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Richard groans and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Or rather, tries to. The prosthetics leave little of his own skin bare, and he’s sweating beneath Thorin’s artificial skin. It’s uncomfortable and gross and itchy. Usually Richard deals with it well enough, soldiering on, but today he wants nothing more than to tear the prosthetics off. It feels like he’s burning up from the inside and he has a hard time getting into Thorin’s headspace; his body’s discomfort is difficult to ignore.
“All right, Richard, you got that?”
Richard nods at Peter, even though he hasn’t heard a word the man said. A pressure headache is building behind his eyes. He needs to drink more water. The sun is beating down on them, and if they weren’t in costumes it would be a perfectly nice spring day, but with the added layers and padding it feels like being in a sauna.
Heaving himself back into position Richard swallows against the scratchy dryness of his throat and allows his eyes to close for a second. He can’t wait to be done with fucking scene 88.
~
By the time lunch break rolls around Richard has run from imaginary wargs more times than he cares to count. He’s drenched in sweat and his costume is weighing him down like never before. Every step he takes costs him a ridiculous amount of energy.
Next to him Aidan is grumpily mumbling about taking a nap in the shade. Richard takes his arm and squeezes gently.
“You need to eat.” It’s half-spoken as overprotective uncle, half as concerned boyfriend. Aidan rolls his eyes but smiles at Richard, one of the wide, open smiles that make the skin around his eyes crinkle, and instantly Richard feels a little better.
“Fine, yeah. Food does sound good, actually.”
“Food always sounds good to you,” Dean chuckles and pokes at Aidan’s middle. “Bottomless pit.”
They squabble the rest of the way to the catering tent and Richard smiles, soaking up the happy energy of his boyfriends.
Despite his own words he barely touches his food.
~
Richard had hoped to feel better after lunch break, but he ends up feeling worse. He’s shivering even though his skin feels like it’s burning up. His headache has intensified and he barely managed to drink any water because his throat feels tight. The sun is far too bright and Richard squints, wondering if there’s an inconspicuous way to get his hands on painkillers to make his headache go away. Some days Richard wants to tell Peter that he’s made a mistake; Richard is too old for this. Too old for the long and exhausting days and the even longer nights pouring over the script and researching Thorin, developing his backstory. Peter should’ve hired an actor who knows Thorin instinctively, not someone like Richard, who needs to do painstaking research. Things have never come naturally to Richard; he has to approach everything from a scientific angle and work things out like a difficult math problem. It’s exhausting and isolating.
Shaking his head Richard sits down on one of the stones and closes his eyes, trying to gather his strength before the next take. People don’t approach him, everyone on set fully aware that he prefers to be alone before takes.
“All right everybody, back on position please!”
Peter claps his hands and Richard draws in a deep breath, steeling himself. He can do this.
~
He’s running, the blood pounding louder in his ears with every step he takes. His boots are so heavy he can barely lift his feet, his body sluggish. Richard isn’t even sure what he’s running from anymore, or where he’s supposed to run to. He just knows that he needs to run. He’s sticky with sweat, yet he’s shaking as cold shivers wreck his body. The sun is so very bright.
Richard stumbles and the ground rushes up. He knows he should put out his arms, try and break his fall, but his body won’t comply. He barely feels the impact as he hits the ground, and his only thought is that they’ll have to redo the scene because he ruined the take.
He can’t feel his body anymore, not properly. He’s vaguely aware that he’s breathing too quickly and there is a dull ache, but overall it feels like his mind is wrapped in cotton. Richard blinks and looks at the grass in front of his eyes, swaying gently in the breeze. He’ll get up in a second. Just a second.
“-ard!”
There are hands on him and all of a sudden Richard is looking up at the sky. He blinks. Dean is leaning over him and Richard watches his moustache braids sway, only belated realising that Dean’s mouth is moving.
“Richard, are you okay?” Dean’s speaking in that slow, even tone he always uses when he’s concerned. Richard licks his chapped lips and hums.
“Yeah. Just need a moment.” He mumbles, words sounding slurred and far away to his own ears. He’s feeling dizzy now and the thought of standing up again makes him nauseous.
Aidan is on his other side when he opens his eyes again, looking down at him worriedly. Richard hates knowing that he’s the reason Aidan’s looking so concerned.
“Here, drink something.” Aidan helps Richard to lift his head a little and holds a bottle of water to his lips. Richard is horribly aware of the crowd gathered around them, watching him. It’s mortifying and he struggles to sit up more.
