Archive of Our Own

So Flowery is in a bit of a predicament. A strange one he still can't figure out and is possibly panicking over. But everything is fine! The lightners are far away, Asgore is getting acquainted with the castle, so he has time. 

Time to ponder what he's supposed to do about the headache drilling his skull equivalent, the fatigue that weighs him down so much he'd decided to lie on the floor and now couldn't get back up, the blistering heat suddenly filling the castle, and the feeling of his stomach twisting that keeps barrelling into him like a truck. 

Is he ill? Is this what Asgore felt when he was huddled on his air mattress, taken down by a cold? Was the churning in his abdomen the nausea that made Asgore throw up once? Oh he hopes he doesn't have to throw up. It was probably different for flowers, and Flowery himself had never gotten ill in his time as a flower. Only Green had.

He's not sure, but whatever these sensations are, they're really killing him and eating his precious time. 

“Flowery?" 

He startles at the curious voice - unmistakable Aqua's, not Asgore. Whipping his head around to find her is a mistake that sends him into a dizzying slump. He lays back down, arms tuckered out from holding his weight for just a few seconds. This isn't good.

Aqua leans into his view, upside down.

"Hi Aqua…” he mumbles, voice all raspy.

"What are you doing?”

"Just… playing a game…” talking alone hurts his throat. What other pain is going to accost him next? Is breathing going to hurt soon? Why is he in so much pain?

“What kind of game?" Aqua claps her hands excitedly.

“One where…. You lie on the floor, and try not to throw up…" oh, the stomach churning is back, and it hurts. So much for waiting it out. If only he could have gotten up in the time it was gone.

"Uuu, I'm gonna try it too!” Aqua lays on the floor next to him. 

Flowery closes his eyes, breathing slowly through all the aching.

Aqua hums to fill the silence. 

Flowery almost falls asleep. 

Aqua starts getting bored, her humming stopped. 

Flowery tries getting up. His limbs respond a little, arms now above him instead of by his side.

Aqua jumps up, “I'm bored. This game isn't fun," she waddles up to him, crouched by his face. 

He chuckles, “Never said it was… I don't really like this game either…" 

“You sound weird," Aqua notes curiously. She tilts her head, balancing on a foot. 

“Just… a little tired,” more like exhausted. He needs to get up, before Green or Blue find him, or worse, Asgore. 

The thought alone fills him with a burst of power, rushing through his arms. He grits his teeth through the aches. He's almost up—sort of, he's up on his forearms. Now he just needs to lift himself to his knees, and then feet. Why won't he go up anymore? His arms are about to give out. This isn't working. 

Flowery collapses again. 

Aqua comments like she's watching a show, clapping her hands, "You were so close! Close!” she pokes him, "You're all soggy.” 

The golden flower huffs a small laugh, "’S sweat… feels really hot… " 

“It does? I don't feel hot." 

Flowery sighs. So the heat is just a him thing. Okay, he just needs more time. But he had tasks earlier… What were they again? Right.

Flowery looks Aqua in the eye, "Aqua… I've got an important task for you… a game…" 

She lights up in intrigue, “Uuu, what is it?" 

"I need you… to find Green… and give them this,” he fishes out the crinkled paper that holds the list of foods for Asgore as well as the heroes. He was supposed to give them this a while ago… but his legs had started to buckle under his own mass, and then it started to feel like the weight of this dark world was pressing on his shoulders, and he’d needed to lie down… 

"Okay!” Aqua snatches up the paper. 

"Thanks… Aqua,” Flowery smiles, reaching to pat her head, “Tell Green to give you a flavigne…. I'll pay for you later…" 

“Yayyyyy!" Aqua bounds off to fulfill her new task, leaving Flowery still collapsed. 

He's starting to feel marginally better. Maybe enough to get up? Or at least, sit up using support. Flowery drags himself, painfully slow, to a nearby wall. It takes everything he has to just sit up, and then, riding the surge of power from sitting up, he struggles to his feet. 

He's up! And dizzy, and sick… and still feels like throwing up… but he's up! Heavily leaning on a wall, but still up. That's a win in his books! Now he just needs to stay up, and then…. And then complete the next tasks. He's supposed to… make rounds, check on each flower before finding Asgore again… unless Asgore needed him now, in which he'd have to go asap… but like this, he might end up as more of a burden. He hopes Asgore doesn't need him right now. 

What next? He should go check on Yellow. Yellow won't question him, not too much. Green would worry and Blue would force bedrest on him. Seth would pester him and Orange would panic. The last thing he needs to do is disturb them, or to cause a ruckus. 

Flowery's just fine! He's already feeling better. 

—

Maybe he shouldn't have jinxed it. 

It's not like he's eaten much since he started to feel sick, but his body protests and his stomach revolts with twisting nausea. He clutches his abdomen as he makes his way to Yellow's room.

The double doors are more difficult to push than they've ever been. He ends up shouldering his way in and almost completely toppling over when they do give in under his weight. Lying down would be wonderful right about now… 

No no no, Flowery has tasks to attend to! Friends to be there for! And a king to serve!

