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After spending the better part of the night tossing and turning, Hunk comes to the conclusion that he can’t sleep. With a resigned sigh, he rolls out of bed and throws his bathrobe on. He quietly leaves his quarters and heads toward the kitchen. He figures he’ll cook something small, something simple.
Just a little culinary project he can mess with until he feels relaxed enough to go back to sleep.
This plan immediately changes when Hunk walks around the corner and nearly trips over Keith. Keith is propped up against the wall and shivering violently. He has a delayed reaction to Hunk’s presence, tipping his head back and blearily squinting upward. Hunk gasps.
Keith is ghostly pale in the dim light of the castle, a sheen of sweat shining on his face. A soupy pool of vomit sits in his lap, stinking the hall up with a rancid odor and soddening Keith’s lounge pants. It’s mostly dry on his shirt, the big splotch of it crusted around the edges.
“Whoa.” Hunk frowns and kneels down beside him. “You’re not feeling good, huh?”
“Tried to find the bathroom,” Keith says, the slur in his voice highly perturbing to Hunk’s ears. “I kinda got lost. Castle’s got too many halls and it’s different with all the lights so low…”
“I know where it’s at,” Hunk promises. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Hunk hauls Keith up and puts Keith’s arm around his shoulders, grimacing at the feverish heat he can feel blasting off of him. Hunk already suspected Keith was delirious, now he’s positive.
“How long you been feeling sick?” he asks as they start to walk. Keith wobbles precariously and he has to keep the pace slow.
“Um…since we left the planet with the weird rocks,” mumbles Keith.
“That was three days ago! You didn’t tell anyone?” Hunk frowns as he thinks back, considering. He hadn’t seen much of Keith the past couple days, even considering that Keith liked to keep to himself. But then, he’d also been preoccupied with helping Pidge practice her Altean.
Keith shakes his head.
“Well you should’ve told someone,” Hunk scolds. “You’re really sick, man.”
“Wasn’t this bad before. It was just my throat and then…” Keith trails off and starts squirming in Hunk’s grasp. At first Hunk thinks he’s just trying to get his bearings since his coordination is off, but then he makes a feeble, gagging noise.
Hunk hastily lets go of him and Keith stumbles away. He blindly gropes for the wall but misses as he doubles over, landing hard on his hands and knees. Two seconds later, he brings up a thick stream of spew. It wetly smacks the floor, some of it splashing up to splatter and the rest of it puddling.
Hunk swallows back his own surge of nausea and hurries over. He crouches beside Keith and gently pats his back.
“I’m so gross,” Keith croaks. “Sorry.”
“Oh geez, don’t worry about that,” Hunk tells him, voice light and dismissive. “I mean, c’mon, how many times have you seen me throw up?”
“A lot…”
“So I know exactly how crappy you feel right now and you definitely don’t have to apologize for any of it. Just tell me when you’re ready to get up again.”
Keith frowns at the puddle of vomit and sighs heavily. “But the floor.”
“What about it?”
“Gotta clean it,” Keith mutters tiredly.
“Priorities, man.” Hunk kneads his hand between Keith’s shoulder blades. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we worry about the floor.”
“Okay,” Keith agrees easily enough. “I can get up.”
He sits on his knees and Hunk gets an arm around him to help him up the rest of the way. They resume their trek and Hunk is careful with Keith, watchful for any warning signs that he’s going to be sick again or the pace is too fast for him. The heat between them is sweltering and Hunk’s growing increasingly concerned about it.
How long has Keith been running a fever, anyway? The past three days?
At one point his legs give way. Hunk sees it coming before it happens and gently lowers him down. Keith droops forward like a wilting flower and Hunk keeps a sturdy arm around him so he doesn’t fall on his face.
“Hang in there, buddy,” Hunk says. “We’re almost there.”
“Yeah,” Keith concedes. With a swallow, he starts pushing himself up again. Hunk helps.
He looks even worse than he did before. His eyes are glazed and his features are taut with strain. Hunk practically has to drag him the rest of the way to the bathroom, but he does so as gingerly as possible.
When they’re finally there, Keith leans over the sink until his forehead presses to the mirror and just spends some time catching his breath. Hunk gives hims some space to do so, standing back and taking mental notes.
Whatever he caught has to be something really nasty if it’s knocking him off his feet like this. Keith has impressive stamina, after all. But he’s produced at least half his body weight in vomit and his fever’s cooking him alive and damn, it’s taking a toll. Once he gets him cleaned up and settled, Hunk supposes he should get Shiro, or maybe Coran.
Keith’s in rough shape and Hunk doesn’t know what he can do for him. It’s not like he’s got medicine on hand for some space flu. He doesn’t have a thermometer or anything. The most he can do is put him back to bed clean, maybe with a water pouch. Lance likes being cuddled when he’s sick but Hunk isn’t really sure how Keith would respond to that. Especially with his stomach so volatile.
Eventually Keith stumbles back from the sink and props himself against the wall, fumbling to get his shirt off. His hands are tired and clumsy so Hunk takes the burden off of him, grabbing the hem himself. He eases Keith’s shirt over his head with an attentive approach. Hunk sacrifices the cleanliness of his own hands to pull his collar back as he works it off, keeping vomit from smearing into Keith’s face or hair.
