Work Text:
Neil Josten woke up feeling like death warmed over.
He had been feeling unwell all week. At first, it was just a slightly red, scratchy throat Monday morning that was easy to ignore. If he had an extra glass of orange juice at breakfast to ward off the cold he definitely wasn’t getting - well maybe he was just more thirsty than usual. But slightly irritated turned into full-blown pain with every swallow by the end of practice that evening.
Despite his tried and true method of ignoring and denying illness until it went away, he continued to feel worse as the week progressed. He was exhausted even beyond what he normally felt as a college athlete in the middle of the Exy season. He was chilled to the core in a way that did not make sense for the mild weather that was autumn in the South, and not even his favorite hoodie was warming him up. He had absolutely no appetite, which had unfortunately morphed into a constant low-level nausea by the end of the third day. And his throat.
Holy fuck, his throat hurt.
Every breath of air scraped like razor blades down his windpipe. Every word out of his mouth felt like gargling glass shards. Swallowing even the spit in his mouth was agony, pure and bright, and he avoided it for as long as possible.
Almost worse was that he was pretty sure that whatever demon spawn had taken up residence in his throat was also in Andrew’s. While neither of them appeared to be acting any differently to their teammates, both had clocked in on the other not feeling quite right.
Andrew immediately noticed every nearly-imperceptible wince when Neil swallowed, how Neil’s morning runs were getting shorter and shorter, how Neil was running his smart mouth less and less until he wasn’t speaking at all unless he had to.
As for Andrew, Neil was pretty sure he hadn’t said a word to anyone all week. And while Andrew was normally a quiet person when he wasn’t medicated out of his mind, he at least talked to Neil and Renee when he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone else. Neil also hadn’t seen him consume anything but mostly-melted, plain vanilla ice cream in two days. Every part of this was unusual, as Andrew normally favored chocolate varieties with lots of extra bits mixed in - chocolate chips, cookie dough, and/or various other chunks of baked desserts - and he never let it melt. He had also nearly stopped smoking entirely, and spent most of his free time bundled under a pile of blankets on his bean bag chair with a fever-flushed face.
They both knew the other knew and both said nothing, choosing the “if I ignore it, it will go away” option.
How they both managed to play through the game last night, Neil does not know. He does know that as he lays in his dorm bed the next morning, heat radiating from his skin while shaking head to toe with inexplicable chills, nausea churning his stomach, and face pressed into a puddle of smelly drool that his body had refused to swallow in the night - he regrets it immensely.
Actually, feeling like death warmed over would be an improvement compared to how he's feeling right now.
He’s startled out of his wallowing when Andrew practically throws himself out of his bunk before sprinting to the bathroom. Half a second later, the sound of Andrew hurling into the toilet has Neil losing the battle with his own stomach. He stumbles into the bathroom after Andrew and makes a beeline for the sink, adding his own solo to the sorry symphony of illness currently performing live from the bathroom of dorm 317.
When they were done, Neil took his time washing out the sink and then rinsing his mouth and splashing cool water on his face while Andrew did the same in the kitchen sink.
Neil shuffles out of the bathroom a few minutes later intending to do his best impression of a corpse on the couch for the rest of the day but is stopped by a flushed and visibly shivering Andrew standing just outside the door, holding his phone out for Neil’s inspection.
To: Abby
Neil and I are sick. Meet @ clinic in 15
Neil gives Andrew a tired glare for getting Abby involved but Andrew just stares at him, unimpressed, until Neil finally rolls his eyes and moves to stuff his feet into his shoes. Neither of them bother to get dressed beyond throwing on an extra hoodie over their sleep clothes before they’re making a miserable trek through Fox Tower and down to the Masareti. Somewhere along the way, Andrew gets a reply from Abby that just says ‘c u soon’ so at least they know they won’t have to wait for her.
In fact, Abby beats them to the clinic. She takes one look at their zombie-like shuffling and miserable faces and ushers them to sit side by side on the exam table.
“What hurts?”
Andrew stares blankly into the middle distance, ignoring her completely, and Neil correctly assumes this means he will be speaking for the both of them. He takes a bracing breath and grinds out, “Throat. Fevers. We woke up puking this morning.”