He'll be fine, he'll feel better soon. That's how normal illnesses worked, right? Asgore would sleep them off with some medicine when he could get some, but Flowery doesn't have time for that. He just needs to take it easy for a bit, to breathe slowly, to walk gently. Just deep, slow breaths… 

“Flowery! Hey there buddy!" 

A hand slaps his back. He almost falls over from the impact. His body protests instantly, flaring up with aches.

“Pard’ner?!" Yellow clamours around him as he catches his breath again, hands on his knees, hunched over, “Did I hur’ ya!? Oh I'm sorry! I'm a criminell for hurtin’ ya…” 

"You're fine Yellow, you're fine…" through gasps that sound progressively closer to groans, Flowery tries to reassure the cowboy, “You didn't do this…”

"Y-yer sure buddy?” 

"Yeah…” he starts tipping over, a bout of dizziness ramming into him. Lanky but steady arms catch him. 

“Flowery, buddy?! Oh I dids this didn't I? It's alls my fault, I hurt you…” Yellow leads him to a wall to lean on. Flowery doesn't fight it, letting his legs collapse. Yellow goes down with him, an arm around his shoulder, "Want me to call Blue? He'll fix ya right up.” 

Flowery shakes his head, "It's all right Yellow… I'm just tired. You didn't do anything, promise," he tries to offer his usually confident smile, but it feels forced.

“Ya sure?" Yellow's voice falters. 

Flowery lets his head rest on the wall, “Yeah… just give me a few minutes, then we'll get sparring, yeah?” 

“We don't need t’ spar today, yer not looking fine and dandy at all!” 

Flowery waves him off, "Just need a few minutes…" the silence and lack of movement is doing him wonders! He's already feeling better. Marginally.

Yellow sits unsurely while Flowery keeps nodding off, his fingers drumming on the other's shoulder, feet tapping nervously. 

The nausea is subsiding. Yellow's tapping is a nice sensation. The pounding in his head fades to a quieter background noise. Okay, he might be able to get up. Yeah, he can get up. 

Flowery untangles Yellow’s arm from his shoulder. He gets up slowly. 

“Buddy? You feelin’ better?” 

Flowery wipes his sweaty brow, “Phew! I feel like a hundred Flowery dollars!" He does not, but he is better! “Don't worry about me, partner. What do you say to you and me sparring a little? In preparation for your show?" 

Yellow stands up all excited, “If yer sure yer all better. I'dn love to spar! Been a while since we'd done practised.” 

Flowery pats the cowboy on his shoulder, ignoring how his arm still weighs a kilo - he's glad it doesn't feel like a tonne anymore, “Of course!” 

In hindsight, his vision swaying and blurring a little should have been a warning sign. And it was, just one he didn't heed. 

—

Flowery slowly comes to. His head hurts more than before, less of an aching pain and more of stabbing one. What happened? Why is he on the floor? He'd only just gotten up. 

"Flowery, dear?” 

That's… Blue’s voice. Why is Blue here? 

Ow. His head flares up. Is his headache worse? It feels like his HP has decreased a bit.

"Flowery! I'm so sorry! It’s alls my fault—I shouldn't of shot at you!” Yellow shot him? They were sparring, weren't they? Is that why his head hurts more? Did he not dodge? He can't remember… ugh, his head really hurts. It's still boiling too. 

A flick of fingers, followed by a raincloud drizzling cool water. Flowery relishes in the damp feeling fighting off the blistering heat clinging to his skin. He sighs in relief, the pain in his head subsiding for something a bit more manageable. He almost falls back asleep when a cold hand touches his forehead, “Oh dear, you're feeling very warm, Flowery…" 

Uh oh. If Blue figured he wasn't at hundred percent, he might actually force Flowery to rest, or at least convince him to take it easy. 

But Flowery did not have the time for that. 

So he peels open his eyelids despite them begging otherwise. He blinks to clear the blurry edges of his vision, looking at Blue. "I'm… just fine!” 

“You don't look very fine. How's your head?" 

His head is… still in pain, as if claws gripped it and tried to crush it. But not the same pain as when he first woke up, "Better…” he reaches up to cradle his head with a slight groan.

“That's good to know. It seems like you've healed the bullet from Yellow." 

Oh, so he did fail to dodge. Poor Yellow… probably worrying himself sick over accidentally hurting Flowery. He needs to get up and reassure the cowboy before he takes it too far. Flowery forces himself up. He feels better after being soaked in Blue's raincloud. Everything feels a little less like he's in a sauna. 

“You're looking rather pale," Blue’s concern does not fade in the face of Flowery's reassuring grin, however his attention is stolen by Yellow, who has one of his guns pointed at himself, mumbling despairingly, "Oh, Yellow,” Blue sighs fondly, so much patience and loved packed into just one word.

Flowery waves him towards his partner's direction, "Go on and help him… I'll be fine… and let him know it's not his fault… and that… I don't blame him, alright?” 

Blue nods serenely, a lightly exasperated but mostly loving smile crossing his face, "Yes, I will do so. But do take it easy, Flowery. If you're not feeling well, perhaps go to Green.” 

Flowery chuckles, “Of course!" 

Maybe in any other situation, but he doesn't have the time. 

