... and yeah

The outfit Lucas had lent him wasn't too bad. The material was comfortable and made up of plain, dull colours Reggie would describe as looking the way a dry gravel driveway tasted (whatever that meant - Paul was more concerned his brother was possibly going around sampling driveways).

In other words, it matched Paul's preference well enough.

Even after drying off the best he could with the towel Dawn had provided, however, Paul was still cold from his miserable outdoor trek. A steaming shower would be the ideal way to warm up, but Paul wasn't particularly in the mood to resubmerge himself in water for the next twenty-four hours or so. Instead, he tossed the towel into the laundry hamper sitting in the corner (well, he hoped it was a laundry hamper) and found the hairdryer Dawn had mentioned. Aiming it at his head at full-blast for a while (until he figured any longer would singe his hair) got rid of some of the chill, at least.

When he left the washroom, he was surprised to see Dawn still awake, snuggled among the cushions on the living-room armchair as she typed on her phone.

"I thought you'd be in bed by now," Paul drawled.

Dawn's head shot up. "Oh, there you are. You sure took your sweet time."

"Well, I didn't think you'd be waiting for me. Didn't we already establish that I'm perfectly capable of doing my laundry on my own?"

"Yeah, yeah." Dawn stood up, yawning. "I just realized I should probably show you to the guest room. Figured you'd actually want a bed to sleep in."

She'd been waiting for him? Paul didn't feel guilty, but he couldn't deny he was a little impressed she'd managed to patiently wait so long - there hadn't been a clock in the washroom so he couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling he'd taken at least twenty minutes. "You could have knocked and told me to hurry up."

"I thought you'd be out sooner since, you know, normal people don't take a full hour to change out of their clothes."

Paul raised his eyebrow. "Then I guess we must be the same species of abnormal."

"Touché."

Paul paused. "Was I really in there for an hour?"

"More or less."

"Huh." He could have sworn he didn't take longer than twenty minutes. He must be more exhausted than he thought, if his perception of time was so skewed.

Dawn stretched. "Anyways, go do your laundry and I'll show you where the guest room is."

"No need," Paul said, heading down a hall to the laundry room. "I'm fine with crashing on the couch."

"Of course you are," he heard Dawn muttered. "You know," she called, "you might as well humour me and take the guest room because I bothered staying up so late just to be a good hostess!"

Paul rolled his eyes. Honestly, he felt more like a raddled derelict she had taken in than an esteemed guest at the moment, so there was no need for her to be so formal. And it wasn't like they'd ever been formal with each other to begin with.

"I'm too tired to climb stairs," Paul called back. "I'll take the couch."

"Wow, you're so appreciative," Dawn said with enough sarcasm that Paul could envision her rolling her eyes.

When Paul made his way back to the living-room, he couldn't help but give Dawn a strange look because she STILL hadn't gone off to bed. "For someone who keeps bringing up how she doesn't want to sacrifice any more sleep for me, you sure seem insistent on staying up."

"I need to bring you a blanket, don't I?" Dawn said, her eyes on her phone.

"Are you texting someone to bring over that too?"

Dawn glared at him over the top of her phone. "Can you please let me finish writing this?"

"Who're you texting now?"

"My mom!"

Paul considered asking her why she was texting her mom at this time but decided it wasn't his business and he was too tired to maintain a conversation anyways so he settled with responding with "Whatever" and plopped down on the sofa, using one of the cushions as a pillow. Then, letting out a slow, calming breath, he closed his eyes.

"Her flight got cancelled," Dawn said unexpectedly, a flicker of worry in her voice. "She was supposed to be back by now, but the weather..."

The outside world boomed with thunder on cue.

"Uh-huh."

Dawn sighed, dropping her phone on her lap. "Can I be honest? I'm sort of glad you showed up."

"Please don't make this sappy. I'm trying to sleep."

"Okay, I wish it was someone else."

"Me too."

