Breakfast: He wasn't there.
French class: He wasn't there.
Lunch: He wasn't there.
Kurt was honestly beginning to become worried at this point. Wes had been in his room that morning when he left, still asleep. It was a bit unusual that he hadn't woken up yet, but he had assumed that he wanted to sleep in for once, like every other male teenager on the planet had done at some time in their life, if not all the time.
That probably should have been his first clue, because, really, when was Wes ever like other teenagers? Were it not for his slight obsession withe Redvines, Kurt would have thought he was some sort of android(just like Vocal Adrenaline).
That being said, he had only stumbled upon the Redvines when searching for a quarter he'd dropped on the floor, spotting them underneath his bed(which was kind of nasty).
When he'd questioned Wes on them, he'd stuck his nose in the air (as he was in habit of doing when offended), and replied haughtily that he only kept them as an emergency stash for Blaine.
Kurt definitely believed him.
In other words, it was all too obvious what was going on:
Wes was clearly ashamed of being revealed as a human to someone else, rather than just a gavel wielding robot(as he pretended to be), so he blamed his secret on Blaine, another mock robot.
Now that he thought about it, he supposed the only thing separating the Warblers and Vocal Adrenaline were Jeff and Nick.
And the fact that Flint couldn't dance whatsoever.
So(back to the subject on hand), Kurt was concerned.
"Have either of you seen Wes this morning?" He asked, cutting the leaves of his salad with clean, brisk strokes.
David and Blaine exchanged a look.
"No."
"I'm afraid not. I assumed if something had happened to him, we would have heard." David elaborated.
He pondered over this, chewing his salad contemplatively.
His decision made, he stood up(after swallowing), and stated, "I'm going to go check on him," not bothering to register the others' reactions before sweeping out, though he could sense their eyes burning holes in his back.
There was a slight falter in the conversation at the table.
Then-"What do you think's going on between those two?" Flint questioned obtusely.
They just shook their heads and went on with their exchange. All of them except Blaine, a heavy frown forming on his face as he stared off silently.
Wes felt like complete and utter shit. He woke up with a pounding headache and a horrible sore throat. Oh, and not to mention the fact that he was mere seconds from self-combustion. He was about to burst into freaking flames and he couldn't dredge up the energy to move.
He somehow managed to fall asleep after a few moments of listening to Kurt humming in their bathroom, waking up a few hours later to a cool hand on his forehead.
"David?" He said groggily.
The person hushed him, saying lightly, "I need to take your temperature, Wes. Open up your mouth." He did so, feeling the metal tip of the thermometer press under his tongue, along with the instructions to close his mouth and hold it in place.
He did, barely noticing in the daze he was in the slight beeping of the device and it being slipped out of his mouth.
"102.2, Wes, that isn't good."
Footsteps, footsteps, lighter than usual-weren't David's footsteps louder than that?
The thoughts flew from his minds, however, when a damp towel was placed on his forehead. He sighed in relief, barely taking in the next words the person spoke.
"Alright Wes, just stay there, I'm going to go get the nurse."
Gentle fingers carded through his hair, lingering slightly before the person left, softly shutting the door.
"How long will it take for this to blow over?" Kurt asked the school nurse, a kindly, middle-aged woman by the name of Mrs. Talley.
Wes had been asleep throughout the nurses visit, only stirring slightly when she took his temperature, just to confirm it for herself.
"It typically varies between one and two weeks. Do you want to have him moved to the nurse's office or-?"
"No," he answered quickly, "he can stay in our room, it's fine. Just tell me what I'll need to do." She paused at that, but seemed to accept it, nodding at him.
"He'll need to be resting in bed as much as possible," she said, "as little movement as possible, lots of fluids, soup's very good, and very nutritious food. He can take over-the-counter drugs if he has a cough, sore throat, etc. I'll be checking in every few days to see how's he's doing, okay?"
He gave her a smile. "Of course. I'll make sure to come to you if I have any problems."
Pleased, she beamed at him, saying, "You do that, sweetie. Tell Wesley that I hope he feels better soon."
"I'll do that."
Satisfied, she headed back to her office, content in the knowledge her patient would be taken care of.
Opening the door carefully, he stepped in, making sure Wes was still asleep. His breath was labored, sweat beading on his forehead. Kurt sighed, tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Poor Wes," he whispered, taking in the boy's flushed appearance.
Glancing down at his phone, he noticed the large number of texts he had received, no doubt asking where they were.
Grimacing, he sent off a mass text to the Warblers, explaining Wes would be sick for the next couple of weeks. Instantly his inbox was flooded with condolences and get wells to be passed on to Wes from nearly everyone, along with a couple of hysterical messages from Thad that were easily deleted.
He grinned, absentmindedly playing with Wes' hair(something he would never have let him done otherwise).
"You know, Wesley, despite how often you try to make yourself out as a dictator, everyone cares about you anyway. I guess even you can't hide just how big a softie you are."
With a smirk, he scribbled down a note on a scrap of paper, quietly exiting the room. Just in case Wes woke up and he wasn't there.
Wouldn't want him to go into a spasm, now, would we?
Not really happy with how this turned out,
I admit. The sentences just turned out really awkward, it seems. Those beginning paragraphs are just... blah.
Oh well. All the info about the flu I got off the internet, so it should be true.
Poor Wes. I do love to torture him, don't I?
Glee is NOT MINE.
Reviews are my crack.
-Mel