A/N: Hey, so I've been seriously procrastinating on this story. Well, the other, smaller reason is the fact that I've been torn over which of my stories would be best to do next. But I at last decided on this one.
So, this is a sweet slash (At least, that was what I was going for, but I suppose we'll just have to wait and see.) between Winter Hayle-Blackburn and Jacin Clay. SPOILERS INCOMING for Winter:
I was inspired by this one part at the end of Winter, when Winter saw how stressed Jacin was after she got out of that "coma" she was in after she stabbed Thamutaurge Aimery Park(insert disgusted shudder here), and she'd wondered if Jacin had gotten much sleep lately. Because he had rubbed and covered his eyes with his arms, like he was really tired or something. So I thought that confirmed that he had not, in fact, slept very well, due to his constant worry about Winter's physical, not mention mental condition. And so, I concluded, the effects of exhaustion and too much worry on Jacin's part, will be the center focus of this story.
So. . . this is what I got from that and what I theorized were Jacin's thoughts and experiences in that scene. It's also an apology for the terrible story I posted for Lunar Chronicles on Wattpad: a sickfic for Thorne. It didn't quite come out the way I expected it to. I might try and re-write it sometime. . .
I plan to make this a two-shot, and I set it sometime after the revolution in Winter.
Hope y'all enjoy, because I can't promise it will be as good as my previous writings.
Like and review. Thanks, guys!
Jacin woke to a soft poke at his cheek, and he rolled over, an annoyed sound emerging from the base of his throat. He curled into a shivering, miserable ball, and wrapped his arms about his torso, trying in vain to make the pain residing in the base of his stomach dissipate. But he could feel several pairs of eyes digging into him, so, after much gathering of will, he rolled back over and peeled open his burning eyelids, making certain to keep his throbbing head on the pillow as he did so.
He was greeted with the strange ensemble which were his friends. Winter and Cress were crouched by the side of the bed he was facing, with Wolf, Scarlet, Kai, Cinder, and Iko gathered haphazardly behind them. Thorne stood at the foot of his bed, one hand on his hip, the other stretching up to meet the top of Jacin's bunk.
"You are quite adorable when you sleep," Winter informed him, booping his nose with mischievous grin. Next to the princess, juxtaposed to her sunshine expression, Cress wore an expression of concern, brows drawn together and eyes wide with worry.
He coughed dryly, "What-?" His voice sounded rough, like he hadn't spoken in days, and burned his throat like fresh magma.
"Do you know what time it is?" Thorne interrupted, not bothering to hide an amused smirk.
Jacin's eyes flicked to the self-proclaimed captain, his expression softening in surprise at the seemingly random question. He considered a moment, then admitted, "No." What was the point of asking such a question?
"Jacin, what time did you go to bed last night?" Cress chimed in.
He hesitated, ". . . About two, I think. Why?"
"Two?" Cinder blanched. "As in two in morning?" At his small nod, Cinder took on a disapproving look, "Jacin-"
"Why did you wait so long, lonely wolf?" Winter's joyful grin dropped to a disappointing frown, "You know it's not good for you."
He shrugged nonchalantly, "Had trouble sleeping."
"Jacin, it's three in the afternoon," Scarlet butted in, arms crossed over her stomach.
Jacin startled, eyes widening and brow furrowing. He tried to figure how long he'd been asleep, but his skull exploded in hot pain then, and a whimper pushed itself up from his throat. He curled into a ball, crossing his arms over his head as if to block out an imaginary attacker. Winter stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, "There, there, lonely wolf."
"Jacin, what hurts? Can you tell me?" Cress asked gently, keeping her volume to a minimum.
Jacin groaned, any previous walls crashing down, "Ev-everything; my th-throat's on f-fire." Even as he said it, he thought it must have sounded absurd, what with his trembling frame and chattering teeth. Why was it so dang cold, even with blankets enveloping him in warmth?
But Cress nodded, "Jacin, you need to rest; can you try and sleep for me?" She talked as though she was speaking to a small child, and, had it been anyone else, Jacin would have found the tone almost condescending. But he was too weak to protest, and instead squeezed his eyes shut, curling obediently into an impossibly smaller ball.
Someone asked for something, but he hadn't the energy to interpret what. A moment later, something rested on his forehead, possessing the sensation of something frozen, and stretching quickly down his neck, throughout his chest, and shoving its way into the bottom of his ribs. He felt as if frost had planted its icy grip on his heart, spreading furiously and pounding its superiority into his weak frame.
He gasped. Eyes flying open, shivering harder than before, he jerked away. "Too cold. Much too cold," he murmured. He peered up, though it hurt his head to do so, at Cress, who held the offending item: a dripping hand-towel.
Cress bit her lip, looking a little guilty, "Jacin, we need to bring your fever down. This is our best option right now."
A fever? So he'd gotten sick, then. It felt strange to acknowledge such a thing, considering he couldn't recall falling ill since he was very small. And even then, it had never been this bad, this painful and miserable.
His thoughts were shattered when the shivers disappeared, at last, but left him feeling painfully too close to the sun. He was gasping, the burning heat flinging him into more pain. He kicked at the blankets, desperately, though it was in vain: he barely had the strength to uncurl, much less remove the thick material. So he gave it up, instead stretching his fingers desperately towards the towel which seemed so welcoming now.
Cress obliged, immediately replacing the towel. Instantly, the pain dulled to an uncomfortable throb, and the feeling of risking spontaneous combustion dissipated enough so he could breathe easier. He sighed in relief, muttering a thanks as his eyelids drooped heavily. A hand appeared at the nape of his neck, and Winter's voice- beautiful gentle kind -lured him to sleep, to sweet darkness, "Sleep, my lonely wolf. Sleep in peace, and I'll meet you in your dreams."
And he slipped into the dark oblivion.
A/N: So, that's that. I hope it wasn't too cheesy. I tried to put some Jacinter fluff in there, but I promise there shall be more in the next chapter. Until then, however. . .
Fact of the Day(#3): For those of you who have read To Kill A Mockingbird (summer reading or otherwise), the surname "Finch" means- well, it doesn't necessarily have a meaning, but it refers to an individual/individuals who catches finches.
Dude, I'm over here trying to be funny and laid-back, and then the Dear Theodosia Reprise just came up on my music list, and is currently playing. MY EYES ARE WATERING I CAN'T SEE THE KEYBOARD OR THE SCREEN, WHY LIN-MANUEL, MUST YOU TORTURE ME SO?
Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm done, I'm okay. I'm trying to stop my stream of tears over here, and just- ughh.
Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed, and please leave a review, and maybe a fave?
I'll try to have the chapter up soon, but until then,
Goodbye and Farewell for now,
JamesHowlette1943