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Chris was ill. Not an ‘I’m going to die’ ill, just a regular sucky ill. It had started with an itch in the back of his throat, Chris putting it down to the harsh cold of the night. Then he was overheating when Peter or Stiles clung to him and couldn’t stand being in bed with both of them together. Then when he was patrolling the edges of town and he was suddenly hit with a dizzy spell, nearly falling flat on his face before he forced himself to keep steady on his feet.
Now, Chris was lay in bed, sweat dripping down his forehead slowly, his nose blocked and a thumping noise nagging at his head. “Peter,” he groaned, moving to get up before a hand on his chest was forcing him back on the bed. “I’m fine.”
“Like Hell you’re fine,” Peter tutted, rolling his eyes and placing a damp cloth on Chris’ forehead, smiling at the small smile that got him in return. “You smell horrible, you look disgusting and you’re not moving from that bed.”
“I do love when you sweet talk me,” Chris deadpanned, huffing slightly and scrunching up his face before grabbing onto his nose, fighting off a sneeze and winning after a few moments. “I need to… I promised Stiles I’d go to his game,” Chris told Peter, trying to move up again before Peter sat on his chest and he groaned.
“I’m sure he’ll understand.” Peter pressed a small kiss to the tip of Chris’ nose before getting up. “I need to tell him to stay away, there’s not a chance I’m letting him get ill as well.”
Chris wasn’t pouting, he was not. There was no way, no matter how ill he was that he would revert to pouting just because Stiles wouldn’t be allowed to come over after his game and spend an hour or two with them. Nope. “Stop pouting.”
Chris frowned at Peter and was tempted to flip him off before he shifted his legs, attempting to shove the wolf off of the bed. “I don’t pout.”
“Sure,” Peter drawled, raising an eyebrow as he got up, phone in hand. “Stiles said he’s coming over whatever I say.”
Chris’ smile light up a little. “That’s my boy,” he mumbled, sighing as Peter let out a snort before he placed his phone back into his jean pocket.
“Now is not the time for getting yourself hard, dear.” Peter patted his cheek, getting his hand hit away by a glaring Chris before the sick man kicked at the blankets, Peter shaking his head and putting it back on. “No, no. You’re not well, so just keep yourself all wrapped up, baby.”
“I hate when you do this.”
“Do what?”
“Treat me like a kid when I’m ill.”
“You act like one when you’re ill, idiot. You aren’t even concerned about Stiles getting himself ill if he comes here.”
“I wanna see him,” Chris mumbled, screwing his face up at Peter before turning on his side away from the wolf, ignoring the hand on his back. The man held back a sigh, hating when Peter or Stiles saw him like this but always wanting them there when he felt like this. Chris wasn’t weak in anyway, and he knew that, but in this moment he knew he was and he was so concerned about one of the others getting hurt and him not being able to look after them.
“What’s wrong?”
“What?”
“Your scent…” Peter sighed and ran a hand through Chris’ hair before kissing his temple. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, smiling softly with a shake of his head as Chris tried to protest, all while falling asleep midsentence.
The wolf huffed slightly and made sure Chris was comfortable, had a bucket beside the bed in case he threw up and some water on his bedside table before making his way down the stairs. The man did some work as he waited for Stiles before hearing the Jeep come up half an hour later and he got up, smiling at Stiles as he came into the house. “Hello, little one,” he greeted, the boy walking up to Peter before kissing him softly.
“Where’s Chris?”
“Asleep.” Peter took Stiles hand and stopped him on his way to the stairs. “Come help me make soup.”
“You don’t need help to heat up some soup, Peter.”
Peter turned around and looked at Stiles for a moment before cupping his cheek. “Just let him sleep for a while. He’s so damn stubborn when he’s sick and I can’t ever get him to rest and he finally is.” The man smiled as the boy nodded his agreement before taking him to the kitchen and putting on some music as they started to make the soup, Stiles pouring some orange juice. “How was school?”
“Pretty good. Not as good as when I’m around you guys, though,” Stiles replied, smiling widely at Peter and moving over to wrap his arms around Peter from the back and squeezing his middle. “I need to go soon, though. I’ve still got another class and then I’ve got a game.”
“I’m sorry we won’t make it to that.”
“It’s fine. I’ll probably be on the bench again, it’s all fine.” Stiles shrugged against him before pulling back and leaning against the counter. “Chris said he’ll help me practise.”
“Why can’t I?” Stiles replied with a look. “Seriously, I’d be better.”
“You’d cheat.”
“Me? I’d never cheat.”
“Liar.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Peter smirked widely before turning around and grabbing Stiles, holding him against the counter and pressing a deep kiss to his lips, his hands trailing under his Stiles shirt, loving the way the boy squirmed and gasped under the touches. Peter pulled back suddenly and went back to the soup, smirking widely. “I win,” he muttered, chuckling as Stiles let out a loud whine.
“You’re evil.”
“I know.”
Stiles huffed before watching Peter putt he soup into a bowl, putting the orange juice and chicken soup onto the tray before starting out of the kitchen, Stiles following him immediately. They both got up the stairs and into the bedroom before sitting on either side of Chris, Peter waking him up slowly. “Baby,” he cooed, stroking his forehead as he took the cloth off of the bed, where it had fallen as Chris had slept.
“Wha?” Chris drawled, blinking his eyes open before groaning and hiding his face in Stiles thigh, melting slightly as a hand ran through his hair slowly. “Sleeping,” he explained, throwing a hand up before letting it flop to the bed, as if it explained every thought he had perfectly.
“I brought you some soup,” Peter said, moving on the bed and sitting Chris up before starting to feed the man the soup himself. “There we go,” he said softly, smiling sweetly at Chris and enjoying this time that he could actually look after his Mate and not have him complain and say he didn’t need Peter’s help. His strong Hunter brought down by a mere cold. Peter loved it.
Stiles hand moved slowly up and down Chris’ arm and he kept close to the Hunter, hating when he was sick and so… unlike himself, but feeling like he had to somehow help and make the other feel better. The boy pressed a small kiss to Chris’ temple and nuzzled his nose on his cheek before pulling back to run the cloth over his sweaty forehead. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered as Peter and him just sat with their sick lover, “We’ll always be here to pick you back up, no matter what.” After all, you had to be there through illness and health (how did it actually go? Stiles couldn’t remember) if you intended to marry them.