"But I don't like being home alone at night. May and Leaf and Misty have been taking turns staying over, so I've been good the past few nights. But I thought Mom would be back today, so I told them they didn't need to come over this time. And by the time my mom told me she couldn't come, it was too late at night to call anyone and I haven't been able to sleep. I just kept thinking something bad was going to happen. You nearly gave me a heart attack when you started banging on the door."

Paul groaned, running his hands over his face. "Dawn, whatever night you've been having, I can assure you mine's been far worse. And I'm really tired right now, so can you please shut up for once so I can get some rest?"

"Wow, why am I even friends with you?"

Paul took the cushion from under his head and pressed it over his face. "I ask myself the same thing," he muttered, his voice muffled.

"Whatever. I'm going to bed."

He heard her get up and head up the stairs. He wondered if she would remember to bring him a blanket, but when she didn't return, he figured he'd put her in too bad a mood to continue her hospitality. Being blanket-less wasn't too big a deal, though. As far as Paul was concerned, this was a substantial improvement from a night outside on his front porch during a thunderstorm.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up from a disorienting dream involving spiced car tire soup and Reggie in military uniform preaching about finishing your vegetables (said vegetables were a plate of dandelions and mechanical pencils, but it had made more sense in the dream) and Dawn screaming at him for breaking her hairdryer and using up all the water supply in the city because he'd apparently used too much when he was helping a billionaire Lucas prepare his outfit for a dinner with dungeon explorers.

Paul sat up on the sofa, convinced he hadn't been responsible for the water shortage - it had obviously been Barry, since he'd been the one who blew up the only water well in the city - when a sound cut into his thoughts. It took a moment for Paul to realize it was the phone ringing. He groped around for his cell phone before he remembered it was at home, and he was at Dawn's, and that meant the ringing phone (which had likely been the culprit for his sudden awakening) wasn't his and he was under no obligation to pick it up.

He lay back down, pressing the cushion over his ears when the ringing wouldn't stop.

"Come on, shut up," he muttered, rolling over so he was face-down.

Then came the sounds of steps coming down the stairs. A yawn. The sense of Dawn looking over at him. "You really aren't going to answer it, are you?" she said.

"Not my house, not my phone," Paul replied, eyes firmly shut.

"Seriously," Dawn muttered, her footsteps moving away. And then, finally, the ringing stopped.

And Paul could finally go back to sleep... or so he thought. Because, just as he was about to drift off, Dawn tapped his arm.

"Go away."

"It's for you."

"Yeah right."

Dawn gave an irritated sigh. "Seriously, Paul, it's for you."

Paul begrudgingly sat up, wondering who in the world would be calling Dawn's house to speak to him. Dawn dropped the phone on the sofa and stood there, crossing her arms and glaring at him as if it were somehow his fault the phone had woken them up. Paul returned her irritated look and held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Paul?" The voice that answered was drowsy and feeble and made Paul's mind flash with the setup of every mysterious-phone-call horror movie until Paul realized he recognized the voice. He rubbed his eyes.

"Reggie?"

"What's up, Paul?" Reggie yawned. "Are you... are you at Dawn's house?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatcha doing over all the way over there, buddy?"

"I don't know. My laundry or... sofa... or something..." God, his brain was too exhausted to function right now, let alone form coherent thoughts. "You sound almost dead."

"Bad night. Woke up at, like, two in the morning. Must have spent hours puking. Think I'm hallucinating too - could've sworn I heard something explode downstairs, but didn't look like it when I checked." A pause. "Maybe it was something in the basement...? Anyways, what about you? How've you been?"

"Worst, now that you woke me up."

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, lil' bro." A yawn. "It's just that I fell asleep, and I just woke up, and there was this missed call from Dawn's house, and then I heard your message and I was very confused."

"Message?" Paul muttered, rubbing his forehead. What message?

"You want me to come pick you up?"

"No. I want to sleep."

"Okay. I'll let you do that. Not sure I can drive right now anyways... Later, then."

"Don't die."

"Love you too, lil' bro."

Paul ended the call, dropped the phone on the coffee table and hung his head back. He knew at this point that the whole thing with Reggie demanding he finish his vegetables had been a dream, but it was weird talking to his brother when all he could picture was him in military apparel pointing vehemently at a plate full of wilted dandelions and brightly coloured mechanical pencils.

