Title: The Impunity of Immunity
Summary: The Shepherd can power through hellions, plague, war, and strife, yet his most daunting challenge lies with the common cold (and occasionally his own mind).
In retrospect, Mikleo realizes that they really should have expected this, and he's rather surprised that it hasn't happened sooner. They grew up on top of a mountain with fresh air, isolation, competent healers and, quite notably, no other humans. Gramps had told them when they were children that Sorey's immune system wasn't the best—something about when he was born that they hadn't understood. They hadn't quite acknowledged it, of course, still going out to explore in any weather because the Elysian seraphim would heal any of their hurts; regardless, they knew it as fact.
That doesn't make the distant sound of Sorey being sick in the creek any easier to listen to, however. Mikleo winces with each wet cough. He exchanges a glance with Lailah, worry settling itself in the lines around her crinkled brows.
"Can't blame this one on undercooked prickleboar meat, can we?" he says, grimacing at the groan coming from what Rose has dubbed the Corner of Misery.
"Admittedly, I hadn't considered the common cold to be our biggest obstacle. Or the flu, in this case." Lailah's smile is filled with motherly pity and a smidge of guilt. Mikleo can relate, somewhat; he hadn't thought to stock up on medicine, either.
"And now Rose won't go near him in case she gets sick. In fact, where is she, anyway?"
"Oh! It looks like Rose flu the coop!" Lailah's smile is now filled with delight at her pun, and Mikleo sighs.
Another groan and a thunk sound from near the water, signaling that the Corner of Misery is now safe to enter, or so Mikleo assumes. Sorey is lying just away from the water's edge, limbs spread haphazardly and hand feebly grasping for the cold towel Mikleo had prepared for him when the illness hit. It sits just out of his reach.
"Mikleooooo…"
That's his cue.
"You know," Mikleo says as he kneels behind Sorey and places the towel back onto his forehead, "you were fine this morning. Are you sure you're not faking so you don't have to be the Shepherd today?"
"Do I look like I'm faking?" Sorey pouts in Mikleo's general direction—he's not quite sure which way is up at the moment and doesn't care to find out. Mikleo presses the cloth gently onto Sorey's skin, and Sorey breathes out a relieved sigh.
"Mm, I suppose not. You're a terrible actor." Mikleo snickers as Sorey sticks his tongue out. He combs his fingers through damp brown hair, scratching softly at Sorey's scalp. Sorey relaxes, bringing up a heavy hand to tug the towel down over his eyes.
"Lailah's pretty worried. Think you can make it to the nearest inn?" Mikleo asks.
"I don't even think I can make it to the nearest tree."
Mikleo nods. He was expecting that. "Camping it is, then. I'm not chancing you getting sick on me while I'm carrying you."
"I would never," Sorey huffs, though his faux-offense is weakened by his grin.
"You would." Mikleo tugs lightly on Sorey's earring, and Sorey lets out a chuckle. A wave from Mikleo has Lailah (who, he had noticed, has been pacing rather impatiently since Sorey had called him) rushing over. She sits on Sorey's side, placing a hand on his cheek and stroking her thumb underneath his eye.
"Oh, Sorey, I'm so sorry you're not feeling well. I knew we should have been buying medicine in case this happened, but I—" She cuts herself off and frowns deeply. Mikleo starts to respond when Sorey pats the hand on his cheek.
"This happens sometimes," he says. "I didn't think about it either, but don't worry, I'll be fine. Besides, Mikleo's gotten pretty good at taking care of me."
Mikleo snorts. "I don't think I had a choice in that matter."
"You had a choice! Medea always offered to stay!"
"You would start whining as soon as I left!"
Lailah's giggle interrupts their banter as she moves her hand to briefly clasp Sorey's.
"Will we be setting up camp?" she asks. At Mikleo's nod, she stands and dusts off her skirt. "I'll go start the fire. Do you need anything, Sorey? A blanket? Water? Food? We should be able to make something you can keep down. Or we could go into town once Rose gets back, though we probably wouldn't make it back here before nightfall. Hmm…"
"It's okay, Lailah," Sorey says with the widest smile he can muster. He waves her off with a few more reassurances, her inquiries still coming as she backs away to build the campfire.
