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Wilbur didn’t have to open his eyes to learn that today was going to be a bad day. His stomach twisted and twirled and his throat felt dry. It seems his brain was trying to escape his failing body by ramming itself against the back of his eyes. Today was going to be a bad day.
With a sigh that bordered on a whine, Wilbur sat up and grabbed his phone, which was charging on the table beside him. The blinding light did nothing to ease his headache. He considered for a moment just getting up. He knew that he had practice today, and almost startled when the idea of missing it sent his stomach into even more knots. It wasn’t that he was scared that they would think bad of him for missing it, or worse punish him for it.
He just wanted to see them.
His eyes started to water. He felt so stupid, crying over this even though he sees them practically every day. He stays at their apartments more than he stays at his own, for God’s sake.
He could still go. Plaster on a smile, straighten his back, and act like his vision wasn’t swimming. But he was so tired. And he didn’t like pretending, not in front of them.
With a shaky sigh, he sent a quick text to Phil letting him know that he will be absent from today’s practice, and sunk back down into the sheets. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeves to prevent the tears from falling, which in turn made his head hurt even more.
‘I wish they were here,’ Wilbur thought, before quickly shaming himself for it.
This should be nothing. He has walked off things a thousand times worse than this. This tiny headache, this unsettled stomach, should be nothing to him. He shoved his face into the pillow, and succumbed to darkness.
–
The next time he woke, it was to a hand carding through his hair and voices murmuring in his room. Before he could shoot up, and potentially empty his stomach at the movement, the hand removed itself.
“It’s okay, Soot. It’s just us,” Schlatt soothed.
Wilbur blinked his eyes open, wincing at the bright light.
“Schlatt?” he croaked.
An arm snaked around his back and helped him sit up. Once upright, Wilbur looked around the room.
Techno was sitting at the edge of the bed, eyebrows furrowed in worry. George was standing by the bathroom door, his arms stiffly crossed. Schlatt was sitting next to him, though that space was slowly shrinking as Wilbur sunk into his embrace.
George turned to the bathroom. “You idiots woke him up,” he scolded.
Two faces sheepishly peered from the doorway. Quackity and Sapnap looked torn between swarming Wilbur and continuing whatever they were doing. George stepped in before they could decide.
“Techno, go get bottles of water, a rag, and a bowl. Sapnap, go and help him. Quackity, can you make some food? Something light, preferably soup if he has any.” He ordered.
The three sprung up, eager to have something to do. George crossed to the bed and placed the back of his hand on Wilbur’s forehead. The only thing conveying his concern is the tightness around his eyes.
“Wilbur? Can you focus on me?” George said softly, moving to cup his cheek.
Wilbur was stuck gaping at them all, mind racing with questions. “How did you get in my house?” was the one he decided on.
Schlatt huffed and inched closer, “You gave us each a key. Remember?”
Wilbur did not remember, but to be fair his brain seemed to be turning into molasses at the moment. George brought up his free hand to cradle Wilbur’s other cheek and gently redirect his attention.
“Wilbur, do you have a thermometer?” he repeated.
Wilbur was sure he had one, but it was so difficult to concentrate with the soft touch on his face. George seemed to realize this and pulled away. Wilbur whined before he could stop himself, and watched George’s eyes and Schlatt’s hold get tighter.
“A thermometer, Wilbur. Please, it’s important,” George repeated.
Wilbur’s vision was still swimming, but he had never heard George plead for anything in his life so he sat a bit straighter.
“The bathroom in the hall. Inside the cabinet below the sink, there’s a box.”
George was already moving before he could finish. Having completed his task, Wilbur sank back down into Schlatt’s arms and closed his eyes.
“Don’t go to sleep just yet, Soot,” Schlatt gently nudged him.
He craned his neck up to look at the other man.
“You’re gonna get sick,” Wilbur mumbled.
Schlatt’s face did a funny movement, like it was torn between laughing and crying, which was strange because Wilbur had never seen Schlatt cry before either. Something terrible must have happened for his teammates to be so upset.
“Are you okay?” Wilbur asked. He brought a shaky hand up to Schlatt’s face but Schlatt caught it before it could reach.
He interlaced their fingers and let out a strained laugh. “Asking me if I'm okay. Honestly, you’re impossible. We’re worried about you , man.”
“Oh.”
For some reason, that never crossed his mind. That his team would be worried about him. That must have shown on his face because Schlatt pulled him close and tucked Wilbur’s head under his chin.
“Yeah, oh.”
“But what about practice?” Wilbur meant to say more, but trailed off after Schlatt started to rub his hand up and down his back.
“Fuck practice, man. It’s not the same without you there. We were so out of it that Phil ended it early,” Schlatt’s voice shaked, like he was attempting be light hearted but couldn’t quite get it to sound right.
Wilbur didn’t know what to say. They ended practice early, because they were worried. Concerned about Wilbur of all people. He wanted to apologize. And ask why. Why him out of all people? Schlatt once again beat him to it.