No matter how much his body protests, Flowery will get up and continue his rounds. 

—

His body protests a lot. He's currently leaning on a wall, a step away from collapsing. So he hasn't taken any steps in some time; glued to the wall, really. Heh, ‘glue!’ His voice clip echoes in the silence, a little distorted.  

“Big Brooooooo!" A voice yells, echoing like a call and response to his voice clip. 

A tiny body barrels into him at high speeds. Flowery grits his teeth as a wave of pain erupts from his abdomen. Normally he'd catch his precious little sister, but with his addled brain barely registering her voice he doesn't even see her. 

They fall into a small heap on the floor, Flowery gasping through the pain and Orange lifting her head with a big smile, "Haha! I caught you off guard this tim—” she stops abruptly, noticing her big brother groaning, “Big bro? What's wrong?" 

He's really glad Orange is so small, or her weight would be crushing his currently fragile body, “Nothing… just… didn't see you there…” oh, all that progress in getting better was just set back. He feels worse than ever. 

"Are you hurt!? Did someone do something!?" Enraged, Orange rears up her fists for a fight, “I'll beat up anyone that bullies you big bro! Who did it?!" 

"No no no, I'm okay Orange…” he pets her loosely while waiting for the world to stop spinning, “Just tired…" 

“What's wrong? You sound like you're hurt or something…” 

He isn't hurt, just really tired… and sick… he supposes this is what Green went through all these years ago as a flower. This is the first time any of them are experiencing being sick with a body. How awful… 

"Flowery?”

“I'm okay Orange…” the words fall out of his mouth like a slurry, each word dragging the next out clumsily.

Orange hops off him and yells about something as he lets his mind wander to nothing. He should get up before he falls asleep. But the floor is nice and cold… 

Flowery shakes his head, then groans at his headache spiking. Why now of all times? All these years to get sick and recover and his body decides now? When he's finally a human?? What rotten timing. 

And why did his stomach keep churning? There's a sickly taste rearing up in the back of his throat, strong and pungent and gross. Flowers, if this is what Asgore went through… Flowery’ll make sure this never happens again. Just as soon as he himself isn't ill.

As the pitter-patter of steps grows, Flowery pushes himself up lethargically into a sitting position. He's greeted with Orange and Aqua on Green's shoulder, the chef wearing a concerned expression. 

Uh oh, Green was the other flower Flowery needed to be wary of. If they figured Flowery wasn't feeling too good, they'd be quite adamant on making him rest. He only just managed to avoid Blue. 

Flowery jumps to his feet the moment they get close, swaying a little, “G-Green!" His throat is getting sore from all the talking, “How are the recipes coming along?" He tries clearing the dry lump choking him. All that manages to do is send himself into a coughing fit.

‘You’re sick,’ the sign Green procures says. Their face twists with a worried frown.

“Big bro, you're sick?!" Orange clamours, climbing on his shoulder to feel his face through her gloves.

"Uuu, is that why you couldn't get up earlier?” Aqua asks. 

“You couldn't get up earlier?!" Orange hugs his face, eyes wide and voice panicky, "Did I hurt you?!” 

He really loves them all, but all their voices were banging around his head like pots and pans. He's starting to slump over, balancing like a shoddily built tower. Flowers, he's so tired… 

Green pats his shoulder, ‘You should rest. I'll make you soup.’ 

That does sound wonderful (minus the soup, the idea of it alone worsens his nausea, even if he loves Green's cooking)… but he doesn't have the time. They're limited. He needs to get going, get working—being sick isn't going to stop him! 

“I'm… fine Green!" With a deep breath, Flowery draws himself to his full height and beams at them, “I'll take a break later if you're really worried… but you've gotta take care of the cafe." He turns to Aqua and Orange, “Can you two help them?” 

Before anyone can say a thing, he deposits Orange in Green’s hands and hops away on unsteady feet, “Thanks you two!" 

He successfully escapes from the trio after a few minutes of chasing, which is great for him because his legs are about to give out. His stomach churns. His throat hurts, he's starting to cough a lot more. And his headache is spiking. Running was not a good idea. 

Flowery leans headfirst on a wall, a groan escaping him. Maybe just a little nap wouldn't hurt… 

He finds the first door and peeks in. The lights are off. It looks relatively empty, and there's even some soft, plush cushions arranged neatly, like a little cot. It looks cozy, and very inviting to his exhausted body begging to lie down. 

He drags himself over and flops, curling into a ball. Just a few minutes… even with all his power, they all have limited time after all. He can't afford to waste much. Once the heroes made it to the castle, he'd have to be up and running nonstop.

So for now, even if it disturbs him to do so, he needs to rest his eyes a little, until the sick feeling in his stomach passes and the headache fades, until standing up doesn't feel like fighting gravity. 

—

He'd only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes, but when he finds himself waking up groggily, Flowery knows his nap lasted way longer. And yet, despite the knowledge, he can barely bring himself to move from his somewhat comfortable position. Flowers, it was hot… 

“Flowery?! Are you awake?! What am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to do…” a voice panics above him, wavering as if it paces back and forth. It sounds like Seth… “I'll—I’ll go get Blue! Or Green?” 

