Work Text:
“Go away, I’m busy - Linkara! Thought you’d catch me unawares, did you? Unbeknownst to you, I am ready for you at all times! I - Wait, what the hell is wrong with Spoony?” screeched the speaker by the door.
Linkara blinked; hearing Insano go almost seamlessly through three moods in one breath was dizzying. Maybe he should have carried Spoony to the door bridal-style instead of fireman-style, so Insano could see who it was immediately, but he wasn’t sure he could have knocked that way. “He’s sick,” Linkara replied. “We were halfway through the movie, and he sort of went pale and ran out; I found him in the men’s room puking his guts out.”
Spoony made a noise halfway between a moan and a hiccup.
“Wait right there,” demanded the speaker. A few seconds later, footsteps approached the door at high speed. Linkara took a step back as the door flew open; Insano stared at him with an unreadable expression, then gestured into the entranceway.
“Bring him in,” Insano said at a lower volume than usual. “Set him on the couch for right now. Is he feverish? Has he been able to keep fluids down since he started vomiting?”
“I don’t think so, and we didn’t try,” Linkara explained, stepping over the threshold carefully, so as not to jostle Spoony any more than necessary. “At least, he doesn’t feel warm to me. Clammy, maybe.” He edged past Insano, made the corner into the living room, and set Spoony down carefully on the sofa.
Spoony groaned, then coughed. “I don’t feel hot,” he said, opening his eyes and squinting at the overhead light. “Nauseous and light-headed, but not like I’m running a fever.”
Insano slipped on the earpieces of his stethoscope and pressed the other end to Spoony’s chest. “Respiration’s normal,” he mumbled. “Heartbeat’s a little elevated.” He whipped out a penlight and shone it in Spoony’s eyes, then his ears. “Pupil response is normal, eyes are a little bloodshot but no sign of infection.” He dug a tongue depressor out of the pocket of his lab coat and peeled off the wrapper. “Open wide, Spoony.”
Spoony managed to go even paler. “If you stick that in my mouth, I will for sure throw up on you,” he threatened.
Insano sighed and jammed it back in his pocket. “Don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back. Linkara, go get a cup of ice and another cup of cold water from the fridge.”
Linkara shook his head as Insano disappeared down the basement stairs. “Is he actually a medical doctor?” he asked, bewildered.
“He claims to be,” Spoony said weakly. “I’ve never demanded to see his license or anything. Tell him to make the room stop spinning, okay?”
Linkara frowned and tucked a stray lock of Spoony’s hair back behind his ear. “I’ll see what I can do,” he assured him as he headed for the kitchen.
Insano was back and setting several peculiar instruments on the coffee table when Linkara got back with the water. “Ah, good,” he said, indicating a side table with his chin. “Set those over there and see if you can break up a couple of the ice cubes.”
“Sure.” Linkara plucked a sonic screwdriver from the inside pocket of his vest and held it right next to one of the ice wedges on low power; it pinged and then shattered obediently.
Insano pointed something that looked like a cop’s radar gun at Spoony’s head and pressed a large green button on the grip; it made a series of electronic noises followed by a sound like a large spring being plucked. “Oh, dear,” Insano muttered, leaning in and peering at the readout until his nose nearly touched the tiny screen.
“What is it?” Linkara and Spoony said in near-unison.
“Are you experiencing any muscle aches or weakness?” Insano asked, looking over the unwieldy medical scanner with a worried look.
“Definitely muscle weakness,” Spoony agreed. “That’s why Linkara was carrying me. Uh, my abdominal muscles are kind of sore, but I think that was from projectile vomiting at the movie theater.”
Insano adjusted his goggles. “Did you eat any shrimp or other seafood in the last 48 hours?”
Spoony’s face twisted with nausea. “Yuck, no, and if you keep talking about food I’m gonna yak again.”
“Linkara, fetch the wastepaper basket from the den, and make sure it has a plastic bag liner,” Insano instructed. “I’m sorry, Spoony, but I need to determine the appropriate course of treatment. Any food served cold or at room temperature?”
