Work Text:
Request from @emetogirl on Tumblr: Charlie or shayne (this feels more like Charlie to me, but whatever you feel like!) with an awful headache that is absolutely killer, and it’s lay-on-the-floor-of-the-bathroom-with-the-lights-out-and-cool-washcloth-over-the-forehead-time, except the other one doesn’t know that quite yet until they find them in pain and puking their absolute guts up, which cues lots of gentle caretaking, soft comforting whispers, and maybe camping out on the floor together until the poor kid is able to get some sleep and wake up feeling a little better.
___
He gasped deeply, swallowing back a howl of pain. His stomach was lurching under his ribs, unable to still itself under the amount of pressure that radiated from his left temple.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much that he couldn’t believe this was real, he couldn’t believe he’d ever known a time when his head hadn’t felt like it was being drilled into.
With clammy hands, Charlie felt around on the floor for the wet cloth that he’d been holding against his head before the vomiting had set in. It’d been his second course of action, after downing some ibuprofen (which were now swimming in the toilet drain), and before killing the bathroom light. He finally found it and dragged it towards himself, pressing it to his head and holding it up with an elbow on the toilet seat. Usually, he’d have shuddered in dread at the thought of putting a cloth on his face if it had just been sitting on the bathroom floor, but there was no room for pickiness now.
Besides, he was sure the floor had been washed that week. Yeah. Maybe.
An unproductive retch made his throat clench and forced his jaw open. He was almost relieved to think that he was nearing empty; once the nausea passed, he could focus on becoming a reclining statue on the floor again. Most annoying was the fact that the puking was a result of the headache, but was also making it worse.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the demon CT mumbled, Human bodies make no sense.
“Charlie, you okay?” That was a voice from the real world, specifically from the other side of the bathroom door. “You’ve been gone ages.”
Before he could even entertain the idea of responding, thick chunks rolled up Charlie’s throat and into the water. He dreaded to even begin to think what those chunks once contained.
“Charlie…?”
Before Charlie could protest, CT’s telekinesis kicked it and unlocked the bathroom door. Shit, he thought, flinching at the sound of the door clicking open. He yanked the cloth down over his eyes, desperate to keep his eyes covered.
“Don’t turn on the light,” Charlie hissed, feeling the demon’s energy kicking in to replace that which he’d already lost from his own body. The effort of talking was so intense, like every word was a kick to the inside of his skull with a steel-toed boot. He barely mumbled out a groan as he pushed himself upwards, his whole body thrusting back and forth lightly with the repeated spasms that went through his tummy.
“You’re sick?” Shayne mumbled, clicking the door shut slowly and cutting off the light from the landing.
“Mmhmm…” Charlie reckoned Shayne had figured it out hours ago, despite his best efforts to appear cheerful during the evening. It wasn’t often that Elliott and Felix made the trip out to Mulberry, and the last thing Charlie had wanted was for anyone to be worried about him. “Headache… bad one.”
As expected, Shayne let out a sigh. “You should’ve said something…”
“Please don’t yell at me,” Charlie gasped, saliva running down his chin as he hovered about the toilet seat.
“This is literally as quiet as I can –” Shayne shut himself up with a soft grunt. He knelt beside Charlie. It was obvious that he intended on rubbing his back while he continued to heave over the toilet, but Charlie had other intentions now that his boyfriend was here.
And by boyfriend, he meant human pillow.
The tiles were freezing as he lowered himself to the ground again. He’d sweat so much more since he’d started throwing up, and his clothes were a little damp and felt disgusting against his skin.
He didn’t really care about the rest of his body, though, as long as he could lay his head in Shayne’s lap. Shivers ran down his back, direct waves of tension that trickled down from his skull.
Charlie whined, low in his throat, as Shayne brushed his hair back from his forehead and laid the cloth across it. His fingers moved slowly and gently as always. It was as though Shayne believed Charlie’s skull was made of eggshell, and that it might have cracked and collapsed inwards if it was put under any serious amount of pressure.