Oh, that wouldn't do. 

Flowery forces his eyes open to light. He squeezes them shut when his headache pulse like a hammer brought down on his head. His shifting and groaning alert Seth, “Oh! You’re awake. Just, stay there! I'll get someone!" 

“No no no," he coughs, the voice clip coming out shoddy and broken. Oh no, even his special tricks and magic are being affected, “I'm fine Seth… I'm fine…” 

“If you were fine, you'd have realised this was my room and not yours.” 

… Oh. Flowery lifts himself up and opens his eyes again. The lights accost his headache without hesitation. He feels really sick, worse than before. Through the light burning his sensitive eyes, he takes note of all the shelves filled with books, very much Seth-esque in many ways. 

“Hey, did you drool on my reading spot!?" Seth falls to their knees around the dark stain on the cushion he'd been resting on. 

Flowery suddenly becomes aware of the warm trail of drool on his chin. Flushed, he hastily wipes it off and offers Seth an apologetic smile, “Sorry about that Seth! I'll get you some new ones, promise!" 

Seth instead narrows their gaze in concern, brushing off their annoyance, “It's fine. I can worry about that later. You need to rest or something, you look really sick.” 

"I'm not sick…” he protests immediately, despite knowing he definitely is sick, "Just tired…” and in pain, and sore, and still feeling like throwing. Ugh, the room is starting to spin. 

"You look pretty sick,” Seth counters back, pushing their glasses up, "I've read about what humans look like when they're sick, and their symptoms…" 

As they rattle off, Flowery feels his body weight leans forward against his will. He catches himself before he can collapse again. He really needs to get going. Asgore probably needs him. But he doesn't want to see his oldbuddy like this, he'll only be a burden. 

Asgore can wait. He just needs to find somewhere else to rest, somewhere no will find him. 

“Look Seth, I appreciate your concerns,” they stop reading from their book, looking up, "But I'm real busies right now. I'll catch you later, alright?” he's up and clutching his churning abdomen. He hasn't even eaten anything in a while, and yet his insides keep twisting uncomfortably. 

"But—wait!” Seth tries following after him, not a difficult thing to do since Flowery hobbles along the walls, “What if you throw up?! Or collapse somewhere?!" 

He waves them off, "I'll be fine Seth! You're worrying… too much. I'm not sick… promise! I haven't eaten anything to throw up either!” ow, his throat is too parched to be yelling like this.

Seth looks like they want to argue with him. He doesn't have the energy to keep up an exchange, so he tries directing them elsewhere, “Hey, I think Green needs some help at the cafe. Mind giving them a hand?” They most certainly didn’t, although maybe Aqua and Orange were causing chaos… 

Sensing that Seth isn’t fully convinced, he adds a compromise, “And I promise I’ll rest in the meantime, yeah? Besides, it's Aqua and Orange helping them.  They've probably got their hands full with those two alone.” 

Seth turns away in a huff, “Alright, fine! Just don’t collapse somewhere random,” they point determinedly at his hunched form, "And if it turns out you ARE sick, I'm telling Green and Blue!” 

Flowery flashes them an okay sign with his finger, "You got it.” He watches Seth leave before hobbling along the walls. 

He's definitely sick… but not enough to stop.

There just isn't time for him to stand around doing nothing. As much as he wants it, rest will have to wait. 

—

Perhaps rest should have been in the cards earlier. 

He’s finally thrown up whatever was making his stomach revolt. Now he's in the corridors, tired, in pain, sweating, throat burning. The floor looks really nice to just lie on. He's been doing that a lot since he started feeling sick. Did normal humans do that a lot when ill? 

"Flowery.” 

Uh oh. 

Asgore's deep rumble echoes behind him. His steps approach, heavy and daunting, “There you are." 

Flowery takes a deep breath. Now isn't the time for feeling sick, his king needs him! He swivels on the balls of his feet, plastering a big, strained grin that almost crumbles at the lurching pain in his head from turning too fast, “O-oldbuddy! Hey there, my king… what do you need?" 

He winces at his voice clip shuddering a little. 

Asgore's serious face softens a little, brow furrowed more curiously, "Are you… alright?” 

“Of—” the dry itching in his throat escalates to hacking, "—course!” sweat beads on his head, collecting like a rain. It's still really hot; his clothes are starting to feel stuffy, despite their relatively loose fit. 

Asgore’s curious expression hardens into concern, "You don't look very well…” 

"What are you—" a coughing fit interrupts him. Gah! His throat is so painfully dry, some water would be wonderful right about now, “Talking about? I'm fine… as fern!” Flowery doesn't really think those words are believable when he pants like he's ran the length of the bean stalks. 

Oh, he really isn't feeling well. Did it get hotter all of a sudden? His legs are shaking, his head is spinning in a way that makes it hard to tell whether he's standing up straight or not. 

Asgore’s gaze shuffles between sheets of jumbled nonsense in his hands and Flowery. An ugly feeling takes root at the sight of them… if only they could take Asgore's mind off of it all. Maybe Flowery shouldn't have brought him closer to the dark fountain. Asgore hasn't been the same since, but as long as it was a wish of his Flowery could grant, he would do anything, wouldn't he? 

