A/N: I don't have Fibro (I don't think, anyway) and everything I know about it comes from some research and A_Tomb_With_A_View's fics from AO3 (which you should totally read). I apologize if anything is inaccurate. Also, characterization might be off. Idk. You would think I would have it down by now since I've watched the show six thousand times.

This is also technically an AU, but just because Bobby also died in the hotdog incident (and Trevor is a different person but he's not mentioned at all so it doesn't really matter).

This was coming. Just because a slight mishap triggered it didn't mean it hadn't been building for the better part of the past week. It had been rising with the group's stress levels. It was only two weeks since the Orpheum. Two weeks since their world almost ended, and then they were saved by a magic hug. They rode their high for the first week, excited to test their newfound mortality. Then the crash hit around Friday night. The second week brought the rest of their problems back to light: actually stopping Caleb and freeing Willie.

Alex's anxiety had skyrocketed as soon as they realized they had no solid plan to free his new second half. Luke retreated back into music like always, which immediately clashed with Alex. Luke was understanding, but he had yet to learn to communicate in a way that Alex could really appreciate. Luke's world revolved around music, and an anxious Alex didn't appreciate that. Bobby got sucked into running interference, trying to prevent fights for Reggie's sake while ignoring his own emotions in favor of managing everyone else's.

Even though none of the building frustration was directed at him, Reggie always fed off the emotions in the room. He was acutely aware of everyone's stress, whether they wanted to admit to it or not. He could feel it build against his sternum, heat pooling in his lungs. Reggie tried his best to ignore the building pressure, but it was getting harder with each passing day.

Then he got one hell of a rude awakening early Friday morning.

It was still dark out when Reggie woke up with a gasp. There was an arm across his chest. Every contact point was pure pain, a blazing fire from shoulder to shoulder that was melting down his ribs. It took him a moment to catch his breath and blink the stars from his vision. He followed the arm to a muscled shoulder and one Luke Patterson. A Luke Patterson that wasn't even next to Reggie. Luke wasn't allowed to sleep next to Reggie because he tossed and turned and threw his limbs everywhere, and one good hit could ruin Reggie's week. Case and point.

There were many reasons for their sleeping arrangements, but, in its simplest terms, it boiled down to this: Luke and Reggie could not be next to each other. Ever. If Alex wasn't around to buffer, Luke slept on the floor or in the armchair. Bobby was not an option for buffer because he couldn't be on the inside. They made that mistake once, and Bobby had a panic attack in the middle of the night. Alex didn't particularly like being in the middle, but he would do anything for Reggie, so he was the barrier. Reggie absolutely loved being squished in between his boyfriend and his safe space, so, even though all four of them definitely didn't need to share the bed that was entirely too small, they made it work.

Reggie was starting to see the flaws of this plan.

Reggie carefully moved Luke's arm so it was on Alex instead. That little movement sparked something in his chest, muscles pulling tight and screaming in protest. The blond was between the two of them so this didn't happen. It didn't matter now, though. Reggie needed to get up and take something before the flare had the chance to get any worse. There was one problem, though. Bobby was asleep, mear inches from Reggie's right side.

"Well, shit," Reggie mumbled, shifting a bit to get a better angle on his sleeping bandmate. Bobby was on his side, back to Reggie like always, precariously balanced on the edge of the pullout. Reggie gave him a good jab in the back with his elbow, wincing as his shoulder protested. Bobby hummed a bit and shifted closer to Reggie.

"C'mon Bobbers, I need you to move," Reggie hissed, jabbing him again. Bobby had to move, now, because if Reggie managed to wake up Alex, he would never hear the end of it. At it was, Reggie probably already had a lecture in the near future. "Get up!"

"Wa's up, Reg?" Bobby slurred, tipping his head back to look at Reggie. There must have been something on his face, or Bobby's sleep-hazed brain finally realized the time because suddenly he seemed more awake. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," Reggie denied almost instinctively. "Move. I need to get up."

Bobby eyed him suspiciously before rolling - almost literally - out of bed. Reggie couldn't help but snort at the sight. With one obstacle out of the way, Reggie still had to figure out how to sit up without screwing himself up further. Just pushing himself up would aggravate his shoulders big time, and if he struggled, Bobby would start mother henning him.

