Work Text:
Michael found that on most nights, having Carlton in bed with him kept his nightmares at bay, giving him a somewhat peaceful slumber. Tonight, was not one of those nights, so instead of sleeping and subjecting himself to those horrors, he was in his workshop tinkering.
He was sure whatever he was making would be torn apart in the morning, but for now, it was a good enough distraction. Despite all his complicated and very repressed emotions concerning his father (and Henry), Michael still somehow found the construction of the animatronic characters fun, if not a good stress reliever.
His phone, resting on the desk in front of him, vibrated and further lit up the already dimly lit room. He discarded the small amalgamation of parts in his hand and picked up the device to read the incoming onslaught of messages.
Mon Amour <3: mikkk
Mon Amour <3: wher r yu
Mon Amour <3: help
Michael blinked, then checked the time. 2:38 AM. Carlton wouldn’t be up at this time unless he’d had a nightmare, and those weren’t too common anymore.
Michael: Are you okay?
Mon Amour <3: no
Mon Amour <3: am sic
Sick. That was new. There’s been a conversation between them a few years ago where Carlton had commented he didn’t get sick often. He guessed this was one of those times.
Michael made his way upstairs and into the en suite bathroom where he found Carlton dry heaving into the toilet bowl. He grimaced as he knelt beside him and rubbed Carlton’s back. He felt Carlton relax at his touch and leant into it as he pulled away from the porcelain bowl.
“You okay?” Michael asked softly.
Carlton groaned and wiped the saliva off his mouth with toilet paper. “No.”
Michael brushed Carlton’s hair back out of his eyes. “Anything I can do?”
“Stay?” Carlton muttered. Michael let him relax into his side and close his eyes.
Michael fished a bobby pin out of his hoodie pocket (why he had one, he couldn’t say), and used it to properly pin Carlton’s hair out of his eyes in case he vomited again.
It’d be best to get Carlton back to bed again – but he’d need to get a bucket first to have at the ready. Michael tried to ease Carlton off, but he whined in the process.
“Hey, hey. I’ll come back. I need to get a bucket, okay?” Michael assured.
Carlton leant into the wall; eyes still closed but his eyebrows knitted in confused annoyance. “What for?” he slurred, promptly groaning after.
So, speaking caused him some fort of physical pain. It’s something with his throat or the noise is too much. Michael noted.
“For you.” He spoke. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
He ignored Carlton’s weak protests and disappeared into the laundry room for a bucket. He placed it on Carlton’s side of the bed before walking back into the bathroom. He helped Carlton stand and escorted him back to bed.
“If you need to vomit, the bucket’s just there.” Carlton nodded numbly, drifting back to sleep.
Michael went back to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. He paused in the doorway to watch Carlton’s chest move as he breathed for a moment, then slipped back downstairs. He grabbed a water bottle and filled it up, then made a bowl of soup.
He was halfway back up the stairs when his phone exploded into an attack of vibrations. He ignored it and kept his pace the same before entering their bedroom. Carlton was awake again, coughing over the edge of the bed into the bucket.
Michael offered him the bottle with the simple command; “Drink.” As he placed the bowel on the bedside table to cool.
Carlton sipped at the water slowly. “Can you turn the light on?” he asked.
Michael blinked. The bathroom light was still on, and the door was open halfway, so it wasn’t completely dark in the room. “Why?”
“Please?” Carlton asked.
Michael nodded and slunk over to the light switch and flicked the light on. Carlton squinted in the light but leant against the headboard and closed his eyes again. Michael figured he might as well flick the bathroom light off, then, and moved to do so.
Carlton called his name, eyes still closed, and raised his arms to gesture Michael closer. “Cuddles.” He whined.
Michael grinned despite himself at the display of affection. “I’m coming.” He assured, kissing Carlton’s forehead quick as he passed and wandering over to his side. He pulled off his hoodie and discarded it on the bed (which Carlton took advantage of) then slid onto the sheets, grabbing a book off his bedside table.
Carlton, now wearing Michael’s jacket, claimed his arm as Michael settle against the headboard to read. Michael ignored it as he focused in on the book, Carlton drifting in and out of consciousness on his shoulder.
“I love you,” Carlton said, squeezing Michael’s arm a bit.
Michael smiled slightly to himself. “I love you too.”
Carlton got a good ten minutes or so of sleep before he jolted upright and puked into the bucket again. Michael rubbed his back soothingly in circles as Carlton coughed and spat. Michael got up and went to the bathroom to take the roll of toilet paper and place it on Carlton’s bedside to wipe his mouth.
He picked up the becket when Carlton was done. “Eat something.” The soup was appropriately cooled now, but Carlton wouldn’t care either way. “I’ll empty this out.”
“‘m not hungry.” Carlton groaned.
“If you don’t, you’ll just be vomiting stomach acid,” Michael warned. “Eat.”
He emptied the bucket out in the laundry sink and rinsed it out before returning upstairs. Thankfully, Carlton hadn’t vomited again, so he placed the bucket in its places again and settled back into his side of the bed. Carlton had the bowl in his lap and was struggling to feed himself.
Excessively so.
…
“You want me to spoon feed you?” Michael guessed.
“If you insist,” Carlton replied happily, already handing the bowl over to him.
Michael stifled a laugh but humoured him, holding the spoon to his mouth. Carlton seemed to enjoy when Michael pampered him.
“Are you always like this when you’re sick?” Michael asked.
“Do you mean the throat burn vomiting or the clinginess?” Carlton countered.
“You’re always clingy,” Michael said, rolling his eyes playfully. “Is the vomiting always this bad?”
“Uh, yeah. Since I was a kid.” Carlton said. “Only when it’s caused by like… an outside source is it less intense. But I don’t get sick a lot, so it evens out.”
“Do you know what’s causing it?” Michael asked.
Carlton shrugged, staring at the bedsheets. It was a tell, but Michael decided not to pressure him. Carlton would tell him in time. Michael hummed absently. They sat in an only slightly tense silence as Michael continued to spoon-feed him.
“Thanks,” Carlton said suddenly, as he leant back on the headboard and Michael put the empty bowl back on the bedside table.
“What for?” Michael asked.
Carlton smiled. “For looking after me.”
“Nothing less than I promised you,” Michael assured. He kissed Carlton’s forehead again and settle back against the headboard with his book.
Carlton lingered for a moment, watching his husband affectionately. Michael looked up at eyed him warily.
“You feeling okay?” he asked.
Carlton nodded, resting against Michael’s shoulder. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Carlton hummed. “Maybe we table that conversation for later.”
Michael looked at him confused. “… You can talk to me, y’know.”
Carlton smiled, looking up at him. He nuzzled into the crook of Michael’s neck and sighed contently. “I know.”