Humorous forehead feeling that turns serious!!!
A is feeling B's forehead literally jokingly, to insinuate that B is being silly or incoherent or just wildly off base somehow. So A gives them a mock-concerned look and places their hand on B's forehead for just a moment.
Then: Hesitation. Confusion. The mock frown turning serious. "Wait, what the hell, B?"
And in that moment A realises that B is ACTUALLY running a temperature and hasn't said a word this entire time 🥰🥰🥰
You know what's cute? Whumpees who dissociate during high fevers.
Whumpee has been battling a high fever all day. Caretaker tries to sit them at the dinner table for some soup, to fill their belly so they can take some medicine. Poor fevered whumpee just sits there, listless, with a thousand yard stare and bright red cheeks. Caretaker tries to grab their attention, but it's all for nothing. Whumpee just keeps shivering and staring into the void.
Caretaker caresses their cheek. "You really are not feeling well, are you, sweetheart? Let's get some food into you and tuck you back in bed".
Infected wound is so fine.
•Dangerously high fever, body fever ache and the constant pain of the wound.
•No contagion, so they could be hugged, be held and kissed and comforted rent free when they were delirious and drug high.
•Cleaning the wound and changing the bandage can be really hurt, but also not so much because they couldn’t even be fully conscious.
•IV and Injection and Stitching, which would be barely used when treating a flu, and needle on an arm is Sexy.
•The smell of blood and sweat.
•Aaaand in the very end, a scar as a Souvenir.
(Bonus: If a wound already stitched up for hours/days got infected then was broken open again for some reason.....
Reappearing after a whole year just to share some fluffy whump with my favorite community ❤️
He was exhausted. Then again, it was Shiro; when wasn’t he exhausted? It wasn’t as if his sleep schedule had ever really been particularly good. But this was a bone-deep fatigue, the kind that permeates all of your senses and makes every movement feel like a battle. Either something was wrong, or Shiro had seriously overdone it.
As he swiped his key past the sensor and the door of his flat whirred open, he really wasn’t sure one way or the other. It was well past midnight, and a cursory glance at his watch said it was definitely past 2AM. His flat was dark, though, and it was hard to see too much. Shiro leaned his satchel up against the wall and tugged his boots off, nudging them to the wall with the side of his foot before he started up the little hall. First stop was the bathroom, where he fumbled around in the dark for a glass of water to take his meds with; then, the bedroom.
Despite the darkness, Shiro could faintly make out the outline of the form currently occupying the far side of his bed. It was more than big enough for them both, of course, and Shiro would be lying if the presence wasn’t at least a little comforting.
Shiro undid the buttons of his blazer and shrugged it off, leaving him in his pants and under-shirt. While his belt wouldn’t exactly be comfortable, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Shiro leaned one knee on the edge of the mattress and leaned down, only letting his body rest once he had firmly settled his head against the warm, sleepy mass on the far side of his bed.
Almost as soon as Shiro had gotten comfortable, there was movement.
“Shiro?” Came the sleep-gruff voice as Keith craned his head up over the blankets. Upon getting no response, Keith huffed out a soft groan and leaned over to his nightstand, where he tapped his lamp on. The light immediately had him squinting though he turned back to find Shiro laying prone, still in his uniform (or the majority of it, anyway).
The sight may have been endearing, if not for the worry it brought. Shiro had clearly worked himself to the point of exhaustion; concern gnawed at Keith, only amplified as he brushed a hand through Shiro’s hair and found it damp with sweat, and his partner radiating heat. Abnormal heat, Keith noted as he began to shift his legs from underneath Shiro.
It gained a groan, at least, as Keith moved to sit on his knees and cradle Shiro’s head in his lap. That was a sign of life, at least - though Keith couldn’t help but scold himself mentally for thinking in such drastic terms.
“Hey, Shiro,” He said gently, fingers once again stroking through Shiro’s sweat-damp hair. All it did was elicit a soft groan, and Shiro nuzzled his face a little further into Keith’s quilt-covered lap. “Shiro,” He tried again. “Come on, wake up a little for me.”
Shiro finally stirred enough to lift his head, shifting his weight onto his good shoulder so he could blink up at Keith.
“Why’d you wake me?” Shiro asked.
“You’re feverish.“
That only gained a small hesitation, before Shiro nodded and let himself rest back into his makeshift pillow. “’M exhausted.”
“Not surprised,” Keith said softly, his hand gravitating to Shiro’s forehead. “You’re really burnin’ up.”
