Chapter Text
Pain.
Darkness.
Fear.
Thirst.
Fire.
Viktor.
Cold.
Sweat.
Pain.
Moisture.
Viktor.
Hunger.
Pain.
Pain pain pain pain pain.
“... Dad?” A tug on his arm yanks Jayce from sleep.
Jayce squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe, if he convinces himself he isn’t awake, the small voice will go away and disappear back into the veil of the night. Or the voice will climb into bed and then they can just sleep.
“Dad?” Another tug, sharper this time. “Mom?”
There is more urgency in the little voice now. Jayce slowly turns around to face in the direction the voice is coming from, rubbing his eyes against the dark. His mind is sluggish, still stuck where his subconscious had been while asleep.
A place he never wanted to return to, but always did.
On the other side of the bed, Mel stirs.
Mel?
Mel.
Right.
“I’ve got it”, he whispers, voice raspy from being woken up in the middle of the night. With a hand on her shoulder, he gently pushes her back into the pillows.
The only answer he gets is a soft sigh. Good. He is definitely more awake than she is. Though that’s no surprise – Jayce rarely finds deep sleep. Or good sleep. To be precise, good, deep sleep rarely finds him. Hadn’t in years.
He groans. “What’s wrong, cricket?”
It’s unusually dark in their bedroom tonight, barely any moonlight comes in through the semi-transparent curtains. Maybe a storm is brewing, though none of his scars are aching. Then again he’s just been woken up a minute ago – communication between his brain and body is undoubtedly still compromised. Which, if Jayce is being honest with himself, is a good thing. Better than waking up with a racing heart or clammy hands because of where he has just been.
“Dad, Thea’s sick!”
He can feel his heartbeat pick up the pace. It feels like blood is rushing into his ears and back down, leaving him dizzy.
Jayce blinks and manages to stifle the worst of another groan by running his hand down his face. Mel had told them – them being all three of them – not to have mango juice before bed, but Jayce had said it was fine. So they had mango juice before bed. To nobody’s surprise, Mel was once again apparently proven right.
“Give me a second, love, I’m coming” he whispers as his body starts to obey, his head becomes a little less foreign, and he pushes himself up. Blindly, he reaches for his prosthetic leg on the wall. Instead, he finds his crutches there.
Right, he’d left the leg in the office that night to charge. Whatever.
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, right foot landing on the once soft, woolen rug they’d picked out years ago. One the twins had worked on getting very grimy as soon as possible. They baptised it the ‘thirsty rug’ at some point, because it had absorbed so many liquids over the years. Questionable liquids. Joys of parenthood.
Just like what he is experiencing now.
By now, his eyes can make out the outlines of his daughter in her little green pajamas right in front of him. She is shifting her weight from one naked foot to the other and back, clearly agitated, her hands running up and down her thighs. Poor little one. He reaches out for her fidgety hands and gives them a short squeeze, tries to ground her by moving his thumb in circular motions, before he hoists himself up on his crutches. Mel stirs again but doesn’t make another sound.
“Mom — ?”
“Let your mom sleep, yeah? I’m right with you.” Jayce doubts that two adults are required to clean up after their sick child and take care of her. He has more than enough practice. An unreasonable amount of practice, really.
Andy pulls him by the hem of his shirt, almost strong enough in her alarm to make him lose his balance. “Come on!” She ignores him when he tries gently shushing her.
It's still cold in the house, spring not quite here yet, but too warm during the days to leave the heating on. It’s worse walking down the tiled hall barefoot with only a shirt on. He and Mel had always wanted to replace the tiles with hardwood flooring, but somehow, it had never worked out. There was always something else.
Andy’s little tip taps are such a familiar sound, but, luckily, a rare one this time of night. Quick little pitter-patter that stands in stark contrast to his crutches slamming down.
Jayce can already hear them – the miserable sounds of a retching child. His heart clenches and he walks faster. The faint glow of the nightlight next to the twins bedroom door makes the hallway the tiniest bit brighter. His daughter pushes the door open.
What Jayce sees is Thea, looking all pale even in the near darkness.
Her skin is glistening – whether it’s sweat or tears or vomit he can’t tell yet. Probably all three.
Thea looks so frail. Her blankets are all bunched up around her, one leg hanging out of the bed and she is curled over the edge of it, is curled in on herself, a small pool of sick underneath her and probably more on the bed.
The acidic smell in the room hits him like a wave and something in his brain flickers, makes his fingers shake around the grips. Revulsion, or a bad memory that has nothing to do with this room. He doesn’t fully grasp it now and shakes the feeling off. Tries to.
