Sicktember Day 27: “This is non-negotiable" - Fran Bow

“Why would you do this, Fran? More importantly, why would you do this without telling me? Or Palontras, Mr. Midnight, any of us who care about you and your safety?” Itward demanded, sterner than Fran had heard him in any recent memory—if ever—as he rattled her jar of pills. “This is non-negotiable! You cannot give up your medication cold turkey!”

But I already have, Fran was tempted to say, biting the inside of her cheek. She had already been nauseated enough this past week since she stopped her doses; now with the surge of guilt for angering her friend, her stomach was churning even more fiercely.

“I was going to tell you,” she mumbled, swallowing hard against the dryness of her mouth. “I just…forgot, I suppose. It’s been kind of hard to think straight.”

“And that wasn’t enough for you to realize it was a bad idea?” Fran gulped again, wordless, and when he noticed her shoulders shaking, Itward softened. “Fran, I know trusting others with regards to your health is harder now after Oswald, Deern, everything. I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me, even if I don’t like it. But you haven’t answered my first question yet. Why?”

“I thought…I hoped…” Bloodshot eyes stinging, Fran hung her heavy head, unresisting when Itward extended a hand to cup an ashen cheek. “I wanted to believe I didn’t need them anymore. I thought c-choosing happiness, being here with all of you would be enough to…fix me. I-I’m so sick of needing the pills, Itward. I’m sick of feeling weak.”

“It’s not a weakness, sweetheart. It’s the cost of everything you’ve survived. If we could be enough to heal your heart completely, you know we would. But there’s no shame in needing a little extra help on the inside.”

Sicktember Day 26: Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest - Undertale

“It wasn’t your fault, bro. I just…overdid it.” Sans’ chuckle was too raspy and pained to pull off. “Ugh, never thought I’d be the one saying that.”

Papyrus could only stare, unsure if he wanted to scream, slap that fixed, false smile off his brother’s face or simply burst into tears. Flippancy wouldn’t get Sans out of this hospital any sooner. It wouldn’t purge the terrifying memory playing again and again behind Papyrus’ eye sockets: watching Sans hit the ground, sockets blacking out as he struggled for air…watching his soul sputter, HP dropping to 0.6. Cradling that fragile soul in desperate hands, turning it blue to keep it beating…

It wasn’t your fault. Why did his loved ones always resort to lying just to make him feel better?

“Brother…how can you say that? How can you just—just brush it off?! If I hadn’t dragged you out of bed this morning, insisting that some exhaustive exercise would be good for you,” he choked out, “this might not have happened!”

“…Yeah, well, you could say the same if I had told you I wasn’t up for it. I didn’t,” Sans sighed, shrugging tiredly into his pillows. “For all we know, even if I had stayed home, I could’ve had a soul stall right there in bed. They can happen anywhere, anytime, and low-HP monsters are more predisposed. S’nobody’s fault, s’just how it is.”

“But I should have paid more attention!” Papyrus lamented. “I-I should have noticed something was wrong before it came to this! I should have taken better care of you!”

Sans’ eyelights softened sadly, as did his voice. “It’s not your job to take care of me, Pap.”

Of course it is! After everything you’ve done for me, after all the ways you’ve suffered in silence…Now more than ever.

Sicktember Day 23: Under a Spell - Undertale

After the monsters emerged from the mountain, human society had become cagey with its use of magic. They seemed to hope the monsters would come crawling for their help, that they could dangle it over their heads, that this weaker species would need their power as a crutch while building their new life up here.

When the monsters proved they had more than enough magic of their own with which to thrive, there were some humans who decided the would-be crutch could be used like a club to beat them down.

The snowball pelted at Papyrus could have come across as a playful act, if it hadn’t been packed tightly with icy, shimmering crystalline shards. Despite the sting of impact and the human’s spiteful sneer, Papyrus was willing to smile and shake it off.

Since then, however, he couldn’t stop shaking.