“We love you, man. ‘Course we would worry.” Schlatt stated. Said it so firmly and sincerely, like it was one of the universe's ultimate truths. An indisputable fact.
The sky is blue, hockey is a sport, and his team loves him.
Wilbur felt his eyes water, but was saved by Techno and Sapnap re-entering the room. Or rather Techno re-entering the room and Sapnap tripping over himself by the doorway. He is fumbling with at least twenty plastic water bottles, some of which he has tucked between his chin and his chest.
“I told you he didn’t need that much,” Techno sighed, placing the large bowl of water he brought on the bedside table. He leaned over to put his hand on Wilbur’s forehead, before directing his attention to Schlatt. “Have you taken his temperature yet?”
As if summoned, George returned carrying a small box. He took one look at Sapnap and scoffed, “What are you doing?”
“You didn’t say how many to get!”
“Honestly, you are the reason why there is so much plastic in the ocean.”
Sapnap sputtered, but George paid him no heed as he turned to the bed. He produced the thermostat, and with gentle prodding from Schlatt, Wilbur put it in his mouth.
“Under your tongue,” George said softly. They waited a few tense moments until it beeped. George tsked at the temperature before showing the others. Wilbur’s eyes slipped closed, more interested in sleeping than the number displayed on the screen. He whined when Schlatt forced him to sit straight up again.
“Just one more thing, then you can sleep.” Techno soothed.
Sapnap handed one of his many water bottles to Wilbur, while George fiddled with the medicine in the box. He gently placed two small pills into Wilbur’s hand. Honestly, the thought of consuming anything at all made his stomach twist, but he felt like refusing would only worry them more. He quickly took the medicine and chased it down with some water, ignoring how his body seemed to protest it. His team looked relieved though.
Schlatt and Techno helped him slide back down into the sheets. They went to stand up, but stopped when Wilbur made a clumsy attempt to grab at their hands.
“Please stay,” he slurred.
They quickly sat back down. The last thing Wilbur felt was Techno running his hand through Wilbur’s hair, Schlatt gripping his hand, and something cool being placed on his forehead.
–
Wilbur was melting. His insides have turned into lava and were slowly cooking him from the inside out, he was sure of it. And the worst part is the heavy blanket that somehow materializes on him no matter how often he kicks it off. He could hear soft voices around them, but even the smallest whisper seemed to take a pickaxe to his head.
“Up you go, Soot.” Schlatt gently helped him up, despite Wilbur’s entire body becoming boneless.
He didn’t want to sit up. He wanted to wallow in misery while his body continued to betray him, thank you very much.
He felt a hand on his forehead, blissfully cool against his burning skin. After some quiet coaxing, he cracked open his eyes and then instantly shut them, flinching at the bright light. Some shuffling was heard before the blinding glare faded. He blinked his eyes open again, relaxing at the much darker room.
In front of him was Quackity, holding what seemed to be a bowl of soup. The rest of his team surrounded the bed, trying to be as close as they could without overwhelming him. The hand on his forehead retreated, though whose hand it was Wilbur can’t seem to figure out. Just the act of blinking was exhausting.
Quackity gently took his hands and placed the bowl within them. “Have this. It’s a Quackity specialty, you know. Not very often you get delicacies like this.” He joked, his smile weaker than usual.
Wilbur tried to lift the spoon, he really did, but it seems like someone replaced all the spoons in his house with lead while he was not looking. Seeing his struggle, Quackity took the utensil. He must be a lot stronger than Wilbur thought if he was able to lift that.
He brought the spoon to his lips. Wilbur felt a little childish, having to be spoon fed, but he was too tired to really care. That seemed like a problem for future Wilbur. He accepted the offering and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. Unfortunately, his stomach did not seem to view the food as highly as his brain did, for it began to protest. Quackity brought up another spoonful to his lips, and Wilbur felt even more like a child when he turned his head away in protest.
“Come on, Wil. Please, just a little bit more.” Quackity pleaded.
Wilbur could see the rest of his team fidgeting. Their faces were tense, like someone had sculpted them out of clay. Trying to hide their emotions and failing desperately because Wilbur knew them. He knows that Sapnap bites his fingernails when worried. He knows that Quackity jokes and laughs in hopes of hiding his fear. He knows Techno stays closer, using his body to shield you from the world. He knows Schlatt scans the room, trying to identify and eliminate any problem. And he knows George goes terrifyingly blank.
He knows them.
There isn’t a day in Wilbur’s life that he spends not thankful that these people came into his life. They found him while he was at his very lowest. Pulled him out of that pit, pulled him away from that team. But the most important thing they have done was love him. They each had given him a piece of their heart, a piece of their soul. Handed it to him like it was nothing, like the thought of him breaking it never crossed their mind. And here he was, scaring them half to death over a stupid cold.
