Boys Don't Cry

Average Childhood Illness Scare Part 3

"Thomas... C'mon, wake up."

Kendrick called him out of slumber around one in the morning.

"What?"

"You know Percy?"

"Yes..."

"Sometimes he'll wake up to use the bathroom and... you know, not wet the bed... so, today was one of those nights. He said L was sitting on the floor in there, outside of a stall."

"That's bloody great."

With that, they walked into the bathroom to find L as he was described.

"Why are you on the floor? Shou-"

Stepping forward, Ken'dy held Thomas's arm back from coming to the boy's quavering shoulder.

"Thomas, Thomas, no. No- What are you doing?"

He didn't smell like sick yet, and was actively willing himself against vomiting. There was a sticky, wet strand of saliva attaching itself to L's sleeve from his mouth as he breathed, his petite chest threatening to heave at the drop of a pin.

"Oh, come here."

Kendrick slowly picked him up, and took him into one of the larger bathroom stalls.

"Close your eyes."

L did, being in no place to object. Kendrick sat him down in a kneeling position in front of the toilet, but didn't let him grab it. Close enough for the plan to work, but as unaware of what the plan was so he wouldn't resist too much. The plan would be to trick L into letting himself do it, so when he knew what was happening, he couldn't stop it.

"Breathe, you're turning red."

If his cheeks could get any pinker, they would have. He was breaking a fever sweat, and starting to shake. When he did breathe, Thomas found out exactly why he shouldn't have made L eat dinner. It really wouldn't have been so shocking, but it was changing colors according to what he ate and in what order.

Thomas begun to let his eyes wander away from the obvious, and noticed a puddle snaking towards the drain in the floor. Following it, he realized the need to gather some clean clothes and run a bath. Preferably now than later, unless the smell of ammonia and urea isn't offensive to you.

When that was done, he returned to the bathroom to find L sucking his thumb in the leftmost corner of the puddle, vomit down his chin and in his hair, and trying his best to save whatever dignity he still had and keep from bawling. Kendrick was folding a towel across his shoulder so he could pick L up without needing a shower himself.

"Hey, Tom? Could you get the thermometer?"

"It's not Tom."

It sat in a small box in Quillish's medicine cabinet. He found the plastic covers, too, and slipped one onto the tip of the thermometer.

"Alright then."

Kendrick put the display end between his teeth, picked L up, then put the "thermometer-y tip thing" in L's mouth.

"Thomas, didn't you run a bath?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Kendrick put L down in the bathroom and took out the thermometer. He squinted at it, but read it out loud.

"102.4. No wonder you just want to lay down. If you're like this tomorrow, I'm going to take you to the doctor."

L's big, dark eyes filled up with tears, but he asked one question.

"Which one?"

"We'll talk about it in the tub. Now, come here."