I need everyone to know that speedsters are allergic to nanobots.
No, seriously. They're allergic to nanobots.
Speedsters have absolutely insane metabolisms, which means that they have an absolutely insane immune system. They don't get sick. Ever. Their immune system works at warp speed and takes out germs the second they enter their body. Call germs 'the Rogues' because they're getting tackled by super speedy blurs before they can even think about causing issues.
Okay, so they have a great immune system and don't get sick ever. What does this have to do with nanobots?
Great question! When nanobots are injected into a speedster's body their immune system sees them as a threat. Only problem? It doesn't matter how fast or efficient their immune system is, their body can't destroy a bunch of tiny metal robots.
Because their bodies can't fight off the nanobots they start to display typical cold/flu symptoms instead. Vomiting, fever, runny nose, coughing, being tired, ect. The nanobots aren't causing this reaction. Their own immune system causes this reaction. The fever is the bodies attempt to kill off the 'germs'. The vomiting, runny nose and coughing is the body's attempt to expel the 'germs'. They feel tired because their body is putting everything into fighting off the 'infection'.
In a normal person the nanobots wouldn't even be an issue because they'd be able to avoid detection. They can't avoid detection in a speedster body because their immune systems are dialled up to 500 out of 10.
As a result you get instances like this:
(Inertia had injected Bart with nanobots and Bart had a reaction)
Just an FYI for people because this is extremely fun and versatile information. Especially because none of the speedsters are really aware of this and it doesn't kick in right away. I could totally see a situation where a mission requires nanobot injections and mid mission the speedster goes down out of nowhere. It's also great if you want to do a stereotypical sick fic or something and want to get around that pesky speedster immunity.
Anyway, it's fun information so I thought I'd share
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Popsicle
Just a fluffy little Al/Theo drabble. 1,385 words. TW: Emeto, mention of past character suicide. Cool article about historic CF treatment here.
One of the first pictures Al has of himself is in the mist tent. He doesn't remember much about it - they were already going out of style when he was born and quickly fizzled out as an effective treatment for cystic fibrosis in the early 80s. Good thing, given they were better breeding grounds for pseudemonas than anything, but the snapshot remains among Al's many baby pictures. There's so many, his mom explains to him, because they didn't think he'd live past childhood. Everything felt unknown back then. Now, Al thinks, so much is different. Kids are diagnosed within 24 hours of being born thanks to mandatory newborn screenings. There are medications and treatments that extend life expectancy for some CFers almost to normal. Very little existed on that snow-stormy night in 1979 when Al was born.
When Theo sees the picture of Al in that plastic nighttime prison, the gigantic compressor next to his crib that easily weighed a hundred times more than he did, his jaw drops. "This can't be real," he says in disbelief. "This looks more like the 1930s. 1960s, tops."
"What, you think my parents put me in there for fun?" Al smirks. "But you're right. It looks crazy. But rural Ohio, ya know, it was a bit behind on the times."
Al's mom also regales him with tales of disassembling and sanitizing the entire contraption plus changing the bed every morning, the sheets often soaking wet by then. He doesn't envy her at all. It's just another reason Al respects his mother endlessly, even though he knows he doesn't call her enough. He should call her more often.
They stopped talking every day after Al moved to New York. It was gradual but intentional, and often because Al hadn't wanted to admit to her when she asked how his day was that he'd gotten into another fight with Ollie. She loved Ollie, but she had never thought they were ready to marry or move in together. Ollie had only tried to kill himself last year, she told him. What were they going to do in a big city, in another state, without a clear plan for their future? Couldn't they just move to Columbus and try there?
It was a big fight. Al ended up going, and after that he felt too ashamed to tell his mother that maybe she had been right. After Ollie died Al was scared to talk to her about it. He was already so broken, he didn't need to be told what he did wrong. But when they finally did talk about it, she just hugged him and told him she was there for whatever he needed. He should have trusted her more, he thought as he sobbed in her arms just like he was a boy again.
She's supposed to be visiting sometime soon. It was going to be this week, but both Al and Theo woke up yesterday with a stomach virus from hell and had spent most of the last twenty-four hours vomiting in tandem. Theo has it worse than Al though and Al's doing his best to keep Theo as hydrated as possible. It seemed like everything he's offered Theo comes right back up, though.