Skeletons didn’t usually feel the cold, not like this, and yet here was Papyrus layered in three sweaters, curled up in a ball under all of the extra blankets from the hall closet, shivering with such force that the couch springs squeaked and rattled with him. Sans conversely was sweating bullets, jacket and shirt abandoned with the fire roaring in the hearth and the heater on full blast.

“Alright, just ran some towels through the dryer,” he reported, tucking them around Papyrus’ neck and chest before testing a palm against his forehead. “Stars, you’re still an ice cube!”

“D-Don’t you mean a…P-Pap-sicle…?” his brother slurred with a breathy attempt at a laugh that bordered dangerously on a sob.

Sans tried to smile for his efforts regardless, running a thumb over his frigid brow bone. “Now I know you’re delirious. Not a scratch to your HP but still, magical bioweapons are no joke, bro…I think we need to call Alphys.”

Sicktember Day 22: “You didn’t use my cup, did you?” - Fran Bow

Itward should have known better than to lose his focus in the Great Wizard’s workshop. The old tree was absentminded enough for the both of them; Itward should have kept a closer eye on the general workspace, whose area was whose, which powders and potions went where. As it was, too long a time had passed after he took a distracted mouthful of…something before the Wizard finally perked up, puzzled, and inquired, “Say, Itward, you didn’t use my cup, did you? There’s a tonic I haven’t quite refined yet, it was around here somewhere, I’m sure…”

The tonic was far from refined. In fact, the Great Wizard should probably burn the recipe, Itward decided as he curled around his bucket. The last round of half-digested magical essence had only just been washed out and already he could feel more stirring, burbling between his ribs like lava preparing to erupt.

“You poor thing,” Fran sighed, sounding much older than her years in her worry. “What else can I do to help?”

“You’ve done more than enough.” The words came out in a rush as he was forced to grit his teeth against the nausea surging close behind. All morning Fran was bringing water and cool cloths, washing out the bucket, rubbing small circles into his hunched shoulders, paying no mind to the way his temperature must sting her palms. He was meant to be responsible for her wellbeing and yet…

His eyes must have noticeably dimmed. That or Fran had an uncanny sense for his thoughts, as she leaned to press a reassuring kiss to his cheekbone. “You’re my friend, Itward, and that means I’m yours too. Friends take care of each other, both ways; I want to care for you like you always do for me.”

“…Thank you, my dear.”

Sicktember Day 16: Poison - Fran Bow

I will always take care of you, my dear. That was the promise Itward had so earnestly made. Now, with Fran trembling like a leaf in his arms, his confidence had shattered like bone.

She was so curious about the fireberries, it would do her some good to have a real pomology lesson. Itward had been so absorbed in describing these wild berries’ variants and uses, he hadn’t seen her perk up at the (seemingly) familiar sight of grapes and pop a handful of them into her mouth without hesitation.

As soon as he caught sight of her, Palontras was swooping in to check her pulse and her airway, touch gentle but voice urgent. “Her breathing is labored and the muscles in her throat have spasmed. She’s been vomiting?” As evidenced by the mess that was the front of her dress. “What happened, Itward? Was it something she ate?”

“Pokeweed berries,” Itward managed. “They look like grapes to inexperienced eyes but every inch of that plant is poisonous.” At that Fran, just conscious enough to hear, let out a wretched, breathless moan of regret. Something in Itward’s ribs somersaulted at the sound but he tried not to let it show as he pet her hair. “Shh-shh-shh, it wasn’t your fault. Focus on breathing.”

“The chemicals and powders you keep, Itward—we need fine charcoal!” Palontras darted back to the pink pool, drawing a dose of purifying water to be the carrier. Itward was loath to loosen his grip on Fran, much less jostle her but it was necessary to search his coat pockets. Fran twisted with his movement, quivering fingers clutching his lapel.

“Please…” she gasped, followed by a weak dry heave. “D-Don’t…leave me…”

Despite his failure to protect her, she still wanted him, needed him. “I’d never, dear heart.”

Sicktember Day 15: "Who decided __ is ‘sick people food?’" - Undertale

“I understand now why it is called the ‘BRAT’ diet; a proper diet is exactly what certified brats will fail to eat when the situation calls for it!” Papyrus lamented.

