In Sickness

Characters; Garvin and Ingall. Rest of GRAIN is mentioned too.

Word Count; 2,550.

TWs; Swearing, smoking, nausea/vomit, sickness, vertigo, coughing fits, implied blood, self-worth issues, implied self-harm (kind of?), dissociation, and messy writing/ending. Maybe more? Hard to say. He’s out of it for a lot of this.

Notes; It’s finally done! Enjoy Garvin being very sick! Dude seriously woke up and immediately decided that he needed a cigarette. He’s so dumb. Lots of hints at stuff but nothing outright mentioned/said. Yes the title refers to the wedding vows ‘In sickness and in health’. I couldn’t think of any other titles. Hopefully Ingall's written alright.

*~*~*~*

He woke in a daze, his sight unfocused and head pounding behind his eyes with the desperate need of a smoke. The room he was in was dark, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was in a bed. It took him even longer to realize just how many people were laying in it with him. He groaned when he did, as quietly as he could manage to, and shifted to make his way out without waking any of them. The room swayed when he managed to sit up, nausea settling in his stomach and trying to force him to lay down again.

-

He gritted his teeth instead, and found his way to the edge of the bed as quietly as he could. He pushed himself up and caught himself with a hand on the nightstand next to the bed. He blinked a few times, trying to get his vision clear enough to let him get out before anyone woke up. He shifted, stifled a cough trying to close his lungs, and pulled at the collar of the shirt he was wearing to try and help himself breathe. He blinked, stifled some more coughing, and looked down at himself. He wasn’t wearing his trench coat, or the clothes he remembered being in, but he was wearing clothes. And he was wearing more than just a shirt, at that.

-

So he blinked some more, before forcing his eyes to start looking for what he didn’t have on. Which, none of it was hard to find either, even with how much his legs wanted to buckle under him. His trench coat was at the foot of the bed, right out of reach without taking a step or two or… However many it’d take. He held back on huffing, and glanced at the nightstand he was still holding onto, trying to figure out if pushing himself off it would help or not. It’d probably take just one step to get to his trench coat. But that was also just one step that could have him falling to the floor and waking up people he didn’t want to wake up. People he didn’t have time to deal with if he woke them up.

-

There was a pack of cigarettes on the stand he was holding, a lighter sitting next to it. He glanced over at the people on the bed before grabbing the pack and lighter, pulling a cigarette out of the pack without much thought. Whether something had happened the night before or not, he wasn’t one to leave without something. He lit the smoke and took a drag, feeling for the familiar pull of focus as he stifled another cough. He pushed himself off the nightstand, forcing his legs to keep him upright as he grabbed his trench coat. He let himself pocket the pack and lighter in the coat before putting it on, a hand on the bedpost to help keep himself up as he did.

-

He glanced back at the people in the bed, just to make sure none of them had woken up, and then swallowed vomit as it tried to make its way out of his throat with the room spinning around him. He breathed through his nose for a moment, and then forced himself to swallow vomit again as he reached for the pair of boots on the floor nearby, the cigarette in his hand that was practically clutching the bedpost as he did.

-

He forced himself up with the boots in hand, and tried to find the door through splotchy eyes that didn’t want to work for him. He pushed himself off the bedpost when he had decidedly found it, trying to keep his footsteps quiet in case the people in the bed were light sleepers. The last thing he needed was any of them waking up. Not when he couldn’t remember if anything had happened with them or not. It’d explain the nausea, at least, that and the pain. And the way his legs wanted to fail him. He held the door handle when he reached it, opening the door and finding the hallway wall next to it to use to keep himself up instead.

-

He took a breath as he closed the door as softly as he could manage to, trying to stifle the cough that came with it. Instead, he only managed to muffle it as he kept his back against the hallway wall. He tried not to let himself double over as he coughed, blinking at the spots clouding his sight for a moment. He forced himself to walk along the wall before the coughing fit could send him sliding down the wall to the ground. When the coughing closed his lungs long enough to let him try and catch his breath, he took a drag from the cigarette in his hand and pushed off the wall to find his way out.

-

Or the kitchen. Whichever he found first would work fine for him. Even if he was nauseous at the moment, he could at least steal something that he could eat when he wasn’t nauseous. So… Either the kitchen or the door to get out.

-

He blinked, groaning as the hallway spun around him for a moment. He coughed as he turned onto his back, and then realized he’d tripped over his own feet as he did so. He couldn’t quite remember tripping over his feet, but he also couldn’t really remember what had happened the day before. Or the night before. So it didn’t seem like too big of a deal at the moment. What did seem more like a big deal was that he was on the ground and he didn’t know if it would’ve woken up the people sleeping in the room he’d left… Minutes ago? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think it’d been an hour yet though and it had to be longer than just some seconds.

-

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to see if the world around him would stop spinning long enough to let him get up without feeling like he was going to vomit. He went to take a drag from the cigarette in his hand only to realize that it and the boots weren’t in his hands anymore. So he groaned and searched for the cigarette on the ground with one of his hands, trying not to hiss in pain when his hand found the wrong end of it first. He grabbed it anyway, shifted it in his hand as he held back a cough, and took a drag from it.

-

He went back to staring at the ceiling afterwards, trying to catch his breath without another coughing fit starting. He held back his nausea and forced himself to sit up, his eyes kept shut as he did. He didn’t quite feel like watching the hallway spin again yet, though the way his stomach flipped instead wasn’t much better. Not with the way it made him need to swallow down vomit again.