“I’m sorry about this,” Keith rasps.
“Really, stop apologizing.” Hunk turns away from him to rinse his hands. “You can’t help being sick. And like, as far as grossness goes? The weblum was way grosser than you could ever be. The grossest thing in the universe, probably.”
“The weblum was disgusting,” Keith slurs in agreement.
He gets his pants down by himself, but trips when he tries to step out of them. Hunk quickly gets him by the shoulders and leans him back against the wall.
“You’re dizzy, huh?”
Keith nods.
“What else is going on?” Hunk asks, moving his hand in vague gesture. “Fever, dizziness, nausea, what else?”
“Sore.” Keith closes his eyes and slumps, the small movement conveying extreme exhaustion. “Throat hurts. But don’t worry. I’m…I’m fine, just…”
“We have two very different definitions of fine, my friend.” Hunk wets a washcloth and wipes the dried puke off his mouth, all the more convinced that Keith isn’t fine at all when he lets this happen without complaint.
“I’m gonna sit for a second,” Keith tells him, suddenly sliding down along the wall.
Hunk chews on a worried frown and sighs out. “I know you’re not gonna like this, but I think it’d be faster if I carried you back to your room. I mean, you’re really not moving so great right now.”
“I’m too heavy.” Keith narrows his eyes.
Hunk can’t bite back a laugh. “Pfft, Keith. You realize my bayard weighs more than you, right?”
“Does not,” Keith argues, sounding almost petulant.
“Alright, I don’t know that for sure,” Hunk admits. “It probably does though, it’s a cannon. I— Oh, here man. You’re shivering.” Hunk shrugs his bathrobe off and drapes it over him.
Keith edges away from the wall to put it on and then swallows thickly. He tips his head back, making an uncomfortable noise as his eyes squeeze shut.
“Are you gonna be sick again?”
“No…floor’s just tilting, is all.” Keith groans again and pinches the bridge of his nose.
That’s definitely not a good sign.
“You’re all cleaned up, let me take you back to your room,” Hunk says softly. “You should be in bed.”
“Threw up on my bed,” Keith confesses quietly, embarrassed. He drapes his arm over his eyes. “Threw up on most of my room…”
“Aw man…Uh, okay, you can have my room,” he offers. “You’re really sick, I’m not gonna leave you on the floor.”
“What if I’m contagious?”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to catch it.” Hunk shrugs. “When you live with six other people, sometimes you share germs. I won’t be mad.”
“Lance says you can hold a mean grudge,” Keith slurs uncertainly.
“That’s true but it doesn’t apply to situations you can’t control. I promise.” With that, Hunk crouches down and gathers Keith up in his arms, lifting him with ease. The sick paladin stiffens for a moment, like he might try to escape.
“It’s okay,” Hunk murmurs, holding Keith a little tighter. “I’m not gonna drop you.”
Keith slowly goes lax and pushes his face into Hunk’s collarbone. His hair brushes against Hunk’s neck, damp and lank. He silently broils in Hunk’s arms, limp the rest of the walk. Thankfully, it’s not a long walk and they make better time since Hunk doesn’t have to accommodate Keith’s uncoordinated stumbling.
Hunk tucks Keith into bed and Keith doesn’t make a sound, only gives him a bleary look when he fluffs up the pillow.
“How you holding up, Keith? How’s your stomach?”
“Not great. Not gonna be sick though.” Keith closes his eyes again. “This…this is your room, right?”
Hunk’s heart drops like a stone, enveloped by a fresh wave of worry. “Yeah man, it’s my room.”
Keith nods. “Thought so.”
“I’m gonna go get Shiro,” Hunk tells him.
He turns to leave and Keith reaches out, catching a swatch of his sleeve. “Don’t get Shiro. I don’t want you to wake him up if he’s actually getting some sleep. He doesn’t sleep well, not since Kerberos.”
Keith has a point. Shiro’s bouts of insomnia aren’t lost on Hunk, their leader often has bags under his eyes and he’s always the first one of them up and about in the morning. He has his own difficulties sleeping in space, mainly because he feels off without any environmental cue that says it’s time. He’s not as bad off as Shiro though, who sometimes wakes up screaming from nightmares he can’t even remember.
“Okay. I’ll get Coran then. Just sit tight.”
“You might not have to get him either.” Keith lets go of Hunk’s sleeve. “I think I’m okay.”
“Are you kidding me?” Hunk groans, exasperated. “You’ve been sick for three days! You’re not okay.”
Keith seems vaguely affronted, giving Hunk a downright pitiful glower.
“I’ll be right back,” Hunk says, tone softened. He takes a water pouch off his desk and hands it to him. “I know it’s room temperature, but try to drink a little. You need fluids.”
Keith obligingly puts his lips around the straw and Hunk goes to get Coran.
The Altean man isn’t pleased by the disruption. His eyes are muzzy with sleep and his jaw opens wide with a loud yawn.
“What is it?” he asks tiredly.
“Keith,” blurts Hunk. “He’s sick and not like the sniffles, like he puked all over himself and he can’t walk straight.”
