One Direction Sickfics

Larry's kid sick- for savvv15

Over the past three weeks I'd grown a passionate hatred for the stomach flu.

First Dad caught it, because he sucks like that. He's great at taking care of the lot of us when we're all sick but he's also great at catching bugs and then bringing them home to share with us.

It took a feeble three days for both Sera and Isla to start spewing alongside him. The odor of sick had been confined to the bathroom where Dad sat glued to the toilet until that point, but afterwards the whole house just reeked of the stuff. There was no avoiding it. The triplets had only just turned four, I swear Sera and Isla cried for two days straight.

Papa was already stressed and tense with three sick people on his hands so when the family germophobe joined the party the fun just doubled. Sienna didn't know what to do with herself, and Papa didn't know how to calm her down either. This resulted in endless nights of panicked tears and cried that kept the entire house up.

Thankfully Dad got over it before Thea and Harper got sick too because Papa was an inch away from snapping in two. Before that I'd been the second hand man so it was a relief to be able to relax and distance myself from the whole situation. As bad as I felt for my sisters I was pleased it was them rather than me.

Another week passed, and everyone was back on their feet pretty much. A bit tired with some sore throats but functional. Papa and I were pretty pleased with ourselves for avoiding coming down with it ourselves.

Unfortunately I'd celebrated four days too early.

My pillow crinkled as I shifted and changed the TV channel lazily. My bed sheets were damp with sweat and the bucket beside my head was used. The smell didn't even bother me anymore. I'd seen and smelled enough of the stuff recently to become immune.

I glanced at the empty glass on my bedside table and groaned, itching at my dry throat.

Dad and Papa had both used all their time off so I was home all alone, miserable and thirsty. I'd been up all night throwing up, I blacked out when I stood up. I wasn't doing that just for a drink.

Sourly I observed the advertisement on the TV before huffing and switching it off. With all the noise cut out I could hear my stomach growling and rolling around like there was an animal trapped inside of it. One that wanted out.
Wearily I sat up over the bucket on the floor, one hand on my gut. My nose and throat burned as I threw up and all I could taste was acid.
Afterward my eyes started playing a few tricks on me but I was already half way up, I figured I might as well carry on out to the kitchen to grab some more water. The taste in my mouth was awful so the need for a drink had only heightened. Toothpaste would make me gag, so that was a no go.

The stairs weren't any fun but I made it and then dragged myself over to the fridge with my empty cup. There was a bowl of soup in there ready for heating, labelled with a yellow post it note from Papa. I swallowed and pushed it aside to get to the water jug, maybe I'd be hungry later on but right then seeing it just made me nauseous.

I heard a familiar text tone and paused mid way through filling up my cup, glancing around. I hadn't even seen my phone since yesterday. I'd been sitting there messing about on it yesterday when I suddenly felt bile rising in my throat. My reaction was to panic, so I'd thrown it who knows where and bolted for the bathroom.

I couldn't see it, so I decided that I didn't care. It was probably just Dad or Papa checking up on me, or both.
The moment my arse hit the soft cushion of my favourite lazy boy chair my phone started singing again before a call came through. I stood up, fumbled sprung for a bit because the head rush was so intense I couldn't see a damn thing, and soon my hands landed on the cool steel of my phone where it sat under the dining room table. I must've really chucked the thing, it had gone a solid few metres from where I'd been sitting.