lickstynine

[lickstynine]

Thinking ab tiny, comforting, caretaking gestures

Caretaker gently touching whumpees thigh under the table, letting them know that their discomfort isn’t being ignored

Caretaker holding onto whumpees bicep, keeping them steady under the guise of a meaningless touch

Caretaker rubbing small circles on whumpees back as they cough or get sick, giving them a bit of comfort through the violence of their illness

Caretaker playing with whumpees sweaty hair, feeling their fever-warm skin and holding them close

Caretaker whispering small words of encouragement, little “shh”s and “it’s okay, it’s okay”s under their breath as whumpee cries, because they just don’t feel well

Whumpee collapsing into caretakers arms as they sob, because they’ve never felt this loved through such small actions

#whump #illness #emeto #caretaking #hurt/comfort

[lickstynine]

I'll be Home(sick) for Christmas

Day 31: "I thought that I was getting better"

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

warning/apology in advance: this one is long as FUCK

The hustle and bustle of the airport was a welcome change after the stale silence of Gwen’s flight. Even after a solid nap in the middle, the eleven hours had been long enough for her to get bored of watching in-flight movies and to catch up on all her missed episodes of Scrum V. California was the furthest she’d ever been from home, and she had to admit she was glad of the lilting Welsh accents that surrounded her as she waited at the baggage claim.

What seemed like a decade later, she made her way out to the waiting area. All the shops and cafes were decked out with tinsel and fairy lights, and she couldn’t help but grin when she remembered just how close to Christmas it was. As she walked, though, she became aware of a strange discomfort in her stomach. She had expected to feel better once she got off the plane and stretched her legs, but instead she felt heavy, like she was wading through molasses. Rubbing a hand surreptitiously over her midsection, she looked around the waiting area for a bathroom, only to see a line for the ladies' room wrapped around the wall. She'd just have to wait until she got home - it wasn't like it would take long.

"Oi, Stefani!" A familiar shout snapped her out of her thoughts, and she span around to see Nate waving from the seated area of Costa.

She waved back, hurrying over. "Hey," she said, setting her bags aside to hug him, "I missed you."

Nate gave her a tight squeeze, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You were only gone a week, you daftie."

"I know, but it felt like forever," Gwen grumbled. "I don't get why they sent us to America for a conference on public health anyway."

"Oh, you had a great time," Nate scoffed. "I follow your Instagram."

Gwen chuckled at that, feeling more relaxed than she had since she'd left. Stooping to pick her stuff up, she tipped her head to one side. "Lead the way then. Let's go home."

She was so caught up in the comfort of being back home that she forgot about the strange ache in her gut for the rest of the evening. It was only in the last hours of the night, when she was sleeping soundly, that it hit again. Gwen bolted out of bed, the pain in her stomach too distinct and ominous to doubt, making a mad scramble for the bathroom. She barely got over the toilet before her stomach seized, an embarrassingly loud heave tearing through her.

It was like she was a can of Coke that someone had shaken too hard. Just that first heave brought her dinner geysering up her throat, splattering audibly into the bowl and across the seat. Her knees shook, and she clutched the cistern with clammy fingers, struggling to stay upright as her stomach seized again. She retched loudly again, legs threatening to buckle beneath her, and suddenly a large, sturdy frame stood behind her, easing her down to a kneeling position and wrapping a supportive arm around her waist.

"Jesus, Gwen…" Nate muttered worriedly, brushing her fringe back from her face with his free hand.

“Must be…plane food,” she gasped around the gurgle of vomit in her throat. Since it had been the only option left, she’d had a burger on her flight - it hadn’t been hugely appetizing, but she’d have probably fainted on the runway if she hadn’t had something to eat. “Just need to get it u-up.”

"Oh, that's rough," he sighed, patting her back as she heaved again. "I'll get you some water." He stood up, grabbing a glass from beside the sink and filling it at the tap.

"Cheers," she mumbled. She spat a last mouthful of saliva into the toilet, then rested her cheek against a clean part of the seat. "I - Why are - Did I wake you?"

"You were a little loud," he said, trying not to chuckle. He ruffled her hair, asking, "Want to go back to bed? I could bring a bucket so you don't have to get up."

Gwen hesitated, rubbing a firm hand over her stomach and coaxing up a sick burp. She wanted to lay down, but the pain in her stomach was moving lower and she wasn't sure it would be safe to just have a bucket. On the other hand, she did want Nate to have a reasonable night's sleep.

"I want to go to bed," she confirmed, fumbling for the toilet paper. He handed her a square to wipe her mouth, then helped her to her feet. Gwen groaned, leaning against his sturdy chest. Nate wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back to bed and tucking her in.

"I'll go get a bucket. Do you want anything else? Tea, water, hot water bottle?"

"No, don't - I'm alright," Gwen insisted, curling up around her spare pillow. "You should go back to bed!"

Nate sighed, patting her hair gently. “You sure? It’s not a bother…”

Gwen hesitated, but the cramps in her stomach were making it hard to get comfortable. "Maybe a hot water bottle?"

"Coming right up," Nate said, disappearing down the hall.

Gwen rolled over in the meantime, pressing the pillow against her midriff. Her belly had bloated with sour gas, and she moaned, wriggling and squeezing the pillow when her stomach bubbled. She was rarely sick to her stomach like this - she couldn’t even remember the last time that it hadn’t been alcohol induced - and she could only pray she’d be over the worst of it in time for Christmas with the family. By the time Nate came back, she was twisted in a miserable little ball around the pillow.

“You sure I can’t do anything else?” He perched on the mattress beside her, tucking the hot water bottle under the covers and feeling her clammy forehead. “I can stay with you if you want, you’re looking really peaky.”

She shook her head minutely. “‘M okay,” she croaked, not bothering to open her eyes. “Go back to bed.”

"I'm not leaving you alone and miserable," Nate scoffed. "It's fucking Christmas." He rubbed a hand over her back, feeling the tension in her trembling muscles.

Gwen struggled to find another retort. Just his presence was comforting, and his hand on her back was warm and soothing. She scooted closer, the movement jostling a sick burp out of her. "Ugh… feel like shit."

Nate made a sympathetic noise, shifting his weight more firmly onto the bed. It was only then that Gwen’s brain seemed to switch back on, and her eyes flew open.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she mumbled, pushing him away feebly. “I don’t want you catching this.”

“Gwen…” Nate sighed in frustration. He knew what she was getting at even without her saying it - a bug like this could knock him right out for a week or more. He hated that he’d become yet another person in her life who was fragile, that she had to look out for and look after. “Don’t be daft.”

"It's not daft. I'm worried about your health."

"And I'm worried about yours. You're the sick one for once, let me take care of you." He insisted, looping an arm around her shoulders to pull her back in. "God, you're tense… you must really be hurting," he sighed, strong fingers kneading the knotted muscles in her back. She couldn't bring herself to pull away, going limp against his chest.

She had almost managed to doze off when her belly let out a loud growl. She groaned, swallowing heavily as hot, sour spit pooled under her tongue. Nate had been near asleep as well, but the noise caught his attention. He sat them up together, putting the bucket he'd brought in Gwen's lap and leaning her over it.

"You're okay," he murmured, rubbing steadily up and down her spine. She belched into the bucket, spitting up a mouthful of thick, stringy saliva. “Get it up, love.”

Gwen belched again, grimacing at the sting of acid in the back of her nose, the taste of vomit in her throat. “God…” She hunched forwards, elbows resting on her knees, trembling hands scrunched in her hair the only thing keeping her head up as a strained heave tore through her chest.

Nate patted her back, wincing at the noise of sick splattering in the bucket. "There you go, you'll feel loads better after," he encouraged. She let out a huge wet burp, moaning at the unsettled shifting in her stomach. He rubbed her back some more, feeling the muscles ripple with another forceful heave.

It took longer to settle this time. Even once the heaving had stopped, the coiled sick feeling in the pit of her stomach remained. Just the splash of water on her tongue as she rinsed her mouth out made the nausea flare, and she had to hold her breath to keep from starting all over again. Exhausted, she crumpled back against Nate, eyes closed as he eased her down onto the mattress, half asleep before he’d left to clean the bucket out.

An hour later she was throwing up again. Nate wrapped his arms wearily around her waist, seeing how she hung over the bucket. It seemed as if there was nothing keeping her up anymore, her body limp save for heaving breaths and convulsive heaves. "Easy," he mumbled, no longer very convincing, "you're alright."

Gwen groaned in vague objection, too weary and sick to articulate. She burped again, deep, wet, and guttural, but only a dribble of bile came from her stomach. At this point, there was very little left in her to throw up, but somehow she felt sicker than ever before, the nausea swelling from her stomach to fill her whole belly with a deep discomfort. Heaving again, she spit up a mouthful of phlegm, unable to bring up more despite how she retched. The convulsions were painful, pressure swelling lower in her abdomen as the muscles seized again.

Whimpering, she clutched at her belly. She couldn't keep from heaving for long enough to get any words out, and resorted to clapping a hand over her mouth as she bolted upright and staggered the few steps to the bathroom.

Nate hurried after her, though he knew what was happening. Decency be damned, she was far too unsteady for him to leave without supervision. He did, at least, avert his eyes, as soon as she'd sat down without cracking her skull, groping blindly behind him to find the bathroom bin and put it in her lap.

Gwen clutched the bin at once, her hand falling away from her face as she vomited noisily. The force of throwing up only made her bowels cramp harder, and she was sick violently onto the toilet as well.

"Please leave," she whispered as soon as she caught her breath, her voice cracking. "Please."

"Gwen -" Nate murmured softly.

She buried her head in the bin again, swallowing convulsively. Another gush of sick splattered into the toilet. "Go away!"

Nate winced, though he knew it was perfectly reasonable for her to want privacy. "I'll… be outside," he said, shuffling back into the bedroom.

Initially, he perched outside the door, waiting for a potential call back, but it quickly became evident she wanted him to stay gone. The sounds of Gwen being sick showed no sign of subsiding, and eventually he found himself emptying the bucket and freshening the bed just to keep from going mad with worry.

It seemed far too long before the flush of the toilet and her halting, shuffling footsteps. He had to brace himself not to jump up at the creak of the door, letting her come to him. She crawled into his arms, curling up against his chest with a weak sob.

"I feel so i-i-ill," she sniffled, her arms hugging tightly around her abdomen proving the point. "I w-want my mam."

Nate felt a clench of sympathy in his chest. Wrapping his arms tightly around Gwen, he snuggled her deep into the covers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm right here."

"I miss her s-so m-much," she blubbered, snotty tears seeping through his pyjama shirt.

"I know," he murmured, stroking a hand over her messy hair. "I've got you, just cry it out…"

Gwen continued to bawl against him, the crying only making her feel worse. Her head was starting to throb, and every hitching sob made her stomach jerk. That, of course, only made her want to cry more, burrowing into Nate’s warmth with a hitching groan. It took a while for her to calm down, exhaustion winning out over emotion in the end and leaving behind just the sour churning in her belly and an empty hollow in her chest.

Once she had settled, Nate gently brushed her hair back from her face, kissing her forehead. "Do you think you could stomach some water?"

“Want to sleep,” she mumbled, fingers clutched in his t-shirt. “‘M not dehydrated I swear, I’ll be fine.”

"You've been spewing all night," Nate fussed. "You definitely need water."

“Want to sleep,” she repeated stubbornly. “I’ll drink something in the morning.”

"You need water now," Nate pushed back. "Just a little, for me? I know you don't feel good, but being so dehydrated will only make you feel worse."

“Just let me sleep,” she groaned, turning onto her front to press her face into the sheets. “‘M not an idiot, I’ll be fine.”

Nate sighed, trying not to sound as irritated as he was. "Fine. Get some rest, then."

“Mmhmm…”

Gwen tossed and turned for ages, unable to get comfortable even once Nate had succumbed to sleep. Even once she did drop off her rest was fitful, broken by several more spells of overwhelming nausea that left her heaving emptily over the toilet, only bringing up tiny mouthfuls of phlegm and stomach acid.

By the time Nate woke up, she was already awake beside him, hunched into a little ball and lying on her side. The pain in her belly warned of imminent illness, but she was so exhausted, dragging herself out of bed no longer seemed feasible. Instead, she clutched at her stomach with both hands, face screwed up as she tried to will it into submission. Her stomach felt painful and tender, squelching ominously as gas shifted in her empty belly.

“Hey,” he murmured, reaching over sleepily to stroke her hair.

"Could you get me some water?" She asked, voice ragged from throwing up all night.

"For sure," he agreed, seeming to snap to attention, standing up quickly. "Gonna tell Mam to hold off on Christmas dinner too, we can have it when you're feeling better."

"No, no…" Gwen groaned. Just the thought of dinner was making her nauseous, but the idea of delaying everyone's holiday was worse.

“Yes,” Nate said firmly, stooping to kiss her forehead. “Everyone will understand. You can’t miss Christmas.”

Gwen whimpered. She didn't want to miss Christmas, but she didn't like making everybody put their Christmas on hold either. Nate petted her hair gently.

"We care about who's there way more than when it happens," he said stubbornly. "Can I bring you anything? Tea, crackers, hot water bottle?"

“Mm, no,” she swallowed clumsily, squeezing her belly a little tighter. “Jus’ water.”

"Okay, I'll be back in just a minute," Nate said, ruffling her hair. He made his way downstairs, hoping to perhaps find her a fresh cozy blanket or something else as well. His first priority, though, was talking to his mother about pushing Christmas dinner back.

"Of course," Alys agreed right away, "it wouldn't be Christmas dinner without the whole family."

"See, that's what I said!" Nate cried, "But she kept going on like, 'no, I'm ruining everyone's Christmas,' and I'm like obviously not."

Alys smiled, patting him gently on the arm. "Don't get too worked up. She's trying to be considerate."

"I know, but… she has to worry about herself sometime!"

"That's what she has you for," Alys said, handing him a water bottle from the fridge to take up to Gwen. "Did you need anything else while you were down here?"

"Um, I was hoping to maybe find a nice blanket," he said, "but I didn't have a specific one in mind."

"Well let's look, shall we?" Alys said, leading him along to the linen closet. They were rifling through a stack of soft throws and fluffy duvets when a loud knock at the door interrupted them. She put down the blanket in her hands, looking at Nate. "Were you expecting someone?"

“Uhhh…” He frowned, reaching for his phone. “Not that I know of. Did Lilah invite anyone?”

There was nothing on his phone to indicate who might be at the door, and he shrugged. Alys shook her head, clearly confused. "I'll get it," she said, hurrying over to the front door.

Looming on the front steps was Nicky, looking grumpy as ever. He had fresh scuffs on his knuckles and a cigarette hanging from his lip, hair sticking up where it peeked out from under his beanie. For a moment, Alys forgot he was a grown man - he looked every bit the same as he had at fourteen, when he'd turn up in equally unceremonious states.

“You got enough for one more?” He asked, one side of his mouth quirking up in a small smile. “Mum’s house is a disaster zone, I can't stay there.”

"Of course," Alys said, stepping aside to let him by. "Come in out of the cold," she urged, "but don't you dare bring that cigarette with you."

"Yes ma'am," he muttered, snuffing it out between two fingers and moseying in the door. The blistering wind outside didn't faze him - after a few years of sleeping rough, it was little more than a breeze. "Thanks for having me," he said, shucking off his coat on the way inside.

"And we've postponed Christmas dinner since Gwen's not well," Alys explained, taking his coat and hanging it in the cupboard for him. "But whatever we do eat I'm sure we'll have enough!"

"I don't need anything," he shrugged, "just a place to stay the night."

"Don't be ridiculous," Alys shook her head. "You're here, we're feeding you."

Nicky just shrugged, making his way to the kitchen in search of something to drink. After such a row with his parents, he didn't have much of an appetite, just a burning frustration he needed to suppress. Nate caught sight of him in the corridor where he was still rooting through the cupboard and smiled warmly.

"Hey! Nye know you're here?"

"No, I just turned up," Nicky said, looking distastefully at the bottles of eggnog and peppermint schnapps he'd found. They were certainly festive, but not the beverages of choice for someone looking to get hammered, even at the holidays. "Where's his sorry arse at?" He asked, praying Nye might have a bottle of vodka or something stashed in his room. 

Nate shrugged. "Might still be asleep, I guess. You know what he's like when he's got time off."

"I miss that," Nicky muttered. He had a week or so off for Christmas, but he'd actually fallen into such a routine that he couldn't sleep in anymore. He had been working relentlessly to make up all the money he'd squandered over the past few lousy years. "I'll go bother him." Abandoning the bottles he'd found on the counter, he made a beeline for Nye's bedroom, banging on the door. "Merry Christmas, you sleeping bastard!"

“Fuck off,” a hoarse voice yelled back. “It’s barely daylight, I’m not getting up yet.”

"That's fine," Nicky said, letting himself into the room. "You got anything to drink in here? I really don't feel like getting pissed on peppermint schnapps."

"You're not getting drunk in my house on Christmas," Nye groaned, hiding under the covers from the light. "I don't care what happened, get a grip."

"Oh, come on," Nicky protested. "Don't be a buzzkill. I'd just buy something, but the shops are all closed." He didn't elaborate on what was bothering him, knowing he wouldn't be able to talk about it yet without yelling. Falling down on the bed beside Nye, he made the mattress bounce.

“Good,” Nye sighed, rolling over and chucking the end of his duvet over Nicky. “So go back to sleep.”

Nicky sighed, settling into the soft bedding. He was quiet for a while, and Nye thought he might actually get to go back to sleep, but eventually, Nicky broke the silence. "She trusts him more than me. He left for twenty years, and she trusts him more than me."

Nye groaned again, mushing his face into his pillow. “You did nick her Grandma’s wedding ring,” he pointed out, taking great care to moderate his tone. “I’m sure she’ll come around eventually, but you weren’t exactly easy to trust over the last… well, the last decade give or take.”

"I'm not even saying she should trust me!" Nicky objected, "I just can't believe she trusts him more! He literally abandoned her, just vanished for my whole life, comes waltzing back in with no apology, and she takes him back with open arms. Meanwhile, I actually changed. I'm doing good! And she still picks him over me."

“Not being funny Nick,” Nye said, propping himself up on one elbow and peering at Nicky through the gloom, “but is this actually about her taking him back, or are you more upset that he only chose to come back after you were gone?”

"It's both! Of course he didn't come back while I was there, I would've knocked his fucking teeth out." Nicky left out the part where he left the house because he nearly had knocked his father's teeth out. "But it's not just that! If you don't count the years he was gone, she's known me way longer. I've been working so hard to fix my life and make it up to her. She's seen it. But she 'just can't bring herself' to trust me again. Meanwhile, he comes back without so much as a sorry, expects her to wait on him hand and foot, and she fucking does it!" Nicky cried in frustration, throwing Nye's other pillow into the wall.

“Love makes people stupid,” Nye muttered. He flopped back down on his remaining pillow with a sigh. “Or lust, maybe. Cause she definitely still loves you.”

"How do you even still love someone who abandons you for twenty years?" Nicky demanded.

“How did Lilah forgive you for disappearing on her?” Nye asked quietly. “She had every right not to.”

Nicky felt his blood run cold, heart jackhammering with a mixture of shame and rage. His hands shook as he suppressed the urge to deck Nye - mostly because a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach knew Nye was right. Pushing himself up off the bed, he stomped out of the room and down the stairs, only stopping in the kitchen to grab the bottles he'd abandoned on the counter, not even bothering to get his jacket from the cupboard. He sprawled out on the back porch, gazing gloomily out into the garden as he took a swig. It wasn't even properly light yet, the winter sun struggling to lift its head above the horizon, and the grass and leaves all glittered with frost.

The cold wind whipped his fringe about his face, and Nicky thought about where he'd been this time last year. The fight club wasn't a properly maintained building, and it got brutally cold in the winter. He'd been so lost in a haze of intoxication and self-preservation, he hadn't even realized it was Christmas until the other guys dipped out for a few days, returning with fuller pockets and brighter spirits. He had considered going home, asking for forgiveness, or even just for a place to spend the night, but the idea of begging for acceptance when his father had floated in on a cloud of total absolution… just thinking about it now, he started to shake with rage. Or maybe that was the cold. He took another long drink, relishing the way it burned his throat and flushed his face.

Back inside, Gwen had wandered downstairs in search of Nate and water. He'd been gone for so long, it had started to worry her, but the further she walked, the more she regretted leaving bed. Leaning on the kitchen counter, she squeezed her eyes shut against a wave of vertigo, gingerly palming her upset stomach. She was of half a mind just to lie down on the kitchen tile, at least until the woozy heat clouding her thoughts had passed. If she did that she might never get up though, she reasoned, and waited for her knees to feel a little less like jelly before reaching shakily for a glass.

It seemed nothing short of a miracle that she poured the water without dropping it, but drinking was another beast altogether. The first sip was a relief, soothing her scorched throat, but as she continued to drink, it seemed to pool in her stomach like stagnant pond water, foul and slimy. She swallowed thickly, setting the glass aside and taking a slow, shaky breath.

It didn’t do the trick. Her stomach lurched and she gagged weakly into her hand, stumbling towards the sink. God, she wanted to lie down. She hardly had the energy to stay standing, her legs limp as cooked spaghetti as she clung to the counter. Leaning against the edge of the sink, she doubled over, watery vomit splattering the basin. Limp as she was against the rim of the sink, her whole weight pressed against her bloated belly and it only made her retch harder, belching up another mouthful of bile from deep in her unsettled stomach. She pushed her hair back with trembling hands, spitting out bitter tasting saliva as she waited for the next wave.

The kitchen door swung open and she glanced up, only to duck her head back down as dizziness crashed over her. A hand clapped against her shoulder, but it didn't feel like Nate.

"You look like shit," Nicky said bluntly, patting her back while she heaved again. "Why're you even out of bed?"

“Thirsty,” she croaked, swiping the spittle from her lips with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up, only to stumble back against his chest as her knees threatened to give way.

“Woah, okay,” Nicky whistled, catching her by her hip and bracing her against his body. “Why don’t you sit down a sec, get your breath back.”

"Yeah," Gwen nodded complacently, allowing him to guide her into the nearest chair. Even then, she slumped forward, practically folded in half with her arms around her middle. 

Nicky hovered over her, one hand resting on her shoulder as he looked her up and down. There was a strong smell of peppermint schnapps about him, but he still seemed to have his senses. "Just… deep breaths, I guess. It'll pass." He muttered, feeling rather useless. What sort of bullshit luck got her stuck with him playing caretaker, when nearly every other person in the house was a doctor?

Gwen nodded again, rubbing a hand over her face. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I - I didn’t even realise you were here.”

"Yeah, well… I basically turned up, argued with Nye, and went out back to hide." He admitted sheepishly.

She snorted, a little smile playing around her lips. “Merry Christmas.”

“I know.” Nicky rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for holidays.”

"Aw, c'mon," Gwen chastised, "you're plenty scary enough for halloween."

Nicky let out an unexpected snort of laughter, smacking her on the arm. "Bitch," he chuckled.

She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head in her hands. “Guess I’m not cut out for holidays either, because I feel horrendous.”

"Bring back some American plague?" Nicky asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.

"Ugh, maybe. I thought it was just the plane food at first, but…" she trailed off, stifling a hollow burp into her fist.

Nicky patted her back, grimacing at an old memory of a coach trip back from Ireland. "That's rough. Think you can handle being dragged upstairs yet?"

There was a moment of silence before she replied. “I still need to clean the sink,” she groaned, although the tiny belch that rounded off the sentence suggested that trying to do so wasn’t a great idea.

"I'll do it," Nicky said, practically pushing her back into the chair. He strolled over and began rinsing it out, seemingly unfazed by the mess.

“Uh, thanks,” she nodded, dropping her head back into her hands.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Nate called out, “Gwen? Where’ve you gone?”

"In here," Nicky called, fishing under the cabinet for something to properly sanitize the sink. He was just finishing scrubbing it out when Nate came in, looking around worriedly until he spotted Gwen in the chair.

"There you are, I was worried sick."

"Well you went and disappeared on me," she teased, "I had to come fend for myself."

“Nicky arrived,” Nate exclaimed, “I was distracted for like five minutes.”

“And I had to come fend for myself!” Gwen pulled a face of mock outrage.

Nicky chuckled, running the tap one last time and turning around. “Alright kids, break it up." Turning to Nate, he added, "Are you going to carry her upstairs or do I have to?"

“I can fucking walk,” Gwen grumbled. “You don’t have to treat me like a baby just because I’m sick.”

“Considering I just cleaned your sick out of the sink, I figure I can treat you however I want,” Nicky bit back snarkily.

Gwen grumbled irritably, climbing to her feet just to prove a point. She was hit with an ill-timed wave of vertigo and promptly stumbled, groaning and clutching her head. Nicky scoffed, but still reached out to catch her. She fell against his chest, getting a faceful of stale cigarettes and peppermint.

“Alright,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “Up we go, and Nate’ll bring…whatever sick person stuff you need.”

Gwen chuckled weakly, still leaning against him as he half-guided, half-dragged her back to bed. As they reached the stairs, he sighed heavily, hauling her up in his arms. She was relatively light, really, but Nicky groaned for dramatic effect.

"Don't spew on me," he grumbled, stomping his way up the stairs and towards her bedroom.

“Didn’t think you could still do this,” she said quietly, her face turned against his chest to avoid the swaying motion of his gait.

“Been in the gym, haven’t I,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “The lads keep telling me to go on a proper bulk, but big meals make me feel grim these days.”

Gwen gave an empathetic groan. Just the thought of eating sent her stomach turning, and Nicky eyed her warily as they reached her door. "Alright, down you go," he said, easing her to her feet and opening the door with a newly-freed hand. He kept a hand on her back until she sat on the bed, at which point he dropped down beside her, perched on the edge of the mattress. "Get comfy, Nate should be here in a second. Then you don't have to put up with me anymore."

“I like putting up with you,” she protested, her voice clouded with exhaustion. “Are you staying for Christmas?”

"Yeah," Nicky muttered grimly. "Home is a shitshow." He didn't elaborate further. Even after all these years, he was only properly open with Nye and Jac, occasionally Delilah. 

“Lilah’ll like that,” she mumbled wearily. She reached over blindly to pat his knee. “Keep an eye on her. She misses Mam more than usual on the holidays.”

"Yeah, I bet," Nicky sighed. He still felt guilty for not being there when their mother had passed. Now that feeling was compounded with the grief and betrayal of his own mother choosing his father over him. Just thinking about it too hard made him feel sick… or maybe that was the peppermint schnapps. “I - I need some air,” he said, standing abruptly. “Um, feel better.”

"Thanks?" Gwen said, giving him a confused look as he practically bolted from the room.

In the hallway, Nicky nearly smacked into Nate, who had a tray with crackers and water and Dioralyte. He caught himself at the last second, cursing under his breath and muttering a hasty "Sorry," on his way past. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, stumbling down the stairs and out through the kitchen until he was stood on the back lawn, hands braced against his knees, breath puffing out as white clouds in the cold morning air.

Was this really what he'd come to? Drunk on Christmas day, hiding from his own family? Was he any better than his father? He'd sworn he would never be like that, but then there he'd gone, vanishing into the mist like a self-serving bastard. When Delilah, who was basically his sister, needed him most.  When his mother, the only person still in his corner, had realised she couldn't trust him. The thoughts were overwhelming, spinning in his head like a cyclone, and his stomach spun with them. He staggered over to the bench at the bottom of the garden, dropping his head between his knees as he struggled to control his breathing. He hadn’t even drunk that much, but the taste of peppermint and alcohol was sharp in the back of his throat. A burning sensation seemed to rise in his chest, and he was unable to swallow a hiccup.

Suddenly, the fiery mix of mint and bile flooded his mouth. He tried again to swallow, but couldn't force it down, and the next heave broke the seal of his lips, spilling liquid sick into the grass between his feet. Groaning, he swiped the spit from his chin, only for a tiny hiccup to bring up another unexpected mouthful of vomit. He found himself coughing and heaving for several minutes before he finally felt empty enough to sit up. An awful discomfort lingered in his stomach, but now it was a hollow burn, like the tingle left behind when you spit out strong mouthwash. He drew a shaky breath, slumping back on the bench and closing his eyes. His stomach gave a little twitch and he instinctively covered his mouth, muffling a sickly "hic-urp."

He’d been ill more often than was normal over the recent months. He’d brushed it off, putting it down to poor nutrition and stress and the abuse he’d put his body through over the years prior, but he was starting to get sick of…well, of being sick. Only two weeks ago, Nye had taken him to Nandos to celebrate his six months of sobriety, and he’d spent the night curled around his wastepaper basket. He hadn’t told Nye of course, hadn’t wanted to make him feel bad, hadn’t wanted to think about how not long before that he’d had an Indian takeaway while watching a film with Jac and had to make a daft excuse to dash home early.

Just thinking about it was grating on his nerves, and despite everything, Nicky felt an impulse to go back for more Schnapps, if only to fog the buzzing beehive of his brain once more. His hands still trembled with adrenaline from throwing up though, so maybe it was best not to move. He desperately tried to steady himself, wishing he could get up and go inside, but his head was spinning and his heart was thrumming. The cold wind bit at his sickly flushed face, but he barely even had it in him to cover his cheeks from the chill. He wished he'd brought his jacket.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been outside when soft footsteps and the creak of the bench signalled that Nye had found him. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Nye’s expression.

“Nate said you ran out of Gwen’s room looking like someone had pissed in your porridge,” Nye said softly, shucking off his coat to tuck around Nicky’s shivering frame. “What’s going on? Whatever it is, just tell me.”

"I'm just as bad as him," Nicky said, his voice thick with disgust. "She has every right to hate me."

“She doesn’t,” Nye placated him, although he felt like his words were a little empty when he wasn’t even sure whether Nicky was talking about his mum or Delilah.

"Well why not?!" Nicky blurted, his face contorted in anger and confusion. "I would hate me. I do hate me, why doesn't she?"

“Look, you had a rough few years,” Nye said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “But you came through it and you came back to us and that’s all that matters. Now, I think you should come inside and get a bit more rest, okay? You can have my bed, or we can watch a film downstairs, or you can go and find Lilah, but I’m gonna need you to take it easy for a bit.”

"I don't… need to take it easy," Nicky grumbled, standing even as he objected. He still looked very peaky, his face white and sheened with nearly-frozen sweat. Even with Nye's jacket, he felt a bit shivery, and his heart was still thudding far more swiftly than he would've liked. Nye's words were little more than a bandaid on the bullet wound of his self-esteem, and he dragged his feet through the frost as Nye shepherded him back inside.

“Sure you don’t,” Nye said, rolling his eyes. “You were just out there throwing up for fun - which I will tell Lilah about if you don’t get some bloody rest.”