Jayce crouches down in front of her, balancing on his foot and crutches he’d moved into his left hand, careful not to misstep.
“Hey, bug”, he says softly and brushes damp strands of hair from her clammy forehead with the back of his knuckles, then places a kiss there. Her little body is shivering under his hand and oh, he hates seeing her feel so awful.
She only whimpers.
“Daddy’s here. You’re okay baby, you’re alright.”
Gently, he nudges her head up a little so he can check on her eyes. They are all glassy, the sclera red. Her lower lip is trembling. There’s dribble on her chin and pajama top and bottoms. The ones with the pink and purple waveriders his mother had sewn for her last birthday.
Neither Mel nor Jayce know why exactly Thea was so obsessed with the aquatic creatures, but ever since she had seen a drawing of one in a book two years ago, she needed to know literally everything about them.
There are no children’s books on them, so Jayce had acquired one aimed at marine biologists with lots of anatomical drawings, extremely detailed depictions of their tongues (yes, tongues, they had three, apparently) and spikes and scales and absolutely everything there was to know about waveriders.
It reminded Jayce of all the drawings of human anatomy he’d taken so many years ago. That he’d been hunched over and fallen asleep on. Drawings of legs, of lungs, of plants. The notes that hadn’t been his, until they had.
Thea had beamed at him when he’d gifted it to her, even though she hadn’t even been able to read yet.
While marine biology was not necessarily Jayce’s area of expertise, he loves reading the book with her, seeing the gears in her head turn, eyes all lit up. An expression so familiar.
Balancing family and work isn’t easy. Not for anyone, and Jayce was no exception. Jayce and Mel were no exception.
But that doesn’t matter now, because now, he’s here, cradling his daughter’s face. Thea sniffles and a tear wets his thumb. Jayce had dried so many of his daughters tears: tears of anger, of sadness, of frustration, of happiness, of pain, of exhaustion. But sick tears always hit a little different, simply because there was so little he could do.
“How are you feeling, kiddo?”
Thea only presses her eyes closed, followed by a retching sound again and leaning forward. Right .
Andy hovers beside him, petting her sister’s shoulder, still rocking back and forth on her feet. “She woke me up because she said she felt bad”, she explains. “Then I climbed into her bed. And then she threw up!”
Thea flinches at the mention of it, a pained little whine escaping her mouth along with more tears slipping from her eyes. Jayce’s heart aches. He can handle this, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. If there was a way to never have his babies suffer, he’d gladly take it.
By now, Jayce can feel his knee starting to throb. His head feels too light. He needs both hands to take care of this mess. His eyes wander around the dimly lit room, stopping on the fort in the back of the room. The dark blue canopy with golden stars he’d put up when the girls were still crawling around the house was an allusion to the wizard hat his mother had made for him all those decades ago. The memory was sweet.
He’s not looking for the fort though, or for childhood memories, but for the stools that are arranged around a little table inside the fort. He can spot Thea’s duck plushie on one of them.
With a nod, Jayce points at the fort. “Can you please get me a stool, cricket?”
“Yep!”
Seconds later, Jayce is sitting on a stool. He’s not sure where it came from.
The seat is way too small for him to fit on it comfortably, but at least it doesn’t collapse. He places a kiss on Andy’s hair, now one hand on her shoulder and one still on Thea’s face.
Okay. There are things to do here. Sick child. There is no water anywhere near Thea’s bed. Or in the room. That had to come first. Then – the vomit. Clean pajamas. Holding Thea upright who looks dangerously close to throwing up again.
He turns to Andy. “Think you can help me out here?”
Giving her something to do is great for more than one reason.
One: Jayce doesn’t need to crutch around. Tonight really was the most inconvenient night to charge his leg.
Two: While she was only half an hour older than her sister, she loved playing up the big sister role. Sometimes that meant she was bossing Thea around, but other times, she just loved to help. Like tonight.
Third: It gives her something to do instead of fiddling with her sleeves or her sister’s hair. Also, the likelihood of her stomping into something she shouldn’t is a lot smaller when she isn’t standing around right here.
As expected, she nods all too eagerly. His sweet girl. “I can do anything !” She puts her hands on her hips and sticks her chin out.
“Can you go to the … the bathroom and wet a towel? And grab me that box of wipes on the dresser and a fresh pair of pajamas, please.”