Abby makes a sympathetic noise and gets to work. She digs out two thermometers and directs them to stick the narrow ends under their tongues, sparing them the indignity of doing it for them.
Twin beeps ring out in the silent room and Abby lets out a low, impressed whistle when she takes the devices out of their mouths, “102.8F (39.3C) for Andrew and 103.1F (39.5C) for Neil. Quite the fevers you got there.”
Neil huffs tiredly and nudges Andrew, “Get on my level.” Andrew doesn’t deign to answer him but the glare he flicks at Neil is mildly amused, so Neil takes it as a win.
“How long have you two been feeling unwell?”
Neil thinks for a moment and looks to Andrew, “Monday?”
Andrew gives a slight nod and Neil looks back to Abby with a look that just says, ‘well, there’s your answer’.
Abby stares back at them like they’re the two biggest imbeciles on the east coast. “You- It’s been six days. You both played a whole game last night! Why didn’t you say anything?”
She was met with twin shrugs and identical ‘what did you expect?’ expressions.
Abby sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, as if to ward off the headache that these two are determined to give her. “We’re going to talk about this when you two look less like death. For now, let’s get you better. Andrew, open up. Let’s see what the damage is.”
Andrew opened his mouth and let her look at his throat with her penlight. Abby sighs out a resigned, “damn…” before moving on to Neil and looking at his throat as well.
Their throats looked excruciating: fire engine red with tonsils streaked through with pus and so huge and swollen, they were just about touching. Actually, Neil’s were touching and it was a wonder he could swallow at all. It probably felt like they were choking every time they tried to eat or drink anything.
“Well, not only does it look like you two managed to catch the strep throat that’s been going around campus, but you both have the worst cases of strep I’ve seen since nursing school. I can’t believe you both let it go on this long,” Abby scolded ineffectively.
Neil couldn't care less about Abby’s opinions on their collective intelligence and just wanted to finish up here and get back to bed as quickly as possible. “So now what?”
“Now, I’m going to swab the back of your throats and run a rapid strep test to make sure it is strep and not something that looks like it. If it comes out positive, then I will give you antibiotics and have you quarantine in your dorm until you’re both fever-free for 24 hours. If Kevin doesn’t have symptoms, he’ll have to stay with me or David until you come out of quarantine.”
After confirming that they didn’t have any more questions, Abby left the room and came back with two thin sealed packages and some dark blue plastic vomit bags. She handed them each a barf bag, took in their hesitant expressions, and explained, “I’m going to have to rub the back of your throats with what is essentially a long Q-tip. It will make you gag. It sounds like you’re already nauseated, so the bags are a precaution.”
Then she stood in front of Andrew and instructed him to open as wide as he could before tearing open one of the packets and shoving a giant Q-tip down his throat, scraping it against his sore tonsils for what felt like a small eternity.
Andrew had steeled himself to hold still, but his body had other ideas. He managed to stay still for all of two seconds before he gagged hard and jerked his head away from her. She retracted the Q-tip immediately and Andrew breathed into the barf bag, eyes watering, wrestling with the intense wave of nausea and spitting his pooling saliva into the bag instead of trying to swallow it past his swollen tonsils.
After watching Andrew’s surprising spectacle, Neil was not enthusiastic about letting Abby swab him next. But when she tore open the other packet and held a clean Q-tip in front of his face and asked him to open, he did so with obvious reluctance.
Once again, Abby went for the kill. And once again, there was a sick teenager gagging and coughing into a barf bag half a second later. Only this time, Neil was not able to beat back his nausea and he ended up heaving the last of his stomach contents into the bag. Andrew had apparently still been locked in battle with his own stomach, and he promptly lost the fight at the sound of Neil puking.
When they were done, Abby traded them their bags for cool, wet paper towels to wipe their mouths and faces. She verified they didn’t have any medication allergies and left the room to dispose of the sick bags and to wait for the test results while Andrew and Neil took turns at the little sink in the room, rinsing their mouths out.
Abby returned about 20 minutes later with a sympathetic but no-nonsense expression on her face, carrying a pile of papers and Neil’s worst enemy: a little metal tray with two huge syringes on it.
