This sucks.
A rather crude assessment perhaps but a valid one, nonetheless. Gohan couldn't think of a more appropriate measurement for the current circumstances. Training in the Time Chamber was hard, make no mistake, but there was a certain joy to be found in it. He loved feeling himself crash down the new barriers he encountered, he enjoyed the feeling of strength, power and the accompanying safety that came with it.
Mostly though, he lived to see his father's face light up and the camaraderie they built more with each day. It had been a while since he got alone time with his father—not that he disliked training with Piccolo—but there was a certain love to it just being him and his father that he'd missed.
Now though, leaning back in the hot tub, he could feel his body rejecting every movement. It wasn't the same ache as when he didn't stretch enough or do cool down exercises (a mistake he made once against his father's advice and never did again) but it went deeper. One where it felt like his bones were tired. Actually, everything was tired.
Everything was tired, his stomach rolled and closing his eyes only did a little to dull the ache in his mind.
Everything felt like it was slipping. Kind of like a fog when spring came to the mountain. You couldn't really see anything so you waddled you way about, hands outstretched and hoped you'd find home and not some wild animal looking for its meal. No focus, no direction.
Drifting and floating but it wasn't a good feeling. Now, flying, that was a good form of floating and until he'd accomplished Super Saiyan, it had been the greatest achievement. He wished his father had been there to see it.
Not like this floating though. This felt more like a pull. Almost like when he'd been in the sea, trying to escape the island to find home and a wave had rendered his raft splinters and sent him spiraling.
Yeah, it was the same kind of feeling. Being lost, afraid, alone.
But he wasn't alone. Was he? No, of course not but the pull, the dragging downward and the dreariness and uncertainty about even which way was up. And your lungs hurt and burned and—
"Gohan!"
Suddenly, that deep warmth was gone and icy coldness came nearly as quickly as his breath. Gasping hard, Gohan yanked air into his lungs even as something warm and fluffy restricted his movements.
Didn't take away the cold though.
"There you go. Don't do that to me, Son!"
Gasping in a second time, Gohan cursed the heat and swolleness of his throat, trying to gather his bearings.
Right. He'd gone to take a bath, said he wasn't too hungry for dinner and he musta...
"Did..." coughing, Gohan looked up, "Did I fall asleep?"
His father's face, while holding a smile, was painted in worry. Gohan could see it in his eyes, in the wrinkled forehead. Mostly the eyes though. Daddy always said your eyes couldn't lie.
"You did. Slipped right under." Goku frowned, glanced deeper into his son's eyes. It was his serious look, one that was all but impossible to pull away from. "I felt your ki dip down. Don't do that to me, eh?" The light tease contrasted with the concern Gohan could see. Goku gently held the boy's chin a moment then sat him upright, running the towel (so that was what had been wrapped around him so tight) through the boy's hair.
Stumbling a bit, Gohan blamed the hot water. Laying a hand on his father to steady himself, he closed his eyes but that did little to stop the room from spinning. In fact, it might have made it worse and his stomach clenched in response. Low moan started and was out of his mouth before he could clamp it down.
"You don't feel good, do ya?"
His father's hand on his face was gentle and Gohan leaned into it. Debating a response, exhaustion won out and Gohan slowly rocked his head from side to side.
"Didn't think so. I know Daddy ain't the best cook but you always eat."
He probably said more but Gohan found himself drifting again. His head felt heavy but he was cold. Granted, he'd just gotten out of a hot tub but this was a different cold, an internal cold.
His teeth chattered and he shivered. Everything hurt and ached and swirled and could the room STOP spinning for just a little bit?
"Gohan? You still with me?"
Blinking, Gohan tried to refocus. They were almost back to the beds and he was back in the slim blue jumpsuit.
Wait...when had he gotten dressed? He didn't remember that at all. It was possible Daddy had helped him into it but the realization he couldn't recall if he'd done it or if Daddy had was unnerving.
