II.
The next day, Barry feels like crap.
After their mysterious metahuman got away, Barry had gone back to S.T.A.R. Labs and eaten about fifty meals from Big Belly Burger while Cisco mourned the tear in his precious suit. Caitlin, Jay, and the bitter Cisco had discussed the metahuman's abilities with Barry until he chose to go home early, his energy drained. He had left them with Caitlin and Jay conversing at a computer and Cisco muttering angrily under his breath as he examined his suit. Barry had sped into his bedroom immediately upon arriving home, not sparing a second to greet Joe and Iris as he fell into his bed and succumbed to the gracious lull of sleep.
As per usual, he slaps the snooze button instinctually every time it starts to scream and as a result, he manages to sleep through his alarm three times. He's just so tired and unusually sore and every inch of him is begging to just lie down and rest for centuries. And he's completely willing to do that if his alarm would stop bugging him. At this rate, though, he's surely going to be as late as late can be and on the receiving end of a particularly loud reprimand from the captain but he can't find it in him to actually get up and move.
That is, until the nausea churns in his gut, burning his insides like a stream of lava and threatening to spill over and he's running to the bathroom down the hall, barely making it in time to fall to his knees and vomit into the toilet.
Barry spends at least ten minutes there, his knees going numb on the hard floor and sweat dripping down his neck. He heaves and heaves until his chest aches and his dinner's gone and nothing comes out of his mouth except stringy and disgusting yellow bile.
He's considering moving permanently into the bathroom when Joe decides to make an appearance, likely coming to make sure Barry doesn't lose his job. Barry can hear his footsteps stomping upstairs, heavy and shaking the floor subtly but it's enough movement to make Barry tremble and lurch for the toilet again.
"Barr!" Joe calls out. "You gotta get up!"
Barry wonders if Joe will be sympathetic toward his current predicament. Sure, when Barry was a kid, Joe was always willing to stay home and nurse a sick Barry back to health. But it's been years since Barry was last sick enough to stay home. As a matter of fact, Barry didn't even know he could get sick since becoming the Flash.
Joe finally passes by the open doorway of the bathroom, fully dressed in his suit with his overcoat folded over his arm. He stops when he notices Barry's shape in the bathroom and Barry can't help but smile weakly at him in a greeting he's sure looks pathetic. He's certain that he looks like a sweaty mess at the moment, which will probably win him points in the sympathy category.
Immediately, Joe's face transforms from slightly irritated to outright concern. He makes his way over to Barry swiftly, crouching down next to him. He wrinkles his nose when he spies what's floating around in the toilet bowl, but that doesn't stop him from ready out a steady hand and placing it against Barry's forehead. Right now, Barry feels like he's overheating and Joe's skin is cool and dry, a nice contrast that Barry welcomes eagerly as he leans into his foster father's touch.
"You can get sick?" Joe asks, his voice a mixture of both surprise and concern.
Barry closes his eyes and hums in response. It would be nice to just let all of his strength fade away here and now so he could sleep forever, but he doubts his body would like him sleeping on the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
Despite the comfort that Joe's hand provides, his stomach chooses to continue its rebellion and Barry's eyes snap open. He leans back over the toilet, pulling away from Joe's hand. Once more, his body works mercilessly to expel what's left in his stomach, which is almost nothing, so Barry wonders if he'll start throwing up pieces of his stomach soon. Joe's still there, rubbing soothing circles on Barry's back as his muscles spasm violently.
This round of vomiting soon ends. If he thought he was exhausted before, now he's drained completely of all energy that had been remaining, leaving him a shivering wreck that needs to lean back against Joe for support.
"Yeah." Joe says. "You're staying home. I'll tell Singh and S.T.A.R. Labs."
Barry sighs in relief and closes his eyes again. Between fits of illness, it had completely slipped his mind that he would need to tell some people about his tragic inability to rise from the bathroom floor, rendering him completely incapable of even exiting the house.
"Alright," Joe starts adjusting both himself and Barry so they can get up soon, even if Barry doesn't want to. "Bedroom or couch?"