“Hey, ‘brat’ is a younger brother buzzword; using it for older brothers is against the rules,” Sans mumbled, barely audible through his hot dog. To be fair a part of him was already regretting it. The bun, thick with grease, slugged down his already-sore throat with difficulty. There was a moment when he thought it might get stuck but washing it down with another squirt of ketchup softened the impact just a little.

“A certified buffoon, then! A ‘Buffoon Remiss of Attention to Tonics’—BRAT for short! I stocked up on all conventional immune-boosting foodstuffs! An aisle’s worth of chicken broth; all you had to do was heat it! Who decided that sorry excuse for pseudo-meat before you is ‘sick people food’?!”

“It’s comfort food. Isn’t gettin’ comfortable one of the keys to recovery?”

“What about my comfort, brother? What about my concern? I can’t hover over your shoulder at all times—and I wouldn’t, not at the risk of catching it—but I can worry at all times no matter where I am! And I do, I always do!”

Sans paused, grimacing mid-bite as the pain behind his eye sockets radiated dully down through his open jaw. He hated to make Pap worry more than he hated being sick; the thought of it made everything churn queasily between his ribs.

Sighing, Papyrus approached to run a hand over his warm skull. “I’m in no position to deny you your indulgences—but in turn you’re in no condition to deny your needs. Drink some water with this junk, at least. Won’t you?”

“…Actually, a hot broth chaser sounds kinda good.”

Sicktember Day 10: The Sniffles™ - Fran Bow

“I know it’s hard but you have to stop rubbing your face!” Fran pleaded, deftly blocking Mr. Midnight’s front paws from another aggravated pass at the itch. A scratch under the chin was usually enough to distract him but with his rhinitis he couldn’t properly enjoy it.

“This wait is excruciating, Fran!” he mewled, staring up at her with half-lidded, pitiful eyes. “How long does it take to equip a medicinal aero chamber? Has Itward told you anything?”

“Not since the last time I poked my head in to ask. That was only fifteen minutes ago, remember? He said adjusting the metered dose was taking longer than he expected,” Fran sighed apologetically. “But Palontras is there to advise. With both of them working on it at once, it’s sure to be done twice as fast!”

“I hope so. It’s just that I’ve have this h-hh—hhh—” Mr. Midnight tensed, nose twitching, sniffling in anticipation. Nothing happened. He sniffed again with more force, his exhale labored by a sharp hitching noise, but it only made his eyes water. Groaning, he rolled over out of Fran’s reach to get at his face again, scrubbing his paw pads over flaring nostrils. “Ugh, I have this horrid sneeze that keeps catching and still no medicine to subdue it!”

Fran glanced at the time, wondering if it was too soon to pester Itward for an update again. Then she brightened when she noticed the cup beside the clock, full of pens, pencils, and most importantly a feather quill.

“Why subdue it when it can be gotten rid of properly?” she suggested, giving the quill a twirl. “Come back here, I’ll help you.”

“If you say so. But do you really think it’s so simple as—ah-hh—chu!”

“Aww, you still sneeze like a kitten!”

Sicktember Day 9: Overdramatic Caretaker - Undertale

“Have another bite, dearie,” Muffet urged as she foisted the bowl in one arm, stirring vigorously with another while scooping a steaming spoonful with a third.

Given that he’d barely finished the previous bite, Grillby hesitated. The cream of coal tar was as homey and hearty as ever. Combined with a thermal tarp and towels, it went a long way to warm him back up after that sudden cloudburst. That said, Muffet had whipped up enough for a whole family of fire monsters and apparently intended to see him clean the bowl in one sitting.

“…No, thank you. …I’m full.”

“What? First you lose the healthy glow in your cheeks and now your appetite?” As he muffled an ashy cough in one of his towels, she looked aghast. “You’re still sputtering; you could be on the verge of burning out and here I am stirring sludge! Why isn’t it working?! I was distracted, I-I must have done something wrong!”