Sickness was a rarity in their house and Gohan had nearly forgotten how much it could completely wreck your reality. Time lost a lot of meaning because the heaviness of his head, the chills and throbbing aches took center stage.
"Gohan?"
"I'm here," he said simply, though his teeth clattered and holding his head up took simply too much energy. His father's shoulder while calloused and near granite due to the muscular underneath the skin felt good and cool on his cheek.
"Why didn't you tell me ya felt bad, eh?"
Nuzzled a bit into the man's shoulder, Gohan confessed. "We don't have a lot of time in here. How can I get stronger...if I'm sick." Even as he spoke, the twisted sense of failure flooded his body so intensely that he wasn't sure if the nausea he felt was from sickness or guilt.
"You're just as stubborn as your mother."
Rolling his eyes a bit, Goku set his son down on the bed, pulling the covers up so the boy could settle. "Pretending you aren't sick doesn't make it go away, Gohan." Though there was no poison to his voice, a hint of frustration bled through, something he covered as best he could with a smile.
"I noticed." The boy confessed, head sandwiched against the pillow. He leaned into his father's hand again when a cup of water was pressed to his lips. As cold as he was, his insides felt aflame so the cool liquid soothed.
"Here. Water's always good. Wish you'd have ate a little more." Pouting a bit, Goku asked "How about I make up some broth real quick, eh?"
The very thought of food was stomach churning but his father's face looked so earnest, Gohan gave a nod. With a pat to the shoulder, the man was up and vanished into the small kitchenette within the tiny chamber.
Flipping to his side, Gohan closed his eyes, willing the pain away but it did little good. He supposed it was silly to think you could cast away a fever with thought but it'd been worth a try. The room felt both condensed and wide all at once but alien. Foreign.
There was a certain warmth to his bedroom at home. Not physically but just spiritually. It was like all the memories had solid weight, especially if he didn't feel good. Remembering times when things were much simpler gave a lightness to the heart but that wasn't an option here.
Closing his eyes, Gohan drifted—amid the same fever induced fog as before—but it was not sleep.
OOO
Goku cursed his lack of skill with a stove but was happy to discover a small portion of the broth had escaped becoming melted black mush on the pan bottom. It wasn't a lot but given Gohan's appetite maybe starting with a small amount was good.
Taking a breath as he transferred the broth from pot to bowl, he added a touch more salt than ChiChi would have allowed and glanced back at his son's bed.
His nerves were still fried.
You'd think something as simple as drowning wouldn't be an issue for Saiyans or half Saiyans but their bodies required oxygen just as much as anyone else. And lack of it could kill just as easily.
When he'd felt the ki dip and found him underwater...
Goku didn't get scared very often but that—that had terrified him. When Gohan gasped and pulled in air when he'd yanked him out of the water, Goku felt like he'd started breathing again right along with him.
And now the boy was sick.
Goku hated it when his family was sick.
ChiChi got sick far more often than either himself or Gohan and it was always a sad affair. Goku was used to taking things, fixing things, conquering things. You couldn't conquer an illness. Whenever fever took ChiChi, she would lie in bed, coughing, occasionally throwing up and just overall being miserable.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
That helplessness...Goku hated the feeling. It writhed in his bones, like some acid that burned right down to the marrow. For all his strength, he was helpless against fever.
Now his son had one.
It wasn't that Gohan had never been sick before. He had, though only twice that Goku could recall. It was somehow worse when Gohan was sick. There was a pitifulness to him that was almost tangible and well, Goku's job was to protect him! Do you know how hard it was to watch him whimper and turn and twist and try to rest when all he was feeling was miserable and Goku...he couldn't fix it.
Daddies were supposed to fix things. It was part of being a Daddy. You fixed broken toys and chased away monsters and made sad boys laugh.