"Is he coming to pick you up?"

Paul turned to see Dawn leaning against the wall, watching him.

"No."

"Oh." She looked a little thoughtful. "He didn't sound so good. He doing all right?"

"No."

"Is he sick?"

"I told you, didn't I? I poisoned him."

Dawn stared. "I'm starting to get a bit concerned. Should I be calling the police and reporting attempted homicide?"

"No need," said Paul, waving dismissively. "He had it coming." Reggie should have expected the consequences of eating nearly an entire pot of what tasted like something scraped off of a Muk. Paul lay back down and closed his eyes. "The fool."

To his irritation, Dawn began shaking his shoulder. "Paul!"

"What?" he snapped.

"Okay, did you or did you not poison your brother?"

"It's his own fault. Go away."

"What do you mean, it was his fault?"

"I didn't tell him to eat all of it, he did that himself."

"You fed him poison?!"

"No, dinner."

"You poisoned his dinner?!"

I'm too sleep-deprived to deal with this, Paul thought, running his hands over his face, trying to rub away enough drowsiness to comprehend why she was regarding him like he was a serial killer.

"Paul, you gotta tell me what happened here! I'd rather not be currently housing a possible murderer!"

"I didn't murder anyone!" he snapped. "He's alive, isn't he? You just talked to him on the phone!"

"You're not making yourself sound all that innocent!"

"I am perfectly innocent! I don't know why you—" He stopped talking abruptly as his stomach swirled with a wave of nausea. He was sweating again, like he had been earlier when he'd first woken up tonight.

"Paul?" Dawn said, wariness in her voice.

"Be quiet," Paul murmured as he sat up, wondering if getting worked up over whatever nonsense Dawn was yammering about had somehow put his recovery in reverse. He was starting to feel just as horrible as he had yesterday, which was considerably worse than the past few hours, if that were possible. Then again, he'd been too busy dealing with his other recent misfortunes to focus on how ill he was, so maybe that's why he'd thought he was getting better.

His stomach lurched again, and he shut his eyes. Come on, you can't get sick now. You don't even have anything in your stomach!

"What's wrong?" Dawn asked. Paul opened his eyes to find she had shoved into his personal space to watch him intently with wide eyes. In his few seconds of agony, he'd forgotten she was there.

"Paul?"

"Dawn," Paul said through gritted teeth, "get out of my face."

Dawn stepped back, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Wow. Wow. You are the most ungrateful twit in the history of histories, you know that? Seriously, I am asking for your well-being!"

"Well, it's getting worse the more you talk, so shut up!"

Dawn regarded him for a moment. "That's it," she said finally. "Get out of my house."

Paul rolled his eyes, though he regretted it when he found it made him dizzy. "Just stop being troublesome and let me sleep. I really can't deal with this right now."

"No! I'm seriously sick of your attitude!"

"Well I'm sick of yours. Literally." He paused to hold his stomach. He was wrong, he realized. Dawn's talking wasn't what was making him worse; it was his talking back. Although Dawn was doing a fine job of giving him a migraine.

I can't handle this stress right now. Please, Dawn, you can scream at me all you want next week when I'm better, but please please please leave me alone for now.

"I let you in my house," Dawn ranted. "I made sure you got dry clothes and a place to stay for the night and you can't drop your crudeness for just one night?! Somehow, you're even worse than usual!"

Paul's retort reflex was acting up, but he bit his tongue and closed his eyes. My guts are going to make me regret it if I let her rile me up right now, I need to restrain myself and sit this through and then I'll go back to sleep and then I can go home in the morning and—

"I've been nothing but nice to you this whole time!" Dawn was yelling now. "And you've been doing nothing but insult me—!"

Paul's eyes shot open. "You've been nothing but nice?" he snapped. "Excuse me, but weren't you accusing me of murder just a minute ago?" So much for self-restraint.

"I had every reason to be concerned! And you still haven't cleared up what exactly you've done to Reggie!"