Whereas honestly, it felt more like his head might crack from the pressure coming from the inside.
Even as he was lying still, Charlie felt like his head was being wrenched to the side, as though he was nailed to a turntable that was set spinning slowly. Only the sensation of Shayne playing with his hair kept him somewhat grounded, and even that didn’t feel like nearly enough.
“Just cut it off.” His voice was getting higher as time went on, like he was an old tea kettle slowly coming to the boil. “I want it gone, just – just chop it off.”
Shayne frowned. “Your hair?”
“My fucking head!”
“Sssshhhh…” Shayne’s fingertips glided down the nape of Charlie’s neck. In contrast to the light touch, Charlie could feel his own muscles tensing up, hard as rocks. Every inch of his body was reacting to the pain which, in itself, only really took up about one inch of his skull. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not! I hate this,” he whimpered.
“I know…”
A low groan from the pit of his stomach alerted him to the fact that the convulsions were traveling through his insides again, and he choked on a sob. His head was still in pain after laying it in Shayne’s lap, but it was the most comfortable he’d been in ages. He didn’t want to get on his knees again and lose even more of his dinner.
His chest tightened with a hiccup. Shayne cupped a hand around his shoulder, ready to help him back up.
Charlie tried to hum in protest, but squeezed his lips together upon tasting acid on his tongue. His spine jerked him forward, curling him up even tighter. The cloth dropped off of his forehead again, but this time Shayne grabbed it before it could sit on the tiles for too long.
“Charlie –”
“I c-can’t, I can’t sit up!” He clapped a hand over his lips as his stomach clenched again.
“I’m so sorry, Charlie, just remember I love you.”
“Wh-wha –?” The floor suddenly seemed to tilt in the opposite direction, or maybe it was entire fucking planet, because Charlie suddenly didn’t know which way was up or down. He felt Shayne pulling his arm up around the back of his neck, dragging him to his knees and draping him over the toilet seat. Charlie could barely see for the stars exploding in his vision, but when sickly liquid clawed its way up his throat, he heard it hit another body of liquid at the bottom of the bowl. “Fuck…”
“You’re okay,” Shayne whispered, right next to his face. Charlie’s chin was practically resting on his shoulder. His arm was draped over Shayne’s other shoulder, like he was injured and being dragged off the battlefield.
He felt another wave of nausea bubble up under his ribs, his stomach letting out an uneasy gurgle. Charlie shut his eyes as a mouthful of bile stung his throat before cascading out of him. Needles of white-hot pain shot through his head.
A gentle knock on the door sounded like an elephant being dropped on the landing.
“Fuck – what?” Shayne hissed, turning his head to project his voice away from Charlie’s delicate eardrums.
“Is everything okay?” a voice asked from the other side of the door. Sounded like Felix. “Do you… need anything?”
Part of Charlie wanted to beg for some more ibuprofen to kill the agony in his head, but another wrenching pain in his gut told him it wouldn’t stay down this time either. He heard Shayne hesitate, probably having the same realisation.
“Water might be good,” Shayne said back.
“Blanket,” Charlie choked out softly. He had a horrible feeling he wouldn’t be moving from the tiles for a long time yet.
Shayne sighed again, rubbing a hand along Charlie’s spine. “And the blanket from the sofa, Fee.”
After chucking up another sliver of whatever was still in his stomach, Charlie turned his head and nuzzled into the hollow between Shayne’s shoulder and neck. His body would have crumpled to the ground if it hadn’t been practically tangled up with Shayne’s.
“P-please don’leave me,” he mumbled, realising his was slurring his words.
“Love,” Shayne whispered, sighing in the way he did that let Charlie know he’d just said something mildly infuriating. He wrapped an arm around Charlie’s waist and pulled him even closer, taking even more of his weight now that the sporadic vomiting seemed to have stopped. For now. “I’d never dream of it.”