Stephen woke up feeling nauseous. The transition from sleep to wakefulness was bizarre, and his stomach was roiling around in anxiety, complaining to get rid of the contents inside it. Not only that, but his head also spun with no hope of orientation. The world was a blur even as he lay in bed.

Groaning, he tried moving his limbs. He had to get to the washroom somehow. Throwing up in the sheets was the last way he wanted to start the day. His whole body spasmed in protest, heavy pain flaring up from his legs and arms. A whine escaped his lips as his vision went white for a few seconds, breaths coming in short gasps as the nausea was pushed back. When he regained vision and the pain faded, it came back with a vengeance, as if forcefully pumping his stomach, sending whatever the heck he had eaten last night up his esophagus.

"Shit…"

Washroom was out of the question. Quickly, with the wave of his hand, he conjured a dustbin and beckoned the Cloak to assist him. The relic was a blur of red as it latched onto his shoulders and pushed him up, the pain once again flaring from all over his body. Thankfully, the Cloak kept him upright and he retched into the dustbin, shaky hands clutching the container for some stability.

It was a disgusting experience. The fluid tasted horrible, and his throat hurt from how raw it felt. He gasped, entire body shaking as the urge to retch stopped, and he ducked his head on one arm, trying to regain his breath. He desperately needed water—anything to get rid of the foul taste. The Cloak gently brushed a collar on his cheek, trying to provide some form of comfort this horrible morning.

"I'm fine…" his voice came out weak, like a malnourished kitten mewling for food. And he definitely wasn't fine. Raising his head was a battle, straining with the effort. The bodily pains were still present, but not flaring up with too much intensity. The nausea had settled for now, but he wasn't sure if it wouldn't come back.

His vision still spun across the room, and he blinked multiple times to try and clear it, with no success. Sighing in frustration, he leaned back against the Cloak, which slowly lowered him back into lying down. It hovered above him, a concerned blur of red poking at him.

"Could you…get me water?" He asked slowly, awareness stuck between the conscious and unconscious. He should probably ask it to get help; there was clearly something wrong and he wasn't in any condition to deal with it but speaking any more seemed like climbing a mountain right now.

He was vaguely aware of the relic first putting away the dustbin before it vanished from his defective line of sight. What had happened last night? It definitely wasn't something he ate; he had brought a freshly cooked meal from Kamar-Taj for America and himself. Or…oh. Right.

The Kaiju Spiders of the Lost Dimension, where he had travelled yesterday to close a breach between dimensions. One of them must have nicked him without him realizing it. Groaning, he stared up at the ceiling, which came in and out of focus. Symptoms of the poison included vomiting, weakening vision, headaches, fever, extreme bodily pain, and reduced cognition. Severity depended on the level of exposure to the poison, which must have been minimal in his case.

No wonder his body was shaking and protesting so adamantly.

The Cloak came back in a rush, and it wasn't alone.

"Stephen, are you alright?" America raced over to his bedside, eyes searching him up for any injuries or harm. In her hand was a glass of water, his dry and foul mouth craving it.

"I'll be fine," he grunted, trying to sit up. He winced in pain before the Cloak once again supported him. America didn't even wait for him to take the glass, instead offering it directly to his mouth. Too exhausted to care, he let her tip the glass over his lips, and the fresh, cold feeling was heavenly. He engulfed the water in a handful of gulps, the uncomfortable dryness washing away. The Cloak gently lowered him back again, and America placed a hand over his forehead, taking a sharp breath.

"You're burning up!"

Oh, it must be really bad if she was panicking that much. The teen ran from the room and came back not long after with some supplies he couldn't be bothered to make out. She was saying something. He could see her lips moving, but nothing registered in his brain. The room looked duller than it had a moment ago, and black wisps were encroaching at the edges of his vision.

He tried to focus on America, only because even in his fading vision, the fear on her face was so strong. He wanted to offer her some comfort, but his mouth felt useless, his whole body felt useless. The last thing Stephen saw before darkness took over was the kid's panicked frenzy.

"Stephen! Stephen!"

No, no, no. The sorcerer's eyes closed, and his head lolled, tensed body going slack. Abandoning the idea of waking him up, she scrambled with the first aid kit, trying to remember everything she learned in Practical Healing at Kamar-Taj. Her hands were trembling in fear as her heart hammered away.