The tightness in his chest twists with sickening nerves. He feels like throwing up again. 

But before Asgore can respond, Flowery’s balance completely evades him, lurching forward. He falls to his knees as his vision blurs, headache pulsing like a gong, "H-huh?” His eyes grow heavy, darkness overtaking his sight. Before he knows it, he's on the ground, out cold, deaf to Asgore's surprised cry.

—

"... I'm sorry! He kept insisting he was fine, and I…” 

"... dear, I should have known… be back in a bit, alright?" 

“... That's fine. See you later…” 

Flowery groans as every painful sensation rears up to stab him the moment he's awake. The one solace he has is the cool thing on his head fighting off blazing heat. Oh, he supposes the surface he's on is very comfortable too… like a mattress and pillow, soft enough to sink into them. 

“Flowery? You awake?" one of the voices from earlier - that's Seth, he thinks - asks. 

He is, somewhat, but he really doesn't want to be. He's still aching all over, he's still sick, he's still uncomfortably warm and still so exhausted. Instead of answering, he burrows into his blankets. 

“I'll take that as a no, I guess." 

He's close to falling back to asleep, to giving in to that undefeatable tugging into dreamland when he's accosted with what happened prior to waking up. 

Flowery shoots up, a wet towel sliding off his forehead and landing with a splat on the bed, “Asgore!!" 

Seth startles and falls off their chair, book scattering off to the side, “Wh-what?! What about him?!" Rather than receiving an answer, they watch Flowery scramble off his bed, tangled up in the sheets, "H-hey! You're supposed to be on bed rest!” 

He barely hears them through the dizzy spell that bodies him like a truck, headache spiking right behind it. He very gracelessly falls to the floor, body flaring up with aches all over. 

A hand grabs him by the arm and tries lifting him up, "You said you'd rest if you really felt bad, but I'm assuming you didn't,” Seth accuses, their face twisted with disappointment. 

"I was going to…” Flowery argues weakly. The floor is nice and cool, he could just lie down… 

Seth turns their face up and away, “Sure you're were." 

Well, they're not wrong, he had been planning on still working, but he'd still considered taking a break. They just… didn't have that kind of time for Flowery to waste. Any other flower could rest but Flowery needed to be up and going at every waking second, so long as that fountain still gushed darkness. 

Asgore needed him for something. He needs to be by his side right now. 

With Seth's help, Flowery manages to stand, albeit shakily and wobbling, "C’mon, you need to lie down.” 

"No no no, I've gotta get back to Gorey—he needed me for something." 

“Hey!" 

Flowery manages to slip from Seth's grasp. He starts walking towards the exit—oh this is his room, filled to the brim with bromides of himself and Asgore, and a few of him and the flowers. It's a little bare beyond a bed and desk he uses for strategizing. That means there's little obstacles that'll get in his—way!!

Flowery grunts when a weight latches onto his back. He almost toppled forward, just barely managing to keep upright. Seth clings and leans back in an attempt to drag him backwards, “Oh no you don't! Blue left me in charge!" 

“Seth!" Flowery complains, starting to feel a genuine hint of frustration at them. Their weight crushes his weakened body that aches enough as it is, “Not now! I need… to see Asgore…!” 

"You passed out the last time you were with him!” 

"That's why… I need to go… now!” 

He reaches back to hold Seth more stable on his back. If they're going to cling like a koala then he'll just carry them forward! 

“Hey! Let go!" 

“Not until… you do!" 

Oof, since when was Seth this heavy?! They're too small to be heavy; he's the one too exhausted for this.

He makes it quite the distance from his room - all the while Seth protests - close to the foyer when his body finally collapses, “Aha! See? You're supposed to be resting for a reason, you're really sick!” Seth prods his head while lecturing him. 

Flowery lies in silence and takes it. The floor is cold and really nice. Even with Seth trying to shake him awake, he might just fall asleep like this… 

“Oh dear, what is wrong, little one?" That's Asgore! Soft and kind and warm—Flowery doesn't waste a second whipping his head up. He tries not to regret it when his headache spikes. 

"A-Asgore, sir! Sorry about this! I'll get Flowery back in bed a-sap! Just leaf it to me,” they get off his back to start tugging him away but Flowery persists. He can't get up anymore - his legs refuse to carry his own weight - but Asgore is right there! 

“H-hey, Goregore, sorry to… keep you waiting!" ugh, the voice clip doesn't even work anymore, “You wanted… more documents, right? Heh, just… leaf it to me…!" 

“You can't even get up Flowery! Stop being so stubborn, you might actually hurt yourself," Seth's tone turns more pleading and desperate, frustration bleeding into it. 

Well, he felt the same too! 

“I'll be… fine Seth," he grinds the words out through gritted teeth, exerting his arms to push and push, but he just doesn't have any strength in them. He can't lift himself up. 

Before him, Asgore kneels, “Flowery, if you are not well, you should rest.” 

A trickle of dread fills his chest, “I'm plenty well… Gorey!" He tries to punctuate his declaration by getting up, only to find himself still on the floor, still sweaty, still nauseas, still aching, still drop-dead fatigued.

