Hey it's been a while. This is my second attempt at writing something for C.
Convalesce
You sniffle and wipe at your nose with the balled up tissue in your hand. Your entire arm shakes right down to your shoulder at the slight movement and you groan. Your name is Dave Strider and you are fucking miserable. Your head hurts, you're congested, you're coughing up phlegm and you're sneezing every ten seconds. To top it all off your entire body hurts and your fever is high enough to make you sweat even with the AC turned up and the fan on full blast pointed at you. It's not doing much besides ruffling your hair around and making the sweat on your forehead turn icy. You groan again as you roll to your side in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure in your head. You feel all the mucus in your nose drain to the nostril pressed against your pillow and start to leak, leaving your other nostril slightly clear. You swipe at your nose again trying to ignore the slight sting from the sore skin rubbed raw from blowing your nose every few minutes.
The door creaks open letting in a stream of light followed by your temporary nurse. He's trying to be quiet as he enters in case you're sleeping but the things on the tray in his hands are clinking around noisily. He uses his foot to close the door and comes to stand at your bedside. You halfheartedly try to swat his hand away when he presses his palm to your forehead. He sighs when he pulls away and you can faintly hear the swish of disgusting cold medicine being poured into the tiny plastic cup.
"Sit up. You need to take your medicine and eat something." He says, holding the cup of vile, thick, sweet liquid in front of your face.
You pull the cover up over your mouth. "I'm not drinking that shit." Your voice comes out weak and scratching. You clear your throat hoping it helps you sound less lame and un-Strider like.
"If you hope to get better any time soon you'd better man up and take your damn medicine. Otherwise this cold is going to continue to kick your ass."
"It's not a cold. Striders don't get colds."
"Bullshit. Stop acting like a child."
He effortlessly yanks the blanket from your hands and hauls you up into a sitting position. You grimace at the medicine that is now being held half an inch from your lips. You can tell by the look on his face that if you don't willingly take it he'll force it down your throat. Normally he wouldn't be able to overpower you but in your current condition he'd win in seconds and he knew it. You snatch the cup out of his hand sloshing a bit of it onto your hand and swallow it down as quickly as you can. Almost on instinct your tongue juts out of your mouth with a disgusted "bluck" sound. To be completely honest you could hardly taste anything with your nose this plugged up.
"Good boy." He teases, patting the top of your sleep mussed hair.
You'd punch him if your arm wasn't so wobbly. You try to flop back against the pillows but he stops you.
"Nope. You've got to eat something with your medicine."
"It hurts to swallow." You definitely did not whine when you said that. And even if you did it was probably meant ironically.
"That's why I brought tomato soup."
"Bleh." You groan in distaste.
"It's this or plain chicken broth. Also known as hot chicken water."
Admittedly tomato soup isn't that bad. It's definitely better than hot chicken water. You grab the spoon from the bowl he's holding up and try to steady your hand long enough to make it to your mouth without spilling. You're mostly successful, the bulk of it spilling off the spoon and back into the bowl. At least you managed to keep the bed and yourself free of soup.
"You're pathetic." He chuckles. Normally you find that toothy grin cute and endearing but right now you want to knock those rabbit teeth right out of his head.
"Shut up or I'll cough on you. I'm sure I'm contagious and I hope you get sick."
He merely laughs at that before feeding you a spoonful of soup. You manage to eat about half the bowl before your throat hurts too badly and swells a bit in protest. Once you're settled back into the pillows again you kick off the blankets and reach to pull the fan closer.
"You're soaked in sweat." He comments.
As if you didn't already know that. Thanks so fucking much for pointing that out Egbert. He ignores the look you're giving him and disappears into the bathroom. A second later you hear the shower turning on. Like hell you're getting up just to lean against the shower wall for ten minutes.
He comes back into the room and pulls you to your feet before you can protest. You all but collapse into his arms, your body feeling boneless and jellylike. He supports your weight with one arm trapping your waist against his side. Your arm is slung across his shoulders with his free hand gripping your wrist. It's almost kind of hot seeing him this strong, almost manly. He doesn't have to take care of you but he does because he loves and you've really got to let that sink in for a minute. Sure you knew that he cared about you but who else would take care of while you're sick? Not even your sister would do this much. She would just hand you a bottle of medicine and quarantine you until a doctor gave you the ok to be around people again. But this boy, your best friend, your boyfriend is willing to risk getting sick just to make sure you feel better. He's the one person you'd let yourself look this weak in front of.
Your head droops down onto his shoulder as he hauls you into the bathroom and toward the running water. You're able to strip yourself though that doesn't stop him from helping anyway. Once you're in the stream of hot water you're instantly grateful for it. The heat is easing the ache in your muscles, the steam is clearing your sinuses and you no longer feel heavy with sweat as the water washes it all away. You're able to wash up without shaking too awfully bad and don't need as much help getting out of the shower and back to bed. You use his shoulder to steady yourself as you change into fresh pajamas and discover that he changed the sheets while you were showering. With your fever broken you're not nearly as hot and sweaty as you had been and are able to get comfortable under the blankets. He perches on the edge of the bed and places his palm to your forehead again. This time you don't swat him away.
"Much better. Try to get some sleep and I'll check on you in an hour or so."
You nod and close your eyes all the fight drained out of you. The last thing you feel before dropping off into unconsciousness is his lips against your forehead.
The next day you're able to get out of bed and by the following day you're almost completely better. A few days later he's curled up in bed just as miserable as you'd been. But you're prepared to return the favor and show him just how much you love him. And maybe tease him a little in revenge.
Why are my endings always crappy or corny? Or both? So I'm sick again and you know how much I love making my babies suffer with me. I feel like if Dave were sick he'd either be really pissy or nonstop bitching but I thought slightly pathetic Dave was better for this particular fic. I also feel like John wouldn't be nearly this sweet or this helpful. I'm sure John would have Rose's take on the whole sick Dave thing and Rose would be the helpful caretaker. Still, whatever works right?