“Ugh,” Spoony groaned. “Wait, yeah, I did, there was chicken salad at brunch. Didn’t smell funny or anything, though.” He belched and clapped a hand to his mouth.
Linkara darted back into the room and set the wastebasket on the floor by Spoony’s head. “So what’s the diagnosis, Doctor?” he asked Insano, shooting his nemesis a sharp glance.
“Food poisoning,” Insano said, “and my scans indicate a 99% probability that it’s a variety of norovirus.” He tapped the scanner with one finger, frowning. “On the one hand, that means it shouldn’t last more than a few days.”
“Days?” Spoony wailed, clutching his temples.
Insano nodded grimly. “On the other hand,” he continued, “there aren’t any existing antivirals for it, and it’d probably take as long for me to develop one as for the virus to run its course. We’ll just have to nurse him through it.” As if it were an afterthought, he fished an extra pair of latex gloves from his pockets. “And try not to catch it ourselves. Here, Linkara, put these on.”
Linkara did so, then handed Spoony an ice chip. “Here,” he said softly, “we don’t want you getting dehydrated, and you don’t look like you’re up to drinking yet.”
Spoony opened his mouth and let Linkara set the ice on his tongue. He looked like he might start crying.
“He actually is running a little warm,” Insano explained. “Not over a hundred degrees yet, and hopefully he won’t get that high. But someone needs to keep an eye on him.” He turned away. “I don’t suppose you can stick around for a day or two?”
“Of course,” Linkara blurted. “Harvey can keep things going back home for a day. Let me text him and Nimue, to let them know what’s up.”
Insano patted Spoony on the forehead and leaned down to whisper to him. “Try to keep working on the ice,” he murmured. “I’ll send Linkara to the store for crackers and broth in the morning.”
Spoony’s gaze wandered around Insano’s face before finding his eyes. “Okay,” Spoony mumbled. “I think I might need a nap, though.”
Insano darted past Linkara to the linen closet and grabbed a blanket. By the time he got back, Linkara was sitting crosslegged on the floor, holding Spoony’s hand and reminiscing about some review involving the Critic and a hail of bullets. Insano slipped between them, unfolded the blanket, and tucked it around Spoony, right up to his chin.
Linkara looked up. “I’ll sit with him for a few hours, if that works for you,” he offered.
Insano nodded. “I need to put my child to bed, too,” he said, sounding more tired than before. “Let me know if you need anything.”
---
Linkara set one bag down, turned the doorknob until it unlatched, leaned on the door, picked up the bag, and hustled towards the kitchen. “How is he doing?” he stage-whispered as he passed the living room.
“He’s asleep again,” Insano mumbled. “Hold on just a moment.” Shoes scuffed on the floor as Insano climbed to his feet, then joined Linkara in the kitchen. “It’s good that he’s resting,” Insano continued, “but I’m worried about dehydration. He hasn’t been able to keep down anything but the ice chips yet.”
Linkara set the three bags down on the counter and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll sit with him for a while,” he offered. “You look like you need a nap yourself.”
Waving him off, Insano assured him, “I got as much sleep as you did.” He reached into the bags and removed two onions, a head of garlic, a stalk of celery, and a whole chicken. “Let me see what I can do with these,” he mumbled, more towards the chicken than Linkara.
Linkara scooped up another cup of ice and went back to Spoony’s side, leaving Insano to his culinary sciences. He was greeted by the sight of Son of Insano sitting on Oreo’s head as they both nuzzled Spoony’s hand and whimpered.
“Don’t worry,” Linkara whispered to the pair. “He’ll be fine in a day or so.”
“Tiki-li-li,” SoI murmured sadly. Oreo whined, turned around three times, and settled into a loaf by the foot of the sofa.
Linkara took the office chair Insano had dragged in on his shift last night. Spoony was still pale and sweating heavily; Linkara rolled a pair of ice cubes in the dishtowel he’d brought with him and laid it carefully over Spoony’s brow.
Spoony shifted in place, mumbling something about the Guardian and not being able to swim.
“No, you’re right, that’s bullcrap,” Linkara murmured, hoping agreeing with Spoony would be reassuring.
