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The universe definitely had a hand in this just to laugh at him.
Erebus couldn’t help frowning as he stared at the lump of blankets still shivering on their couch, his brow pinching in. “You couldn’t wait to get sick until Jupiter and Saturn came home?” he asked, nearly grumbling.
Uranus just blinked at him like he’d barely understood he was speaking words, which was… likely. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide and slow to track, and the shiver that ran through him was violent enough to make his teeth click together.
He groaned under a sigh, truthfully not even caring that much.
“I’ll get you more water.” Turning on his heel, he left Uranus in his huddle and slipped towards the kitchen, taking a moment to snatch the half-empty medicine bottle from the cabinet before he poured a new cup of water. He’d already given Uranus some of it that morning—though he’d had to practically push him into it, since Uranus had been stubborn about the fact that he wasn’t sick—but based on how completely miserable he looked, he definitely needed more. Not to mention his breathing was just off enough to make alarm bells raise in the back of his mind.
Stars, he hoped this wasn’t something that would escalate into a much, much worse sickness. That’d be… bad.
When he stopped in front of the couch and swirled the medicine in the bottle, Uranus looked up at him with an undeniable pout. “’M fine, mate,” he mumbled. “I don’ need anymore medicine.” His nose wrinkled. “Tastes bloody horrid.”
“I think all medicine does,” he said dryly. “And sorry. Those little faces might work on Saturn, but not on me.” He did allow himself a half-smile, tacking on, “even if that is a little cute,” just to watch Uranus’s already fever-flushed face tint a little redder. “Now come on. Take some and drink your water, and then you can go back to be your miserable little pile on the couch.”
“Hmph,” Uranus said, undeniably pouting.
Erebus just reached out and ruffled his hair, ignoring how wrong the heat under his palm felt—the fever cooking him from the inside out—and how obviously weak Uranus’s attempt at batting him away was. “Drink the medicine and take a nap. I can’t have you getting worse if I’m the only one here. Taking care of sick people is not in my repertoire of skills.”
Uranus’s hand trembled just slightly too much to properly hold the medicine cup, so Erebus slid one hand behind the back of his head and slowly tipped the cup so he could properly drink it, waiting until it was just the remnants to finally pull away as Uranus coughed and spluttered. He coughed wetly, and it went on for long enough that Erebus's own breath caught in his throat watching it. His eyes squeezed shut and stayed shut when he finally regained his normal rhythm. "Blo-ody hell," he said, voice cracking. "That taste is always horrid. Can we g-get some better tasting medicine?"
He huffed in amusement. “Sorry. Don’t think that exists.”
Uranus slumped into himself, leaning against the arm of the couch with a dejected whine; Erebus just watched him for a moment and scooted the cup of water (plastic, rather than glass, because… well, less of a mess if he accidentally dropped it) a little closer to him on the coffee table. “Make sure you’re drinking water, or I’ll be forced to make you drink it.” He nudged Uranus’s arm. “Got it?”
When all Uranus did was nod silently with an exhausted look, Erebus frowned, dropping onto the couch beside him and reaching for the TV remote.
“You aren’t going to work?”
“It can wait,” he said, not looking at Uranus. “Nothing important.” That was a lie—there were a few things that could probably use his immediate attention, but Erebus would never admit he was ignoring them just to sit at Uranus’s side.
Well. Admit it to anyone but himself.
He reached out and dragged Uranus’s legs up into his lap, watching exhausted eyes lock onto him and then drift away. “Just take a nap or something. If you want to get worse, wait until Jupiter and Saturn get back, yeah?” Please. Uranus just made a low discontent sound in return, eyes sliding shut as he burrowed further within his bundle of blankets.
Erebus may have turned on the TV, but his attention was squarely on Uranus.
Which was why he quickly lost the majority of his usual nonchalant mood when he showed no signs of improvement as the hours ticked by, instead devolving even more until his pallid face was dotted with sweat despite the fact that Erebus had turned the air conditioning down a bit more than usual—the perks of the warmest in the house being out—and his breathing more labored, shot through with harsh coughing every other one. Not to mention that Uranus barely roused the few times he tried to get him to drink water, his eyes half-lidded and increasingly fever-hazy.
Once it was around dinnertime, he finally stood up and poured another cup of medicine, this time practically having to do everything for how little Uranus reacted.
It didn’t make him feel any better.
