Archive of Our Own

He'd been feeling like that all day. There was an ache in his right leg, one that wouldn't disappear no matter how hard he shook it, and an everlasting chill that crept up his spine hourly. He was growing congested, but it was minor, so he paid no mind to it. He paid no mind to anything, actually, or at least tried to. 

Soon the day was over, and as the moon rose above his head, he made his way to the Sanctum for his nightly event. 

"Hey, love," he greeted, making his way through the door. 

"Always a pleasure to see you, John," Stephen turned around, his expression morphing from bliss to concern in an instant once he saw him. "Woah, you doing okay?"

Like everything else, John paid his worries no mind. Now was their time together, away from the troubles of the outside world. Tonight was their night-- no minor ailment was going to stop that. 

"Oh, just a long day at work," he walked over to him, trying not to sway too badly. His hands grasped the collar of his tunic gently. "Where were we?"

Stephen hesitated to lean in. He placed a hand on his chin, tilting his head to get a closer look at his face. He pressed his lips together, saying nothing, but it was still evident he wasn't 100% certain John was okay. But despite that, John had successfully swayed him into a kiss, and he had no choice but to give in at last. 

The night went off without a hitch. 

The morning after was considerably pleasant, John thought. Lying in Stephen's bed at his side was a comforting feeling-- an almost normal one, he considered. He pleasured himself with the idea of having a "normal" life, perhaps because he knew it was nigh impossible to achieve between the two of them. 

He rested his head on Stephen's shoulder, eyes closed, humming as Stephen ran his hands through his hair. He didn't want to get up, not just because he wanted to wade in this feeling for as long as possible, but because the idea of getting up from the comfort of the covers was...less than appealing, to say the least. 

"You're on fire," Stephen said all of a sudden. 

"Is that a bad thing?" John mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. 

"No, you're...warm," the fingers running through his hair became a palm to his forehead. "John, I think you have a fever."

He pulled his head away from his grasp. "I feel fine."

Stephen cupped John's face, though not out of intimacy, but out of concern. His eyes narrowed as he felt the warmth radiating off of his skin and noticed the other symptoms of illness, most notably the rings descending from his eyes. "Yeah, you're coming down with something."

"I'm not," he repeated, punctuating his sentence with an ill-timed cough. 

"Who's the doctor here?" Stephen asked, brushing a tender hand through his hair. "Why don't you...spend the day here? You can call in sick and I can take care of you."

To be honest, that sounded rather enjoyable. A day of lounging around in the Sanctum, Stephen at his beck and call, not having to lift a finger for just one day...in any other timeline he would've accepted. But he had responsibilities. He had a job to do, people to work with. He couldn't let a mild cold get in the way with that. 

"Hmm...sounds lovely, but I'm afraid I have places to be, Stephen." 

He shoved himself off of the bed, perhaps with too much force, as the resulting thud led to another coughing fit and another concerned glare from Stephen. 

"John--"

"I'm fine," John repeated. His actions didn't match his words, as he was trying to lift himself off the ground to no avail. It only took Stephen forcibly helping him get back on his feet. Despite this, he still disregarded his concern. "I promise I'll be okay. I'll be over it by the end of the day."

He could feel Stephen's eyes burn through him. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, exactly what he wanted to argue. But, like him, he seemed worn out of debating. For now. So instead, he just fell back into the bed and nodded with contempt. 

"Fine." And then, "Mihpares."

John had turned to gather his clothes, but he could've sworn he heard him whisper something. He turned around, eyeing him carefully. 

"What?"

But he just shrugged. "Nothing. Just a cough. Have a good day at work-- lay low on the magic." 

He froze where he was standing for what seemed like ages, but truly was only a few seconds. 'Just a cough', and he was the one concerned about him being sick? The nerve of him. But he supposed that settled it. 

Grabbing his trenchcoat at last, he set off from one life into the other, hoping whatever was happening today would be quick and simple. This migraine was starting to get to him. 

He mulled over Stephen's words as he opened the door and fought against the blinding, exhausting sunny weather. A Florence Nightingale situation was enticing...but both of them had better things to do today. He knew that much. 

However, all he wished was that Stephen didn't notice the sweat covered sheets from his side of the bed when he got up. 

"John, glad you could-- woah, are you feeling okay?"

As John made it onto the Waverider, he felt all eyes on him. If it wasn't the fact that he nearly stumbled face first into the floor of the bridge, it was probably his pallid complexion. Nevertheless, he waved a hand at Sara and acted as if nothing was wrong. 

"Fantastic, love."

"You sure?" She asked, crossing to meet him face to face. "You're looking kinda pale."

He smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well, aren't we all? What's the issue for today?"

Nate entered from the side entrance, his right hand covered in feathers. "We're doing a bottle episode."

John sputtered as he turned around. "A what?"