Barry considers the question for a minute. The darkness and silence of his room would be nice, but Barry would like to be closer to the kitchen if his stomach ever decides to sign a peace treaty. Besides, Iris is probably already at work and Joe will be gone soon, so Barry will be the only person in the house. He won't have to worry about hiding away while he's sick.
"Couch." He finally manages to force out. He feels the slightest movement against his back as Joe nods.
As carefully as he can, Barry starts to sit forward so Joe can get up and help him. It's a slow process, especially so when compared to Barry's usual pace, but soon enough, Joe has Barry standing with the sick man's arm slung across Joe's shoulders so Joe can help him get downstairs. Distantly, Barry hears Joe flush the toilet as they're leaving but he's too tired to even care.
They take the steps one at a time. Barry keeps his eyes focused on his feet, watching carefully as he takes on each shaky step. Joe speaks words of encouragement in his ear and while Barry appreciates the motivation, he still feels like a child learning how to walk for the first time.
They make it downstairs without Barry falling, which he counts as a miracle. Joe helps Barry lie down on the couch and Barry lets out a sigh of relief as the cushions envelop him. His eyes are shut once again and he focuses on not letting his unsettled stomach control him. He feels Joe run his fingers affectionately through his sweaty hair, hand hovering briefly over his forehead.
"I'll be back." Joe whispers and the hand is gone, his heavy footsteps retreating up the stairs, much quicker now that he doesn't have to worry about carrying most of Barry's weight.
Barry waits patiently, drifting around in his own little semi-conscious world. His head is fuzzy and unfocused, not necessarily forming a headache but rather forming a pressure that could develop into one. His stomach is uneasy, taunting Barry with its potential to make him vomit again. He's never realized how cold it is downstairs until his previous state of excessive heat turns into an uncomfortable state of cold sweats. Usually, he's in this constant existence of warmth due to his rapidly moving cells. It's a little disconcerting that he can be so cold without the aid of a cold gun. He's shivering and his teeth are chattering and if he wasn't so sure that it would jar his stomach, he would curl up in a ball.
Barry's alerted to Joe's return by a short gust of wind followed by a soft and warm blanket drifting down gently to cover his body. Before, Barry had felt overwhelmingly hot in the bathroom but now he's chilled to the core, leaving the blanket an absolutely blissful item to have obtained. Joe's hand now feels warm as he carefully tilts Barry's head forward as he slides a pillow below his neck. Barry settles down into his new blanket and pillow, their softness and warmth not necessarily taking away his discomfort completely but definitely easing it up a bit.
He opens his eyes now that his head is carefully cradled. Joe is standing over him, arms crossed. His face is all smooshed together and his eyebrows are deeply furrowed in concern. Barry wishes he would stop worrying, it's just the flu.
"'M fine, Joe." He tries to croak out. His voice sounds terrible and it probably doesn't help ease Joe's worry but hey, it's the best he can manage. He adds in a weak smile just for kicks.
Joe returns with a hesitant smile. "Of course, Barr." He looks off to the door and Barry knows he doesn't want to leave him alone. "I put your phone on the coffee table," Barry looks in that direction for confirmation. "So call me if you need anything. Anything. Got it?" Joe fixes him with a stern expression that's likely to settle his own nerves.
Sick or not, Barry still finds it amusing so he gives a small smile. "Got it."
Joe nods firmly before his face softens up. "Feel better soon, Barr."
Barry nods to the best of his ability. Joe steals one last swipe through his sweaty hair before he's moving away and out the door. Barry hears the door shut, the lock click in place, and Barry is all alone.
His day floats by in a lazy and detached manner. He throws up two more times, grateful that Joe had the foresight to leave a plastic bowl by his side. The TV was left on the Discovery Channel for Barry's entertainment. A program is on near the start of his day that's about rats and Barry tries to watch it but his mind loses focus near the beginning and he fades away from reality. He moves between disorienting fits of sleep and wakefulness. Most of the time, he's not entirely sure if he's even awake. His body temperature fluctuates, sometimes making him frozen as he tries to huddle inward for more warmth. Other times he's covered in scorching heat, throwing the blanket across the living room. He later regrets that move when he gets cold again.