Nicky punched his arm, but it was weak even for a joking hit. "Prick," he grumbled, pausing just inside the door to bask in the soothing warmth of the heater.

“Yes, what an arsehole, dragging you in from the cold and making you look after yourself,” Nye said drily. “Come on, what do you want? Bed or couch?”

"Uhhh… couch." Nicky felt just unsteady enough that he wanted to be near a bathroom, and truth be told, he was more used to sleeping on a couch than a bed these days. Though he'd gotten a proper (albeit terrible) flat months ago, the cheap futon in his room was little more than a couch itself, and he often fell asleep in the living room without even meaning to, simply because that couch was more comfortable than his own bed.

“Alright, through you go,” Nye said, giving him a little push from behind. “I’ll get you a blanket and stuff, I don’t think we’re doing Christmas today anyway so don’t worry about anything.”

"Yeah, Alys said not today," Nicky agreed, vaguely remembering now that it was brought to mind. He shuffled listlessly over to the couch, flopping down without further prodding. "'s Lilah still asleep?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

“You’ll be lucky if she’s up by midday,” Nye chuckled, tugging on Nicky’s shoes until he shucked them off. “But I’ll send her your way if I see her.”

Nicky wrestled for a moment with the idea of asking Nye to wake her up, but he couldn't justify ruining another person's sleep. "Thanks," he mumbled, grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch.

“I’ll get everyone else to leave you alone,” Nye murmured, standing up slowly and turning out the light. “You don’t need a basin, right?”

"Mm, no," Nicky agreed. Nye had expected that, honestly. Nicky was so stubborn about denying his own ailments, he had once carried on playing a rugby match with what turned out to be broken ribs, insisting they were just bruised.

“Alright,” Nye sighed. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

"G'night," Nicky mumbled, not caring that it was early morning. As upset and unwell as he was, his body was eager to rest, and it didn't take long for him to drift off.

He felt much better when he woke up, at least enough to eat the soup Nate shoved in front of him and spend the evening watching Star Wars with Delilah and avoiding Nye’s concerned glances. Even though he’d slept half the day away, he had no trouble crashing out in Dai’s bedroom well before the others went to bed. God. When did he become the kind of person who went to bed early? He was too tired to care, and spent the night snoring soundly into the pillow.

When Nicky finally dragged himself out of bed the next day, it was far later than he'd slept in ages. He wasn't sure if it was the stress wearing him out, or if Dai's bed was simply that much more comfortable than his own. The winter sun was already streaming in the window, rising in the sky as he crawled out of bed. The pyjamas he'd borrowed from Nate were threatening to fall off again, and he hoisted up the pants, cinching the drawstring tighter. Fumbling around for the hoodie he came over in, he grabbed his switch from the pocket, tucking it under his arm to make the trek downstairs.

He was pleasantly surprised to see Gwen at the kitchen table, slowly but surely downing a piece of dry toast. "Hey," he croaked, still raspy from sleep, "got enough for two?"

It was less of a joke than it sounded - though he felt far better than yesterday, the idea of a proper breakfast was thoroughly overwhelming.

“In the toaster,” she nodded towards the counter. Her voice was as hoarse as his. “Lilah said you weren’t feeling well?”

Nicky felt his face go red, and he knew it was all too revealing. He pulled out his switch, hoping the blue glow of the screen would hide it. "Just… tired. Stressed. Nothing new."

“That sucks,” she said, patting his wrist sympathetically. “You know you can always come here if you need anything, right? Nye pretends to be all tough love, but he’d do anything for you.”

"Yeah, that's… why I'm here. I was gonna commit a bloody holiday homicide if I stayed home," Nicky muttered, setting his switch on the table to grab toast from the toaster. He turned on the kettle while he was up, wondering to himself when he became the kind of person who drinks tea with breakfast. 

“But like, even if it’s not something big,” Gwen pressed, stifling a yawn. “Even if it’s just a normal day and you feel upset or lonely or under the weather.”

A weak smile twitched in the corners of his mouth. "Thanks," he mumbled, sitting back down to eat while he waited on the kettle.

"Of course," Gwen said, smiling warmly at him.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” he said eventually, keen to turn the conversation away from himself. “Still think it was plane food, or…?”

“Still a bit iffy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “But yeah, nowhere near as bad as yesterday. I think it was probably some kind of 24 hour thing, I’m just glad no-one else seems to have caught it.”

"If you gave it to me, I'll kick your arse," Nicky threatened light-heartedly.

"Oh, I think I can take you," Gwen replied, waving her toast threateningly at him.

Nicky chuckled, shrugging. “These days you probably could.”

"These days? I could always kick your arse. You're just lucky I've never needed to," she joked, going back to her toast.

"Maybe you should've," he replied, "knock some sense into me." The kettle whistled, and he stuck his toast in his mouth to free his hands, standing up and going to pour himself a mug of tea. "You want some?" He asked, voice muffled by the toast.

“There’s peppermint in the cupboard,” Gwen said, opting to ignore his little reference to his previous antics, “if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Nicky poured her tea, sitting back against the counter to munch his toast while it steeped. "How many insufferable movies d'you think Lilah will put us through today?"

“She wants to marathon the Princess Switch films,” Gwen said grumpily. “And the ‘A Christmas Prince’ ones. I might just have to fake sick to escape.”

"I'll keep your secret if I can pretend I caught it off you," Nicky grinned, bringing their mugs back to the table. "We can hide in your room and watch rugby."

“Sneaky,” Gwen nodded appreciatively. “You know she’ll worry we do that though, right? And Alys will push back Christmas again to accommodate you.”

Nicky groaned. "Shit, you're right." He paused for a moment before looking sternly at her. "If I have to suffer through these shit films, so do you."

Gwen pouted. “But the jetlag…”

“Goes literally the other way, don’t start.”

She sighed, shaking her head and picking up the mug of tea. "Prick."

"Bitch," he replied automatically, unable to stop from smiling at the nostalgia of the moment. He took a sip of his own tea, having lost interest in the remainder of his toast.

“I’m surprised she’s not dragged us off to watch already to be honest,” Gwen admitted, checking her watch. “I might even fit in a shower at this rate.”

"She's probably still asleep," Nicky replied.

"I don't know, you nearly had her beat today," Gwen teased.

"Piss off, I wasn't well." Nicky retorted, his face freezing in a moment of regret as he realised what he'd said.

Gwen’s eyebrows flicked up, just for a second but long enough that Nicky caught it. “Oh yeah? Thought you were just tired? Come on, tell Auntie Gwen the whole story.”

Nicky groaned, sinking down in his chair. He kept his mug hovering against his lips, muttering his response into his tea. "I got into a fight with my dad… and I was coming over here because I was pissed and I didn't want to do anything worse. But I was just… I was fucking mad, and I wanted to be distracted. But there was nothing to drink here except fucking peppermint schnapps. But I was in the sort of mood where I didn't even care. After I drank it though… god, I felt awful. I didn't realise how long it had been since I drank, and it was so sweet, and I just started to feel really sick."

Gwen blinked at him. “Well that was…a lot. Is that why you booked it out of my room so quick?”

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, taking a long drink of his tea. His face was burning red again, and he didn't have it in him to make eye contact.

“Has it happened before?” She asked curiously, peering up at him. “Like, do you think it was the sugar or the alcohol that set it off?”

Nicky blanched, remembering the way his stomach had reacted to a bag of doughnuts he’d snaffled a few weeks earlier. “Um, I…”

“It has, hasn’t it,” she said, leaning forward across the table. “God, you used to have a stomach of steel.”

He groaned, feeling the heat prickling across the back of his neck. Slumping down in his seat, he scowled into his tea and took a drink. "I know. I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me. Nearly fucking died the night we went to Nando's." Setting down his mug, he rubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

“Wait, you never said,” Gwen exclaimed, her face falling. “We could’ve checked in on you, brought you something to eat - I bet no-one keeps medicine in that house.”

"Nah, I… it's not that bad. I was being dramatic. It's just like, for the night, and then I bounce back." Nicky said hastily, realising the grave he'd dug himself into.

“Just for the night…,” Gwen said pensively. “Hang on, so how often does this happen? When did it start?”

Nicky groaned, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "I don't know, since… since I've been… back, I guess." He meant sober, but the word never felt comfortable on his tongue.

“How often?” Gwen pressed, the years of training kicking in.

"God, I don't know. Really depends what I eat." Nicky shrugged, pressing two fingers into his temples.

"Is that why you said you can't handle big meals anymore?"

He bit back a groan, regretting being so open with her. Fucking doctors. "Uh… yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"So in say, the last three months," Gwen continued, "when has it happened?"

Nicky squirmed in his seat. He hated this sort of clinical spotlight - it was exactly the reason he'd only agreed to get sober with Nye, and not in some proper facility. "Well, um… there was Nando's… uh, a bit before that there was the takeaway, and the doughnuts…" every item on the list seemed to sink him lower, and his head was nearly touching the table. "God, a while back my boss brought in lunch to celebrate a project… that was fucking awful, I ended up taking the afternoon, said some family thing came up."

Gwen's brow furrowed as the extent of his illness became clear. "And what exactly happens?" She asked gently. "If you don't mind me asking?"

Nicky rested his head in his arms on the table, muffling his voice as he continued. "More than anything, my stomach hurts. It's like I hardly eat, but I feel so full. Get this awful heartburn, antacids don't do shit for it. Probably puked up half a bottle of Tums before giving up on that shit. I don't always throw up, but honestly, it's almost better when I do. Better than being up all night because I feel too lousy to sleep."

"Nicky, that sounds awful," Gwen murmured, giving his arm a squeeze. He leaned slightly towards her, nodding feebly against his arms.

"It fucking sucks," he admitted. "I hate being sick all the time. It's like, what was the point of recovery if I feel worse now?"

"I mean…," Gwen smirked a little, "at least now you have friends like us to stick our noses in your business?"

Nicky chuckled weakly. "Yeah, makes all the difference." His tone was sarcastic, but he meant it sincerely. He couldn't remember a single time in his lonely junkie years where anyone actually expressed concern about him, even when he'd been bloodied and bruised on the streets or blacked out in the back of the club. "Listen. Can we… drop it, for now? I don't have it in me to keep up with this deep shit."

"Sure." Gwen shrugged. "But you should think about going to see a doctor. One of us could even write up notes for you if you want, then you don't have to do all the talking again."

As much as the idea made him shudder, the thought of actually finding a solution for how ill he felt so often was enough to motivate him. "Yeah. After the holiday."

Gwen smiled at him, gently patting his shoulder. "Good lad. I've got to grab a shower before the inevitable shit movie marathon, I feel gross. If you need something, though, just let one of us know."

"Yeah," Nicky agreed, but he still hadn't lifted his head from the table.

Unfortunately for him, it didn't take long for the conversation to be un-dropped, as it were. The next day, it was determined that Gwen was well enough for them to celebrate their delayed Christmas. It was only once the food was on the table that it occurred to Nicky that he hadn't had a proper Christmas dinner in three years. His better instincts disappeared in a moment of nostalgic indulgence, and he helped himself with more enthusiasm than he had shown to any food in ages.

Still with a mouthful of turkey, he smiled at Alys. "'s really good," he said eagerly.

Her face crinkled with smile lines that hadn't been there before his sabbatical from his life. "Thanks Nicky - you can come again. None of these louts compliment my cooking anymore."

"I definitely will," he enthused, "nobody in my flat can cook for shit." He was including himself in that list - the best he could do was throw tinned sauce on some pasta. Properly homemade food was so delicious and sincere, he began to feel heartsick for his own mother's cooking. His face fell slightly, but he didn't say anything, shoving another forkful of food in his mouth to distract him.

"You could always learn," Delilah sniped, sticking her tongue out at him when he pulled a face.

"You could have good taste in movies. We all have flaws," Nicky shot back, finishing off his turkey and turning his attention to the sides.

"You're just not intellectual enough to understand my elite taste in film," Delilah scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. Nicky chuckled. He couldn't believe he'd missed years of this.

"Elite level of shit," he muttered, stuffing another huge forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. God, it was so good. Was food always this good? What was he on about, never being hungry? Maybe he just needed better food.

Less than an hour later, he was ready to take it all back. Sat round the tree while the rest of the family opened presents, he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that overly full tipped over into painfully full, but by the time Delilah handed him a little neatly wrapped parcel he was struggling to keep the grimace from his face.

When he finally managed to undo the wrapping, inside was a little plush keychain of Groucho the cranky bear. Delilah grinned. "Your long-lost twin brother," she said.

Nicky snorted, reaching across the couch to whack her on the arm. "Bitch," he chuckled, a less-forced smile cracking his face as he was briefly distracted from the pain. She stuck her tongue out at him again before turning back to her own pile of presents. Nothing under the tree was from Nicky - all the presents he'd meant for them were under the tree at his mum's, and he hadn't worked up the nerve to go over and get them back. Thinking about it just seemed to make him feel ill all over again, and he slouched down on the couch, surreptitiously sliding a hand into his hoodie pocket to cradle his upset stomach.

Gwen squeezed his arm, waiting for him to look up at her before whispering, "Go and lie down. Take my room, it has the en suite."

"You sure?" He whispered. As much as he didn't usually care about looking like a prick, they had all been so kind and hospitable the last few days. It felt supremely wrong to just leave in the middle of Christmas presents.

"I'll make an excuse for you," she answered, patting his hand. "No-one'll mind."

He flashed her a grateful smile, pain still evident in his eyes. "Thanks."

"Of course," she smiled back, moving aside to give him room to get off the couch.

"G'night," he grunted, giving no further explanation as he disappeared towards Gwen's room. Even just walking made his stomach shift uncomfortably, and he had to slow his pace for the stairs, one hand on the bannister and one pressed firmly against his middle. He paused to catch his breath, swallowing tightly against the tense feeling in the back of his throat.

It was no better once he was horizontal. There was no comfortable position to lie in. On his back made him feel horribly nauseous, on his front put too much pressure on his belly. Even on his side he struggled to ignore the distended swell of his stomach. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He considered texting Gwen to ask for a hot water bottle, but it already felt like he'd inconvenienced her enough. He rolled over again, slowly and gingerly, swallowing the acid that rose in his throat with every movement. At least in the peace of the bedroom, he could groan without drawing attention.

He checked the clock. Only five minutes since he'd flopped into bed in the first place. It felt like forever. His stomach growled angrily, and his face screwed up in agony. Muffling a belch into his fist, he forced himself to sit up, hunching forward with his knees tucked up to his chest. He needed to get to the bathroom, but even standing up seemed like it might push him over the edge. Hot spit pooled under his tongue. God, he couldn't be sick in Gwen's bed, he just couldn't.

It took every last ounce of his willpower to scramble out of bed, legs threatening to give out beneath him. The motion made his stomach lurch, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, barely able to fight the next heave. Stumbling into the en suite, he didn't even make it to the toilet, doubling over the sink with a painful retch. His chest ached with the force of it, but the stodgy mass in his stomach didn't shift. He leaned heavily on the counter, legs no longer supporting his weight, hunched forward so far his laboured breaths fogged up the mirror. Thick metallic saliva dripped from his lips, refusing to be swallowed. The swirling nausea seemed to intensify with every breath, and he heaved loudly.

They were almost through the presents when Gwen heard the distant sounds of heaving from upstairs. Sated and satisfied, no-one else seemed to have noticed, and she turned the Christmas music up a notch before heading up to check in on Nicky.

Walking into her bedroom, she found that he hadn't even managed to close the door of the ensuite. Nicky was doubled over the sink, barely staying up with the support of the counter as he retched, still having yet to bring up more than thick saliva.

"You want me to come in or leave you alone?" She asked softly, lingering in the doorway. "I hear misery loves company."

"...stay," he rasped, looking briefly up at her before a nauseous belch made him bend back over the basin. His face had gone a pasty grey, sweat sticking his dishevelled fringe to his forehead. The nausea swelled again and his shoulders rolled, bobbing with each rhythmic, unproductive gag.

She padded in, rubbing a hand across his lurching shoulders. "Think you can make it to the toilet? I'm worried you're gonna smack your head on the taps."

"Um… yeah," he didn't feel that close to actually bringing anything up. With someone to lean on, it was only miserable, not impossible, to make it over to the toilet. Gwen guided him to kneel down, crouching beside him and rubbing his back. The shift in position jostled his stomach, and he let out a huge, sick belch, thick spit dripping from his lips.

"That sounded rough," Gwen said sympathetically. 

"Hurts," he mumbled weakly, resting his forehead on the back of his wrist. "So stupid…"

"Hey, no," Gwen murmured. "It's Christmas, you overindulged, so did everybody else - we just need to figure out what's going on with you so it doesn't happen again."

Nicky didn't have a proper response, only groaning in discomfort when his stomach jerked with a huge belch. His abdominal muscles seized again, and he hunched into the bowl with a violent heave. He was almost certain that he was going to throw up soon - he had to, surely? He could practically feel the burning sludge in his throat.

Gwen continued to rub his back, watching worriedly as he strained over the bowl. "It doesn't seem like anything is coming up," she murmured, "would you be more comfortable in bed with a basin?"

He shook his head miserably. "G'nna...be sick," he forced out between pants. Despite his words, the next retch was just as fruitless as all the ones before.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" Gwen asked. It felt wrong to just sit here when he was so horribly sick. "I could bring you tea, or a hot water bottle? Does it feel better when I rub your back, or should I stop?"

Nicky's hand latched onto hers, squeezing tightly as another retch shuddered through him, and she stopped asking questions. She stayed by his side, sweeping his fringe back out of his face and rubbing his back while he continued to heave. They'd been there for fifteen unproductive minutes when the bedroom door swung open. Delilah had let herself in, determined to find out why Nicky had abandoned presents so early.

"Hey, where did you get off… to?" As her gaze zeroed in on the ensuite, the end of her sentence lost steam. She stood for a moment, gawking and horrified, before running over. She crouched on his other side, stroking his hair back tenderly. "Oh my God, Nicky?"

He groaned, a weary sigh echoing off the porcelain. "'s not… as bad as it looks," he croaked, trailing off into a new heave.

"Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well?" She demanded, patting his back.

"Lilah, maybe not right now?" Gwen suggested, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't you get him a glass of water, maybe a hot water bottle?"

Delilah frowned in protest, but the miserable little moan Nicky let out killed her fire. Stroking his hair more gently, she said, "Okay. Fine. I'll be right back." She hurried out of the room, while Nicky continued to retch unproductively. By the time she returned, it had felt like ages, but he still hadn't brought anything up. His stomach muscles were cramping worse than ever, making him belch and gag endlessly. She sat down wordlessly beside him, resting a hand on his back.

"Have a drink," Gwen said firmly, taking advantage of a break in the heaving to sit him back and hold the glass to his lips. He dutifully took a sip, eyes fluttering closed with a low moan. "I know you feel awful, but you really might be better off in bed," Gwen ventured again. "We can put a bin right there in case you need to be sick."

Nicky hesitated, struggling to even process a thought when he was so ill and exhausted. His belly was still tight and cramping, painfully turbulent despite how it refused to actually empty. "Um… maybe," he mumbled, pushing the glass away with a trembling hand. A fresh wave of illness had washed over him, and he gagged into his fingers. Delilah hugged him against her chest, whispering words of comfort that he barely heard over the roaring in his ears. Nicky groaned, making a feeble attempt to pull away. He was afraid this might be the one time he finally threw up, and the idea of being sick on her was nauseating in and of itself.

"Shhh," she cooed, rubbing firm little circles into his tense shoulders. "it's okay, I've got you."

"You two just chill there, I'm gonna fetch the boys to get you back to bed," Gwen said, not even bothering to ask if he thought he could stand. She'd given up pretending she could carry the boys the last time she'd dropped Nate on his drunken arse - she could deadlift the weight no problem, there was just something so unwieldy about the human form.

Nicky groaned, and to the girls' shock, tried to stand up. "Don't bother them," he begged, "'s not that far."

"Nicky, you're going to hurt yourself," Gwen warned, grabbing his elbow to stabilise him. "Are you sure?"

He really wasn't sure - the pause before his response told her that - but the idea of disturbing Nate and Nye when he was already wrecking Gwen and Delilah's evening made his insides wither with embarrassment. "...um, I got it…" he mumbled, only managing a step or two before his stomach leapt into his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth, freezing where he stood with a frantic whimper.

Gwen guided him back towards the toilet at once, wrapping an arm around his chest to keep him from collapsing as he bent forward. It was a good thing she did, because he crumpled like a house of cards, unable to support himself as another forceful heave tore through his body.

"Oh my God," Delilah whispered, eye wide as he choked up a painstaking mouthful of thick vomit.

Gwen shot her a look, guiding Nicky to kneel back down before he fell and cracked his head. "Easy, we'll get you to bed when you're done, yeah?"

He only groaned in response, coughing raggedly over the bowl between heaves. As much as he'd enjoyed dinner going down, the taste of turkey grease in his throat now would've been enough to make him gag even without the rolling pain in his belly.

Gwen rubbed his back, making sure he was steady against her before turning to whisper to Delilah. "Could you put on the kettle, make some peppermint tea and a fresh hot water bottle? Maybe find the boys so they're ready to haul him to bed when he's finished?"

Delilah nodded meekly, seeming all too glad to have an excuse to leave. Something about the way Nicky was so clearly ill struck far too close to home, bringing up memories she'd rather stayed boxed away. She stumbled off down the stairs, looking a little shell-shocked as she walked into the kitchen to start the kettle. Nate and Nye were still in the living room talking, and she walked over to sit between them while she waited for the kettle.

"Whoa, what's the matter?" Nate asked, clocking her miserable expression.

"Nicky's not well," she mumbled, staring at the ground. She took a shaky breath, struggling to keep her composure, and then her face crumpled. "I think there's something r-really wrong with him…"

"Hey, hey, I'm sure he's fine," Nate soothed, pulling her into a hug with one large hand braced against her back. He caught Nye's eye, jerking his head towards the stairs before continuing, "he'll just have caught Gwen's bug probably, or eaten a bit too much."

Nye nodded, already getting off the couch to head upstairs. Delilah didn't seem comforted, sniffling into Nate's shoulder as she mumbled, "It's not… not like that. He looked… so sick, and I… I don't know what to do!" She trailed off into tears, earning herself an even tighter hug from Nate.

"Gwen and Nye are with him now, so he's looked after," Nate said confidently. "You don't need to worry about that."

The kettle began to squeak in the distance, and Delilah suddenly jumped up. "I was supposed to make tea," she cried, hurrying back to the kitchen. Nate followed, still a bit worried by how emotional she was.

"I can handle that, if you like," he offered.

"No, no, I was supposed to send you upstairs to help!" She said, practically shoving him away.

Nate patted her shoulder. "I'll be up there in a second, don't worry. We can go together if you want."

"Y-yeah, alright," she agreed, sniffing jerkily. "Can you fetch a hot water bottle? I forgot to bring one down."

"Yeah, no problem." Nate hurried off to find a hot water bottle while Delilah got to work steeping a mug of peppermint tea. He gave her the hot water bottle and rifled through the cabinets for chamomile. "Let's make you a mug, too. Only take a minute."

"Okay." She nodded once, slumping down at the kitchen table. "Could - could you take these up?"

"Yeah, no worries." Nate said, putting the peppermint tea and hot water bottle on a tray. While he waited for her tea to steep, he added a bottle of water from the fridge and a sleeve of crackers. "Do you want me to send Gwen down for you?" He asked, putting the mug of chamomile in front of her. "Nye and I can take care of Nicky."

She shook her head, warming her hands on the mug. "I'm fine, really," she insisted. "I'm just going to sit and read my book, don't worry. I'm not like, falling to pieces."

Nate doubted that a bit, but he knew he couldn't say that directly. "Doesn't mean you need to be alone. It's late Christmas, you deserve some company."

"Oh please," she chuckled. "As if we weren't all going to retreat to our rooms until teatime anyway."

Nate laughed, giving her one last hug. "You got me there. But call one of us down if you need something, yeah?"

"Okay," Delilah nodded. "Go check on Nicky." It was more an order than a request, and Nate grabbed the tray, hurrying dutifully up the stairs.

He walked into a bit of a disaster scene in Gwen's bathroom. Nicky was clutching the rim of the toilet for dear life, retching so hard he could feel his abdominal muscles cramp with every gag. The pain radiated through his midsection, and he gasped raggedly for air when the heaving stopped. Nate laid the tray down on the countertop, looking to Gwen as Nicky slumped bonelessly into Nye's waiting arms.

"Lilah said you wanted me up here?"

"Yeah, I can't carry his lanky arse back to bed," Gwen explained. "I sent Lilah to get you and Nye to help." She eyed the tray he brought, picking it up so Nate would be free to carry Nicky. "I'll put this on the bedside table, get a bin to put by the bed."

"Okay, cool," Nate nodded, crouching beside his brother. "Okay, how are we doing this?"

Nicky groaned, trying to sit up from where he'd dropped against Nye. "I c'n stand," he croaked, "jus'... need a second."

Nye snorted. "Nobody's letting you walk yourself to bed. You'll crack your fucking skull."

Nicky grunted miserably. In truth, he wasn't sure he could stand - his meal sat so heavily in his stomach that even resting against Nye seemed like a chore. Nye looked between Nate and Nicky thoughtfully. He and Nate were such wildly different heights that it would be impractical to each take one side, so instead, he looped his arms under Nicky's, preparing himself to stand.

"Get his legs, will you?" He asked Nate. Realistically, either one of them could've singlehandedly dragged Nicky to bed, but it wouldn't have been fun for any party involved.

“Nah, you take his legs,” Nate argued, moving closer. “I’m taller, makes more sense.”

"I'm already right here," Nye protested, "and I'm not that short."

"Oh, just fucking drop me and piss off if you're going to fight," Nicky snapped.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning,” Nye muttered, rolling his eyes. Nate thumped him on the shoulder and shot him a glare, giving in and taking Nicky’s feet. “Alright,” Nye continued, “up on three - one, two, three…”

Nate lifted his end with ease, as did Nye, but as Nate had worried, they were wildly uneven. Nicky groaned, but had the decency not to flail about. Having his head below his waist only made him feel more ill, the awful burning in his chest intensifying, and his face drained of colour.

Nate clocked it, swearing softly. “Nye, he’s gonna spew.”

“He’s not, he’s just been dry heaving,” Nye replied flippantly as he nudged open the door.

“Yeah and if you’re wrong he’ll aspirate,” Nate pointed out. “And you can explain to Delilah when he ends up in A&E with pneumonia.”

"Shut up, both of you," Nicky growled, his voice slurring with nausea.

“How the hell have you two managed to fuck this up so badly?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow as they lugged Nicky’s dead weight across the room. “Remind me never to ask you for help again.”

"Yeah, next time you can haul the giant deadbeat into bed," Nye grumbled, dropping Nicky rather unceremoniously against the sheets. He groaned, curling up on his side and burying his face in the pillow.

“I’d do a better job than you,” Gwen scoffed, perching next to Nicky and rubbing his back. “Hey Nick, sorry you’re feeling so rough bud. We’re gonna give you some peace now, but there’s a bin just by the bed in case you need it, and one of us will stay with you until you’re feeling better, okay? Then we can figure out how to get you some help.”

He nodded briefly, keeping his face hidden in the pillow to hide the tears welling in his eyes. His voice was barely audible, hoarse and muffled as he asked, "Where's Lilah?"

“She’s downstairs,” Nate said, glancing at Gwen shiftily. “It, uh… It was getting a bit crowded up here I guess.”

"Want her," Nicky mumbled, huddling up until he was practically in the fetal position, knees tucked against his chest.

Gwen caught Nate’s eye, and he shook his head minutely. “I’ll go and, uh, find her,” she said gently. “Nate’s gonna stay with you for now, okay? He gives better cuddles anyway.”

"Okay," Nicky sighed, sounding thoroughly let down.

Nate couldn't help chuckling, sitting on the bed as slowly as he could so that it wouldn't shift too abruptly. Even still, the motion made Nicky moan miserably, and Nate rested a hand on his back. "Easy, you're okay…"

"'m not," Nicky groaned, his voice practically a whimper. "Feel awful."

"Yeah but it'll pass," Nate said matter-of-factly. "Then we'll get you all fixed up."

"Yeah, 'til it happens again next week," Nicky said morosely. His voice was wobbling, on the verge of a teary crack.

"Come here," Nate sighed, coaxing Nicky into a hug. He didn't want to tell him it would all be fine - God knew he'd hated it when he'd been too sick to even roll over in bed and the others had said the same to him. Nicky leaned against him, silent except for his sniffling. Emotionally, he wanted to wail, but physically, it was laborious just to breathe. Nate rubbed his back patiently, lying as still as possible to avoid disturbing him. They were quiet, dare Nate even say settled, for a long while before Nicky spoke again.

"Is Lilah coming?" He asked quietly, like a child waiting for Santa.

"Soon," Nate lied. "Try to get some rest, okay?"

"Can't," Nicky said morosely. "Feel too sick." He'd lost many a night's sleep to the same burning nausea, and he knew full well by now that it was too sickeningly painful to ignore.

"God, aren't we a pair," Nate chuckled. "You can't sleep, I sleep too much."

"Wanna trade?" Nicky asked.

Nate laughed again, making Nicky groan as it jostled him. "Sorry, no. I've had my fill of being sick and miserable."

"So have I," Nicky mumbled. "I fucking hate it. I worked so fucking hard to get sober and now I'm just ill all the time."

Nate sighed sympathetically, rubbing a hand over Nicky's shivering shoulders. "That's rough. We'll get you sorted, though. I'd bet Nye and Gwen are doing research right now."

"I keep wondering if going back to the drugs would make it better," Nicky admitted quietly. "I know it's stupid and they wouldn't, but there's this little voice in my head saying it anyway."

"Aw, Nicky…" Nate sighed, pulling him into a tight hug. Nicky groaned, and he eased up at once. "Sorry. I just… that's awful, I can't imagine how rough it must be."

Nicky scoffed. "You don't have to pity me. It's my own stupid fault."

"Still horrible," Nate said softly. "There's no use playing the blame game now that it's done. If I'd not shared a glass with a guy off the other team after a match maybe I'd be fine now. Or if I hadn't gone back to rugby so quickly after my kidney. But no-one's blaming me for how I am."

"'s not the same. I just spiralled after I got hurt like some miserable prick, and it almost cost me all of you. Still don't know why it didn't, really." That bit of guilt would never leave Nicky, especially not with thoughts of his father still gnawing at his mind.

"You were in pain and angry and upset," Nate said patiently. This was the kind of conversation that Nicky usually reserved for Nye and he felt a little out of his depth. "What you went through...mate, that's fucking traumatic. Not just the injury but what happened in hospital after as well. And yeah, not everyone in that situation ends up abusing drugs, but it's not like you woke up one day and decided to be an addict."

