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The fact William made it out of bed that morning was a miracle.
A heaviness had settled into his limbs, the kind of weight that threatened to drag him through the floor. He's sure that if he were any more exhausted, his intangibility might just go through with it, and suffocate him within the crust of the earth, turning the world into his coffin.
But it was Dakota's turn to cook that morning, and he always made french toast sticks that tasted like heaven. The smell of cooking cinnamon and sugar had floated all through the base, and given him just enough energy to leave his room and join the rest of the group in the kitchen.
Tide was with Dakota at the stove, both of them wearing aprons and focused on the food. Vyncent was at the island, a notebook laid out before him that he was scribbling in. When William sluggishly climbed into the chair beside him, he saw that the words being written weren't even remotely in English.
"Morning, Will," he greeted, audibly distracted. The letters on his page were almost enchanting. They were beautiful, swirling. The letters waved through each other to create graceful patterns. "How'd you sleep?"
His brain urged him to respond. To say: Fine. Had weird dreams, like everything was normal. Instead, he couldn't even get his mouth to open. He stared down at Vyncent's pen, still drifting across the paper in front of him. The ballpoint ink created smooth lines of shimmering black, effortlessly painting the alien words.
A beat passed. The smell of cinnamon and sugar was potent and mouth-watering. Slowly, Vyncent’s hand went still. From the corner of his eye, William could see the elf looking up at him. “Will?”
Absently, his eyes tracked the foreign letters. Maybe he could learn the language; or at least how to read it. Was that Vyncent’s native tongue? Did he have to learn English upon arriving on Prime, or did Fauna have its own version of English alongside the language Vyncent was writing in now? He wanted to ask.
“Will.” A hand landed on his shoulder. Fear struck his heart, the kind that made you flinch and nearly fall out of your chair, except his body didn’t move. “You okay, man?”
He wondered how bad he looked to prompt Vyncent asking that. Or was it just because he was being quiet? Maybe it was the combined half-asleep look with his silence that was making the hairs on Vyncent’s neck stand up with concern.
He wanted to at least hum. To do something to acknowledge Vyncent. He just didn't have the energy. Instead, he put all he could into moving, and lilted to the side until he was leaning into his teammate. Desperately, he wanted to shut his eyes, but if he fell back asleep now, he didn't know when he'd wake up.
He was just so tired.
Vyncent said-- something. William didn't hear it. He felt the elf's chest rumbling, and distantly processed the sound of words, but not enough to recognize their meaning. A familiar calloused hand lost itself in his greasy hair, gently carding through the locks, and scratching along his scalp. Unconsciously, he began to purr, still fighting to keep his eyes open despite the warm comfort.
The smell of french toast got stronger. He blinked, and Dakota was sliding into his seat on William's other side, Tide pushing three plates of food across the counter to them. He saw their mentor's mouth move, but the words seemed to lag. It took several long moments for him to understand what was said.
"Stay up all night again, William?" the professional hero quipped, grinning lightheartedly.
William didn't respond. He should've, he wanted to, he just... didn't. Instead, he averted his eyes to his plate. It looked delicious, and smelled even better, but Vyncent's hand was still in his hair, and he was so comfortable. Despite Vyncent's bony shoulder digging into his neck, or the way he was half off his chair and bent oddly to make the position work, he wanted nothing more than to stay put.
Unfortunately, he must've been the only one with that sentiment, because Vyncent's hand pulled away, and William was gently nudged until he was sitting on his own again. He hunched, using the counter to support himself. All his muscles felt weak, like he'd been in a coma for years and they'd all atrophied.
Another hand tapped him. He fought to get his head to turn, and saw Dakota, lips pulled into a worried frown and brows furrowed. His mouth moved slowly. "Are you okay?" he asked, like he was repeating himself.
William blinked sluggishly. He looked around, and realized Tide and Vyncent were both looking at him. He grimaced. Damnit. He should've just stayed in bed. Now he was making a whole scene. He opened his mouth, tried to force his tongue and lips to move in sync and create the right sounds, only for his words to turn to mush on their way out. He scowled.
