(This is a series of one-shots taking place after the story A Change in Fate; highly recommend you read it first. Thank you!)

Summary: Ever since the various incidents at Circus Baby's, Gregory has been slowly acclimating to this strange new life of his. He already enjoys it immensely. Even in a better situation, though, things are never completely perfect. This is evident to him, after the long road to recovery both he and Michael have gone through and still have ahead of them. When Gregory unexpectedly falls ill, he takes it upon himself to hide it and take care of it on his own. But does he truly still have to look after himself like this?

Author's Note: Well, here it is! The first one-shot. I remember I had been considering many different options of how to first introduce this series of short stories. I found a pretty good way to establish where Mike and Gregory are in their relationship and life together, while providing some new content and keeping the ending still open ended in a way. I'm also a sucker for sickfics; there's just something so adorable and wholesome about a character taking care of another when they're either sick or injured. The fluff and angst possibilities are endless, and of course, I just had to jump on that opportunity for my new favorite duo.

No warnings should apply, minus descriptions of nausea and a short vomiting scene. I don't know if anyone's sensitive to that, but just letting you know. I am, unfortunately, very familiar with the flu, mostly due to my childhood though I still occasionally catch it. But, hey, that just means I can write it accurately, right?

Right?!

Okay, yeah, getting sick a lot just sucks. Enjoy!

Gregory remembered waking up late at night, much past midnight. He was stirred from his trauma-induced nightmare by a queasiness in his stomach. After rolling around for nearly an entire hour, trying to shake the nausea as it grew worse, he finally fell back into his usual light slumber. He chose to believe then that it would go away; his stomach feeling upset had been nothing. However, when his eyes reopened to morning light seeping through the gaps between his curtains, he realized he was sadly mistaken. The moment he sat up, a flood of nausea churned through his stomach. Saliva rushed into his mouth, and he smacked a hand over it, just barely choking back a lump that lodged in his throat. It took him nearly all his willpower to not puke right then and there.

After a while of sitting still and breathing through his nose, he recovered himself. With a quick swallow, he put a hand against his stomach. It felt normal to the touch, but inwardly, it groaned and twisted. "Ugh," he whispered. "I better not have caught something. I…I hate being sick." He despised the flu; had always been quite prone to terrible nausea and vomiting whenever it did hit him. While out on the streets, such a thing felt like nearly a death sentence. He couldn't spend his time curled up or recuperating when he was supposed to be fending for himself. Such a sensation in his stomach brought back the bitterness of those memories, the hurt that so often haunted his sleep, along with the horrid images of a night he hated to think of.

But at least now he had Michael. What a relief. In fact, what an absolute miracle. Sometimes, Gregory still couldn't believe the man was there. Not just from seeing him die, seeing his literal corpse being used or lying there motionless, but the pure fact he finally had someone to care for him. It felt unreal.

As if on cue, a light knock came at his bedroom door. "Um…" Gregory said, his voice quavering just a tad. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Mike stepped in. Gregory immediately noticed how Michael was leaning quite heavily against the doorway. He also appeared paler, the faint, purple tint of his fair skin somehow lighter than usual.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, sending Gregory a tired smile. "Do you know what time it is?"

Gregory blinked a couple of times, silently weighing what to do. Clearly, Michael was having one of those harder days, when his own physical health battled him. Nearly every day was a struggle. It wasn't as bad as the time they first escaped Circus Baby's, but Michael still had random fits of weakness or pain, and his body constantly acted like it was practically trying to kill itself. They'd done what they could, and he at least looked fairly normal, despite his unnatural complexion, a few mostly hidden wounds, and bizarre eyes. The process took a toll on him, though, and Gregory knew Michael had to take it easy today. He'd already seen what could happen when Mike pushed himself during times like this.

Forcing a smile, Gregory looked to his digital clock. "Um…" He blinked again. "It's past eleven."