Barry's aware that he's alone but he's switching between his living room and dreams of his living room so often that he feels like the world isn't even real anymore. Once, he dreams about the rats in the program and he wakes up thrashing around so badly that he has to throw up in the bowl. Another time, he's eleven again and his parents are tucking him in with smiles on their faces but Barry doesn't want them to go because he knows his mom won't come back. Really, he just wants the sickness to go away.
Around midafternoon, Barry wakes up to Joe's warm hand feeling his forehead again. For a moment, he thinks it's another dream but then he opens his eyes after a few minutes and Joe is still there, sitting on the very edge of the couch with his hand on Barry's forehead just like Barry had imagined in his not-so-dream dream. His face is still creased with the same lines of worry from earlier and Barry's so out of it that he wants to reach up and poke the wrinkles on Joe's own forehead.
"Hey, Barry." Joe says, his voice soft and delicate and practically a whisper. Joe glances down at the floor quickly and Barry can tell from his expression that he's spotted the bowl of vomit. "How're you feeling?"
Barry wants to speak up and tell him that he wishes he couldn't feel anything, but he's too worn out and his throat is sore from all of the vomiting so he merely raises a shaky hand and gives Joe a pitiful thumbs up. Thankfully, that gets Joe to chuckle a little.
Joe stands up and Barry doesn't want him to leave, but it's okay because he's just retrieving the blanket and he's back soon enough, draping the blanket over Barry once more.
"I'll be right back." Joe assures him. Barry waits, his head feeling like it's stuffed with cotton. At least he's got his blanket back.
He's staring blankly at the opposite wall when Joe returns and kneels by his side, blocking his view of nothing with his concerned face. He sticks something in Barry's ear and it doesn't register that it's a thermometer until it beeps and Joe pulls it back out.
If at all possible, the creases on Joe's face deepen when he reads the tiny electronic screen.
"What's up?" Barry asks. He can't really crane his neck to peek at the results.
"104.1." Joe states grimly. Barry thinks that's pretty high, but then again his temperature does run hotter than it did before the lightning. "We should get you to S.T.A.R. Labs."
Joe moves to start getting Barry in an upright position but Barry holds out an arm to stop him. With much difficulty, he swallows and says, "It's not that bad." At Joe's skeptical look, he continues. "Seriously. I usually run pretty hot."
"Barry, before today, we didn't even know if you could get sick." Joe argues. "That's too many unknowns for this cop."
"If it gets worse," He pauses for a moment. All of this moving is making him dizzy. "Then I'll go tomorrow. Promise."
Joe still looks uncertain but he accepts the deal. Great, Barry realizes after Joe's gone to the kitchen to fetch him some of his high-calorie bars and some orange juice. He just gave Joe something to hold over his head as an incentive to make Barry eat.
Barry delicately eats some of what Joe brings him, mostly because he hasn't eaten anything all day and Joe is constantly threatening him with his promise.
With some food in his system and his stomach cooperating for the time being, Barry's able to get a decent nap unlike his dozes from earlier in the day.
He's aware of Joe putting a damp washcloth on his forehead before settling back in a chair, turning the news on with the volume down low. Barry drifts lazily in and out of sleep, comforted by the fact that he's no longer alone in the house.
Some immeasurable amount of time passes by until he's stirred by the front door opening and closing. Iris must be home. Part of him wants to wake up fully and greet her, but another more persistent part keeps him tired and still. Joe must have called her to inform her about Barry's illness because she remains silent as she enters, not bothering to start talking about her day or trying to rouse Barry from his much-needed slumber.
A pair of soft lips brush gently against the top of his head before moving onward. He hears Joe and Iris converse quietly until he hears her soft footsteps retreat to the kitchen.
Knowing that his family's all home, Barry finally lets himself float away into a more permanent sleep, his body finally succumbing to his illness.