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Ed drifted in and out of consciousness. All he knew was that any time he opened his eyes, Stede was there. There was always a damp cloth on his head, there was always a new dose of cold and flu tablets, there was always a warm mug of tea laden with sugar and honey. There was music softly playing through the sound system, or there was something flickering on the TV. He longed to pull Stede into the bed beside him and bury deep into his chest and sleep, but even the slightest touch against his skin was like needles.
"I'm sorry," he managed to croak out at one point.
"There's nothing to be sorry about," Stede had replied.
Ed dreaded having to get out of bed. Stede had to help him, get an arm under his shoulders and walk beside him. It was like all of the muscles in Ed's body had stopped working, he couldn't even stand by himself long enough to retain his dignity in the bathroom. Thank fuck they had an en suite. He noticed Stede used his longer toilet breaks to strip the bed and put on new, clean sheets after Ed would inevitably sweat right through all the bedding in the time between doses of paracetamol when his fever began to ramp up again.
Stede dutifully fed him spoonfuls of bone broth and other soups to try and get some nutrition in him, but Ed couldn't even manage a full bowl at a time. His appetite was completely gone. He just barely had enough energy through the fatigue, fever and delirium to hope Stede wasn't worrying about him too much.
On day six Ed opened his eyes to the sun peaking in through the edge of the window blind. It didn't hurt his eyes. He yawned and braced himself for all of the sensations he had been subjected to to rush in. Nothing. He experimentally tried to sit up. Weak, still so weak, but the pain was… gone? He shuffled backwards so he was sitting up against the backboard. His stomach rumbled. He was hungry. He let out a tiny huff of a laugh.
Stede quietly opened the door and bustled in with a tray. "Oh!" he said as he looked up. "Good morning! How are you feeling today?"
"Good," Ed said, voice coming out hoarse. "Not one hundred percent, but much better."
"You look it!" Stede beamed. He put the tray down on the bedside table, a steaming mug of tea, a small mountain of tablets, and a small bowl of broth. He reached out and put his hand against Ed's forehead. "I think your fever's broken. Oh, thank god."
"You're telling me," Ed said. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."
"Well, I only brought a small bowl of broth up, I wasn't sure how long you'd stay asleep. Would you like me to go and make you some toast?"
"In a minute," Ed said. "First I just want a goddamn cuddle, now that my skin doesn't feel like it's made of knives."
Stede smiled a watery smile, and Ed could see the tears in his eyes. "Of course."
Stede sat down beside Ed and Ed buried himself in his chest. He closed his eyes and inhaled, and never wanted to let go as Stede's arms surrounded him. He was finally home.