Drew Starkey Imagines

Sick Day With Brother Rafe

The fluorescent lights in the school nurse's office were too bright, and your head throbbed with every tick of the wall clock. You shifted on the narrow cot, hugging your arms around your stomach. You hadn't been feeling well all morning—nausea, chills, and now a pounding headache that made you dizzy when you tried to stand.

The nurse, Mrs. Johnson, stood at the counter, phone pressed to her ear.

"No answer from your parents," she said after a moment. "Anyone else we can call?"

You swallowed hard, voice a little shaky. "You can try my brother... Rafe."

She arched a brow. "Rafe Cameron?"

You gave a weak nod. "He's my brother."

After a few more rings, Rafe picked up. "Yeah?"

"Rafe Cameron?" Mrs. Johnson asked. "This is the nurse at Kildare Academy. Your sister's here. She's not feeling well—running a bit of a fever, nauseous... Her parents didn't pick up. Could you come get her?"

There was a pause. Then a softer voice than she expected. "Yeah. I'll be there in ten."

You closed your eyes again, the weight of your eyelids too much to keep open.

⸻

You heard him before you saw him.

Shoes thudding against the tile floor, the sound of a familiar voice speaking low. Then, a shadow fell over you, and you cracked your eyes open.

"Hey, kid."

Rafe's voice was softer than usual, laced with concern. His expression didn't carry the usual cocky grin—it was all furrowed brow and tightened jaw.

You managed a weak smile. "Hey."

Mrs. Johnson filled him in with a quick summary—slight fever, nausea, no signs of infection, but definitely not well enough to stay.

Rafe looked down at you. "Come on, I got you."

He crouched, his hands steady and careful as he helped you sit up. "Easy."

You leaned against him more than you meant to, but he didn't say anything—just wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you out.

⸻

The car ride was quiet. The soft hum of the engine was actually soothing, and you rested your head against the window. Rafe kept glancing over at you at every red light, his jaw tight.

"You should've called me earlier," he said eventually, voice low.

You didn't answer, half asleep. He sighed.

When you got home, Rafe didn't just leave you to fend for yourself like you half-expected. Instead, he helped you inside, one hand steady on your back.

"Alright, straight to the couch," he said. "You're not going to your room—you'll just pass out up there and forget to drink water."

You gave a small laugh, but it turned into a cough. Rafe winced and guided you gently to the couch, grabbing one of the big fuzzy blankets Rose kept for decoration but that no one ever actually used.

"Here," he said, tucking it around your shoulders. "Warm enough?"

You nodded, sniffling.

"I'll get you some water."

He came back with a tall glass, two cold cans of Ginger-Ale, and a cool washcloth. When he pressed it to your forehead, you blinked up at him.

"You're really going all out."

He shrugged, but his ears turned a little pink. "You're my sister. What, you think I'm gonna leave you drooling on the nurse's cot all day?"

You grinned. "I wasn't drooling."

"Sure you weren't."

⸻

An hour passed, then two. Rafe sat on the other end of the couch, flipping channels mindlessly but checking on you every few minutes.

"You want soup or something?" he asked at one point.

"Maybe... in a bit."

He got up anyway. You heard him in the kitchen, opening cabinets, mumbling to himself. After a few minutes, he returned with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup—probably from a can, but you weren't going to complain.

He sat next to you again, blowing on the spoon before holding it out. You looked at him.

"I can eat it myself."

"You're shaking," he said, not backing down.

You hesitated. He raised an eyebrow, and you rolled your eyes.

"Fine. But if you spill it, it's on you."

He chuckled, holding the spoon steady. "Got it."

⸻

Later, when you dozed off again, Rafe stayed nearby. His usual restless energy was gone—no pacing, no loud music blasting from his room. Just him sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone with the volume off.

When you stirred, he was quick to notice.

"You good?"

You nodded slowly. "Still tired."

He got up and came back with some Tylenol and the Ginger-Ale. "Take these. Your fever's still there."

You obeyed without complaint this time, sipping from the can and grimacing.

"Thanks, Rafe," you said quietly.

He didn't answer right away, just pulled the blanket tighter around you.

"Don't worry about it," he finally said. "I got you."

You let your eyes drift shut again, comforted by the fact that your big brother—rough edges and all—had a soft spot just for you.

⸻

By the time Ward and Rose finally got home, Rafe was still camped out beside you, half asleep himself. Rose blinked at the sight, whispering something to Ward as she noticed the soup bowl on the table and the extra blanket.

"You sure you don't want to head out?" she whispered to Rafe after a while.

He shook his head.

"I'll stay. Just in case she needs anything."

Because for all the chaos Rafe Cameron brought into the world, when it came to you—his little sister—he was still just a boy who'd do anything to make sure you were okay.