You sure as hell weren't sleeping, you're much too motherfucking worried to do something like that. But you were kind of zoned out, just watching him sleep. It's when his breathing grows raspy and pained that you jolt out of it. He's shaking, and you can see sweat starting to bead on his face, and his expression speaks of an agony that you can hardly describe.
You swallow painfully and sit up, leaning over him. You have no idea what to do, non whatso-motherfucking-ever. His eyes flicker maybe a quarter of the way open, and the look in those burning eyes breaks your heart.
Hesitantly, you edge lift up a hand and lay it to rest on his forehead and oh fuck.
That heat you felt building earlier has taken over. His skin feels like it's burning. Weirdly enough, though, his face maybe relaxes ever so slightly at your touch, so maybe it's helping somehow...? No, that's stupid. How could just putting a hand on his forehead help him fight off...whatever the hell is wrong with him? It can't. So you move your hand away and run your fingers through your messy hair. A soft sound escapes his lips, and you double-take, staring at him. That little tiny noise was pleading and scared, almost like a child crying out, only at a tenth the volume.
Like he's a little kid lost at the carnival, and he's afraid of the animals and the noises confuse him, and there's people everywhere but none of them are his parents. Like he's trying to be brave, but he can't hide his fear completely, so all he can do is sit down in the middle of the path and cry quietly.
It hurts to think of Karkat like that, hurts more than you can believe.
A big, shaky breath forces its way in and out of his lungs, and his expression grows even more pained. And scared. The idea that Karkat is scared is one that frightens you.
You gently rest a finger on his cheek, making a gentle shushing noise, because you have no idea what else to do. And this time, his expression relaxes visibly, and his eyes flicker open again, resting at half mast. You gently stroke his burning skin, doing your best to meet his gaze, even though you're fairly certain that he can't really see you. His eyes are clouded over by the fever, unfocused and dazed.
"Can...can you hear me, Karkat? God, please be okay, please just..." you choke out, tears threatening, "please don't leave me, brother. I can't lose you." The last sentence comes out as a sob, a dry sob. You don't know why the tears won't come, but they don't. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and moaning softly. You don't pull your hand away this time, just leave it there, touching his skin, because somehow this is helping him, you're sure now. His breathing starts to settle to an even, if light and fast, rhythm, and it takes you a while to realize that he's drifted back into an uneasy slumber. You don't move your hand, even now, as you lay down and rest your head on your own pillow. You might have closed your eyes, just for a second or two...
And when you open them he's gone. He's not laying in the bed, the covers have been thrust aside. You start to panic for a moment, but then notice that the bathroom light is on, and the door is open just a little bit.
Well, maybe that's a good sign...? Maybe he's all motherfucking better now...?
You doubt it somehow. His skin was burning too hot, there was too much pain in that little cry he gave...
When he doesn't come back after five minutes, you start to worry. You push yourself off of the bed and walk over to the bathroom, pausing in front of the door. You can see him through the crack in the door a little, and he's hunched over the counter, for some reason.
"Karkat?" You ask, gently. He flinches maybe a little, but doesn't acknowledge your presence, even as you start gently pushing open the door. He's in there, all bent over the counter with his face pressed against the glass. You slowly move toward him, hardly bearing to breath. But as you're moving to rest your hand on his shoulder, he makes this noise in his throat that sounds like he's trying to hold something back, and then he up and turns and bats away your motherfucking hand. He's far too weak right now to be able to hurt your body by pushing or hitting, but the way he just shoves his way past you sure does a motherfucking number on your already-breaking heart.
He blames you. You know he does.
He has every motherfucking right to blame you.
He doesn't make it very far before his strength gives out, and you catch him, supporting his weight for him, grateful that this time around, at least, he lets you help him. But he won't meet your eyes, and that really, really motherfucking hurts.
He's hot to the touch, still. He's not better. You berate yourself mentally, because you know you could have prevented this, you keep mentally ticking off the ways in your head that you could've maybe kept him from getting so motherfucking sick.
You could have called him the moment the EBS went off.
You could have been keeping an eye on the weather, and called him the moment it started snowing.
You could have gone after him the moment he left, if not to apologize then at least to make sure he had a warmer coat or something.
You could have gotten rid of the motherfucking drugs when you promised him you'd try to quit.
But you didn't. And now he has to pay the price, he has to fight this monster you created.
God you're such an idiot. As you crawl into the bed next to him, as he turns away from you, his raspy breathing echoing, horrible thoughts start drifting through your mind.
What if he doesn't forgive you? What if he leaves forever after he gets better, and you never hear from him again?
What if this sickness gets worse and he suffers some sort of permanent damage, and when he gets better he's never the same old Karkat?
Or...or what if he...never gets better?
What if you've killed him?
What will you do then?