Work Text:
Staring down at the used tissue in your hand, the dampened towelette feeling rather hefty against a trembling palm, you were faced with the realization that you were, infact, an idiot.
An idiot for being unable to accept help when it was extended to you. An idiot for being unwilling to take a break from the duties that lay across your shoulders.
You never gave yourself an inch when it came to your job.
One could call you a workaholic, but you'd argue that you simply found yourself in a chipper state of mind when you busied yourself with menial tasks; papers, service, and the like.
Overtime might as well be counted to your regular schedule- a testament to the labor laws that prevented you from pushing further- and you often found yourself walking home late in various degrees of weather because of it.
And when someone had offered you a ride home? You turned them down. Persisting with a pitiful willingness to walk home in the cold, pouring rain.
Where did that get you?
Home. In bed. Right where you never wanted to be.
You had the unique tendency of squandering your sickened self away- deep within the confines of your room like a dog with mange- not bothering to spare the world a glimpse of your existence.
But you could not hide your ailments forever.
Which is why you found yourself being personally smothered by the tender care of another like it was their life's mission to ensure that you recovered from your illness accordingly; sparing you no time alone, they stood at your side- every waking hour- so that you could have the care you needed.
The cultist reached out, fingers splaying across your forehead; the dichotomy between temperatures left you furrowing your brows, facial muscles scrunching lamely.
"Ugh... your hands are so cold.." You mumbled, visibly frustrated at the realization that everyone else seemed to be comfortable; except for you.
"Hm.." Two Time observed, muttering to themself as they observed your sickly, withering frame. "..You are still terribly feverish.."
Being inflicted with an ailment of any sort was considered a fragile, private matter– between the infected and the Spawn's watchful eye– and to say that they were underprepared in the matter of caring for you would be an understatement.
They were not a healer by any means.
But they would not leave you helpless.
"Fret not, dearest.." The cultist would coo, gingerly stroking your face- running their fingers down your flushed cheeks- in an attempt to soothe your fever. "..I shall be the one to alleviate your distemper."
Because if not them, then who else?
Frowning as they pulled away, the cold their fingers brought to your face dissipating- leaving you just as warm and uncomfortable as you had started.
Trailing the cultist's frame as they slipped out of your bedroom, door squeaking on its poorly lubricated hinges as they tugged it closed– you were left to boil in your own feverish delirium.
Your head buzzed amidst the silence, motionlessly sat in your bed- the covers draped awkwardly across your sweltering frame- now, you figured, was the time to chastise yourself for being so stupid.
Had you merely taken a moment to acknowledge the kindness of another, you could've saved yourself the trouble of walking home in the rain.
Could've saved yourself the trouble of being sick, in bed.
You argued that you could at least work from your bed, that you had a laptop for a reason; but even then, you were denied. So the only thing that was left to do was to sit and succumb to your fate.
It was like the world's twisted way of forcing you to take a break, and you didn't like it.
Your ears twitched, minding the subtle squeak of your bedroom door as it slid open; making way for a familiar face.
"I come baring tea."
Your brows raised, watching the cultist emerge from your doorway with a steaming mug of tea was not something you expected– you didn't even know you had tea in your kitchen. Maybe that was a sign to organize it.
You additionally weren't expecting to see a bundle of white fur pushing past your temporary care giver just to get to you; nose twitching wildly as it sniffed the sickly air.
Suppose in the midst of your ill-fueled neglect, your fuzzy little companion had grown rather worried itself.
"Hey, bud..." You mumbled, watching as the creature pulled itself atop your bed- albeit, with minor difficulty- and settled across your lower abdomen. As if it knew exactly where you were hurting.
Your lips pursed at the thought, reaching out with a trembling hand to shakily stroke the rabbit between its lop ears; earning you a content cluck in response.
"..And the warmest of fruits." The cultist grinned, presenting you with none other than a pristine, round orange; its vibrantly porous skin shined beneath the glow of your bedroom light.
Shuffling to sit down beside you at the edge of your bed, they swung one leg over the other– giving you a reassuring smile as you stared them down, they moved to peel the orange– gently cracking the crisp, waxy peel of the citrus fruit, Two Time watched the subtle flicks of your expression as the aldehydic fragrance stung your stuffy nose; forcing your face to crinkle uncomfortably.