"Long story short," Zari began, following behind him as she dusted some rogue feathers off of her skirt. "We saved a group of chickens from starting another plague."

"Yeah, yeah, good for you..."

Nate continued for her. "Except one of the chickens got the wrong cure...and now has super abilities, snuck onto the Waverider, and is capable of taking down all of us."

He stood there, taking in the situation, and after a moment just took a heavy sigh. Wow. A murderous chicken. Never thought he'd see the day.   

"...I swear, by the lot of you--"

Before he could chide them any longer, Sara hoisted a digital map of the Waverider into the air. A red dot resided in the medbay area. 

"The chicken was last found here," she pointed at the dot, "but one of its enhanced abilities is super speed, so it could easily slip away if provoked. Our A-Team for today is off delivering the correct cure to the rest of the townsfolk's herds, so you're gonna be part of the B-Team today. Think you can do that?" 

Her eyes landed on him, examining his composure for any signs of fatigue available. He knew she already had the 'just admit you're sick' monologue on her tongue, so before she could say anything, he just flashed a thumbs up. 

"Of course, love. That's what I'm best at--" 

He punctuated his sentence with an ill-timed cough, which was followed by a short chain of hacking. This did little to convince Sara he was in full condition, and earned him a few concerned looks from Nate and Zari, but nevertheless, he persisted. 

Arms crossed, Sara gave him 5 seconds of silence to say something probably along the lines of 'alright, I'm sick, I'm going home now.' When those 5 seconds were up without any word from him, she just gave up and directed a finger at him. 

"John-- Magic. Nate-- defense. Zari-- offense," all three of them nodded and she turned towards the map. "Alright, team-- time for some fowl play."

The team dispersed, Zari and Nate in one direction, Sara in another, and John all by himself. Normally, he would've joined them of course, but he knew that the longer he stayed with them, the faster they'd force him back to his mansion. The sooner he got to his mansion, the sooner he would prove Stephen right-- and while of course he was right, that sense of smugness was always aggravating to put up with. He was already dealing with a cold, he didn't need another pain in his side. 

Speaking of pains, the one in his head was getting harder to put up with by the minute. He considered sneaking off to fetch a(nother) ibuprofen, but he knew that would be of no help to him. Time was of the essence-- if he found the chicken, then they could deal with it and he could be off his way. Moreover, if he found the chicken himself, then it'd prove that he was perfectly fine after all, fever or not. 

Luckily, the chicken wasn't too far away. Hearing a loud cluck coming from the nearby hallway, he raced over. Or, more like power walked. Of course he would've ran, but he didn't exactly have the most stamina at the moment (disappointing). 

He clambered into the cargo bay, readying a fire spell at his fingertips. There it was-- a completely unassuming chicken, walking around without a care in the world. 

He was impatient. A terrible vice, to be sure. 

He lurched toward the chicken, hoping to grab it before it ran away, but the task proved to be far more difficult than he anticipated. With an ear blistering cluck, his hand was aggressively pecked and it broke free, sending him to the ground. Lifting his head, he watched as it sped away, sending one last self-gratified cluck into the air. 

This was a fever dream. No other explanation. 

Lifting himself off the ground, he hoped no one saw what had happened. Maybe he should just come clean and admit he's sick. Maybe they'd be easier on him with the humiliation after this. 

No matter that, he still had eyes on the chicken. He forced himself to his feet, running to the next hallway. The rest of his team had already beaten him to it, to his dismay, as he watched Nate do exactly what he did and try to grab the beast in his hands. 

"Come here--!" 

The chicken flew out of Nate's hands before he could even blink. It sent a vicious claw to his face, but fortunately his skin was already steel at that point. He once again tried to grab it, but it kicked him square in the jaw, its enhanced strength resulting in Nate falling backwards. 

As he attempted to regain his balance, Zari swept in for the kill. She directed her hand at the creature, a gust of wind blowing from her bracelet. The chicken was swept in the air, its rhythm momentarily thrown off. 

"John!"

Caught up in his growing fatigue, John could hardly comprehend what Zari just said until he saw the chicken descending directly towards him. He reached out to try and catch it, but he was too late, and all he got instead was a claw to the face. 

As his hand brushed against the scarring, he tried to ignore the sweat that was slowly seeping into the wounds now. 

"Damn," Sara said, bringing a hand to his face. He softly took her hand and set it down before it could touch his skin. He was burning up-- he could sense it. She didn't need to know. "That chicken can really do a number on--" 

"Bloody hell," John muttered to himself as he lifted himself up. The chicken was in the air. The chicken. Was in. The air. And it looked angry at all four of them.

With a loud cluck, a small energy beam shot from its beak, just narrowly missing John. It singed the metal of the Waverider-- and now it was ready to singe the rest of them. 

