Author's Note: Wow! I am just floored over the support for this fic so far. When people take the time to let me know that the characters are well written and true to how they have been perceived, that makes me feel so great. I love this fandom and I write because I want to share the feels with all of you. Thank you!

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Stuck with Flu through Sick and Thin

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Stricken: noun

Seriously affected by an undesirable condition or unpleasant feeling.

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It wasn't manly. Nothing about this situation was…

You see it all started when Jiro had a scratchy throat, then Momo sneezed, and Uraraka coughed, then Midoriya's nose started to run…

And before class 2-A knew what had hit them, they found themselves with the mother of all plagues—the flu.

Of course, everyone else had the pleasure of succumbing to the illness prior to this weekend's training trip. It sure would have been nice to get some off-site work in, but Kirishima had come down with the sickness as of last night. Who gets the flu during the beginning of October?

The redhead was weary eyed as he lay in bed, the walls of the infirmary too bland and the fluorescent overhead lighting too damn bright. Before pulling the white sheet and baby blue blanket up over his head, he spared a blurry glance toward the clock on the wall indicating it was near 10:00am that Friday morning.

By now everyone had boarded the bus heading for the training grounds. Recovery Girl had been quick to get Kirishima right into bed a few minutes after taking in his initial appearance.

'No, no, no…' the good-natured little biddy had advised, 'You need to rest, you can train another day dear.'

Damn his unmanly body for so easily complying when his brain had screamed, 'No! We got this!'

When in reality, we ain't got nothing, but a pounding headache and aching limbs.

Crimson eyes started to close when Kirishima heard a sneeze and an accompanying explicative from the other side of the curtain.

Wait, had the redhead forgotten to mention that he wasn't alone?

NNN

The last week had been a little shop of horrors at UA. Sneezing: the first indication that shit was going to get real. Kaminari nearly electrocuted anyone within walking distance, Todoroki set off the sprinkler system several times dousing his fellow classmates, Ashido had melted a couple of desks in her wake, and Aizawa had opted to wear a mask during his lectures.

At one-point Bakugou and Kirishima had been the only two at their table in the cafeteria. It was as though the flu knew better than to attack such manly bros.

Or so they had thought…

Everyone was busy packing up for their weekend training. All was good, Bakugou and Kirishima had packed and were hanging out in the redhead's room playing video games when the blond had said he was going to go to bed early.

Nothing out of the ordinary there, as the sharp toothed boy was always teasing him about being an old man.

And then morning came like a freight train and Kirishima realized with a groan, that he wasn't feeling 100%. No, he was like 10% functioning and 90% I hope there's not a crisis because I am going to die.

It got even better when he had dragged himself out of his room and knocked on the door of his best friend. One look at Bakugou confirmed the worse,

"You got me sick," both had accused the other simultaneously.

The blond's face held a look, that Kirishima assumed was to be an intimidating one, but proved to be more pouty and lose its effect with the following sneeze and the faint pop from his hand.

"That's rude, bro," sniffed the redhead, his voice coming out in unmanly croaks, "you should have told me you weren't feeling good last night."

"Tch! You should have told me, hair-for-brains," the blond retorted with a glare and a raspy voice.

They'd made it to the cafeteria for breakfast only to have Pikachu, (with a mouthful of God only knows), yell to the world that they both looked like death, and soon had been escorted to the infirmary.

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By lunch time, Kirishima was a hot mess. He was cold and he wanted to go back to his room. The redhead sat up feeling rather woozy and his strength depleted, so with the speed of a sloth, he oozed out of the covers and stood. He pulled the hood of his red sweatshirt up over his head and tucked his hands into the sleeves, his eyes not really focusing on anything.

Kirishima did note that it was quiet on the other side of the curtain. Should he tell Bakugou that he was leaving? He'd just steal a peek.

The redhead's eyes widened, his best friend's hair was damp against his forehead, cheeks terribly flushed, and it made Kirishima frown. Bakugou seemed to be too warm—covers and hoodie discarded, while Kirishima wanted an electric blanket. Deeming it unmanly to leave a bro in need, Eijirou rubbed the back of his neck before he dragged himself to the counter, took hold of a towel and wet it under the sink.

Bakugou groaned as something cold was pressed against his forehead. Red eyes slowly opened, but whether they took in the sight of Kirishima or not, the sharp toothed boy wasn't sure.

"Feel better, Blasty," his companion offered, with a pat to the blond's head for good measure, sounding like all of the life had been sucked out of him, "I'm going to go die in my room."

"Oi…" came a weak grumble, which made the boy focus his attention toward the other occupant of the room.