"A bit later than usual, hm?" said Michael.

"Yeah, um…sorry," Gregory said.

Michael gave a chuckle. "Don't apologize. No harm in sleeping in."

Maybe that's something you should do more, Gregory thought, almost speaking the words aloud. He kept them back, saying, "Yeah, I guess."

"Would you like breakfast?" Michael asked.

"No…" Gregory said, speaking softly again. "I'm good." If Michael had to take care of himself, then Gregory couldn't burden him with his queasy stomach. It was nothing, anyway. He could handle it. Plus, if he truly started retching, that would be quite embarrassing. He definitely wouldn't risk breakfast, either.

A pause followed his answer. Michael stared at him, his white, glowing pupils examining Gregory's face, long enough he began to feel uncomfortable. This grew when Mike asked, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," Gregory replied, speaking quickly. "I'm fine, just uh…tired."

"Hmm." Michael's eyes narrowed. "Have you been sleeping alright?"

Gregory winced and lowered his gaze. He couldn't stop the slight heat in his face, as he thought back to more-or-less recently, when he accidentally awoke Michael in the midst of his panic over a nightmare. The man had assured him everybody had nightmares, especially after massive trauma. Michael himself was no stranger to this apparently, though he hadn't gone into detail as to why. Sometimes, Gregory still hated looking back on that memory, despite the wonderful comfort Michael had provided. It was embarrassing and horrid to become so rattled by dreams or memories of the past. Or both at the same time.

Gregory startled from his thoughts when he felt the bed shift beneath him. He threw his gaze to the side, met by the sight of Michael sitting beside him. He smiled at Gregory gently and swiped back a strand of his mussed-up hair. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but…I'd like to know."

Gregory swallowed. "It's better, I'm fine."

Michael's smile wavered. To Gregory's relief, he merely nodded. "Alright. I'll be at my desk if you need me." He started to rise, only to immediately sit back down as his knees noticeably buckled. Gregory tensed, opening his mouth to speak. Michael cut him off before he could, "Whoa," he said, giving a laugh. "Sorry about that. Uh…" He put a hand on the nightstand and used it to boost himself to his feet, wobbling.

Gregory watched, bunching his blanket up in his hands. "Are you okay?"

With another short laugh, Michael sent him an assuring smile. "I'm fine." Gregory couldn't bring himself to smile back. With a sigh, he watched Mike exit the room, then he released his blankets and flopped back onto the pillow. The sudden action sent another wave of nausea through him. He choked and covered his mouth. Their words to each other rang in his head as he did, two simple words.

"I'm fine."

They never truly were completely fine, were they? That was something Gregory hated, but also…liked. It was comforting, to have someone with him that had also gone through terrible things. They admitted it to each other a lot; were there for each other, comforted each other, yet they also lied through their teeth even when the other knew perfectly well what was going on. Gregory sighed, wrapping an arm around his aching stomach. Michael already had too much going on; Gregory himself did too, and neither of them should be bothered by this stomachache. Keeping it secret was the best option right now. He could take care of himself perfectly fine.

He stayed in bed till around noon when Michael called him to lunch. Releasing his breath, Gregory threw off his covers then slowly sat up and moved his feet to the floor. As he kept his breath deep and even, he got to his feet. The moment he stood, the sickness grew, a coiling discomfort in the pit of his stomach. His throat tightened and his jaw instinctively shut tighter. With a quick shake of his head, he forced himself out of his room, taking it one step at a time. By the time he reached the dining room, he wanted to drop to the floor, curl up, and guard his churning stomach that simply refused to feel better. Michael currently set a place for him at the table. He sent Gregory a friendly look as the young boy sat down on the chair, thankful to at least be off his feet. He gulped continuously, fighting back the saliva and the stiffness of his throat at the scent of the food. It was a simple sandwich with some chips, but even that made him feel like hurling.