Asgore reaches a hand for Flowery's head. His paw engulfs his scalp completely, “Flowery. I really do… appreciate all that you've done for me. But you are quite delicate, no?” 

Flowery grits his teeth at the reminder. Useless, weak, delicate flowers; trapped in asylum, protected. He's here now because he's finally not all that, only to be brought down by some illness!

Asgore's paw smoothes his hair back in a very soothing motion. Flowery relaxes almost immediately under it, “Take some time off until you feel better. My matters can… wait in the meantime." 

He tries getting a protest out, even just a word, but he's embarrassingly speechless in the face of his own fluster, warmth blooming across his face as Asgore pats him before standing up. It's… a really nice sensation… he finds… 

"Uuuu, Flowery was pet by Asgore! Me too! Me too!” 

"Me as well! I-I mean if you don't mind…" 

Behind Asgore are Aqua and Orange clamouring at his feet. Seth rushes to shoo them away, though Flowery sees them rubbing their hands sheepishly, rose blush on their face as Asgore reaches down to ruffle all three of their heads. 

He watches fondly, resting on his arms, when a voice startles him, “You were supposed to rest until you felt better, Flowery." 

Flowery twists to look Blue, sheepish grin on his face, “I'm just so busies, couldn't help it. But uh…” he glances back at Asgore, at all the flowers gathering for his attention; Yellow and Green have joined too, excitedly waiting for head pats, all carefree, "Suppose I could take… a small break.” His body has completely given up on him anyways. He can't even get up, let alone walk another step.

Blue chuckles, “Blu hu hu, we're very glad to hear that.” He kneels down to hook one of Flowery's arms over his shoulders, lifting him up onto unsteady feet. Flowery leans most of his weight on dance rival, "Goodness, you're burning up hotter than the fiery passion of all the love in the air,” Blue comments lightly, petting his messed strands of golden hair. 

Flowery's too tired for any rebuttals. He let this head loll into Blue shoulder. Together, they limp back to Flowery's room where the golden flower lets himself collapse in bed. He doesn't bother with the blanket. Blue very kindly brings it up for him, then picks up the discarded towel. 

The relief of a cool cloth over his head is like heaven. "Thanks…” he mumbles into his pillow, he's not sure if Blue even hears it. The land of sleep is dragging him under. He's been up for far too long. Maybe forcing himself to stay up when his body demanded otherwise was a bad idea. Just maybe.

“Are you going to sleep?" 

He hums half heartedly, squeezing his eyes when the throbbing in his head spikes.

“Does your head still hurt?" 

"Headache…” Flowery mumbles.

Blue's hands thread through Flowery’s hair, massaging his scalp, “I imagine Yellow's bullet didn't help much earlier, did it?" 

Flowery melts under Blue's cool touch, relishing in the way the pressure in his head dulls.

“I'll have Green bring you the soup later then." 

"’kay…” he drifts off to sleep pretty quickly.

—

The next time he stirs awake, he's not sure if he really feels any better, but the knowledge he doesn't have to get up does soothe him. 

His shuffling alerts whoever's in the room with him, "Oh, big bro’s awake!” 

Flowery blinks the blurry edges of his gaze away. The cool towel is doing his head wonders, "Hey Orange…" he croaks.

“Are you feeling any better?" She clambers up on the bed to sit on his legs. 

When he thinks about it, his headache is still going on strong, and his throat is parched, “Not really…” 

“Yikes, you sound like a toad," Seth points out from his desk, "There's some water by your bedside.” 

“Flowery's toad? I thought we were humans." 

“No, he’s not a toad, I'm saying he sounds like one." 

“What’s a toad sound like anyways?"

"Like Flowery right now,” Seth snickers.

"Thanks… ” Flowery responds, sarcastically. Lifting himself to get it strains muscles he didn't know humans had, not that Flowery himself has many. Despite his appearance, he's mostly made of plant based biology, only mimicking humans. 

“Flowery?" Orange's tiny voice wavers guilty, "I'm—I’m sorry I knocked you over earlier!” 

Hearing her so teary just breaks his heart. He pats her gently with a finger, “It's alright Orange… you didn't know." 

She clings onto him with a big hug, “You gotta get well soon so we can train again!" 

“And so we can play! Play!" Aqua chimes in, hanging off the edge of his bed. 

Flowery smiles fondly while sipping his water. His throat finally feels less like a desert. Now that he's awake, he supposes he should do something until he feels like sleeping again. 

He notice Seth writing in their book, "Want any help with that?” 

"What? No.” pausing to look over judgementally, Seth sighs, "What part of bedrest do you not get? You're sick. You're supposed to do nothing until you're better.” 

Doing nothing? That made him antsy though, "I can just help from here. Then I'll still be on bedrest.” 

Seth rolls their eyes, "Why are you so desperate to do something? Don't you like having alone time to rest or something?” 

Flowery shrugs, humming a little. He likes being around others. Alone time isn't really for him. And with their transient nature, the idea of doing nothing feels like a ticking clock counting down over his head. He should really be doing something. 

When Seth isn't looking, Flowery starts slowly - very slowly - shifting off his bed. Orange and Aqua are busy entertaining each other. He's feeling… not really better, but his throat doesn't hurt as much! He'll just take it easy—

"Hey!” 