Nicky nodded once, but he had gone limp against Nate. He was stressing himself out again thinking, and it was making the pain in his stomach worse. His face was ghastly white, a cold sweat beading on his forehead, his breathing becoming laboured. Nate seemed to notice, quietening and rubbing Nicky’s back gently.

“You reckon you might get a bit more up soon? You probably feel better once you get it all out, right?”

Nicky nodded again, but he didn't seem optimistic. "It'll be ages before I'm empty enough to sleep," he muttered grimly.

"Try not to think like that," Nate replied. "From experience, it doesn't really help."

"Sorry, my bad," Nicky grumbled sarcastically. "I'm sure I'll feel great after spewing all night."

"Jesus, you're grouchier than Gwen," Nate chuckled, rolling his eyes. "At least you know it'll be over fairly soon. I never know whether I'm going to be laid up for a day or a fortnight."

"Oh yes, poor precious you, with your loving family of doctors, how ever will you survive?" Nicky growled, unable to hide his bitter jealousy. He could feel Nate shrinking away, and took it upon himself to move, curling up on his side facing the other way.

Nate took a deep, calming breath, then slid closer and squeezed Nicky's shoulder. "They love you too," he said quietly. "You've just got to let them."

Nicky let out an irritated grumble, like a dog whose personal space had been invaded, but eventually he muttered, "You're too nice."

"Someone's got to be," Nate chuckled, patting his back. Despite his grouching, Nicky seemed to be settling, and Nate cozied up to him, afraid to say something for fear of breaking the spell.

Unfortunately, Nicky broke it, his voice quiet and despondent. "...she's not coming, is she?" he asked.

"She was a bit freaked out," Nate admitted. "She figured it was something worse than a stomach bug, and I think it brought up some old stuff for her. You know she never liked being around when her mam was really sick."

Icy guilt filled Nicky's chest, the sensation more sickening than anything his stomach could offer. He sat up, slowly and gingerly, before swinging his legs off the bed. "I should go talk to her."

"Gwen's with her, she'll be fine," Nate insisted, hopping off the bed to crouch in front of him, worried that he might overestimate himself and fall. "You need to rest, bud."

"I've gone and freaked her out," Nicky sighed. "I need to make sure she knows I'm not dying. It looked awful when she was here, but it's really not that big a deal."

"Gwen knows you're not dying, I'm sure she'll convince her," Nate pointed out. "You staggering downstairs and puking in the kitchen sink will be less persuasive."

Nicky scowled, but he knew Nate was right. Truthfully, his motivations were somewhat selfish. He wanted to see Delilah and ease his own guilt, if only to sleep more comfortably when he finally settled. "Ugh, fine," he agreed, but didn't climb back onto the bed. Sitting up had made him renewedly nauseous, and he didn't want to risk moving and making it worse.

"You gonna spew?" Nate asked, reaching cautiously for the bin. "You've got that look on you."

"Don't have a look," Nicky muttered, but he didn't deny it outright. His face had blanched, his gaze losing focus as he devoted all his mental energy to not throwing up on the spot.

"Course not," Nate said indulgently, coaxing his feet apart so that he could put the bin between them. "Just in case, yeah?"

Nicky nodded, slumping forward over the bin without further prompting. Bending over put an uncomfortable pressure on his stomach, coaxing up a sick belch, and he groaned. What he really wanted was to throw up and get it over with, but nothing in his belly seemed to be moving and he'd never been keen on forcing himself to throw up, even when he used to get supremely drunk. He swallowed thickly, rubbing a hand gingerly over his stomach. Another burp rumbled up his esophagus, leaving an awful burn in his throat, and he spit up a mouthful of thick saliva. "Ugh… hate this."

"It's rough," Nate agreed, heaving himself up to sit by Nicky on the bed. "What can I do? If I pat your back will that help or just make everything worse?"

Nicky hesitated. He'd been back for a while, but he still wasn't entirely used to being taken care of, especially not in this state. His mind flashed back to a few weeks ago, when he'd been glued to the bathroom floor throwing up after dinner with Jac, and his roommate had been banging on the door yelling for him to hurry up. He rubbed his stomach again, covering his mouth for a sick belch. "Um… go ahead."

"Tell me if it's too much," Nate said earnestly, laying one big hand between Nicky's shoulders and patting gently, the way you might burp a baby. It was surprisingly effective, coaxing up a deep, wet belch, and Nicky lurched towards the bin as he felt his stomach clench. Nate patted his back again, and this time, it was slightly productive, making Nicky burp up a trickle of greasy bile. He coughed and sputtered on the end of it, but didn't complain.

"There you go," Nate encouraged him, still patting gently. "Get it up and then you can lie back down."

As much as he wanted to throw up and get it over with, Nicky was absolutely miserable while it happened, letting out a low moan and cradling his middle in both hands. Nate's hand on his back was enough to disturb the gassy, greasy mess in his stomach, and after a few weak gags, he belched, a proper fountain of sick splattering the bin.

"That's it," Nate murmured, almost infuriatingly calm as Nicky's spine arched beneath his palm. "Aw bud, I wish you'd said something sooner, this is rough."

Nicky didn't have it in him to reply, busy retching noisily into the bin. It wasn't coming up in huge waves - it never did when he was sick like this - but with Nate's coaxing it seemed like he might be able to empty his stomach. He heaved, coughing up a barely digested slurry of potato and turkey. Being able to identify what he was bringing up made him feel sicker than ever, and fresh sweat broke out across his forehead and the back of his neck. He had gone nearly limp over the bin, folded at the waist and leaning against his legs.

Nate eased up for a moment, rubbing gently between tense shoulders. "Catch your breath," he urged, bending down to peer at Nicky's pale face. "Think you're almost done? You look like you need a lie-down…" he fussed.

Nicky stared vacantly past him, feeling far too ill to concoct a coherent response. Without the added force of Nate patting his back, his stomach had reverted to dry heaves, making him gag painfully but unproductively with an almost rhythmic frequency.

"Hey, Nicky," Nate called, patting his cheek gently to get his attention. "Deep breaths okay? You need to calm down a bit."

"Can't," Nicky croaked, leaning into the warmth of Nate's hand. It was always hard to stop the heaving once it started, and when he tried to take a proper gulp of air, it would catch in his throat, coming back up as a gag. He could feel Nate's worried gaze boring into him, and mustered what little energy he had left to assure him, "It'll pass, just… give it a minute."

"Alright bud," Nate agreed, letting Nicky's head rest into his palm. Nicky groaned quietly, eyes slipping closed as the heaves tapered off. Nate stroked his fringe back as he settled, standing up and saying, "Let's get you back to bed now, huh? You must be exhausted."

"Yeah," Nicky mumbled, alarmingly agreeable as Nate eased him back onto the bed. "Tell Lilah 'm sorry I freaked her out," he said, curling gingerly onto his side.

"Of course," Nate said softly. "But I'm sure she'll tell you there's nothing to be sorry for. Do you think you'll sleep now?"

"God, I hope," Nicky said, his voice weak and raspy. Nate sat on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers around him and rubbing his back.

"Get some rest. You need it."

#whumptober 2023 #emeto #emetophilia #vomit #illness #fever #chronic illness #angst #gwen #nate #nicky #nye #delilah #alys #no. 31 #i thought that i was getting better #fic #oc #scat #diarrhea

[lickstynine]

Drying Out

Whumptober Day 29: "I only sink deeper the deeper I think."

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

"Drink some water," Nye urged, handing over the bottle he'd brought. "I know you're feeling carsick, but you don't want to go into this dehydrated."

Nicky took the water with a grunt of acknowledgement, but he didn't crack the top. He'd already been on edge for days, trying to make the meagre remnants of his stash last until Nye could make arrangements. His hands had been shaking so badly as they got in the car, Nye had to do the seatbelt for him, and he had nearly sweat through the clean shirt he'd put on just that morning.

The drive wasn't even a particularly long one, just a few hours to the remote seaside cottage Nye had arranged. Miserable as he was, Nicky was beyond grateful to be doing this with Nye rather than in some clinic - he didn't do well with medical staff poking and prodding and prying at all hours. Sure, Nye was a doctor, but he was Nicky's friend first, and that made all the difference in the world. He knew what to say and what not to, when to help and when to keep his hands to himself. For all the times he'd lamented it, Nicky had never been so glad to be friends with doctors.

Now, for instance, Nye was chattering inanely about the last rugby season. Not because Nicky particularly cared, but just so he had something to think about besides the motion of the road and the craving so profound he wanted to scrape his own skin off. His voice had long ago become white noise, but it was a soothing sound that Nicky tried to stay focused on, for his sanity's sake.

It was honestly miraculous that Nicky managed his own seatbelt when they arrived at the cottage. He'd been feeling increasingly ill for the last hour, to the point that Nye had several times glanced at him and offered to pull over. As it was, he just managed to stumble out of the car, making it a few steps before doubling over to heave.

There hadn't been much to come up since he'd already been feeling rough in the morning. Instead, he ended up choking up a froth of orange juice and spit before Nye hauled him inside and handed him the bottle of water.

"Drink," he said sternly, banking on Nicky not having the energy to object. He won out there, and Nicky twisted the cap off with trembling hands, taking tiny sips of water until his mouth no longer tasted so sour. Nye patted his shoulder. "Try to get comfortable. I'll bring our bags in."

"I can help," Nicky said, the bottle resting limply in his lap. In truth, he wasn't sure that he could - he'd struggled to lift his bag into the boot in the first place, filled as it was with clothes and toiletries and a new Nintendo Switch, all of which Delilah had bought with Gwen and Nye's doctor money. He couldn't help feeling like a useless mooch, but he knew Nye wouldn't be doing this if he didn't think it was a worthy investment.

Seeing Nicky start to stand, Nye nudged him back onto the couch. "Sit. You look ready to keel over."

Nicky didn't protest, which showed just how bad he was feeling, slumping across the couch as he sat back. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking another tiny sip of water. His head ached. It hadn't really stopped since that awful night when he'd arrived at Nye's dripping with blood, but both Nye and Gwen were adamant that it was nothing more ominous than stress and withdrawal.

Nye was only gone for a moment grabbing their luggage, but when he came back, Nicky was curled up on the couch, shaking worse than ever. The bruises on his face were mostly healed, having turned a sickly greenish colour that did nothing to make him look any healthier, and though he looked less skeletal in clothes that actually fit, it was still obvious just how slim he'd become, as if a stiff wind might snap him in two. Digging through the bags he'd set down, Nye pulled out a newly-knit blanket, courtesy of Jac, that he draped over Nicky's shivering frame. He clutched it tightly around himself, mumbling his thanks. Nye crouched down by him, checking the pulse in his wrist. It was slightly fast, but nothing too worrying.

"I'm going to make us some dinner, okay? You can't afford to lose too much more weight."

"'s probably a losing battle right now," Nicky muttered. He'd been out of the car for a good fifteen minutes now, but it still felt as if the ground beneath him was moving against his will. He clutched the edges of the blanket in a fruitless search for stability, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Surrounded by the familiar smell, he could almost imagine he was back at Jac's, crashing on the couch because his mum was away again.

"Just soup," Nye compromised. "And a cheese toastie if you're up to it."

"Okay," Nicky conceded, too weary to fight. He tossed and turned, struggling to find a cozy position on the couch. Though most of his visible injuries were healing well, his chest still ached when he put weight on it wrong, and he couldn't help thinking how that discomfort would disappear with a hit. Groaning quietly, he pulled the nearest throw pillow over his face.

The next couple of hours were uneventful. He forced down some food, and although it sat like a brick in his churning stomach, he did manage to keep it down. Nye seemed pleased at least. They picked a comedy show on Netflix and stuck it on, Nicky drifting in and out of a doze, feeling too grotty to really find it funny.

Exhausted as he was, Nicky couldn't properly fall asleep to save his life. Every time he got close, his head would throb or his stomach would cramp or his heart would start to race. He found himself tossing and turning with increasing frequency, losing any ability to lie comfortably. Eventually, he spoke up, meekly asking, "C'n you maybe… make me a hot water bottle?"

"Sure," Nye agreed good-naturedly. "What's hurting?"

"Ugh, everything," Nicky grumbled. "Head, stomach, chest."

Nye sighed, giving Nicky a worried once-over before going into the kitchen. He wished there was more he could do to help, but realistically, he knew it just needed to be waited out. He could ease the symptoms, but there was nothing to be done for the cause. By the time he came back with the hot water bottle, Nicky had rotated 180° on the couch, legs slung over the arm and head resting on a throw pillow he'd wedged under his shoulder.

“You can go to bed if you’ll be more comfortable,” Nye said, smiling wryly. “I don’t need to watch you 24/7, I know exactly what’s in your bag.”

Nicky groaned. "Dunno if it would help. 'm just… sore. Can't get comfy. Can't sleep. It sucks."

"Being in a real bed might help," Nye suggested, offering a hand. "Here, I'll help you up."

Nicky hesitated. Even getting up from the couch sounded hellish, but he was uncomfortable enough that it was worth trying. Taking Nye's hand, he hauled himself up, first into a sitting position, then to his feet. The change in elevation made him woozy and he stumbled, leaning into Nye with a groan.

“Easy,” Nye murmured, wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. “God, I forgot how tall you were.”

That got a chuckle out of Nicky, and he drew a shuddery breath, finding his balance and taking more of his own weight. He took a second to make sure he wasn't going to collapse, then shuffled along to the bedroom with Nye's assistance. It was still strange to lay in a proper bed, to be able to sleep without worrying for his safety, or his belongings. Sprawling out on the soft mattress, he graciously accepted the hot water bottle Nye had brought along.

"Can you… bring my blanket?" He asked, referring to the one Jac had knitted him.

Nye nodded, tugging the crisp, fresh duvet over him. "You cold? I can get you a hoodie."

“Yeah, please.” Nicky nodded, nestling up in the blankets in the meantime. The hot water bottle eased the cramping in his stomach, but it did nothing to soothe the dull ache that seemed to permeate his bones. The only thing he could begin to compare it to was a particularly awful flu, but at least the symptoms of such an illness would be mostly physical. There was only one medicine that could possibly ease his jittery nerves and persistent insomnia - the very one he was trying to avoid. He was dozing again when Nye returned, too exhausted and uncomfortable to really keep his eyes open, but he opened them a crack at the creak of the door. He made grabby hands towards the blanket. Nye chuckled, handing it over along with a fresh hoodie he’d pulled out of Nicky’s bag.

“I’m gonna get out my computer and do some work before bed. Do you need anything?”

Nicky just shook his head, struggling to change out of his sweat-soaked shirt with his hands shaking so badly. Nye eventually couldn’t stand to just watch, helping him out of it and pulling the clean hoodie over his head.

“That better?”

“Yeah,” Nicky mumbled, too weak and weary to be embarrassed that he needed help with such simple things. “Go do your work. ‘M not going anywhere.”

That ended up only being a half-truth. Nye had set his laptop aside after an hour or two, turning on a movie only to doze off while watching it. He was woken by the sound of clumsy footsteps and creaking doors as Nicky nearly broke his neck stumbling into the bathroom. He sighed, padding down the corridor and pausing at the door. There were no sounds coming from inside just yet, but he didn't trust that peace to last.

"Nick, you okay?" He called softly. "You need anything?"

He didn’t get a proper answer, but a meek, miserable groan at least reassured him that Nicky wasn’t dead. Nye wasn’t sure the invasion of privacy would be appreciated, but the grating heave that echoed from the bathroom made him seriously consider it. Even if Nicky was offended, he was in no state to fight back.

“I’m gonna come in, okay?” Nye said, still giving a second of grace before he tried the door. Thankfully, Nicky hadn’t bothered to lock it.

"I'm okay," Nicky croaked as the door swung open. He was curled around the toilet, one grey cheek pressed against the seat so that he didn't have to keep his head up.

Nye scoffed, but it wasn’t aggressive. Kneeling down beside Nicky, he braced a hand between his shoulderblades just as another forceful retch rippled through his body. Wishing he’d taken the time to grab a glass of water, Nye tutted sympathetically, brushing Nicky’s fringe aside before it fell in the water. “Easy…”

"Easy...for you...t'say," Nicky panted, throat tight around an impending gag. The muscles in his back tensed as his stomach cramped again, and he heaved, bitter sick splattering into the bowl. Nye continued to rub his back, muttering quiet reassurances.

“You’re okay,” Nye insisted. “I’ve got you.”

Nicky moaned, resting his head against his wrist. "Wanna die," he mumbled. "Jesus…"

“Please don’t. There’s no way I’ll get my deposit back on this cottage if you die here,” Nye teased.

Nicky’s shoulders jerked with a hoarse bark of laughter, and he elbowed Nye in the ribs. “Prick.”

"Jerk," Nye chuckled, patting between his shoulder blades when he lurched forward with an aborted heave.

The flicker of good nature faded as his nausea swelled again, making Nicky retch over the soiled water several times before he was able to catch his breath again. “Fuck… fuck me,” he rasped. Part of him wanted to ask Nye how long this would last - part of him would rather drown in the toilet than know.

"I'm gonna get you a glass of water, okay?" Nye said gently, reaching to flush the toilet. "Maybe a bucket so you can go back to bed."

“Okay,” Nicky nodded complacently, going limp against the toilet. The once-cold porcelain had leached all the heat from his skin, slick with the sweat beading on his face. “I’ll… be here.”

Nye patted his back one more time before straightening up. "Be right back."

Even just stepping out to get water felt wrong. While he was rifling through the kitchen cabinets for a suitable glass, - or cup, really, Nicky was too wobbly for breakables - Nye could hear strained retching coming from the bathroom. He winced at the sound, filling the cup at the tap and hurrying back. He could find a bucket later.

Nicky was in much the same state Nye had left him, knuckles white on the toilet seat, eyes bloodshot from the force of heaving so violently. Despite how his stomach rebelled, there was little in him to actually throw up. He’d long expelled his meagre dinner, and at this point, even the trickles of bile were growing sparse.

"Aw mate," Nye sighed, squatting down beside him. "Here, wash your mouth out and let's get you back to bed. You're gonna need your rest."

A hollow belch escaped Nicky’s lips, and he propped himself up slightly, reaching for the water Nye offered. His hands shook so badly that he nearly dropped the glass, and Nye ended up just holding it to his lips, coaxing a few sips before setting the cup aside.

“Come on, up you go. You really need to lie down…” As Nye hauled Nicky up off the bathroom floor, he felt briefly grateful that Nicky had lost so much weight. He was so much taller than Nye, maneuvering him was difficult enough now; it would only have been worse if he were heavier. That flash of gratitude turned to sorrow, however, when Nye looped his arms around Nicky’s torso to support him, feeling the distinct outline of ribs and shoulder blades even through his hoodie. Nicky was far too out of it to notice Nye’s mournful expression, his head lolling like a limp marionette as he was dragged back to the bedroom. He barely moved once dropped on the bed, save for a hand shifting to rest gingerly on his stomach. Nye sighed. “I’m going to find a bucket, so you don’t have to get up again. I won’t be long, I promise.”

""Kay," Nicky mumbled, gazing vacantly into the distance, too out of it now to even offer thanks. His whole body felt like it was on fire, both with heat from the fever and the wretched aching in his skin and bones. As Nye disappeared down the hall, he quickly lost all sense of time, mind adrift in the throbbing haze of a feverish headache. In his utter exhaustion, he actually started to doze, but his sleep was fitful. Memories he’d tried so hard to push down came bubbling to the surface, twisting together into new convoluted stressors a healthier mind could never have dreamed. He saw his mother, slamming the door in his face, his deadbeat dad on her arm. He saw Ffion and Delilah flying off the back of his bike as it skidded haphazardly around a turn. He saw Nye, dragging him out of the cottage and down to the ocean to drown. Without warning, he let out a ragged sob.

"Hey." A cool hand came to rest on his forehead, stroking his sweat-soaked fringe away from his eyes. "Shhhh, shh, you're okay love."

Nicky sobbed again, then retched, and was hauled onto his side in time to spit up a tiny mouthful of water. He coughed and sputtered, heaving again, but only brought up a trickle of bitter saliva. Nye chewed worriedly at his lip, perching on the edge of the bed and resting a hand on Nicky’s back. He’d have to change the sheets now, but there was no point until Nicky settled, his gasping sobs threatening to devolve into another retch.

"Nicky, I'm right here," he soothed, taking a tissue from the nightstand and wiping the spit from his cheek. "Please don't cry, I know you're feeling rubbish…"

“Y-you’re not… gonna g-g…get rid of me?” It was difficult to catch his breath, much less speak, and the question came out as a series of gulping sobs, barely intelligible between sniffles.

"Jesus, Nicky…" Nye's face twisted with regret. "Of course not, you great lump."

Nicky latched onto him at once, clinging to the arm Nye had wrapped around him and making a feeble attempt to pull him close. He seemed genuinely surprised and delighted by this news, which made Nye worry about just how out of it he must have been. “Th-thank you,” he choked out, burying his face in Nye’s shoulder with a hiccuping sob.

"Shhh, it's okay," Nye hummed, hugging him back. "Come on, why don't you lie down in the other room and I'll change the sheets in here, yeah?"

Nicky nodded complacently, but even as he attempted to cooperate, it was difficult for Nye to haul him up, the two of them teetering perilously for a moment. Nye managed to steady himself after a second, practically dragging Nicky down the hall. What he didn’t expect to be the true challenge was peeling Nicky off of himself. Despite how frail he’d become, Nicky had somehow managed to latch onto Nye with an inhuman strength, groaning in protest every time Nye tried to lay him down.

"I'll come back," Nye insisted, struggling to keep the frustration from leaching into his tone. After all that had happened over the last few years, he could understand why Nicky didn't want to be alone. Eventually, he managed to coerce Nicky into lying down, with promises of quickly bringing over the blanket Jac had knitted, which had thankfully survived unscathed. As soon as he returned with it, Nicky snatched up the blanket like a needy child, clutching it tightly against his chest. He at least seemed comforted enough by the blanket to let Nye leave and clean up the other bedroom.

He checked his watch as he walked through. Only 11pm. The thought that this nightmare would last at least the next few days was miserable for him, and he could only hope that Nicky wouldn't be able to track the passage of time in such a coherent manner.

By the time he’d gotten the sheets changed, a bucket by the bed, and a fresh glass of water, Nye was hoping that Nicky might have fallen asleep. Truthfully, he knew it was too much to ask, but he still felt an awful pang of pity when he opened the door to a hollow, mournful gaze. Nicky seemed to have cried out the most drastic of his emotions, but the solemn, sorrowful energy that had overcome him was almost worse.

“I don’t… feel very good,” he mumbled, as if that weren’t blatantly obvious. Nestling up in the blankets, he was still shivering, and though he didn’t feel actively sick, his stomach still ached horribly. “C’n I have a new hot water bottle?”

"Yeah," Nye agreed softly. "And then I want you to try and sleep, okay? At least for a bit."

Nicky groaned, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. "I can't. I've been trying for ages. I'm exhausted, but I can't."

That wasn't entirely true, but considering the caliber of nightmares he'd been having earlier, Nicky honestly wished that it were. Nye sighed, bending down to pat his shoulder. "I know, just try, okay? I'll be back in a minute with your hot water bottle."

When he came back, Nicky had curled into a tight ball, clutching the blanket against his chest. He looked so young it reminded Nye of sleepovers they'd had as kids when Nicky's mum had been away on work trips. Sitting gently on the edge of the bed, Nye reached over to slide the hot water bottle under the blanket. Nicky gave a groan of acknowledgement, too spent to even articulate his thanks. The heat was soothing against his cramping stomach, but even with the added comfort, it was difficult to rest.

He was antsy, nerves frayed and fingers twitching. Mentally, he was pacing wild circles around the room, glancing frantically from wall to wall in search of unseen threats. Even Nye's hand on his shoulder made him jump, and Nicky flopped on his back, groaning in defeat.

"'m gonna go mad," he whispered, voice scratchy and weak.

“It won’t last,” Nye replied, sitting up next to him on the bed.

"How can you be sure? After feeling like this for so long, what will 'better' even be like? It's not like the urge ever truly goes away." The melancholy thoughts were swelling in his head, spiraling deeper and deeper as they tried to drag Nicky down with them.

“For someone who feels so ill, you sure do have a lot of energy to talk,” Nye chuckled, patting Nicky’s hair absently. “It won’t last. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

"Got anything to take the edge off, doc?"

Nye thumped his arm lightly. "Nothing you'll want. Really, I think once you get some sleep you'll feel loads better."

Nicky grunted in concession, nestling up against Nye. "If I don't, I'll kick your ass."

“You can try,” Nye teased, flexing so that his quads rippled where Nicky’s head was leaning. “But I promise in a few days you’ll feel like a new person.”

"God, I hope," Nicky sighed. He was going to go on about how if he still felt this lousy in a few days, he wanted Nye to kill him, but the energy seemed to have sapped out of him all at once. Even the trembling had faded (though it didn't stop entirely), and he fell limp as a ragdoll, breathing steadying out.

Though he wasn't in the most comfortable position, Nye didn't dare move. He knew sleep would be a rare and precious commodity the next few days, and he couldn't bring himself to deprive Nicky of the much-needed rest, even if his arm was starting to go numb.

It was a few hours until Nicky next properly woke up, but the hours after that blurred into a fog of shaking and crying and vomiting. Nye had woken up just in time to ease him over the bucket, and Nicky had been hanging halfway off the bed heaving ever since. Nye had tried to coax him back against the pillows a few times, but the shift in position just made his stomach turn all over again. 

Now, they had reached another brief, misleading lull between bouts. Nye had forced some water into Nicky, alarmed by the passive way he did what he was told, not even complaining that it would just come straight back up. Perhaps that was a given at this point. He wondered whether he ought to start an IV drip, but the way Nicky had been twitching about in his sleep earlier made him unsure whether it would stay in.

Beyond the unavoidable shakes, Nicky was also restless. He'd felt fidgety for ages and it was only getting worse, to the point that he'd find himself compulsively tapping his fingers or kicking his foot despite how exhausted he was. Letting out a frustrated groan, he dug his fingers into a pillow, trying to still himself.

The fidgeting, however annoying, wasn't as bad as the way his stomach was cramping. The nausea had been one thing, but at least throwing up brought him a little relief. The squeezing ache in his belly made him gasp and whimper and kick his legs out feebly, and the hot water bottle was no longer cutting through the pain.

Nye sighed, giving Nicky's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He knew there was little he could really do to help, but at the very least, he could be there. "Easy now. Deep breaths… yeah, just like that." Easing an arm around Nicky's waist, he rubbed slowly over the taut muscles in his lower back, feeling them tense and spasm in time with his stomach. "Would it help if I made you a new hot water bottle?"

"No," Nicky said morosely. He could hardly even feel the one pressed against his belly, and it was barely ten minutes old. His stomach cramped again, making an awful growling noise, and he blanched, face screwing up in pain. "Ow, fuck…"

"Alright," Nye murmured, giving himself a moment to close his eyes in frustration before repeating, "deep breaths, it'll pass in a minute."

Nicky only groaned in response, curling forward into the fetal position with both arms tight around his middle. A fresh cold sweat had broken out on his clammy skin, prickling down the back of his neck and sticking to his hoodie. He rocked feebly back and forth on the bed, every fresh stab of pain prompting a little whimper or gasp. It hurt so badly, he was starting to feel sick from the sheer pain of it all, rather than just the inherent nausea of withdrawal.

"Think 'm gonna…," he ground out, breaking off with a hoarse cry. "Oh God…."

"Easy," Nye murmured, rubbing his back. "Here, let's get you over the bin…"

It was all Nicky could do just to cooperate, shaking uncontrollably as he tried to uncurl. "Nye, Jesus… Nye, something's wrong," he whimpered. "Hurts so much."

Nye worried his lip between his teeth, keeping a steady rhythm up and down Nicky's shivering spine. He wasn't truly afraid that something was wrong - he was afraid of Nicky's reaction if he said this was normal. “Try to breathe, I'll take your temperature when you've finished being sick.”

"I need a hit," Nicky begged desperately, turning wild eyes on Nye. "Just one, just something, please Nye. I can't do this, I can't, I -" He broke off with a sob.

"That's not going to help," Nye lied. "You'll just drag out the withdrawal even further." He kept his voice soft and even, resting his hand reassuringly on Nicky's shoulder. "I'm not going to give you drugs. Well. Not the drugs you want. But I might have something to help you sleep." It wasn't anything strong - he didn't want to replace one addiction with another - but he was hoping a few benadryl might do the trick.

Nicky sobbed again, wrapping his arms around his stomach and rocking forwards. "I just need something for the pain," he moaned. "God, it hurts."

"I don't think anything over the counter will really help," Nye warned. "I could make you another hot water bottle?"

"Just fucking kill me, then," Nicky hissed, teeth grinding audibly.

"Remember why we're doing this," Nye said gently.

Nicky growled, whipping around to glare at him. "Oh fuck off."

Nye sighed, relinquishing his grip on Nicky and scooting back a bit. "I'll leave you alone if you want." He wasn't worried by the idea of Nicky being out of sight - there was nowhere for him to run off to, and he wasn't in any state to run off, anyway.

"Good," Nicky spat. "God, you think you're so much better than me."

"I'm here because I want to help," Nye said, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. He climbed off the bed, stretching and heading for the door. He had no intent of going far, not with Nicky so sick, but he could at least catch a few hours of sleep in the other bedroom if he wasn't welcome here.

"Well piss off! I don't want your self-righteous ego-stroking 'help'! You think I owe everything to you, and I don't! If you really can't stand me, you should've just left me to die!" Nicky was ranting wildly now, overly emotional and borderline delirious as he yelled towards the door Nye had already closed behind him.

The sounds tapered off after a bit, and Nye slipped gratefully off to sleep. He actually got a few solid hours of rest, and was snoring soundly when a hoarse voice broke through his slumber.

"Nye? Nye, wake up…"

Nicky was white-knuckling the doorframe to stay up, legs threatening to give out beneath him. In the dim light, he looked particularly pale and unwell, his greyish skin slick with sweat and shimmering from how badly he trembled. It took Nye a minute to wake up and register the sight before him, rubbing his eyes and sitting up on his elbows.

"Jesus, you look like hell," he muttered. "Did you need something?"

Nicky's face crumbled. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean all those things I said. They weren't fair."

Nye sighed, shaking his head and sitting up a bit more. "I know, it's the pain talking. I'm not mad, I just needed a break. And you didn't particularly want me around."

