Tropical Storms (Homestuck - DirkJake)

[4000tacobells]

Guess who should be studying? Me. I should be studying. But sick!Jake is my favourite thing and there is a disgraceful lack of sick!Jake in this world. I'm also kind of hoping to blaze the trail for more sick!Jake maybe... Whatever. Anyway! This is set pre-SBURB, when the boys are about fifteen I guess? It's not super shippy but I'm tagging it anyway. For those of you who aren't familiar with Homestuck, Dirk and Jake are internet friends who live in different hemispheres and different centuries and stuff. Brobot is a robot version of Dirk, which Dirk made for Jake to spar with, basically (it's more complicated than that). Jake also lives alone on an otherwise deserted island which makes being sick kind of a hassle. Helpful (?) reference pic where they actually look like teenagers (Dirk's the blonde, Jake's the... non-blonde). And Homestuck fans, don't even try to tell me he wouldn't quote Shakespeare. Anyway, on with the sicknasty show, which may turn into a multi-chapter affair maybe.

---

You’d always thought that your island had only two types of weather – hot and dry, and hot and wet. Apparently you were wrong. As it turns out, such a thing as cold and wet exists. It’s early in the week when a tropical storm and subsequent cold front rolls in, abruptly and unexpectedly water-logging the earth and leaving a harsh chill in the air. It’s definitely not your favourite type of weather. You’re the type who believes that hotter is better – an attitude not shared by any of your friends. You don’t know how to deal with the cold. Hell, you don’t even own pants that cover your knees. But like a true adventurer, you don’t let the less than agreeable weather conditions get in your way.

That attitude extends to your needing to hunt. A guy’s gotta eat, and you can’t just live off genetically engineered dancing fruit until the clouds go away. You’re currently crouched low on the muddy ground, a large fallen tree trunk keeping you hidden but doing nothing to keep off the persistent rain. It’s only been about half an hour but you’re already soaked through and starting to shiver. The desire to seek shelter is pretty freaking strong right now, but you’re on a mission. A few feet away from you, seemingly unaware of your presence is some kind of bird. It makes a sort of warbly clucking sound, picking at the ground with its talons and occasionally snatching up a bug from the wet grass. You haven’t seen many animals around since the last big storm, especially less dangerous ones like this bird. You can practically smell that sucker roasting over a fire already, and you cock your gun with enthusiasm that can’t be dampened by any amount of rain. You try to steady your aim, but it proves more difficult than it ought to be. The shivering is probably to blame for your shakiness, but your vision is also kind of weird and your head hurts and your eyes ache and what’s worse is you don’t know why. Still, you’re not allowed to let a little dizziness cheat you out of your meal ticket so you squint against the swirling landscape and take aim again, the customary cocky grin you reserve for these occasions lighting up your face despite the dull throbbing in your head and the ticklish buzz starting in the back of your nose.

“Hasta la vistahhHUHT’CHIUH!” Bad things happen when you try to be cool. Like an idiot in your state of sneeze-induced confusion you press down on the trigger, the shot whizzing off into the distance. The bird gives an indignant squawk and takes off, leaving you sniffling and glowering in its wake. “Et tu, nose?” you grumble to yourself, rubbing it briefly against your wrist and leaving an unsightly streak of slime behind. It’s sort of been bothering you just as much as your head since you woke up. You’ve been tired and sniffly and generally miserable all morning, a sure sign that you’re coming down with something. You don’t get sick often - probably because of your isolation, but you like to think it’s more because of your hardiness. Either way, you’re not really the best at dealing with this sort of thing. If your grandmother was still around she’d have forced you into bed with a cold compress by now, but she’s not and that leaves you in charge of your own health. God help you.

The bird is long gone and the gunshot probably scared off any other animals in the area – or worst, alerted that confounded robot to your presence. Either way, you decide it’s time to cut your losses and go home. You stick your berretta back into one of the holsters at your hip and try to stand, but immediately crash back onto your knees. For a moment your temples pulse so hard that you have to clamp your hands over your scalp for relief. It takes a few minutes to pass before you deem it safe you try pulling yourself up again, using the tree trunk for support. You rise slowly, finding that the dizzies leave you alone this time. Success! Confident in your newfound ability to walk, you let go and make a beeline for the overgrown trail leading back to your house, making it only a few steps before the jungle floor comes up to meet you and the world turns black.