Oops. 

Orange bounds up to push him back down, "You can't leave!” 

Seth groans, "Aqua, trap him,” they point and flick the fingers. 

Flowery startles as Aqua flies towards him, pushing him back down and laying over his chest. He coughs at the impact, winded. Okay, he's definitely not getting up again, not with the aches flaring up all across his body. Why did being sick entail so much pain?

Orange hops to stand in his hair, "Now you can't leave without us noticing!” 

Flowery chuckles to himself. He supposes he can't, “So… what am I supposed to do then?" 

“Rest," Seth emphasises, “Do nothing. Just lie down." 

“That sounds boring," Aqua comments, “Do I have to stay like this? That's boring too." 

“It is very boring," Flowery agrees, “Since I'm stuck in bed, won't someone do something to entertain poor little me?" 

With a groan, Seth pushes their chair back to join them, “Ughh, fine!" They sit themselves on the floor by his bed, flipping through their book, “I've got some stories I can read if that'll stop your whining." 

A story by Seth? Flowery will happily take that, “Sure!" 

“Am I in it?!" 

“Will there be knives? And lots and lots of blood?" 

Seth glares at Orange and Aqua, “No! No blood. And just wait and see." 

Hit with by surge of fatigue, Flowery closes his eyes as Seth reads. Orange and Aqua chime in often, leading Seth to bicker with them, but through it all, rest finds Flowery anyways. 

—

This time, he wakes up to a warm and delicious scent in the air and blissful quiet.

Any other time he'd be drooling, but instead he finds his stomach queasy, twisting uncomfortably again. Ugh, stupid nausea… Why did a human body even need to feel nausea?

Flowery eyes Green coming in with a steaming bowl, "Is that for me…?" He smiles weakly. 

They nod, an easygoing smile on their face. Then, with that exact smile, they pull out a sign, ‘You are very sick.’ 

He feels the judgement from the written words very clearly, even if Green isn't outwardly angry. Not that they ever are, more so disappointed. 

“I guess you'd know best…” he chuckles, or rather coughs when his throat protests again.

Green nods, ‘From now on, you're not allowed to leave,’ they pull out another sign, ‘Until your fever is gone.’ 

"Fever?” Flowery questions. 

‘Flowers don't get them, but humans do. That's why you're overheating.’ 

Seriously? Being ill meant burning alive too? How awful, “Ugh… I should ask Blue for another raincloud…" 

‘I’ll call him over later.’ 

“Thanks Green…”

Green places the bowl on his bedside. He eyes with mild distaste, swallowing an unpleasant wad of saliva, “I appreciate but… I'm not sure I could…” his stomach rumbles abruptly then, and it does remind Flowery that he hasn't had anything for a while, in fact he's been running on fumes and an empty stomach since he got back to the castle.

‘Feeling nauseous?’ Green asks. They drag his desk chair to his bedside. 

Flowery sighs, "Haven't stopped feeling nauseous for a while…. Threw up earlier, and my stomach’s still churning… but I am hungry. I'll try some,” even if he has little appetite. The longer he stares at his meal, the more it dies. 

Still, he can't waste Green's efforts like that! Flowery shuffles up to sit. He appreciates Green bringing his pillow up to better accommodate his back. They pass him the bowl. It's very warm, spreading from his hands to his body. He'd really appreciate such kind warmth any other day, but with his fever, he only feels more apprehension..

It smells nice at least. He's sure it'll taste nice too. His stomach doesn't seem to agree. 

Flowery takes a spoonful. His body almost rejects it just from the texture in his mouth alone, stomach revolting at the idea of anything. Nonetheless, he swallows. He can barely taste it… 

‘Good?’ Green asks. 

“I wish I could say that, but I couldn't taste much of it… sorry Green. It is doing wonders for my throat, at least,” that much he can say. The heat soothes his dry throat wonderfully. 

But the food itself sits uncomfortably in his stomach. Another bite feels like doom. He takes one anyways, and then another and another, because Green made food for him and he's not about to waste it, and surely food will help him feel better? 

He places the finished bowl to the side with a discomforted sigh. His sti.ach feels queasy, less full and more bloated, dull pain around the area. 

‘Does it hurt?’ Green asks, noting his expression. 

Flowery nods, bringing arm around to cradle his midsection, “It was okay but… it just feels off…” 

Green rubs his back in slow, soothing circles. Flowery tries to let himself relax to the feeling, let his tense, aching muscles loosen as he breathes slowly through the uneasy churning in his abdomen. Maybe he ate too fast, or too much… ugh. 

‘You should lie back down and get some sleep,’ Green suggests. Flowery agrees. He lies back down carefully, in an attempt to not further aggravate his already sensitive stomach. He settles in as comfortably as he can under the bedsheets, all the while Green massages his head gently. 

“How's Goregore doing?" Without Flowery around to guide him, he hopes Asgore isn't finding himself with nothing to do..

‘He’s watching Blue's dance.’ 

Flowery's eyes widen, "Really…?” Asgore hadn't expressed much interest when he mentioned it. 