"I'll be in my room, if you need me." Michael ruffled his hair as he passed. Gregory watched him go, biting down on his bottom lip. Most times, Mike sat with him during his meal, even if he didn't eat. They didn't know how many organs Michael still had, but he did not seem to have a stomach and could not risk eating or drinking. This obviously took a toll on his body, but they found ways around it, different options to help him stay alive…well, supposedly alive. Repeatedly, Michael had claimed he felt like a corpse, but Gregory didn't think so. At least, not exactly. Despite his pallor, eerie eyes, and being a tad scrawnier and sicklier now, he seemed normal. There was no stench, no clear signs of decay, minus some rips and tears that refused to heal in more hidden areas of his body, leftover from when Ennard housed him. Miraculously, the wound in his stomach seemed to be healing a little, after a long while of struggling. So perhaps he wasn't entirely dead, though not completely living either. Gregory didn't entirely like to think of it though, and despite gaining a better life, trauma and difficulties plagued them. He bet the reason Michael wasn't sitting with him was because the man currently busied himself with planning their future, what he was going to do about Gregory and himself.

Gregory sighed as he got back to his feet and grabbed the plate of uneaten food. All the planning in the world might never fix the problem. He had no idea what Michael was planning, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't leaving; he refused to. There was no way he would part from Mike, and the kind man seemed to understand this completely. But the strange thing was, despite living together, they hadn't quite decided how to handle this situation, with Gregory being a homeless child who technically ran away, and Michael possibly legally dead. But Gregory trusted Michael to handle all this. What he wondered over the most currently was, strangely enough, who he was to Mike. As he dumped the food into the trash can, he felt a stir of guilt, mixed with his already-churning stomach. He hated to waste Michael's work and trick him like this. If Gregory was being honest, he had started to see Michael as a father over the past several months. But the question is…did Michael feel the same way?

Gregory deposited the dirty plate in the sink then sank to the floor in front of it. He choked and leaned forward, his arm wrapping around his stomach. Perhaps they were just housemates of some sort, and if that were the case, Michael shouldn't be bothered with his sickness. Gregory could take care of himself, just like he always had. But, no, that didn't feel right. He didn't have to do that anymore…right?

Giving a long groan of annoyance, he put his head in his hands. "Things are supposed to be good. They're supposed to be right. Why do I feel like this?"

After a while of sitting there and trying to recover, he returned to his room. Once again, he remained on his bed, curled up in a fetal position and fighting back the sensation of needing to throw up. He hated vomiting and decided to avoid it all costs. Plus, then Michael would notice. Gregory was sure he'd feel better eventually, and then perhaps he could help Mike out.

A few times during the day, Michael checked up on him or asked if he wanted to do anything. Each time, Gregory pretended to be engrossed in a simple book on machinery Michael had gifted him and refused each suggestion. He did appreciate Mike offering though, despite his clear weariness.

"Ugh." Gregory threw his blanket over his head. "I don't deserve him." He tossed it back off, for Michael called again, this time to alert him of dinner. With a heavy sigh, he once again sat up. His muscles felt tense and nearly immovable, after all the time of lying still. His head spun and his stomach flipped. He hunched forward, breathing in and out, in and out. His trembling hands clenched around the fabric of his pants, which he now realized were still his pajamas. He hadn't changed. How had he forgotten? He closed his eyes, fighting through the sickness, the sensation of heat deep in his skin, and a terrible dizziness that refused to leave. When he stood, he nearly tipped over. He stopped the fall by latching onto his nightstand, sending the countless scribbled notes and few knick-knacks he'd acquired across the floor. Walking on wobbly legs and swallowing to keep himself from vomiting, he picked his way through his room, down the hall, past the living room, and into the dining room. He got a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he'd been here just a few minutes ago. The day truly had blurred by, hadn't it?

He blinked at Michael repeatedly as he came back in, carrying a plate of spaghetti with him. "Sorry for not staying with you for lunch," he said, readying Gregory's place at the table. "I've been trying to, well…just sort this all out."