It didn’t seem to be working; Spoony’s face screwed up as if he were tasting something vile. “Fuck is a paladin, my ass,” he muttered.
“You’re right, you’re right,” Linkara assured him, running a hand through Spoony’s damp, tangled hair. “It didn’t make any sense at all.”
Spoony turned towards the touch and mumbled a few more syllables that Linkara couldn’t make any sense of. The scent of something cooking drifted in from the kitchen.
Scooting closer, Linkara whispered, “It’s okay, Spoony, it’s fine, you don’t have to play it again. Just rest, okay? It’s fine.”
Spoony tossed under the blanket, half-rolling in place and getting the end of the blanket tangled between his feet. With a cry, he bolted upright, eyes wide and wild. “Betrayal!” he shouted, flailing with both hands and bumping the glass of ice.
Linkara darted forward and caught it before it fell over. “Spoony! It’s okay!” he shouted back. “I’m here! I’ll take care of it.”
Spoony blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Champion’s not supposed to fight the Guardian,” he mumbled. “Avatar is.”
“If the Avatar’s out of commission, the Champion’s allowed to step in for him,” Linkara said, although he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. How Spoony’s video game metaphysics manifested in the real world was even harder to track than how magic and hypertime interacted.
Spoony shook his head. “Linkara?” he asked, wobbling slightly in place. “Why are you still here?”
“Because you’re not feeling well, and someone has to look after you,” Linkara explained. “Isn’t that right, guys?”
“Likili!” SoI chirped. Oreo whuffled and thumped her tail on the ground.
“Oh.” Spoony listed slightly to the left, then caught himself. “In that case, could someone walk me to the bathroom?”
“Sure thing,” Linkara said, draping Spoony’s arm over his shoulder and turning him in the right direction.
---
Insano hip-checked the door and carried a tray with three steaming mugs into the living room. “Oh, for science’s sake,” he grumbled, “if you’re going to give him a sponge bath, at least put some gloves on, Nurse Linkara. You’re going to get sick, too, and I am not making you chicken soup.”
Linkara snorted. “I’m just trying to cool him off,” he griped back, setting the dishtowel ice pack down in an empty glass. “I’m pretty sure he does have a fever; at least, he was having fever dreams before he woke up enough to shower.”
“It was less showering and more standing under the water until my hair felt less crunchy,” Spoony admitted. “Although I did manage to keep that last glass of water down.” He reached down and scratched Oreo behind the ears.
“Well, this won’t exactly help with cooling him down,” Insano admitted as he set the tray on the coffee table, “but it should provide some vitamins and replace some electrolytes.” He handed a mug to Linkara and another one to Spoony, then passed out spoons.
Spoony ignored the spoon and took a long sip. “Mama ‘Sano’s chicken soup?” he asked.
“No,” Insano admitted, “it’s my recipe. And it makes eight quarts, so there’s plenty left over, plus the poached chicken meat once you’re a little stronger.”
“Just as long as we’re not making chicken salad with it,” Spoony said, making a face. “I don’t think I want to even see that for a while.” He sat up in the center of the sofa and arranged the blanket over his legs; Oreo shuffled over and lay down on his feet, yawning.
Linkara shifted from the desk chair to the left end of the sofa next to Spoony. “I’m sure we can think of something else to do with it,” he said. “Can you make chicken tenders from already-cooked chicken?”
Insano snorted into his mug; droplets of hot broth splashed back onto his goggles. “No,” he started, wiping his face with a sleeve.
“Twikili-li,” SoI corrected him, bouncing onto the sofa and up to Spoony’s shoulder.
Sighing, Insano explained, “Technically, that would be chicken croquettes, although yes, they are technically fried. I was thinking something closer to enchiladas, myself.” He sat down on the other end of the sofa, so that he was next to his child.
Spoony leaned back and sighed. “Neither one of you had to do this, you know,” he murmured.
“But we did,” Linkara said, smiling.
“And we will,” Insano finished.
Spoony draped an arm over each of their shoulders and squeezed briefly. “Thanks,” he said, his voice rough.
“No problem,” they both replied, locking gazes over his head in silent understanding.