dave a Dixie cup filled with cold water. He put it up to Dave's lips.

"Just take a sip or two, it'll help."

Dave gently grasped the cup and took a sip. He instantly felt a bit better when the water reduced the burning.

"I-I kinda wanna lay down, Bro.." Dave muttered after couple minutes, his voice marginally less croaky. Bro nodded and lifted the small blonde off the tile and back to his room. Bro laid him in bed again, and Dave was fighting sleepy waves as soon as his head touched the pillow. He closed his eyes and relaxed, leaving the work of taking his temperature to his guardian. Distantly, he heard Bro sigh, presumably about his temperature, but it didn't seem to register with him, or he just didn't care right then.

That last bout of vomiting had done it. He was out for hours on end. Bro would come in every so often to cool him down with a wet washcloth and to take his temperature, doing what he could to keep him comfortable and asleep.

He had just finished wiping his face and arms down with a cool cloth when he sat down on his little brother's bed, watching the slightly uneven rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, hoping for his sake that he would feel better when he awoke.

Seeing him in tears was never easy.

Hope you liked that weird little attempt at sickstuck! I actually wrote, like, FIVE different versions of this with varied situations and ages, but this one was my favorite. I can post my alternate ones, though, if you guys wanted..? Let me know and I will.

Critiques, opinions, and even flames welcome! Thanks for reading.