---

“Hngh…”

A cool hand is touching your forehead, then both cheeks. A voice that seems to come from the end of a long tunnel shushes you, and for a moment you can feel a flicker of relief in your world of pain. “Grandma?” you ask, voice childishly thin. You’re either crying, or the heat encasing you has melted your eyeballs and they’re trickling sideways down your face and into your hair.

“No, Jake…” says the voice that you now realise is most definitely not your dead grandmother’s, as a tantalizingly cold thumb brushes over your wet cheek. “You’re okay. C’mon, wake up for me.”

You don’t want to wake up. Actually, you didn’t realise you weren’t awake and now that you know, you aren’t entirely sure how to rectify the problem. Actual hands are still cupping your face and it feels so good but you know something is wrong, and you don’t want to come to and have to deal with it but already your vision is getting brighter and your damp eyes creep open, letting the dim afternoon light pour into them.

Somehow you’re tucked up in bed, which makes no sense because the last time you checked you were outside. Your head still feels odd, not quite as bad as it had but you don’t dare try to sit up just yet for fear of the pounding migraine that’s surely waiting to happen. You sum up your feelings with a sort of confused whine that leaves your throat feeling scratchy, and all too soon your whole shitty situation becomes abundantly clear.

You’re sick. Sicker than you thought, anyway.

“That’s more like it,” says a voice to your left, and you turn just enough to see that your laptop has been relocated to your bedside table. The screen contains the one and only Dirk Strider, who sits at his computer four hundred years in the future and half a planet away with worry etched on his angular face.

“Dirk?” you ask for clarification, because you’re still not entirely sure as to what’s real and what isn’t right now. Your best friend nods and you feel a pang of shame, rubbing your eyes dry against the back of your hand.

“Don’t try to sit up just yet, okay?”

You’re not going to argue with him on that one, but you do hazard a scan around the room to make sure it is in fact your room and not some elaborate hallucination. “What the blazing hell is going…” your voice dies in your dry throat as your eyes fall on Brobot, who stands as close as he can get without touching you. “Strider…?” you croak fearfully, knowing that when he comes at you the odds will be entirely in his favour.

“Relax, dude,” says Dirk, and you watch for the robot’s first movement but it remains stationary. “He’s not going to hurt you. I’m in full control right now.” You wonder rather petulantly if there’s ever a situation in which Dirk Strider isn’t in control, but you keep it to yourself, instead choosing to rub your nose some more. You stay quiet, and Dirk, apparently taking the hint, fills you in. “You passed the fuck out. Brobot was wandering past and sort of figured out something was wrong. You’ve got a pretty insane temperature but I think we brought it down a little.” That explains the wet washcloth at the back your neck. You’re really glad he doesn’t embellish the story to make you look even lamer, although he soon dashes any hope you’d had of him not calling you out on your stupidity. “What the fuck were you doing out in the rain anyway?”

You shrug sheepishly, giving a rather unattractive sniffle. “Hunting?”

“Looks like all you caught was a cold.”

You nod miserably, turning your face into a cooler part of your pillow. “I know.” You’re about to thank him for his troubles and apologise for being such a twat when you feel your nose start to itch. You rub at it with the heel of your hand but it seems to just exacerbate the tickle, leaving you to draw in a breathy gasp before exploding snottily onto your pillow. “Ukshuu!” Your nose starts running, but somehow you’re still struggling to draw breath through it. “Oh God, I’b so sorry,” you mumble shamefacedly. Being sick and gross is one thing, but doing it in front of poor Dirk after all he’s done for you is another level of shitty altogether.

“Not your fault,” he says in a tone that is just a bit gentler than usual. “Well, it kind of is. You’re a fucking moron for going out in the rain like that but…” he shrugs. “I don’t mind helping a bro out. Like for starters, you could probably use some Kleenex.”

He’s sweet, but you can’t help rolling your eyes at the last bit. “Sure, Dirk. Why don’t we just pop down to fucking Walmart?”

Dirk gives you a look. “Are you one of those people who turns into a huge asshole when they’re sick?”

You groan and apologise again. “I’b sorry. Snrf… there aren’t any tissues arou’d bud there’s handkerchiefs in the second drawer if you’d be so kind.” You gesture clumsily at the nearby chest of drawers and Brobot reacts appropriately, moving forward and opening the second drawer as smoothly as a real person might. You’ve never seen him so sedate like this – normally he’s just a silver blur tearing through the jungle.