Gregory nodded automatically, clenching his fists and shutting his mouth tighter. The scent of the spaghetti seeped into his nose. The lump in his throat grew and his stomach became even sicklier, causing a disgusting, nauseating sensation that sent dizziness through his head and caused even more tightening in his throat. He could practically feel the nausea there, as if the inevitable puke would come from his throat. But he had nothing to throw up, right? He had made sure not to eat or drink anything.

"Hopefully, soon, I'll have all this mess sorted out," Michael said, "and then we can—" He stopped speaking when he met Gregory's gaze. Immediately, concern clouded over Mike's features. "Kiddo, you're not looking so good. Is something wrong?"

Was it that obvious? Gregory swallowed, willing himself to open his mouth and respond. His stomach twisted and his throat stiffened even more. He couldn't open it; he'd puke, he knew it. Leaning forward, all he could do was nod again. Michael couldn't even react to this, for Gregory immediately fell to his knees, unable to keep it back anymore. He vomited onto the floor, the bile burning down his throat. His stomach heaved and his hands clutched fruitlessly at the cold floor as the hot pain of puking itched in his throat. Eyes watering and breaths choking, he finished his two heaves. He had dispelled nothing but bile, now leaving a string of spit hanging from his mouth. He blinked several times, trembling and trying to comprehend what had happened. More heat entered his face as he blushed, and he lifted his eyes to Mike who now knelt beside him, his hand rubbing soothing circles along his back.

Mike didn't look disgusted, or even mad like Gregory had feared. He remembered in the past being severely punished for making messes, and at this thought, he shuddered violently. He managed not to pull away from Mike's touch though as he asked, "Gregory, have you been feeling unwell all day?"

He hesitated, then nodded sheepishly.

Michael's frown deepened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Gregory didn't reply, looking away while he tried to recover his stilted breath. His stomach already felt a good deal better, but still it lurched and stirred with sickness. He also couldn't shake the uncomfortable warmth racing across his skin, nor the undeniable pounding in his spinning head.

Michael's hand transferred from his back to his forehead. "Shoot," he whispered. "You're burning up. Have you drunk anything today?"

Gregory shook his head.

Michael sighed deeply. "Gregory, you can't just—"

"Whatever," Gregory whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't scold me, you're not my dad." He shut his eyes at his own words, growing limper in defeat. Why did I say that? he thought. He is, right? No, he's not. I…I don't know what to… His thoughts trailed off when he felt Michael gently taking ahold of him. He tensed up as Mike gently scooped him up and lifted him from the floor. "No." He squirmed, only earning more nausea. "No, stop. You're weak, I…I can walk, I can—" He stopped speaking, noticing his words were beginning to slur.

"Don't worry about me," Michael whispered, carrying Gregory towards the couch. "You shouldn't have to. Besides, I'm not an invalid." He bent over and gently laid the young boy down on the couch, where he adjusted one of the pillows so Gregory's head rested against it. His eyes followed Michael as he left and shortly returned with a blanket. Gregory couldn't help but feel comforted when Michael draped it over him and tucked him in nicely, all the while frowning and sending Gregory repeated anxious glances. Once he finished, he sat beside the couch and again felt Gregory's forehead. His frown deepened. "You should have told me about this. This is unhealthy, Greg. I'm worried for you."

Gregory jerked his head away, causing Mike to withdraw his hand. "You…you don't need to worry about me. Worry about yourself, y-you're…you're worse off than me. And I've survived worse, anyway." He gestured to himself with his thumb. "'mmfine."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Clearly."

Gregory forced his gaze away.