Upon getting nothing more than an absent sounding hum, Keith rolled his eyes. His fingers worked through Shiro’s sweaty bangs, fingertips focusing on massaging circles into the roots in an act that he only hoped was comforting.
“Sleep, then,” He bid quietly. “I’ll take care of you.”
Chapters: 1/4 Rating: T and up Category: Gen Relationship: Hunk & Shiro Additional Tags: Broken bones, infection, caretaking, fever
Summary:
After a mission gone wrong, Hunk and Shiro find themselves stuck on a deserted alien planet. They soon discover the planet is marked for destruction by the Galra, and must work together to contact the others. Despite their injuries, Hunk is hopeful that they'll be rescued before the Galra find them.
So when things start to go horribly wrong, Hunk is unprepared for the role he must take to keep both himself and Shiro alive.
imagine usually quiet, polite, patient, calm and composed whumpees undergoing drastic (temporary) personality changes when they’re sick
A notices B’s been irritated and annoyed the whole day, only giving them sparing, snappy answers. finally, they can’t stand it. ‘hey, B, what’s bothering you?’
‘nothing,’ B says frustratedly. ‘what’s wrong with you? you’ve been asking me questions nonstop. i’m just tired, okay?’
that’s when A notices it - the faint flush on B’s face, the way they fold their arms around themselves, the little tinge of hoarseness in their voice, a small sneeze here and there
A reaches out and gently touches B’s forehead, causing B to flinch a little, and maybe bat away the hand in annoyance. ‘what?’
‘you have a fever.’
‘oh,’ B says, in a very small voice.
‘come on, let’s get you home.’
later at home, with A reading in bed and B snuggling up to them, drowsy from both the sickness and the medicine: ‘hey… A…’
‘what is it? is your headache still bothering you?’
‘just a little, but… i’m sorry for being so rude to you just now.’
‘it’s okay, don’t worry, okay? just focus on resting.’
‘i- i’m sorry for causing all this and ruining your day…’ small apologies won’t stop slipping out of B’s mouth and A keeps reassuring them constantly - it’s okay, you’re fine, don’t worry.
eventually, B drifts off to sleep, and A can’t help but wonder how they fell in love with this dork who acts so differently when they’re sick. they’re glad that they’re here though, so that B doesn’t have to be alone.
Normally the chance of me seeing an ask in a timely fashion is slim-to-none but I did catch this anon request for an infected wounds edition of whump prompts, so here we are.
- a rookie assumes that wounds always hurt this much and his idols are just way tougher than he is, so he tries to be brave but it really sucks that he’s coming down with a virus as well because he feels awful, and… oh.
- injured and lost/abandoned/alone, he has just enough water to either stay hydrated, or to wash out the dirt from his cuts
- the team medic is either occupied saving someone’s life, or badly hurt and out of commission, so he keeps his mouth shut about his own injuries and tries to take care of them as best he can
- it’s not that serious of an injury so his team can’t understand why he’s so agitated about it but it just feels *wrong* right from the beginning and even he can’t tell whether it’s his anxiety/distress causing his heart to race, or something else
- he absolutely completely meant to get that cut properly seen to but other things kept getting pushed to the top of his priority list (like not being killed, etc) and now it’s suddenly and urgently something he needs to deal with *now*
- he technically has antibiotics in his medkit, but someone else needs them more, and he’s done a pretty good job of wound care, so he’ll be fine…
- getting hurt and realising that in his current situation, there’s no way to escape infection. He just needs to make it through the next two days and he can get medical attention, but in the meantime he just needs to soldier on, feeling the fever rising and his strength fading
- a teammate, eyes glassy, skin slick with sweat, hunched protectively over his arm/ribs/etc, unable to stop the cry of pain when he’s jostled
- a hand to the forehead and the shocked exclamation of “he’s burning up!”
- the nausea and the bone-wracking chills, skin feeling like it might split from the fire inside him, head pounding and consumed by the waves of pain that crash over him
The caretaker brushes the feverish whumpee’s hair away from their forehead using either a cool cloth or their hand, causing the whumpee to lean into the source of the touch, subconsciously seeking out that small source of comfort and relief from the smothering heat of their fever.
G2 with Lance/Shiro and Keith? Whichever you like most
Wow I am SO sorry this took especially long!! To be honest I wasn’t 100% sure what you meant by this and I should have asked, but I….didn’t. So it ended up turning into Shklance of some kind?? If this isn’t what you wanted please feel free to hmu again! And thank you so much for the request :)
Taken from this ask meme (Nausea + at home). A loose interpretation once again…I hope you enjoy! Beta’d as always by the perfect and beautiful @feverflushed
—–
Lance stood outside Shiro’s door, the tray in his hands shaking just enough to make the soup in the bowl ripple. He’d been standing there for a good five minutes now, wondering if he should knock or just leave the tray on the floor.
