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Waking up to labored breathing or sobbing late at night was obviously something that couldn’t have been avoided. Whether someone had a nightmare or was just having a relatively bad night, they happened often. Nighttime was always a roulette if everyone (excluding Wilbur) would sleep through the night or if there would be a hiccup some time before morning.
When Phil woke up that night, he listened for a few seconds, hearing someone crying from nearby. Breaths coming out in quick pants. He figured that it would’ve been Ranboo, the poor boy had been having more and more nightmares lately and after the incident a few nights ago, Phil had been sleeping on one of the mats near the nest to make sure he was nearby if something happened.
Though, when Phil sat up he noticed two things first. Ranboo was still fast asleep, curled up loosely, and that Tubbo was half out of the nest, one hand covering his mouth, the other wrapped around his stomach. He was crying, his entire body shaking. His wings were lying limply against his back, twitching occasionally.
Phil sat up, concern written all over his expression.
“Tubbo?” He questioned softly, trying to keep quiet so no one else woke up, “are you alright? What’s wrong?”
Tubbo didn’t respond. He moved his other hand so he had two hands clutched over his mouth. Tears were streaming down his face and he curled in on himself.
Phil crouched near him, his wings dragging on the ground behind him. Tubbo’s foot was tangled on one of the blankets and it looked like he was trying to get out but had tripped. It didn’t seem like he was panicking though, which was one obstacle overcome. But that only made Phil’s worry increase, he didn’t know what was wrong.
Putting a hand gently on his arm, Tubbo didn’t even react. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily. He gagged, squeezing his hands against his jaw, his nails digging into his cheeks.
From that, Phil realized almost immediately. He stood up, quickly grabbing a bucket from under the sink. He knelt back in front of Tubbo, placing the bucket down so that he knew that it was there.
“Tubbo, you’re alright,” Phil whispered, brushing his hair out of his face. His skin was warm and sticky with sweat, he had a slight fever. Tubbo shook his head and let out a small whimper, gagging again.
Tubbo’s eyes widened and a mournful sound left his throat before he lurched forward, retching into the bucket, his hands shaking as he gripped the sides of it. He let out a sob as he heaved. Phil rubbed small circles on his back, crooning softly trying to offer what comfort he could.
When he was finished, tears dripping down his face, Tubbo leaned his forehead against the rim of the bucket. His entire body trembling violently. He moaned and Phil could tell that the nausea hadn’t gone away.
“How’re you feeling Tubs?” Phil asked and Tubbo only let out another low groan in response, “yeah… that bad?”
Tubbo lifted his head up, looking over at Phil. In the little light, Phil could see how pale his skin was with the thin line of sweat that dotted across his forehead. His eyes were red and puffy from him crying and his breathing heavy. Phil just frowned slightly and ran his fingers through his hair.
A few moments later Tubbo groaned again, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He leaned back against the bucket, swallowing thickly. Phil rubbed his back.
Tubbo waited there for a few seconds, trying to wait out the nausea Phil assumed. When he ended up losing that battle, Tubbo leaned forward, heaving again into the bucket. His elbow nearly gave out from where he was supporting himself and Phil grabbed his shoulders so he wouldn’t fall.
He leaned against Phil, his head resting on Phil’s chest.
“Hurts…” Tubbo whined, his breath catching in his throat. He clutched at the fabric of Phil’s shirt, crying. Phil nodded, chirping and crooning as he ran his fingers through Tubbo’s hair.
“Yeah, I know, it’s gonna be okay,” Phil was whispering.
He gagged again but didn’t move forward to throw up in the bucket. He curled up further against Phil, buzzing weakly.
“It’ll pass, you’ll be okay.”
They sat there for a long time, Tubbo lurching forward when nausea built up and heaving into the bucket. Phil sat with him running his hand down his back and through his hair, whispering reassurances and chirping softly.
Phil could feel how hard he was shaking against him, his cheeks rosy and his breath hitching with quiet sobs. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon and there were bags underneath Tubbo’s eyes.
“Do you think you’ll be okay if I get you some water?” Phil asked, brushing his bangs off his forehead again.
Tubbo swallowed thickly and nodded. He slumped against the edge of the nest as Phil stood up. Filling a glass with water in the kitchen. When he returned, Tubbo was barely holding his head up, whimpering softly. He squeezed his eyes shut, only peeking up at Phil when he knelt next to him with the cup of water.
His hands were shaking and Phil had to help him drink it so he didn’t drop the cup. Tubbo took a small drink, swishing it in his mouth before spitting it into the bucket. He took a few larger drinks after that.
“Are you feeling better?” Phil asked.
Tubbo blinked tiredly, “kinda…” his voice was hoarse and rough. Phil nodded with understanding.
“That’s good, I think you should rest a bit more. I’ll empty the bucket and put it back near the edge of the nest if you get nauseous again,” Phil said, pressing the back of his hand against Tubbo’s forehead. He was warm, but the fever was small.
Tubbo nodded and rubbed his eyes. Phil helped move him back in the nest near the edge. He rubbed his eyes again, covering his face with his arm as he tried to get in a comfortable position.
He didn’t seem to have a cold, it seemed to be more like food poisoning and he had seen his fair share of that. Living in the wild with a kid that had a very specific diet definitely will give you some experience in this area.
What worried Phil was what caused it. No one else seemed to be sick, and Phil tried to think back what they had eaten earlier. They had bread with butter and potato soup. It couldn’t have been the bread being old or stale as Wilbur had made it just that morning. The ingredients used in the potato soup were fresh. It could’ve been the cheese or the milk.
Phil figured that Tubbo could’ve had an allergy to something. But it didn’t make much sense considering he had eaten potato soup before.
Maybe it was something like Tommy, not being able to eat meat. Phil had no idea, his mind coming up blank. Before Tubbo, he had never met any other bee hybrids. And Phil had met almost every type of hybrid that he could think of off the top of his head, and the ones he hadn’t met personally he had read books on or heard stories.
Tubbo was an anomaly. Tubbo didn’t seem to know any more about himself than Phil did. Phil sat back down on his mat, watching Tubbo’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath. Tommy and Ranboo had somehow not woken up throughout that whole ordeal and were sleeping soundly.
Phil was still awake when Wilbur stumbled through the door of the pub at the first peeks of dawn. He stared at Phil with wide eyes as an almost guilty expression like he hadn’t expected Phil to be awake yet. Phil stared back, confused at where this interaction was going to go.
Wilbur waved awkwardly, his tail flicking back and forth. He shuffled down the hallway, holding something behind his back. Phil was too tired to question it.
Tubbo didn’t wake up until nearing late afternoon. He denied food when he was offered despite the fact that his stomach was growling. He was still awfully pale but his fever had gone down. He pressed himself deep in the blankets of the nest, buzzing pitifully.
“What’s up with him?” Tommy asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
“He was up all night throwing up,” Phil said, putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “he doesn’t feel very good. Leave him alone.”
Tommy in fact did not leave Tubbo alone, but instead of bothering him Tommy just settled into the nest next to him. Tubbo, barely aware of his presence, scooted a bit closer. Tommy scratched at his head lightly, twisting strands of Tubbo’s hair around his finger.
Figuring that if something happened, Tommy would be able to find him, Phil moved to finish up the chores that he had to do around the house.