-

He forced himself to stand up anyway, feeling like he wasn’t breathing nearly as much as he needed to be. His hand found the wall again, and a moment later he was coughing again. His hand slipped down, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He shifted so his back was against the wall instead as he coughed and tried breathing through his nose to keep from losing his breath completely. It didn’t help much at all, given the black spots in his vision as he kept coughing. The sound of it alone made him wince, if he was being honest. Even with him trying to muffle it, it seemed loud enough that he felt like he was pushing his luck on no one waking up.

-

His throat closed for a moment, even as he was kept doubled over, trying to cough with no air to cough with. It gave way for a moment as a wheezing one managed to cough out… Something tinted red. He wasn’t too sure what it was. He didn’t really care what it was. He took the chance it gave him to breathe, using the hand not clutching the smoke to hold himself up with the wall again as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked, running his hand that wasn’t on the wall along his forehead as he tried to take a deep breath, only to start coughing again at the sharp pain of it.

-

His vision went black for a moment, and there was vomit on the floor in front of him when it came back. He breathed through his nose, blinking and staring at it with blurry eyes. He felt himself sway as he tried to hold the wall tighter in his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to lift his hand that was holding the cigarette so he could take a drag from it. His body shook a second later, and he gritted his teeth, opening his eyes to try and find where a draft could possibly be coming from. Instead of finding out where the draft came from though, he found a blonde starting towards him.

-

“Garvin? Are you alright?”

-

His hand slipped as he blinked, trying to clear his vision and taking a step back away. He’d woken one of them up. He’d dropped his boots on the ground. He could steal new ones, he had to get out. Nausea swam in his stomach, and he tried not to trip over his own feet. The person sounded far, they didn’t look more than a few feet away. He couldn’t really tell how close they were. The world seemed too big, he couldn’t figure out how he fit in it. Everything felt off. He stifled a cough and caught himself on the wall before he fell again, swaying and trying not to breathe too deeply as he tried to figure out what was going on. Nothing seemed right. It didn’t matter. He needed to get out, whether he’d managed to get anything or not.

-

He couldn’t really see. His vision seemed worse than it was supposed to be. He wasn’t sure how good it was supposed to be. He felt himself shiver, he took another step back and tried to make sure he wasn’t going to fall as he did so. The person took a small step forward, their lips moving. It took him a moment longer than he thought necessary to understand what they were saying.

-

“—I’m Ingall, I just want to know if you’re okay. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

-

He blinked, trying to figure out what exactly was happening. He opened his mouth, trying to figure out how words worked again, and ended up coughing instead. He didn’t get a chance to try and stifle it, or even just muffle it. He held the wall tighter, not wanting to double over again. He didn’t recognize the name. He wasn’t sure why the person wasn’t yelling for him to get out. He wasn’t sure why they weren’t doing anything except taking small steps towards him. He had to close his eyes when his hand started to slip anyways, nausea trying to push up past his coughing again. He swallowed it down when he had a chance to breathe through his coughing.

-

He forced his eyes open again a moment later, watching the blonde step forward. What had they said their name was? Gall? Something like that. He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t really caught it when they’d said it. He felt himself heave, and brought up his hand to cover his mouth. He’d already thrown up on their floor once, he didn’t need to push his luck by doing so again. His sight seemed splotchy, he still wasn’t sure where the draft he felt was coming from.

-

“Are you— Can I help you to the couch?”

-

He blinked, and squinted towards the blonde that had seemed to have taken another small step towards him. Or maybe his vision was more fucked than he thought. He wasn’t sure. He kept his arm slightly raised in front of him, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass enough for him to even think about what they’d said. About how little it made sense. When the nausea finally did pass, he cleared his throat, still staring at them as well as he could with how shit his vision seemed to be at the moment. His voice didn’t sound great, he wasn’t sure if it ever had though. “Wha—” He coughed at how the word felt to say, cleared his throat again, and started over. “—What?”

-

He coughed again after he’d managed to actually speak and covered his mouth with his hand, given how he’d coughed something up earlier. He kept his other hand on the wall behind him, trying not to let it slip too much. He didn’t think it was working as much as he wanted it to, given how much he’d already started to double over again. At least he was still standing, falling onto the ground at this point would probably also mean falling into vomit. And, well, he’d rather not. He’d either have to figure out some way of getting it out of his clothes or steal new shit, and both of those choices didn’t seem great.

-

When he finally managed to stop coughing again, the blonde seemed closer than before. He took a second to breathe, trying to shift how he was standing so he wouldn’t end up coughing again as he did so. He blinked away from them, looking at his hand for a moment before taking a drag from the cigarette he was still holding. So. At least he hadn’t dropped it.

-

“I, uh— I was wondering if I could help you to the couch? You seem sick.”

-

He looked up, smoke curling from his lips, and narrowed his eyes at them. He didn’t think they’d understood his question. Maybe he hadn’t asked it well enough. He didn’t feel like figuring out a different way to ask it. Besides, they were offering to let him stay longer. Which… Seemed odd the longer he thought about it. They probably wanted something. He wasn’t sure what they could want from him though.

-

He didn’t want to push his luck by pointing that out. If they were going to let him stay longer then he’d deal with whatever it was they wanted in return later. He still wasn’t sure where the draft was coming from anyways, so taking a chance with the weather didn’t seem like a good idea. Staying longer meant he’d have more chances at stealing from them anyways.

-

So he took a breath and stifled another cough, his voice still seemed wrong to him. “Sure..” He couldn’t remember their name. Something with gal or gel or something like that at the end. He didn’t need to test his luck. He had woken up in bed with them though. He pushed up a smile, as much as he could at the time, and ignored how his voice sounded. “Why not? Seems a—” He coughed, cleared his throat, and continued, trying to ignore he’d had to pause at all. “A good ‘nough idea t’me, Angel.”