Nate was still steeled up, and Zari was readying another burst of wind, but John was far from primed now. His head was spinning, leaving him unable to think of the right spell to combat. Fingers tracing the lines on his cheek, he whispered a soft, simple: "sanacure". 

Then a sapphire light, brimming with energy, appeared before him. His eyes widened as he saw the bright blue shield standing before him, right as another cluck echoed through the bay and shot at him. The energy beam disappeared on impact right as it met the shield. 

That was odd. He didn't summon a barrier spell. He wouldn't even think of something like-- 

Wait. He'd seen the pattern of this shield before. He noticed the glow was occuring around him as well. Looking down, he saw that the hems of his trenchcoat were glowing that same, mystifying color. This wasn't a shield of his own. 

Oh, that bastard. 

"What the--?" Sara whispered, throwing her head across her shoulder. 

John raised his hand. "Get behind me!" 

The three of them scattered behind him as the barrier kept the chicken away. John raised his quivering hand to the sky, summoning a small bout of blue flames, then directed it at the animal.

Right as the fowl beast leapt into the air, the fire burst from his fingertips and encapsulated it. Everyone watched as the chicken was purged of its raw destructive power, a bright white aura escaping its body, before the flames disappeared. The chicken, now back to normal, fell to the floor on its honkjoints with nothing but an absent minded cluck. Luckily, it was unharmed, and started walking around as if nothing had happened. 

The barrier dissipated. John grinned, trying not to topple over. Another job well done. 

"Yeah, we did it!" Sara exclaimed, raising her hand for a high five. John, too caught up in their victory, delivered without thinking twice... and then he watched as her eyes widened and she clutched his hand. "...John. You are burning up."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I think the saying is I'm 'on fire'."

"John..." Bringing her hand back, she squinted at him. "Do you have a fever?"

"...No."

"Be honest," she said, crossing her arms with suspicion. 

John slipped his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. "I don't."

Exasperated, Sara looked up to the ship. "Gideon--"

"Fine, yes," he raised his hands in defeat. "I'm feeling a little warm. But I'm not sick."

"Your voice says otherwise," Nate commented as he gathered the chicken into his hands. 

John turned his head to counter, but before he could, Sara grabbed his wrist and started pulling him out of the cargo bay. 

"C'mon, I'm taking you to the Medbay. You're staying the night."

"What?" John pulled his arm away. "No, that's not necessary."

"You've lied to us about fevers before, what else are we supposed to do?"

"It's just a 24-hour bug!"

"Is it?" Sara glared at him, exasperation creeping into her tone. "How do we know what happened today wasn't just your magic malfunctioning?" She pointed to his coat flippantly. "Can magic even do that?"

"Alright, how about this?" He raised his hands in the air, before letting them fall to his sides. "If I promise to go home now, I'll go right to sleep, and I'll come back only once I'm feeling better," he directed an insistent finger at her. "Which will be tomorrow."

Hands on her hips, Sara mulled over his offer. He watched her, hoping that she'd agree so he at least didn't have to disappoint Stephen tonight. He was right, as always-- but he didn't want him to know that. Maybe if he got home earlier, he could lower his temperature before he noticed. 

Eventually, Sara responded. "Fine. But Gary's going to tell us if you're better beforehand."

He smiled, nodding. "That's fine." 

Digging into his pocket, he found Gary's time courier and managed to open a portal back to the mansion. As he stepped through, he did his best not to sway as tiredness started to overtake him. 

"Get well soon, John," Sara called out as he left the ship. 

He was able to turn back onto his heels with only a little discomfort. 

"And that'll be real soon."

He stepped behind himself, watching the portal disappear right after he stepped through. As he tried to maintain his balance, he attempted to calculate how much time it'd be until Stephen came over to visit. He hoped that he'd have enough time to pull himself together until then, but that idea would soon prove to be useless once the portal fully closed...revealing Stephen, arms crossed and eyebrows narrowed. 

Great. 

"So?" He said, voice low. He scanned John's body, noticing how sluggish he appeared compared to this morning. "Are you over it yet?"

Screwing his eyes shut, not wanting to put up with this, John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stephen..."

He tried to walk towards him, but he nearly fell in his dazed haze, and Stephen had to catch him before he made it to the ground. In an instant, the smugness turned to warm concern, and John didn't think twice as Stephen wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him close. Was the room spinning, or was it just him? 

"Hey, hey," he whispered with a graceful cadance. "No need to rush. I had a feeling you'd be getting off work early, so I decided to drop by and make a little visit."

John lifted his head, trying to quell his rapid breathing, and exhaled sharply with a question. 

"You put a spell on me, didn't you?"

Stephen smirked. "Your coat. A 24-hour spell that would summon a Shield of Seraphim if you were to use your magic. Which, as I predicted, you did."

John rolled his eyes, making his way back onto his feet.  "You bastard."