Green nods, ‘You can relax for now. Just sleep.’ They resume the rhythmic massaging of his scalp, delicate in their movement. 

Flowery's eyes grow heavier. He doesn't fight the lull of sleep.

—

He does wake up incredibly nauseous, on the verge of throwing up. Flowery scrambles up for anything, a hand to his mouth, drool trailing down his chin. He hiccups as his stomach clenches, waves of pain erupting. 

“Oh dear—Flowery?" Someone asks. 

“Gonna—gonna be sick,” he slurs the words through the wad of saliva in mouth. 

Someone hands him an empty pot. Flowery wastes no time retching into it. Hot, tangy soup spews out of his stomach into the pot. As he coughs and spits the sour taste, a hand pats circles on his back, marginally soothing, "There, there,” the voice whispers tenderly. 

Flowery groans, clutching the pot to his queasy abdomen. All of Green's soup… wasted. And his stomach still hurts. He looks to the voice to see Blue, “Hey guys…” at least his voice clips are doing a little better. 

“I take it Green's soup didn't agree with you?" The ballerino asks lightly. 

Flowery shakes his head, shivering, “Ate I too fast…” 

Blue pats his back, “We'll stay away from food for now." 

Flowery nods, before flinching as another wave surges. He reaches into the pot once more. Once he's done and sure he has nothing else to throw up, he lets Blue take the pot in exchange for a glass of water. His throat burns too much to even say ‘thank you.’

He places the empty glass aside and lies back down with a groan. 

Blue takes that opportunity to jab at him, “Perhaps working while you were sick has made your body much more fragile than it would have otherwise been?" 

Flowery scowls, pushing Blue away weakly, making the other chuckle, “I jest, I jest." 

The door clicks open, “Hey pard’ner! How’re you feelin’?" Yellow peeks in.

"Mmm…. Okay,” Flowery mumbles, he turns onto his side to hug his aching midriff that just won't stop aching. 

“You don't sounds so okay…” 

"He'll be alright, dear. Why won't you join us?” 

Yellow does just that. He takes a seat on the floor next to Blue, waving the other off when he offers the chair. 

Flowery remembers what Green said earlier, "Blue… Asgore watched your show?” 

Blue nods with a smile slightly deeper than usual, "He did indeed. What a joy it was, to express my love to him.” Mr Butterfly at the tip of Blue's fingers beams abashedly. 

“Did he… enjoy it?" Flowery asks, his voice embarrassingly small. He blames it on the retching earlier, but he knows the bundle of nerves alight in his chest is the real reason. 

Blue opens his eyes, contemplative, "He seemed quite… impatient at first. I understand the delay in his research is… frustrating.” 

The bundle of nerves twists into guilt. The sour taste comes back tenfold, enough to make him feel like throwing up again. What is he doing resting in bed?! He should—he should be up gathering those documents and anything else Asgore needs!

Before he can get up or panic any further, a hand gently pushes down on his shoulder, “But, as time went on, he seemed to enjoy himself. By the end of it, he smiled like the peaceful winds blowing in the cliffs. Please, do not worry yourself sick Flowery.” 

Heh, of course Blue could tell exactly what kind of torment brewed in his head. He relaxes under Blue’s touch, "I'm… really glad he enjoyed it." 

“Of course he enjoyed it!" Yellow chimes in with a goofy, big grin, “It's purdiest thing I ever seen," his expression turns lovestruck and pink in the face of Blue’s grateful one. 

“Oh Yellow, dearest, you're just the sweetest, aren't you?” 

Yellow giggles, grin stretching all across his face, “Aw, shucks!" 

Flowery turns away, sticking his tongue out. He really does love Yellow and Blue, and he's truly happy for them, but he'd appreciate it if they didn't do this while he was immobile in bed. 

"Oh, Flowery!” He risks looking over at the lovebirds, "Asgore says he’s comin’ to watch my show later.” Yellow proclaims, proud and excited, swaying on the floor in Blue's arms. 

“He is…?” hope blooms again in his heart. He'd been so busy earlier… but with Flowery down, Asgore is spending time with the flowers… and based on what Blue relayed, Asgore seemed… happy. 

A weight lodged in his mind lifts a little. He hasn't realised how heavy it was.

Yellow tips his hair up to flash a blinding, beaming smile, “Yeah! Wanna come see it too?" 

Blue chuckles, "Yellow dear  Flowery is due for bedrest until his fever is gone. And," he reaches a hand to feel Flowery's forehead under the moist towel cooling him off, “It seems like that won't be for some time. You do feel a bit cooler," he tells Flowery. 

“Glad to hear it…" Flowery himself does feel a little better. 

“Aw, ‘s darn shame! Guess I'll just have to do it again for you,” the cowboy promises. 

"I'll look forward to it,” Flowery responds. With less worries burdening him, the pull of sleep seems more welcoming. He closes his eyes, doing his best to relax through all the aching and heat and discomfort. 

A hand pats his shoulder, “You rest up while we run things fer a bit, pard’ner," he hears Yellow say in a quietly fond voice, “‘s only been a day and you've already run yerself rugged." 

Flowery takes that as permission to completely pass out into the wonderful realm of Dreamland.