Well, maybe some half burnt soup might do something. Goku lifted the small bowl and made his way back towards the beds, wishing again that he had half of his wife's culinary talent. Bad enough to be sick. Worse to be sick with someone that couldn't cook.
"Gohan?"
A low moan answered him and the boy opened his eyes, shifted and nudged himself into a half-sitting position. Half scrunched up, he looked even more miserable and Goku's heart strained.
"I know you're not feelin' it but eat a bit for me. Your body needs food if it's gonna get better!" Settling down on the bed, Gohan offered a weak sigh in response and after nudging his head against his father's flank, he took the bowl offered.
One nice thing about it just being his father—no worries about manners. Gohan cast the spoon aside and sipped from the bowl itself. His father just sat there, quiet.
"No more," Gohan set the bowl down next to the bed and laid still, pushed against his father's side. "Sorry..."
"Don't be," Gently running his fingers through the boy's hair, Goku smiled. "You ate. All I wanted."
"Can't promise it'll stay down." Flopping face down, his eyes closed, Gohan buried himself into his father's thigh. "I HATE this."
Glancing down at his son, face contorted in pity, Goku just began stroking the boy's hair back again. "Don't worry 'bout that. If ya throw up, ya throw up." After a moment, Goku applied a faint tingle of ki to the ends of his fingers. He used it something in massages. Just enough to add a pinch of warmth and loosen the surface of the muscles. "Ya got food, ya got water. Ya got clean. So sleep."
"'M sorry, Daddy. If I wasn't—"
"Gohan, if ya apologize for gettin' sick again, I swear yer gonna be grounded when we leave here."
Despite it all, that drew a smile. "Daddy, you've only ever grounded me once. And you went back on the no dessert part even when Mom said not to."
"Well...no point makin' food a weapon." Goku confessed. "But I kept the no outside didn't I?"
A weary nod. "You did."
"And I hate doing that. Don't make me have to be the bad guy."
"You don't hafta be the bad guy." Gohan closed his eyes partway. The warmth and repetitive motion was easing the swaying of the room and his father's thigh made a solid foundation to cling to.
"Then don't blame yourself for somethin' ya can't help. Deal?"
For a moment, Gohan was quiet. "Condition," the boy said finally.
"Okay, little negotiator. What condition?" Warmth vibrated from his voice and Gohan leaned, ever so slightly, towards it.
"You keep rubbin' my hair like that." Closing his eyes all the way, Gohan affirmed. "Room stops spinnin' so much when you do that."
Chuckling a bit, Goku opted not to tell his son that he didn't plan on stopping if it was helping nor that he could tell by the way the boy's ki was settling that it was having the desired effect. Instead, he just said "Deal."
They sat in silence for a while after that. Gohan would occasionally say one thing or another but after a while, they slipped into the "not making sense" talk that indicated he was half into dreams. Half slurred but decipherable nonetheless.
Goku found it oddly adorable. Some of it would start out making rational sense before degrading into something about the missing lion, a purple cloud that must be like Nimbus or Goku's personal favorite the large bat drifting about and please make sure to give him some fruit, please Daddy.
When the talking ceased, Goku slowly withdrew his fingers from his son's hair but a half moment later, Gohan whimpered, flung his left leg up and over Goku's thigh, nuzzled himself into a half curled ball, winding up with his face pressed against his father's hip.
Goku froze.
Exhaling, Gohan settled, grip tight and did not stir.
"Well...least you're sleepin'." Looking about, the Saiyan father considered his position. Nudged against the wall, pinned under a sick child and a while half of his body hanging off the bed.
Glancing down, he watched his son sleep. Relaxed. Peaceful. Exactly what he needed to kick that fever.
With a resigned sigh, Goku pulled the nightstand just enough that he could rest his hanging leg there and pulled the covers up as much as he could, tucking it tight around his son and relishing that at least one of his legs would be warm tonight. But when his son sighed, content, Goku folded his hands behind his head, leaned back and with a smile said.
"Fatherhood."