"You are so spoiled." Mikleo taps his knuckles on Sorey's head, laughing at the whine he receives in response.
"Am not. Lailah's just really nice."
The crunching of leaves nearby has Mikleo turning his head and wrinkling his nose. "Now about things that aren't nice…"
"Is it safe to go over there?" Rose calls as she enters the clearing, a bundle of plants in one arm and Dezel and Edna following close behind. Mikleo quietly braces himself for Edna's inevitable teasing.
"Do you want to throw up?" Sorey calls back a bit louder than he can handle, breaking off in a harsh cough that has Mikleo scrambling to prop Sorey up onto his lap.
"Nope! See you later!" Rose hands the plants to Edna and turns to walk back out. Dezel follows, nodding at Mikleo before he leaves. Edna, meanwhile, glowers at the bundle shoved into her hands. She walks over to the two, Mikleo's scowl growing as she closes in. With a flourish, she drops the plants onto Mikleo's head.
"Here, Meebo. Fix him."
"Gee, thanks," he mutters, pulling a few leaves from his hair. Sweeping up the plants—herbs, it looks like, a clear choice—he shoves them back at Edna. "Give these to Lailah, she's the one with the supplies right now."
Edna scoffs, but rather than responding, she turns her attention toward Sorey after flicking one more stray leaf at Mikleo's head.
"Sorey," she says, and he makes a sound of acknowledgement. She knocks his head with the tip of her umbrella with a surprising gentleness, drawing it back and using it to push the cloth away from his eyes. "You're supposed to tell us when you don't feel good. Idiot."
"Heh, sorry. In my defense, it was mostly sudden." Sorey cracks an eye open to peer up at her. Mikleo doesn't miss the slight recoil going through Sorey's shoulders once he sees Edna's glare.
"'Mostly' is not the same as 'completely.' If you need a break, take it. Humans are gross when they're sick." She knocks him on the head once more and pokes Mikleo's ribs for good measure before heading toward the campfire.
The silence beats on with the flowing creek, and for a moment Mikleo believed Sorey fell asleep as they wait for Lailah to brew something with the herbs, but he presses his head further into Mikleo's lap. Mikleo knows the look in his eye, distant and dull, even recognizable when ill—guilt. Guilt and, knowing Sorey, very likely overthinking.
"What's up?" he asks. Sorey tilts his head to meet Mikleo's gaze with a smile that Mikleo can tell is forced.
"Ah…nothing. Sitting here with you, wishing the world would stop spinning every time I blinked."
"You know what I mean. What's wrong?"
"I feel sick?"
"Sorey."
Sorey grunts as Mikleo tugs on his earring once more, swatting off the offending hand with less-than-stellar accuracy. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Bites his lip. He reaches back for Mikleo's hand, and Mikleo takes it.
"What's wrong?" he asks again.
"Am I holding everyone back?"
Mikleo blinks. He expects that sort of question from himself—he's certainly thought it more often than not—but he hadn't expected to hear it from Sorey. Not now, at least, or perhaps he expected it from a different angle, in a different scenario. Sorey always burdens himself far more than he needs to, but… He shakes his head. "What makes you think that?"
"I. Well." Sorey shrugs.
"…Well?" Mikleo intertwines their fingers.
"It's probably stupid."
"It's not."
Sorey sits up, turning toward Mikleo. "It's just that I—" He cuts himself off, clutching his head. "That was a bad—Oh no—" Sorey scrambles to the creek, and Mikleo pointedly looks away, wincing once more at the awful sounds behind him. He hears Rose yell Sorey's name from somewhere in the woods nearby, along with something about finally thinking it was safe to come back, followed by something about a quarantine. He'll worry about it later.
Sorey stumbles back to Mikleo, sitting next to him and resting his head (and most of his weight, it feels) on Mikleo's shoulder. "This sucks," he mumbles.
"You're starting to sound like Rose," Mikleo teases, twisting so Sorey can lean in better. Cold, attentive fingertips brush against the feverish skin around Sorey's brow, and he sinks further down. Before he can relax, Mikleo starts poking at his nose. "Hey, no sleeping yet. Talk to me. Why do you feel like you're holding everyone back?"
