Hey! I updated and reuploaded the past three chapters, so please re-read those if you have not! This is the longest chapter I have written so far for this story! Isn't that exciting? Anyways, once you have re-read the last three chapters, lemme know what you think of the story now! I'd love to know how well I've done revamping this story :)

Waking up the next day was not pleasant for Ryder. The air around him felt stuffy and hot, the overhead fan doing little to cool him down. His stomach ached more than it had the day prior, and waves of nausea kept rolling over him. Closing his eyes, the eight-year-old curled around Chase.

"Ryder!" Chase panicked. "What's wrong?"

All he gave was a whimper. He remembered feeling this bad a couple of years before Père (Father) had told him to leave. And even then, it wasn't him who took care of Ryder. It was his best friend.

"Ryder!"

"H-hi, Frère," six-year-old Ryder stuttered.

The eight-year-old boy narrowed his eyes.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I-I am."

"Are you sure?"

Ryder didn't reply. The older boy sighed.

"Come here," he said in Ryder's native tongue. "Let me check for a temperature."

The younger obeyed. As soon as the elder lifted his hand to the other's forehead, he winced.

"That's quite the fever you've got going there, little brother," he spoke in French.

"Mmm."

Suddenly, Ryder's eyes closed as he tipped forward, but luckily, the eight-year-old caught him and cradled him close.

"You're okay, you're okay," he chanted softly. "I've got you."

Blue and green orbs blinked open as Ryder gave a weak cough.

"I don't feel good," Ryder whined in French.

"I'd imagine not," the elder boy chuckled. "That's what happens when you get sick."

"Stay with me?"

The eight-year-old gave a fond sigh as he ran a hand through Ryder's brown hair.

"Sure, Ryder. I'll stay."

"Ryder?"

Eventually, the eight-year-old was able to look his puppy in the eye.

"I'm okay," he murmured in English.

"Ryder, please," Chase begged. "Talk to me; tell me what's going on."

The boy hid his face deeper into Chase's fur. As queasy as he felt, he hated admitting weakness. Whether it was a direct result of the abuse he'd taken or a character trait, he wasn't sure.

Finally, Ryder opened his mouth to talk when the nausea went from a mild annoyance to an urgent demand. Quickly, he bolted to where he remembered the loo was and felt his knees bruise upon impact with the ground. Ryder barely managed to get his chin over the lip of the bowl before he was coughing up what he'd eaten the night before. The eight-year-old couldn't help the sob that escaped the back of his throat.

The gentle hand touching his back usually would have made him jump, but he was too worried about missing the toilet as he retched again. More comforting words were whispered even as he began dry-heaving.

"It's okay, kiddo," Mr Porter's soothing voice said. "There's nothing left for you to throw up."

Ryder leaned back against the bathtub to regain his breath, Mr Porter's eyes creasing in concern.

"I want to check for a fever," he said. Once he found the thermometer, he handed it to the younger boy. "You could have something serious."

All the boy did was scowl at the medical instrument.

"Look, I know you don't trust me," Mr Porter told him, "but this is something you have to believe me on."

"He just wants to help," Chase surmised in French from the doorway.

Reluctantly, Ryder took the thermometer and allowed the metal tip to go under his tongue. He was about to move it from its proper spot when Mr Porter gave him a look.

"I have a grandson, and I've raised a son," he said in English, "which means I'll know if you move it."

Ryder glared but didn't try to move it again. The thermometer beeped a moment later. The eight-year-old took it out of his mouth before the older man could read it.

"I'm fine," Ryder said.

"Is that so?" Mr Porter raised an eyebrow.

"Mmmhmm."

"My son used to tell me that all the time, too. Let me see, Ryder."

Ryder stubbornly shook his head, the thermometer still behind his back. The boy knew there was nothing he could say to get out of the situation he'd unintentionally put himself in.

"Ryder, it's okay to admit to someone that you're feeling sick," Chase spoke gently in French.

The eight-year-old felt tears spring in his eyes, but he kept them at bay.

"You know, Ryder, if you had admitted to being sick, we wouldn't be in this situation," the boy said in French.

"But then you wouldn't be here," Ryder argued back lightly.

"Very funny. Will you let me take your temperature?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"I don't want to move."

"Then let me up, at least."

"Don't want to do that either."

"Ryder."

"Frère."

The two boys had a staring contest before the eight-year-old blinked away.

"Alright. We can stay here for a moment longer, but then I'm going to take your temperature. I need to know how bad your fever is."

Ryder's response was muffled, but the elder got the gist of what he meant. He chuckled lightly and ran his fingers through the younger's sweaty hair. It only took five minutes to get Ryder to become pliant under the elder's touch. Gently, he lowered the ear thermometer waiting for the beep. Seconds later, he sucked in his breath.

"What's it say?" Ryder mumbled.