If the fever is high and the patient isn't conscious, use the old-fashioned method.

She grasped the clean white towel from its container and ran to the washroom in a mess of limbs. Thoroughly soaking the material, she tightly squeezed, letting some of the water free. Rushing back, she settled beside Stephen and carefully straightened his head, grimacing at how high his temperature was. His breaths were coming in whistles, and okay, calm down. She placed the towel on his forehead.

The Cloak hovered on the other side, waving in the air in agitation. It had come to her in an uncharacteristic panic, motioning towards Stephen's bedroom, a glass of water held in one of its corners. America had quickly understood that something was wrong because the Cloak never panicked like that.

"Okay, now what?"

She looked at Stephen with fear coursing through her veins. She didn't understand what could possibly be wrong with him. He'd been fine last night, being his usual snarky self. Reaching out her hand, America held his in it, extending two fingers to the inside of his wrist. Her concern increased when she felt how erratic the pulse was.

What do I do?

Her frantic eyes brushed over the side-table and oh, Stephen's phone! She reached for it immediately, going into his contacts list without a second thought. There were only 3 people: Christine, Wong, and America. And wow, she thought she had no friends.

"Who do I call?"

She didn't know the Christine in this universe, surprisingly enough, but she was a doctor. But there was as much a chance of Stephen's condition being related to magic as science. So, Wong?

Just call them both!

She pressed on Wong first, praying the man wasn't busy with his duties. It had to be nighttime in Kamar-Taj right now. Three rings passed, America's heart increasingly beating faster.

"Stephen, what did we talk about time zones?"

The voice on the other side was groggy and displeased, and America mentally muttered an apology.

"Wong, it's America. Stephen, I don't know what's wrong with him!" Her sheer panic must have woken the Sorcerer Supreme to full alertness.

"What happened?" The groggy haze disappeared from his voice, seriousness bleeding through. "I don't know, he was completely fine last night, and right now, he's burning up like crazy. I didn't know whether to call you or Christine…"

"It's alright, America, you did good. I'll be there with a few healers. Stay with him."

"Right, got it."

America closed the call, clutching the phone in both hands as she set her eyes on Stephen again, trying to pretend his breathing wasn't so strained. The Cloak floated closer to her, placing a corner on her shoulder, covering her in a half-hug. America leaned into it, bringing up a hand to stroke it, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

A few minutes must have passed before the familiar sizzle of a portal opening was heard, and Wong marched in with 3 sorcerers in healer garb. America got up and moved away from the bed to give them space, the Cloak following her.

"I think I might have an idea of what it is," Wong said, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing while the healers did their work. They performed complicated gestures, producing intricate warm orange sigils that encircled Stephen.

America forced her eyes to Wong in askance. "The dimension he went to is inhabited by a poisonous species of spiders. He must have gotten nicked without noticing it." America frowned, that didn't sound good at all.

"Will he be alright?" She immediately asked, wondering if Stephen could have died and no one could have noticed anything.

"That depends on the level of exposure, but seeing as he didn't even notice anything, he should be fine in a few days." Wong smiled warmly. "Go rest for a bit, I'm sure he gave you quite the scare."

America pursed her lips, relief flowing through her body, replacing the overbearing fear that had pushed her into a frenzy. She nodded, heading towards the door, giving the unconscious sorcerer one last glance before finally leaving, the Cloak hot on her heels.

She hovered close to his room, watching the grandfather clock tick from 13:30 to 16:00, waiting for the healers, waiting for Wong to come out and give her some news.

At 16:05, they finally came out, and she rushed over to the Sorcerer Supreme. She didn't even need to say anything before Wong started updating her.

"They've extracted the lingering poison, all that's left is for him to recover, which his body will do in its own time. When the fever breaks, he will be through the worst of it."

America sighed in relief, feeling the exhaustion of a high amount of adrenaline leaving her system. She wanted to sleep too, but she couldn't leave Stephen alone. Judging by the look on Wong's face, of exasperated fondness, he was thinking the same thing.

"You can go in. I'll be in the living room, so call me if anything else happens." He looked exhausted too, eyes drooping and shoulders sagging.