Neil took one look at it and promptly tried to vault off the exam table. He was thwarted by Andrew hooking his arm around Neil’s waist, an iron shackle that dragged him back on the table and held him firmly against Andrew’s side, pressed together from ribs to ankle.
"No! No, Andrew, no. Let me up. No shots. I don't want- I can't- no!"
Neil was struggling ineffectively in Andrew’s hold, trying to push Andrew away with fever-weak arms and getting nowhere fast. Andrew just batted his hands away and reached up with his free hand to gently but firmly take Neil's chin in his grip and forced Neil to look at him.
"Stop it. Calm down. You're okay."
But Neil wasn't listening. He was shaking. And sweating. And hyperventilating. And looked half a second away from bursting into tears - which was bizarre because Neil never cried and also terrifying because Andrew does not know how to deal with crying people.
But they were sick and fevery and in pain, and people did strange things when they were sick and fevery and in pain. And clearly firm and steady wasn't working it's usual magic, so on to plan B.
Andrew shifted them slightly so they were facing each other and slid his hand from Neil's chin around to the back of Neil's neck. Like Pavlov's dogs, the hand on his neck immediately had some tension leaking out of Neil's shaking frame, and Andrew took this chance to pull Neil forward so he could bury his face in the space between Andrew's neck and shoulder.
The change was instantaneous. All the fight drained out of Neil, his arms moving from pushing at Andrew's chest to fisting Andrew's hoodie in a white-knuckled grip, pulling him closer. With Andrew's arm still wrapped around Neil’s waist and Neil slumped into Andrew's chest, it was the closest thing to a hug Andrew had participated in in… ever, probably.
Some old instinct from taking care of much younger kids as a child in his earlier, overcrowded foster homes must have resurfaced because Andrew found himself slowly rocking them side to side without any conscious input on his part.
Andrew was about to force himself to cut it the fuck out before someone got the wrong idea, but Neil relaxed a little more. And that was the goal so Andrew decided fuck it and kept it up, murmuring nonsense into Neil's ear, forcing Neil to match his breaths and talking him off the edge.
When Neil was calmer, Abby made her way over to the table. Speaking softly, she explained, "here's what's going to happen, Neil. You both have raging strep infections and I'm worried you're on the brink of developing scarlet fever. I also don't think your throats or stomachs will be able to handle a week of horse pills four times a day. So I'm going to give you a shot of Penicillin, because it's the only thing proven to prevent scarlet fever. It's just the one dose and you're done, and you'll feel better within a few hours. You won't have to swallow any pills. It's a large dose of medicine and it has to go in a large muscle, and that large muscle is at the top of your butt cheek. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be uncomfortable. But it will be over in a moment, and I wouldn't be recommending this for you if I thought we had another option. So. We can do this now with just me and Andrew, or I can take you to urgent care and have a doctor do it instead. It's your choice."
Neil took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths before mumbling, “you do it,” into Andrew’s neck.
“Okay. I need you to lie down on the bed on your right side for me.”
Abby helped direct Neil into position. She had Andrew stand near Neil’s head, with Neil facing out toward Andrew. With Andrew’s consent, they had Neil wrap his right arm around Andrew’s waist with Neil’s head pillowed on his own shoulder against the table. Abby instructed Neil to straighten his right leg out a little and bend his left knee over top of it, so his left knee rested across and over his right leg, against the table, and his hips were tilted slightly outwards and angled down towards the table.
Andrew kept his left hand resting on the back of Neil’s neck, encouraging Neil to bury his face in Andrew’s stomach. Then Andrew took Neil’s free hand and had him grip a fistful of Andrew’s hoodie before moving to rest his right hand on top of Neil’s left knee, pressing it slightly into the table to keep his leg still.
“I need to pull your pants down a little, Neil. Do you want to do it or can I?” Abby asked.
Neil didn’t answer verbally but he did release Andrew’s hoodie to quickly yank the band of his sweatpants halfway down his left ass cheek before taking hold of Andrew once more, shivering a little at the uncomfortable feeling of exposure.
“Thank you, you’re doing well. I know this is difficult. Now, I’m going to place my hand on the outside of your bum so that I know where to give you the injection. Then I’ll wipe your skin down with alcohol. I’ll warn you before I poke you, just like last time. Just my hand now, okay?”