Huffing, Reggie took a second to decide which shoulder hurt less. It was a pretty even split, but he eventually decided to prop himself up on his right arm and push himself upright. The regret hit near-immediately as something stretched violently, but it was easier than admitting he was in pain in the first place. Easier than dealing with everyone worrying about him. He finally got his feet under him and headed to the bathroom to raid the medicine cabinet. He held the bottle of Tylenol in one hand and took a minute to consider something stronger. They had a wide assortment of various painkillers for a handful of different reasons ranging from wisdom teeth removal to the time Luke broke his arm to Reggie's old prescriptions. He settled for the Tylenol in the end. Opiates didn't help long-term, and he knew it.

"So are you going to tell me why you woke me up at three in the morning, or are we going to pretend this never happened?" Bobby was sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully watching Reggie as he made his way back from the bathroom. The older boy's hair was sticking up on one side after being pressed into the mattress. Reggie didn't typically pass up an opportunity to make fun of Bobby's bedhead, but he couldn't muster up enough energy to joke at the moment.

"I'm fine," Reggie insisted. It really wasn't a lie. More like a half-truth. His upper body felt like it was on fire for the moment, but the Tylenol would have it knocked back in a few minutes. His thoughts were mostly clear at the moment, and he could walk without stumbling. Reggie would call that a win.

"Denial it is," Bobby half snapped. The words didn't carry much heat behind them, but his tone sent lightning dancing across Reggie's already aching ribs. He couldn't quite hide the wince, and Bobby's face fell.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Reg."

"Not your fault," Reggie said, a bit breathless as he tried to rub the pain from his side. He collapsed into the armchair across from Bobby, who was still watching Reggie with that infuriatingly concerned look on his face. "Just been a shit week."

Bobby chuckled, but it couldn't hide the fact that he realized exactly what was going on. He decided not to comment on it for once, instead saying, "You're telling me." There was a moment of silence before he added, "You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

Reggie sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Everyone always said that like it was easy. Like he could just go, "Hey, can you stop being sarcastic because you're making my ribs hurt" or "I need you to not be anxious today because my lower back is killing me." He couldn't just tell his friends to stop feeling emotions for his sake. It was fair, and it wasn't realistic. Alex would always be anxious, and Bobby would always be sarcastic, and Luke would always be a disaster of too-tight hugs that hurt so much but were always worth it. He didn't want them to be anything else.

"I can practically hear you thinking," Bobby joked, but his tone was serious. Reggie picked his head up when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. Bobby was standing next to the armchair, pulling Reggie's hand away from his side. Huh. His ribs did hurt more than he remembered. He must have been pressing on them without realizing it. Bobby shifted his grip after a moment so he was holding Reggie's hand instead. "I know I can't fix the fact that how we feel affects you, but I do know that when you talk about it, things hurt less."

Reggie smiled a bit and then chuckled when he realized what was happening. "Look at you. Actually dealing with emotions and everything."

Bobby rolled his eyes, squeezing Reggie's hand gently. "Everyone get sappy at three in the morning. Remember that time Luke started crying watching cat videos?"

"It was sensitive time!" Reggie mocked. That was always Luke's excuse any time they brought it up. Come to think of it, Reggie would have to tell Julie about that so she could join in on the fun.

"You planning on going back to bed?" Bobby asked with a yawn. "Cause I'm exhausted."

"No. You're fine," Reggie said, settling deeper into the chair. He was unbelievably tired, but he knew he wouldn't get any more sleep tonight even if he tried. His body was too on edge.

"M'kay," Bobby said, kissing Reggie's forehead before going back to the bed and laying down on his side, facing Reggie. "Night. Don't fall asleep in that chair. You'll hurt your neck."

"Night, Bobert," Reggie said with an eye roll. He was smiling, though. He definitely loved that dork.

A/N: Yeah, so, the original draft of this is platonic with, like, a hint of slash and then I went to write the final version and Bobby decided to be affectionate so this happened. I feel like some bits are off, but if I keep screwing with it, it will never see the light of day, so sorry if anything is weird.