Dakota and Vyncent said something, talking over each other. He couldn't make heads or tails of it all; thankfully, Tide spoke over both of them, dad voice in full tilt, "Kid, we can't help if we don't know what's wrong. What do you need?"
He hated crying. Despite that, tears threatened to well up in his eyes. He didn't know how to-- how did he explain? He could barely talk. He'd just wanted french toast, he thought maybe it'd help get him out of this downswing if he forced himself to participate and be alive. He just felt worse than before.
William turned away, and focused on his food. That’s what he came out here for. Maybe it’d even help him come out of his funk, to put some food in his body.
His hands were shaking so much that when he managed to reach for his cutlery, he fumbled and dropped it twice before he got a decent grip on it. His fingers wouldn't clasp tight enough to work them. Faint, exhausted frustration bloomed in his chest when he tried to cut his breakfast and both utensils clattered onto the plate. A huff broke from his throat, and stole all his breath.
"D'you... need some help?" Vyncent offered, hesitating. With a delay, William nodded. He wanted to apologize, or at least look sorry, but his expression was trapped in a blank daze, staring at his plate with sluggish thoughts of regret and embarrassment. Faintly, he could grasp Dakota and Tide whispering, and he was fairly certain he heard his name, but he didn't have it in him to listen.
Vyncent was quiet when he delicately cut William’s breakfast into bite-sized pieces. It was only once he was setting aside the knife and handing the fork over to his teammates shaking hands that he spoke again, hesitant and worried. “Are you just… not up for talking today?”
He was focusing on getting his grip right around the fork. He felt the strain of lifting something heavy just from closing his fingers around the thin, metal handle. It meant he couldn’t even begin to try and give Vyncent a response. It would be nice if the other hero in training really did have telepathy, if he could just know, so William didn’t have to explain.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk. It was just… so much energy. Enough that he thought climbing a mountain sounded easier than trying to force out even the smallest sounds of acknowledgement, or paint the facsimile of an expression on his face.
Hopefully, food would help. With great focus and effort, he managed to shove a bite of syrup-soaked cinnamon bread into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, a burst of pleasant flavor that brought a content hum from his throat, despite the way it ate up the air in his lungs.
He couldn’t get through the whole two slices he’d been given to eat, but the one he managed to get down was as delicious as he hoped it’d be. Worth it, he decided, leaning to the side until he hit Vyncent’s shoulder. He felt the elf jolt in surprise, but he didn’t pull away, so Will wasn’t moving.
Tide had settled himself on the far side of Dakota by that point, his own plate cleared. Dakota’s serving was down to a single piece and an ocean of syrup, but William was sure that it’d originally been a towering mountain of food. The two of them were locked in conversation, Dakota waving his arms animatedly with his words. It normally would’ve brought a tiny, fond smile to William’s face.
“Good?” Vyncent asked, nudging William with the shoulder he was laying on. William darted his eyes up to the older teen, blinking. “The food?” It took him longer than he would’ve liked to manage a quiet, approving hum. Vyncent smiled softly, relief smoothing the wrinkles between his brows. “That’s good to hear.”
“Is Will talking?” Dakota said, voice much too loud for– William actually didn’t know what time it was. Too loud for how tired he was, he’d go with that.
“No.” Vyncent’s hand found its way back into William’s hair. He couldn’t keep his eyes from shuttering closed, content. “He’s responding, though. That’s good, right?”
“Yes, that’s something, at least,” Tide agreed. He had that worried-dad voice he got when he was thinking too hard about something that concerned him. William didn’t like being the source of that voice.
He forced his eyes back open. They wouldn’t go past half-closed, but at least he could see Dakota and Tide looking at him, now. “You with us, Will?” ‘Kota asked, uncharacteristically soft. William closed his eyes again, taking a much too deep breath just to get out a soft hum. He wanted to go back to bed, and at the same time wanted nothing less.