"Yeah," Nicky said sheepishly, "sorry about that." Wooziness washed over him anew, and his grip on the doorframe tightened as he fought to stay upright. "I… I really do owe you everything," he said, somber and shockingly lucid as their eyes met across the dim room. "You've done so much for me, things I have no way to repay. I guess... I'm just a bit worried you resent me for it." Breaking away from Nye's gaze, Nicky stared down at his feet, his pale cheeks burning red.

"Oh jeez," Nye sighed, sitting up clumsily. "C'mere, sit down, you look like you're about to collapse."

Nicky didn't hesitate for even a second, swaying like a sapling in the wind as he shuffled over to the bed. He half sat, half collapsed into the space beside Nye, seemingly exhausted just from that short walk.

"I don't resent you," Nye said, patting his hair. "I'd rather lose a bit of time here and have my best friend back for the rest of my life, you know?"

A shocked, shaky breath filled the silence until Nicky found the courage to speak. It felt like years since anyone had been so much as happy to see him, much less wanted him around to stay. "...your best friend?" He asked, scared to even look at Nye in case he changed his mind.

"Idiot," Nye chuckled, flicking his head and settling back down. "I'm not saying it again."

Nicky nodded, flopping his head against Nye's shoulder and letting his eyes fall closed. Without that gnawing fear of rejection eating away at his insides, there was nothing left to keep him going. "Thank you," he mumbled, "for everything."

#whumptober 2023 #emeto #emetophilia #withdrawal #drugs #vomit #fever #angst #nicky #nye #no. 29 #I only sink deeper the deeper I think #fic #oc

[lickstynine]

Crawling Back to Me

Whumptober Day 27: "Let me see"

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

“Think you’re so fuckin’ smart! If I see you back here again, I'll knock your fucking teeth out!”

Nicky hit the pavement with a scraping thud, the knee of his threadbare joggers tearing as he skidded across the ground. The skin beneath it tore as well, but he hardly felt it, too distracted by the pain in his chest that kept him from drawing a full breath. Blood was streaming down his face, both from his split lip and the cut above his brow. He could hardly see from his left eye, which had swelled shut, and he couldn’t tell if the throbbing in his head was from a particularly fierce hit he’d taken or just the overwhelming pain. Stumbling to his feet, he wrapped an arm around his midsection, gasping feebly for breath. Spitting blood from his mouth, he tried to stay standing, but it was difficult, even leaning against the alley wall. 

Just dragging himself to the nearest public toilet was a hellish journey, and Nicky was fully convinced he’d left a blood trail the entire way, like a more gruesome Hansel and Gretel. His bad leg was barely keeping him up, and he clutched at the grimy sink to keep himself from falling over. In the flickering fluorescent light, his pale skin looked particularly sallow, mottled with blood and bruising. His eye was even more swollen than it felt, and he couldn’t tell if his nose was broken again or just badly bruised. He gingerly dabbed at his bloody lip with a scrap of paper towel, wetting it in the sink to clean up his face further.

Even once he’d mopped away what he could, Nicky found himself staring at a pretty sorry sight in the cracked, spotty mirror. Blood had soaked through his hoodie in several spots, and he could only hope that most of those spots had stopped bleeding by now. He couldn’t say the same, however, for the awful crack on his head. Reaching a tentative hand up to it, he could feel a goose egg swelling up, sticky blood clumping his hair together and continuing to flow freely. He was starting to feel woozy, his monocular mirror vision beginning to blur. Relinquishing his grip on the sink, he slumped down the wall of the grotty single-person bathroom. This was perhaps the first time he’d spend the night in such a foul place sober.

As he hit the cold, disconcertingly damp tile, Nicky came to an uncomfortable conclusion. The blood soaking his hoodie and soiling his hair had yet to stop flowing, and the foul coppery smell would’ve made him shudder if he had the energy. He gingerly pressed a hand to the worst pain in his chest, trying and failing to staunch the flow.

After a long, stubborn attempt to will his body into submission, the only progress Nicky had made was blood trickling through his fingers and down his wrist. He had come to the grim, hazy realization that it wasn’t going to stop on its own. The only worse feeling was when he realized what he would have to do in order to make it through the night.

He arrived in Nye's driveway an hour later. How he'd made it there, he couldn't remember, outside of a vague memory of lights reflecting in puddles on the pavement and an old lady trying to talk to him. He hoped Nye still lived here, that he hadn't moved to a new place since they'd last spoken. Otherwise he'd be appearing in some poor stranger's doorway and scaring the daylights out of them. He paused at the gate. It was too late to turn back now - it was swallow his pride or be found dead in the morning. Wincing, he dragged himself up to the door and knocked.

Nye was soundly asleep when he heard the rap on the door. He was praying Delilah hadn’t gotten into something stupid and been dragged home, but at the same time, he hadn’t a clue what else it would be. Slinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stepped into his slippers, shuffling down the stairs and to the door. Despite the worry gnawing in his chest, he was still half asleep as he undid the deadbolt, giving a drowsy, “Wha’s goin’... oh.”

The sight on his doorstep hit Nye harder than the cold gust of wind that came with it. He wondered for a brief moment if this was a nightmare, considering his friend - ex-friend - on the doorstep looked more dead than alive. Nicky was translucently white, caked in grime and dripping blood, skinnier and more haggard than Nye had ever seen him. Scarier than that, though, was the lack of a bitter scowl on his face. His gaze was vacant, with only a glimmer of desperate hope in the one eye that could properly open. The biggest shock of all came when Nicky finally spoke.

“I need your help.”

Nye was silent for a moment, still processing the sight - the battered remnants of Nicky's face, the way his hands jittered by his sides.

"What the fuck?"

“I… I know, you’d probably rather let me rot out here. Go ahead, if you want. I just… didn’t have anywhere else to go… anyone else to go to.” Nicky said quietly, his usual aggression long gone and replaced with a meek honesty. Normally, he wouldn’t say so much, but the lightheaded wooziness of blood loss caused the words to keep spilling out, not unlike the blood continually soaking his sweatshirt. “Really, it’s… it's probably lights for me either way, but… I thought I’d ask. Please?”

"You need a hospital," Nye said bluntly, already reaching for his car keys. "What are you on? They'll need to know so that they don't overdose you."

“I’m not… not right now. ‘M skint. ‘S how I got here in the first place,'' Nicky admitted, leaning on the doorframe with a dull thunk.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Nye scoffed, grabbing Nicky's elbow so that he didn't fall. If he was honest with himself, one of the reasons he was so angry was that he was terrified by how awful Nicky looked. "After the way you behaved? After you stole from your mum?"

Nicky grimaced, stumbling and leaning towards Nye in a desperate bid to keep from falling. “Really, Nye, I’m so sober it hurts. I’ve been jonesing so bad, I was fixing fights at the club to make money. They figured me out and… yeah.” He gestured meekly towards his battered body, having neither the words nor the energy to explain further. “I’m serious, Nye, I’m only here because I can’t go anywhere else. I’ve been sleeping at the club. I don’t… don’t expect you to let me sleep here, I just… thought you were the one person I could still trust to… not let me die.”

"Oh for fucks sake," Nye sighed, pausing a moment before hauling him in. "Don't make me regret this. And don't let Lilah see you in this state. She's still fucking grieving, she doesn't need your drama too."

“I won’t.” Nicky nodded solemnly. He had found out - through a drug-peddling friend that Delilah had gone to - about Gwen and Lilah’s mother, and he’d nearly come back then, if only to see Delilah. He missed his own mother horribly, and she was still alive; he couldn’t imagine how they were feeling. Despite how floaty he was starting to feel, like a marionette steered by a shoddy puppeteer, he made a conscious effort to be careful and quiet as Nye dragged him inside.

"Go on, bathroom," Nye ordered gruffly. "I'll get the first aid kit, see what we're dealing with."

Nicky shuffled along obediently, knowing the route by heart despite how long it had been. When Nye came in, he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, having already discarded his filthy hoodie on the floor. Beneath the baggy, blood-soaked fabric he was skin and bones, faded tattoos interspersed with bruises in various stages of healing, along with several new and very nasty-looking cuts. His head hung defeatedly between gaunt shoulderblades, bloody mats of hair half-concealing the gash beneath.

"Jesus," Nye muttered, picking through his hair to check for debris. Nicky winced, hissing through his teeth in pain, but forced himself not to flinch as Nye probed the lump on his head. "You're lucky, I don't think this has fractured. I'm gonna need you to wash up though so I can see if anything needs stitches. No shower gel or anything, just warm water okay?"

Nicky nodded, but just the idea of standing made his legs threaten to buckle. He gripped the counter in a desperate attempt to keep himself steady, leaning heavily on it as he shimmied out of his ragged joggers. Nye offered a supportive hand, if only to keep him from cracking his skull on the tile, and guided him over to the shower, starting the water so it could warm up while Nicky painstakingly peeled off his underwear. He knew Nye was too much of a doctor to care, and he was too far gone to be embarrassed anymore.

"I'll definitely close up that one," Nye said, pointing to the gash on Nicky's chest. It was deep and ragged, torn into him by one of the big, ugly rings his boss wore. Nicky nodded in agreement - right now the jagged edges stung so much with every breath that he was convinced getting stitches would actually feel better. Nye eased him into the shower, and Nicky hissed at the sting of water on fresh wounds. It took all his energy to reach up and ruffle his hair, loosening the dried blood that stuck the stringy locks together.

"Here, I'll do it," Nye said, after a few moments of observing his futile attempts. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and began to comb through Nicky's hair. The unexpected touch made Nicky wince, and he hissed briefly in pain, trying not to wither completely under Nye’s hands. He forced himself to stay still, his face stinging painfully as he scrunched it up in discomfort. When the blood was all washed away (save for the bits trickling relentlessly from his head and chest), he looked less like a vagrant, but significantly more like a corpse. Nye turned off the water, tossing him an old towel that had been the victim of Delilah’s hair dyeing experiments. Nicky gingerly dried himself off, stumbling out of the shower feeling like the barely-living dead.

"I'm going to get you something to wear," Nye said, although he was sure nothing of Nate's would fit Nicky anymore. "Try not to bleed everywhere, I'll be back in a minute."

Nicky nodded complacently, pressing the towel against the weak stream of watery blood dripping down his chest. He was feeling more lightheaded than ever, the cold air on his skin making him shiver, every tremble tugging at fresh injuries. Slumping further forward, he was resting with his damp fringe brushing against bruised knees when Nye returned.

"Hey," Nye said sharply, tapping his shoulder. "Stay with me or I'm calling an ambulance, okay? The only reason I've not done it yet is you'll be a nightmare for the paramedics and they don't deserve that just for you to check yourself out AMA."

The touch was enough to bring Nicky back from spaceland, and he jerked his head up, only to wince at the way it re-aggravated his injuries. “Yeah, sorry…” he mumbled, gingerly propping himself up. “What can I do? To make this less of a pain in your ass.”

"Stay still," Nye muttered. "Try not to scream."

Nicky nodded. Truthfully, he didn’t think he had the energy left to scream. Of course, as Nye got started with the disinfectant, he certainly felt the urge. He took a long, tense breath, holding it tightly as the actual stitches started. Despite all odds, he managed to stay both quiet and conscious throughout the whole ordeal, but by the time Nye had finished, his face was ghostly white and drenched in a cold sweat.

“There you go,” Nye said, snipping the last of the stitching. He grabbed a roll of gauze to cover up the more severe stitching. “Try not to rip this off and sell it for a fix.”

The words stung. Worse than the antiseptic. Worse than the needle. Worse than the borderline brass knuckles of a ring that had made the original injuries. Nicky stayed still as Nye finished bandaging him, but his face fell visibly. “I won’t,” he said softly. As Nye put away the last of the first-aid supplies, Nicky grabbed his wrist. Even his hands seemed tangibly frailer than before, and not just from the knuckles scraped nearly to the bone in self-defense. “Nye,” he said, mustering the last of his energy to make his voice more audible. “Thank you.”

"Whatever," Nye muttered, stripping off his gloves. "I won't do this again. I don't want you dead, but I can't just sit around and enable...whatever this is."

“I won’t do this again,” Nicky replied, weary but surprisingly genuine. “Any of this.” He sat up, forcing a deep breath despite how it tugged on his fresh stitches. “I’m done. I want out, before it kills me. I want my life back.” He paused and took a breath, but his voice still cracked. “…I want my friends back. But I doubt you want to hear that.” Nicky hung his head again, letting it rest in bandaged hands. He was expecting to be thrown back out as soon as he was fully dressed, told to get out and stay out. The memories of his mother were still painfully fresh, and he was unable to fight the tears welling in his eyes. His voice was quiet and choked when he continued. “I want to be a person again. I’m not, right now, I know, and it’s my own fault. I hate it. But I want to fix it, truly I do. I just… don’t know where to start."

"You say that now," Nye said. The anger had bled from his voice and now he just sounded tired. "You can sleep in the guest room tonight, but if anything goes missing, so help me, I'll call the police."

Nicky nodded, so relieved at not being kicked out that he started to tremble. “Thank you,” he whispered, grabbing the edge of the counter to haul himself up. “I’ll… I’ll get to bed and be out of your hair in the morning.”

"Okay." Nye turned away, picking up the first aid kit to put away. "Well, you know where everything is."

Nicky only nodded again, most of his energy devoted to staying upright long enough to get to bed. He’d lost a good bit of blood and been knocked upside the head, and he hadn’t felt properly steady in a long time. Drawing a long, shaky breath, he stumbled away down the hall. He’d barely hit the bedsheets in the guest room before he was out cold.

When Nye woke up in the morning, he wondered briefly if it had all been a dream. Some sick, twisted dream to reopen old wounds and create false hopes. As he got up, though, he saw the bloodied pyjamas in his hamper, and the resulting relief and concern sent a strange rush through him. He sighed, shaking his head, hauling himself out of bed, and shuffling downstairs to start scavenging for breakfast.

He was sat at the island, setting up his calendar for the day over an espresso from the fancy little machine that Dai had bought him when he'd finished his foundation years, when Delilah shuffled downstairs.

"Was there someone at the door last night?" She asked, pouring herself a coffee from the jug in the fridge. "I thought I heard a knock but I was half asleep."

“That was probably me, sorry,” Nye said. “I forgot to take the bins out until late.”

Delilah just shook her head, sleep-rumpled hair bouncing. “Do it more quietly next time,” she lamented, smacking him lightly on the arm before sitting down beside him. “Doing anything fun today?”

He managed to get through the rest of his conversation with Delilah without further suspicion, relieved to hear that she was going out shopping with Ffion in an hour or so. With any luck, they’d be long gone before Nicky’s borderline nocturnal ass woke up.

Once she left, he was distracted by work, and it was nearly lunchtime by the time he realised that Nicky still hadn't surfaced. Had he left already? He said he’d be gone in the morning, but they both knew Nicky didn’t get up that early. Making his way back towards the guest room, Nye looked both ways down the hall before ducking through the door.

He was surprised to see Nicky still out cold, splayed out on the bed in what was likely the same position he’d fallen into it. His snores were muffled by the pillow, jaw slack and drooling slightly. Nye leaned over to shake his shoulder but even before he touched him he could feel the heat radiating from his body. Nye frowned. He considered going to get the thermometer, but decided to give it a bit, instead gently shaking his shoulder.

Nicky groaned, barely lifting his head from the pillow his face had imprinted on. “Huh?”

"You're burning up, mate," Nye said, feeling his forehead to double check. "Is it withdrawal?"

He shook his head, leaning into the soothing coolness of Nye’s hand. “‘ve got… no.”

Nye bit his lip, praying that none of the makeshift medical work had become infected. “...I’ll keep an eye on it,” he said eventually.

Nicky nodded limply, slumping back down against the pillow with a groan. It had been so long since he'd slept in a real bed and -

He bolted upright, nearly smacking his head against Nye's. "I should go, I said I'd leave in the morning."

Nye pushed him back down, surprisingly gentle despite what Nicky had expected. "Relax. I'm not going to kick you out," he said quietly. "But when you're feeling better, we've got to talk."

"I'll do anything," Nicky said. His lips wobbled and he reached out to clutch Nye's hand before continuing, "Anything you want."

"You don't need to grovel," Nye said, pulling his hand away. "You need to actually change instead of just spewing flowery apologies."

"I know," Nicky said mournfully. "I know I have a lot of work to do. But I want to do it. I'm either going to fix myself or die, alone, and I really don't want to die."

"Yeah, well..." Nye took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm going to get you some paracetamol. Do you want breakfast or no?"

Nicky hesitated for a moment. He couldn't actually tell if the discomfort in his stomach was the hunger he'd grown so used to or a feverish queasiness. Of course, he'd also gotten in the habit of taking food whenever it was offered. "...something easy."

Nye nodded, disappearing from the room to gather what he needed. He was just putting Nicky's breakfast on a tray with a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol when the front door flew open, Ffion and Lilah strolling in with armfuls of shopping bags.

"Is Nate home?" Delilah asked, clocking the contents of the tray immediately. Even though Nate had been well enough to take his place at uni back up the previous year, it wasn't unusual for him to drag himself back to Cardiff if he was having a particularly hard time.

"Uh…" Nye floundered. He couldn't just fabricate a brother out of nowhere. "Um, no. Uh… Nicky's back."

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. Ffion dropped her bags. Delilah screamed. They both came barrelling towards him like rabid dogs, desperate for more information.

"Where is he?"

"Is he okay?"

"When did he get here?"

"Does Jac know?"

"Is that for him?"

"Have you told his mum?"

"Can I bring it to him?"

Nye groaned, taking a step back from Delilah without relinquishing the tray. "Ease up, both of you. I don't know if he wants visitors. And even if he did, you two don't need to surgically reattach to his hips just yet."

“Nye,” Delilah growled. “Give me the goddamn tray. I’m going up to see him either way.”

Nye reluctantly handed it over, knowing she would kick down the door if push came to shove. "Make sure he takes the paracetamol," he told her.

Delilah nodded, lighting up as the tray was handed over. She was in such a hurry up the stairs, she nearly dumped it on herself, knocking on the guest room door but not waiting for an answer.

When Delilah opened the door, Nicky was shocked not to see Nye, a brief panic flashing over his face as he worried he'd be told to leave. The real surprise, though, was for her. Nate's clothes hung off Nicky like a scarecrow, and he could still barely open his left eye, the bruising around it a nasty purplish red. Nye had stitched up the worst of his cuts, but he still had a split lip, and there was a butterfly bandage holding the gash above his eyebrow closed. Worse than any of his injuries though, was the fearful look he gave her, like a deer in headlights waiting to be plowed down.

"...hi," he whispered, waving meekly at her. Delilah didn’t say anything at first, setting the tray down on the bedside table and crawling up onto the bed next to him. Nicky held his breath, waiting for her anger, or disappointment, or indifference. After all, he’d been absent when she’d needed her friends the most.

“Who did this?” She asked eventually, light fingers skimming over his swollen face. The heat of fever radiated off of him, and he leaned into her gentle touch.

"My boss… well, ex-boss now. At the club." He mumbled. "Got in trouble."

"Clearly," she scoffed, cradling his head against her chest. "You look like shit."

Her tone was light, teasing, but with the unmistakable wobble of genuine worry. Nicky chuckled faintly, closing his eyes as he settled into her. "Thanks. Could always count on you to tell it straight."

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “...I missed you so much.”

"Missed you too," he admitted. There was a long silence as he weighed the guilt in his chest, finally murmuring, "I heard about your mum. I'm really sorry."

Delilah’s throat tightened. Her relationship with her mum had been weird - she’d been sick for such a huge chunk of Delilah’s life - but now that she was gone that almost didn’t matter. It still hurt. “Uh, yeah,” she mumbled, sucking in a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

"...I should've been there," He said, shame heavy in his voice. "You needed me, and I wasn't around." Nicky's mind suddenly went to his own parents - his mother, who he missed so badly, and his deadbeat father, who'd had the audacity to show up out of the blue and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Was that what he was doing now? Did he deserve to be back? It was all starting to make his head hurt, and he groaned, pushing the thoughts aside and wrapping Lilah up in a tight hug.

“It’s okay…,” she whispered, pressing her face into his shoulder. It was close enough to the gash across his chest that the movement pulled at the edges, but he stopped himself from flinching.

“It’s not,” he said firmly. There was a sudden hot wetness behind his eyes, and he squeezed them tighter. “It’s… It’s really not. It was shitty.”

"...yeah," Delilah admitted, "it was. But I forgive you. Just… promise you won't leave again."

Nicky swallowed the lump in his throat, guilt pooling like oil in the pit of his stomach. "I promise," he breathed, voice threatening to crack.

“‘Kay.” She sniffled a little before she regained control of herself, face damp through his shirt. Nicky hugged her tightly, trying not to sniffle himself, but the tears in his eyes finally spilled over, and he let out an involuntary little whimper as his emotions overflowed with them. Delilah squeezed him back, unintentionally eliciting a groan of pain as her grasp tightened around bruised ribs. She swore, easing up immediately. “You should take some painkillers, you must be sore.”

"Yeah, please," Nicky nodded, groping around on the bedside table until he found the paracetamol. Out of sheer habit, he dumped a few pills into his palm and swallowed them dry. Delilah grabbed the water from the tray, offering it to him and graciously not saying anything. Once he'd downed half the glass, having realized just how thirsty he was, he set it aside, no longer very interested in the food sitting beside it. Instead, he simply looped an arm lazily back around Delilah, laying down with her and snuggling up.

“You’re really warm,” she fussed, pressing her fingers against his cheek.

“The meds will sort it out,” he grunted. “I just need some sleep.” It didn't help his case when she rested her cool palm against his skin, coaxing out a groan as he pressed his face into her hand.

"Are you sure? You really don't seem well."

"Rough night," he mumbled, seemingly unconcerned.

"Okay." She settled back down beside him, his face easing into the crook of her neck. "Get some rest then. We can fix everything else when you're better."

Nicky was more than content with that, his warm mass settling against her as he started to drift off again. There was a gentle tap at the door before Nye peeked in on them, and he sighed, watching them worriedly from the doorway. It was great that Delilah had a new source of comfort, but if Nicky couldn't keep up his end of the bargain, she'd have another fresh flood of grief to handle. It wasn’t something he could deal with now - aside from physically hauling Delilah away from him and locking her in her room, there wasn’t much he could do. Besides, the damage was already done. He sighed, quietly closing the door.

Ffion was still sitting downstairs, seemingly waiting for someone to tell her what to do. She wanted to see Nicky. She wanted to tell Jac. She wanted to scream from the excitement of it all. But she didn't feel like she could do any of it until Nye said it was okay. The worried frown on his face made her own chest tight with concern, and she asked, "Did something happen?"

“She’ll be devastated if he leaves,” he said shortly, switching the coffee machine back on even though he’d definitely maxed out his recommended caffeine intake for the day. “I didn’t want her to know until it was more…certain.”

Ffion sighed quietly. "Yeah, it wouldn't be good. Do… do you think he will leave?" She asked.

"Who knows?" Nye shrugged. "You can never tell with junkies. You'll get a speech worthy of Shakespeare about how they've changed their ways, and then a week later they're off doing whatever it takes to get their fix."

“That’s so sad,” Ffion murmured. “I hope he doesn’t. I know Jac’s missed him.”

Nye nodded. Jac had been the hardest to get on board with the intervention - not because he didn't want to help, but because he couldn't fathom completely cutting off his best friend. It had only been when Nye pointed out how dangerous it could be for the girls that Jac had even truly considered it. "I know. So don't tell him yet."

"I won't," Ffion sighed. She knew Jac would be shouting it from the rooftops as soon as he knew, and that would mean telling Nicky's mother, too. The idea of getting her hopes up that her only child was back and doing better just for him to leave again seemed unimaginably cruel. “Can you tell Lilah I went home, but I can come back if she wants to chill later?”

"I will," Nye said, taking his cup of coffee and walking over to give her a hug. "Text me, let me know you made it home okay."

Ffion scoffed, hugging him back before picking up her bags. "I'm not a kid anymore, you know."

"Do it anyway," Nye said, opening the front door for her.

#whumptober 2023 #injury #broken ribs #cuts #blood loss #bloody nose #whump #caretaking #nicky #nye #ffion #delilah #no. 27 #“let me see” #fic #oc #its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

[lickstynine]

The Final Straw

Nicky pulled his hood tightly over his head, though it was already too soaked to do him much good. The rain overhead poured down with a ferocity unusual even for a bitter British winter, each drop of water hitting with the heft of a stone. As the freezing rain drummed mercilessly on his head and shoulders, his eyes darted around the drenched, dreary neighbourhood. The streetlamps hardly seemed to have the power to illuminate their own posts, each providing little more than a sickly yellow glow in the nearest puddle.

It was only due to years of slinking through these streets at night that Nicky was able to identify a path, but he had no trouble finding the swiftest route away from home. He stayed pressed against the wet brick walls wherever he could, trying to avoid at least the biting wind where he couldn't escape the driving rain. He loathed having to go on foot in such weather, but he hadn't spared any money to put petrol in his bike in ages. It was really only his inability to explain selling it that had kept the thing in his mum's garage. Just the thought of selling anything right now made his blood boil, but all the fury was directed inward at himself.

Icy water seeped into his trainers, a harsh punishment for a simple misstep, and he felt the chill in his bones growing deeper. Even with the body heat generated as he walked, he was shivering badly. He'd been feeling lousy for days now, but initially dismissed it as withdrawal. His money had gone from skint to non-existent, and he'd been stretching a meagre stash over far too long a time period. When the last of his supply ran dry about a week ago, he had started to feel foul, as always. His mum probably would have thought he was seriously ill, if she were home enough to notice how often he was sick.

His mind shifted back to the present as lightning cracked overhead, briefly illuminating the bleak neighbourhood he was now halfway through. Even in the dark and the rain, he had already recognized the upcoming building as Jac's flat. The memories just approaching the place made him sick to his stomach. Jac - and by extension Ffion - had been the last of his friends to fully cut him off. Even with Nye's urging, Jac had been insistent on sticking by his friend, loyal as ever to a fault, even after the disaster of the intervention.

That intervention had been one of the worst nights of Nicky's life. He had come stumbling up the shabby steps of Jac's flat for the thousandth time, a fresh high fading and exhaustion kicking in. He didn't have a key, but he'd never truly needed one, able to shimmy his way through the lock without effort. Barely two steps into the apartment, he knew something was wrong. The sense of unease sent a wash of adrenaline through his veins, some of the lingering fuzziness of intoxication fading. Still on alert, he'd turned to take his grubby trainers off, only to stop, clocking far too many pairs of more expensive, unexpectedly familiar shoes piled by the door.

He spun around, panic flashing in his eyes. Now adjusted to the dim indoor light, he registered all the figures filling the living room: Nate, Nye, Gwen, Jac, Ffion, and Delilah. Nicky swallowed apprehensively, hardly daring to take a step forward. He hadn't taken his shoes off yet. He could still make a dash for it.

"Come on in. No-one's going to hurt you. We want to help." Jac stepped forward, offering a hand.

Nicky drew back immediately. "You don't need to do this. I'll leave. I get it. I can find somewhere else to stay."

Confusion drew Jac's brow into a deep furrow. "No, it's not like that. Nicky, we want to help. You've just got to talk to us."

Talking had done little good. What started as words of concern quickly deteriorated to a shouting match, and before long, Nicky had stormed out, while Nye spat venom out the door in his wake.

Though he hadn't spoken to Nye since then, Nicky had at least seen Nate and Gwen in passing and exchanged pleasantries. Delilah had stayed in touch as well, leaning on him for a fix of her own as her mother's condition continued to deteriorate. When Gwen found out, however, she'd none too kindly removed Nicky from the house, making it abundantly clear that he wasn't welcome back.

Even after that, Jac hadn't pushed Nicky away, letting him crash whenever he wanted and insisting that he needed somebody in his corner. He had even turned a blind eye when some of his own things began to go missing, though he had very little of value to take in the first place. In true Jac fashion, it hadn't been anything done to him that broke the camel's back. What broke him was Ffion, waking Jac in the dead of night in a sobbing panic, having found Nicky in a near-comatose state on their couch. It was her fear that finally swayed her big brother, as even the ever-forgiving Jac couldn't allow the continued trauma to his little sister. Nicky didn't blame him. He thought back to what Nye had said, way back in the caravan - you put my baby sister on the back of your stupid fucking motorbike when you're on this stuff. He wouldn't want himself around the girls either.

The memory faded as he walked further past Jac's neighbourhood, leaving Nicky alone with his cold, miserable present. His fingers and toes were icy numb, his shoes squelching with every step. He was completely soaked through, clothing plastered to his skin, and the sound of rain on the pavement rattled his aching head like a jackhammer. It felt like he'd been walking for ages, his whole body screaming with protest as he continued to trudge through the muddy streets.

Finally, he reached the first overpass on the way into town, immediately tucking himself into the deepest, driest recess of the weathered concrete. He probably could have found somewhere more comfortable if he travelled a ways further, but right now, he was too cold and exhausted to move now that he'd found a place to sit out of the rain. He felt so stupid. He couldn't believe he'd thrown away his last lifeline, the one warm bed he had left to sleep in.

His mother's words were still fresh in his mind. How can I let you stay when I can't trust you? Nicky hadn't had an answer for her then, and he still didn't. The betrayal in her eyes, the hurt in her voice, it all made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't believe he'd sunk so low.

It started almost a week ago. Having used up the last of his stash the previous day, Nicky found himself once again curled up in bed, sick and achy and alone. While his mother had been more than happy to give him a warm bed and leave food in the fridge, she wasn't much good on the front of company. Lying there in his boyhood room, with nothing left to do but count the motes of light floating in the window, Nicky thought about how long it had been since he felt truly cared for by his mum. Sure, she had given him money when he asked to go see a film, signed him up for rugby and bought all his gear, even humoured his request for a full drumkit and allowed him to practise the raucous thing at all hours. She had spent many hours on the phone with headmasters, and even made more than a few drives up to the police station in the aftermath of his various misbehaviours. But he couldn't help thinking that she hadn't once just been there, in person, when he needed her. Not since they'd moved. She had said, all those years ago, that her nice new job, their big new house, were for him. It was all supposed to be for him to have a better life, to give him whatever he wanted. And in a way, she had given him that. But she had taken away the one thing that Nicky always wanted more - their time together.

Blinking away tears he hadn't even felt welling up, Nicky looked around his empty shell of a bedroom. All the posters and trophies had long been thrown away, and everything of value sold. He remembered lying to his mother about how his TV broke and he'd tossed it, recycling the same lie not long after for his laptop. Even his Switch had eventually faced the same grim fate, with only the memory chip for his Animal Crossing stashed safely away in his dresser. The only things he hadn't been able to bring himself to sell were his phone, which he needed to stay in touch with his dealer, and the motorbike that he simply couldn't lie his way out of disappearing.