"Thirty-nine point nine, and climbing," the eight-year-old hissed. "That's really bad. Any higher, and I might have to drag you to the hospital."

"You can't! They'll know! They can't know!"

Before he knew it, Ryder was in near hysterics, and he couldn't calm down.

Heaving a sigh, Ryder gave Mr Porter the thermometer.

"Thirty-nine degrees," he said. "Not too bad, but we'll keep an eye on it."

All the eight-year-old did was nod in agreement, for he was too tired to argue. Slowly, he and Chase made their way back to the room they were staying in. Ryder curled up under the covers, his arms around his aching stomach while Chase lay at his feet, keeping watch over the boy.

Chase decided right then and there that he would protect Ryder with his life. He would watch and take care of him. The puppy knew the boy had regrets, but he would do everything in his power to find out what they were and resolve them. Because that was what protectors did.

"Ryder, it's okay," the eight-year-old soothed. "They won't know. I won't let them."

Many, many moments later, Ryder calmed enough where he could think clearly. Shivering, he buried his nose closer to his pseudo brother.

"Frère," he whined. "It hurts."

"Where?" the other asked.

"My chest."

His brow furrowed in concern.

"Your chest?"

"Mmmhmm."

Ryder suddenly coughed, his face turning away from the elder boy. When he finally caught his breath, the other was looking at him in worry.

"Ryder, we should go to the doctor," he said carefully. "I think I know what you have now."

"I don't want to," Ryder protested.

"Trust me, we should."

"Why?"

"Because pneumonia will kill you if we don't get it treated."

Over the next few days, the fever spiked from thirty-nine to forty. Mr Porter was constantly in and out of the room, changing out the flannel on Ryder's forehead. Every so often, the boy would stir, but he was never fully aware of his surroundings. Mr Porter and Chase would get Ryder to drink soup broth to stay hydrated, but it would always come back up an hour later.

Ryder hadn't gotten any better, and poor Chase was worried about the young human. He always made sure he was curled up close to Ryder in an attempt to make him feel better. Out in the hallway, the puppy could hear Mr Porter talking to someone.

"I know it's not ideal, Aarón, but Alex can't come to visit this weekend," Mr Porter said. He was silent for a moment. "I guess so, but who would watch over the shop? I can't just leave it unattended!" another pause. "You mean Jake? I supposed I could ask him, but if he can't, then you'll have to find another babysitter, just this once." Quiet. "Okay, I'll call him now." Murmuring. "I love you too, son. Buh-bye."

Mr Porter entered the room with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Chase asked him.

"My son wants me to watch my grandson for the weekend, but with Ryder here, I didn't think it would be a great idea," Mr Porter explained.

"How old is he? Your grandson, I mean."

"Alex just turned three. My son, Aarón, and his wife, Jeanette, usually ask me every other weekend to watch Alex, but I usually have to have him come here instead of going to them with the business."

"So, why can't he come here? I know you said it was because of Ryder, but I don't think that should be the only reason."

"It's not."

Chase sat up to listen more intently, but he never removed himself from Ryder's side.

"I know my grandson," Mr Porter began. "Alex doesn't have any friends his age, and so, he'd want to be all over Ryder. You and I both know that Ryder can't handle that kind of interaction yet, even if he wasn't so ill."

"Yeah," Chase murmured. "But I heard you mentioning someone else. Jake, was it?"

"Jake works for me occasionally with the restaurant. He only comes in the busy mornings, and sometimes he stays for the busier nights. It just depends on his schedule."

"What do you mean?"

"He owns a ski resort up in the mountains. Well, technically, it's his parents' chalet, but the responsibility has since been passed on to him. They're still around, but they're retired."

"I see. So, why did you say you would call Jake?"

"Because I can't be two places at once. The restaurant needs me; you and Ryder need me; my son, daughter-in-law, and grandson need me. Yes, Ryder has you, Chase, but he needs more help, help that I can give him. If Jake can fill in for me at the restaurant, he can help with Ryder, too, and I can be there for Aarón and Jeanette and Alex. But I feel conflicted. I don't want to leave Ryder, but I don't want to let Alex down either."

The older man looked the puppy in the eye, begging him for advice.

"How about this?" Chase offered. "Call Jake here to meet Ryder with both of you here. If Ryder seems okay with Jake, then you call Aarón back and tell him you'll be there. If there's bad blood between Jake and Ryder, then stay here. Maybe Jake could watch Alex?"

"That, Chase, is a terrific idea," Mr Porter smiled. He typed something on his phone before putting it on speaker.

"Hello?"

"Jake? It's Mr Porter. Can I ask you a favour?"

And the plot thickens! So, how was it? Good? Bad? Meh? Lemme know! Constructive criticism helps my soul! Until next time!

~*MegaMon2580*~