“Wow, Jake,” Dirk snickers, and you realise he can probably see whatever his robot can see as it rummages through your things. “You have a whole drawer just for handkerchiefs? What era are you even from?”

“One with class,” you retort, accepting the neatly folded square the robot offers. You then decide you’ve probably done enough gross things today and duck under the covers to save Dirk from the sight and sound of you blowing your nose. You emerge after a moment, pink-nosed and messy-haired and suddenly all too aware of the fact that you’re shirtless. “Did you undress me?” you ask wearily, leaning back against the headboard.

“Brobot did, yeah.”

You’re going to regret this. “… Why?”

Maybe it’s your imagination, but Dirk starts to look a tad uncomfortable. “You were covered in mud, okay? I wasn’t putting you into bed like that.”

You guess that’s as good a reason as any. “Well… thank you.” You manage a smile for a second before you have to sneeze again, muffling an embarrassingly wet “uhht’cshx!” into your handkerchief as goosebumps erupt all over your bare chest and down your back. Fucking fantastic. “Say, Dirk…” you begin once you’ve mopped yourself up, shoving the dampened cloth under your pillow for now. “Not that I don’t appreciate all of this but you really don’t have to nurse me back to health.” You cough into the crook of your arm, trying and failing to clear the itch before it develops into a full-blown coughing fit. You don’t realise that Brobot is rubbing your back until you’ve come to a breathless, spluttery stop, and it doesn’t exactly help but no one’s rubbed your back in… shit, like ten years? If it wasn’t for the metallic hardness of his fingers you could almost let yourself believe that he was a real person. “Ugh…” you groan, the picture of a well-spoken young man. “You’ve done so much already –snf– ahd I’b so disgustig…” There goes your nose, stuffing up again and, hoo boy, the tickle is back too. “Y-you dod’t… huh... don’t have to…” At some point you give up on fighting it and bury your face in your hands just in time the cover the “HAAATshuu!!” that explodes out of you and leaves your head ringing. There’s snot all over your hands and you sort of wish Dirk would relinquish control over Brobot and let him finish you off before this gets any worse.

“Bless you,” comes the response from your beside table as your metal nurse pushes your handkerchief back into your hand. “Here, just blow your nose and go back to sleep. I hear rest is the best cure for this kinda thing.”

There’s not really anyone you trust more than Dirk, and you can’t possibly make this situation worse with more snot so your snurfle obediently into the fabric before lying back down. “What are you going to do?” you ask tiredly, not doubting for a second that he might watch you the entire time to make sure you don’t stop breathing.

Dirk shrugs. “I don’t know. Kinda feel like watching Die Hard again.”

“Can you take a raincheck on that?” you ask, pausing to muffle a cough into your bedspread. “I’ll watch it with you.” The last time the two of you attempted a Skype-based movie date he fell asleep (probably just to spite you), but you have higher hopes this time. Dirk seems pleased by the idea, anyway, and you think you can see the corner of his mouth turn up in an almost-smile.

“I guess I can wait a couple hours. Get some sleep, okay?”

You don’t need telling twice, curling up and feeling your eyelids grow heavy. Brobot pulls the disrupted covers up over your shoulders so gently that you’re almost expecting him to kiss your forehead as well, and when it doesn’t come you almost wish it would. Oh well. You yawn widely, already feeling yourself starting to drift off despite your stuffed nose and aching head. “Dirk?” you manage sleepily, hoping you don’t fall asleep before he replies.

“Yeah?”

You yawn again, practically whispering a congested “thagk you” before blacking out once more.

[squealofapproval]

Wowwowowowowowow!

That's AMAZING!

The sneezes, and the interactions (so in character), and I ENJOYED the Julius Caesar reference, thank you c: - and EVERYTHING!

That was so sweet <3

Edited May 25, 2014 by Awko the taco

[LeapYearKisses]

This is so, so awesome. Your writing is brilliant and your characterization is amazing, and the sneezes and the sick Jake- So, so great! I'd love to see more of this if you get the time to continue!

[4000tacobells]

*Flattered hissing noises* Thank you, friends ♥♥. I'm especially happy that you think they're in character because dang, being IC is hard.

[meepsy]

Aww this is wicked cute! You're right, the world needs more sick Jake indeed. You write him very well, and your sneezes are so perfectly miserable!

[SpamKey]

D'awwww I love this sorta thing. It's really good work.