The next time I woke up, my arms were empty. I panicked immediately, sitting up far too fast and then having to lean forward and brace myself against my knees to stop myself either vomiting, or falling off the bed. Hangovers fucking sucked.

"Your boy did tell me you had had a bit to drink."

My head snapped up to look at my mother, and I would have rolled my eyes if I wasn't convinced that it'd bring on a world of pain. "How long have you been here?"

She looked at her watch. "Two hours, roundabouts. Enough time for Carlisle and I to have a good chat."

I groaned; I didn't think that was something I wanted, as much as I liked them getting along. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

"He's functioning better than you are," she chuckled. "He's just gone to the bathroom; don't panic."

As relief washed over me, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat in the chair beside mum, hugging her in apology. "…thank you for coming…"

"That's okay, love. It's a relief to know that Carlisle is alright. I was here when the nurse came around before, and he's doing a lot better, by the sound of it. Just be careful with him; I think he's still a bit dizzy."

I waited impatiently for him to come back, standing immediately once he was in sight. He stumbled into my arms, and I hugged him tightly, kissing his forehead. For lack of a better term, he looked like absolute shit. "You don't look good..."

"...Thanks, Gar…" Walking around obviously hadn't been a good idea, and I made him sit on the bed before he fell. Still quite pale, I didn't really believe him, and he still didn't look well at all. "…I get to go home today…I think…" he mumbled, his voice muffled by my shoulder. There were clear nerves in his tone, but I couldn't pick what was wrong.

"What are you worried about? Do you not feel well enough to go?" I asked carefully, rubbing his back.

"…I'll be okay…I just feel a bit sick…" he admitted, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "The drive…I'm scared that I'll…"

"If you get carsick, we can pull over," I assured him, tracing circles against the small of his back with my thumb.

"I'll drive you two home, and I'll go easy on you, sweetheart," mum murmured, touching his arm.

Her reassurance dropped the tension from his shoulders, and he relaxed into me.

.

.

As soon as they cleared him to eat, I wandered over to the cafeterrior to get a bottle of lemonade, hoping that the sweet liquid might help to perk him up a bit. The doctors were reluctant to give him any pain-killers, but he essentially had the world's worst hangover, and was clearly hurting. He'd fallen asleep by the time I got back, thank god, and I didn't wake him up. Instead, I just sat next to my mother again, holding his hand on the bed. His fingers were limp and cold in mine, but I felt more secure when I was touching him.

"He'll be alright," mum murmured, seeing me watching him.

"He scared the shit out of me...god, if I'd had any more to drink than I did, and hadn't been able to take him to the hospital…" My head was spinning; that was not at all how last night was supposed to go. I watched him carefully as he started to shift, increasing the pressure on his fingers.

"But you got him here. He might not be feeling good for a few days, but he'll be okay. You can't be beating yourself up over this, Garrett, it's not your fault." We were keeping our voices down, but he was still disturbed by the noise.

Beginning to fidget with the sheet on the bed, he was starting to hyperventilate again, wincing and struggling to combat the varying amounts of pain he was in. He was awake suddenly, gagging into the container that he was still managing to hold onto, but having nothing left to bring up.

I stood up, rubbing his back as he leaned forward and tried to catch his breath. The violent motion pulled the IV in his arm, and I gently corrected the position of his wrist to stop it, rubbing his fingers. "You alright?" I asked softly him, running my hand through his hair to get it off his face as it stuck to him.

He nodded miserably, leaning into me as he shivered. "...still in hospital?" he asked dizzily, glancing around but too out of it to figure it out.

"Yeah, you're still in hospital. Will you have something to drink?" Once he agreed, I poured some lemonade into a paper cup, passing it to him. Unfortunately, I hadn't realised that the liquid was too cold, and his trembling worsened immediately . I stripped off my jacket and wrapped it around him, rubbing his shoulders as I sat beside him. His thank-you hurt a bit; this was all my fucking fault anyway.

.

.

Mum drove us home once he was discharged, and I was hyper aware of Carlisle not feeling well. His fingers were so tight around mine that I'd lost sensation, and it didn't escape my notice when he swallowed thickly. I could imagine that if I felt this shitty with a hangover, he must have felt a thousand times worse. He was very dizzy as we got out of the car, leaning against me in the elevator as I hugged him against my side.

"You okay, honey?" mum asked him wearily, watching him as he was unsteady on his feet.

He nodded, tightening the hands around my shirt as we jolted to a stop. "...yeah...need to sit down..." Getting him to make it down the hallway seemed like a long shot, so I sat him on the couch. He collapsed immediately, and I shoved a pillow under his head just before he got comfortable. It didn't really matter; he was almost asleep anyway. Going to the bedroom, I grabbed a blanket, collecting a bucket from the laundry cupboard as well - I didn't trust him not to be sick again.

