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It seems obvious that Blade's body, which has stitched itself back together after being torn to shreds barely recognizable as anything remotely human, should be able to easily fight off something as simple as the flu.
Dan Heng curses Yaoshi on his behalf for never making anything that simple.
He knows by now that Blade's immortality is far from perfect. Every death leaves behind scars. His body heals, but not always correctly, leaving his fingers crooked and bent from old breaks that couldn't be set properly before they fused again. Blade's pain tolerance is off the charts, and he can function properly on far less sleep and sustenance than any normal person, but even he collapses eventually.
Still, this is something new. The terrifying immortal executioner, bedridden with a fever. Kafka says their last mission must have pushed him too hard, left him just weak enough for a common illness to take hold.
As much as Dan Heng misses the express, he's relieved this collaboration had them all meeting on the hunters' current ship. Blade is already sleeping fitfully in the overly fancy infirmary. He hates to imagine him riding out his fever on Dan Heng's floor bed (and it would have to be in his kind-of-room. He wouldn't agree to being anywhere else, even in this state).
Silver Wolf yawns beside him, and he glances over at her. She's playing some kind of rhythm game, but she's messy, late on every other note.
"You can go to bed," he says quietly. "I'll watch him."
Silver Wolf doesn't protest, giving up on her game and turning the tablet off. "Great," she mumbles, standing up. "Call Kafka if he gets worse, or whatever." She looks at him, and Dan Heng is suddenly struck with the same dread he feels whenever Caelus is about to make a truly awful joke. "Don't kiss him or you'll get sick too."
Dan Heng refuses to dignify that comment with a response other than clenching his jaw and stubbornly turning away. He wasn't going to. Not only is Blade sick and likely contagious, he's delirious with fever, and they're not… there, yet.
Sure, they'd kissed once, at Scalegorge Waterscape. Bailu's new experimental mara treatment had been shockingly helpful, leaving Blade stable enough for a long walk, exchanging fragmented memories. He'd stumbled through a faint recollection of Yingxing and Dan Feng's engagement, a scene Dan Heng recognized from his own dreams. He'd recounted the dream, Blade occasionally interrupting asking for more details—what did w—what did they drink? were they looking at the water, or the statue?
Dan Heng had looked up and seen Blade crying. Silently, like he hadn't even noticed himself. He hadn't thought—just acted on instinct, pulled him down, and kissed him. It felt natural. Familiar.
They hadn't really talked about it. Just kept walking after Blade's tears were gone, hands brushing. And nothing had changed, really. Only now, when (they thought) no one was looking, occasionally Blade's scarred fingers would wrap around Dan Heng's.
Blade stirs, and Dan Heng snaps out of his embarrassment. He reaches for the glass of water at the bedside table. Blade needs to stay hydrated, and now that he's conscious—
Blade lunges at him, eyes wild with fever and mara. Dan Heng is knocked from his chair to the ground, Blade on top of him, hands around his throat.
"Of five people, three must pay the price," he gasps. He's shaking. Dan Heng thrashes, and almost summons his spear, but pauses. He doesn't want to hurt Blade, not if he can help it. Not when things have been so peaceful between them.
Instead, he hooks an ankle around Blade's, rolling them over. It's easier than it should be—even fueled by a mara episode, he's really out of it. It's also disturbingly easy to remove his hands from his throat.
Blade thrashes for a moment, hissing and spitting like a wild animal. "I'll kill you."
"You won't."
Blade wrenches a hand free and raises it to Dan Heng again, this time around the back of his neck. He pulls him down, and for a split second Dan Heng's stupid heart thinks he's going to kiss him again (which would definitely not help their situation). Instead, Blade just presses their foreheads together. He's burning up. Blade has always run warm, but not like this.
"Kill me," he hisses.
"I can't."
"Kill me."
"I—" Dan Heng feels his voice break. "I won't."
All of the fight left in Blade seems to die. His hand falls from his neck, and his eyes slip closed. Even mara can't overcome total exhaustion, it seems.
"Kill me. Please."
"I'm sorry."
Dan Heng isn't sure what he's apologizing for. Whatever Dan Feng did, to make Blade unable to die? Not being able to grant Blade that peace? Selfishly, not wanting to?
Carefully, he lifts Blade back into the bed. He clings weakly to his shirt, still mumbling.
"Kill me."
I can't. I won't. I'm sorry.
Dan Heng pushes the sweaty hair from Blade's face. He wants to find a wet towel for him, but he can't stand to leave him there, still quietly begging for death. After hesitating a moment, he summons some cloudhymn, pressing it gently to Blade's face. He still doesn't have much practice controlling it, using it as anything other than a weapon, but it seems to help. Blade's whispers fade, and he seems to fall into another fitful sleep.
An hour later, Himeko approaches, softly asking if he wants her to watch Blade for a while so he can get some sleep. Dan Heng refuses. He pretends not to notice her staring at their linked hands.
As it turns out, being a vidyadhra does not protect you from the flu either. Silver Wolf does not believe Dan Heng when he miserably insists they did not kiss.