She waited for Neil’s nod of consent before putting her hand on him, quickly mapping out her landmarks between her first two fingers and cleaning the spot she needs with an alcohol pad.
“Alright Neil, this is very important. I need your muscles to be as loose and relaxed as possible, or it will be more difficult and painful to inject the medicine. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Neil nodded again and took a few more deep breaths, forcibly relaxing the muscles that had gone rigid the moment Abby put her hand against his ass.
"Very good, just like that. Here comes the poke. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. 1, 2, 3, sharp."
Neil followed her instructions in a daze, as if he were listening to them under water. He barely felt the sharp poke of the needle, too preoccupied with trying to breathe around his heart pounding in his chest, the feeling of warm, soft fabric against his face, the grounding weight of Andrew’s hand on his neck, and the comforting smell of Andrew's hoodie - their shared laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and something distinctly Andrew that Neil couldn't describe but could recognize anywhere.
But then Abby started pushing the plunger down, agonizingly slowly, and Neil was abruptly thrown back into his body.
"Fu-ah! Holy fuck, OW! Stop, that hurts, stop-" and Neil reached back blindly, letting go of Andrew’s hoodie to push Abby away.
But Andrew was faster, sacrificing his hold on Neil's knee to snag his hand out of the air, bringing it back up to Neil's chest and letting him crush Andrew's fingers instead of his hoodie. Abby took over holding his knee down with the hand that was previously pressing on his ass.
Abby had also stopped pushing the plunger down, muscle too tense to accept the injection. "No, Neil, come on. You need to relax or I can't empty the syringe. Just breathe, kiddo, you can do it."
Neil was trembling again and smothering choked little sobs into Andrew’s stomach through clenched teeth. But he wanted to be done with this now, so he somehow found it in himself to take a full breath and relax again on a slow exhale.
Abby must have felt the difference because he immediately felt the hot thick peanut butter continuing to force its way into his muscle. It was disgusting and it hurt, and that was enough for a few traitorous tears to sneak their way past his squeezed-shut eyelids before they were wicked away by Andrew's shirt.
Another intolerable few seconds passed before he finally felt Abby take the needle away and press a cotton ball against the pin prick wound. Then she started gently kneading the hard knot of medicine further into his muscle. Which just made it hurt more, ripping a pathetic, gurgling cry out of his throat while he tried to squirm away from the pressure.
Andrew shushed him quietly, rubbing his sweaty neck and telling him to stay still and let Abby finish. Neil felt her stick a bandaid to his skin and finally release his legs, and Neil went boneless in relief on the table. Andrew slipped his hand out of Neil’s slackened grip and slid Neil’s pants back up - and that was much better, the nearly-forgotten exposed feeling finally going away.
Then Neil just laid there for a minute, shaking from a combination of the adrenaline and the persistent chill of his fever. Andrew was rubbing his back now, and that felt nice. But he was exhausted, and nauseous, and his throat was on fire but his ass hurt more and he just wanted to be in his bed. But that was too many words to force past his abused throat so he settled for mumbling a meek, “I don’t feel good,” into Andrew’s belly.
“I know,” Andrew grunted. “We’ll leave soon, but you have to pull yourself together first so Abby can give me a shot.”
Neil grunted and surreptitiously wiped his face on Andrew’s hoodie, erasing any leftover traces of tears, and slowly sat up. He made the mistake of resting his weight on his left ass cheek and let out an embarrassing yelp before shifting his weight entirely over to the right. Andrew snorted in amusement and shook his head at Neil’s shortsightedness and then turned to Abby, waiting for instructions.
“Okay, Andrew. We can have you lie on your side like Neil, or you can stand up and bend over. Take your pick.”
“Stand.”
Abby had Andrew shift over so he was standing half way between her and Neil, and then she had him bend over and rest his elbows on the table.
“Okay! This process will mostly be the same as what you just saw. I’m going to place my hand against your bum so I know where to inject you, then I’ll clean your skin with alcohol, and then the injection. I’ll warn you before I poke you. Do you want it on the left or the right?”
“Left.”
“Alright. Go ahead and lower your pants, and then I need you to shift all of your weight to your right leg. Keep your left side as loose as possible.”