Digging a finger into the core of the orange, they delicately split the fruit into its respective, natural sections. Scraping away the spongy, white pith with the tip of a fingernail; Two Time gingerly prodded your lips with a section of the juicy produce, cradling your lower jaw with an opposing hand as you carefully chewed- cautious of your own teeth.
It wouldn't do much to satiate the dull pang of hunger your body felt, but they hoped it would at least help quell the nausea that kept you bedridden, and sweeten your sour soul.
"Now, as I am aware- you have been having difficulty finding slumber?"
"That obvious, huh?" You grumbled, face scrunching as they moved to brush a dribble of orange juice from the corner of your mouth, the pad of their thumb swiping against supple skin.
Aside from your visible frustration, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you had been losing sleep; that hopelessly droopy look on your face, the near-most bruising colour beneath your eyes.
They'd figure it would be more endearing if not for the fact it was rather upsetting to see you in such an unfortunate state.
"Very! Nothing slips past me. I'm quite observant. Just one of the many gifts i've been bestowed." Two Time chirped, happily offering you another orange slice before you- reasonably- shook your head; as sweet as the gesture was, you weren't particularly interested in eating much.
They hummed, pausing briefly at the declination of their offer- they leaned over to place the remaining pieces of fruit on your nightstand. Opting to take hold of the mug they had previously sat aside.
"And I hope that this brew will help to soothe your wildsh thoughts," Gently pressing their lips together, they blowed at the warm steam that wafted from the golden brew. "..Chamomile and honey."
Slowly raising the rim of the mug to your lips, delicately cradling the ceramic dish in the palms of their hands, they tipped the cup towards you; allowing you to take slow, relaxed laps of the tea.
"..careful, it's hot." Two Time cooed, cautiously watching as you sipped from the glass with their gracious assistance; which you could only roll your eyes at.
You wanted to scream. Tell them that you were not a child, and that you could handle a cup of hot tea.
But you didn't. Stifling your feelings as you mulled over the soft, flowery taste in your mouth. Accompanied by a rich, subtle sweetness– honey, you could only assume– it temporarily sought to soothe the sore of your throat.
You stuck your tongue out, the warm beverage settling in your stomach like a ten pound sack– you stared blankly at the cup of tea in their hands– you silently watched as they sat the mug back down.
You hated this. Feeling so stuck. Restless and yet, without the desire to move. Tired with the inability to fall asleep.
You didn't want to leech off of Two Time's odd sense of responsibility, or anyone for that matter.
And perhaps that's what landed you in this position. The desire you held to provide for those you cared about outweighed the need for care for your own wellbeing.
"You don't have to do this.." You mumbled, blinking as angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes- not because you were sad, no- distressed by your sheer helplessness. Frustrated by your own infirmity.
"Nonsense," Two Time uttered, hands reaching out to stroke your face once more before finding respite in cradling your warm cheeks. "Whether I have, or don't have to do this makes for a redundant expression.."
"I am doing this because I want to." Their palm paused over the side of your jaw, simply holding your face in their hands; a fond look found in their hollow features.
"..You're going to get sick too.." You rasped, voice hoarse and broken from insatiable coughing fits; and yet you still protested their care anyways.
Ever valiant, you were- and stubborn, you always will be.
Never a day in which you stopped worrying for the wellbeing of another.
And there would never be a time in which you fully allowed someone to care for you.
"Then we can be ill together." They assured, not seeming nearly as bothered by the thought of wallowing in bed amongst their own germs as you were; so long as you were included in the equation.
You didn't seem convinced.
Because who in their right mind wanted to take the chance of contracting a momentarily debilitating illness.
"If anyone deserves such treatment, it would most certainly be you." Two Time murmured, breath licking the side of your face whilst they whispered in your ear.
Sweet, gentle words that frankly, you did not deserve.
You did this to yourself. Every choice, every action, every crucial decision that led to your current predicament had been self-inflicted.
You chose to keep working. You chose to ignore the blistering warning signs. And now you lay an inconvenience to all- weak in the eyes you wish never saw you.
Your shoulders sagged, eyes dull and half-lidded- you found yourself falling victim to the gentle affections provided to you- allowing your head to be tilted back against the pillows whilst Two Time moved to silently stroke your hair, a fond look curving their face.
For someone who urged for the breaks of others, you seemed to enjoy protesting and writhing beneath their care; not seeing the point of stopping until either your mind or body gave out.
You were a hypocrite. In every sense of the word.
Because you would always be there to take care of them.
But who took care of you ?