Andy takes off like a shot, throwing the wipes at him from across the room, almost hitting her sister with it, before she runs out. Jayce can hear the faucet run while he quickly gets rid of most of the mess on the floor with one hand, still soothing his daughter with the other one.
The stench is getting to him again now, conjuring up hazy images he doesn’t need to remember in his daughters bedroom.
“I need to get the covers off, baby. There’s a bit of a mess on them. Is that okay?”
Still teary-eyed, Thea looks at him and shakes her head, heaving once more. Jayce stifles a sigh. It isn’t her fault. She’s poorly. She’s probably cold.
“Okay, how about —”
Before he can try to convince her, Andy comes running back in, leaving a trail of water behind her. She holds the towel out to him, and it’s absolutely soaked. To her credit, she wouldn’t know how to properly wet a towel for this purpose, so Jayce just pats her curls and lets her flop down on the now – hopefully – clean floor. He prays he doesn’t have to clean another pair of pajamas tomorrow.
“Alright, bug, let’s get you cleaned up. Wipe-down first, then clean jammies. Sound good?”
The towel is being eyed with suspicion, but Jayce eventually receives a tentative nod from her. He thanks the heavens that Thea is such an agreeable child.
With the drenched towel, Jayce starts washing her with practiced moves, careful not to drip any excess water on her – she’s already shivering. He works his way down from her temples to her mouth and throat, goes through her hair, squeezes some water into the threads and finally gives a few superficial scrubs at the stains on her clothes, murmuring quiet reassurances. To his surprise, she leans into the touch of the fabric with her eyes closed again. Good. Good.
He leans forward to press a kiss on the top of her head, steadying himself on her bedframe.
Andy and Jayce work in tandem to get Thea into fresh clothes and change the sheets. When it’s finally done, she lets out a shaky sigh and digs her fingers into her Jayce's arm where he squeezes them back.
“Better?”
Thea gives him a slow nod. “... I’m thirsty?” she adds.
Of course. The water. He’d forgotten about it.
“I’ll get you some water, baby.”
He pushes a few damp strands of black hair out of her face once more. Then his eyes fall on his crutches flat on the ground and he sighs. Maybe he should have actually let Mel handle this tonight. While he had dealt with enough sick nights to have a system, to know what needed to be done, he usually had two legs and both hands free, not one leg and no hands free to handle these things.
Before Jayce can even ask, Andy is already up on her feet again, eyes bright, no sign of tiredness to be found.
“I can get it! I’ll do it!” And she’s out of the room.
Jayce lets out another sigh and maneuvers himself onto the bed next to Thea before calling out to Andy to get a bucket from the kitchen too, just in case. He hopes the whole commotion doesn’t wake Mel.
He gets settled against the headboard and lifts his daughter’s trembling body into his lap, on his good leg, and she rests her head against his chest. It’s all still a little damp. Jayce presses more kisses on her hair. Brings her hand up to his lips and kisses that, too. Seemingly almost a little content, she rubs her nose against him, and his arm wraps tighter around her. She’s already so big and at the same time, she will never be this small again. They will both never be this small again.
Moments like these should be cherished, Jayce knows that. Not because of the sickness, but because one day, they will stop coming. One day will be the last time he mops up their vomit or wipes their faces or has them in his lap at night, and he won’t even know it until the moment has long passed.
Just like he hadn’t known he had changed his last diaper until he didn’t have to do it the next day. Or the day after.
His mother had told him how emotional these moments were, but Jayce didn’t think it would happen to him. Not over diapers. Or bland, pureed vegetables that made him sad just to look at. And then the realization had settled in a while later and he had sobbed and held on to his daughters so firmly they tried to wiggle out of his embrace until Mel pried them from his grip.
Sometimes, lasts turned out to not be lasts after all.
Around the time Jayce became a teenager, his mother thought she was done with him getting sick at night.
Then he had started at the Academy. Like most, he had tried to fit in in the beginning, had gone to the parties thrown in the first weeks of the semester. Drinking way too much to counteract his nerves, coming home to his mother’s house, long before he got housing through the Kirammans. He’d stood in her bedroom door, looking pathetic as fuck, clutching his middle, and then he had hurled at the foot of her bed.
He doesn’t remember much from that night, but he remembers how she’d held a cold washcloth against his forehead, how she’d sung a sweet melody to him, and how, suddenly, he’d been a child again.
When he lost his leg, his mother had cradled his head in her lap, had carded her fingers through his hair and whispered soothing words into his ear while he was puking his guts out from the pain and the terror and the fear and the disgust at his own body.