The cough only got worse as the evening wore on. In the back of his mind, Erebus counted the time between them—two minutes, then ninety seconds, then a string of three in a row that left Uranus gasping as his chest heaved, the experience leaving his face slick with sweat. Erebus had him sitting up for that one, one hand braced against his back and the other locked around his chest, repeating, “Breathe, Uranus.”
Uranus’s fingers clawed weakly against his forearms.
"C-can't—" He broke off into another cough, this one wetter and even more painful sounding than the last few had been. Erebus let him collapse against his chest and whine in pain, slowly letting his own hand drift up and down the length of his spine.
Stars, he hated sickness.
“Oh, our poor Ura,” Saturn said, visibly pouting in the tiny screen view. “I wish I was there!”
“You know he’d be annoyed by you calling him Poor Ura, right?” Erebus arched a brow and watched as Saturn just wrinkled his nose in amusement. “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be fine. The only thing that really matters right now is his temperature, and it’s not in the danger zone.” He glanced down at Uranus’s head in his lap—he’d demanded the switch with more strength than Erebus thought he had at the moment—and ignored the urge to card his fingers through his hair, which was sweat-damp and plastered to his forehead and somehow still soft as all hell. “I haven’t checked it in a bit, but he was around 102 when I last checked.”
“102?” Jupiter echoed, brow knitting. “That’s getting awfully high.”
“I know.” Erebus shot him a look. “If it gets anywhere near 104 or so I’ll take him to that nearby urgent care. Just to be…” He cleared his throat. “Safe.” Giving into the urge without really thinking about it, he tucked strands of wild hair behind his ears, drawing his fingers through the pale strands until Uranus shivered and leaned a little more into the touch.
When he glanced up, both Jupiter and Saturn were staring at him… clearly fondly.
“Shut up!”
Jupiter chuckled. “We didn’t say anything, Erebus.”
“I could hear you thinking it,” he retorted. “Keep it up, and I’ll end this call early.”
Saturn put both hands up, his bracelets jingling against each other with the movement; his expression was still bathed in fondness, but Erebus could equally read amusement in it, and so he sighed, giving up on the matter. “Nonsense! You’re going to stay on this call with us until we’re ready to let you go, darling. Jupi and I don’t get to return home for another two days, and I refuse to not have you in my sight for both of those!” He mimed blowing a kiss. “Now catch!”
His mouth twitched up, and he lazily lifted one hand, squeezing it shut.
“Caught it.”
Saturn made a high sound and grabbed onto Jupiter’s arm, shaking him as Jupiter just let him. “Oh, Jupi! Aren’t they so cute? Wasn’t that so cute?”
“That was cute, but I’m a little more focused on Uranus right now,” he said gently, patting Saturn’s hand. “You’ve been giving him medicine? And water? What about electrolytes? I know there’s some electrolyte packets in the pantry, so you can pull one of those out and mix it the water. And—”
Erebus interrupted him. “I know how to take care of someone who’s sick.”
“I know, I know you do,” Jupiter said, rubbing one hand against his chin. “I just worry. You know me.”
“Jupi can’t help it. He’s half-worry to the core,” Saturn said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “But we know you’ll take perfect care of Uranus, darling. You’d never let anything happen to him, right?”
Erebus didn’t need to think for that answer. “Right.”
“See?” Saturn blew him another kiss. “Jupi and I should probably start getting ready for bed before it gets too late here, but you keep us updated, alright? Especially poor Jupi. You’ll drive him wild if you don’t.” He just giggled in amusement when Jupiter glared sideways at him in exasperated fondness. “Love you, darling!”
“Love you too,” he said, “Both of you.”
He ignored the ache in his heart when the call ended, leaving the room silent save for the droning of the air conditioner and Uranus’s labored breathing in his lap. Without eyes on him he felt far more free to act as he wanted, carefully carding his fingers through Uranus’s sweat-damp hair until his eyes cracked open, fever-hazy and pale as ever.
“E-Erebus?”
“That’s me,” he said, staring right back at him. “Are you actually awake? Or is this another lucid session you’ll forget immediately?” Uranus just stared back at him vacantly, which was his answer. Erebus groaned and pushed to his feet, careful of Uranus’s head; when he took a step away a slight tug on his shirt stole his attention, and he looked down only to find Uranus had latched a hand in it, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Don’t throw a fit,” he told him, softening his tone just a tad. “I’ll be right back, I just want to take your temperature one more time before we go to bed.” When Uranus didn’t release his grip, he sighed.