"Gregory." Mike's voice grew softer, losing its scolding tone. "Please look at me." Huffing, Gregory met his gaze, staring straight into the black and white of Michael's make-shift eyes. He had a serious expression upon his face, his hand placing itself on Gregory's, which grasped the blanket around him tightly. "I'm not mad at you, alright? I hope you aren't getting that impression; I'm just very concerned. You shouldn't have hidden how sick you felt. You seem dehydrated and could be running a fever, two things that could have been avoided, had you just told me. You need to let me know when you're sick, alright?" He heaved a sigh, rubbing his thumb across Gregory's hand. "And don't worry about me, alright? I'm touched you were trying to think of me, but I'm getting better. You shouldn't have to worry over me, I can handle myself."

Gregory blinked. "That's exactly what I thought about me being sick."

"I see…" Michael briefly shifted his attention away. "Look, I get why you were doing that, and I would be lying if I said I haven't done it myself in the past, but it's still a horrible idea. Whether you're physically sick or…or just struggling over something emotional, come to me. Please." He tightened his grasp on Gregory's hand, smiling warmly at the boy. "You can always come to me, Greg. It doesn't matter if I'm struggling as well. We're in this together, and we need to be open with each other. I know it's been hard, and we still have a while to go, but it'll only get worse if we do things like this."

Gregory nodded, swallowing as his throat grew tighter, this time not from nausea. He silently cursed himself as the sensation of crying started to bother him.

"I hate you worrying over me," Michael said, gaze now focused on their folded hands. His smile faded. "I've felt so powerless to help you ever since…that happened. I don't understand anything. A lot has happened, in the past and…and even now. I'm not sure how I'm alive or what we'll do about this. I know I keep things from you, but—" he sighed heavily, resting his head against their hands, to Gregory's confusion and alarm— "I'm getting better, we both are. I just wish I could be stronger for you. I'm not sure how much of this I can handle, Gregory. I still can't believe what you had to go through in the past and back at Circus Baby's, j-just those horrid moments where that monstrosity used me like that, and…I wish I could take all that pain away, but I don't think I—"

"Stop," Gregory interrupted, whispering, his voice beginning to quaver. "Please stop."

Michael lifted his head.

Gregory gulped and blinked away tears. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Gregory." Michael moved nearer, as if he wanted to hug the boy. He didn't, due to him lying down. "There's nothing to apologize for."

"I…I guess not," Gregory whispered. "It was stupid, I…I just wanted you to look after yourself. You don't do it enough, and you're sicker than me." Michael opened his mouth, clearly about to argue this point. Gregory didn't let him, going on, "But I guess it's just hard to open up, you know? I never had anyone to go to, I'm so used to being on my own. This doesn't feel possible, I don't feel like I actually have someone now. I…I feel like you'll either refuse my need for help, which I know you'd never actually do, or I worry that one day I'll just find you—" he nearly choked on the next word— "dead."

"That won't happen." Michael took Gregory's hand again, holding it with both hands. "And I know it's hard. I…know what it's like to have no one to go to, or the one person you should be able to either rebukes you or…is the one to hurt you." His expression darkened. "There's a lot I haven't told you, and I'm sure there are things you haven't told me either. We can take things like opening up slow, like we have, but physical sickness is different." The darkness vanished from his face, and he smiled. "Alright?"

"Yeah," Gregory said. "Okay." He paused, trying to come up with something else, perhaps a reply to what Michael said about himself, clearly referencing a man he hated to think of. All that he came up with were two words that he said with more vigor than he meant to, "William sucks!"

Michael laughed outright, startling Gregory. "Well said, bud." He patted Gregory's hand, then got to his feet. "I'm going to go make you some tea and fetch a thermometer. Just take it easy, I'll make sure you recover well."

Gregory sent him a weary smile. "That's very British of you."

Michael scoffed as he headed away. "Tea is very good for an upset stomach; I'm not just being British."