“Good. That’s good, kid,” Tide’s distinct hand landed on his shoulder. He blinked up at the man, confused– when’d he get over there? “Maybe you should get back to sleep, William?”
He whined in disapproval, “Nn’,” he forced out around his uncooperative tongue and lagging lips. Damnit. Why couldn’t he just– talk? Be normal?
“No?” Tide echoed, his already worried frown deepening. “Why not?”
“If you’re tired you should sleep, Wiwi,” Dakota added.
“Are you having nightmares again?” Vyncent’s hand paused its gentle ministrations. William could only manage a low grunt of disapproval, both at the lack of nails on his scalp and the question itself. He was having nightmares, but that wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t why he didn’t want to sleep.
He didn’t know how to tell them that he was so tired he felt like if he let himself rest, he wouldn’t wake up. He didn’t know how to explain the way he’d already slept thirteen hours, and he really didn’t want to go back to that. He didn’t know how to express that he’d had episodes like this where he relented, and spent the vast majority of a week sleeping before he could begin functioning like a normal human again.
Oh.
He had his phone. Somewhere. Theoretically in his pockets. He had a faint memory of grabbing it on his way out of his room. He could… probably type? His hands were heavy and uncoordinated when he moved them, fumbling to get the device out without dropping it. He really didn’t want to make Tide buy him another new phone.
The three heroes around him waited, patiently, and he was all too aware of the way they watched him struggle with unlocking his phone and navigating through the apps. He knew that that AAC app was buried in a folder. He never got around to uninstalling it, despite refusing to use it ever since leaving Deadwood.
“What’re you doing?” Dakota finally broke. William had noticed, from the corner of his eye, the teen getting antsy with the silence.
Vyncent shifted behind him, purple hair falling into the younger’s field of view. William could imagine him squinting at the device, trying to make heads or tails of it so he could explain to Dakota. Finally, he found the app he was looking for, and pulled it up. Despite resting his arms in his lap, they were getting tired holding the phone up already. Maybe this was a bad idea.
The interface of the app was completely different from the last time he used it, but it still pulled up the list of words and phrases he’d programmed into it years ago. Ridiculous ones stuck out to him, and knowing Vyncent could read them all over his shoulder only made him more embarrassed.
He scrolled, and scowled when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. With how many times he’d completely missed pressing any icons just navigating to the app, typing was out of the question. Shaking fingers pulled up the drawing feature, and he carefully focused his limited energy on expressing what he needed to say.
Thanks to the way the feature worked, he had to draw out the beginning letters of each word, scroll until he found the word, then start over for the next one. It was a long process just to say, “Chronic. Fatigue. Syndrome,” with the robotic voice that came out of his phone.
There was a pause, and he was too focused on not dropping the phone to see their reactions. Eventually, Dakota spoke, “What’s that?”
He lost his grip, fingers going slack. Vyncent’s hand darted out and caught the device before it could hit the floor. “I’ve never heard of it…” he frowned. Will wished he could see his teammate’s face, but he was stuck slumping to the side, unmoving. The conflicting feelings of wanting rest and being desperate not to give in made his eyes burn.
“Neither have I…” Tide hummed, “But I gather it means you’ve got some sort of condition, yes? That makes you fatigued at times?”
William’s brows twitched in concentration, trying to find some way to give confirmation. His lungs went empty with the hum he got out.
Dakota loudly whispered, “What’s fatigued mean?”
“Tired,” Tide said, not even bothering to match the volume.
Vyncent shifted beneath him, “Did you want help getting to bed?” he offered.
No. No, he really didn’t. But he didn’t know what other choice he had. He could stay in the kitchen, destroying his back by leaning on Vyncent, desperately clinging to wakefulness. He could, maybe, work up the energy to travel into the living room and force himself to be a part of things…
“Will?”
He smacked his lips, trying to bring moisture back into his mouth. His first attempt at talking came out as a rush of air. He couldn’t tell if this was easier or harder than using his phone to talk– at least this way he didn’t have to both focus on forming words and holding a device that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Finally, he managed to formulate, “Cou’sh?”
