Delirious - Tumblr Posts

Lol okay @jumper-zuzu

"Naomi! Oh thank goodness you're awake!" Chase rushed over to the bed from his seat by the window.

The ghostly pale face of the girl in the bed was the only thing left uncovered by the pile of ragged blankets; she shook despite the many layers over her. Her forehead shone with a thin sheen of sweat. Her eyes, sunken with dark circles stamped around them, blinked slowly.

"Where...where are we?" She whispered through chattering teeth.

"We haven't quite made it into the mountains yet. Cameron and Tanner are scouting the area," Chase answered softly. He reached across to feel his friend's forehead; the fever raged as hot as ever. "You're still burning up..." he added, more for himself than for her.

"Good, job..." Naomi managed.

"What? What did you say?"

"F-finding sh-sh-sh-shelter, you, you did, good."

"Yeah of course, we got really lucky finding th-"

"Who s-says I, haven't, taught you anyth-thing?" Naomi interrupted, as if she'd missed Chase's response.

Chase paused for a moment. Taught him? Naomi had shown him botany and such in the medbox but the more substantial survival skills like finding shelter weren't something she had worked directly with him on. Something didn't seem right.

"I'll be right back." Chase walked to the window he'd been seated at. A small table sat to the right of the window, and a large bowl of water sat atop it. Chase pulled a washcloth out of the bowl, rung out the water, and came back to Naomi.

"I'm s-sorry," Naomi breathed.

"For what?" Chase asked as he folded the washcloth and placed it on Naomi's brow.

"I'm, sorry for, getting so-so sick," Naomi went on. "But I p-p-promise, when I'm b-better, I'll get, I'll get us, both out-out of, th-this."

"Us both? What do y-" Chase inhaled sharply through suddenly-clenched teeth. He stared at Naomi, processing what she'd just said.

His hand trembled as he reached toward her, as he placed the backs of his fingers on her exposed cheek.

Naomi tried to turn away.

"T-take your, take your ring, o-off, Lukas, i-it's too, it's too cold..."

Character A is extremely sick with a high fever. They have been mostly unconscious for the past three days. Character B is the only person around that can take care of them. One day Character A finally wakes up. Character B is elated until they realize A is delirious. While delirious, A says something that makes their blood go cold.

What did Character A say?

How do you think Rafal would behave/talk in a highly feverish/delirious physical state?

I have a WIP with this concept in it, but I’m not sure I’ll ever finish it. So, for now, I’ll answer: I think he’d be about the same, but turn more irrational and have a lower tolerance for everything, like a hair-trigger temper, and maybe, not be at his best as far as comprehension or coherency of speech go.

Perhaps, like this:

Rafal: Rhian. The noise down there. Get my students to shut up. I can’t take it. The first person who contributes to my migraine should have their tongue cut out… and be drawn and quartered to a discordant orchestra, so I can’t hear their screams above the music. Usually, I like the screams, but not now. Can’t now. It’s all too harsh. Grates on my nerves. Even without tongues, they’ll sound guttural. [with palpable disgust] But inhuman noise is better—easier to ignore and a reminder that I don’t have to be surrounded by live people.

Rhian: [sighs quietly.]

Rafal: Shame. Didn’t think it’d be you. Hmm, we can use Stymphs instead for your execution, yes? But set it up yourself. I can’t move. And bring me opera glasses. I have to watch, to make sure you do it p- [hacks out a cough] properly. Wake me up when you’re ready to start. And don’t get it wrong—

It’s finally here guys!! The shitty Vanoss animation that people voted for!

@b0uncy-ball How's the Cover? I added some purplish petals, cause it's a s p o o k y . By the way, her eyes will turn purple (her eyes are green usually) when "delirious." What do ya think? :)

This woman/man/person (I don't know their pronouns, sorry!!) needs some love.