He let out a frustrated breath; this was stupid. He knew it was stupid, but it didn’t do much for his nerves. It was unusual for him, to say the least, but this was an unusual situation.
Before he could make a decision, the door slid open and he was suddenly face to face with Keith, holding a bowl of water in his hands.
Keith looked up, taking a startled step back at the sight of Lance standing by his door. “Holy shit,” he said, softly despite the shock in his voice. “How long have you been standing there?”
“I just got here,” Lance lied smoothly, praising himself for keeping his voice steady even if his hands were still trembling slightly. He tried to look past Keith into the dark bedroom, but he couldn’t see much past the end of the bed. “How is he?”
Keith visibly deflated at the question, looking down at the bowl in his hands. There was a cloth floating in it, and Lance noticed how Keith’s hands were damp. “The same,” he said dejectedly. “I can’t get the fever to come down.”
Lance frowned, anxiety spiking hot in his chest. “Still? It’s been like, two days.”
“I know,” Keith said, something between annoyance and worry in his voice. Lance saw how dark the circles under Keith’s eyes were, how pale he was. Had he slept at all this whole time?
“Well, I come bearing supplies.” Lance held the tray out, gently enough not to spill the soup or knock over the two water pouches on it. “Courtesy of Hunk. Coran said he’d come by later with another medicine to try.”
Keith eyed the soup warily. “I really don’t think Shiro can keep anything down right now. The fever is making him pretty nauseous.”
“That’s why the soup is for you,” Lance replied. “Really, when was the last time you ate? Or slept? Or left the room?”
Keith just blinked, looking surprised.
Lance sighed. It was clear that Keith was in full worried-over-Shiro mode, and was therefore totally useless in taking care of himself. “Alright,” he said, only a little exasperated. “Switch with me?”
It took some maneuvering, but eventually Keith got the tray and Lance had the water bowl. He shot Keith a smile, hoping it looked more confident than he felt. “Be right back.”
It didn’t take long for Lance to get the bowl filled with cold water in the bathroom down the hall, where he washed out the cloth for good measure. He had been half expecting Keith to bite his head off; the only thing that made Keith even crankier than usual was when something bad happened to Shiro. Usually, it was cute. This time, though, was different. This time it wasn’t just Keith turning into a full blown Mama Bear over nothing. This was…serious.
Making his way back as quickly as possible, Lance let himself in Shiro’s room right away.
He wasn’t surprised to see the soup sitting on the desk in the corner, untouched, along with one of the water pouches. The other was in Keith’s hand, straw already in place, as Keith tried to gently coax it into Shiro.
Shiro was lying against a small mountain of pillows, most of them more than likely pilfered from various areas in the Castle. There was also a pile of blankets at his feet, bunched up in an untidy mess. Shiro looked like he was barely awake, his head turned slightly towards Keith, eyes half lidded. His face was pale, several shades paler than Keith’s tired one, save for the red flush that Lance could make out even in the darkness of the room.
Whatever this sickness was, it had hit Shiro like a truck a few days ago, after they returned from an otherwise routine off planet mission. The only symptom so far was the fever, which explained the nausea, but it only climbed higher as the days went on.
Keith, of course, hadn’t left his side since.
Lance stood rooted to the spot as Shiro took a few small sips of the packet, turning away after far too little. Keith looked unhappy, but didn’t force it. He ran a hand through Shiro’s sweaty bangs, murmuring praise as Shiro’s eyes fluttered shut.
It was weird, seeing them like this. Lance didn’t know what the hammering of his heart meant, but the feelings were drowned out by the strangeness of it all. Of seeing Shiro, their indomitable leader, so seriously sick. Of Keith, angry and impatient, handling the situation with such a foreign tenderness.
But maybe, there was a fleeting moment of jealousy buried somewhere in there. But for which person, he couldn’t tell.
Keith looked up, eyes sparking as he saw Lance standing there. He beckoned him over impatiently, and Lance felt the strange feeling again as he recalled the tenderness aimed at Shiro.
Nevertheless, he made his way over quickly, holding the bowl as Keith dipped his hands in to fish out the cloth. Wringing it out quickly, he turned back to Shiro, who had slid down the pillow mountain slightly, his breathing quick and shallow. Keith gently dabbed the cloth on Shiro’s cheeks, across the scar on his nose, down his neck. After a few dips in the bowl, he eventually swept Shiro’s bangs aside to lay the cloth against his burning forehead.
