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Steve walks into the bedroom to find James and Tasha all but entwined on the bed. His bed. Well, his and James’s, but he still feels somewhat affronted. He has a headache, and he’s spent his last hour of class and most of the drive home dreaming of a a few ibuprofen and a nap.
“What’s going on, guys?” Steve asks wearily.
“Nothing, perv,” Tasha mumbles, blinking saucer-wide eyes as she struggles to focus in his direction.
She and James are siblings, or as good as, so she’s right, nothing’s going on, in that department at least. Steve should know better than to ask. But Tasha’s glassy stare and James’s still-closed eyelids tell him something’s up, and he’s not sure he wants to know what it is.
“Come on,” Steve sighs. “You don’t cuddle up in my bed in the middle of the afternoon unless something’s up.”
“Shhh.” Tasha brings a shaky finger to her lips, grinning and struggling not to giggle. “I think he’s having an out-of-body experience.”
“What, you drugged him?” Steve nods at James, who looks to be asleep, his mouth slightly open and his breaths coming deep and even.
“Nah, he took it. I just offered.”
“Right.” Steve rolls his eyes, and his forehead immediately begins to throb all the worse for it. “And what, may I ask, did you offer?”
“Don’t worry, it’s legal.” Tasha shrugs toward a collection of little red and white bottles on the bedside table.
Steve squints. “Robocough? Seriously?” He brings a hand to his aching temple. “Are you twelve, or what?”
“Hey, it works,” Tasha snaps back. “And it hits faster than the pills. Don’t gotta worry about the coating...”
James stirs against Tasha’s shoulder. “I didn’t... pills...” he mumbles, seeming to glean onto one word of the conversation.
“Don’t you worry, Jamie.” Tasha kisses his brow. “I’m not ratting you out.”
“This is...” Steve shakes his head and immediately regrets it. “Ok. Whatever. Just, like, why? I know you do this all the time, but why him? Why now?” It’s not that Steve’s his keeper, but he feels odd that James jumped into an afternoon of oblivion without telling him first.
“He had a rough day, I think. He said he kept blanking out during class and feeling sick and stuff--”
“He was probably seizing,” Steve cuts her off. “Do you know if he took his meds this morning?”
“Well, he took ‘em this afternoon.” Tasha giggles again.
“Right...”
“How’s your day going?”
“Huh?” Steve looks up from where he’s been examining his shoelaces and looks into Tasha’s pale, slightly dopey face. Except now she looks as if she’s peering right into his soul.
“You’re not doing so good yourself, are you?” she says softly.
“I’m--” Steve starts, intending to lie and state that everything’s fine. But his head gives an enormous throb, and he can’t keep the look of pain from his face. “Actually, I feel like shit.” He takes a few steps forward and perches on the foot of the bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Head.”
“Thinking too hard?” Tasha gives him a look.
Steve chooses not to argue. “I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s at least a bottle left.” Tasha leans away from James, who murmurs his dissent, and begins to shake the tiny containers on the table. “Yeah, between these, it should make a whole dose. Well, a small one.” Then she crawls back across the covers and cradles her brother again.
“You’re seriously selling me drugs?” Steve can’t decide if he’s taken aback, or accepting this as the norm. It’s Tasha through and through. But how should he answer? What does that make him?
“Oh, they’re free,” Tasha replies. “Unless you feel like putting some change in the coffer for the next round.”
“Eh, I’ll think about it. I don’t carry cash most days.”
“Whatevs.” Tasha shrugs. “You taking, or not? I have a nice daydream to get back to.”
Elementary school slogans and DARE lessons play through Steve’s head. ‘Just say. no to drugs,’ and all that stuff. He knows it’s bullshit; the worst that’ll happen from an overdose of cough syrup is a round with his head in the toilet. Which might very well happen anyway, if he leaves his headache untreated. He bites his lip and stares at the little bottles for a moment before slowly nodding. “Sure. Why not?”
“It probably won’t get you much past second,” Tasha apologizes as Steve opens the bottles she points to and drains the clear liquid inside.
“”S fine.” Then, “It’s not red?” he asks, surprised.
“Nope.” Tasha smiles.
“That’s... convenient.”
“Sure is.” There’s a pause as Steve swishes the drug around his mouth, then swallows. “Come’ere,” Tasha tells him, practically dragging James over a few inches to open up space on the bed. “Hey, Jamie. Here comes your boy.”
“Mm.” James obediently rolls halfway over and opens his arm, practically ushering Steve into the pile atop the comforter.
“This is... so weird.” Steve kicks off his shoes and lies down, the small spoon to James’s larger one. He imagines he already feels the medicine hitting his system, though it can’t possibly yet. He feels better lying down, snuggled into James, and by association, Tasha.
“Good, though, right?” Tasha murmurs from behind James’s back.
“Yeah, actually,” he says. “Definitely good.”