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To someone travelling between worlds, common colds are nothing to fear. Cosmic diseases and infections are common, and after a while, you get used to it.
So why did Elios feel like dying, all because of an average fever?
Elios was snuggled in his berth, a heated blanket on his back and his hot face against a cool pillow. The room was dark to hopefully keep his headache at bay. Elios wore only boxers due to his constantly changing body temperature, his bare, slightly hairy chest visible for anyone walking in on him to see, and bits of stubble were starting to grow where he last shaved a week ago. His face was flushed, too, and his nose was running. In general, he did not look like hot stuff right now.
He was drifting on his ship, the NOVA, when his slight cough and sniffle hit him with nausea faster than a semi-truck’s impact, and started puking violently in a toilet that only gets it’s tank cleaned out once a month. Lovely.
Now he was basically bedridden on some sort of moon, where he managed to land before passing out.
He was struggling to take care of himself, and hoped someone would receive his help transmission and send a doctor, medicine, SOMETHING helpful that wasn’t just useless painkillers to treat his aching body. So far, nothing.
He started feeling queasy again.
“Bloody hell…”
Elios sat up and grabbed his crutch. His missing left leg annoyed the crap out of him, especially since he needed to get to the bathroom fast. He missed feeling the soft, white, warm sheets as they disappear from his tight grasp. His bones and joints creaked in agony, begging him to return to his slumber.
He hopped awkwardly to the bathroom.
He gently rubbed his soft, bloated stomach, and leaned over the toilet bowl, tying his brown-grey hair back and closing his tired, grey eyes tightly as he gagged. He coughed up the vegetable broth he drank that morning, it’s gold colour now a disgusting brown slurry. He flushed the toilet and laid on the freezing tile floor. The bright bathroom lights were doing little to help with his headache.
The ship’s airlock entry alarm went off and he groaned, sitting up with his crutch in his left hand and trudging to the door, feeling faint, cold, and hot, all at the same time. He didn’t even bother covering himself and prayed it wasn’t a drifting fragmentum monster as he stepped through the slim, beige hallways. He opened the airlock and saw a certain Galaxy Ranger he’d met before.
“Oh, wonderful. It’s you.” Elios croaked sarcastically.
The man grinned.
“Of course it’d be me, Elios. Ahm not the kinda guy to see an emergancy an’ ignor’ it.” The space cowboy dusted off his metal body, and flicked his long, black-and-white hair back a bit to assess the situation properly.
”Ya don’t look so hot. I can try to help with ‘at.”
Elios grunted and began the journey back to his room. “You better be of use this time.”
Boothill smiled. “Glad I didn’t havta wait long. Yer a stubb’rn forker, so ah was ready to sit ‘ere all day if tha’s what it took.”
The cowboy followed him through the ship. There were a few stains on the grey carpet, which were uncommon for Elios in general. He was a tidy man, quick to clean up anything when it spilled. The man in question was clutching his stomach as they approached the bedroom.
“Boothill,” He sniffed. “I caught something awful. Some kind of weird space fever, or a normal one. I don’t know.”
He sniffed and rubbed his red nose a little.
“It’s hard for me to simply get out of bed, and I just can’t clean up anything. My body hurts, my leg even more than usual since it’s doing all the work. I don’t have time to put on my prosthetic when I need to puke, and I’m not wearing it in bed.”
The moment they arrived, Elios dropped his crutch on the floor and rolled into bed, burying his defeated body under the warmed blankets. He was trying to hide himself from the strong lights in the hallway.
Boothill approached him carefully, then pressed his forehead to Elios’s. He snapped away quickly, and stared at him in realization.
“Ah had a fever like that once.” He began.
He sat down next to the sick man. Boothill thought long and hard.
“It w’s easily treated with an ‘erbal tea, if ahm not mistaken. Ah might actually have a few bags left on mah ship.”
Elios tried to sit up but quickly held his throbbing head, and moaned as he slowly laid back down in bed.
“Can you get it…?” He spoke a bit more nasally than earlier.
“Sure ah can. You wait ther’, honeybun. Ah’ll be back in a pinch.” Boothill’s clacking boots were heard as got up and walked out into the hallway, and he said something on the way out, voice trailing off.
“Y’know, you should wear some clothes. At least a hoodie, or somethin’. It’s a tad rude to greet frien’s or strangers without at LEAST a shirt.” Elios flushed, self-consciously pulling his heated blanket over his body. “I forgot, sorry. Alarm came on just as I finished puking my guts out. Can’t really find the time to look decent in between those lines.”
All he heard in response was a hearty laugh.
Boothill returned a short time later. Elios was wearing a black hoodie, and seemed comfortable in bed. He was burrowed under all of his blankets and blowing his nose, leaving some used tissues on his nightstand.
“‘Ere.”
The cyborg handed Elios a cup of hot tea.
“Made it in yer kitchen. It should taste a lil’ bitter.” Elios nodded and sipped, then sputtered and coughed, placing the cup on his nightstand.
“Ugh! You didn’t tell me it would be THAT bitter. It tastes horrendous!!”
“I know, but it’ll at least keep ya on the mend.”
Elios quickly gulped some more tea and put it down. Both of them were silent, and Boothill shut the door, darkness engulfing the once bright room. Elios seemed relieved, a relaxed sound leaving his dry lips. The cyborg tapped his thigh impatiently. “Do ya need sum company?”
The man in bed was silent at the question, and muttered; “Won’t you get sick if you lay next to me?”
“Not easily.”
Elios sighed in annoyance, then sniffled and scooted to the other side, taking his huge mound of blankets with him.
“Fine.” He spoke softly. “Lay beside me. Boots, hat, gun and coat off first, though. Make sure to pass me my tea, too.”
Boothill grumbled as he took his gear off and placed it off to the side on the floor beside Elios’s crutch, then climbed into bed, nestled beside his sick friend. He moved his blue mug over to the other side of the bed.
Elios’s stiff position softened.
“Nothing too intimate this time.”
Boothill’s head shifts back when Elios embraces his semi-cold metal, and returns the favour. “Ah know that, don’ worry.”
“Good.”
Elios gave him a soft nuzzle on his chest with the side of his head, and started drifting off as Boothill played with his short hair.
“…Thank you….”
”Yer welcome. Goodnight, sugar.”