“Yeah, man, we can get you to the couch,” Dakota jumped up from his chair. “Did you, uh, want me to carry you?” Oh, his poor dignity.
He nodded.
Dakota didn’t even seem to struggle. Vyncent helped manhandle him into an easier position to grab, and then the redhead hefted him up, and began walking. William was sure that if he still had blood, he’d be blushing like crazy. He was carried effortlessly into the living room, and deposited on the couch. He barely had time to blink and try to shift into a more comfortable position before Tide was throwing his weighted blanket over him– and when did he have time to go get that?
“I’ll leave you kids to it,” the hero said. William could still pick out the worry in his voice, “If you need me for anything– and I mean anything– you know where to find me, alright?” Vyncent and Dakota chimed with agreement, giving Tide room to leave.
“Comfy?” Dakota prompted, dropping into his usual spot on the other end of the couch. The couch bounced along with him, and his abrupt movements were contrasted by Vyncent carefully sitting down, eyeing William worriedly. William hummed in agreement. The blanket was really nice, and the lights hadn’t been turned on beyond the small lamp on Dakota’s side of the room.
“Wanna watch Revenge of the Wasps again?” Vyncent suggested, getting comfortable beside him. He didn’t say anything when William shuffled so they were leaning on each other. Dakota made a noise of excitement.
“Please?” he begged, “That movie was so good! And you’ve already seen it, so you don’t even have to pay attention, right?”
William wanted to say he hated that movie, but he really didn’t. It sounded like it would be a good focus for his sleep-addled brain. He hummed, nodding into Vyncent’s shoulder. Dakota cheered, bringing a tiny smile to William’s lips. The TV clicked quietly alongside the redhead tapping through the remote buttons.
The movie started up, volume low, and Dakota got comfortable sprawling himself out, his legs on William and Vyncent’s laps. For once, he wasn’t going to say anything about it, or playfully shove him away. Having their warmth surrounding him, their living bodies pressed against his dying one, it was comforting.
Despite his best efforts, he didn’t stay awake much longer.
Bonus
William came out of his funk a little over a day later. He spent the next twenty four hours either sleeping soundly, or half-asleep going through the motions of ensuring his body wasn’t going to fully give up on him due to his lack of care for it.
Waking up with energy was so relieving. Waking up with the ability to get out of bed and walk to the kitchen without feeling like he was going to collapse under the weight of his own muscles was better than the high of winning a fight.
“William!” Dakota yelled when he walked in, beaming, “I’m teaching Vyn how to make waffles, y’want some?”
Dakota hadn’t changed his attitude the whole time William had been out of it, from what he could remember. It was nice how he didn’t act like William was suddenly fragile and weak. Vyncent had been softer, more careful, but William couldn’t begrudge him that. It was nice in its own way.
“Sure.” He was still tired, voice coming out softer than usual, but he could finally think straight enough to get full words out. “How’s that going?”
“He’s burnt most of them!”
“...Yeah. I smell that.”
“Are you feeling better?” Vyncent asked. William watched smoke begin pouring off the waffle maker he’d abandoned to stare at the youngest teammate, worry obvious in his eyes. Dakota made a noise of panic and flipped it open, pulling what equated to a charcoal brick out of it.
“Vyncent!” he scolded, “It’s like you’re not even trying, man.”
William offered a small, awkward smile, shuffling in place. “I’m good. Better. Focus on making waffles, okay?”
Vyncent pursed his lips, eyeing the ghost, before his cheeks split in a grin. “Show me again, ‘Kota!” he declared, turning to the trainwreck of a countertop. “We’ve gotta celebrate William’s good health!”
Hot blush bloomed on his cheeks. Dakota beamed. “Hell yeah, man!” William groaned, burying his face in his hands. Maybe he should’ve pretended to sleep for longer.
The waffles Vyncent made tasted like shit. Both because of the batter and the cooking, but William ate what he could, and then washed it down with one of Dakota’s significantly better ones.
He couldn’t’ve asked for better friends.