She hadn’t. Fire was just fickle, quick to splash and slow to stoke. “Muffet…”

“What is it? The ratio of cream to coal must be off—or did I screw up the liquefaction to start with? I’m still new to Firish cuisine!”

“…Muffet?”

“Should I have called Dr. Alphys about the chemistry? I still need to haggle with her for some more healing extract—”

“…Muffet.” Catching her nearest hand, Grillby offered a wan but no less sincere smile. “…I won’t burn out. You’re doing fine. Although…if you really want to help…”

“Of course! What more can I do to make that obvious?”

“Sit with me…Slow down. Destress. Take deep breaths. …Kiss me better.” His chuckle at her incredulity provoked another cough but regardless he tugged her closer. “…I mean it. Sharing your oxygen…it helps.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that.

Sicktember Day 4: Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday - Fran Bow

“Hah-chu!” Fran only just managed to toss her head aside so she didn’t sneeze right at Mr. Midnight. He made for a pleasant warmth on her chest but his tail had curled, tickling her nose without warning. Back bristling at the unexpected noise, he rolled hastily away to land in a fold of the blankets.

“Good grief, Fran! That might have scared off one of my nine lives!” he gasped, kneading the bedspread in agitation.

“I-I’m sorry…” She probably should have mustered the strength to reach for a hanky but the easier option was to rub her burning nose against the sheets. “It’s already scared off the ha—hah-chu!—happy start we had planned for my next year of life. Everyone put so much work toward my party, only for me to spoil it with this cold…”

She would have put on a brave face and attended anyway if Palontras hadn’t caught her in the midst of an inopportune coughing fit. Now she wouldn’t see balloons, wouldn’t get to indulge in sweet food and drink, just crackers and chamomile that she could hardly taste through the congestion.

“It’s not your fault, my dear,” Mr. Midnight protested, curling his paws over her nearest hand. “We’re disappointed for you. You deserve to have a wonderful time! We’ll have the party another day, when you’re well enough to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Sinking deeper into her propped pillows, Fran offered a paltry attempt at a smile. “If I don’t drown in all these cups of tea Itward brings me. By the time this is over, I’ll be happy not to see another teacup for months.”

Mr. Midnight paused at that, one ear twitching. “…Perhaps I’ll ask The Great Wizard to reconsider his present for you then, however intricately carved it may be.”

Sicktember Day 3: Con Crud - Undertale

This wasn’t supposed to happen, Alphys lamented as she slid a sore, heavy arm to the box of tissues. It defied explanation. If her head didn’t feel so stuffed, she might have tried to form a few theories on the matter but as she understood it right now, human illnesses weren’t supposed to affect monsters! Although even base reptiles could get respiratory infections. The point was it was a depressing way to end her first Surface anime convention.

She had tried valiantly to stay optimistic…even with Undyne out of town, unable to go with her…and nonhuman ticket prices had been driven up to deter monster attendance…and none of the other congoers were remotely interested in Mew Mew Kissy Cutie…Why did it all have to go so wrong?

The next time she had to wipe her face, it wasn’t all mucus. Heaving a feeble, shuddering breath, she squeezed her eyes shut. Crying would make it even harder to breathe.

“Yo, sis! I got your ramen here!” M.K. called from the door, though he looked sheepish as he nudged a bowl on a tray with his foot. “I mean, it’s kinda spilled all over the tray now but you can still eat it, ri—Hey, you okay?”

“…M’fine.”

“You sure?” When she didn’t confirm, M.K. swayed uncertainly from one foot to the other. “Uh…I-I can take it to the living room instead if you want the TV. Y’know, to watch your cutie cat show.”

Alphys sniffed thickly, running a claw down her face, and M.K. wondered if it was a dumb suggestion but at last she nodded. “T-That’d be nice…Thank you. Y-You don’t mind?”

“Nah, ’course not! Watch how fast I’ll go!”

“Wait, c-careful, don’t slip—”

“Wha-ahhh!”

Turns out laughing made it harder to breathe too but it was worth it.