As his own finances and possessions were scraped clean, he had found himself resorting to even fouler sources of funds. First, it was only swiping whatever change his mum left out, saving it up until he could eventually scrape together the cash for a fix. Then, he became more desperate. More brazen. He had started taking money from her wallet, then small valuables around the house. A watch here, silverware there. Nothing that Christine would notice, or at least, nothing she had bothered to speak to him about if she had noticed it.

Vile as he felt stealing from his mother, there was a little voice in the back of Nicky's mind that told him it was payback for all her absence. All the days where he'd stayed home sick, either alone or at a friend's house because she stayed glued to her cubicle. All the games where Nye's mum and Jac's parents had taken off to cheer from the stands while Christine was busy with some business luncheon even on the weekend. All the times where he'd come home in the dead of night, and she was actually home from work, but too asleep to care or even notice that he'd been out.

It was that sense of payback that he'd used to psych himself up the night he finally prised open his mother's jewellery box. Even now, he felt guilt and hesitation, knowing what he would have to take. Christine wasn't the type to splurge on expensive jewellery, preferring nickel and rhinestone from Claire's in the trend of the day. There was only one thing in her jewellery box that wouldn't be worthless - the antique wedding ring that had once belonged to her grandmother. It had been passed down to Christine's mother after that, and given to her with the hope of wearing it in her own wedding. Of course, her love life had never led in that direction, but it was all for the best - the ring didn't remotely fit her anyway, so it had stayed safely tucked away in her jewellery box as a keepsake for years.

She hadn't even noticed it gone at first. Nicky had thought it would be easier that way, hoping she would attribute the missing jewellery to her own absent mind. He hadn't known how it would eat at him. The guilt burned in his chest like fire, creeping further and slowly consuming his thoughts. Every time she came home from work, peeked into his room, or even just passed him in the hall, it got harder to fake a smile. He almost cracked, just seeing her wander around the house with that obvious searching-for-something face, only to deflate with relief when she located her phone or reading glasses or any other item that she so regularly misplaced.

It was his guilt that ended up doing him in. Nicky had been a troublesome kid all his life, his energy and intelligence far outpacing his patience or obedience. Christine was used to his misbehaviour, often enabling it even, and he had long ago stopped feeling bad for simply doing the things he wanted to do. He wasn't used to this sickening, overwhelming feeling of having wronged someone.

The conversation had started off quite innocuous, at least to Christine. "Nicky, love? Have you seen my Nana's ring?"

"No," he said, a bit too sharply and immediately. "Why would I have? I don't go in your jewellery box."

Christine gave the same indulgent smile that was so nauseatingly familiar to him now. "I know, darling. I just thought I might have accidentally left it out and maybe you saw where it went."

"Well I've not. If I had seen it, I'd have put it back. I know where it belongs. But I've not, so obviously I can't help you." God, how he wished he could just shut up, but the words wouldn't stop coming. "Really, you should take better care of your things. It's like your only nice ring. Should you not keep it somewhere safer?"

"...than a jewellery box?" Christine asked, giving him a puzzled look. "Sweetheart, it's not the end of the world. I just wanted to know if you'd seen it. Lord knows you're home more often than I am these days."

"So?" He snapped. "I'm not a deadbeat. I told you, I'm looking for work. Just because I'm home doesn't mean I did anything with it. What would I want with a dusty old ring, anyway? It's not even worth that much. I… I assume." Nick's heart hammered in his chest as he tacked on that last hasty addendum. "Why would it be? Just a stupid hunk of metal. Not like Nana had that much money. You've got more nowadays than she ever did."

An unusual expression washed over Christine's face. She could be overly trusting. Forgiving to a fault. Some would argue outright enabling. But she knew her son, and she was quickly putting together the pieces in her mind.

"Nicky?" Her voice seemed to echo in his ears, layered over itself a thousand times as the words overwhelmed him. "Did you take my ring?"

"No!"

The echo of his own voice on the bare concrete startled him - he hadn't even realised he was speaking aloud - and Nicky's vision suddenly came to focus back in the present. He was breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest. Indignation and shame flushed his cheeks for the second time that night, and he slumped down against the cold wall, sniffling. His mother's voice, so gentle but sure in its disappointment, rang through his mind like a mourning bell. That was his last lifeline, gone.

Nicky drew a shuddery breath, each pulsing inhale striking his skull like an anvil. He was such a fucking idiot. He thought about all the times his friends had expressed their envy at how lenient his mother was. How she had reacted to his teenage tattoos, not with horror or rage, but a concern for his health. How she had picked him up from police stations, worried only for how he'd been treated while in custody. Maybe if she'd been harsher on him sooner, this never would have happened. But that was just the problem. Christine had always been happier to simply indulge her son as he was, instead of wondering or worrying why he acted the way he did.

Maybe if she'd ever stopped to actually pay attention, none of this would have happened. Why had he never gone back to normal, even after recovering from his injury? Why was he sick so often? Where were his friends? Nicky sighed, rolling over and curling up on his side. The concrete was cold, hard, and anything but comfortable against his feverish skin and aching body. He supposed that was what he deserved. He'd bitten the hands that fed him until no one dared to reach out. Now he'd made his bed, and he had nothing left to do but lie in it.

#whumptober 2023 #alternate no. 1 #betrayal #alternate no. 2 #aftermath of failure #angst #whump #illness #drug abuse #nicky #withdrawal

[lickstynine]

No Quick Fix

Whumptober Day 24: "I've got a head full of chemicals, mouth full of ridicule."

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

"Bye, Vivi, have a good weekend!"

As she disappeared down the drive, an ominous cloud seemed to dissipate over the caravan. Even Nye couldn't help being relieved as he closed the door behind his girlfriend. Now, though, as the others relaxed, there was a different concern weighing on his mind - Nicky. He wasn't as spacey as Jac or miserable and distracted as Nate, and he had a burning feeling he knew what had changed. 

He had to wait until the dead of night to strike, creeping into the bathroom and grabbing the bottle off the counter. Dumping the pills into a baggie, he emptied the container of tictacs into the bottle, wishing they didn't rattle so much. Realistically, Nicky was snoring away, but he still felt anxious about it. Swallowing his nerves, he set the bottle back down and slipped away.

The effects began to take hold almost immediately the next morning. Nicky disappeared out the front for his morning cig as usual, but by the time breakfast was served, Nye could see his hands trembling on his cutlery. He only ate a bit, pushing the remainder of the meal listlessly around his plate before pushing the plate away entirely. His head felt strangely foggy, and even though Genevieve was gone, Nicky wasn't as relaxed as he had hoped. Before anyone else had finished, he pushed away from the table, hoping the others didn't see how his hands shook.

"I need another smoke," he mumbled, shuffling out the front door without even picking up his plate.

Nye watched him go, listening to him thud down on the porch steps and hearing the unmistakable rattle of the pill bottle. Stifling a sigh, he turned back to the rest of the table. "I thought maybe we could just chill around here today," he said, looking to Jac for confirmation.

He nodded. "Ffion wanted to check out what they've got in the entertainment complex, and maybe go swimming. And we can always walk down to the beach if we get bored."

"I think I'm going to stay here and try to read or something," Nate said quietly, fiddling with the cuffs of his hoodie. Even with everyone else in t-shirts he couldn't seem to get warm. He'd spent the previous afternoon throwing up, struggling to keep down even water for hours once Gwen had dragged him back, and he knew it was going to shake him for days, maybe even weeks.

Nye flashed him a worried look, but said nothing, instead proposing, "I think the girls brought some board games, if you felt up to it."

"I'm down, either when we get back or before we go," Jac offered.

Ffion scoffed. "You know I don't need you to take me everywhere, right? I'm eighteen, not eight."

"Right. Sorry," Jac said sheepishly, trying to feign that he wasn't offended. "Well, I'm definitely down to play then."

"No, guys…" Nate looked up, cringing slightly. "You don't have to do that."

When he'd said he was going to try to read, he meant just that - his focus was completely shot. Even if he could keep his brain functioning for more than the first two sentences, he was almost certainly going to fall asleep before lunch.

"Piss off, give him a break." Gwen chimed in, seeing Jac start to open his mouth. "He's too nice to say it but that's what he wants. Oh, and before I forget. Nye. We're taking the double bed. Change the sheets, I'm sure they reek of arrogance and pheromones."

Nye flinched, glancing over at Nate and nodding sheepishly. "Uh, yeah, um… I'll do that before we leave then?"

Nate was clearly just as embarrassed, even if he agreed with Gwen, but he nodded. She was still giving Nye a stern look as he carried his plate away from the table and hurried off towards the bedrooms. The tense atmosphere shifted slightly as he left, dissipating further when the front door creaked open. Nicky was standing (more leaning) there, looking particularly grouchy and pale.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, deliberately leaving out any sort of invitation. He didn't want company, he just wanted them to know so he wouldn't be hunted down out of fear for his safety.

"Down to the beach?" Jac asked, looking up eagerly. He was keen to be away from the tension in the caravan. "I'll come with, let me put my shoes on."

Nicky rolled his eyes, but of all the people to come along, Jac was the least trouble. He nodded briefly, remaining propped up against the doorframe while Jac ran off to find shoes. Nate looked up at him, brow furrowing a little. He might have taken a year off his degree, but he'd spent enough time on a ward to know that Nicky didn't look quite right.

"You feeling okay?"

Nicky shrugged. "Didn't sleep well," he said, not entirely convinced himself but unsure of what else could be wrong. "Hoping some fresh air will help, wake me up, stretch my legs." He rubbed a hand over his face, brushing loose strands of hair back behind his ear. Even backlit by the door his face looked gaunt, eyes shadowed and skin devoid of colour.

"Take some water," Nate advised, standing up and beginning to collect the plates. Gwen had disappeared off to go on a run, but it was fine because he wasn't too sick to clear a table and maybe wash some dishes. He wasn't.

"Yeah, good idea," Nicky stumbled inside, limping more significantly than usual. That was perhaps the worst part of how he felt right now - his knee was aching with a profound fury that he hadn't felt in a while, to the point that if he misstepped, he had to stop and catch his breath. He joined Nate in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging the whole thing down.

"You still rehabbing that?" Nate asked nonchalantly, rinsing off the frying pan and nodding towards Nicky's leg. "There shouldn't be too much pain anymore if the surgery went well."

"Rehab is a fucking joke," Nicky grumbled, refilling his bottle. "I can walk, but shit never stopped hurting."

"Weird," Nate murmured. He didn't press further but resolved to do some research when they got home. What was the use in studying medicine if he couldn't even help his friends? "Maybe it'll loosen up on your walk."

"Yeah, that's the hope," Nicky admitted, downing his second bottle of water and refilling it for the walk. Jac had just returned with shoes on, and Nicky headed for the door, patting Nate on the shoulder. "See you later."

"Yeah, bye." Nate smiled wearily, waving them off. He hoped the others would leave soon - the constant bickering was grating on his nerves.

Ffion and Delilah headed out only a moment later, leaving Nate in relative peace. Outside the caravan, Jac was strolling along beside Nicky, chattering animatedly to deaf ears. Nicky had drowned him out long ago, barely able to keep himself walking in a straight line. He'd hoped stretching his legs would ease the tension in his knee, but the more he walked, the worse the pain seemed to get. His face twisted in discomfort, and his pace was growing increasingly slow. Eventually, he stopped walking altogether, and Jac continued for a moment before noticing he wasn't being accompanied.

"Nick? You alright?"

"I need to go back," Nicky muttered, his voice tight with pain. What little colour he'd gained from being out in the fresh air was gone from his face, and his forehead was slick with sweat. His hands were trembling in his pockets, and he was growing increasingly dizzy.

"Oh, okay," Jac nodded, turning on his heel. "I'll come with you."

"You don't have to," Nicky said. He really didn't want the attention, and Jac seemed to have been having a good time walking anyway.

"No, you don't look very good. I'll make sure you get back okay."

"I'm fine," Nicky snapped. "If you want to baby someone, go find your sister."

Jac winced, but he knew Nicky was probably feeling bad if he was being so harsh. "Okay, um… feel better," he said, turning away and letting Nicky walk back towards the caravan.

It took a worryingly long time for Nicky to make it back. He stumbled in the door, his bad leg practically dragging behind him, looking half-dead. He was white as a ghost, face sheened with sweat, and barely able to stay upright. Nate, lying on one of the couches with his laptop out in front of him, looked up in alarm.

"Oh mate, you look awful…"

"Knee is killing me," he rasped, dragging himself to the nearest chair before collapsing. "Like… really bad." Hunching forward in the chair, he squeezed the offending joint with a shaking hand. "Feel dizzy. Kind of sick, actually."

"Well fuck…" Nate sat up to face him, frowning. "Did you knock it?"

Nicky shook his head, barely focused enough to reply. "Shit, I just… fuck, that hurts…"

"Let me look," Nate murmured, crossing the room to crouch next to him. "Will your trousers roll up past it?"

"Um, probably?" Nicky rolled up his joggers, the elastic flexible enough to go past his knee without issue. There was no visible swelling or distortion, only the scar from the surgery to repair his knee. Nate probed the joint, frowning deeper as Nicky hissed in pain.

"It's not swollen," he said, confusion lacing his tone. "Try straightening your leg."

Nicky did his best, but he grimaced, hissing as he had to force the joint to move. "Ahhh, fuck."

"It's weird," Nate muttered. "It seems fine. But obviously it's not if you're in pain like this."

Nicky only nodded, sinking down in the chair as pain overwhelmed him. He still felt horribly sick and shaky, but after a minute, he managed to croak, "Water?"

"Sure." Nate hopped up to pour him a glass. "You want some paracetamol?" He'd packed some - he had headaches so often now that he took it everywhere he went.

"Not sure it'll help," Nicky shrugged, "might as well." His hands were shaking as he rubbed his face, and he was struggling to stay focused. Nate came back with paracetamol and a glass of water, his face furrowed in concern.

"Here, take these," he said, pressing the pills into Nicky's hand. 

"Thanks," he mumbled, swallowing the pills dry. "... might lie down for a bit."

"Yeah, I think you need it," Nate muttered, reaching out to feel his forehead. He was surprised to find Nicky's skin cold and clammy, with no trace of fever. "Come on, let's go to your bed," he urged, tugging on Nicky's hands.

Nicky shook his head, pulling away. "I won't… I can't… just gonna… lay here."

"Mate, come on, you'll be so much more comfortable…"

"...my leg…" he protested, giving his knee another squeeze. It did little to dull the pain, but made him feel like he was doing something at least.

"I'll help you," Nate offered, holding out his arms, "it's not that far."

"Thanks," Nicky mumbled, letting out another gasp as Nate helped him up. Pain shot through his knee, and his stomach rolled. He grimaced, sucking in a sharp breath and clamping a hand over his mouth. Nate eyed him warily, making the executive decision to guide Nicky to the bathroom instead.

"Sorry," Nicky mumbled, muffled by his hand. He swallowed hard, but saliva continued to pool under his tongue. He'd woken up feeling vaguely nauseous - of course he had, he did every day - but nothing like this.

Nate shook his head, filling a glass with water at the tap and setting it beside Nicky. "Don't worry. I know how it feels," he sighed.

As he slumped against the cold porcelain of the toilet, Nicky mumbled, "You c'n go. Don't need a fuckin'... audience."

"I… Um, if you're sure," Nate muttered, squeezing his shoulder as he headed back to the door. "Yell if you need anything."

Nicky only groaned in response. Though he didn’t call, Nate felt bad settling back on the couch. He could hear the grating retches from down the hall, interspersed with hacking coughs and desperate gulps of air. It made his inner doctor itch with the need to help. Just because he’d paused his studies didn’t mean he cared any less.

"Nick, you need anything?" He called tentatively.

"Piss off," came the hoarse reply. Nate had somewhat expected it, but he'd still felt obligated to try.

"Sure," he sighed, settling back down and turning the volume up on his laptop.

It was nearly an hour before Nicky came shambling out of the bathroom, white as a sheet and wobblier than ever. He collapsed on the nearest couch without so much as a word to Nate, his breathing labored even as he lay still. Still was a strong word, really - he was shaking like a leaf, hands trembling almost too badly to grab the blanket off the back of the couch.

"That sounded... rough," Nate ventured, eyeing him closely as he huddled into the blanket.

Nicky just grunted, burying his face in one of the couch cushions. Nate knew he wouldn’t want to be fussed over, but he couldn’t help at least bringing over a glass of water to set on the side table. He started to offer more, but barely got out “Do you-” before Nicky cut him off.

“No,” he grumbled, clumsily pulling the blanket more snugly around himself. It didn’t matter what Nate was going to say, he couldn’t imagine anything would make him feel better right now. Even stretched out on the couch, his heart was hammering away at top speed, and his hoodie was plastered to his body with sweat. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, his knee was in agony - he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to feel so bad. His mind flashed back to years ago - an away game, a miserable coach trip, and a long weekend at Nye’s. At the time, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been so sick. Now, he would’ve given anything to be back there instead.

"Okay," Nate mumbled. He retreated to the other sofa, trying to distract himself from Nicky's quiet groans. He was just about reaching the end of his tether when his phone pinged with a text from Nye.

He throwing up yet?

He frowned, a sinking feeling in his chest as his stepped outside with his phone.

"What have you done?" He demanded, as soon as Nye picked up.

“It’s not what you think,” Nye said hastily.

“I should fucking hope not,” Nate snapped, “because I have two theories, and I hate them both.”

Nye hesitated before asking, “Well… what are your theories?”

Nate let out an irritated grumble, but thankfully the phone didn’t pick it up. “Well, the first one is pretty stupid, but it’s that you’ve poisoned Nicky. I actually hope that one is right, though, because that’s better than you being a meddling prick who’s gone and swapped his meds for sugar pills.”

“Tic-tacs, actually,” Nye corrected sheepishly.

“Oh yeah, that’s so much better!” Nate snapped. “What were you fucking thinking?”

"He's an addict," Nye said flatly. "There's no way they're prescribing him that amount of opiates this long after surgery."

"He's still in pain," Nate protested. He sat down carefully on one of the patio chairs, wishing he had the energy to pace. "Why didn't you just ask him?"

“Because he’s Nicky. He wouldn’t humour me, he’d tell me to go fuck myself. If he didn’t punch me just for saying it.” Nye protested, emotion starting to colour his tone. “I’m not trying to torture him. I just wanted to prove it.”

"Well, point proven," Nate snapped. "Get back here now and fix it. I'm going to lie down."

“I will,” Nye said, but Nate still wasn’t pleased as he hung up and dragged himself back inside. He was equal parts worried and furious to see that Nicky was no longer on the couch, and he grimaced at the violent retching noises from the bathroom, struggling to ignore the sound as he walked into the master bedroom. If Nye had done one thing right, at least he’d managed to change the sheets and relinquish the big bed. He was tired enough that he almost didn't care if he hadn't, hoping fervently that Nye would hurry up as he flopped down onto the mattress.

The sound of the caravan door opening was blissful relief to Nate, and he finally felt able to properly rest. Knowing that Nicky wasn’t going to die of neglect, he quickly allowed himself to sink into the recesses of sleep.

Nye meanwhile was anything but reassured. Though it had been his goal, he still felt awful upon seeing Nicky slumped like a zombie against the toilet. There was a trickle of bile on the floor, leading up to the bowl, where Nicky’s head was hanging, disheveled hair nearly falling in the water. His face was a waxy greyish-white, slick with sweat, a glassy sheen making his eyes vacant as a doll’s.

"Hey mate…," Nye said nervously. "So… I think we need to talk."

Nicky barely had the energy to lift his head, squinting for a moment until he was sure it was Nye he was looking at. “Not now,” he croaked, letting his head fall back against the arm he’d slung across the toilet bowl.

"Yeah, now," Nye insisted. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the baggie of pills and dropping it onto the floor just out of Nicky's reach. "About these."

Nicky was suddenly alert - or as alert as someone in his state could be - jerking upright with a look of panic in his eyes. He was only able to maintain the posture for a moment, folding over the toilet again as he asked, “How’d you get those?”

"You're not exactly careful with them," Nye muttered, leaning against the doorframe with a sigh. "You're lucky no-one else has called you out on it."

Nicky bristled, and it turned into an involuntary shiver. His face was shadowed with rage, betrayal thudding in his already-tight chest. “‘S none of your business… prick,” he rasped, his glare diverting from Nye as he had to heave again.

"Except it is," Nye said angrily. “Because I'm your friend and I fucking care that you're hurting yourself like this. And because you put my baby sister on the back of your stupid fucking motorbike when you're on this stuff."

“I’d never hurt Lilah!” Nicky snapped, unexpectedly ferocious despite his feeble state. Nye’s accusations stung with their accuracy, but it was hard to argue when he could barely get through a sentence without his stomach seizing painfully.

"Not deliberately," Nye countered. "But I bet you weren't sober when you drove her here."

Nicky arched up in defense at first, but he quickly deflated in concession. “No, I… I’m never sober, really.” Even saying the words aloud was a struggle, his voice heavy with shame, and he wished he could duck deeper into the toilet and disappear.

"Yeah, I thought not." Nye crouched down, retrieving a pill from the bag and pressing it into Nicky's palm. "Here, to take the edge off. Listen, I've done some research and I've found some inpatient clinics that don't cost the world. It'll be tight, but I can spot you some of the cost if you can't scrape it together."

Nicky scrambled desperately to shove the pill in his mouth, swallowing it dry despite how raw his throat had become. It was a reflexive action, and as soon as he’d realized he was doing it, his face burned with embarrassment. Even then, though, he didn’t seem comforted by Nye’s suggestion. “‘M not going to some clinic.” He mumbled, “Everyone would know.”

"They're confidential," Nye said stubbornly. "You could just say you were going on holiday."

"She'd want to help you," Nye insisted, but in truth he wasn't sure how she'd react. He'd rarely spent much time with her.

Nicky scoffed, “Yeah, and tell my mam what? I’m going on some age-long holiday without her? I’d be a prick and a liar.”

“You could always tell her the truth,” Nye reminded him. “If you’re working to get better, I don’t see why she wouldn’t support you.”

“She’d lose her nut,” Nicky shook his head. “Bad things don’t happen in her world.”

Nicky just shook his head, more mournfully this time. “It’s not like that. She’s not like that.” Just the thought of talking to his mother about going to rehab was making him feel sick again, and he swallowed down the taste of half-dissolved pill rising in his throat.

"Okay, well…" Nye thunked down next to him on the floor. "We can go away somewhere and do it ourselves. I can fit an IV, we should be able to manage it."

Nicky shrunk away, which led to him sliding off the side of the toilet and thunking clumsily on the floor. He didn’t have the energy to sit back up, but he mumbled, “I don’t need your help. I won’t drive with the girls if it worries you so much.”

"It worries me when you drive yourself," Nye bit back frustratedly. "It worries me that one day your heart might just stop."

Nicky flinched a little, but he had little retort, only muttering, “It’s my body.”

"And I'm sure it's fucking thanking you," Nye spat, fear curdling to anger.

“Sure isn’t fucking thanking you, stealing my shit, making me sick.” Nicky snapped.

"Oh I'm so sorry, I forgot it was my fault you were hooked on gear." Nye stood up, ready to storm out. "Do what you fucking want then."

“Fuck you,” Nicky hissed, venom in his eyes even as he lay sprawled on the bathroom floor.

Nye just scoffed, jerking his head away to break their gaze and stomping away.

#whumptober 2023 #angst #illness #withdrawal #emeto #emetophilia #vomit #drugs #nye #nicky #nate #jac #ffion #delilah #gwen #no. 24 #i've got a head full of chemicals mouth full of ridicule #fic #oc

[lickstynine]

Unfair Funfair

Whumptober Day 20: Found Family

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

"Jac, buy me a candyfloss!"

"Nicky, I want a hot dog!"

"Can we get churros?"

On and on the demands went, Ffion and Delilah dragging the boys around like two eager huskies hauling a very weary sled. They inhaled seemingly every snack they came across, from sweet treats to fried foods and everything in between. Nicky felt sick just watching them, content to slurp on a sprite as they walked around.

Though the fair would normally have been far too hyper for his taste, Nicky was good and thoroughly high, strolling around with a surprisingly serene expression as the girls ran amok. He actually didn't even mind accompanying the girls on rides, though the fair attractions were a bit piddly for his adrenaline junkie taste. Ffion hung happily on his arm, blissfully unaware of why he was so compliant. Delilah wasn't so lucky, a knowing sadness shining in her eyes even as she held his other hand.

She quickly grew distracted from her worries as they reached the games, a massive teddy bear winning her heart as soon as she met its plastic gaze.

"Nicky!" She cried, dragging him closer. "I want the bear! Win him for me!"

He smiled lazily, eyeing up the targets on the wall and the price on the desk. “Yeah okay,” he agreed, grinning. He might not be able to play rugby anymore, but he could still damn well throw a ball. “If you pay though.”

Delilah rolled her eyes, but dug in her pocket for some spare change. She handed it to the fair worker, and the man handed Nicky three balls. He wound up for the first throw, chucking a ball squarely at the target. It hit with a satisfying thunk, and Delilah squealed eagerly.

“I want the bear!” she demanded, pointing at the giant plush.

“Takes five hits to win him, Miss.” the worker said.

"With three balls?" Nicky asked, brow furrowing. "Hardly seems fair."

"Them's the rules," the worker shrugged. He gestured to a poster hidden in the shadows at the back. "Says right there on the sign."

Nicky scoffed and rolled his eyes, slamming the next few balls into the targets before pulling change from his own pocket. “Here, then, give me the stupid balls back.”

He took them quickly, even more eager to prove himself now that it had been made more frustrating. His irritation got the better of him, and the next throw only grazed the target. The carnie snickered, and Nicky seriously considered braining him with the next throw. Luckily for the worker, he couldn’t afford to spare a ball for assault, instead chucking the last two at the targets with a renewed ferocity. They both thudded into the bullseyes, and he smirked, holding a hand out towards the worker.

“I want the bear.”

"Has to be five in a row," the worker said snootily, gesturing again to the sign that Nicky couldn't see well enough to read. "Better luck next time."

Nails digging into the flimsy counter, Nicky leaned forward, glaring daggers at the man he was looming over. "That's fucking-"

Jac grabbed Nicky's arm, seeing that he was about to lunge across the counter and throttle a (questionably) innocent fair worker. His free hand quickly searched in his own pocket, dropping more coins on the counter.

"Another round, then." He turned to Nicky, poking his shoulder. "Hit them all this time, I'm not paying for another. Or do you want me to do it?"

He was half teasing, but he also knew how easy it was for Nicky to let anger distract him. Nicky shoved him out of the way, snatching the balls from the worker with a scathing glare.

"I'll do it," he growled, pitching a ball straight for the target closest to the worker's head. The man flinched away as it flew by, and Nicky couldn't help smirking. Watching it smack the bullseye, he threw another, aiming for the target closest to the worker's new position. This time, he practically jumped out of the way, and Nicky didn't bother messing with him the third time, simply nailing another target and turning to give him a stern look. "I want that bear," he said.

"Whatever…" The worker gave him a sullen look, but handed it over. 

Nicky smirked, turning his back and presenting it to Delilah. "M'lady…"

She squealed, jumping at him and hugging both him and the bear. The force made him stumble, and he stifled a grunt, feeling a stab of discomfort in his bad leg. Despite the brief grimace that flashed across his face, he hugged her back.

"I'm not carrying that thing around for you all night," he warned.

"Thank you, thank you," she beamed, squeezing the bear tight. "I've always wanted one of these."

"Hold him up!" Ffion said excitedly, aiming her camera at Delilah. Nicky quickly stepped out of frame, his movement so rushed his knee threatened to give out. He grimaced, reaching down to give the offending joint a squeeze. Maybe he shouldn't have ditched physio as soon as he could walk. Keeping his weight off his foot, he rummaged in his pocket for a couple of pills and swallowed them dry.

The others were completely oblivious to Nicky's discomfort, with Jac taking the camera so Ffion could hug the bear from the other side. Once the girls were satisfied with their snapshots, they went running off towards the next food cart, buying burgers and a big basket of fries to share. Nicky chuffed, shaking his head.

"They're bottomless," he muttered to Jac, trailing along behind the girls.

Jac just laughed. "We were the same at their age. Honestly, a burger looks really good right now."

"I can't," Nicky said moodily. "Not like I can run shit like that off anymore." 

"We could split one," Jac offered amiably, "or you could just have some of my chips."

Nicky shook his head. He didn't have much appetite anyway, he'd just wanted to complain. "It's fine. Get what you want," he grumbled, going to sit by the girls as they found a picnic table.

"After this I want to go on that ride," Delilah was saying, pointing towards a rickety looking contraption that was moving up and down at great speed. Just watching the flashing lights made Nicky's head feel spinny, but that could've just been the drugs.

"I'll watch your stuff," Nicky said flatly. "I'm not going with you."

Delilah pouted, but Ffion didn't seem as bothered. "Okay, but you have to come with us on the teacups! You spin them better than Jac."

"Hey! I spin the teacups just fine," Jac protested.

"Yeah, but you're not good at it," Ffion retorted, rolling her eyes. "Nicky is."

"Ha," Nicky smirked, unconsciously swayed by Ffion stroking his ego. "I'll spin you, sure. Give me the bear while you go on the hell ride, then we can find the teacups."

"Slow down," Jac protested, "I've barely sat down with my burger."

"Then eat faster," Nicky shrugged. "The girls are nearly done."

"Whose side are you on?" Jac mock glared at him through a mouthful of burger. "I thought you were meant to be my friend."

"I'm on my side," Nicky corrected, giving him a teasing grin. Jac gave him a look that would've been baleful if he didn't have chipmunk cheeks full of burger, and he laughed. "I'll take the girls to the next ride. You finish up and meet us there," he said, barely able to stand up before Ffion and Delilah were off like rockets. He chuckled, strolling off after them and easily catching them in the queue.

"Trying to ditch me?" He teased, immediately regretting it when both girls glommed onto him. 

"Never!" Delilah declared dramatically. Nicky rolled his eyes, deliberately messing up her hair as he ruffled it. She squealed, pulling away to fix it, and he smirked.

The girls got to the front of the queue before long, and Delilah shoved the bear, who she had named Bradley, into Nicky's arms. Jac came strolling up, snorting with laughter at the sight of a sullen Nicky hugging a massive stuffed teddy.

"Stop it," Nicky grumbled, jabbing him with an elbow. "Laugh once more and you'll be the one carrying it."

Jac just chuckled, shaking his head and watching the girls as they kicked and screamed on the rickety ride. "God, do you remember being that young? It feels like ages ago."

"It's been five years," Nicky muttered, much more bitter than wistful. Five years ago, he could walk without a limp. He could play rugby. He could wake up comfortably instead of itching for a fix. He scowled, kicking a discarded chip carton across the ground.