"You're acting like I poisoned him in his sleep or something!"

"I don't know, have you? I think you'd make a decent Claudius!"

"Oh, and you—" Paul stopped mid-sentence. This, he thought as he got to his feet and stumbled to the washroom, is why I shouldn't have started yelling back. He threw open the washroom door and hunched over the sink.

"What's wrong with you now?" Dawn asked from the doorway. Paul wished he was in too much agony to care about her gawking at him like a spectator, but unfortunately, his brain was functional enough to remind him how much he despised her company at the moment.

"Just shut—" His words were cut short when he retched - a dry, torturous retch that produced nothing but pain. Of course there's nothing, Paul mentally screamed at his stomach. I don't have anything left in me to retch up! But his nausea continued threatening to act up like some kind of cruel joke. Paul groaned and hung his head.

"What's wrong with you?" Dawn asked, her voice laced with more genuine concern than vexation now.

"Sick," Paul managed to mutter.

"Ha! I knew it!" Dawn exclaimed. "See? You can get sick from being out in the rain!"

"Not from the rain, you troublesome woman! Food poisoning!" He paused and closed his eyes as he felt another retch coming.

"Food... food poisoning?" Dawn said, thoroughly puzzled. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh. Poisoning. Food poisoning. Reggie's food-poisoned."

Paul dry-retched into the sink again.

"And you are too, apparently." Her voice became quieter when she spoke again. "Are you... okay?"

"Okay?" Paul repeated. He turned to her, his eyes wild. "Am I okay? Do I look okay?!"

"Er..."

"Am I okay? Let me tell you how okay I am!" His grip on the sink basin tightened. "Reggie forces me to make dinner that gets us both violently food-poisoned for days. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, I get trapped in the basement washroom, I have to crawl out of a tiny window to get out, Reggie doesn't open the door, it starts raining hard, I have to walk to the only place that might let me in - it's your house of all places - you won't stop talking, you call Barry over, and now, and now you won't let me go back to sleep, and it's getting worse, and so yeah, I am NOT OKAY!"

Paul stopped, panting over the sink, his eyes fixed on Dawn, who stood there, staring at him.

"Wow," she said finally. "That explains some stuff." When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Do you need anything?"

Paul shut his eyes. "Just some sleep. Please. And some privacy would be nice too."

"Okay. I hope you get better." She finally left him, shutting the washroom door as she went. Paul exhaled gratefully.

And spent the next minutes of his life painfully retching the nothing from his stomach.

When, finally, his brain got the message that there was no reason Paul should be suffering like this and the nausea receded, Paul emerged from the washroom to stagger back to the sofa. To his surprise, there was a blanket there, waiting for him. Dawn must have taken pity on him after his raving.

I guess that means she doesn't want to throw me out anymore, Paul thought as he lay down and pulled the blanket over his head. A minute later, he heard movement nearby, and something being placed on the coffee table.

"Um, Paul?" came Dawn's quiet voice. "You still awake?"

"Mm?" said Paul, too exhausted to snap.

"I'm leaving a glass of Gatorade here for you, if you want. And I also found some crackers. They help when I have the stomach flu."

Paul mumbled something into his blanket that sounded like "mmphmu."

"Okay. Well, hope you get some sleep tonight," Dawn said. And then he heard her quiet footsteps going up the stairs.

Paul opened an eye and lowered the blanket from his face. Dawn must have left a lamp open somewhere because the room was dimly lit by a faint glow of light. It illuminated the glass of Gatorade and the box of crackers she'd left on the coffee table in front of him.

Paul reached out, took a sip of the Gatorade, and picked a cracker. Truth be told, he was starving, but he'd given up on eating a proper meal since getting sick. The snack Dawn had left him was a good substitute, however.

Paul retreated back beneath the blanket with the cracker to nibble. And, even though he knew Dawn wasn't around to hear it, he finally muttered a decent word of gratitude.

"Thanks."

Annnd done. This was the last update to this fic so... yeah. Let me know what you thought in your reviews!

Thanks for reading!

Bye bye! Have a great day, and smile all the way! :)