"Yeah, sure." Gregory shut his eyes and snuggled farther under the blanket. "Keep telling yourself that." For the rest of the night Gregory remained on the couch. As he said, Michael made him some peppermint tea and had him drink it off-and-on, along with another soothing beverage to further help his dehydration. Gregory was in fact running a fever, but nothing too high; certainly not enough to be taken in. He didn't eat anything till near his bedtime, when Michael convinced him to eat a few simple crackers (of which he puked later, along with some of his beverages), but it did help a great deal with his headache and dizziness. At first, he was embarrassed by how much he vomited in front of Michael. Mike seemed oddly used to it though, not once grossed out and always acting so gentle when it happened, only further comforting Gregory. Even now, it seemed he ended up liking Michael more by the moment. Just the way he cared for Gregory and stayed beside him while he watched television and tried to recover was proof of this. Gregory fell asleep on that very couch, lulled to sleep by the soothing sensation of Michael running his fingers through his hair, from where his head rested on a pillow near Michael's legs.

When Gregory awoke, he was being tucked into bed. Michael acted quickly and gently, trying not to stir the boy. When Gregory lifted his head, he caught his gaze. Mike sent him a sheepish smile. "Sorry," he whispered. "I was trying not to wake you up."

"That's fine," Gregory said, mumbling through the tiredness that thrummed behind his eyes. "I'm about to fall back asleep." He gave a faint laugh, sounding almost delirious.

Michael smiled at him fondly. "I can tell." He straightened and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Greg."

Gregory re-shut his eyes, murmuring, "Goodnight, Dad."

Wait…that wasn't right. Immediately, his eyes popped open and snapped back to Michael, who stood frozen in the doorway, his hand on the knob. He stared at Gregory, an unreadable expression on his face. Gregory gripped his blankets and pulled them up a bit, trying to hide his blushing as his face gradually warmed up. He didn't have time to come up with an excuse or brush the comment off, for Michael merely smiled.

"Love you, kiddo," he said softly, then left the room, shutting the door behind him. Gregory stared after him, slowly releasing his blankets. His more guarded side screamed how embarrassing the slip-up had been, and that he should have immediately corrected it or stopped himself before the word even left his mouth. He'd called Michael his father inwardly for a while (and even slipped up unnoticeably once or twice), but never once had he considered purposely saying it aloud, when Mike may not return the sentiment. But then again, did he? Past the bashfulness and surprise of the mistake, came something else. What had Michael said before he left?

"Love you, kiddo."

Gregory tensed, taking a shaky breath as his lower lip began to tremble against his will.

"Love you."

His eyes filled, and he choked on a sob. When was the last time someone said something like that to him? When had anyone ever told Gregory, the unwanted, rude child who couldn't trust anyone, that they loved him? Never.

Tossing his blankets off, he stumbled to his feet and sloppily tripped his way through the door and into the hall. He ignored his churning stomach, ignored the tears now streaming down his cheeks. He simply dashed all the way to Mike who stood outside his room, turning around in surprise. Gregory flung his arms around him, hugging the little bit of Michael he could reach and clinging to him. His breaths stilted with his blubbering, and he just barely got words out.

"I love you too," he whispered. He wanted to go on, explain to Michael how much he meant to him. The first adult to care for him, a broken and guarded person who understood him, cared for him, and didn't once treat him like the disgusting wretch Gregory was made to feel he was. No more words left his throat…and that was alright. Michael understood; Gregory knew he did.

Kneeling down, Michael returned the embrace. Gregory adjusted his hug as he felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around him, firm, assuring. Not weak, not dead. Gregory buried his face in his shoulder, silently begging him not to break away. Michael did not. No more words were spoken; the two simply hugged each other, clinging to one another in the midst of the darkened hall, as if they let go for even a moment the other would disappear. But of course, neither would. They were together; safe and together. Gregory smiled while he recovered from his fit of sobbing. They still had a while to go, even months after the incident at Circus Baby's. That didn't matter though. Because, after all this time, Gregory had someone. He had a family.

Author's Note: Wghwpirhgprwih I love these two.