"Robin…make it stop."

This was followed by a very pain-filled, heaving cough. Allan was sick and in pain, and Robin, as leader of the gang and Lord of Locksley, was meant to help him. But he didn't know how.

"It's okay, Allan," he said softly. "Little John will be back soon."

He heard his small friend whimper. He would normally have Will look after him, but he had gone off with Much to get food. Robin's second choice would be Little John, but he was gone getting Allan some medicine. So, here was the great Robin Hood, taking care of a sick man. Needless to say, it's not something he was used to.

With Allan, though, sickness seemed…worse.

Normally, Allan would bound around, joking and laughing with twinkling, bright blue eyes. But now, his eyes were dull, painfully stiff limbs that creaked replaced the movement, and coughs the laughter. This day, he found no humor. Only horrible pain. And depressing weakness.

Robin heard another whimper from the gang's 'Merry Man', and without thinking, grabbed his hand. He was worried. As outlaws, it was much easier for them to die.

And he wasn't sure if the gang could handle Allan dying.

"Just hold on, Allan," the brunette said, free hand running through Allan's wavy hair. "The others will be back soon."

Allan's glazed eyes locked on his face. "Really?"

"Of course. Why do you even have to ask?"

"Time's funny today…they've been gone for a few hours, yeah?"

Robin shook his head as Allan went into another coughing fit. It had only been about thirty minutes. But, Robin, who had been sick many times as a child, knew that time could get warped.

"How is he?"

Robin jumped at Will's voice, even though it was as quiet as ever. He was going to answer, but Allan just coughed, and that was enough for young Will.

"Go eat, Robin," the black-haired man said, kneeling beside his sick friend. "I'll take care of Allan."

Robin stood and left, leaving Will with the small man.

"Will? Where'd Robin go?"

Will looked down at Allan with concern. "He's eating, Allan."

"'Kay…" Allan mumbled, turning in his bed weakly with another violent cough. "Wh' 'bout you?"

"I'll eat later," replied Will, sitting on the bed and adjusting Allan's weak body so he was at least half sitting up with the help of his friend.

"'M fine. G' 'n eat."

"No. I won't eat until you do."

"Th't's m' boy," said Allan, chuckling weakly. "'Re you sleepy, too?"

"Not really. You should sleep if you are, though. I'll wake you up when Little John gets back."

"Th'nks."

Will couldn't help but grin at the way Allan's already heavy accent sort of messed up even more when he was tired. But, since Allan was tired, Will let the older man lay in his lap. The sandy-haired outlaw fell asleep quickly, and his violent coughing stopped, though his breath was still wheezy. Will stayed where he was, determined to stay with his friend. He had done this with Luke, and he found that it helped if someone stayed with the sick person.

Who better than Will?