"Yeah." Jac nudged him good-naturedly. "Ages."

Nicky only grunted in response, but the lack of outright arguing gave away his fading steam. In front of them, the rickety old ride was grinding to a halt, and the girls came scrambling off excited as ever. Delilah snatched Bradley from Nicky's arms, spinning around with him and making his floppy bear limbs swing in all directions.

"Okay, teacups now!" Ffion said, grabbing Nicky and pulling him.

"One ride," he agreed resignedly. "Then I'm going home."

“But it's still so early,” she whined. 

Nicky rolled his eyes. “I said I'm going home, I didn't say you had to.”

“But it’s more fun when you’re here,” Ffion argued.

“Too bad,” he shrugged. “I’m tired.”

Ffion sighed dramatically, and Delilah pouted at him. Nicky just shook his head, ignoring their continued pleas as they moved forward in the queue. When they reached the front, he passed Bradley over to Jac and walked through the gate. The girls practically mowed him down climbing into the teacup, while he stepped more gingerly over the ledge. Before the ride had even started properly, they were chanting for him to spin, and he sighed in weary concession, giving the wheel a forceful shove.

Screams of delight filled the air, the girls cheering and waving their hands as the cup picked up speed. Despite the scowl he tried to keep plastered on his face, Nicky couldn’t help enjoying himself. The wind was ruffling his hair, whipping it around his face while the girls shrieked in excitement. When the cups were properly powered to life, they began to spin even faster, making Ffion and Delilah scream and clutch at each other.

"Again!" Delilah squealed, smacking his shoulder. "Faster!"

Nicky groaned, but he didn’t hesitate to keep spinning. A smile had been tugging at his lips for a while, and when the girls squealed again, he couldn’t help but grin. That only seemed to encourage them, and they continued to egg him on, their cup spinning with a ferocity unmatched by the other fairgoers.

“Faster, faster!” Ffion cheered, her head spinning even as she spoke. She clung to Delilah as the ride continued, dizzy and giggling, a stupid smile stretched across her face. The smell of the churro stand nearby hit her powerfully as they passed, and she became all too aware of how much sugar and grease sat in her stomach, swirling just as spectacularly as their teacup. Swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise in her throat, she took a deep breath, relieved as they drifted away from the stand. The spinning of the teacup, just a moment ago delightful, was all of a sudden overwhelming, and she groaned.

Nicky stopped pushing immediately, but they had so much momentum it almost didn't make a difference. "You okay?"

Ffion nodded, more to convince herself than him. The bright lights and colors screamed at her from all directions, vibrant and disorienting. Once flush with excitement, her face was now pale, tinged a sickly greyish-green. Her stomach lurched with a hiccup, and it took all her self-control to swallow it down. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in Delilah’s shoulder. Delilah pulled a face, petting her hair gently.

"It'll be over in a few minutes," she muttered, more to herself than to Ffion. Nicky was actively making an effort to still the cup now, but there was little he could do to stop the momentum. As soon as the ride had stopped, he was over by the girls, helping them up and out of the cup. Ffion stumbled, clutching onto him, and he braced her, ignoring the stab of protest in his knee.

“Easy…” he said, guiding her off of the ride. He couldn’t help noticing the two trash cans flanking the exit, but instead he steered her for the bench a few feet away. “Here, just… sit down. Head between your knees.”

"Gonna -" She broke off, gagging unexpectedly. 

Nicky cursed, easing her forward so it would at least hit the ground instead of her shoes. Even that movement was overwhelming, and Ffion felt an unsettling gurgle rise in her stomach. She was unable to swallow it down, a watery belch erupting from her lips with a trickle of stringy saliva.

"Fee?" Jac rounded the corner, having seen them hurry off the platform. He had the bear clutched in his arms and all of their bags weighed him down, meaning he more waddled than rushed towards them. "Christ."

Nicky was hovering over her with an unusually remorseful look, while Delilah had sunk down onto the bench, sinking against the back. She didn’t look spectacular either, and Nicky wasn’t sure whether to be worried or mad at the girls for goading him into it. He hadn’t the time to worry about that as Ffion lurched forward, burping up a slurry of undigested burger. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he reached down to sweep her hair out of the way, patting her back with his free hand.

“Shit… just… get it out, I guess.”

"This is why I don't spin 'em so fast," Jac pointed out, earning himself a glare from all involved. He held his hands up apologetically. "It's not the first time, that's all I'm saying…"

Ffion opened her mouth to speak, only for a pink-tinged gush of doughnut and candyfloss and beer to spew out into the growing puddle.

"Not the time," Nicky muttered grimly. Beside him, Delilah stifled a hiccup into her fist. "If you're going to blow too, at least do it in the bin."

Delilah nodded, but she was slow and wobbly getting to her feet. Jac quickly took her elbow, guiding her to the nearest bin. He pulled her hair aside in the nick of time, as the sensation of being bent forward over the bin made her heave. Her overfull stomach rebelled, spewing a soured mixture of undigested sugar and grease. She had only just managed to catch her breath when a second wave barreled up her throat, hot acid stinging her nose. She was vaguely aware of Jac muttering encouragement in her ear, but her head was still swimming with the dizziness of the ride. His hand on her back was comforting, but she hardly noticed it as her stomach seized again. Heaving loudly, she vomited another massive gush of fair food that left a burning in her throat and a sour taste in her mouth.

“Easy, you’re alright,” Jac murmured, rubbing up and down the length of her spine while she retched noisily into the bin. Delilah’s only response was a deep, gurgling heave, trailing off into a cough as more bile dribbled from her lips. “Jesus,” Jac said quietly, patting her back when she coughed.

Ffion was in no better state, only staying on the bench thanks to the arm Nicky had wrapped around her. She was still woozy as well, letting out a groan of discomfort before belching up another massive wave of sour sick.

"Jesus," Nicky muttered. "How much have you eaten?"

“I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was hungry, it all looked so good.” Even just the thought of fair food was making her nauseous now, and Ffion retched shallowly again.

While Nicky patted her back, Jac led Delilah back over to the bench. Sidestepping the mess Ffion had made, he eased her down to sit. Though she was still a bit unsteady, emptying her stomach seemed to have done Delilah some good. Her cheeks were getting some color back, and she once again had a spark of energy about her.

“I want Bradley,” she demanded, holding her arms out. “He’ll make me feel better.”

Jac handed the bear over obligingly, and Delilah snuggled up to him at once, coaxing Ffion over as well when she stopped heaving. Nicky gave them a skeptical look.

“Are you both done, then?”

Ffion nodded feebly, and Delilah more enthusiastically. “Yeah, my tummy feels way better now,” she said, petting Ffion’s hair as she snuggled up. “Honestly, I’m actually kind of hungry. D’you think we could get more churros?"

Ffion gagged.

#whumptober 2023 #emeto #emetophilia #vomit #motion sickness #ffion #delilah #nicky #jac #no. 20 #found family #fic #oc #its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

[lickstynine]

Horrifically Long Weekend

Whumptober Day 15: Suppressed Suffering

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

“No, we’re not listening to ABBA,” Nicky groused, taking his eyes off the road for a second to snatch the aux cable away from the girls in the back. They were on their way to a holiday that Jac had won in the rugby club’s Christmas raffle - eight of them in a caravan in the middle of nowhere. It was Nicky’s idea of hell, especially when he knew he’d have to share a room with Jac’s snoring, but everyone else seemed so excited that he was trying not to dampen their spirits too much. For example, he’d let Delilah listen her way through a whole Taylor Swift album and a whole Dua Lipa album. The Mamma Mia soundtrack, however, seemed a step too far. Besides, they were almost there.

Before long, they turned off down a narrow road with hedges down both sides. It eventually opened out onto the tarmacked entrance to the caravan site, and they could see the sea over the tops of the dunes to their left. While the girls and Jac oohed and aahed over the view, Nicky tried to locate Nye, who had been a few minutes ahead of them with his brother, his girlfriend, and Gwen.

Eventually, he spotted a figure waving off to one side - Gwen had come out to meet them, more to escape from Genevieve than out of the goodness of her heart. Nicky turned in based on her directions, practically kicking the car door open as he got out. He stretched, feeling his back crack in about a hundred places, and stomped around to the boot to grab everyone's bags. He'd somehow been wheedled into carrying the girls' luggage, but he chucked Jac's duffle bag at him as soon as he emerged from the car.

Ffion and Delilah were already scrambling off to explore, with Ffion aiming her fancy new camera at anything that would hold still. Jac chuckled, smiling as he watched them go, and walked over to give Gwen a hug.

"Good to see you," he said. "Are the others inside?" 

"Yep," Gwen replied, giving him a tight hug and a slap on the back. "Nate and the happy couple are waiting for you." She shared a glance over Jac's shoulder with Nicky - while Jac could get along with anyone, they were both far less fond of Nye's girlfriend. "Need a hand?" She asked, watching Nicky unload the bags from the boot.

"Nah, go on ahead. I'll catch up," he said, waiting for Jac and Gwen to disappear inside the caravan before rifling in his bags for a familiar bottle. Shaking a few pills into his palm, he downed them dry, running a hand through his hair. There was a strong urge to just walk off into the woods vaguely in the same direction as the girls, but he knew he'd be hunted down and harassed for it. Finally he sighed, slinging the various luggage over his shoulders and trudging up to the caravan.

"It's a very... quaint," he heard Genevieve saying loudly, and when he rounded the corner of the porch he saw that she was looking down her nose at the tiny kitchenette.

"It'll be fun," Nye insisted, pulling her in by the hips and pressing a kiss to her lips, all tongue. Nicky winced. "Besides, Jac's agreed to let us have the double bed."

"Jac's done what, sorry?" Nicky asked, thunking the girls' bags down on the sofa. "She's not even here the whole trip!"

"You're lucky I'm here at all when a double bed is the best you have to offer." Genevieve pouted, looping her arms around Nye's neck. "Even a double is so claustrophobic. We won't have any room to… explore." She finished her sentence right in his ear, nipping at his neck.

Nicky wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You won't."

"Don't listen to him," Nye whispered, his hands slipping down from her waist to her arse. "He's just jealous he never gets any."

"Jesus," Nicky growled, shoving past them. "You're sickening."

"Ugh," Genevieve huffed, nestling into the crook of Nye's neck. "He's awful, why are you even friends?"

"Give him a break," Nye admonished, slapping her on the backside in faux admonishment. "He's been trapped in the car with teenage girls. Just… let him warm up to you."

Genevieve sniffed. "You could stand to make classier friends, you know. "

"Gen," Nye said sternly. "Be civil, you promised."

"I have been," she protested, her lower lip jutting out as she looked up at him through her unnaturally long eyelashes. "It's just hard when your friends are being so rude - I mean, Gwen barely said two words to me in the car!"

"That's because you were trying to talk to her about whether Liam Hemsworth or Ben Affleck is more attractive and she's a raging lesbian," Nate said flatly, emerging from the bedroom he was sharing with Gwen. Ignoring Genevieve's melodramatic goldfish impersonation, he spoke directly to his brother, "Listen, I'm not feeling great - do you think you could keep the noise down for an hour or so while I have a nap?"

"Yeah, of course," Nye nodded, squeezing Genevieve's hand when she started to say something. He clapped Nate gently on the shoulder. "Need anything?"

"Nah, just… gonna lay down." Nate sighed, turning around and heading back to the bedroom before he had to hear from Genevieve again.

"Feel better," Nye called after him, steering his girlfriend out to the porch. "I'll bring out some tea and snacks, yeah?"

"You're sooooo sweet," she gushed, snagging his belt loop to pull him in and kiss him again. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "if the bedroom's off limits, maybe we could go down to the beach and...you know…"

Nye chuckled, pressing up against her. "...I guess the snacks can wait."

"Yeah," she smirked, "right now I'm craving you."

"Disgusting," Nicky muttered, shaking his head as the overly happy couple ran off down to the beach. Gwen appeared in the doorway beside him, shaking her head.

"You didn't have to ride here with them."

"I'd have driven into a tree," he grumbled.

"I almost wish we had," she groaned. "She just wouldn't stop going on and on about her skincare routine and her manicurist and how I'd look better if I used a facial peel. And Nate was no help, and Nye just looks at her with googly eyes the whole time. It's insufferable. I swear, she must be letting him do butt stuff or something."

Nicky shuddered, "Thanks, that mental image is gonna keep me up tonight."

Gwen snorted. "Oh, it's not that foul. At least she's pretty. We should get Jac out here, throw a ball around. I'm sure you're antsy after sitting in the car all day."

Nicky shrugged, sitting down on the porch and pulling his switch out of his hoodie pouch. "Call Jac. I'm gonna check on my villagers. Might join you in a bit."

Gwen huffed out a sigh. Jac was probably wandering around somewhere staring at flowers - he didn't have the same issues with excessive energy that she and Nicky did, and neither of them liked rugby as much as she did. "I'm going to check on Nate," she muttered, disappearing off into the house.

Nate was already curled up in bed, and he groaned in frustration when the door creaked open. "What?"

"Just me," Gwen said, slipping inside and closing the door behind her. "You doing alright?"

"Feel lousy," he mumbled, rolling onto his back and rubbing his face. He'd been having episodes like this for months, ever since he'd finally 'recovered' from his bout of glandular fever. "Like all dizzy and shit, I don't know. It fucking sucks."

"You want snuggles?" She asked hopefully. Without him around, she felt a bit at a loose end. Even though she got on with the rest of them fine, and Nye was basically a brother to her, she didn't click with anyone like she did with Nate.

He was quiet for a bit, and she couldn't see his face clearly to read his expression, but eventually he shuffled along so that his back was against the wall. "Yeah, go on then…"

Gwen kicked off her shoes, hopping up onto the bed beside him. "We can just… stay like this, if that's what you want." It was clear she didn't actually find the idea appealing, but she would rather be bored with him than with the others. Nate draped an arm across her, and she snuggled into his warmth.

"Sorry I'm...not up to much," he said seriously, his breath warm against her hair. "Tomorrow maybe…"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Gwen said hopefully.

Nate didn't wake up feeling all that much better the next day, but he was at least steady on his feet. He almost considered feigning illness when he heard Genevieve's excited shrieking from the main room. Luckily, Nicky seemed to be on top of it, stumbling out of his room like a moody zombie.

"Quit squawking or I'll throw you overboard. It's too early for this shit," he growled.

Genevieve scoffed, turning her nose up as he walked by. Ffion and Delilah shared an eye roll, following Nicky into the kitchen where Jac was making pancakes. Gwen grabbed two plates, one for herself and one for Nate, carrying the food back to their room to eat in peace.

"You sure you're up for this? I don't mind staying behind if you don't want to go."

"No, it'll be nice. I like the water, and the weather's lovely. I’ll probably swim for a bit and then just sit on the beach.” Nate said. He took another bite of his pancakes before adding, “Honestly, I doubt I’ll be the only one who bails. Genevieve is… a lot.”

Gwen snorted. “You’re telling me. That girl is so far up her own arse her small intestine is her summer home.”

“You love me,” Gwen said, punching him lightly on the arm.

Nate stifled a laugh, covering his mouth to keep from spitting pancake bits everywhere. “You’re awful.”

"I do," he admitted, ruffling her hair. She'd recently cut it short, and it meant when he messed with it, it stuck up every which way like some sort of demented birds nest. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to sort it out when she had more pressing issues on her plate like breakfast.

Outside of their little sanctuary, things were a bit less civil. Genevieve had refused the offer of pancakes, but there wasn't enough room in the poky little kitchen space for her and Jac to cook at the same time. It was almost impressive, really, that she'd even caused a problem - amiable as he was, Jac had not only promised to be out of her way in five minutes, he'd even offered to cook whatever she was looking to eat when the pancakes were done.

"No, I don't need your food, I need you out of my way so I can make something edible," she huffed, "Unlike the rest of you, I'm watching my figure."

"God, yes, the rest of us are doing so badly," Delilah said snidely, as she put her plate in the washing up.

"It's okay, you can work on it." Genevieve gave her a condescending smile, which earned her a hard arm squeeze from Nye.

"Just give Jac five minutes to finish up, and you can make whatever you want for breakfast."

Genevieve huffed. "You should make my breakfast." She decided.

Delilah snorted. "Nye can't cook, so unless you want burnt scrambled eggs I wouldn't recommend."

"God, why do I even keep you around?" She groaned.

"To shag, obviously," Nicky muttered, stalking past her to put up his plate. He snagged an extra pancake from the stack Jac was making, rolling it up like a newspaper and taking a bite.

Jac laughed. "Glad you like them. If you want more, speak now. I'm almost done in here."

Nicky shook his head. "Nah. I'm going out for a smoke. Good luck with Queen Bitch," he said, clapping Jac on the shoulder as he walked back out of the kitchen. As he left, he heard Genevieve grouching about how Nye allowed his friends to speak to her.

Making his way to the end of the porch, he sat on the steps with a groan. Even months later, there was a phantom pain in his knee where the ligaments had ruptured that no amount of painkillers could dampen. He slouched back against the steps, lighting a cigarette and tucking it between his lips. From his hoodie pocket, he produced his Switch, turning it on and letting out a cloud of smoke while his game loaded. This… this was nice. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the air was fresh. He finally had a moment of peace. If he could've just stayed out there, alone, it would've been a lovely vacation.

Back inside, Genevieve was groaning about the quality of ingredients in the fridge, somehow displeased with organic eggs and veggies straight from Ffion's garden. Nate and Gwen emerged from the bedroom just in time to hear her complaints, and they shared a Look. It was obvious what Nye saw in her - they were jiggling about as she dramatically waved her hands - but it was hard to imagine the sex was worth it. Delilah was giving more than a look - she was scowling at Genevieve like she hoped the other girl might spontaneously combust.

“If nothing here’s good enough for you, why did you even come?” She bitched from the sofa. “No, seriously Nye, are you going to let her just insult Ffion like this? A lot of hard work went into that food.”

"They really are nice veggies, Gen." Nye said, far too gentle for the way she'd scoffed at them. "Just try something, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"I doubt it," she sniffed, pulling a tomato out of the drawer anyway.

It seemed to take ages for Genevieve to prepare her breakfast of One Egg and a Pretentiously Sliced Tomato, and by the time she'd finished eating (and begrudgingly admitted that it was a nice tomato), everyone else was dressed and waiting to leave. Nye hastily took her dishes to the kitchen, sensing the growing desire of the group to get out of the house already. Nicky had never come back inside, and Jac had gone to join him on the porch, so it was just Nate and the girls muttering to each other when Genevieve was out of earshot.

Disappearing into the big bedroom, Genevieve returned with a bag on her shoulder. "Alright, then we're off. I hope you all brought sunscreen."

“We’re off where?” Delilah demanded. “I thought we were just going to the beach.”

"Oh, no no no. I'm going sailing. I rented a boat so you all can sit and watch," Genevieve said, as if it were the most generous thing anyone had ever done.

“But the beach is right outside,” Delilah protested. “I wanted to see the buried tree things!”

“Well I’m sure you can do that tomorrow,” Nye said nervously, eyes flicking between her and his girlfriend. “It’ll be nice to see some more of the coast…”

Delilah huffed, but she didn't protest further, taking Ffion's hand and strutting off towards the door. Jac and Nicky were sitting outside in peaceful silence, and Nicky sighed wearily as the door creaked open behind them. There weren't enough drugs in the world to make Nye's girlfriend tolerable, and he wondered, as the group made their way down to the docks, if he could get away with shoving her overboard.

As they reached the busier part of the town, Delilah noticed a poster pasted onto a lamppost.

"Look," she exclaimed. "There's a fair on tonight! Can we go?"

"Sure," Jac said at once. Nicky nodded. Though he didn't like the crowds, his adrenaline junkie side enjoyed the rides.

Delilah squealed in delight, squeezing them both in a hug.

"Get off," Nicky protested unconvincingly. Delilah just giggled, taking Ffion's hand and skipping off after Nate and Gwen.

Though Genevieve had said she rented a boat, no one was expecting the size of the vessel waiting for them at the dock. Nicky raised an eyebrow, turning to Jac to mouth what the fuck? Jac shrugged, equally gobsmacked. Genevieve patted Nye's shoulder, pecking a kiss on his cheek.

"I'd better see you watching. I'm very impressive."

"I… I've watched you race, Gen," he mumbled, looking anywhere but his friends.

"Yes, and?"

"You're excellent!" Nye blurted, quickly realizing his mistake. Nate and Gwen were snickering behind him, and he felt his face go red.

"You know I didn't think just the sex was worth it, but you didn't explain that it was a sugar mama deal," Nicky jeered. "How many good boy points do you need before she buys you the yacht?"

"Shut up!" Nye snapped, face flushing darker as he rounded on Nicky. "At least I'm not…" He broke off, scowling. "You know what, never mind. You're not worth it."

Nicky shrugged, "Whatever," he said, turning to put a palm over Ffion's camera as she pointed it at him. "Aim it somewhere else," he growled, pulling his hood up. Jac squeezed his arm.

"Don't be a prick. This is supposed to be fun, you know."

"Well it's not," he grumbled. "I'm going for a smoke…"

"You're supposed to be getting on the boat," Genevieve stepped into his path, bossy as ever.

"You'll be going overboard if you don't get out of my fucking way." Nicky snapped, already reaching to shove her aside when she had the good sense to move. "I'll be on when I fucking well please."

"Well I'm not coming back for you," she sniffed, shepherding the rest of them on. "It's your loss."

"Of your company? That sounds like a win to me," Nicky sneered, trudging off out of earshot while she shrieked insults at his back. He actually wasn't so strongly opposed to going in general, but his skin was crawling from trying to tolerate her sober. Once he was far enough down the dock that no one could see, he pulled a fistful of pills from his pocket.

Genevieve was nearly insisting on actually leaving without Nicky when he returned, but to nearly everyone's relief, he didn't seem quite so bitchy by the time he stomped onto the boat.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you so long," he said, dropping down beside Jac on one of the plush seats.

"No worries, mate. Not like the ocean's going anywhere," Jac laughed.

The mood of the group lightened substantially as Genevieve prepared to finally take off. Nye knew he should've brightened as well, since it got Gen off his back for the time being, but he was too distracted noticing that Nicky didn't smell of fresh cigarette smoke. There was only the faint aroma that always clung to his clothes, not the pungent smell of recently extinguished tobacco. He shook it off, putting it down to the brisk sea breeze. 

The weather was gorgeous, warm despite the ocean crispness, and sunny to boot. Ffion was leaning off the front of the boat to snap pictures, with Delilah giggling and holding her like they were on the Titanic. Nicky rolled his eyes at them, but he was unable to keep from smiling entirely. Jac grinned, giving him a good-natured elbow to the ribs. "See? Told you this would be nice."

Nicky just shrugged, leaning on Jac as he watched the girls. They were taking turns posing and taking each other's pictures, and Delilah was now boosting Ffion up over the rail to get a better shot of a school of fish passing under the boat.

"Careful," Jac called, "I'm not the best swimmer, and god knows you don't want Limpy here fishing you out."

Nicky jabbed him in the ribs. "They'll be fishing you out if you call me Limpy again." He warned, trying to force down the smile tugging at his lips. 

"You allowed to lift heavy weights yet?" Jac teased, eyes crinkling as he grinned. "Thought the physio still had you on the balance ball."

Nicky huffed, his cheeks burning red. He elbowed Jac again, this time in the gut. "I'll fucking drown you," he grumbled, thoroughly unthreatening.

"Not if I run away," Jac laughed. "Even a speed-walk would probably do."

Nicky growled, mischief sparkling in his eyes, and he grabbed at Jac's collar like he was going to hoist him overboard. "Ffion, get ready to go fishing!"

On the other side of the boat, Nate, Gwen, and Nye were sitting and watching the view as they pulled out to sea. The coast was growing distant, the sparkling blue between them and civilization expanding, when Gwen leaned over to Nate to whisper.

"Okay, when we're far enough out to sea, you distract the bitch, and I'll throw her overboard."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Amateur move. She's certainly a good swimmer. You've got to take her out first and dump the body."

"I want to lose her, I don't want her dead!" Gwen protested, dissolving with laughter when Nate raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

"Come on, it's our one shot. Then we can get back and have a lovely weekend." He argued.

Gwen scoffed, giving him a loving shove. "You're awful."

"No, she's awful. That's the whole problem here."

"At least when she's busy showing off to Nye, we don't have to listen." Gwen shrugged. "I'm probably going to get some sun, the weather is lovely."

“Yeah,” Nate sighed, stretching out on the deck beside her. A year ago, he would have been running around on the beach with a rugby ball until it was time for dinner, but now he had to admit it was nice to have an excuse not to. Gwen stretched out as well, cozying up with her hands behind her head.

"God, I wish the weather were half this nice more often." While she would eagerly play through rain, snow, or even a hurricane, Gwen couldn't help fantasising of finishing a game and not being freezing cold and covered in mud.

Nate nodded, "Would be nice," he agreed. Even if he couldn't be as athletic as he used to, he still much preferred the sunny weather. These days, the dreary rain just seemed to amplify his exhaustion.

Jac and Nicky seemed to be enjoying the weather as well - Jac was stretched out on a luxurious seat, basking in the warm sun, and Nicky was laying against him, half asleep. Now that his guard was down, Ffion had crept up with her camera, trying to sneak a candid shot. Just as she clicked the button, his hand shot out, filling up the frame.

“Go pap Genevieve,” he mumbled, cracking one eye open. “I’m sure she’d enjoy it, and then you’ll have a birthday present for Nye sorted.”

"Those nudes would sell like hotcakes," Delilah cackled.

Ffion nodded, "Honestly, it's a great business venture. You can't hear her talk in a photograph."

"God, right?" Delilah nodded. "She's a bitch, but she's fucking hot."

"Ugh, I know!" Ffion groaned, "It's no fair, she's got a perfect face, perfect skin, perfect hair, and a dogshit personality."

"Don't forget her tits," Delilah added, "they're massive."

Ffion nodded harder. "Right?! And she wears all those low-cut shirts, and I try not to stare, but fuck me, they're so out and they're huge, and I just want to… mmph!" She mimed grabbing a pair of breasts, and Delilah laughed.

"Oh my god, same! They just look so… squeezy. D'you think they're real?" She asked.

"Why, Delilah?" Nicky exclaimed, clapping a hand over his eyes as Jac groaned. "Don't say things like that."

"Well, it's true!" Ffion protested, turning back to Delilah. "They've got to be fake, right, they're just… ridiculously big."

"Absolutely. Mummy probably bought them for her sixteenth birthday." Delilah agreed.

"Oh, they're real. What mummy gave me was good genes." Genevieve seemed to appear out of the aether, making both girls jump and squeal in surprise.

"Shame about the personality," Nicky sniped, wrinkling his nose.

"I could say the same to you, darling. At least I'm a looker." Genevieve smirked, flipping her hair. "Speaking of which, keep your eyes out. I'm about to do something actually impressive, it'll be a new experience for you."

"Oh goody," Nicky scoffed. "Be sure to remind me so I know when to clap."

Genevieve scowled at him, turning on her heel to finish setting up. While she was an impressive sailor, it wasn't the kind of thing anyone who didn't follow the sport would be particularly interested in. Nicky perhaps put it best - "Oh look, she's on the water. What ever will happen next?"

"If we're lucky, she drowns," Delilah chirped.

"God, if only," Nicky muttered longingly. He was still laid out against Jac, the warm coziness of summer sun urging him to doze off.

Despite Genevieve’s best efforts to provide excitement, by lunchtime everyone except her and Nye were napping. He was still waving and watching, clapping when (he hoped it was) appropriate, but she was clearly incensed by the lack of an audience when she came stomping back onto the deck.

"I can't believe your friends haven't been watching me! I'm very talented, this is a rare opportunity." She huffed.

“It’s a holiday, babe,” Nye murmured, tugging her in by her hip and giving her a placating kiss. “They don’t get a lot of down time, they’re always working - take it as a compliment that your sailing was so smooth they could sleep.”

Genevieve huffed, but she did seem somewhat comforted. Pulling Nye closer, she whispered in his ear, "What if we… rock the boat?" 

“Oh, Gen, my brother’s literally right there,” Nye protested, glancing over at where Nate curled up against Gwen’s side. Even now, in the middle of summer, he was terribly pale, once rugged features turned gaunt with illness.

"He's asleep," she argued.

“And if we ‘rock the boat’,” Nye pointed out, grinning against her lips, “he might wake up.”

"We could rock it… gently," Genevieve wheedled, sliding a hand up his thigh.

“You’re terrible,” he chuckled, pulling away just a little. “How about we dock for lunch, and maybe after we can find some peace and quiet on the beach.”

"Fine," she sighed, "I suppose I can wait that long."

"I'll make it worth the wait," he promised, giving her one more enthusiastic kiss.

“I know you will,” she crooned, rubbing a hand over the front of his shorts then pulling away teasingly. “Hold on a sec then, I’ll turn the boat around, I think I see a nice place to stop.”

Nye nodded, trying not to seem overeager despite his excitement. He hovered at Genevieve's side while she docked, and the others started to rouse as the boat came to a stop. Nicky and Jac were the first up, shaking the girls awake before they disembarked. Gwen gently nudged Nate awake, helping him up and following him out. The girls had immediately shed their clothes and gone running into the water, while Nicky put up an umbrella to sit under and play his switch. He didn't seem to have even brought a swimsuit, much more interested in having a smoke and checking on his villagers on a cozy beach blanket. Nate, too, thunked straight down on the sand, throwing one disgruntled arm over his eyes. Only Jac seemed to have a bit more life in him, jogging off down the beach to throw a ball around with Gwen.

"I don't see why we all had to ride on the SS Pretentious. Nye could've taken the bitch out to sea and left the rest of us in peace," Nicky grumbled.

“She’s a bit much if you’re alone with her for too long,” Nate mumbled, his tongue tripping slightly on the words, “even for him.”

Nicky scoffed. "Honestly, even factoring in the sex and the money, she seems insufferable."

Nate shrugged. "I guess the heart wants what the heart wants."

"You mean the dick," Nicky amended. "Pretty sure she cut out his heart and ate it already."

“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” Nate grumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the sand. “Do we have any water in the cooler?”

"Yeah, hang on." Nicky rifled in the cooler, starting to throw it but then thinking better of himself and handing the bottle over. "You need anything else?" He asked, unusually gentle.

"Uh…" Nate pushed himself up on his elbows, grimacing a little as he took the water. "Could I come into the shade for a bit? I feel weird."

Nicky rolled over, making space on his big beach blanket. He patted the newly empty area. "Be my guest."

