Work Text:
As the sun begins to rise, Chris looks out the window. He squints, feeling his stomach churn the moment the light hit his eyes. A dull ache had settled deep into his body once he woke up this morning. He takes a shaky breath, only for it to hitch in the back of his throat and force a dry heave past his lips. He coughs a little, wiping snot from his nose. God, he felt miserable right now. The only thing that could make this worse was—
BANG BANG BANG!
Great. Someone was at the door. Chris presses a hand against his stomach in an attempt to quell the nausea bubbling in his gut. He staggers to the door and opens it, feeling his stomach lurch again as the light comes in through the door past the shadow of Chef.
“Oh, good morning Chef..” Chris tilts his head, slightly confused by the man’s presence.
“Hey Chris, I brought you some breakfast. I figured you’d appreciate it,” Chef speaks gruffly with a laugh, noticing that Chris’s complexion was way off. His face had adopted an ashen gray pallor with a subtle green tinge.
“Woah, are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out, puke, or both.”
Chris nods, swallowing back another bout of nausea. As the scent of the food Chef had brought makes it way through the air, Chris finds it harder to ease his stomach. Usually, he’d find the smell great. Not today, though.
“I don’t- I don’t feel so well, yeah,” Chris croaks out, nodding. “A-As a matter of fact, please excuse me for just a se-econd..” his voice breaks as he rushes off into another room- presumably the bathroom- with a loud, painful retch. It brings nothing but a bit of bile up, which dribbles down his chin. His stomach heaves and contracts, but nothing will come up.
Chef cringes and sets the food down on a table before skittering to Chris’s aid in the bathroom. He knelt down next to the other, whose hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Chef holds back the stray hair and rubs soothing circles into Chris’s back as the camp counselor attempts to empty his stomach. He finally chokes up nothing but yellow, foamy bile before resting his face against the porcelain toilet bowl. The cold was shocking against his warm face, but it offers him some relief.
Chef sighs and flushes the toilet for him, hoisting Chris up into his arms. Chris had long since fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion, so he didn’t mind it. Chef puts Chris to bed and covers him up, heading to the bathroom to get a washcloth. He wets the washcloth with cool water, only to be startled by the sound of Chris heaving again from the bedroom. Chef hurries and wrings the washcloth out, grabbing a trash can and scrambling back to the cabin’s bedroom. He offers the trash can to Chris, who takes it gratefully. Chef holds back his hair again, watching as Chris can do nothing but gag and heave unproductively. Tears form in Chris’s eyes as his stomach finally settles down and allows him to relax and catch his breath.
Chef grabs a tissue to wipe Chris’s face, tossing it in the trash bin and setting the bin in the floor. He then gently nudges Chris down into the bed, firmly keeping his hand there to ensure Chris didn’t try to get up again.
“Get some rest,” Chef huffs sternly.
“..Thanks, dude,” Chris croaks out meekly before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Chef sat in a chair and refused to leave until he knew Chris was better, leaving the freshly-made breakfast on the table in the entryway.