Andrew reached back and slid his pants down just far enough and no further, replaced his elbow on the table, and then shifted his weight over as instructed.
“Thank you. Just my hand on your bum now. Tell me when.”
Andrew took a deep breath and let it out slowly before giving the okay. He went tense when Abby touched him, but quickly relaxed again before she had a chance to remind him to unclench. Then he waited quietly, watching Neil watch him while Abby cleaned off his skin and gave the alcohol a moment to dry.
Andrew knew when Abby reached for the needle because Neil’s eyes went huge.
“Holy shit, that’s a big needle…” Neil whispered. And it was. It was about an inch and a half long and thick enough that he could see the hole in it - the biggest needle Neil had seen to date. Then he looked to Andrew again and offered his wisdom, “I know you think I’m a baby about this, but it really does hurt. Might wanna brace yourself.”
Andrew just snorted and rolled his eyes, hard, telling Neil exactly how unconcerned he was about getting this shot.
Neil shrugged, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
“Alright, Andrew, here we go. 1, 2, 3, sharp.”
And- yup. Neil was right. The needle wasn’t the problem, oh no, but whatever the hell was in the syringe was just plain offensive. Andrew managed to keep his muscles relaxed but Neil saw his face twist into a grimace before Andrew dropped his forehead onto the table, hands curling into white-knuckled fists and sucking in a hissing breath between his teeth.
“Told you.”
“Fuck off,” Andrew gritted out, sounding strained, jaw clenched hard enough to bite through steel.
“You’re doing well, just a few more seconds,” Abby placated.
And then the persistent, burning pressure-pain finally stopped. For about half a second, until Abby started pressing a cotton ball over the sore area and rubbing to help the medicine disperse through the muscle. That had Andrew growling in complaint and banging his fist once, hard, against the table.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m done tormenting you. Let me get you a bandaid and then you can pull your pants up.”
One obnoxious orange bandaid later and Andrew was standing upright and hiking his pants back up. He gingerly started putting some weight on his left leg before deciding his ass just wasn’t having it, choosing to lean against the table instead.
Abby passed them each a packet of papers and started her spiel, “Okay boys! Instructions, and then you’re free to go. First things first: you need to keep rubbing the injection site, or the medication is just going to sit there and hurt for longer. Try to walk and stretch as much as possible for the next few hours too, and that will also help the pain go away faster.
“For your fevers, I want you taking Tylenol and Ibuprofen together every 8 hours for the next two days. This will also help with the pain in your throats and from the shots. I have liquid versions of both and I will give them to you on your way out. The dosing instructions are on the bottles. After a few hours, the antibiotics should have knocked your infections down and your fevers should be gone within two days. If they come back when you stop the medication, I want you to call me and I’ll give you further instructions. Understand?”
Twin nods.
“Good. I also want you gargling warm salt water three times a day for 30 seconds, half a teaspoon of salt per 8 ounces of water, until your tonsils are no longer swollen. Again, you are officially in quarantine until you are fever-free for 24 hours without Tylenol or Ibuprofen. That means no practice - Neil - and no class for either of you. I’ve written you both notes to excuse you and I’ll let David know you won’t be at practice or the gym until I clear you. All of these instructions are also in your paperwork.”
“What about the game Friday?”
“Junkie,” Andrew huffs, unimpressed with Neil’s one-track mind.
“We’ll see. I’ll have to clear you first, but I don’t see why not if your fevers are gone by then.”
That must be good enough because Neil didn’t argue.
“Any questions? No? Okay, you’re free to leave. Go straight to bed, both of you. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. And don’t forget your meds on the way out, they’re in the cabinet closest to the door.”
Neil slid off the table, went to take a step, and immediately regretted it. Pain shot down his leg and he yelped, hand flying to his ass to massage the spasming muscles. “Jesus Christ, that hurts,” he whined.
“Baby,” Andrew teased as he obviously limped to the cabinet for the meds and then out the door.
Neil trailed after him, limping just as obviously and shooting back, “You’re limping too!”
“Am not.”
Abby chuckled quietly, listening to their playful teasing while cleaning up the exam room, praying she wasn’t about to have the whole team parading through her office with strep in the next few days.