Work Text:
Anya couldn’t believe her luck.
Today had marked the first day of the winter break – which meant that, for two whole, magnificent weeks, she had no school, no homework, no noisy classmates or strict teachers. She was free to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wished; watch cartoons and movies and play with Bond and bake cookies and eat peanuts.
And it was today out of all days, at this exact moment, on this glorious first day of the winter break, that her traitorous body had decided to give up on her and fall sick.
She felt miserable.
Worse even, she knew Papa and Mama were both home for the day, too – they could have gone together outside, the three of them, playing in the snow, chasing after squirrels with Bond and catching snowflakes! But instead she was stuck in bed, coughing repeatedly and too feverish and tired to even stand.
The upside to this was that she was not alone.
At least, Bond had taken pity on her and had vowed to resist the call of the snow and stand guard at the foot of her bed, occasionally nudging her with his snout and whining softly, as if to remind her that he, too, wanted her to get better soon so they could play again together.
Bond really was the best dog. She loved Bond, even if he sometimes smelled really bad.
Mama had stayed with her too, humming gently and running her fingers through her pink hair, brushing away the strands sticking on her forehead, damp from the high fever that had struck her overnight, while Papa had gone to get medication at the closest pharmacy, promising her that he’d be back as quickly as he could.
When he’d came back, Mama had joined him in the living room to talk, and they had been in there every since, speaking in hushed tones – and Anya’s mind was too blurry and weakened to even attempt to use her telepathic skills.
She drifted in and out of sleep, her short slumbers often interrupted with meaningless and bizarre dreams – but even then, between Bond’s steady presence and the comforting echoes of her Papa’s and her Mama’s voice, Anya never doubted her safety for even a second.
Someone knocked on her room just as she woke up again, and light spilled amidst the ambient darkness as the door cracked open.
“Anya?” Papa called out, and she hummed in answer. Her voice sounded awful, and her throat hurt anew from that weak sound. “It’s just me and Yor – I mean, Mama. We have some medication for you, and hot chocolate. Can we come in?”
Unable to speak, she nodded instead, and fought off the lingering weakness in her limbs to sit up. They came in silently, careful not to disturb the now sleeping Bond as they sat on each side of the bed.
Papa reached for her forehead, and placed the back of his hand onto it, before frowning. “Your fever is still quite high. How are you feeling?”
“T’red.”
“You can go back to sleep later, okay?”
"Mmmh."
“Drink this, first,” Mama directed gently, pushing a glass into her hands – there was a fizzly, pale watery liquid inside, and it looked absolutely disgusting.
Nevertheless, she drank, and tried not to grimace too much at the bitterness of the medicine – it really tasted as bad as it looked.
“I know,” Papa murmured soothingly, rubbing her back as she hiccuped and shuddered at the aftertaste. His hand felt nice, though, and she leaned into his hold with a sigh. “It doesn’t taste good, but it’ll help you fight the fever. You did good, sweetheart. Look, Yor made some hot cocoa for you.”
“It’ll wash off the taste,” Mama promised.
Something else was gently placed in her hands – this time, a deliciously warm mug, that simply smelled like heaven. There weren’t any of those fluffy candies Anya liked, this time, but she realized with surprise that she wasn’t craving them at all.
The drink was sweet and rich on the tongue, and felt like its warmth spread gently through her bones. She drank it all avidly despite Mama’s advice of slowing down as to avoid getting a stomach ache again, animated with a renewed hunger for sweetness and heat, and sighed in relief as she finished it.
“It’s good,” she murmured, floating in the relief of a soothed throat, and Papa smiled fondly as he retrieved her mug from her small hands and patted her head.
Her voice was still a croak, but Anya felt it grow stronger. When she felt them starting to stand up, she quickly reached for their arms, and held tight onto their hands before they could go and ask her to sleep more, before they could plunge the room in darkness again. Anya didn’t really like the dark, even when Bond was with her; it reminded her of her nightmares, and of her room back at the facility.
“Can Papa and Mama stay with me?” She begged, biting back a rattling fit of coughing. “Please?”
She saw the way they exchanged a look, surprised.
“Of course, sweetheart,” they nevertheless both promised immediately, and Anya smiled as they settled down again around her, wrapping her in a strong embrace as they brushed sweat and hair off her forehead. Even as they adjusted the blanket and pulled it up to her chin, Anya remained cradled by their gentle touches and soft words until her mind drifted to peaceful dreams, lulled by the familiar, comforting melody of their voices.
“We’re here for you,” Mama whispered, kissing her forehead. “You’ll get better soon.”
“Sleep, and rest,” Papa murmured, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “We’ll be here with you.”
She was exhausted; but she was content, she was safe, and she was warm, with her entire family around her, protecting and guarding.
Maybe there were worse ways to begin this winter break, Anya eventually mused, smiling just as sleep went to embrace her again.