It is a well known fact at Beacon Academy that Peter likes to walk with Barty to breakfast.
On this particular day, when Peter knocks on Barty's door, there is no answer within a nanosecond. "Barty?" Peter calls. "Barty, are you in there?"
There's a small scuffling sound before the door opens slowly. Barty's head pokes out. His hair is messy; not its normal messy, but the toss- and- turn- all- night kind of messy. His eyes are dull and skin pale.
"Peter?" he wheezes.
"Barty? Whatever happened to you?" Peter asks incredulously.
"Nothing. I'm fine." then he starts coughing.
Peter wraps a steadying hand around him. Then his other hand goes straight to Barty's forehead. "Barty, you're burning up!"
"We should go to breakfast." Barty says breathily.
"No! Barty, you're going straight back to bed. You can barely keep your eyes open." Peter says firmly.
"No. I have classes." Barty protests. Peter leads him back to bed easily. Barty isn't strong enough to put up much of a fight.
"There you go." says Peter. "I'll go get you some breakfast and arrange covers for your lessons."
"Peter, you have classes too." Barty reminds.
"Not many. Enough to take good care of you." says Peter jollily.
"Peter." Barty sighs, playing with the corner of the blanket.
"Barty." Peter returns. Barty coughs again. "Barty, really. Lie down and get comfortable. As I keep telling you, you can't teach like this." Peter tells him. "I'll be gone only a moment." Then he disapears out the door. The extravagant professor arranges for Barty's classes to be covered and brings him a little fruit bowl and coffee. However, he finds Barty face down on the floor next to the bed. Peter puts the tray down and rushes to his side. "Barty! Barty?" he gently shook the green- haired man by the shoulder. Barty moaned and curled against Peter's knee. "What happened?" Peter asks.
"The room was spinning." Barty moans.
"Did you try to get up?" Peter asks.
"No." Barty groans.
"Alright." Peter very carefully pulls Barty onto the bed. He starts coughing again. Peter rubs his back before tucking him in. "Maybe water would be better." he fills up a glass of water from the tap in the bathroom. Then he presses it into Barty's shaky hands.
"Carefull, or you'll choke." Peter warns.
"It's not coffee." Barty grumbles.
"Coffee wouldn't be very good for you now. Besides, you have more than enough energy to fight of this sickness withot it." says Peter.
"Your voice is to loud."
"Aha. See, you're getting the hang of it now!" Peter laughs.
"Peter, what are you talking about it?"
"Sick days. You get to lie around in bed, be waited on hand and foot and complain about everything." Peter instructs.
"Sounds awful." Barty murmurs.
Peter pats his shoulder. "You'll soon learn."
"Never done this before." Barty mumbled tiredly.
"Never done what?"
"Lie in bed all day."
"Really?"
"I stayed at home when I was to ill to go to school, yes, but I put together some rudimentery work."
Peter strokes the green hair softly. "Where on earth did you get this from, anyway?"
Barty shrugs. "Felt bad all week. Just got worse yesterday."
"Oh, Barty. You should've said something." Peter sighs.
"I'm a grown man, Peter. A professional huntsman to boot. And what kind of example would it set to the students if one of their teachers took days of for every little cold."
"Barty, it's more than a little cold. Oh! Maybe you caught what Glynda had a few weeks ago. Ozpin took care of her, remember. He said she had a high fever and a bad cough."
And a cough bursts out of Barty's throat. "This is starting to hurt." he closes his his eyes, burrowing into the bed and resting his head on Peter's lap.
"Get some sleep, Barty. And then get better."