Nate shuffled over slowly, flopping down beside him. "Thanks," he breathed, one arm resting again over his eyes. The other hand drifted to his midriff, and he blew out a heavy sigh. Nicky clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Still tired?" He asked, surprisingly sympathetic. He'd never seemed to have as much energy since his injury - even now, after a long nap, there was a sleepiness in his eyes.

"I feel awful," Nate admitted, not moving at all. "I think I should've just stayed home."

Nicky frowned, leaning closer to peer at Nate's face. "D'you want me to get Nye?"

"No, let him...let him be," Nate muttered. "I'll be okay."

Nicky didn't push it, but he made a note to keep an eye on Nate rather than having another nap. His plan, however, was quickly waylaid when Ffion and Delilah came galloping up from the sea to tug at his arms.

"Nicky! Come swim with us!" Delilah begged.

"No," he said grumpily. "I'm wearing jeans."

Ffion and Delilah spoke at the same time.

"You can wash them!"

"You can take them off!"

"No," he repeated, shaking them off and picking his Switch back up. "Go pester Jac."

"But Nicky… we want you to swim with us," Ffion whined. "You're better at throwing us, and I want to ride on your shoulders!"

"Fine," he grumbled, standing and stripping off his jeans. "Ten minutes. After lunch I'm having a nap."

The girls shrieked in delight, barely waiting for Nicky to take off his hoodie before dragging him down to the water. He was already regretting his decision - the sand was shifty and uneven beneath his feet, and he nearly yelped when he stepped into an unexpected divot with his bad leg. 

As much as he didn't want to admit it, being in the ocean actually felt quite nice. The cool waves were a welcome reprieve from the toasty sun, and it was much easier to be active with the water holding some of his weight. He could splash and throw the girls without worrying every second about what leg he was stepping with or how quickly he was moving. The ten minutes quickly turned to twenty, then thirty, and he had been in the water almost an hour when they were called back for lunch. 

When Nye shouted for them to come ashore,  Nicky was wrestling with Delilah, Ffion smacking at his back and laughing. They barely heard the call, much less cared about it, and Nye had to yell again for them to truly notice.

"Alright," Nicky huffed, "you've had your fun. Let's go and see what he's packed to eat."

Despite the girls whining and tugging at his arms, Nicky wasn't swayed. After being so active for the first time in ages, he was starving, and if kept from his lunch, he might have eaten one of the girls instead. When they realised he wasn't going to budge, Ffion and Delilah hurried back to the shore as well, tackling their respective siblings in soggy hugs before settling down to eat. Nicky dropped down next to Nate, who seemed to only just be waking up, and grabbed a pork pie from the cool bag

The first bite seemed to remind him just how ravenous he was, and Nicky had inhaled the entire pork pie before he even acknowledged anyone else sitting down to lunch. Once he was somewhat sated, he sat back, glancing at Nate, who was still barely sitting up and hadn't touched anything yet. Grabbing another pork pie from the cool bag, Nicky offered it to him.

"Here. Bit of food should perk you up."

Nate blanched, taking a nervous sip of water. "Gimme a minute," he croaked, leaning forward between his knees and rubbing a hand over his face.

Nicky gave him a closer look, ducking down to be more level with Nate. "You look like shit."

"Feel like shit," Nate muttered miserably. "God, I hate this…"

Nicky fished in the cool bag, this time pulling out one of the ice packs keeping everything chilled. He offered it to Nate. "Might make you a bit more comfortable," he suggested.

"Mmm…" Nate took the pack gratefully, pressing it to his cheeks and then to his forehead. Even through the sharp shock of the cool, he felt distinctly woozy and lethargic. "Thanks."

"You need anything else?" Nicky asked, looking worriedly at how limply Nate was draped against his knees, head lolling listlessly between slumped shoulders.

"Nah, just…" Nate trailer off with a sigh. He wondered whether maybe he should eat something to sort his blood sugar out, but nothing sounded worse than a pork pie right then. "Is there anything else to eat?"

"Think there might be sandwiches, and some apples. You fancy either of those?" Nicky asked, peering into the bag.

"Uh, maybe an apple," Nate suggested, so uncertain it was almost a question. Nicky handed one over, hovering closely as Nate took a hesitant bite. The coolness was refreshing, but even the mild sweetness of the apple felt like far too much, and Nate swallowed convulsively. Nicky bit his lip, resting a hand on Nate's back.

"Alright, maybe not," he murmured. "I'm going to fetch Nye, okay? You're not well."

Nate groaned, his hand reaching out to grab Nicky's wrist. He didn't want to be alone, nor did he particularly want to be fussed over.

"I'll just be a minute," Nicky insisted, though he didn't move to stand.

"Stay," Nate croaked, tugging on Nicky's arm. His head was spinning, and he felt overwhelmingly hot, even with the cool pack still on his skin. His stomach somersaulted again, and he swallowed thickly.

Nicky gave him a wary look. "Don't spew on me," he grumbled, not moving away.

"I won't," Nate mumbled, rubbing his face again. "'ll be fine in a minute."

"Mnnn." Nicky seemed thoroughly unconvinced, pulling his hand away from Nate's feeble grasp. "Try a little more water," he ordered, holding up the bottle.

"I'd rather not…" Nate peered up at him, a grimace on his face.

Nicky gave him a stern look. "Because you feel sick," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah, but… it'll pass," Nate didn't even sound convinced himself.

"Bullshit," Nicky scoffed. "You look close to losing it. Should I get Nye, or do you need me to stay?"

"I'm not going to be sick right now," Nate protested. "Just... queasy."

"Didn't answer my question," Nicky reminded him. "You want me or your brother? Or fuckin… I could get Gwen?" He offered. 

Nate sighed in exasperation, then swallowed hard. "'m fine."

"Alright, I'm getting Nye," Nicky decided, losing his patience in waiting for an answer. He stood before Nate could grab at him again, stomping off down the beach. "Oi! Nye! Stop the public indecency and come here a minute, your brother looks like shit."

Genevieve pulled away from the (admittedly quite enthusiastic) kiss, climbing off of Nye's lap with an irritated huff. Nye hastily apologised, pecking her on the cheek as he got up and hurried over to the umbrella.

"Hey," he said gently, crouching down with a hand on Nate's knee. "You okay? What's going on?"

"Don't feel well," Nate replied shakily, not looking up or opening his eyes. 

"What's the matter?" Nye pressed, "Are you feeling faint? You look kind of woozy."

"Looks like he's about to spew," Nicky muttered warningly. He was still hovering nearby, feeling rather useless but too worried to just wander off.

"Dizzy," Nate agreed. "Nauseous."

Nye frowned, looking him up and down, "Have you been drinking enough water?"

"Um… I dunno. Mostly jus' been napping,'' Nate shrugged. His mouth felt dry, but the thought of taking a drink just made him queasy.

"Were you feeling bad before we came out?" Nye brushed Nate's hair back, pressing a hand against his forehead. It seemed too hot, but it was such a warm day it was hard to tell 

"A bit," Nate admitted. "The usual. Not like this."

"Maybe we should get you back to the caravan," Nye fussed. "You ought to lie down properly."

A real bed sounded lovely, but Nate wasn't sure he could even stand, much less make it back to the caravan. He certainly didn't want to be out on the beach any longer, though, and he eventually gave a small nod. "Yeah, probably."

"Come on, let's get you up, then." Nye looped his arms around Nate, and without being asked, Nicky stepped closer to help them up. Nate groaned, pressing one hand against his stomach.

By now they'd attracted the attention of the others - not the girls, who had gone searching for rockpools, but Jac and Gwen, who came hurrying over to see what the matter was.

"You alright, mate?" Jac asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"Obviously not," Nicky rolled his eyes, steadying Nate as he teetered on his feet.

"Easy," Nye said, trying not to sound quite as worried as he was. "We can go slowly."

Even slowly was entirely too much. Just standing had made Nate's whole world spin, and he groaned. His breathing had grown laboured, and when he tried to swallow again, his throat tightened, metallic saliva pooling stubbornly in his mouth.

"Deep breaths," Gwen instructed, clocking what was going on fairly quickly. "You've just been out in the sun too long, okay bud? Nothing to worry about."

Nye frowned, checking Nate's pallid countenance again. "You think it's that? I thought it was just...I don't know, whatever was wrong yesterday."

Gwen gave him a bit of an exasperated look. "Nothing was wrong yesterday aside from your girlfriend being insufferable. He gets worn out easily and she was entirely too much. Now this," she gestured to Nate, who was wobbling despite having Nye on one side and Nicky on the other, "is textbook sunstroke."

"I guess…"

Now that she'd said so, it seemed increasingly obvious - so much so that Nye wasn't sure how he'd missed it.

"I know so," Gwen bit back. "Maybe so would you if you weren't so distracted by Princess 'Vivi' and her sandbag tits."

"I wasn't… it's not like that!" Nye cried, so flustered that he nearly dropped Nate.

"Then why are you so pissy about it?" She challenged, gesturing to the way Nate swayed and clung to Nicky. "Look at this, even now you're more worried about her than your own brother!"

"Oi!" Nicky cut in. "Bitch at each other on your own time. Let's take care of Nate first. You're both pricks if you care more about fighting."

Gwen scowled, but she knew he was right. "I'll take him back to the caravan," she said, much calmer. "It's not that far."

"I can take him," Nye protested.

"Wanna go with Gwen," Nate argued, peeling away from Nicky and Nye to stumble towards her. She met him right away, wrapping her arms snugly round his torso.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Nye fussed, stepping closer to peer into his brother's unfocussed eyes and palm his forehead. "Maybe I should come with you…"

"Geroff," Nate complained weakly, batting at Nye's arm even as his head sagged forward against his hand. "'ve caught the sun, that's all, 'm not dying."

"And what would you do with Genevieve?" Gwen asked derisively. As much as she didn't mind taking Nate home herself, it bothered her that she'd have had to do it either way - if anything, Genevieve tagging along back to the caravan was liable to make him feel worse. "If you leave her alone with Nicky and the girls there'll be a murder."

Nye frowned, but he knew she was right. Reluctantly, he stepped back. "Feel better," he said quietly.

"Cheers," Nate nodded, letting Gwen haul him away.

Nicky sighed, dropping back down on his beach blanket and grabbing another pork pie. When Nye had wandered off to deal with Genevieve again, he popped a few more pills and downed them with a gulp of the water. He continued to lounge under his umbrella, sleepily munching away at the food they'd packed until he was sated enough to cozy up for his nap.

#whumptober 2023 #whump #illness #exhaustion #heatstroke #emeto #emetophilia #vomit #nate #gwen #nye #genevieve #nicky #ffion #delilah #jac #no. 15 #fic #oc #its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

[lickstynine]

An Uphill Climb

Whumptober Day 13: Infection

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

"Hey, mate. You're looking better," Nye said cheerily, perching on the edge of Nicky's mattress.

He was met with an alarmingly frosty glare, and Nicky growled, "If this is better, you can fucking kill me." After two weeks in hospital and no less than four corrective surgeries, Nicky was ready to saw his whole leg off if it got him out of there.

"Ah, there's the Nicky I know and love," Nye grinned. "Welcome back, bud. Been weird seeing you all doped up and agreeable."

"Agreeable? Didn't know they made drugs strong enough for that." Nicky muttered, a brief flicker of humour in his grim tone.

Nye chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Gave you the good stuff, didn't they?"

"Mmm…" Nicky glanced at the clock, then tipped his head back with a sigh. "Should be due some more pretty soon. Hurts like you wouldn't believe."

"Are they starting to ease you off it? It's been almost a week since the last surgery." Nye said thoughtfully.

Nicky rolled his eyes, feeling more like an example in a textbook then a friend. "Wish they wouldn't. I can feel my heartbeat in my fucking leg. Hurts every time I breathe. It sucks."

"There's other stuff they can give you," Nye said confidently. "It's not like you're even using it at the moment."

"Yeah, well, you're not riding your insufferable girlfriend at the moment, how would you like it if I stabbed you in the dick?" Nicky grumbled.

"That's different," Nye cackled. "I still use my dick multiple times a day. Unlike you, might I add." He gestured to the drainage bag hanging off the side of Nicky's bed.

"I'll add a bruise to your fucking face," Nicky threatened, fighting the urge to hop up and swing at Nye.

His threat was met with more laughter. "Oh, no, what ever can I do to avoid that? Oh right." Nye stood up, an impish grin spread from ear to ear.

Nicky watched him, the sudden reality that even after months of rehab his leg might never work properly again crashing over him for what felt like the millionth time since the accident. At first, it had made him sad - one of the only things he could remember from the first few days after the first operation was sobbing to his mum about it, heavily under the influence of drugs of course. Now he just felt angry.

"Piss off," he snapped, grabbing the TV remote from his bedside table to chuck at Nye's head. His mobility may have been hampered, but his arms were still athletic. 

Nye wasn't fast enough to avoid the object spinning towards his head, and it took him completely by surprise when it cracked against his skull. "Ow," he protested. "Mate. Don't do that again, or I'll put CBeebies on and leave the remote somewhere you can't reach it."

"You do that and I'll learn to walk on one leg just to kill you sooner." Nicky threatened.

"We could be like Tom and Jerry," Nye said lightly, doggedly ignoring Nicky's glare.

"You would be Jerry, shrimpy prick," Nicky muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, shifting gingerly on the bed in a futile attempt to get comfortable. Failing that, he began fiddling with the buttons to raise and lower the head of the bed.

"What can I do, you seem uncomfortable?" Nye asked, reaching for his hand. He added quickly, "I obviously can't give you painkillers or smother you with your pillow…"

"Well shit, there goes both of my options." Nicky grumbled. "Fucking… ice maybe? God, I feel lousy."

"I… I can go and ask," Nye sighed, hopping up. "Could use a trip to the loo anyway."

Nicky grunted, closing his eyes as Nye left. He was asleep before he returned.

"Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

The blurry face of his mother came into view, and Nicky blinked, the weight of his eyelids stronger than his will to open his eyes. He groaned, rubbing his eyes until he finally had the energy to sit up a bit.

“Mum?” He croaked. The air con in the room must have been turned up, and he pulled the duvet up with a wince. “Why aren’t you at work?”

"It's my day off, I wanted to see you," she said, perching gently on the side of the bed. Her fingers ran through his rumpled bedhead, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver of nostalgia down his spine. "The doctors say you're improving."

"Sure doesn't feel like it," Nicky grumbled, letting his eyes fall closed again. Just lying still seemed to drain all of his energy, and the pain in his leg throbbed in time with his pulse.

"They think you should be able to come home in a day or two," she assured him, fussing with the blanket so that it covered him fully. "I'm going to take a couple of days off until you get settled."

"Yeah, that'll be fucking fantastic. Just you and me and this leg that hurts so bad I'm considering chopping it off." Nicky muttered bitterly.

"I'm sure you'll be feeling better by then, sweetie," she said gently, cupping a hand to his cheek.

"Yeah, sure." He grunted miserably. "Lying in bed all day is going to make me feel amazing."

"Well, I know the doctors don't want you walking on that leg yet, but if you want some fresh air, we could get a wheelchair. I'd be happy to take you for a walk."

Nicky snorted. "Yeah, no thanks. I'm a bit old for a pram."

"Your choice then," she shrugged, patting his hair. "Whatever you want."

"I want to get up and move around. Crutches, one of those weird scooters, a peg leg, I don't care. I'm losing my fucking mind lying around all day." Nicky said bitterly.

"I could bring you some books?" His mum suggested, still petting his hair gently. The nurses had washed it for him earlier that day - it had been so uncomfortably greasy that he'd agreed to it despite the indignity of the whole thing. "Or the old DVD player? You have your Nintendo thingy, don't you?"

"My Switch," Nicky corrected, wondering how a woman who worked in IT could still be so technologically illiterate. "I've played it til the buttons nearly fell off. I need to move, do something active."

"You don't want to aggravate your injury, sweetheart. That will just prolong the healing," his mother said, seemingly oblivious to the rage building up in him like steam filling a kettle.

"Fuck the healing!" He snapped, smacking her arm away from his head. "Just cut the leg off if it's such a fucking problem, I don't care! Everybody's treating me like a breakable little baby and I'm not."

“Nicky,” she gasped, rubbing her wrist. “Everyone’s worried, you don’t have to be horrible about it.”

"I feel horrible, I have the right to be horrible!" Nicky growled. "If you're too uptight to handle it, just piss off!"

She sighed, almost reaching out to stroke his hair again. "Sweetheart… I just want to help. Tell me what I can do."

Nicky glowered at her, unmoved. "Get out."

He feigned sleep after that, although he didn’t actually manage to drift off until long after her tentative departure. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning as much as all the medical equipment would allow. Waking every few hours but not having the energy to even open his eyes, he finally fell into a heavier slumber that lasted through the waning twilight and well into the morning.

When he finally woke properly, it was to rustling and whispering voices. Gwen was on the couch opposite the bed, sprawled against Nate and flicking through a magazine. It was Delilah though, in the chair beside the bed, who noticed as his eyes blinked open. She leaned closer, waving her fingers in a friendly greeting.

"Nnngh… Lilah?" He groaned, struggling to sit up in such a groggy state.

“Hey, shh, lie back,” she urged, hopping up to perch beside him on the bed. “You can’t move around that much, remember? How are you feeling?”

"Fucking terrible," he muttered, stretching gingerly and settling back into the pillows. "Bastards think I don't need the good pain meds anymore, so I'm just stuck here feeling like shit all day."

“That’s a good sign though,” Delilah insisted, pecking his forehead. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing that, but it is.” She leaned in closer, whispering, “I was going to bring you some ket but Gwen would’ve murdered me if we were caught.”

"God, I wish," Nicky grumbled. He would've killed a man for something stronger than paracetamol, barely able to think over the throbbing pain radiating up his leg. "Who have you been annoying without me around?"

“Oh, well that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” She winked at him, then flicked his shoulder. “What about you? I’m sure you’ve been driving the nurses in here nuts.”

Nicky scowled. "They're driving me fucking nuts. I haven't slept well since I got off the morphine, and they come in here every thirty bloody minutes poking and prodding and pestering me. The next person tries to stick me with a needle, I'm taking it out and jabbing it in their eye."

“You’re a drama queen,” she giggled. “Think of me, I still have to go to school every day. At least you don’t have to do that.”

"I did my time in the public school prison." Nicky argued. Truth be told, the amount he actually attended was abysmal, and it was remarkable he'd managed to graduate.

“Yeah, but you just copied Nye’s homework, I have to do my own!”

"Find a smart friend, then." Nicky shrugged.

"You didn't even find Nye! You just happened to play rugby with him and he was friends with Jac! You've never made a friend in your life," Delilah laughed. "You don't say hi to people, you bite them!"

"I'll bite you if you keep it up," Nicky grumbled. While Lilah's words were all in jest, he couldn't help feeling a sting of truth behind them, and his expression soured. He looked out the corner of his eye at Gwen and Nate nestled together on the couch, him there for her and her there for her sister and her sister there because… why was Lilah here? Why was anyone here, really? No one actually liked him that much. Surely sooner or later they'd get sick of him.

Delilah flicked his shoulder, watching as his slightly vacant gaze snapped back to her. “Don’t be like that,” she grumbled dramatically, “I didn’t mean anything by it. Now, do you want to do the crossword with me?”

"Crossword? What are we, ninety?" Nicky grumbled, taking the paper from her to look at.

“Well, you walk like an OAP so…” Delilah shuffled over to lie next to him so that she didn’t have to crane her neck to see the paper too. “I just thought you might be bored.”

"I'm so bored I could make this pen into a shiv and end my misery," Nicky said, perhaps less joking than his tone implied. He scanned the questions, searching for one that he might know.

“The hospital is probably the worst place to try and kill yourself,” Delilah mused, scratching in one of the more obvious answers. “The alarms would go and they’d just patch you right back up again.”

"Gotta unplug the monitors first," Nicky said, finally noticing a clue that he recognized and taking the pen from her.

"You've been thinking about this too much." Delilah said.

"What else is there to think about?" He groaned, handing the pen back to her.

She grinned broadly. "The crossword! See?"

Nicky sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. It was getting long, falling in his eyes more than usual, and he was all too aware of it after spending so many hours doing next to nothing. "If this is what being old is like, I'll kill myself by thirty."

"You're loving it, don't lie," she teased, nudging his side. "You'll be a crossword pro by the time you're out."

"Shut up," Nicky muttered, pointing to a column on the puzzle. "This one is square. The one going across is quartet. Going down through the r is terrarium. This is stupid."

"Told you you'd be a pro," she giggled. "Maybe I should bring in the Welsh language ones to make it harder."

"Oh, I'll just light those on fire." Nicky said, "make a few s'mores, use them to light a cigarette or two while I'm at it."

“They surely didn’t let you keep your lighter,” Delilah gasped, wide eyed. 

"They took the one in my pocket. Had a second in my bag," Nicky gestured to the duffel sitting by the side table. He'd smuggled many things in its hidden inner pocket over the years.  "Got my cigs in there too but it's not like I can sneak out for a smoke." By the way his fingers were twitching, he was sorely missing the nicotine.

“You could use like, patches or something,” Delilah suggested. “Like people do when they’re trying to quit.”

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be happy to give me those." Nicky grumbled. "I tried asking for the gum the other day, bitch nurse told me I should relish the chance to be without it. Told her she ought to piss off or relish the chance to be without an eye."

“So creative,” she mused, nudging him again. “You’re shaking though, you might try something to take the edge off.”

"I'll ask again, but they probably won't let me," he said bitterly. "They're not even giving me real pain meds anymore."

“Well yeah, cause you might get addicted to them,” Delilah pointed out, as if it were obvious. “Nicotine patches are completely different.”

"Pardon me for still being in pain," Nicky snapped, more sharply than intended. "They clearly don't care how I feel so why would they give a shit if I'm itching for a cig?"

“Does it still really hurt?” Delilah asked, her face falling. She’d hoped that after all the surgeries to put him back together, he would be feeling at least a little less awful.

Nicky almost looked ready to cry with frustration. "Yes! I've been telling them for ages, and they think I'm just playing it up for drugs. They look at me and just… assume," he growled, bitterness burning in his eyes.

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not that,” Delilah reassured him, reaching over him in an awkward hug. “Like, they just have to be really careful, you know? It could ruin your life if they did let you get addicted.”

"Can't be worse than feeling like this forever," Nicky muttered. "I'm ready to jump out the fucking window. Whether it frees me or kills me, I don't really care."

“Don’t say that,” she argued fiercely, hugging him a little tighter. “Never say that.”

Nicky only let out a grunt of acknowledgement, not wanting to agree, but too weary to fight. Finally, he lifted an arm to wrap around her in reciprocity, giving Delilah an uncharacteristically weak squeeze.

It was dark outside the next time he woke, and he immediately missed Delilah’s reassuring warmth at his side. In fact, it felt like all the heat in the room had vanished along with the sunlight. He was shivering, and not just a little, his hands shaking enough to make him uncomfortably aware of his IV. Even with the blankets tucked around him, his fingers and toes were freezing, his skin covered in goosebumps despite the protection of his pyjamas. He wanted to call for a nurse, to beg for more blankets, or a heating pad, or even just a hot drink, but trying to sit up made his head spin. Pulling the seemingly useless sheets closer around him, Nicky groaned. He hadn't the faintest clue how long he'd been asleep - it was so dark outside he thought he might have missed the heat death of the universe - and he didn't know if there would be a nurse coming by anytime soon. He groaned, low in his throat, almost unintentional, unable even to roll over onto his side in an attempt to get comfortable.

His head hurt. His knee hurt. He could barely form a coherent thought. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought the urge to tear his IV out and roll off the bed. Well… fight was the wrong term. He didn't have the energy to actually do it. The real war was between his hyperactive mind, bouncing wildly around in growing discomfort, and his leaden body, so lethargic even breathing felt laborious. He wished someone could have stayed with him. Maybe it would be worth going home just to have company instead of this incessant beeping.

His self-pitying thoughts took a back burner at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the click of a doorknob. Eager for any sort of human contact, he craned his neck, surprised to see a familiar figure silhouetted in the doorway.

"...Lilah?" He croaked, caught off-guard by just how dry his mouth was. Clearing his throat, he still struggled to get the words out, "What're you doin' here?"

"I was worried about you," she muttered, hurrying in. "Wanted to come back before visiting hours were over."

A weary but genuine smile spread across his face, and Nicky patted the bed beside him. "Sit with me. 'm cold."

"I'll get you another blanket before I leave," she promised, hopping up onto the bed as carefully as possible. He reached over to wrap an arm around her, and his hand was shockingly hot against her skin.

"Mm… c'mere."

"You're burning up," she whispered, curling closer and pressing a hand against his forehead. The relative coolness of her hand made him shiver, and he whimpered, instinctively pulling away.

"Feel like shit," he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut against an unexpected wave of vertigo.

“They didn’t say anything at the desk.” Delilah stroked his forehead tenderly. It was blazing hot, baking but not sweaty. “How long have you felt like this?”

"I don't know. I've felt lousy for ages now, but not… not like this." Nicky sighed, slumping back against the pillows. Even lying down felt like too much effort, and the bed seemed to shift beneath him like a hammock. His fingers twisted in the sheets, desperately seeking stability. "Nnngh… hold still," he begged.

"Oh sweetie," Delilah sighed, pecking a kiss to his hairline. "I'm going to fetch a nurse, okay? I think there might be something wrong."

Nicky whimpered, grabbing clumsily at her wrist. "Don't go," he begged, "I don't want to be alone again."

"You won't be," she whispered, pulling away easily. "I'll be right back."

Despite her sincerity, Nicky looked heartbroken, watching forlornly as Delilah hurried out of the room. She made her way to the nurse's station, where she met the same man who'd led her to Nicky's room just a few minutes before.

"Ready to go already?" He asked, surprised.

"Uh, no," Delilah shook her head, leaning on the counter. "He's burning up, is that normal?"

The nurse's brow furrowed, and he stepped out from behind the counter. "Let's go take a look, why don't we," he said, ushering Delilah back towards the room.

Nicky was still huddled up in the bed, and he gave them a vacant, glassy look as they walked in. "Lilah, come back," he mumbled, reaching out for her.

"Right here," she soothed, squeezing his hand. "I've brought someone to check on you, okay? You have to be nice."

Nicky's bleary gaze flashed across to the nurse in the doorway, his eyes widening fractionally. "Wha' - Dad?"

"No, son," the nurse said patiently. "My name is John. I'll be taking your temperature now, alright?" He produced a thermometer, bending over the bed, only to take a hasty step back as Nicky's flailing hand smacked it away.

"Don' touch me! 'm still mad at you," Nicky grumbled, face screwed up in an almost cartoonish pout. 

"Nicky, it's just a… it's not your dad," Delilah murmured, patting his arm as she gave the nurse an alarmed look.

Nicky didn't seem to hear her. He was breathing hard, hand trembling in hers. "You didn't even visit," he spat out, his face beginning to crumple. "I could've died and you never even called."

"You're allowed to be mad," the nurse said, his tone calm and patient despite Nicky's outburst. "But I need to check your temperature so I can help you."

"Why would I trust you to help with anything?" Nicky growled. "You clearly only care about yourself."

"Nick, it's not your dad," Delilah repeated, panic creeping in. "Please. Let him do his job."

"No, he's - You don't understand," Nicky moaned. "He's - he's -"

He gulped, arms shaking as he raised himself up one elbow. The bed rocked beneath him like a lifeboat on the stormy sea, his face white and body trembling as his stomach did somersaults inside him.

"Woah, you're okay," the nurse said gently, darting for an emesis basin as soon as he clocked the look on Nicky's face, sliding it under his chin just in time for him to gag miserably. He hunched forward with a painful retch, thin, watery vomit trickling into the bin. The nurse put a supportive hand on his shoulder, eyeing the way Nicky teetered under his own strength. Delilah, who had shot to her feet when Nicky had begun to be sick, leaned over too, stroking his hair back as he slumped down against the pillows, panting raggedly.

He was in such a state, he didn't even have the energy to rub his eyes, and the hot tears that had started to collect trickled freely down his cheeks. Delilah chewed worriedly at her lip, her mind drifting back several years to when Nicky had crashed at their house a few weeks before Christmas. He'd come home from an away match sick as a dog, spending the night on the floor of Gwen's en suite. Somewhere in Delilah's phone, there was a photo of Nicky curled up in Nye's mum's lap, asleep with an ice pop in his mouth. The comical sight had been a wonderful levity after worrying about him so much, but now, she wished they could go back to that miserable winter weekend. At least back then, Delilah had been sure of what was wrong. Sure that he'd be okay. Now… she wasn't so sure.

Setting the emesis basin aside, the nurse had taken advantage of Nicky's enfeebled state, swiping the thermometer across his forehead to get a reading. The little digital dial beeped as it spat out the number, and the nurse clicked his tongue, jotting it down on Nicky's chart. 

"Thirty-nine point two," he muttered, looking at the vitals projected from Nicky's monitor. The heart rate was starting to flutter, his pulse quick and erratic. "I'm going to call the doctor in here, we'll get you sorted." He said, patting Nicky's hand gently. This time, there was no protest, or any reaction at all for that matter. Nicky's glassy eyes had locked onto Delilah, and he reached feebly for her hand.

"I've got you," she whispered shakily, giving his hand a squeeze. "We're going to get you better."

He pulled on her hand, no real strength behind it, but the intent obvious. Delilah climbed into the bed as carefully as she could, stroking her fingers gently through his hair. He groaned, his face nestled up against her shoulder. She hushed him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Hurts," he croaked. "....sick."

"It's okay," Delilah soothed, still petting his hair as he settled. "The doctor is coming, they'll take care of you." Her words rang hollow, a useless formality that they were both too scared to believe. Nicky groaned into her shoulder, shifting faintly in a feeble attempt to get comfortable.

"Tired," he breathed, nausea swelling again in his throat. "Of all of it."

"I know," she murmured, holding him tighter as if that would protect him. "I'm sorry."

He swallowed forcefully, but it did little to ease the sickness blooming in his chest, tendrils of discomfort creeping up his throat and down into his stomach. "Nnngh, Lilah…" he whined.

"Shhh sweetie, save your energy," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder. "You've gotta use it to get better."

"Don' feel good," Nicky groaned, clumsy fingers clutching at her arm.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

Nicky didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, Delilah was gone and he was hooked up to more tubes and machines than he'd seen since he was fresh out of surgery. Uncomfortable as they were, he felt too weak and wobbly to even adjust himself, using what little energy he had to groan and glance around.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn't alone. Sitting in the chair by the bed was Nye, currently engrossed in some show on his phone, while Jac sat on the couch, skeins of yarn beside him as he worked away at a stuffed animal. It was Nye who noticed first that Nicky was awake, Jac too distracted squinting closely at the reference photo he was working from.