"Well, you're back in one piece, right?" he kept his hands on John's shoulders, looking at him to make sure he was steady on his own feet. The truth was, he wasn't steady, but he was trying his best not to let that be known. It was bad enough he had a spell cast on him without his knowledge-- he didn't need to faint in front of him and prove him right. "How about you go to your room and I'll bring you some tea? Homemade."

He looked him up and down, still bitter about what happened today, but also too worn out to argue. He'd prefer a drink, as always, but he figured tea would do well at comforting him at the moment. 

Turning around, he huffed, "You're lucky I love you."

And he meant it, even in his delirious haze. He sincerely loved Stephen for staying here even after what he's said to him. 

His shaking hand clamored to the handrail to steady himself, and as he trudged up his stairs it felt like he was wading through the ocean. He felt like he was drowning, and there was no land in sight. 

Even though he was already holding onto the handrail, he needed to hold onto something else lest he fall right onto his face. Heat pounded on his skin, though he didn't know if it was the fever or the trenchcoat. He hoped it was just the fever, since he chose to cling onto his trenchcoat for some sort of comfort. It was one of the constants that stuck with him through thick and thin, in sickness and in health. It was a security blanket of some sorts, and he wasn't going to give it up anytime soon. 

He's really done it this time. He's pushed himself beyond his limits. Now Stephen was downstairs preparing some sort of brew, and he was up here trying not to pass out in the middle of the hallway. The house was still spinning on its axis, but he had no intention of falling. 

He made it to his bedroom at last, but by now he was swaying harder than a lifeboat caught in a thunderstorm. He gazed at his bed, the lavish reward that awaited him. He just wanted to lie down, go to sleep, and wake up anew. But he didn't even have the energy for a task as simple as that. Instead, he saw himself kneeling to the ground right beside the foot of his bed, clamoring to the floor in a dazed state. 

He broke out in a sweat. It made him feel even more sickly, but he didn't whine nor groan. Instead, he brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them, clinging for dear life. As the room spun faster now, he just let his eyes close as he pressed his head against his wooden floor and drifted off... 

"John...John..."

When he stirred, John was quick to realize that he was on his bed now. His trenchcoat had been disregarded, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. A dampened washcloth was spread on his forehead, giving him minor relief to the raging heat emitting from his skin. 

He already knew who was saying his name. 

He tipped his head to the side, looking right at the one who coaxed him back to consciousness. 

"Hey," he said to Stephen weakly. 

Stephen sighed in relief. "You're back. I found you on the floor."

John tried to sit up, but he could only make it slightly up before he had to lean against his headboard. "I didn't keel over, love."

"Great, you were too tired to make it to bed," Stephen drawled, getting up to grab the mug on the bedside drawer. "Glad to know you're okay."

He offered the mug to John, guiding it into his hands and to his mouth since he didn't know if he could hold it or not. John tugged at it defensively, almost offended at the idea of being coddled like a child. It was humiliating, even more so than nearly being bested by a chicken. He was an adult. He didn't need, of all things, a friend with benefits to nurse him back to health. 

But Stephen, on the other hand, had contrary thoughts. Elbows rested on his knees, he watched John sip his tea with a malcontent scowl.  

He placed the mug back on the stand. "Got anything to say, Stephen?" 

"Why are you so hesitant to let me take care of you?" Stephen finally exhaled. "We've been dating--"

John cleared his throat pointedly. He tried not to segue into the coughing fit threatening to rear its head.   

"...We've been 'seeing each other' for, what, 3 months? If you're not going to take care of yourself, can't I at least convince you to take a break?"

John pressed his lips together, unable to come up with a response. The pounding in his head made it hard to focus enough as it is, but the guilt was even worse. He wanted to tell Stephen about everything that's happened in his love life-- from Zed, to Neron, to Jeanie --but he could already hear his voice telling him to disregard all that. 

They were different, Stephen would say. This was the present, and they can learn from their mistakes. They can be better together. 

And the first step had to be communication. 

"I'm sorry for not listening to you."

Stephen took pause at his hoarse apology. His gaze softened, and he stood up to place a hand on his shoulder. He grazed his hand beneath his chin, briefly checking for signs of a worsening fever. Lucky for him, his condition was stable. 

"I'm sorry for casting a spell on you without you knowing," He meant it in earnest, like he always did. "Now, is there anything I can do for you?"

John gave him a tired grin. "Stay. Just stay." 

Stephen responded with a sweet smile, reaching over to drape the blanket over his body. "I can do that." 

John settled into the pillows tucked under his head, watching hazily as Stephen knelt against the bed, resting his head against his leg. He let his eyes close, knowing that when he opened them again Stephen would be gone as always, but was more than content with that fact. 

Today turned out better than expected. He was sick, and that was perfectly fine, because Stephen knew how to take care of him.