Pulling back, Keith let out a shaking breath, pointedly not looking at Lance.
“Ok, seriously,” Lance said, taking care not to be too loud. “Eat something. You need to keep your strength up. You’re no good to him if you get sick too.”
Keith huffed a frustrated breath, turning to Lance. “Coran said we were all exposed to whatever this is. If we haven’t gotten sick by now, it’s probably fine.”
“Sure, but staying up and not eating will make you sick no matter what.” Lance gestured to the soup, still untouched on Shiro’s desk. “So eat. Maybe sleep too? Like in your own room?”
Keith’s eyes flicked over to the soup, and he slumped down in his chair. “I know. But..” His expression changed, just slightly, but Lance was taken aback by the obvious worry on his face.
“I’ll stay with him,” Lance said suddenly, emboldened by the vulnerability Keith had shown him.
Keith’s eyes widened at the offer, and he was silent for a moment. But in the end, he nodded. “Just for a bit,” he conceded, getting up from the chair. “And I’m not leaving.”
Lance sighed, but nodded in response. He could only hope for so much.
Taking Keith’s post by Shiro’s bed, he rested the half full water bowl on his lap, watching as Shiro slept fitfully. His breathing was still labored, and shifted just enough to make the cloth slip from his forehead. Lance readjusted it as gently as he could, but suddenly, Shiro’s eyes were on him. “L-Lance?”
“Hey, Shiro,” Lance said softly, trying to smile. “How are you feeling?”Shiro’s eyes were unfocused, glazed with fever. He looked troubled, and Lance couldn’t help but brush his hand against Shiro’s cheek. His eyes widened at the heat he felt there; it was even worse than he thought. He could only pray Coran’s next round of medicine actually worked–so far the fever hadn’t responded to anything he’d come up with. Lance still remembered the uncharacteristically serious expression on Coran’s face when the last remedy had failed to make a dent.
Shiro was frowning now, and it would have been cute if not for the dire situation his was in. “Lance,” he said again, softer this time.
“Yeah?” Lance responded, but Shiro was still staring at him with unfocused eyes. Lance, in a moment of desperation fueled insanity, wrapped both his hands around Shiro’s, belatedly realizing it was the metal one. Shiro looked down at their joined hands, fear in his eyes this time.
“Not..that one,” he muttered, trying to take his hand back. Lance was alarmed at the lack of strength as he pulled; it took no effort to keep his hand in place. “I’ll…hurt you…”
Lance kept his hands wrapped firmly around Shiro’s metal one, squeezing just a bit, even though he wasn’t sure if Shiro could feel it. “No you won’t,” he said firmly. “You would never hurt any of us, Shiro.”
I trust you with my life, he didn’t say. I’d follow you into hell if you asked.
Instead, he moved one of his hands to stabilize the cloth, which had slipped again. “It’s ok, Shiro. You’re ok.”
This seemed to work, as Shiro relaxed a bit more into the pillows.
“You should try to drink something again,” Lance said, already starting to reach for the water pouch Keith had before.
But Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, turning away. “Can’t.”
This made Lance pause. “Why not?”
Shiro wrapped an arm around his stomach, breathing going choppy. He’d gone an alarming shade of pale at the mention of drinking “Can’t.”
Lance remembered how Keith mentioned that Shiro couldn’t keep anything down. Now he was even saying no to water.
This was bad. Worse than Lance thought.
There was a soft knock at the door, and before Lance was halfway out of his chair, Keith was already pressing the button to open it. Lance had dropped Shiro’s hand in the process, and Shiro whimpered softly.
At door was Coran. It was almost strange to see him like this: serious, unsmiling. Even his moustache looked a little unkempt, like he’d been fiddling with it without thinking. Lance knew Coran had been working on something for Shiro since this all began, redoubling his efforts when Shiro only got worse.
“Please tell me you have something,” Keith said in lieu of a greeting. Lance came up behind him, eager to hear the news.
Coran hesitated for a moment, eyebrows going up as he registered Lance’s presence, though it didn’t last long. He held up a vial, half full of something bright purple.
“This should do the trick,” he said tiredly.
Keith eyed the vial warily. “Does he have to drink it? I’m really not sure that’s happening right now.”
But Coran just nodded. “Right. I know he hasn’t been eating. Pidge explained how fevers can affect your delicate human biologies. Not to fear, though.” At this, Coran gave the vial a little shake, seeming to perk up a bit as he explained. “I’ve made adjustments for that. Hopefully this will kick in within a few vargas.”