He opened his mouth, determined to ignore his protesting stomach. He really didn’t want to, but he could see how their shoulders relaxed, how their smiles became more natural. He would do anything to make them happy, and if that meant eating this soup then god damn it he was going to savor every bite.
At least, that is what he thought before puking it all back up again.
Surprisingly, it was Sapnap who acted first. Whipping out a trash can from who knows where and shoving it into Wilbur’s lap. He felt someone snatch the bowl out of his hands before he could spill it all over himself. Someone was rubbing his back and he could hear some startled exclamations, but it was all drowned out.
He couldn’t even eat the soup.
A sob ripped itself out of his mouth. Like a dam has been broken, tears and snot quickly joined the disgusting mess he was making in the trash can. How many times had he cried today? He couldn’t bring himself to care. His head pounded, his throat burned, his stomach rolled. He felt too hot and too cold at the same time. He was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf, like his body was too broken to figure out how to fix itself.
“If you didn’t like it, then you could’ve just said so,” Quackity joked, his tight smile falling once Wilbur’s tears increased.
“I’m sorry! It was good, I swea-” Wilbur’s pleads were interrupted by another round of throwing up.
“No, no!” Quackity jumped forward, almost knocking the others out of the way in his haste to get to his side. He carefully moved his hand through Wilbur’s sweat soaked bangs. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. I know that you liked it. It’s okay.”
Quackity continued to repeat sweet reassurances while Wilbur emptied his stomach. Once done, he fell backward with a huff, faintly realizing that he is leaning against a person rather than his headboard. He tilted his head up and met Techno’s eyes. Wilbur attempted to smile at him, although it probably came across more as a grimace, but Techno’s expression softened so he counted it as a win.
He looked back to see Sapnap offering him a water bottle. Honestly, the thought of consuming anything made his stomach churn, but he also wanted to wash out the disgusting taste in his mouth. He reached out and grabbed the bottle, ignoring how Sapnap had to also hold onto it to keep it steady.
“Small sips.” George advised.
Sapnap gently tilted the bottle down, forcing Wilbur to take slower mouthfuls. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was, or how dry his throat was, until this very moment. It was only after his insides started protesting that he stopped, letting Sapnap take the water bottle.
“Are you okay, dude?” Sapnap asked. Wilbur shot him a look. “Right, sorry. Probably a dumb question.”
Wilbur opened his mouth, maybe to respond or just laugh at Sapnap’s sheepish expression, but was interrupted by George hovering the thermometer inches from his face. He jumped at the object's sudden appearance, but obediently tucked it under his tongue. George kept his face carefully blank as he read the temperature.
“Well, it hasn’t gone up,” George hummed. Sapnap perked up.
“That’s good!”
“But it also has not gone down.”
“That’s not good.”
“Should we give him more medicine?” Quackity asked. He stopped carding his hand through Wilbur’s hair and rested it on his forehead, like he was hoping to decrease the temperature that way. “I could go to the store if we need more.”
George grabbed the bowl on the bed side table and walked to the bathroom. “No. We can’t give him too much or else he will become even more sick. We need to wait a couple hours before giving him anything else.”
“But he just puked it all up!” Sapnap threw his hands in the air, sending Wilbur an apologetic look when he winced.
“And he will most likely throw up anything else we give him. We just need to wait and try to lower his temperature.” George walked back into the room, carefully balancing the now full bowl of water in his hands. He placed it back on the table.
“Just wait??? What if nothing we do works??” Schlatt leaned forward and dipped the rag into the bowl. His gentle movements a stark contrast to the harsh look he is giving George. Wilbur relaxed as he placed the cool rag on his forehead.
“That won’t happen. If worse comes to-”
Wilbur tried to follow along with the conversation, but his eyelids started to sink. His neck became jello, unable to support his head as it dipped. He felt the body behind him slowly begin to move. He blinked and his head was suddenly in someone's lap. He could still hear his team bickering around him, but he could only focus on Techno.
“Go to sleep, Wil. I’ll make sure these idiots don’t kill themselves,” Techno combed through his hair, carefully untangling any knots.
“‘echno?” Wilbur croaked. “I don’t feel good.”
It was nothing but a hoarse whisper, only heard by the two of them. A confession from someone who has been hurt so much, so often, that this small moment almost seems like too much. The one drop of water that spills an overfilled cup.
Techno gained a small glint in his eye, one that Wilbur knows well. It appears every time Wilbur shows him this side. Every time he confesses. A small spark of sadness, of anger, of tenderness.
Techno never has to show his love through words, because Wilbur can see it in his eyes everyday.
“Just rest, we will take care of you.”
Wilbur trusts them. They have given him a piece of their hearts, but he has given each a piece of his as well. And they haven’t broken it yet. Haven’t broken him yet. Even though each piece, each shard, that he gave was crooked and cracked and crumbling. They cherished it all the same.
Serenaded by the familiar sound of his family around him, Wilbur closed his eyes and rested.