(A/N) I'm not dead. I swear it. I apologize for the delay on getting things out. Summer is hectic for me, and school looms on the horizon.

I figured I kept my followers waiting for far too long, and in hopes of getting my WB out of the way, I'm publishing a collection of one-shots or short stories from The Great Kharlan War, my longfic staged during the first true Journey of Regeneration. You in no way need to have read that story to understand what is going on, but it'll help.

Thus these snippets will focus around the legendary four - Martel, Mithos, Yuan, and Kratos - but mostly Kratos/Yuan friendship.

If you haven't read TGKW at all, you should know that Kratos is a Tethe'allan royal, and Yuan a Sylvaranti commander, and peculiar circumstances pushed them together. Neither of them have much family to speak of.

Disclaimer: IDOTOS

So the first addition:

Sickness (Part 1 of 2)

This was intended to be a part following an investigation into the Ozette flu that never surfaced in The Great Kharlan War, but I really wanted to write it, so it's been sitting in a word document for forever.

The preface: Yuan, Martel, and Mithos have all been sick while they searched for the cure for the afflicted townspeople, and Kratos was reunited with the party after the ordeal was solved. Having no built up immunity, he falls ill much later than the others. Typhon was the eldest son of the Aurion family, and also the first of Kratos' siblings to die in the war effort. When Kratos left the castle, his aging father, the King of Tethe'alla, was very feeble. Shortly after the man died, and Kratos harbors an intense guilt.

"I'm the eldest, so I'm in charge!" The half-elf proclaimed childishly, sticking up his nose at Kratos' objection. "On that note, you need to do as I say and rest." When the swordsman proceeded to flip him off, Yuan realized how stubborn he was going to be.

"Seriously, Kratos. It was only a matter of time before your immune system gave in. We've all had it, too. It doesn't mean you're weak if you're sick." A very pointed look was directed towards him.

"Yuan, by definition, sickness presents weakness." The flush of his skin was a testament to that.

"Fine, fine. But don't get so defensive about it. You're sick. You will get better." The halfling rolled his eyes. Kratos scoffed regardless.

"I am not sick. We don't have time to stop and rest any longer than we already have. The mana balance is at stake, need I remind you?" His words contrasted with the shaky grip on his hilt and the clammy pallor of his face.

"You can't very well help us save the world if you're under the weather!" Yuan was getting fed up.

"I'm not!" was the barked retort.

"Yes, you are!"

"So help me, Yuan I will-"

"What? Sneeze on me?"

"I'd sooner skewer you."

"As if you could in your state!"

"Hn." A weary smirk.

"Not on your best day, and most certainly not today!" Yuan amended.

"I'm not sick, Kaafei!"

"What's going on?" Martel interjected smoothly into the escalating quarrel, managing to catch the two in a shouting match, faces fuming.

"Nothing." Kratos averted his gaze from Yuan and slickly transitioned to a state of deceptive calm. Yuan's eyes narrowed accusingly.

"He's a stubborn prick, is all." The halfling muttered, crossing his arms. Kratos looked as if he wanted to argue that point as well, before he sighed in defeat and kept silent. Martel sized up both of the swordsmen curiously. While Yuan was irate and clearly still peeved, Kratos no longer appeared angry. Rather, he seemed exhausted—with bags under his eyes and skin rosy with the heat of a fever.

"Kratos, you're sick." Martel decided flatly, immediately detecting disagreement in the man.

"I can handle myself. We need to keep moving." Despite the strength to his voice, his eyes were drowsy from the conversation alone.

"We'd make up more time with you well rested than a slow day wasted." She coaxed rationally, a small smile quirking her lips in amusement. However, the smile vanished when she caught the faraway look in his eyes. He didn't appear as if he was all... there, as if some part of him was catching whispers from the past, or the future. He most certainly wasn't in the present.

"Kratos? Are you okay?" Yuan gripped the human's shoulder lightly. The halfling had noticed as well.

"I-I'm fine." He murmured, more dazed than she had ever seen him.

Kratos' head spun, a dull ache in addition to a terrible sense of overheating. His eyes wouldn't focus on Martel in front of him, and no matter how much he would deny it later, he was grateful for the steadying hand Yuan had placed on his shoulder.

Dammit. He was sick.

It sounded like someone was talking to him, a muffled sound so familiar that he struggled to make out the words. Martel was speaking to him, but it wasn't her voice he was hearing. An older timbre, a warm one that he hadn't heard for so long...

"It's all your fault."

The clarity in which he was hallucinating startled Kratos. His father's voice seemed magnified tenfold within his head.

"You killed me."

Kratos knew the words were delusions, but the force of his repressed guilt hit him like a storm. He swayed on his feet, uncomprehendingly retreating within himself at the antagonizing tone his father had never employed. Absently he could hear Martel's musical words as if there was a wall between them.

"His fever's out of control, I think he's half-delirious." Her speech fell on empty ears, for all he could bring himself to say repeated itself like a mantra, again and again.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault."

To say Yuan was worried was an understatement. His best friend was falling apart at the seams, and he could do little more than brace him. As the human sunk into a sitting position muttering words Yuan couldn't make out, the halfling felt himself grow frantic. What was wrong with him? What could he do to help?

"Get some cold water! Do you know anything to bring down a fever?" His panicked self refocused on Martel, eyes locked with hers and pleading. Fix him. The woman's brow was puckered in worry, and she gave a short nod.

"I know an herbal concoction, but it may take some time to get together." She spun around purposefully to go get her pack, while Yuan remained transfixed at Kratos' side.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault." Eyes fixed on something beyond or within, Yuan couldn't tell, but his heart clenched. Despite the tough exterior built during their travels together, the Sylvaranti knew Kratos was hurting on the inside, grief and guilt from his childhood bottling up without an outlet. He never expected it to break the surface, and the fact that the man's fever brought on such a bout of helplessness scared Yuan. Knowing it was there and seeing it were two utterly clashing things.

"It's not your fault, Kratos."

Even when the rest of them had gotten sick, it had never been so bad. Yuan put a hand to the Tethe'allan's forehead, pushing back damp locks of hair. His skin was scathing to the touch, and Yuan had no difficulty believing that the swordsman was rambling. For a brief moment, Kratos' smoldering eyes made contact with Yuan's and he thought that his friend was back. Yuan clenched the human's arm in what he hoped was reassurance. Knuckles white, though, it may have been more of an iron grip.

"Let go of me," Kratos' voice was soft and hoarse, but Yuan felt a little relieved. At least he was back down to-

"Typhon, let go." The halfling froze.

.

.

Kratos thought he was his dead brother.

(A/N) To be fair, I'm quite cruel and go a bit overboard on H/C. So these pieces are things I wanted to put in TGKW but didn't fit perfectly. Let me know what you think, and I hope a few regular updates here can tide over my readers until I get my act together.