Jayce presses Thea closer, brushes his thumb over her wrist to feel her pulse get steadier and steadier. He breathes her in. The sweet, milky smell of baby long gone, the girls usually smelled faintly of the honey shampoo Mel has been buying them since forever. Right now though, Thea smells sour. Still, she’s breathing and alive and alive and alive.
“... happen?” Jayce feels her mouth move against his chest but can’t make out what she’s saying.
“Hmm?”
“Why did this happen?” She lifts her head up the tiniest bit but doesn’t look at his face.
“Oh, baby, I’m not sure.” He exhales through his nose and buries a hand in her hair. “Maybe the mango juice before bed.”
Now she meets his eyes and oh , there’s something like mischief in her eyes. “... so Mom was right?”
He places a big smack on her forehead and feels one side of his mouth pulling up into a guilty grin. “Maybe.” He sighs dramatically, now for her entertainment, which seems to work as her eyes light up a little more. “Your mother is a very smart woman. We should all listen to her more often.”
Thea is still giggling when Andy comes bursting back through the door with a glass in one hand, a jug of water in the other, and a bucket on her head. “The Barf Knight arrives to save the princess from her misery!”, she shouts, pointing the glass at the two of them and taking exaggerated marching steps toward the bed.
Thea snorts out a laugh that turns into a cough that sounds dangerously close to heaving.
His own reaction doesn’t come fast enough. For a second, or two, or maybe longer or maybe not that long at all, he stares blankly at her. Then his brain kicks into gear again and his body reacts with a short, loud bark of a laugh that makes both girls stare at him. Huh.
He raises one apologetic hand, the other one still tracing patterns on Thea’s back. “Sorry, I – no, that was funny, actually. It’s funny. You’re funny.”
They give him another look, give each other a look, then shrug.
He has to suppress another laugh because, quite frankly, they are perfect, but it’s also late and he's exhausted and Mel is asleep down the hall. Hopefully, anyway.
Suddenly, the bucket sits on his head, slightly obscuring his vision.
“You look stupid”, Thea says, and now they’re both giggling again and Jayce is happy to be the butt of the joke if it means Thea’s tears are drying.
“Just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you get to call your old dad stupid!” But he keeps the bucket on his head, pretends to be blinded by it, erratically waving his hands around. The giggles sound like little bubbly sounds now.
Or maybe the sound is Andy pouring her sister some water to his right. Thea’s hands are shaky as she grabs the glass and Jayce supports them – they don’t need more liquids on the bed tonight. His hand is also unsteady. He tenses his muscles to mask it.
When she’s done drinking, Andy grabs her own duvet, pillow and poro plushy – Sir Eggbert – from her bed and climbs into Thea’s bed, too. Jayce helps her arrange her things, then gets himself a little more comfortable. Thea nestles against his right side, curls into him, making herself all tiny.
He wraps one arm around her, brushes her forehead with his lips. “Try to get some rest now, bug. I’ll be right here.”
As perked up as she was a minute ago, she is now quiet and muttering something in a voice too small for him to catch. Still her fingers curl around the hem of his shirt. Her breath is already evening out.
Jayce is tired. His temples pulse and his thoughts start feeling washed-out again. He looks around the room. Sees Andy’s bed empty. Where is Andy?
Andy is here. She lays her head on his shoulder and looks up to him, eyebrows drawn.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is quiet now, probably not wanting to wake her sister.
Jayce hates this. He hates worrying his kids. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces a smile. He’s good at that.
“Perfect, with both of you here.” He ruffles her curls. "How could I not be with the Barf Knight protecting us?"
She doesn’t look fully convinced and scrunches her nose for a moment, so Jayce places a kiss to the top of her head, too. That seems to placate her.
“You did really good, Andy. Thank you.” Another kiss.
She beams at him from where she’s settling down on her pillow, pulling Sir Eggbert to her chest. “You too, Daddy”, she says and pats his stump.
Cherish the moment, Jayce. Remember it. Remember them like this.
He’s scared to forget. Eventually, he will. Probably. Maybe. Maybe not.
For now, all he can do is pull the blankets up to their chins, hold them like the treasure they are and listen to them breathe. They don’t sound the same, or maybe Andy just sounds quieter because she’s on his left. But they are breathing and he is here and they are safe and breathing and nothing bad has ever happened to them. And nothing bad should ever happen to them.
It takes his brain a long time to quiet down again. He doesn’t fall asleep.
The scar on his back starts to ache.
Maybe a storm is brewing after all.