“No, Richard, hey, no. Stay where you are.” Dean gently pushes him back down again and Richard doesn’t find the strength to fight him.
“Medics are on their way.”
Richard sees Peter on the edge of his vision. He wants to apologise, feeling horrible to cause such an inconvenience, but his mouth refuses to form words.
Somebody is undoing the lacing on his costume and pulling off his prosthetic hands. He still feels too hot. It’s difficult to breathe and the world keeps on tilting and spinning. Richard grabs handfuls of grass in a futile attempt to anchor himself.
Richard thinks Dean is running his hand through his hair. It would be comforting, if it weren’t a wig, so he can barely feel it. Aidan takes Richard’s hand and squeezes.
He doesn’t know if minutes or seconds pass before Aidan and Dean disappear from his side and instead there are paramedics kneeling next to him, one of them taking his pulse and the other asking questions that Richard finds difficult to answer. He zones out and lets them poke and prod him, hearing words like “dehydration” and “fever”.
He just needs a good night’s sleep is all. Richard forces his eyes to open and tries to sit up again because he needs to clarify that. Assure Peter that he won’t delay filming.
Richard’s body doesn’t obey his commands.
“Sir, you gotta stay calm.” One of the paramedics tells him. Richard is afraid she’ll push him to lie down again, but instead he’s helped to sit up. “Here, sip this slowly.” She presses a bottle of Gatorade to his lips and Richard fights himself to not gulp it down like he wants to. The paramedic pulls the bottle away after he’s taken a few sips.
“Stay like this for a bit longer and then we’ll see about getting you back to your trailer.”
In the end Richard is too tired to protest.
~
The longer Richard sat and sipped the Gatorade handed to him, the less fuzzy his head felt. Thankfully by then people had not been watching anymore, most of them packing up for the day. The bus ride back to the studios had been miserable and Richard was too tired to protest Aidan and Dean dragging him back to his trailer once he had been de-dwarfed.
“Peter’s given us the rest of the week off.”
Richard groans as he’s manhandled into bed and clumsily tucked in.
“And he explicitly told us to tell you not to worry,” Dean adds, putting a bottle of water down on the nightstand. “I can hear you worrying, Richard. Stop it.”
Richard pulls a face.
“Seriously. You should’ve said that you weren’t feeling well.”
“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” Richard mumbles. It seems to be the wrong thing to say because Aidan huffs and stomps from the room. Richard hears his trailer door slam shut and winces. Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“Sometimes you’re really stupid.” He sits down on the edge of the bed. “Try and sleep now and don’t worry. Honestly. It’s okay to get sick, you know?”
Richard sighs but closes his eyes. There are so many things he should be worried about, but he’s so tired, and before long darkness pulls him under.
~
When Richard wakes up again his body doesn’t feel unbearably heavy anymore. He’s still got a headache, but it’s easier to breathe.
There are soft noises carrying over from the front of his trailer; pots banging and Dean singing under his breath. There’s a weight on the mattress next to him and eventually Richard forces his eyes open.
Aidan is staring at him with an intensity that makes Richard squirm, like he can wiggle his way away from attention. Aidan’s frown deepens.
“How’re you feeling?”
“All right.”
Aidan huffs and squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his fists. In his head he’s slowly counting to ten, Richard can tell. He does that sometimes, when he’s afraid of doing or saying the wrong things. Why he needs to do it now Richard doesn’t understand.
“Richard.” Aidan keeps his voice carefully level, eyes still closed. “You’re going to give me grey hairs and I’m too young for that.”
Richard frowns.
“I would hit you right now if I could.” Aidan looks at Richard again, lips twisted in annoyance. “Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling well?”
Richard opens his mouth but never gets to actually speak.
“If you’re going to say you didn’t want to bother anyone, I swear I’ll smack you with a pillow,” Aidan growls. Richard snaps his mouth shut.
“Thought so.” Aidan runs a hand through his hair. He looks so exasperated that Richard wants to apologise, but he’s got a feeling that’d only work Aidan up even more.
“Why don’t you get it? I mean, are we in any way giving you the feeling that you’re a bother? Am I giving you that feeling?”
“No.”
“Then stop shutting us out!” Aidan takes a slow breath and when he speaks again it’s at a much lower volume. “It feels shitty if you keep us out like that. We care about you, Richard. We care about you a lot. It was fucking scary seeing you collapse like that.”
