In which Sonic catches a stomach bug shortly after the Eclipse Cannon fiasco brought on by exhaustion.

The headache pounding behind his eyes should've been enough of an indicator that he was gonna have a rough day. But, as per usual, Sonic pushed it to the back of his mind, focusing on the tasks ahead. The headache only continued to grow with each passing hour, building behind his eyes, thumping in time with his pulse. He wasn't stupid; he'd had a migraine before. Only a handful of times, granted, but as much as the Tom and Maddie had attempted to ease his pain with animal friendly painkillers, a migraine was a migraine - which equalled a sucky few days.

The migraines were particularly horrible after the battle in space. The migraine in the following days had been so blinding; any form of light or sound made him sob under the covers until he passed out.

With each minute that passed, the migraine grew and grew, bringing along its best friends: nausea and aches! He could tell Tails was aching to question him. "Why are you speeding around, Sonic? You're sick. Go rest," is what he'd say. "Yes, Hedgegoh. I do not wish to catch the sicnkess which is ailing your body!" Knuckles would laugh.

Tom knew something was wrong. Tails seemed as happy as always; something Tom, whilst he appreciated it, found slightly concerning. The boy never seemed to have a down day. Knuckles, on the other hand, was almost the yin to his yang. Where Tails was overly confident in a plan, Knuckles brought reality forward. Where Tails was too down after a failed task, Knuckles kept him tied to the ground. Knuckles was as pleased as always, strutting around the house with Ozzy, dubbed Wolf.

Tom hadn't the heart to correct him.

Then Sonic. He was usually speeding around the house, harrass everyone into putting on Speed, then crash out after eating Tom out of house and home.

So, when he was eerily quiet in the mornings after the whole fiasco in space, Tom allowed Knuckles to take charge of the house whilst he observed the blue speedster. His skin was pale, clammy even. In his three years at the Wachowski household, Tom had never seen the boy so pale. And that included several instances of close calls... ones which shook Tom to his core.

The scariest one to date, not including the Eclipse Cannon (given that Tom was unconscious for most of it) was when Eggman, a name odly befitting, stole the emerald and nearly killed Sonic. By the time Tom and Maddie had managed to get to Sonic, he was barely holding on, about to be killed by Eggman. The end of the battle proved everyone had been smacked around. Tails had a sprained wrist, Knuckles had a small concussion, but Sonic took the brunt, as "the groin" whatever the hell that meant.

Knuckles commanded Tails help him clean up in the kitchen after breakfast, announcing that he was going to be making "cake of chocolate" for Maddie after her thousandth animal surgery. Tom didn't miss the sour twist on Sonic's face. With a frown, he attempted to follow the young boy back to his bedroom. "Dad?" A voice interrupted his mission. Tom resisted the urge to ignore the person but saw the blue speedster had already fled his eyesight.

He turned with a soft sigh. "Yes, Tails?" The twin-tail scratched his neck slightly. "Um… It's about Sonic," He said. Tom gestured for him to sit. "You've noticed, too? He seems off today." He mused. Tails nodded. "Yeah, that'll be the bug."

Tom frowned. "Bug? Is he sick?" As a human, Tom didn't know if Sonic, Tails or Knuckles were unlucky enough to catch human diseases, he didn't think so, but he had seen one of them nurse the other back to health several times to know catching whatever they caught, human or otherwise, both affected them differently, and wasn't an enjoyable experience at all. Especially if you contracted something called stomach flu.

Tom wasn't a sickly child, but he was a stupid child. And a middle child. So, he'd eaten shit he shouldn't've done, done things he shouldn't've done. Tom lost count of how many times he or his brothers had done stupid shit that warranted a trip to the ER or a night in the bathroom with their mom or dad keeping them company as they threw up their mistakes.

"Yeah. He was up most of last night. I don't think Knuckles woke up, but he kept me up. I dunno if he was being sick, I don't think so, but he was awake anyway." Tails yawned. "He definitely didn't sleep." Tom gnawed on his lip briefly. "Yeah, ok. I'll go check on him. Thanks bud." He made a move to leave, but paused. "If you're tired, go catch some zees. Knuckles'll be busy doing Maddie's cake, so you have the big couch to yourself."

Sonic felt like crap.
To put it nicely.

His migraine only worsened with the day, and so did the nausea. The pinnacle of the day was when Knuckles mentioned baking a chocolate cake. Sonic's stomach lurched into his throat as he fled, desperately trying to make it to the bathroom in time.

He moved quickly, too quickly, and it made him dizzy, almost falling until his hand met the surface of the wall to steady him. He hated this. There was no true source of his pain, no acute injuries, only a dull achy feeling all over and a fiery pain in the front of his skull as if an icepick had been lodged there. This feeling wasn't foreign, he'd experienced it once before. The vertigo added to his nausea, and a gurgle in his stomach made him feel like he might throw up.

And then, he did.

He fell against the door, not bothering to shut it. He shoved open the bathroom door, sweat pooling on his neck. He collapsed to the ground and made it to the toilet, heaving out vomit in terse, violent waves. After he finished heaving, he wiped his mouth.

"Oh, buddy."

Sonic closed his eyes and felt his mouth turn down into a grimace. While still on his knees, Sonic fought to compose himself, gripping the toilet on either side with straining fingers. It took all his stubbornness to retain a gag as he stood and faced his Dad. "I'm fine," Sonic acknowledged curtly.

Tom looked Sonic up and down, noticing his pale, clammy skin glistening in the warm lights, making him look even sicker. "Have you got the flu?" Tom asked softly, so as not to disturb his already hurting head.

Every word Tom spoke unfortunately fuelled Sonic's headache. He shut one eye, wincing, as he felt a sharp pain stab behind his eyeballs. "I'm ok... just something I ate," Sonic cleared his throat as he flushed the chain. Tom waited until the toilet basin was refilled. "Tails told me you were sick... and that you didn't sleep last night." Tom spoke.

Sonic swallowed back a retch. "It- it's fine." He shuddered. Tom cleared his throat softly. "Well... if you're fine, as you so claim, though I doubt it," Sonic rubbed his head. "I'll grab some water and crackers. You need to eat still."

That was code for; you're gonna puke some more. Do it in private, please.

So he did.

His stomach had yet to give him peace, but he'd stopped vomiting for just over an hour, so he moved to his bed, choosing to die there instead. Just as he was on the cusp of a restless nap, something cold was placed on his forehead. He opened his bleary eyes, blinking in confusion. "Longclaw?" He mumbled. "I knew you'd come back." He twisted onto his side, eyes slipping shut. Longclaw's hand began to comb gently through his undone hair, rubbing his temples every few minutes or so. "I knew you wouldn't leave me," He mumbled before falling asleep for good.

Tom blinked away his tears from where he sat. He continued stroking Sonic's head, rubbing his back when he was sick a few hours later, and soothing him back to sleep with another damp cloth. He would never say it, but he missed being able to nurse somebody. Sure, he was the middle child, but there was two youngers. He was sandwiched between his older twin brothers, and younger twin brother and sister. Whenever Louisa would get sick, Tom would do his best to help her. Louisa and Louis didn't get along very well, but then again, neither did Simon or Daniel, the older twins.

Despite the blue speedster assuring him otherwise, it was clear Sonic yearned for his first mother deeply, deep enough to hallucinate her care. Tom tucked the young boy, no more than thirteen/fourteen at a push, into bed with the bucket by his side and a glass of water by his head. He kissed his damp forehead softly, sitting in the comfy beanbag a short distance away.

Tom would watch over the ailing boy... for as long as he needed him to.