Keith didn’t seem entirely convinced. After all, nothing else had worked so far. But Lance stepped around him, taking the vial. “Thanks, Coran. We’ll let you know how it goes.”
Coran shot them a smile, though it still looked tired. “Very good, then. I truly hope this works.”
Lance knew how worried everyone was about Shiro, especially as he continued to deteriorate. Even Coran, it seemed, had begun to let it get the best of him.
Coran turned his attention to Keith, giving him a once over. “Take some time to rest up too, Number Four. Can’t have you falling ill as well.”
“I’ll be fine,” Keith said, almost as if on auto pilot.
Coran sighed softly, but didn’t push it.
“Good luck, boys.” With that, Coran left them to it.
The door slid shut as they both turned towards Shiro, who had hiked the blankets up to his neck, shivering. Keith cursed softly, hurrying to the bed and quickly covering him with the sheets he’d kicked off earlier.
Lance came around the other side of the bed, vial still in hand. The purple stuff inside sloshed like water, thin and slightly translucent despite its unnerving colour.
He handed it over to Keith, who took it with a nod of thanks. “Can you…help me sit him up?” he asked hesitantly, as if expecting Lance to say no.
“Sure, dude. No problem.” He shot Keith a smile, who offered a shaky one in return.
Together, they managed to sit Shiro up, even as he grumbled a bit in protest. Lance couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in Shiro’s back moved, the hard lines of his shoulders.
Shiro, half awake and even less lucid, kept trying to refuse the medicine, even as Keith pleaded with him to drink it. Lance rubbed soothing circles on Shiro’s back, hoping to help without overstepping.
“It’ll make you feel better,” Keith was saying. But Shiro still shook his head, wrapping a protective arm around his stomach.
“Please?’” Keith asked again, sounding just a little bit desperate. “For me?” He looked up, making eye contact with Lance. “For us?”
Slowly, Shiro looked up at Keith, then over at Lance. One of the straps on Shiro’s tank top had shifted just enough to show a horrible jagged scar that ran down his shoulder onto his bicep. Lance had tried to avoid looking as much as he could–he knew Shiro would never want him to see, under normal circumstances–but up close like this, it was hard not to. It made Lance’s heart hurt. But it also filled him with rage at the ones who did this to him.
The muscles under Lance’s hands suddenly relaxed, and Shiro finally offered a single, jerky nod.
Keith let out a shaking breath, relief clear in his face. He managed to get Shiro to drink the whole thing in one go, before laying him back down on the bed with Lance’s help. Soon enough Shiro fell back into an uneasy sleep, curling up on his side with an arm still wrapped around his stomach.
Lance sighed softly, picking up the bowl of water and bringing it around the bed. After handing the bowl over, Lance took a step back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“I, uh…guess I should go?”
Keith looked up from the bowl, where he was wringing out the cloth. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Yeah. Sure.”
There was a moment of profound awkwardness, where neither of them seemed to know what to say. The silence was broken only by Shiro’s breathing. Was it Lance’s imagination, or was it sounding a little easier already?
Nodding, Lance made his way to the door, but before he got too far, Keith spoke up. “Lance?”
Turning slightly, Lance raised his eyebrows in question.
Keith seemed almost embarrassed, but he gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”
Relief flooded through Lance at that, at managing to help. He hated seeing Shiro suffer, almost as much as Keith did. To know Keith appreciated his help, especially with something so important, made Lance’s heart soar.
“Yeah, man. Anytime."
Character A is helping B to their room, trembling feverishly and leaning heavily on A’s shoulder. So far they haven’t said anything, just kept their head down and eyes firmly shut. But then out of nowhere they mumble to their friend that they think they’re about to pass out. A wants to tell them just to hold on, that they’re almost there, but B has gone about five shades paler than they were before so A eases them down against the wall and makes them sit with their head between their knees, rubbing their back gently. It seems like it’s going to be okay until B suddenly goes limp and faints anyway from where they’re sitting in a heap on the floor.
“Shiroooo.”
Keith shuffles through the living room, arm still in the sling, and plops down on the sofa next to Shiro, leaning with his head against his shoulder. “My arm hurts,” he whines, lips jutting out in a little pout.
“Oh does it?” Shiro questions, raising an eyebrow and turning away from his laptop only slightly. “Maybe you should have been more careful and not go around riding your bike in the rain while you’re sick.”