Sure, he could remove it himself, but…
“I’ll carry you upstairs if you let go,” he offered, biting back a smirk when Uranus’s hand immediately dropped away, flopping back down to the couch. “Ha. Stay right here.” It wasn’t like he could really go anywhere else, but it was Uranus. For all he knew, he’d roll off the couch and find some way to his studio to start working on a painting.
Luckily for him, when he returned Uranus was in the exact same spot as before, his eyes closed and breathing just as labored as it’d been all afternoon and evening. It didn’t really sound good to him, but Erebus’s extent of medicine had been restricted first aid in emergency situations, not decoding sicknesses and identifying if they were serious or not.
His temperature was still hovering around 102, which was…
Both good and bad.
Good, because it meant it hadn’t gone up… and bad for the same reason, that it hadn’t gone down. He’d hoped it would have reduced a little by now with all the medicine he’d been giving Uranus, but guess not. The universe just couldn’t make this easy on him. But with his temperature taken and medicine given, Erebus finally set to his next task and wriggled both arms underneath Uranus, who cracked his eyes open, spotted him, and relaxed so quickly it made his heart squeeze a bit in his chest.
The night was the worst it’d been.
Erebus had carried him upstairs and laid him down in their bed, watching amused as he immediately turned and burrowed into the pillows with a weak sound of happiness. He was less happy when Erebus used those same pillows to prop up his back and keep him upright, but he hadn’t had much strength to protest with more than a plaintive sound.
One that he’d ignored.
The blankets he still wasn’t sure about—did he let Uranus have as many as he wanted, or should he keep them off? A quick search on his phone gave him the answer, and so he ended up going for one of the lighter blankets in the closet, bringing it up to Uranus’s chest and helping him with one more sip of water before the exhaustion seemed to take him over and he passed out completely, fingers curled against his jaw and the other hand tucked beside it. Rather than even entertain the idea of sleeping—he was a private investigator, he’d pulled plenty of all-nighters—Erebus set up a sickness station of sorts on the nightstand, stocking up the medicine and water, along with the thermometer and a wet washcloth he re-wet to keep cold every once in a while.
And then he sat down to watch.
Because wasn’t that all he could do, at this point?
He entertained himself by scrolling through and attempting to organize his email, but it was hard to ignore Uranus’s too-fast shallow breathing, the rattle in every one that’d only gotten worse over the course of the day. He was still deep asleep, but that didn’t really help his peace of mind any.
At one point he snapped a picture of the still-sleeping Uranus and sent a quick update to Jupiter and Saturn, aware they’d both be asleep but also aware they wanted updated no matter what.
“E-Erebus?”
His eyes jerked up, landing on a wide-eyed Uranus; he didn’t look any better than before, his eyes hazy and not quite landing on him, but at least he looked more awake than before.
“How do you feel?” he asked, arching one brow.
Uranus ignored his question, scooting a little closer to the edge of the bed and therefore him. “Can you… sing? Until I fall asleep?”
“You were just asleep,” he said, blinking in disbelief. “Just close your eyes, and I'm sure you'll be back in oblivion before long.” He coughed, wet and body-wracking. Erebus winced. “Fine, fine. I’ll… sing you to sleep, you menace.” He leaned over and swept an errant lock of hair out of Uranus’s eye. “But you don’t mention a word to Jupiter and Saturn.”
“’M not a menace,” Uranus mumbled, tilting into his hand. “But okay.”
Erebus half-thought he could just wait a few minutes and Uranus would fall asleep all on his own anyway, but… he’d asked, and it wasn’t like it’d kill him. It’d just be embarrassing, and he’d never let it repeat again.
It took a few seconds of searching in his own mind before he figured out exactly what he wanted to sing—and wasn’t that a thought—and he leaned over, close enough to Uranus to see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and glistening on his cheeks.
“You still awake?”
Please don’t be.
Uranus’s eyes cracked open. “Mhm.” He uncoiled one hand and slid it over the bed, tangling their fingers together. “Sing?” Erebus sighed once before listening to him, wetting his lips and starting with a slow hum.
It was far nicer than he thought it would be to watch Uranus’s face slowly fall into the peaceful allure of sleep, his scrunched-up features relaxing as his lips slightly parted, his breathing still labored but less-so than when he’d been awake earlier. By the time he finished—though it’d only been a couple minutes or so—Uranus was dead asleep and still clutching his hand with a tighter grip than he should have been able to manage.
Erebus sat back and groaned.
Another night shift it was for him. Fun.
(He’d pull a million more.)