"I'm fucking dying," Theo groans loudly after yet another round of violent gagging. He's lying on the bathroom rug, naked other than a pair of boxers and shivering despite most of the blankets in the apartment being piled on top of him.
Al's in his own nest in the bathtub with the rest of the remaining blankets that they possess. He stopped vomiting a few hours ago and now just feels vaguely nauseous and exhausted, but doesn’t want to leave Theo’s side. “You’re going to be fine,” Al tells him, although Theo does look on death’s doorstep if he’s being honest. “Drink some more Gatorade.”
“Ugh. Don’t even say that,” Theo says. He’s been alternatively sipping on and puking up Gatorade ever since this started and he doesn't think he ever wants to taste that shit again.
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" Al asks him.
"Shut the fuck up," Theo mutters, which causes Al to laugh.
"You're fine enough to complain," Al says. He detangles himself from his blanket cacoon and climbs out of the tub to rub Theo's back. Theo quivers in response to being touched, but after the initial discomfort it feels good. Al tries to remember what else he can do to help someone with the stomach flu, but he can only ever remember having it once before when he was quite young. What had his mom done to make him feel better? "How about a popsicle? It'll get that taste out of your mouth."
Theo seems to consider it very seriously before he says, "In ten minutes."
"Got it," Al says with a tired smile. His partner is exceedingly logical as always and Al knows he was weighing the pros and cons of a popsicle now versus in ten minutes versus never. Al waits ten minutes before dragging himself to the kitchen to grab a popsicle and calls to update his mom.
"Hi baby," she says when she picks up. "How're you two holding up?"
Al tells her that he's fine now, but Theo's still going through it. "Any ideas? I'm about to give him a popsicle."
"That's a good idea," she tells him. "Hmm... Got any of those ginger candies?" Al considers it. He thinks maybe he has some burried among all the crap in his med cabinet. "What about pepto bismol?"
"Ew, the pink stuff?" Al cringes. It never worked well for him personally, but it seems the zofran he's been giving Theo hasn't really worked so maybe it's worth a try.
"I'll order you some," she says. Ever since she discovered the magic of grocery delivery she seems to find some excuse to send him something every week. He doesn't bother arguing this time, since it's for Theo's benefit and he knows it makes her feel better to help. "What's Theo's favorite flavor of popsicles?"
"Green," Al says.
"Lime, dear," his mother corrects him. Al doesn't say anything. It's not worth fighting about.
"Thanks mom," Al says. "Love you. I'll call later."
"Let me know when you're feeling better," she responds, "And I'll re-book my flight."
Al knows she'll rebook it within an hour, so he'd better wait until they're feeling entirely better. Theo is fond of Al's mother, but he doesn't need her nagging and taking over the apartment while he's still not feeling well. Al tells her he loves her again and hangs up. Then he goes back to Theo's side where he finds his boyfriend yet again retching fruitlessly into the toilet. His heart clenches with pity.
"Poor Theo," he hums sympathetically, "You're okay. Deep breaths."
"Nothing's coming up," Theo groans.
"I know," Al says. "Let's get you to bed, okay? I want you to try eating this."
"What if I throw up in bed?" Theo mumbles feverishly.
"Then you throw up in bed. It'll be okay," Al soothes him, wrapping one of Theo's arms around his shoulders and hoisting him to his feet. They make it to the bedroom where Al deposits Theo onto the bed and presses the popsicle to his lips. "Suck on this. Just a little," Al coaxes him. "I know you don't want to but I can't let you get dehydrated."
"Fine," Theo obeys reluctantly. He gags a little but manages a decent amount before he pushes it into Al's hands. "I'm done," he pleads.
"Good job," Al says gently, running a hand through Theo's hair. He kisses Theo's forehead and puts the remaining popsicle into an empty water cup on his bedside table, so when it melts it won't make a mess. Then he brings a wet washcloth from the bathroom and washes Theo's sweaty, sticky face for him.
"Do you think you can sleep?" Al asks Theo. "Just for a bit."
"Maybe," Theo says. His pale, greyish complexion makes him look older than he is. "Will you stay with me?"
"Of course," Al says. He wants to nap too, anyways. "I'll be right here, don't worry."
"Love you," Theo mumbles.
Al smiles a little and kisses Theo again. "I love you too. Now rest."
Not sure if we actually have to write something for the "Free Space" in @hurtcomfort-bingo but if so, I'll count this one for my Free Space!
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