Coran blinks, features sharpening with concern. “Oh dear. Well, where is he?”
“My room. His room’s pretty gross right now, I guess, and I should probably warn you about the bathroom.” Hunk winces at the mental image.
“Bring him to the infirmary, I’ll take a look.” Coran sighs and stretches his arms out, something quietly popping.
Hunk nods and heads back. He finds Keith sooner than he expected though, out of bed and stumbling down the hall. He’s got an arm wrapped around his stomach and one hand to the wall for support. He’s wobbling pretty hard and he almost trips. Hunk hurries up to him.
“Hey. You feeling nauseous again?”
“Sorta,” Keith mutters. He takes another step and makes a choked sound, leaning over. He squeezes his eyes shut tight. He cups a hand over his mouth as he gags and then to Hunk’s disgust, gulps.
“Dude…tell me you didn’t just swallow it.”
Keith doesn’t let go of his mouth right away. He waits another minute or two and then nods.
“It wasn’t much.”
“Ew Keith, don’t do that. That’s not okay.” Hunk shudders, feeling green himself.
“Don’t wanna make a mess,” Keith argues.
“If it’s coming up, you’ve got to let it up.” Hunk pats him on the back.
“Says you…”
“Yes, says me, an expert on vomiting. Anyway, are you too queasy to be picked up? I’m supposed to take you to the infirmary.”
“I’m okay now. I can walk,” Keith mumbles.
“Um, barely.” Hunk frowns.
Keith sinks his teeth into the corner of his lip, brows slanting in discomfort. He gives Hunk this look that’s pitifully zonked out and sways a step closer.
“Okay,” he relents.
He picks Keith up again and this time Keith isn’t as tense. He curls his fingers into Hunk’s shirt and just sighs out as Hunk starts to walk. Before too long, he pushes his face into Hunk’s chest.
“You holding up okay?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, muffled. “Just tired of watching the room spin.”
“We’re almost there.” Hunk gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Coran’s gonna fix you up, don’t worry.”
Hunk hopes so, anyway. He’s pretty worried himself.
“You’re like a hippo,” Keith tells him suddenly.
“Hey!” Hunk scowls. “You always this rude when you’re sick?”
Keith picks his head up to give Hunk a fuzzy look. “I didn’t mean your size. I meant you’re really strong. I don’t think I weigh anything to you.”
“Well you don’t, but I wasn’t talking about my size either,” Hunk huffs. “Hippos are like, crazy mean! I’m not mean!”
“Hippos aren’t mean,” Keith insists, slurring but with a stubborn spark in his eyes that seems to bring some life back to him. “They’re aggressive, it’s different. They have to be aggressive when they share their territory with crocodiles and lions and hyenas. S’how they survive.”
“They attack boats, Keith.”
“Only the ones who get too close. Besides, their teeth are ivory. So they’ve got to protect themselves from people too.”
Hunk pauses, unsure if Keith is genuinely defensive of hippopotamuses or if this is just delirium talking.
“Alright, that makes sense,” he concedes either way. “Do you like hippos?”
“Mhm.” Keith closes his eyes and lays his head back again. “They’re cool.”
Hunk supposes he should take the comparison as a compliment then, even if he can’t call himself a hippo fan. Keith quiets down and Hunk doesn’t try to start any more conversations. Keith probably isn’t up to talking anymore, not now that his chills are back. He doesn’t bring it up, but Hunk can feel it when he starts shivering.
Coran frowns darkly at the sight of Keith flushed and shaking, a miserable bundle in Hunk’s grasp. Yeah, it’s bad. Keith sick enough to need carrying is bad, Keith sick enough to tolerate the carrying is worse. Coran gestures to a bed and Hunk sets him down gently.
“Oh my,” Coran tuts. “You’re quite the sight, aren’t you?”
Keith sits up on his elbows and narrows his eyes in a watery glower. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, I’m regarding you and you look awful.” Coran slides off a glove and plants a hand to Keith’s forehead, humming unhappily. The other glove comes off and he presses both hands under Keith’s jaw, feeling carefully. Keith makes a small, uncomfortable noise.
“Swollen,” he mutters. “How long have you been ill?”
“Planet with the weird rocks,” Keith mumbles.
“You mean Squegralor? That was three days ago!”
“That’s what I said!” Hunk pointedly crosses his arms.
“I thought it was gonna pass,” Keith groans and lies back.
“No, no. You’ve got to sit up for me to take a closer look.”
Keith compliantly pushes himself to a sit, but even that seems like it takes a lot out of him. He sways in place and Coran quickly clamps a steadying hand on his shoulder. Coran seems to have things under control here, so Hunk quietly takes his leave.
He shuffles off to the kitchen, since that’s where he’d been headed to being with. Going back to bed won’t work out. He couldn’t sleep earlier, he definitely won’t be able to sleep now that he’s worried about Keith. He drums his fingers along the counter and deliberates about what to make.
Something light, he supposes. Something that won’t be too hard on poor Keith’s turbulent stomach, whenever he feels up to eating. Hunk has a feeling that it won’t be for awhile…