Sorey shrugs, nuzzling further in toward Mikleo's neck in lieu of an answer, and possibly to protect his nose. Mikleo goes to poke again, and Sorey sighs. "It really is stupid."
"Try me."
"I'm not even sure I have an answer."
"Then we'll find one."
Sorey breathes out a short laugh. "All right, you win. But can we lay me back down first? I feel like I'm trapped in one of Dezel's wind artes."
Mikleo complies, easing Sorey back down to his lap. Sorey flails a bit to reclaim the towel, thankfully closer this time, which Mikleo promptly snatches to cool again. He drops it onto Sorey's face, earning another small laugh. "Talk to me," he says again.
"I'm doing my best," Sorey starts, voice only partially muffled by the towel, "but I can't really keep up with you guys. You and Lailah and Edna, and now Dezel and Rose. I'm the Shepherd, but I'm still human, so… And I know Edna said to take a break when I need it, but this whole journey isn't about me and how I feel, it's about everyone else in the world, but now I'm sick and slowing us down even more and I just—I don't know what I would do without you, without everyone. If I were by myself, I probably wouldn't be able to do anything. Ever since I let Heldalf—"
Sorey stops, fist clenching tight. Mikleo finds Sorey's hand and grasps it, unfurling shaking fingers, realizing amidst Sorey's jumbled explanation what this is really about. He still remembers the nightmare Sorey had—the only one he had witnessed, at least—the night they had finally left the forest and reached Lastonbell. Sorey woke up, inconsolable and terrified and shaking and silent, over him. Sorey dreamt of the Basin and being cut off from the seraphim, of losing everyone, losing him, and being powerless to stop it. Mikleo had been able to cope with the loss of resonance and all the what ifs while Sorey recovered at Tintagel—he had Lailah to reassure him, Edna to rather unfortunately distract him, and even he could sense Sorey's resonance growing strong again—but Sorey hasn't had a chance to do the same.
"You didn't let Heldalf do anything," Mikleo says, voice firm. His fingers have woven their way back into Sorey's hair. Their slight tremble gives away the latent fear he still feels. "He was just more powerful, and we were in a bad spot. There wasn't anything you could have done."
"But that's the problem, Mik—"
Mikleo cuts him off with a light knock near his hairline. "That's not the problem, Sorey. None of us were prepared to run into the Lord of Calamity. Not even Lailah. Being cut off from you was terrifying, yes, but it's not like you chose to let that happen. You're doing fine. We just have to keep training and become stronger. All of us. Seraph and human. I know you want to protect us and everyone else in the world, but we want to protect you, too. You, Sorey."
Sorey pulls the towel down just enough to see, eyes searching Mikleo's face for any hint that Mikleo may be just trying to placate him, but all he sees is Mikleo's smile.
"We work as a team," Mikleo continues, pulling the cloth away from Sorey's face and replacing it on his forehead, "and if that includes taking breaks and time to rest so you don't up and die on us from fighting too many hellions or even sneezing, we're fine with that. You're not holding anyone back. The world isn't going to end just because the Shepherd hangs around one town for an extra day or two."
"You sure?" Sorey asks.
Mikleo crosses his arms and gives a solid nod. "You're not getting anywhere without us, and we're not getting anywhere without you, and I'm certainly not going anywhere without you. Now stop stressing yourself out so you can get better faster, and so we can get somewhere with an actual bed."
With a smile and nonchalant agreement, Sorey closes his eyes to try to rest, comforted by the sounds of the water flowing in the creek and Mikleo's familiar scent.
"Ack!"
With a loud clatter of pots, he and Mikleo both realize that "try" will be the operative word there for a while yet. Lailah, standing suspiciously in front of where the cookware may or may not have fallen, beckons them over to the campfire with promises of dinner and medicine.
"Carry me over there?" Sorey asks, arms languidly hanging in the air as Mikleo slides him off and stands.
"If you promise not to throw up on me," Mikleo says, despite already having shifted Sorey halfway onto his back.
"I won't." Pressing their cheeks together, Sorey wraps his arms around Mikleo's shoulders and holds tight.