"Yeah?" Kirishima replied, using the footboard of the bed to keep himself upright.

Bakugou appeared to be pouting, "I'm going too, Shitty Hair."

Even a sick Eijirou could translate, wait for me.

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Who put the elevators so far away?

Thank God for these convenient railings on the hallway walls.

Eijirou was convinced he was going to pass out before he made it to the elevator. He was freezing and his limbs were protesting loudly. Katsuki sniffed, his eyes appearing to water and had to keep wiping his palms off on his pants because he was sweating so profusely.

It was probably a good thing that Recovery Girl was on her lunch break, because had either of them been coherent enough, they might have realized that they had inconvenienced the little granny.

Oh, Kirishima blinked once, now twice, because either the world was tilting or Bakugou was?

"Oh," exclaimed the redhead in feverish wonder before reaching for his companion's arm.

It was like the world was going in slow motion, as he managed to take hold of Bakugou's arm, then staggered, with a sigh of relief as both teens stayed upright.

Katsuki's cheeks were flushed, but other than a 'Tch' didn't say anything further about Kirishima's hand on his arm. Instead he wiped his palms again—they had been too slick on the rail causing the near tumble.

It made Eijirou blink, but kind of smile in his weakened state, he really had expected his hand to be shoved off. Guess even tough guys sometimes needed a hand? Although, Kirishima's logical mind told him, that if Midoriya were to walk by right about now, Bakugou would be quick to retaliate.

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They both kind of oozed out of the elevator and upon seeing the remaining distance to the dorms, both teens groaned.

Bakugou's legs kind of wobbled, and his mind must now have realized that this corridor was only to the connecting building, and bed was still far beyond that point.

Kirishima wondered why he had believed this to be the best course of action? Damn, his brain for not thinking things through! He was barely balancing as he toddled over to the safety of a window sill to rest his weight against before letting out a sigh of relief.

5 minutes later…

"Leave me, Bakubro…" he sounded devoid of life.

"I would if I fucking could…" croaked his companion.

They'd been doing so well until that Caution: Wet Floor sign had gotten in the way. No, like literally, the sign not the floor had been their undoing as they had fallen ass over teakettle in a heap.

Kirishima could barely lift his head, sprawled out across the floor, with the common area door in sight. Bakugou's cheek was pressed against the cool tile floor, making his companion wonder if the blond was finding some strange relief from it due to his fever.

The explosive teen's eyes were half lidded, as Eijirou reached out to place the back of his hand against Katsuki's forehead, before placing the other against his own. Bakugou's forehead was warm and sticky, while his was cool and clammy.

"What the fuck are you doing?" came the annoyed question but it held little bite from its half dead user.

"You're burning up, dude," observed Kirishima, taking the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe his bro's forehead.

If Bakugou had it in him, he'd roll his eyes, "Fucking genius, Shitty Hair," but his eyes watched Kirishima's.

"Rude, bro," chastised his companion with an accompanying sniffle before pushing himself up and into a sitting position. "I'll take care of you, Blasty."

The blond's eyes met the crimson ones of his companion, and the good-natured smile directed toward him.

"I don't need you to fucking take care of—

"It's unmanly to leave a bro in need."

"You're the fucking one in need, you see yourself?"

Kirishima cleared his throat, "We're both sick right now—

"Because you fucking associate with assholes and shared your germs with—

"Because," the teen was quick to enunciate, "we have the flu," Eijirou clarified, even though he wasn't certain it was his fault, "so I'm going to get us up off the floor and we can die in the common area like men."

God that was a lot of talking, Kirishima nearly wheezed, preparing himself to actually get him and his best friend off said floor.

Katsuki definitely felt warm and fuzzy feelings in response to his self-appointed savior…not…

The blond looked upward to find the outstretched hand before him, "Come."

His eyes widened, because somewhere in his muddled feverish brain, that word harbored a deeper meaning, 'Come!' He had taken Kirishima's hand that night…

Bakugou wouldn't say he'd allowed for himself to be pulled up off the fucking floor, "Gross, your hand is all clammy."

Eijirou scoffed, "Your touch isn't exactly magical either, bro."

NNN

"Oh my God…"

Kirishima had never been so happy to see a couch as he allowed for himself to fall into the piece of furniture.

He felt his companion sink into the nearby cushion and the two let out a breath of relief. Kirishima reached for the blanket hanging across the back of the couch and wrapped himself into its warmth. His companion seemed content to just become one with the sofa as the silence settled into the room.

NNN

Both teens were jarred out of a deep sleep by an annoyingly loud voice. Kirishima nearly rolled off the sofa in response to Present Mic. Bakugou seemed to be clutching a pillow and mumbling something about dying—but whether it was for his own or Mic's death, Eijirou wasn't sure.