Keith only grunts in response, and pushes his face into Shiro’s shoulder. His fever isn’t high right now, but he’s a little warm.
This is another one of those situations for Keith when the painkillers make him a little high, but don’t do much for the pain. And Shiro knows it. He’s aware that as much as he’s upset with Keith right now, there’s no real point in tough love.
But with Keith like this, there hadn’t been much time for a lecture, and he’s still mad that Keith decided it was completely responsible and safe to run to the store in pouring rain on his motorcycle. Obviously not, with the wet pavement and road construction, sick as he already was, had ended up skidding across the wet pavement and broken his arm.
And while Keith’s medical file was slowly but surely becoming a collection of reckless accidents (nothing terribly bad at least, but Shiro isn’t really sure how many bones Keith broke in total, and that’s saying something), Shiro can never refuse to take care of him and keep him company. Not that he ever would, he gets worried enough as it is, but for some reason, today he feels more than just a bit annoyed.
With a (very) gentle hand, he pushes Keith away a little.
“Go back to bed. You’re really sick and you need to rest.”
Keith lifts his face up at him, looking a little hurt, before frowning.
“Don’t be mad at me…” He says, and he sounds so sad and congested that Shiro saves the document he’s working on and closes his laptop. He sighs, closing his eyes. He’s been working all day, until Keith’s accident, and then he’d gone back to work again.
Yeah, he probably needs a break as well.
Keith seems to have sobered up a little, which is decidedly not good - because right now, he is legit sad, and slowly turning away from Shiro.
“Hey,” Shiro says, softer. “Hey, come on now. I’ll go make some tea for us, okay? And then we go to bed.”
Keith nods, quietly, still looking a little spaced out. Shiro reaches out and rubs his back gently.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I know you’re not feeling well.”
Keith sniffs, leaning back again, and closing his eyes. The fever is probably coming back soon, and just for once, Shiro wishes the painkillers actually did something. He’s still a little high, but it’s obvious he’s in pain, and not just from the fracture.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” He promises, before grabbing a blankets to pull around Keith’s shoulders.
He comes back quickly, with two mugs on his hands, to Keith reaching behind his head with his good arm.
“What are you doing…?” Shiro squints, putting the tea down on the coffee table.
Keith gives up whatever he’s doing with a frustrated sigh, and looks down, fiddling with a hairband on his fingers.
“My hair is sweaty and I wanted to do a ponytail… but it’s too hard.”
Shiro chuckles, and takes the hairband, going around the sofa behind Keith and gathering his hair in his hands. “It’s not too hard, it’s just impossible to go at it one handed like you are…” He gently joins up all the hair, and does a decent ponytail, lifting it up to let Keith’s neck breathe.
“Thanks, Shiro.”
“No problem. Now drink your tea.”
They sip at their mugs slowly, sitting toether on the sofa, enjoying the comfortable temperature of the room while the rain pours outside. Shiro feel better now, his semi permanent headache letting off for the first time since he had woken up.
But soon they’re done with their tea. And it’s getting late.
“Let’s go to bed?”
Keith groans. “Hm. I’m tired.”
“A perfectly good reason for going to bed,” Shiro argues, getting up.
“You know what I mean,” Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go.”
Keith drops himself in bed as soon as he gets to his room, and it’s Shiro who gently adjusts his broken arm’s position and tucks the blankets around him.
“Sleep tight. And call me if you need painkillers.”
But Keith is asleep now, snoring lightly with his mouth half open. He’s starting to get actually feverish too, and Shiro doesn’t want to leave him alone.
He goes back to the kitchen and returns with Keith’s medication and a glass of water, as well as a cup of coffee.
And his laptop.
Lifting up the blankets, he settles in with his back against the headboard, laptop on his thighs, and opens up his essay again.
*
Wet, racking coughs shake the feverish whumpee’s bpdy as the caretaker worriedly wipes a cool cloth across their forehead.
Another band AU fic, because I don't get tired of this xD
I want to thank @vcepsis for coming up with this awesome idea and for discussing this with me and for helping with so many great headcanons I'm including here. This was fun! I hope you like it :)
*
"Great! You just created a song no one can sing!
"In my defense," Lance answers as he puts down the guitar, "it sounds awesome. And if either one of us ever learns the proper growling technique, this will sound badass. Imagine playing this live!"
Keith shakes his head with an amused expression.
"That's... never gonna happen," he says, "neither of us has a good voice for that."
"Yeah, especially not you, Keith!" Hunk laughs from behind his drum kit. "Your voice is amazing, but way too soft and cute for this."
