Heart's Done Time (Aerosmith Fanfiction)

Chapter sixteen, part one

Sesame's POV
I awoke with a start sometime Friday afternoon after spending part of the night and most of the morning nursing an ailing Steven through various bouts of fever incline and nausea, bathing his face in cool water and holding back his hair while he brought back up any water I'd managed to get him to consume. It had been a gruesome few hours, to say the least, and I was exhausted.
Which brought me to wonder just what the hell had woken me up.
My first thought was to look to Steven, but when I rolled over I found him sleeping calmly--or, more calmly than a few hours before, anyway. His breaths were still shallow and labored, but it was an improvement.
I rolled over onto my back again and stared at the ceiling tiles above me, just considering going back to sleep when the phone rang loudly beside where Steven lay and I remembered that oh yes the phone was ringing.
I padded over to the device and picked up, answering softly with a, "hello?"
"Hey, Sesame, it's Joe," said the voice on the other end, sounding relatively calm, but with an excited undertone.
"Joe," I said, looking quickly up to the clock. The time was 1:37. School wasn't out yet. "Why aren't you at school?"
"I could ask you the same question," he jested dully. "I'm getting our stuff ready for tonight. I called to see if you could pick the others up at school."
"Sure. Do they know I'm coming?" I asked, pulling the receiver away from my mouth to quietly shush the now-stirring Steven.
"Yeah," Joe replied, apparently packing up the drum kit in his garage. "I told them at school yesterday that that would probably be the plan, but you and Steven weren't there so I called to make sure that was okay."
I sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Steven's heated cheek to calm him down. "Steven's sick," I told Joe, both as an explanation for our absence and so he understood the lapses of silence in between answers. "I've been taking care of him."
"Shit," he said, pausing in what he was doing if the sudden absence of background noise was any indicator. "How sick?" He sounded worried.
"Uhh," I said, putting down the receiver for a few moments to grab the thermometer and get it situated in Steven's mouth. I pressed the speaker to my ear again. "That really depends."
"On what?"
I rubbed my tired eyes. "It's--uhh--been rather unpredictable. He keeps getting worse, and then better, and then worse again." I paused, whispering words of comfort to Steven. "Looks like the flu," I said after a moment or two. "But I'm no doctor."
"Can he sing?" asked Joe, and I had just been wondering the same thing.
I sighed. "Yeah, if I pump him full of drugs and keep him resting to the last minute, he should be fine to sing," I told him, examining the thermometer. "He may not be his usual, energetic self though."
Joe sounded relieved, and I couldn't blame him. This band was his life--all of their lives--and to lose a gig like this would be devastating. "How is he now?" he asked then, still concerned for his friend.
"He's, uhh..." I trailed off, frantically gauging Steven's temperature by pressing my hand to his face, making sure the thermometer hadn't lied. "Look, Joe, I've gotta go. If he's gonna do the show tonight I need to get his fever down before it gets any higher," I said, jumping to my feet. "I'll pick you up on my way to the school."
"Okay, see you later. Sorry to keep you," he said, and I hung up before I could even say goodbye.
I all but sprinted to the bathroom then, filling the bowl I'd left on the counter with cool water and tossing a washcloth into the liquid. I returned to Steven's side and began stroking his face and neck with the rung-out rag.
I put the cloth to rest on his forehead, then, just long enough to put on a record he liked.
I sighed.
It was going to be a stressful afternoon.
And boy, was that an understatement.
---
By the time I got Steven's temperature down to less-dangerous levels, I had mere minutes to get him dressed and cleaned up and ready to hit the road, scrambling for something for him to wear onstage that wasn't dirty or much too large. That was a hard feat, but I managed.
Pulling him into a sitting position--slowly, so as not to make him dizzy--I got him to cooperate enough to help me wrestle on his baggy (but acceptable) jeans and a top with a low-cut v-neck, as well as a scarf. I deemed that good enough.
Next I went to fetch a comb while he slowly got his boots tied and on his feet and his coat hanging on his thin shoulders, returning victorious and going quickly and mercilessly about combing some of the mats out of his unruly hair. He looked betrayed, but I was more worried about getting him to the venue than sparing him the pain of untangling hair he should've dealt with ages ago.
I was able to get myself together much more quickly, pulling Wednesday's discarded shorts on over my underwear and changing into an old t-shirt of Steven's, forgoing a bra. It was a rock venue, I figured. Very few people wore bras.
Then, I hopped about as I put on my grey socks and black boots, and pulled my hair into a careless bun atop my head.
"Okay, let's roll out, kid," I said, pulling on my leather jacket and returning to the bed to grab the first aid kit and to help Steven up and out to the van.
It was tough, at first, to get situated so that neither of us were in danger of toppling over, but once we had it figured out the trip to the van was quite painless and we even made it to Joe's in good time. Loading the gear into the back, however, proved difficult with only one capable guy and one petite girl to move all the heavy things from the garage on a time constraint.
Again, however, we managed, and made it to the high school only a few minutes late.
But from then on, our luck only waned.