Bakugou's head was pounding, his limbs felt heavy and he wasn't certain where he was. He glanced sideways to find a familiar redhead and then recalled making it to the common room.

"Wow. You kids look horrible," stated Captain Obvious, taking a glance at the display of bed head, pale faces and flushed skin, "Recovery Girl came back from lunch to find you kids gone and was worried," there seemed to be too much pep in his boisterous voice, "Don't worry, I'll be watching over you this weekend."

Present Mic smiled brightly at both of his patients. Eijirou tried not to cringe, a forced smile on his lips, as all indicators pointed toward danger. Katsuki, on the other hand, was certain that he was going to die if this fucker was left in charge of them.

"What can I get you?" Mic was decked out in a mask and brightly colored scrubs, which made Kirishima's eyes hurt, and he looked eager to please.

It would please both teens immensely if he would stop being so damn loud!

Kirishima took the lead, "Water?"

And with his orders their self-appointed babysitter went off to the kitchen to retrieve the requested item.

Bakugou groaned, "Should have fucking asked for ear plugs, Shitty Hair."

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That night was brutal, with Present Mic barging in at the worst possible times and demanding to know if they needed anything—tissues, food, water, a shower, clean clothes—never once did he mention silence. As luck would have it, the two were neighbors, so when the loud pro hero went to one room, they both heard the same spiel twice.

By midmorning on Saturday, the two had been escorted to the common area to partake in some bland oatmeal and tea, while Present Mic washed their bedding and took the Lysol to their rooms.

Kirishima believed himself to be in an upright position, and closely resembling a sushi roll on the sofa with his red blanket wrapped tightly around himself. He blinked, still unsure what the people on the television screen were going on about. Bakugou—best friend and fellow sushi member—appeared to have moved beyond the feverish stage and had entered the life has been sucked out of me phase.

The common room was so quiet for a Saturday, and the sun was shining in through the large paned windows, as the two sat silently next to one another. It'd be a great day for a run, if either of them had life enough to do so.

Katsuki looked half asleep as he brought a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth. Eijirou yawned, cradling his tea cup in his hands and savoring the warmth it emitted. A vibration against the arm of the sofa indicated that Bakugou's phone was ringing; he answered it after clearing his sore throat a few times.

"Hello?"

Eijirou only payed attention the conversation when he heard his companion's annoyance.

"It's the fucking flu," a pause, "No, I'm not alone, I'm stuck with an annoying as fuck babysitter," another pause as he sneezed, "and Kirishima."

The redhead blinked a couple of times in response to an object being produced in his line of vision.

"Huh?"

"Tch. It's a phone, hair-for-brains, you talk into it."

His companion slowly took hold of the phone, and brought the device toward his ear, "Hello?"

'Eijirou, it's Mitsuki. So, you and my brat both have the flu?'

Fog-for-brains was more accurate as the gears began to click into place, "Yeah…"

'Make sure you stay hydrated, and look out for my brat, will you? He's stubborn, as you know.'

Katsuki noticed his classmate smile weakly in response to whatever the old hag had suggested.

"Will do," informed the sharp toothed sushi roll from his spot on the couch.

'You give us a call if you want anything alright? Masaru and I can swing by with some food or—

"Oi, Shitty Hair stop getting germs all over my phone," came an annoyed voice.

Kirishima looked up and managed, "Rude, bro. Plus, pretty sure we're sharing the same air at the moment, germs and all."

He could hear Mitsuki's laughter in his ear, 'Pass me back to my brat, and Eijirou, you call us if you want a decent meal.'

The teen hoped she could hear his quick, "Thank you!" before the phone was pried from his weak grasp.

"Yeah, yeah," Katsuki offered. He spared a glance toward Kirishima who going back to lunch without a sandwich if the glazed over expression were any indication. "Could you be anymore annoying, hag?" He scoffed but it caused a cough instead, so Katsuki grumbled, "I said, I would."

Shortly after he had hung up the phone with a sigh of frustration, the blond felt a weight against his arm.

"Oi," Bakugou went to berate his neighbor, but stopped to find that Kirishima had fallen asleep, head bowed, shitty bed head sticking out at odd angles, and peaceful expression on his ashen face.

Bakugou focused his attention toward the shitty television news broadcast, and against his better judgment, he didn't push his friend away. His face felt warm—probably, due to fucking annoyance and this shitty flu bug—as Katsuki heard the old hag's voice in his head,

'We love you, Katsu. Be good and take care of Eijirou if he needs you.'

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Thank you so much for reading! Have a wonderful week everyone.