Richard shifts, but Aidan shakes his head before Richard can tell him that he’s sorry and really, he’s fine.
“You’re always taking care of us. Please let us take care of you too.”
Richard swallows. He can barely stand the desperate look on Aidan’s face, knowing that he’s responsible for it. He nods and reaches out to take Aidan’s hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Aidan squeezes his hand and wiggles closer, pressing a barely there kiss to the corner of Richard’s lips. “Just don’t do it again.”
Richard doesn’t make any promises, but Aidan doesn’t seem to expect them.
“Sleep a little more. Food’ll be ready soon. Doc said he’ll check in again tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine, I just need to catch up on some sleep,” Richard mumbles, not wanting anyone making a big fuss about this.
“Richard, dehydration and heat exhaustion are not something that’ll be taken care of by a few extra hours of sleep.”
Richard closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. He hates causing problems. And he’s annoyed with himself for being so careless.
“We’ll take care of you, okay? You’re not going to worry about anything for the next few days.”
Richard nods and allows Aidan to pull him closer, dozing while Aidan rubs his thumb in slow circles on the back of Richard’s hand.
~
“Food’s ready!”
Richard blinks against the sticky tiredness weighing his eyelids down. Dean is smiling at him from the doorway, tray in hand.
“Morning. Guess you two worked it out then?”
Next to Richard Aidan stretches and groans happily. “Yes. What’d you make?”
“Salmon on couscous.” Dean laughs when Aidan pulls a face. “There’re cookies too. Though I didn’t make them.”
He puts the tray down on the nightstand before handing Richard a plate.
“Eat up or no dessert.”
Richard ducks his head and smiles down at his plate because stern Dean translates into adorable Dean.
“I’m serious.” Dean huffs and flops down next to Richard, handing Aidan a plate as well.
“Thanks for making dinner.”
“Well, Aidan would’ve served you chips and frozen pizza, and since there were clear instructions that you should eat healthily and regularly,” Dean raises an eyebrow and Richard pointedly avoids looking at him, “I made this.”
Richard hums around a mouthful of food so he won’t have to answer. It’s crammed with the three of them eating in bed and Richard wouldn’t change it for the world. He’s still shivering a little and the press of Aidan’s and Dean’s bodies on either side of him is reassuring. Dean takes their plates once they’re finished and puts them on the floor before handing Aidan a pack of Oreos.
Considering the day’s happenings Richard refrains from huffing about crumbs in bed.
“Right, next item on the list is sleep,” Dean says, making himself comfortable on Richard’s other side.
“There’s a list?” Dean and Aidan are the least organised people on the planet, they never make lists.
“Yep.” Dean and Aidan answer at the same time. Aidan stuffs another cookie in his mouth before curling into Richard’s side.
“And what is on that list?” Richard wants to know, scooting so he’s lying down again. It doesn’t look like he’ll get out of bed anytime soon, he might as well give in. And if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like he can get up anyway, dizziness and a splitting headache still lingering under his skin, his muscles twitching in discomfort occasionally.
“Well, there’s sleep,” Dean ticks off with his fingers. “Lots of sleep.” He presses against Richard’s other side, hooking his foot over Richard’s ankle. “And then I might blow you, if I deem you’ve slept enough.”
Richard hums and closes his eyes. Maybe he can live with this list.
“Then there is napping. Maybe watching a movie. Going back to your place tomorrow morning and hiding from the world for the rest of the week.”
“In bed,” Aidan supplies helpfully, nosing at Richard’s neck.
Richard can live with that. Aidan and Dean can play videogames while he goes through some of his research and-
“You’re not going to do any research or stuff in bed, Richard,” Dean huffs.
“Nope. You’re on a break from Thorin. Doctor’s orders.”
Richard groans.
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep you busy.” Dean’s lips brushing against his ear are full of promises. Maybe it won’t be so bad, not doing anything for a week. Richard does feel tired. Really, really tired and worn out.
“I thought he wasn’t supposed to do anything strenuous,” Aidan mumbles, wrapping his arm tighter around Richard’s waist.
“If I get him off it’s not strenuous for him,” Dean points out and Aidan hums in agreement.
“So if I ride him carefully, does that count as not being strenuous too?”
Richard can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his boyfriends. It feels good, like something has been lifted from his chest. He still feels terrible, drained and shaky and weak; yet he feels better than he has in weeks.
Closing his eyes he lets Aidan and Dean’s warmth and their playful bickering lull him to sleep.