I wrapped the blanket around him as I crouched next to him, gently running my fingers through his hair as it disturbed him a little. "You're at home now; it's just me," I assured him as he glanced up at me, clearly disoriented and anxious.

"Get him to have a light meal when he wakes up; it might stop his stomach from eating itself inside out," mum murmured, watching us.

I was glad she had stayed; I wanted to cry out of frustration. "This is all my fault..." Fighting back tears, I rubbed his arm through the fabric, wanting him in my lap but not wanting to wake him up.

She squeezed my shoulder. "He'll be alright, Garrett. You did the right thing by taking him to the hospital."

"I could have killed him by giving him that pill."

She looked tired when I glanced up at her, and I felt bad for dragging her out of bed.

"It's okay if you want to go home..."

Thinking about it for a moment, she nodded. "Alright, call me later and tell me how he is. And make sure he's drinking water when he wakes up."

"Thank you for coming." I forced a smile, but an impending breakdown was looming.

"Give me a hug, Garrett," she instructed, wrapping her arms around me when I stood up. "It'll be alright; just keep an eye on him. Both of you need a good night's sleep."

I managed to hold it together until she was gone, but the tears overflowed as she closed the door. The quiet bang of wood against wood made Carlisle stir a little bit. Unable to speak past the lump in my throat, I sat beside him on the floor, resting my head against his shoulder and slipping my arms around him.

"Are you okay?" he asked sleepily, his words sort of slurred together. He ran his fingers through my hair, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Just worried," I admitted shakily, squeezing him gently. "Do you want to go to bed?"

He nodded, carefully sitting up. "I'm really dizzy...don't let me go?" he pleaded, slipping his arms around me as I sat back.

"I won't let you fall, Carlisle." As I stood up, I made sure to hold him carefully, wrapping my arm around his waist. "Can you drink?" I asked once he was lying down again.

The couple of mouthfuls of water he forced downed seemed like an immense effort, and his hands shook so badly he was at risk of spilling it everywhere. There wasn't any point in wanting him to change his clothes; it would only hurt him, and he was already exhausted.

I fell into bed beside him, shifting close to him and rubbing his arm. "Can I hug you? I'll be careful," I promised, wanting the reassurance of having him in my arms.

He shuffled back into me, seemingly relieved to be held as I kept him against my chest. He was still freezing, and I hoped being under the blankets with my body heat might make him feel a little better. "...thank you..."

"Get some sleep." I squeezed him gently, being careful not to press on his stomach. "And wake me up if you need to, okay?"

Folding his arms over top of mine, he nodded, already mostly unconscious.

.

.

It was late afternoon by the time I woke up, and Carlisle was still curled up next to me. There was a glass of water on the bedside table, indicating he'd been up at some point, but now he just looked uncomfortable, even asleep.

I rolled out of bed, getting up to go to the bathroom, and by the time I came back, he was awake again. "Hey...how are you feeling?" I asked anxiously, sitting on the edge of the bed to rub his arm.

Despite offering a tired smile, he didn't look well. "...sleepy...?"

"I bet." Although I was pleased to have him talking, my smile quickly faded; he really didn't look good. My eyes landed on the box of pills on the bedside table - low grade pain killers, which he wasn't supposed to have. I picked it up, shaking it gently to catch his attention. "You can't take these, Carlisle, remember?"

He winced at the sound. "...head really hurts..." he mumbled in explanation, guilty. He wasn't thinking straight, I knew that, and I fought not to scold him for it.

"You're not allowed to take anything like this for a few days; the doctors said it wasn't safe."

Just nodding, he was anxious, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. "...forgot…"

"Tell me if you feel worse," I murmured, shifting him to lie on me. With a sigh, I lay back against the pillows, folding my arm over my face and running my free hand through his hair.

While he was under the blankets, he couldn't really cuddle into me like he wanted to, but was too tired to free himself. Instead, he just half-heartedly wrapped his arms around me.

We couldn't stay like this, neither of us were comfortable. I sat up and shifted away enough to pull the sheets down, climbing back into bed. "Come here," I murmured as I leaned back against the headboard and pulled him into my lap. Once he had settled again, I wrapped the blankets around him. The only thing I could do was hope that he could just sleep it off.

.

.

I knew I was essentially babying him, and that he was partly hating it, but at this point I was too scared not to. He couldn't stomach anything, shook continually, could barely move, and had the world's worst migraine.

