Matilda's Imagines

Im not sick

Y/n hated being sick.

Not because of the fever or the aches or the chills—she could power through that stuff. She had always powered through. Being sick in foster care meant one thing: you were inconvenient. So she learned to push through it. Keep her mouth shut. Don't complain. Don't make it anyone else's problem.

And it was just a sore throat and a bit of a cough, anyway. Nothing she couldn't handle.

She sniffled and tugged on her training hoodie, wiping her nose with her sleeve when she thought no one was looking.

Except—someone was always looking. Especially when you had four annoying older sisters and one overly-attentive team mum who had basically made it their life's mission to fuss over you.

Still, Y/n had gotten pretty good at hiding it. She kept her energy up (well, she tried), masked the shivering with her usual ADHD restlessness, and blamed the flush in her cheeks on running drills.

But Mini wasn't buying it.

None of them were.

"Y/n, water break," Mini called.

"I'm good!" she yelled back, waving. "Not thirsty!"

Mini raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't a suggestion."

Y/n groaned but jogged over, grabbing her bottle.

Kyra and Alana were already hovering.

"You look like a soggy chip," Kyra said, wrinkling her nose. "Are you dying or just losing your will to live?"

"I'm fine," Y/n grumbled.

"Sure," Alana muttered, narrowing her eyes. "Except you've been wheezing since warm-up and your face looks like it's melting."

Macca joined the circle, eyeing her like a suspicious older sibling. "You're burning up, kiddo."

"Am not."

Caitlin appeared behind her and smacked a cool hand to her forehead. "Oh my God, she's literally boiling. Mini, she's got a fever!"

"No I don't!" Y/n snapped, swatting hands away like angry mosquitoes. "Just let me train! I'm fine, I swear. I don't need—"

She swayed mid-sentence.

Kyra caught her. "Oh yeah, totally fine."

Mini appeared a second later, hands on her hips, the "mum voice" fully activated. "Alright. That's enough. You're done for today."

"No!" Y/n panicked. "Please, I can still go! I swear I can! I'll be fine, I just need—"

"You need rest." Mini's voice softened as she stepped closer, brushing damp hair from Y/n's face. "You don't have to push through everything, sweetheart. Not here."

Y/n blinked quickly. Her throat burned. Her head pounded. But worse than all of that was the tight, aching fear in her chest—the fear of being a burden.

"I—I didn't want to be a problem..."

"Oh, honey," Caitlin murmured, wrapping her arms around her from behind.

"You couldn't be a problem if you tried," Alana added, sandwiching her in a one-armed hug.

"Even when you're gross and sweaty and sick and sniffling," Kyra said, "we still love you. Unfortunately."

Y/n let herself be hugged. Which was rare. Which meant she was really not feeling good.

Macca scooped her up without asking. "To the couch bunker we go."

"The what?"

"The couch bunker," Caitlin said seriously. "It's when we pile you up with blankets, snacks, and movies until you feel human again."

Mini kissed the top of her head as they walked. "And no arguing. You're not alone anymore. You never have to pretend around us."

⸻

Later that day, Y/n lay bundled in a fortress of blankets in the team lounge, head on Macca's lap, feet in Kyra's, while Caitlin massaged her temples and Alana fed her ice chips. Mini sat nearby with soup and the "mum eyes" trained at full intensity.

And for once... she didn't feel like she had to be strong.

She could just be a sick kid.

And still be loved.