Keith glares at him pointedly. Well, it was true. But if Keith's voice is soft and fragile, Lance's is too upbeat and poppy. And Shiro's... it could maybe work, if his voice dropped down a couple octaves.
This particular song had been created after Lance's trip back home, when his brother Marco had offered him a USB drive with sine cool music for him to check out. Among other softer things, were a few pop punk and melodic metal bands, and Lance had loved it.
So much in fact, that he had started writing a few songs in that same direction.
And it worked in theory, it did. Je had the lyrics and melody down, and Keith and Shiro were able to make some awesome guitar riffs, along with an incredible solo for Keith. Pidge and Hunk complimented the whole thing with powerful bass lines and drums, and they had a whole new song, completely different from what they had written before.
But the vocals? They were impossible.
As much as they wouldn't admit, their voices leaned a lot more towards pop and softer music. It was good for what they wanted, pop punk with the occasional ballad. This was a whole different backhand for them, and they knew it.
"Ah well," Lance rolls his eyes, "what's another rejected song... we can go back to it someday I guess."
"When you three have decent voices for that," Pidge comments.
*
"Okay, but are you positive you wanna do the show?"' Allura insists, removing her hand from Shiro's forehead. "Your fever isn't very high, but it's there... and you're all sniffly..."
Shiro shakes his head quickly.
"I'll be okay. I'll just take something for the fever and do the show."
Keith frowns, throwing a glance in his direction. When Shiro woke up this morning he was evidently sick, and everyone had told him it would be fine if he wanted to stay in and rest. They could manage with one less guitar for most songs, and Lance could cover for him with his acoustic one for the songs they needed two.
Yet, he insisted he was fine. Just half an hour ago he had taken painkillers for his headache and something for the fever before that, so it was time to take it again.
It's a forty five minute set list, so they can probably get through it, sure. And they'll have the next two days off, except Pidge who still has an exam next week, so Shiro will be able to rest afterwards.
Keith takes one more glance at Shiro, who's already up and around, taking his meds.
He should be fine.
*
"So tonight," Shiro says into the microphone, "we're playing a new song!"
The audience cheers.
Lance immediately turns his head away from his mic to look at Keith.
"We are??" He mouths, utterly confused.
Keith just shrugs, equally lost.
Pidge and Hunk glance at each other, and back at Shiro.
They usually have a set list, and this kind of improv isn't too common. It had happened before, but only to switch the order of what they usually did - never for a new song.
There's a distinctly dopey look on a Shiro's face, and Keith's eyes widen in realization.
"And I'll be singing, because my voice sounds great for this today," Shiro continues.
Shiro may be a little high on painkillers.
"Ohhh," Lance finally understands. He walks over to Shiro. "Hand me that guitar then. I'll handle the rhythm."
Shiro unstraps his guitar and happily gives it to Lance, while Keith stares in horror, understanding what's about to happen. At least Lance is doing damage control. He quickly signals for a very confused Hunk and Pidge in the back.
"Feeling brave today, aren't we, Shiro?" Lance teases. "Whenever you're ready."
*
When they get backstage, Shiro dumps his guitar (gently) on the sofa, and promptly lays down with his eyes closed.
"That was awesome!! Dude!" Lance exclaims, patting Shiro's shoulder, who groans in protest. "I know your voice is fucked up now, but you gotta get better, and you're gonna learn the growl! We need some hardcore music to play live!"
"Yeah, doing this one was pretty awesome," Hunk laughs, as he picks up one of the towels to swipe it across his forehead, "I'm so sweaty but it was totally worth it." He then turns to Shiro, with a small frown. "Are you okay, though?"
"Yeah," Shiro raps out. "Just kinda tired."
Lance winces at his voice. The way it sounds, he knows all too well how bad that's gonna hurt in the morning.
"Geez, your voice sounds -"
"Horrible," Keith interrupts him, coming back from the hallway with a glass of water. "What were you thinking?? You're sick!"
Shiro lifts his head up to look at Keith, and no one can really he sure if the pained expression is just because of how bad he's feeling, or just guilt.
Keith looks angry, but he knows he's just worried. He accepts the glass of water and lays his head down again, closer to Keith's thigh.
When they get to the car, Shiro simply leans against the windows and lets Keith wrap him in his jacket. He leans towards him, grateful.
Hunk glances at the backseat with a hesitant frown.
"So are we still going out for drinks, or-"
"No-" Keith answers immediately, "Shiro needs a real bed now. You guys go if you want, but we gotta head home."