"Of course, you rest up, Wong."

The Cloak, perched on her shoulders, all but rushed her into the room once more. Chastising the relic softly, she carefully closed the door, before walking towards the bed. A new couch was sitting at the bedside, and she smiled. Wong did know her all too well. The Cloak perched off her shoulders, settling on the bed beside Stephen, like a content cat cuddling beside their owner.

America walked over and plopped herself down into the couch in a boneless mess of limbs, sinking into it. Stephen looked much better than before, some colour returning to his previously pale face. His breaths were more even, and the fever must definitely have gone down a bit. Content, she let herself lean back into the comforting couch, eyes drooping. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

She stirred into wakefulness due to a sound. Groaning, she tried to fight the heavy hold sleep had on her. A whimper reached her ears, and she woke up immediately.

Stephen was whimpering softly, sleeping face scrunched up in pain, yet she didn't know what exactly was ailing him. She placed a hand on his forehead, frowning when it wasn't as hot as the first time she had touched it. Shouldn't he be better now?

"Donna…"

Who was Donna? America furrowed her eyebrows, concern rising from the roots in her stomach.

"Stephen?" She called out, cupping his sweat soaked cheek in a hand. He shied away from the touch, a cry releasing his lips.

"Donna, no."

His arms were twitching, and oh she finally realized what was wrong.

"Stephen, wake up! You're dreaming!"

She increased her beckons, lightly tapping him on the cheek. When that didn't work, she grasped his shoulders and shook him. The Cloak instead took the job tapping his face. America crushed the tendrils of fear once again growing in her chest, swallowing a lump in her throat. All she had to do was wake him up.

"Stephen!"

She didn't expect it. He woke with a gasp, eyes wide and hazed in delirium.

"Donna…"

He looked at her for a few seconds, blue eyes frantically searching her chocolate brown ones. She saw the spark of recognition, and then the realization sinking in. He sunk into the pillows breathing heavily, eyes clearer.

"You're alright, Stephen. I think it was a fever-induced dream."

"Yeah, sorry about that," his voice was stronger than before, and America smiled in relief. The Cloak snuggled into Stephen's cheek, and he placated it with a shaky hand running through its folds. He looked at America with an avoidant gaze. "I hope I didn't scare you too bad."

"That's an understatement. I thought you were dying or something." She leaned back, crossing her arms with a huff.

"It's gonna take more than some arachnids to kill me, kid," he snorted, wiping off sweat from his forehead. That must be the fever breaking.

"Tell that to the poison the healers spent hours extracting," she deadpanned, unimpressed.

"A mild oversight, won't happen again."

"You're lucky you have a sentient magical Cloak that cares about you. I think it would have been too late if it didn't immediately come to me." America looked at the relic fondly, grateful that it cared so much. Stephen seemed to share her thoughts as he smiled.

"It's beyond just a magical relic," he said softly, and if the Cloak had a voice, it would have purred.

America watched the pair, her mind wandering to the name he had spoken with such pain, and she held her tongue. In all the time she had spent with other Stephen, he had never told her anything about anyone named 'Donna', and he had told her a lot of secrets about himself.

She really wanted to know who Donna was to Stephen, if he thought of her in his worst dreams.

"You alright, kid?"

She snapped back into attention to see concerned blue eyes watching her. America pushed her curiosity down. Now really wasn't the time to ask. Hopefully, one day, he would tell her himself.

"Yeah, I'm just exhausted after you scared me half to death."

"I was the one actually in danger of dying," Stephen pouted.

"So, you admit you could have died."

"I said danger, not actually dying."

"Sure, I gotta tell Wong to closely examine you after every mission now."

"Please, I don't need any more of his mother-henning."

"Should have thought have that before coming back from a poisonous dimension and not checking for germs."

"You're a real smartass, you know that?"

America smirked, bringing her hands together. "I learned from the best."

"Right, go to sleep. I need bed rest, doctor's orders." Stephen waved a hand, but there was a small smile on his lips.

America got up with the smirk growing into a grin. "Do let me know if you have another medical emergency, doctor."

She left the room with a satisfied heart, chuckling at the muttered whisper of 'freaking teenagers' that followed her out. Hopefully, Wong had got some good hours of sleep.