"Hey," Nye said warmly, setting his phone aside, "look who's finally come to."

“Nicky?” Jac’s head popped up, and he hurried over to the bed. “How you feeling, bud?”

"Fucking… terrible," he rasped, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. Even that change in elevation made his head spin, and he sank back into the pillows with a groan.

“Try to stay still,” Nye said gently, patting his shoulder. “You’ve been very ill. It’s going to take a bit to get back to normal.”

"I've been?" Nicky cocked an eyebrow, having assumed he was only out for the night.

“Yeah, well…” Nye grimaced. “It’s probably good you don’t remember to be honest, it wasn’t pretty. Lilah lost her shit.”

Now it was Nicky's turn to grimace. "What did I do?"

"What didn't you do?" Nye retorted. "You were wrecked. Crazy fever, spewing everywhere. She said you were hallucinating your dad."

"What?" Nicky, if possible, went paler than ever. "Did they tell you what was wrong?"

"Infection," Jac chimed in. He didn't understand much beyond that, but he'd gotten the gist at least. "Something to do with your last surgery."

"Oh…" Nicky's brow furrowed and he went quiet, unsure what else to say.

“Yeah, well,” Nye shrugged. “They’ve got it under control now at least. You’re pumped so full of antibiotics I’m surprised you’re even coherent, but at least they didn’t have to go back in and cut it out.”

Nicky paled. Though he wasn't remotely squeamish, the idea of a doctor removing bits of him like a high school frog dissection was just too much. "C… cut it out?"

Jac eyed his peaky complexion, shooting Nye a look. He hopped up on the edge of the bed, giving Nicky's good leg a reassuring pat. "Don't worry about it, mate. They won't have to do that. You've got medicine fixing you up, you'll be right as rain in no time."

“Yeah,” Nye nodded. “That’s what I said.”

Nicky wasn't particularly reassured, but it was mostly because the fever clouded his brain. He could hardly string together a thought of his own, much less follow the ideas others brought up. He nodded vacantly, mumbling, "Just don't cut my leg off."

"Sure, mate." Nye patted his shoulder. "I'll make sure to tell the doctors that. Why don't you get some sleep now."

Nicky wanted to protest, but even after this brief period of stimulation he was exhausted, his eyelids heavy and his head starting to pound. He managed a brief 'mmhmmm…' before sleep engulfed him once more.

The next time he woke he felt sick to his stomach again. His body was heavy, as if the bed itself had a powerful gravity holding him down. A swirling miasma obscured his thoughts, making it hard to even recognize the room around him. Bright lights burned his eyes, and the beeping of monitors overwhelmed his ears. It took all his strength to reach up and rub his face, desperately trying to reorient himself, but after a few shaky breaths, his surroundings slowly came into focus. There was a blonde figure dozing in the chair by the bed, but everything was such a haze that he couldn’t tell which Evans brother it was - it could’ve been Dai for all he knew, although it seemed unlikely.

Nicky's groan caught the ear of his current overseer, and the person sitting beside him started to stir. The voice was impossible to identify either - everything sounded distant and echoey, like he was at the end of a tunnel.

"Hey, Nick. How you feeling?"

"Fuckin… terrible," Nicky rasped, squinting at the fuzzy face hovering over him.

"I think your fever's coming down still, but you should be feeling better soon," they said quietly. "Do you want some water?"

Nicky hesitated. His mouth was painfully dry, but he still felt overwhelmingly queasy. "Um… maybe."

A gentle hand brought a bottle of water to his lips. "Start slow. Little sips."

Nicky groaned softly, letting the cool liquid spill over his tongue. It felt good to drink, the water soothing his throat, which was so sore he wondered whether he'd been intubated again. He took another sip, ignoring the way the first had pooled in his stomach.

"There you go," the voice echoed dimly in Nicky's ears, barely audible over the rush of blood. "Feeling a little better?"

"No," Nicky mumbled, taking another drink despite himself. He felt increasingly ill, but the soothing coolness in his throat was worth it. He could vaguely remember that the morphine he'd been on post-op had made him queasy, but it had been nothing like this. The nausea became overwhelming quite suddenly, and he pulled away, pushing the bottle aside with one hand. "Stop," he slurred, struggling to articulate his thoughts. "Don' feel good."

"Okay mate."

The figure retreated for a moment, and there was the crunch of plastic being put on the table before a large hand came to rest on his forehead.

"Go back to sleep, if you can," the voice said. "The sooner you shake this, the sooner you can go home."

Nicky shook his head, only to go still as the motion disoriented him further. "Can't sleep," he protested. "Feel… really sick." He swallowed thickly against the swirling sensation in his stomach, water threatening to rise as if it had never fully gone down.

"Alright."

There was a beep and a whirring and the bed beneath his head began to rise. He swallowed again, an involuntary moan slipping past his lips.

"Just in case you are sick, yeah?" The hand stroked his hair back again. "Don't want you choking."

Nicky only groaned in acknowledgement, but his hand groped around in the direction of his caretaker. He felt cold and shaky and wanted someone warmer and sturdier to lean on. Failing to grasp anything, he croaked out, "C'mere…"

"I know you don't feel good, but I'm not climbing in bed with you," the voice said, "it's not big enough for both of us."

Nicky's face fell, but he didn't object further, squeezing his eyes closed against a wave of vertigo. Part of him wanted to ask for more water, but he knew it wouldn't help. The queasy sensation was creeping slowly up his throat even as he tried to swallow it back down, the flush of fever fading to leave his face ashen. 

"There's a basin on your left if you need it."

Nicky opened his mouth with the intent of saying thanks, only to clamp it shut until he could clumsily clutch at the bin. His hands barely kept the basin in place, but he hadn't the time to worry about it, leaning forward with a painful heave. The water came up in a rush, all three sips of it. His head spun. He wasn’t sure if he was being dramatic, but he felt almost more sick than he had that night with Delilah - less ill maybe, but the heavy discomfort in his stomach seemed insurmountable.

A sturdy hand rested between his shoulders, another supporting the bin propped so perilously in his lap. "Easy… you're alright. Deep breaths, now."

Despite how he wanted to, Nicky struggled to obey. His stomach clenched painfully again, and he heaved over the basin, bringing up little more than a mouthful of spit. Though he was obviously empty, he continued to retch, caught in the throes of unproductive nausea.

“Oh mate…” Circles were rubbed on his back, patting gently when he struggled to catch his breath. “I’m going to let them know you’re throwing up again, okay? They might need to change your medication.”

Nicky shook his head, clutching desperately at the wrist closest to him. "Don't go," he begged, still feeling so floaty it was hard to be certain someone was actually there. He lost his grip when another heave rippled through his chest, slumping forward over the bin with a groan.

“I’ll go once you’re settled.” The voice was as firm as the hands keeping Nicky steady. “You’re not going to get better like this.”

There was no argument that time, and Nicky gagged weakly over the basin again before finally slumping back. "Feel awful…"

“Yeah, let’s see if we can sort that out.” 

The basin was removed from his limp fingers, and he heard footsteps as they got further away. He groaned, trying to pull his knees up to his chest and curl up like he normally would. The brace around his knee stopped him, but pain lanced through his leg even at the tiny movement he did manage. He gasped, face twisting in pain as he fell back against the pillows.

By some miracle, his head had cleared a bit by the time the doctor arrived, and he was finally able to make out the face standing beside the bed.

“Nate…” Embarrassment, however unnecessary, flushed through him.

"Yeah? What's up?" Nate leaned closer at once, peering worriedly at Nicky.

"'s nothing," he mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed. He could see more clearly now, but the bright overhead lights and blinking monitors made his head pound. Though he could make out the words the doctor shared with Nate, hardly any of it made sense, and he tuned out almost immediately, trusting Nate to handle the situation. He was still spaced out when the doctor tried to address him properly, and it took a gentle nudge of his shoulder to get his attention.

"Nicky," Nate said, waiting to see his eyes open before continuing. "They're going to try a different medication, see if maybe this one was making you ill. You've been on antibiotics for ages, so if they're working, you really should be feeling better. Hopefully you'll perk up on the new meds."

"God, I hope," Nicky grumbled. "This is fucking miserable."

“And they can give you some stuff to stop you from spewing,” Nate told him, “although you might still feel a bit spewish.”

"What's new?" Nicky muttered bitterly. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt nauseous, between the morphine after surgeries and the sickness that had followed. In this state, he hadn't yet become aware of it, but it was all too evident to Nate the weight Nicky had lost since being in hospital.

Nate smiled sympathetically, exchanging a last few sentences with the doctor before waving him off and dropping down into the chair by the bed. “The nurse is going to bring some ice in case you’re still thirsty.”

"Thanks," Nicky sighed, his anger quickly fading to a weary gloom. He was still thirsty, parched really, and being sick had only made his sore throat worse. He was hoping the ice would be more manageable, since his stomach was still doing somersaults inside him. Letting his eyes fall closed, he rubbed a hand gingerly across his middle, lost in thought for a while before asking, "How long has it been?"

“Since when?” Nate asked, “the accident? Or the infection?”

"Both, I guess." Nicky hardly felt like he was on the same planet these days. He could've been stuck in hospital for a year for all he knew.

“Uh, well it’s been four days pretty much since your fever shot up and your blood pressure bottomed out and you like, went septic basically,” Nate said, far more calmly than the words seemed to warrant. “That’s why you’ve got the NG tube, ‘cause you weren’t eating. And then it’s been…three weeks since the accident, give or take.”

Nicky groaned, squeezing his eyes shut through a barrage of thoughts. "God, what a shitshow," he grumbled, trying not to sound quite as freaked out as he was.

“Really getting the most out of the taxes you don’t pay,” Nate chuckled. “Could be worse, you could have caught MRSA.”

"There's worse than this?" Nicky asked, eyes popping open in an incredulous glare. He looked down at the tubes and wires connecting him to machines like a badly made robot, the incessant beeping eating away at what was left of his sanity. If there was worse than this, he would've rather died.

“I mean, it’s less treatable,” Nate shrugged. “You have fewer options on antibiotics and you can’t guarantee how well they work. And they have to put you in a special room and everyone who sees you has to wear like, hazmat basically.”

"Gross," Nicky grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the thought. His attention shifted as a nurse came into the room, presenting him with a cup of ice chips. He snatched the cup away, popping a piece of ice into his mouth at once.

“Not too much at once,” Nate instructed, eyeing the way his free hand still cradled his stomach. “They’ve not put you on the anti-emetics yet.”

Nicky huffed, but he didn't reach for another ice chip just yet. "Sorry I'm dying of thirst."

"You'll be sorrier if you spew again," Nate pointed out.

Nicky sighed, letting his eyes fall closed again. It was hard to stay awake when there was so little for him to do, and anything he could do required an attention span that he just couldn’t sustain. “When will they take the tube out?” He honestly hadn’t noticed it when he’d first woken up, but now that Nate had pointed it out, the NG tube bothered him with every breath.

"When you can eat and keep it down," Nate said matter-of-factly. "If the antiemetics do their job, it hopefully won't be too long."

"Fuckin'... Fantastic," Nicky grumbled, popping another ice chip in his mouth.

“It’s better than starving.” Nate eyed him sternly. “You’ve been seriously ill mate, you can’t expect to go back to normal just like that.”

"Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," Nicky said, his voice wobbling on the line between rage and misery. "It's fucking miserable! How would you like to be in pain, can't even get out of bed, so sick you can't fucking see straight, for weeks?"

“I wouldn’t,” Nate placated, so infuriatingly calm he was on the edge of doing the absolute opposite. “It is - it’s miserable. I couldn’t even have the good painkillers after I had my operation, they made me sick as a dog, and it was like they’d left a scalpel in me every time I had to breathe, or sit up, or anything.”

Nicky didn't seem placated by Nate's empathy, gruffly asking, "When will Lilah be back?"

"Dunno mate," Nate replied, picking his book back up. "She's at school, but I don't know if she's got plans after."

"Oh. Right. School." Nicky's face scrunched up in disgust. "Where… where is my phone?" He asked, looking around the room but finding his vision starting to blur again.

“When did you last have it?” Nate asked, standing up to look through Nicky’s things. “I didn’t see you using it last time we were here.”

Nicky tried to think back, but it just made his head hurt. He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know."

"Hey, it's alright," Nate said calmly. "I can try calling it, worst case scenario it goes to voicemail."

"Oh, don't bother," Nicky grumbled. He tried to roll over, only for his body and everything attached to protest, and he flopped back into place with a sigh.

"Easy," Nate warned. "Don't want to pull something out."

Nicky just scowled. He wanted to pull everything out - the tubes, the wires, his fucking hair. He was so fed up with everything, he couldn't imagine another day like this, much less another week. Angry tears pricked his eyes, and he turned his head as far as he was able, trying to hide his face in the pillows. He wanted to ask Nate to leave, but he didn’t trust his voice to sound angry instead of on the verge of sobbing.

Nate at least had the sense to not prod him further, settling back in his chair to read. He was just hoping Nicky could get some more rest - he clearly needed it.

#emeto #emetophilia #vomit #whump #illness #fever #infection #whumptober 2023 #no. 13 #nicky #nye #nate #jac #gwen #delilah #its-a-goddamn-heartbreak #fic #oc

[lickstynine]

Permanent Damage

Whumptober Day 5: "It's broken."

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

The match against Port Talbot on a bleak Saturday afternoon in February wasn’t anything special, just another league fixture. After the fact, that was something that ate at Nicky. Just any other day, not a grand event, a meaningful moment for him to hang up his boots. Just another stupid match against the same stupid people that he’d been playing against his whole stupid life.

It had started out as such a good day. He’d been up with his alarm, even made himself breakfast after his first cigarette. There were a couple of hours to kill before Nye picked him up, so he’d taken himself for a walk and then finished off some work on the accounts for the fight club. He had a proper fight scheduled in a fortnight, and it was a big enough deal for them to actually spend money on the marketing. After all these years and all the graft, it felt like he was finally getting somewhere. Maybe, if it went well, he could earn enough to move out. He tapped some numbers into the calculator beside his laptop. Maybe he would even feel successful enough to stop comparing himself to Nye and the golden Evans brothers.

He finished the accounting work in no time. Though he wasn't fond of doing it, maths had always come quite easy to him, the calculator beside his laptop more for catching errors than running numbers. Closing his laptop, he glanced at the clock. 12:30. Nye would be coming for him at one, so he had enough time to smoke on the stoop and check his villagers.

"You look cheery," Nye remarked as Nicky climbed into the car. "Woke up on the right side of the bed for once?"

"Ah, piss off," Nicky said, grinning all the while. "Just having a decent day I guess."

"Well, good. Don't want to be slacking against your archenemy." Nye teased.

For once, the mention of Geraint didn't sour Nicky's mood. "You'd have thought he'd get bored of losing to us by now," he chuckled. "Nah, I've got a good feeling about today."

Nye grinned. "Good to hear it. Just don't let their shit talk get you too fired up to think straight."

Nicky faked an offended look. "When have I ever?"

"When haven't you?" Nye laughed, earning an elbow to the ribs.

"Well he's a prick isn't he," Nicky rolled his eyes. "And I've never lost us a match, come on."

"No," Nye admitted, "just got us into stupid fights after the game."

"No, I got into fights that you elected to join," Nicky corrected.

"Because I couldn't let you get beaten to a pulp," Nye exclaimed, checking his wing mirrors as he pulled into the club. "So your fault, really honestly."

"Your fault for assuming I wouldn't win," Nicky said, climbing out of the car before Nye had even properly parked. He was itching to play, a fiery excitement coursing through his veins. The fact that they were playing Port Talbot was just the cherry on top - beating Geraint would be even sweeter than a regular victory.

Nye grabbed his bags, shaking his head with a laugh. He liked Nicky in these moods - he'd seemed happier somehow over the past few months and honestly Nye hoped it stuck. He was still mulling it over as they went out for warm up, eyeing the opposing team with distaste from the other side of the pitch.

Nicky was practically bouncing off the walls, running laps around his teammates and throwing a ball back and forth. Nye couldn't help feeling like he'd adopted a shelter dog who'd finally warmed up to its new home. Chuckling quietly to himself, he jogged over to catch the ball as Nicky threw it.

Everything was going swimmingly when it happened: Nye spun the ball out to Nicky, who raced forwards, ducking his shoulder to hit contact, and then -

His foot caught in place. He couldn't move. The mud had grabbed his shoe with a ferocious suction, and he barely had time to register that he was stuck before boys barrelled into him from both sides. The impact, he imagined, was not unlike being the middle vehicle in a three-car collision, as two hulking behemoths smashed him between them. The momentum tried to wrench him free, but before the mud could give way, he did. Nicky's leg bent with a sickening crack, and he cried out, spots swimming in his vision as he crumpled to the ground.

Time slowed, the hubbub of the game continuing around him. He sucked in a deep breath, curling protectively towards his leg. It was wrong, something was wrong, it was -

Pain burst through him, unrelenting, unbearable. Someone somewhere was screaming, more animal than human. The sound wrenched in his chest and -

It was him, he was screaming. Even when he realised, the sound was distant, like the other end of a bad phone call. The grass beneath him seemed to pitch and bob like choppy water, his vision a blur as people swarmed, their worried voices only adding to the indistinct chaos ringing in his ears.

Nye had come running as soon as he saw Nicky fall - normally he shrugged off every hit, even finishing a match with broken ribs a few years earlier. For an impact to have grounded him, made him scream, something was wrong. Very wrong.

When he broke through the throng of people clustered round Nicky, Nye felt grateful for his medical training. If he hadn't seen it in the ER before, he probably would've screamed himself. Sprawled in a heap on the grass, Nicky was clutching his right leg, twisted at an angle no healthy limb could ever achieve. Worst of all, though, jutting out of a ragged gash just below his knee was a bright white shard of bone.

Owen took one look at it, paled, then stumbled off the pitch to spew. He rallied quickly though, calling the Cardiff boys over to him so that they gave Nicky some space, and yelling for the coach to call an ambulance. The crowd dispersed within seconds, leaving just Nye with a hand on Nicky's shoulder and, to everyone's surprise, Geraint, who clutched Nicky's hand tightly, mumbling reassurances as the physio jogged over.

"Fuck… fuck," Nicky groaned, unable to string together anything more coherent. Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn't seem to notice, much less care. The whole world was still a chaotic blur around him, and he was only able to focus on one point - the hand holding his own. He squeezed tightly, a desperate, futile attempt to distract himself from the pain. His whole body was trembling, and he drew shaky, ragged breaths between gulping sobs.

"You're okay bud," Geraint murmured, hushing him even as his own voice trembled. He cupped Nicky's jaw in his hand, stroking a thumb over his cheek, shielding Nicky from the gawking spectators with his bulk. "It's gonna be fine." He looked up at Nye, meeting his eyes although he wanted to flinch at the searching look in them. "They can't move him," he said in a low voice, "grab a subs coat, we need to keep him warm."

Nye nodded, hurrying away at once. Nicky didn't seem to notice - he hadn't even really registered Nye was there. He was still out of it, but the face hovering over him was slowly coming into focus. "... Geraint?"

“Yeah Nicky, it’s me,” Geraint said quietly. “Just lie still for us now, alright love? We’ll get you sorted out.”

Nicky cried out again, squeezing his eyes closed. “God, it hurts. I - I can’t, G, it hurts.”

"We're getting you taken care of," Geraint promised, rubbing his thumb over the back of Nicky's hand. "The ambulance is on its way. I'll stay here with you."

Nicky sobbed, his screams tapering off as he pressed his face into Geraint’s palm. “Please. Oh God, what have I done?”

Geraint swallowed nervously as he glanced back down at Nicky's leg. "It's a pretty bad break," he admitted, looking to the physio for guidance. "Is there anything we can do right now?"

"The ambulance is on its way," they said solemnly. "We just need to keep it clean, and keep him warm and calm."

"I don't… can't feel good," Nicky mumbled, still somewhat incoherent. He was feeling a different sort of woozy now, like his mind was floating out of his body.

“Won’t be long, love,” Nye reassured him, appearing with two of their long, puffy subs coats bunched in his arms. In reality, it could be a good half hour until the paramedics arrived, but it would do Nicky no good to know that.

“Yeah,” Geraint agreed. Not caring anymore who saw, he stroked Nicky’s hair back tenderly. “Take some deep breaths with me now, okay?”

Nicky groaned, struggling to inhale deeply or properly. His chest felt tight, lips numb as he opened his mouth in an attempt to breathe better. He panted weakly, trying to keep time with Geraint's breathing.

“You’re okay bud,” Geraint encouraged, squeezing his fingers again, long since gone limp. “Nye, can we lay one of the coats over him now, or do we need to wrap his leg first? His fingers are freezing.”

Nye looked thoughtfully at the leg for a moment. "I'd like to at least put some clean gauze over the wound, make sure it's not still bleeding."

Geraint nodded, looking pointedly at the physio until the first aid kit was handed over. "Nye's just gonna, um, tidy you up." He dabbed the sheen of cold sweat from Nicky's forehead, a little worried by the way the other man's eyes barely flickered at the movement. "You can squeeze my hand if it hurts, okay?"

"Y'h…" Nicky mumbled, though he wasn't sure he could've moved if he tried. He could barely focus on anything but the pain in his leg, the overwhelming agony keeping his body from being able to do anything else. He cried out as Nye rinsed the wound with clean water, fingers tensing feebly around Geraint's. "G," he whimpered, voice frail, "'m gonna…don't feel good."

"Hey, you're alright," Geraint mumbled, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He clocked how pale Nicky had gotten, reaching gently under Nicky's shoulders to prop him up a little. "If you need to be sick, go ahead. We're outside, it's not gonna hurt anything."

Nicky whimpered, shallow breaths hitching in his chest as he pressed his lips together.

"He's right love," Nye said softly, squeezing Nicky's good thigh. He'd finished wrapping the wound as best he could, and he reached for one of the coats, tucking it over Nicky's shoulders. "We'll clean you up if you need, it's okay. I don't think they'll finish the match today anyway, and it's meant to rain tonight."

Nicky shook his head slightly, though it wasn't clear in response to what. His face was the sickly off-white of sour milk, eyes wide and vacant as he stared into the blurry distance. He felt supremely dizzy, but at this point he wasn't sure if he was going to faint or be sick. His head was spinning, the pitch seemingly roiling beneath him, and his stomach churned in time with it. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Aw bud," Geraint sighed, stroking his hair back again. "Nye, he's really clammy, is that normal?"

"He's probably in shock," Nye said, keeping his voice low and calm for Nicky's sake. "We're doing everything we can, though, he'll be alright when the ambulance comes."

Nicky wasn't even listening, the voices around him an unintelligible buzz through the fog in his mind. He groped around in Geraint's direction, clutching onto his wrist. "Don't feel… I… it hurts…" he whimpered.

"I know, I know bud." Geraint squeezed Nicky's hand firmly. "We'll get you some painkillers as soon as the ambulance gets here."

Groaning weakly, Nicky slumped back, Geraint's arm the only thing keeping his head from hitting the ground. His breathing was shallow and uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly. He swallowed thickly, a swirling discomfort rising in his throat. Geraint gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. He groaned again, sucking a breath in to say something just as his chest hitched with a weak gag.

"Whoa, easy now," Geraint mumbled, guiding Nicky to lean over as much as he could without jostling his leg. Nicky heaved again, nearly pitching forward until Geraint braced a hand on his chest. "There you go, you're alright."

He spat up a small, sludgy mouthful of his breakfast, trembling fingers clinging to Geraint's shirt. Geraint continued to hold him steady, murmuring soft reassurances. Truthfully, he was half convinced Nicky was dying, but Nye was studying medicine, so if he said it was alright, it must have been. Nicky retched again and Geraint sighed, glancing at Nye for reassurance that he was still being helpful. A small nod was enough to placate him, and he turned his attention back to Nicky, rubbing his back between heaves.

"Easy does it. Think you're about done?" He asked. Nicky shook his head, and Geraint shrugged. "That's alright. We'll stay here til you're settled, then you can lie down again."

Footsteps crunched in the grass, and Geraint's head snapped up, the soft, doting gaze in his eyes going cold as he spied a couple of nosy teammates.

"Piss off," he snarled, all too aware of how they were leering at him.

"Thought you didn't even like him," one of them muttered, rolling his eyes. "Coach sent us over to tell you the ambulance will be ten minutes."

"Oh," Geraint deflated somewhat, but he was still visibly on edge as he muttered. "Good. Make sure they've got a way onto the pitch."

“Sure.” The boy nodded, glancing nervously back towards the dissipating crowd. “And, uh, I think they’re going to call the game here. Not sure anyone’s got an appetite to play on.”

Geraint nodded gruffly, already having turned his attention back to Nicky. Though he seemed to have finished throwing up, he was still in quite a state, pale and clammy as a corpse and shivering despite the jackets layered around him.

“What happened between you two?” Nye asked quietly, settling on the other side of Nicky to pet his hair. “He never told me, just behaved like a prick anytime you were around.”

There was a long moment of silence as Geraint stared sheepishly at the grass, finally admitting, "He moved. We were best friends, and then he moved. I was so angry that he was gone, and I didn't know who else to be angry at. In hindsight, it's stupid, no ten-year-old chooses to move. But at the time… it felt like he was abandoning us. Upgrading to somewhere nicer where he didn't need us anymore."

“If it helps,” Nye replied, “he was miserable when he got here. I know the house was nicer, but I don’t think he saw it as an upgrade at all. Took him ages to make friends.”

Geraint scoffed, shaking his head. "Guess that makes me even more of a prick, doesn't it? Could've just fucking phoned, said hi at a match. Anything. I was too busy being bitter."

“You were a kid,” Nye pointed out. “It’s not really anyone’s fault.”

"It sucks, though," Geraint sighed, flopping back in the grass to lay next to Nicky. "Spent over half my life holding that stupid grudge, and for what?" He screwed his face up, lost deep in thought.

“S’okay,” Nicky croaked, having heard just enough of the conversation to understand that they were talking about him. He squeezed Geraint’s hand as hard as he could - which was frustratingly weak. “I missed you too.” He tipped his head a little to look at Nye. “Will you tell my Mum I - I love her. Just in case.”

"Yeah," Nye said, trying not to chuckle because he knew Nicky was serious. "Of course."

Geraint wasn't nearly as sure as Nye that everything was alright, and this deathbed type of talk had only made him more nervous. He scooted a little closer to Nicky. "Hey, don't say that. You'll be alright. And maybe… when you're feeling better, we can go for a pint?"

"Don't think I'll ever feel better," Nicky groaned, still in a woozy painful haze. Geraint gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I've been there," he said sympathetically. "Hey, maybe when the docs fix you up, we'll have matching scars." Geraint gestured to the shiny pinkish line cutting through the tan of his leg, a souvenir of his own knee injury many years prior.

“Huh…” Nicky grimaced, the rest of his sentence forgotten in the throb of pain from his knee.

Geraint gave his hand a squeeze. "Not long now," he promised, "the ambulance should be here any minute."

Nicky only groaned, letting his eyes fall closed. He didn't have the energy to squeeze Geraint's hand at all anymore; he was shocked his body even had the power to keep shivering.

"Try to stay awake," Nye said gently, "it'll make it easier when the paramedics arrive, love."

"'m tired," Nicky protested. "Hurts. I just wanna sleep."

"You can sleep at hospital," Geraint advised. "Just stay up a little longer. The ambulance must be nearly here, I can hear the sirens."

"Kay," Nicky agreed, fingers twitching limply against Geraint's. "Okay."

#emeto #whump #illness #emetophilia #whump prompt #injury #broken bones #whumptober 2023 #its-a-goddamn-heartbreak #Nicky #nye #geraint #no.5 #it's broken #fic #oc #vomit

[lickstynine]

Brain: want sick

Brain: then write sick

Brain: no write, only want

#still the mood #but also for art #j rambles

[lickstynine]

Just wanted to pop in with a thanks to everyone who's offered sympathy in the past two weeks. It's been hard and surreal, but we've had some good times going through Dad's old stuff, and at the big yard sale, we sold his golf clubs to a guy who also loved dad's favorite TV show and bought two shirts from it.

I've been trying to do little stuff to connect with him and keep his memory alive. Later think I may hop on my computer later and play the video game I used to "help" him play as a kid.

It's not gonna be normal for a long time, but I think I'm gonna be okay.

#j rambles

[lickstynine]

You might just not be fully processing the grief, give yourself time and don't beat yourself up over it

Thanks for taking the time to reach out. It highkey means a lot. I'm trying not to fuss over what I can't change, but sometimes I'm afraid I go too far in the other direction, y'know.

#j rambles #anonymous

[lickstynine]

Sorry to hear about your dad. I'll keep you and your family in my thoughts and prayers.

Appreciate it 💕 I'm still kinda floating in this weird vat of I-am-sad-but-I-know-I-should-be-sadder so hopefully I'll eventually just hit the full sad and be able to get past it. Idk. We'll make it work.

#j rambles #anonymous

[lickstynine]

TW: Death, hospitals

Dad passed away this evening. We put in his hearing aids and each said our words to him, then we disconnected life support and left him just on pain meds. He hung on for a couple hours while we sat and talked around him. His body is being donated to science, and he was a big science nerd so I think he'd really like that.

It's weird cause like I feel like I should be more upset than I am. Like I'm not happy he's gone, obviously, it feels really weird and bad and wrong, but I haven't cried at any point during this process or really broken down at all. We've known his health was awful and even expecting it for years but the final decline was so sudden it's still kind of surreal. Idk when it'll properly hit me but I'm not looking forward to it.

#j rambles

[lickstynine]

TW for death and hospitals under the cut

We love spending the night before the last full day of school in the ER with my very possibly dying dad 🙃

#j rambles #im not broken up hes been wildly unwell for ages #but the timing is not great #im more sad for my mom whos two days from retirement and wanted to spend those days with her last ever students

[lickstynine]

Okay, I wasn't present for a lot of it, but I did witness something very sexy/inspirational today.

As y'all may or may not know, I'm a teacher, and today was Picture Day, and I was in charge of helping supervise the kids that weren't actively being photographed. One of the group pictures stopped for no apparent reason, and then I heard that class's teacher going "What is going on? She's puking." And I turn and see the photographer literally staggering down the hall to the nurse's office, holding a trash can and actively throwing up.

The real sickfic kicker of it all tho? She didn't go home. She put on a mask, for the kids' sake, but kept working, cause rescheduling a picture day is a nightmare. Her company was supposed to send her a replacement, so she was just intending to tough it out for like half an hour, and then they never did, and she worked the whole rest of the day.

Unfortunately, I was with the solo photographers most of the day, so I got to see very little beyond that, but the writing ideas... ooh, how I'm rubbing my gay little hands together.

#j rambles #emeto #irl story #sickfic inspo