"Yeah that makes sense," hunk mumbles, starting te car, "home it is," he smiles.
*
"Ugh, are you serious, Shiro?? Why did you even perform tonight? You're barely standing-"
Limping into their apartment, Keith guides Shiro to his bedroom, supporting most of his weight, as Shiro didn't seem to be able to walk right in his own. He's either too tired or too feverish, and the last thing he needs is to injure himself by falling face first onto the carpeted floor.
"I'm sorry, Keith," Shiro rasps out.
"No need to be sorry," Keith sighs, partly in relief, as he opens Shiro's bedroom door and drags him to the bed, where he flops ungraciously. "Be right back. I'm gonna get your pajamas."
On the way, he grabs an extra blanket from the living room, and puts some water boiling to make some tea.
When he gets back to the room, Shiro is laying in his side, eyes almost closed, hugging one of his pillows.
"How are you feeling? You think you can get some sleep?"
Shiro shrugs, hugging himself closer. It's more than obvious he's at least a little cold.
"Hey let's dress your pajamas," Keith decides, "you're probably freezing in that shirt, come on."
Shiro obliges, slow and clumsy, but within five minutes he's much warmer. He could almost say he's comfortable, if it wasn't for the horrible headache and his throat feeling like sandpaper and hurting.
Keith leaves to get the tea, and Shiro curls up tighter under the blankets, and then reaches up with his hand to push his sweaty bangs back away from his forehead. Despite how much he's shivering, he's sweating all over and his cheeks feel warm.
He's almost regretting going through with the show at all. Would he feel better now if he had stayed home and rested properly? He wasn't feeling this bad before the show... but then again, he had taken strong meds, that he could only take again in four hours.
Keith comes back with the tea in less than five minutes. Kicking the door open, he walks closer to the bed and sits down slowly, leaning with his back against the head board. "I can stay if you want."
Shiro shakes his head. "Just need to sleep this off. I'll be better tomorrow."
Keith doesn't look entirely convinced, but eventually agrees. He picks up Shiro's phone from his jean pocket and places it on the bedside table.
"If you need anything just ring me, yeah? And try not to talk, your voice is completely wrecked."
"It's not that bad," Shiro grumbles, rolling to his side and pulling the blanket over him, "my voice will be better tomorrow."
It's not.
Shiro wakes up in pain, swallowing takes a lot of effort and talking is impossible.
Actually impossible.
Because when he tries, the only thing that comes out is a raspy weak sound.
He's feverish again, feeling the heated skin of his cheek against the pillow and the familiar ache near the stump of his arm.
It's still a little dark outside, rain pouring like yesterday, but Keith is already up, telling from the quiet steps he can hear coming from the kitchen.
He lets himself go back to sleep for a little, until Keith knocks on the door gently, before going in.
"Hey," he greets, holding a tray with a mug of tea and toast, and closing the door with his foot. "You need to take your meds. Your fever will probably be back soon."
Keith places the tray on the nightstand, and Shiro lets him check his forehead with the back of his hand.
He hisses quietly, muttering under his breath. "Too late," he sighs.
Shiro gets himself into a sitting position gingerly and picks up a pillow to put behind his back, as Keith takes a seat as well in the edge of the mattress.
"How do you feel?"
Shiro only shrugs in response, but even he can tell it's probably not a convincing shrug, and Keith sighs again.
"I told you you were gonna regret it, but I guess you were too feverish to really listen," Keith says, as he hands the warm mug to Shiro.
Shiro only lets out a weak noise with the back of his throat and accepts the tea, both of his hands hugging around the mug to warm up.
"It was kinda cool though," Keith admits as he sits down next to Shiro, pulling the blanket over his legs too, "I mean, definitely don't do it again when you're sick, and if you're gonna do it, please learn the proper growling technique, but yeah."
Shiro smiles tiredly, and leans back. Keith's tea always tastes nice, but right now he's not really sure he wants to put his throat through more torture. Swallowing hurts, a lot, to the point that even talking is exhausting, and he's not even hungry.
"You have to put something in your stomach with those meds, Shiro," Keith insists gently, shoving the tray a little closer to him, "just small sips, and then eat some of the toast."
Shiro coughs slowly, trying not to jostle his throat more than necessary.
"Glad today is a day off," he manages to say, leaning backwards with a tired smile and his eyes closed, before finally taking a sip from the tea.
"Definitely," Keith chuckles, "but next time please just take it easy, will you?"
me: *knows that it is extremely unlikely for adults to have a fever with just a cold*
character in fic: “well you don’t feel warm at least...”
me:
