Jork Sick Fic!

Jork Sick Fic!

[alt-text image description: a boy with mid length hair lays on a couch sleeping. He is dressed in day clothes and had his arms wrapped around himself. He used his jacket as a pillow.] Davy struggled to wake up, his body was cold and achy like garbage that had been frozen then left to thaw on the kitchen counter. His head pounded and throbbed. Micky had left the curtains open and sunlight assaulted Davy’s eyes. In his head he cried and shunned about being awake, but he threw his legs over the side of his bed and looked around an empty room. It must have been late if Micky was already up.

Feeling woozy, he stumbled down the stairs, chills breaking over his skin like waves. He clung onto the railing as the tight spiral of the stairs made him feel sick as he descended.

Micky and Mike were leaning against the counter with mugs of coffee, Mike leaning the small of his back against it with his hands curling over the edge, Micky propping his hip against it as he watched Mike wraptly as they chatted. Peter sat at the piano, plinking around on the keys and humming to himself.

Maybe Davy would feel better if he got something to eat. Leaning around Mike, he put the kettle on then crouched to retrieve the cereal. His whole body ached and protested. Davy rested his forehead against the cabinet door for a moment, forgetting what he’d opened the cabinet for.

“Alright there, Dave?” Micky asked, tucking his chin to his chest as he looked at his smaller friend.

“M’fine.” Davy snatched the cereal and stood, rolling his neck and shoulders. “Just a little under the weather.”

Mike put the back of his fingers (usually warm, but cold now) to Davy’s check. “You’re awfully pink and warm. Maybe you should go back to bed.” His signature concerned frown hung over his deep eyes. He watched Davy closely as he sipped his coffee.

“Thanks, Mum.” Davy said sarcastically. He poured a small bowl of cereal and opened the fridge to get the milk. They were out, so he turned back to his breakfast, picking a couple flakes up with his fingers and popping them in his mouth. He crossed the too bright room to the piano, placing his bowl on the top as he faced Peter.

Peter sat rocking, his shoulders hunched around his ears as he played and hummed, working out some time or another. Davy reached out and tapped his head to get him to look up. When Peter did, Davy put a spoonful of corn flakes in his mouth. As he put the spoon in, Peter was already changing the melody, playing “When I’m 64” by the Beatles. He laughed around his mouthful and sang “Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? When I’m 64?”

Davy couldn’t help but chuckle too. He ruffled Peter’s lovely hair and collapsed backward on the couch feeling like he wanted to peel his skin of. Could he not get warm? He wrapped a blanket around himself. Around this time the kettle whistled. He saw Micky moving to prepare his tea and spring up to make it himself. It was no offense to the others, but they couldn’t make a good cup of tea to save their lives. Davy seriously hoped that that would never have to come up in their crazy lives.

Davy retrieved the earl grey from the nearly bare cabinet overhead. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to reach Peter’s herbal, but couldn’t reach. He hated when the others put stuff on the top shelf.

Micky reached up and got the box of tea down. “Need a hand there, shorty?” His face contorted in pain as Davy kicked him in the shin. “Ooh ow.” He hopped around on one foot, clutching his assaulted shin.

As he prepared his tea, Davy felt Peter stroke his hair as he slipped in beside him to prepare his own cup. They stood quietly preparing their tea. Davy juggled the sugar and the blanket around his shoulders. A wave of chills hit him even as he could see his arms flushed with fever. He closed his eyes against the bright room. He could hear Peter moving beside him, picking up the mugs and nudging him.

“Come on, David.” He butted tue top of Davy’s head with his chin like a cat before crossing to the sofa.

Davy trailed behind Peter, not realizing he was shivering. When he sat, Peter pulled his into his side saying something about always wanting a cuddle when he wasn’t feeling well. Micky murmured something to Mike, mentioning Davy’s name, his whispy voice carrying but too quite to be understood fully.

Davy wasn’t sure how long he’d laid on the couch wishing he could fall asleep. Eventually Peter got up and Davy swallowed the space where he had been, smooshing his face into the cushions. The others must have gone outside because the pad was mercifully quiet. He drifted off.

Davy woke the work was dark all except a light on in the kitchen. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. At his feet he saw Peter, asleep on his arms at the foot of the couch where he was propped resting his head and arms on the cushion as he sat on the floor, face turned towards Davy.

Smiling, Davy gently slid off of the couch, careful not to disturb Peter, and padded into the kitchen. Mike was there, brewing his first cup of coffee. The clock read 5:30 am. Davy rubbed his eyes again and gave a sleepy nod to Mike.

“He been there all night?” Davy asked, nodding toward Peter. His voice was soft a croaky from sleep.

“Yup. Trying to look after you.” Mike nodded then fixed Davy with a serious look. “You be careful with Pete.” There was a low level of warning in his voice. Mike knew how much Peter cared for Davy, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to happen to make him unhappy. Mike was fiercely protective of Peter. He was tired of watching the world hurt him.

Davy nodded. “I will be.” He said softly, not looking away from the sleeping boy. His shoulders slumped as he looked, he trembled slightly. How could Peter be so gentle? Why would he even look twice at Davy? Davy didn’t know, but was grateful to have such a friend. Well, friend didn’t feel like the right word. Davy didn’t know quite what they were, but he didn’t much care, he was just glad to have Peter for as long as he was allowed. Davy crosse back to the couch kneeling by Peter. He ran a hand through his hair and down his h Sh eek. “Peter, wake up. Time to go to bed.”

“David?” Peter’s voice was cracked and tired.

“Yeah, Pete. I’m okay now. Time for you to go to bed.” Davy smiled softly at Peter in the dark and put an arm around him, leading him upstairs. Though his head still swam and throbbed, he smile as he tucked Peter into bed. “Good night, Sweet Pete.”

Peter hefted a sleepy sight and closed his eyes, rubbing the fabric of Davy’s shirt between his fingers before his arm fell limp to the bed.

Shaking his head, Davy crawled to his own bed, still shivering a little, but allowing himself to watch Peter as his chest rose and fell. Davy counted the breaths until he fell asleep.