Work Text:
Request from 🍄 anon on Tumblr: "I think technically I can get up, I just really really don't want to" + "I'm nothing without my blanket burrito" for elliot (whos the sickie) and
"You threw up three times in an hour, I don't think that's just motion sickness"+ "I know it's not much...but I really am trying my best" for shayne (the caretaker)
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Elliott felt like he was going to choke on the prolonged belch that crawled its way out of him, bringing up nothing but the slightest string of yellow acid. His stomach hurt so badly from how much he’d been retching the past few hours; he was almost convinced that he’d ripped something inside. He groaned, feeling a bit relieved when the final gag ended, but the relief was short-lived.
He heard the door to the bedroom, and quickly reached up to flush the last round of sick down the toilet before Shayne could make it to the ensuite.
“What the fuck?” Shayne sighed, opening the next door to find Elliott crouching on the tiles, hugging a thick brown blanket around his shoulders. “Did you just throw up again?”
“No,” Elliott blurted out, making himself cough in his haste. “I-I just… really like it down here.”
“Uh, okay. So, you’ll have no problem getting up and going back to bed.”
“I…” Elliott felt the room tilt slightly on its axis, fighting to keep his eyelids from fluttering from the sudden dizziness. “I think technically I can get up…”
His cousin stood in the doorway, raising his eyebrows.
“I just really… really don’t want to.”
Shayne sighed in exasperation. “For god’s sake, Elliott, you’re sick. Will you let me go and get Ryan now?”
“No, no, no, I’m not sick,” Elliott mumbled, unconsciously hugging his blanket tighter around his chest and letting his head rest against the side of the bath. “I was in the car with Nancy earlier, that’s all. She drives like she doesn’t have eyes…”
“You threw up three times in an hour, and you’re still saying it’s motion sickness?” Shayne rolled his eyes as he crouched beside Elliott. “Of all the hills, you’re going to die on that one?”
“Dying on a hill sounds fine to me,” Elliott murmured, closing his eyes as Shayne placed a freezing-cold hand on his forehead. Shayne’s skin was even colder than the bathroom tiles and the touch made him shiver. He pulled his blanket even more tightly around himself. “As long as I have my blanket burrito. I’m nothing without my blanket burrito.”
“Alright, that’s it. I’m getting Ryan.”
Elliott’s eyes flew open, and he grabbed at Shayne’s arm. “No, no, no, please don’t bother her.”
Shayne’s usual annoyed glare faltered, revealing a flicker of panic in his eyes. “I’m in over my head here, El. I know I’m not doing much, but this is literally me trying my best to –”
“Ssshhh,” Elliott whispered. He reached up and pressed a finger against Shayne’s mouth, making the boy pull back and smack his lips in disgust. “Just… Just help me get back to my bed, yeah? And try to keep my blanket intact, because –”
“Yeah, okay, I get it, El.”
A mild wave of nausea washed over Elliott as he wriggled his hands free of the blanket and let Shayne pull him to his feet. Elliott grabbed the blanket to make sure it didn’t slide off his shoulders. He ended up pulling one corner up over his mouth as a queasy belch escaped his mouth, his stomach churning audibly as his insides shifted.
Shayne’s eyes widened in alarm as he gingerly held onto Elliott’s arm from outside the blanket. “You good?”
“Mmph.” Elliott blinked slowly and started padding across the floor, into the bedroom and towards the bed. He dropped down and curled up on top of the duvet, deciding he only needed his blanket to cover him. “I just need to be… mmm. Horizontal. I’m a horizontal burrito and I’m okay with that.”
Shayne wasn’t the slightest bit convinced as he stood by the edge of the bed, but Elliott looked… happy. Shayne knew it was probably the fever, but in a way, it was nice to finally see him relax after the stress of the past few days.
“Alright, well… Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I will,” Elliott mumbled, almost inaudibly as he was nuzzling his face deeper into his pillow. “Love you, man.”
“Um.” Shayne scratched at the back of his own head and grimaced. “Yeah, you too… man,” he murmured back, only because he was ninety-five percent sure that Elliott’s feverish brain would make him forget all about it by the time he woke up later.