For dinner, I tried to make something that wouldn't be painful if it came back up again, settling on soup and hoping he could keep it down.. I shoved my food down my throat as fast as I could, ditching my plate in the sink and then moving to fill a bowl for Carlisle.

"Do you think you might be able to eat something?" I asked, sitting on the bed next to him with the dinner.

"...Isn't it supposed to be breakfast in bed?" he asked softly, trying to tease me, but too pale and shaky.

"I guess it is, normally, but you're not going anywhere." Even sitting up seemed like quite a task, and what little colour was there left seeped from his cheeks. "You're still dizzy?"

"Y-yeah...Gar...I don't think I can eat that…" he admitted. "...sorry…"

I set the bowl on the bedside table and sat next to him, hugging him loosely and kissing his cheek. "It's okay, but you still need to have something."

He was shrinking away from the sound of my voice, it being too loud and hurting his head. "...I'll be sick…"

Frowning, I squeezed his fingers. "Do you need to go back to the doctors?"

"...wanna go back to sleep…"

"I know, Carlisle, you can. I'm just worried." I kissed him again, wrapping the blankets tighter around him. He wrapped his arms around my neck as I leaned over, pulling me into him with what little strength he has left. "You want me to stay with you for a while?" I lay down before he responded, keeping my arms around him.

He tangled his fingers in my shirt, kissing my neck. "...love you...sorry I'm a pain in the ass…"

"You're not a pain, Carlisle, you're sick," I chuckled under my breath, smiling when our eyes met. "If you get worse, you need to tell me, though."

"Y-yeah, okay…" he agreed, swallowing thickly. His knuckles were white from squeezing the fabric in his hands so tightly, gritting his teeth to smother the waves of nausea.

With a quiet groan, he leaned his head against my chest. I rubbed the back of his hand, avoiding the grazes from his tumble out of the cab earlier. "Are you alright?" I asked warily.

"...really not feeling good…" he admitted after a moment of deciding whether to tell me the truth.

I carefully pulled him into my lap, getting him to lie down against me. The coolness of my palm against his forehead seemed to help ease his headache, and I rubbed his shoulder with my free hand. There was no fever, but I didn't have any doubt that he was feeling absolutely terrible, and it didn't help that he wasn't allowed to take anything for it. "Are you going to be sick?"

"...I hope not…" Cuddling against me, he winced as his stomach cramped, drawing his knees up against his abdomen. From what I gathered, he was going through withdrawals, so it was no wonder he was so sick.

Running my fingers through his hair, I marvelled at how soft it was. I watched his face carefully, seeing all kinds of discomfort and the colour come and go in his cheeks with the pain.

"...how are you feeling?" he asked softly, absentmindedly pulling the waistband of his pants away from his stomach. Apparently it didn't help to shift the pressure, because he continued to shift and to try and make it stop. The movement eventually became too exhausting, and he sank back into me, accepting that it was going to hurt.

"I'm fine, Carlisle, just tired," I assured him, undoing the button on his jeans and slipping my fingers under where it was squeezing him. It seemed to help a bit, because he relaxed ever so slightly. He still looked like he wanted to cry, though, and I was hoping like hell we weren't going to end up in the ER again tonight. "Is everything okay?" I asked softly. Aside from being physically ill, I knew that he was feeling pretty down after everything that had happened, and it really wasn't fair.

"I-I…everything was going so well, and then this happened, and your mother had to come because I created such a fuss, and…"

"I called my mother because I wanted the support, not because you caused a 'fuss'." Squeezing his fingers, I rubbed my thumb across the back of his hand. "It's not your fault, Carlisle."

"But it is! Realistically, the doctor probably did tell me not to take those pills and drink, but I didn't listen because I didn't want to take them in the first place..."

"It isn't your fault," I repeated, shaking my head.

"Of course it is, who else's fault would it be? It sure as hell wasn't yours…"

"Don't, Carlisle, please," I pleaded, fighting the lump in my throat.

"I stressed you out, and-"

"And it's okay. Everyone is just glad that you're alright." The shaky smile he offered me made my heart hurt, and I felt terrible for him; this really wasn't fair.

"Does...did you tell Alistair what happened?" he asked softly, his fingers picking at the seams of the blanket.

I shook my head. "No, I never said anything to him about what happened. I didn't think you would want me to."

"Thank you...he didn't need to worry over nothing. Did your mum get home okay? It was early when she left?"

"She's fine," I assured him. With a sigh, I shifted under him, pulling my legs out from under him so that I could lie back. He sat up without me having to prompt him, quickly cuddling into me as soon as I had settled again. "...And he wouldn't have been worrying about 'nothing', he would have been worried about you."

"...same difference…"