Update

Okay so I thought you guys deserved an update. So basically there is this girl who has been my friend for 4 years and me and her have been having fights more and more and it got so bad that I told her I was done and she needed to figure herself out, because I was done fighting with her over stupid things over text. To let you know this happened around last Friday. So today I come back as I haven’t been to school all week as I was at states for softball anyways I come back and I have first period with her and we don’t talk at all because I am done with her blaming me for everything and always dragging me into stuff I didn’t do. So I was at lunch and I see my chorus teacher and he is like Morgan I need to speak with you and I’m just like okay. I go into his office and he is like so what is happening between you and your friend and I tell him everything and he was like so why did you text her this morning during second period. SIDENOTE I haven’t texted her since Monday and I blocked he on social media and messages so I was really confused. I told him what text message and he was like the one that is very inappropriate and I can kick you out for. I had no idea what he was talking about so he showed me the message and it didn’t sound like me at all they used words I would never say and just texted really weird. Another weird thing is while whoever sent this message my friend responding was really calm. Let me tell you when me and her where fighting and I would say something she would immediately start yelling back and use tons of insults and shit, so when I saw what was supposedly me texting her and her responding calmly I knew something was fishy. So I told my teacher that is not me you can text all my messages I can get my service provider to email or print out all my text messages and you can see it was not me. So he calls my friend in and he was like so do you want an investigation on the message and she immediately said no while I am over here like YES because I don’t have anything to hide because I didn’t send that message. Also the I remember my contact on her phone having a photo and my name being morgybear so it was really weird when the screen shot only said Morgan C with no photo. ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT MY FRIEND DELETED THE SUPPOSED TEXT MESSAGE I SENT HER AND ONLY HAS A SCREEN SHOT. So my teacher goes in her contacts and I look at it and my contact for one has a photo and two it says Morgan C. with a period behind the C unlike the message. So at this point it was very clear she was framing me and just wanted me to be kicked out. That was a wonderful thing to deal with today and I just wanted to scream but I kept my cool and acted like the dumb friend when it was just me and her talking because at this point I am so tired of all the shit and I don’t want another fight I mean there is only two days left of school. Also as soon as we where done talking it out I go the rest of my classes and everyone was asking me about it and saying so I heard you got in trouble but let me tell you I told NO ONE about this as my teacher said not to so that means my friend told everyone about it. Another thing is I have random people texting me and saying what I did wasn’t right and that I am a bad person and all that jazz so that has been really nice to deal with. Anyways I am still sadly not returning just yet and I need time still. Thank you all for sticking around and I appreciate all the kind words I have been receiving. 

-Morgan (aka vanoss-and-crew)

My cup of tea.. 🖤🤍🖤🤍

He was hiding.

It was shameful.

Ingo knew that but the noises of the bustling station and rumbling rails hurt deep inside his bones.

Overstimulated.

That’s what the therapist would say.

Ingo didn't think it used to happen.

Not before.

Or at least not as often.

So he was hiding, standing off to the side and in the shadows, barely holding it together. Tearing apart at his badly worn seams after having stitched himself together over and then over again. He'd always been observant. Had to be. Both here in the subway and back in Hisui.

But he was exhausted from being on alert all the time. From stringing together all his missing pieces by reading between the lines of Emmet's telling silences. His head ached. He was exhausted. Still, the trains ran.

The rails roared.

Ingo hid.

“Um, e’excuse me?” The passenger before him looked uncertain; hands clutching, worrying, the straps of their bag in such a way that laid bare their nervousness. “I’ve. I’m. I missed.” Young. Eyes glossed thick with tears. It took him too long to parse out what they were trying to say, syllables clashing together in his ears like the echoes of footsteps down a long corridor. If Ingo hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought they’d been speaking the language of another region. He tilted his head, closed his eyes. Willed himself to understand as they continued their stilted explanation, thankfully unaware of the Subway Master’s current struggle.

Ah.

A missed connection.

And here they’d caught him without use of his words, mouth gaping uselessly when he went to reassure them that this was an error easily fixed. Reflexively, Ingo passed a closed fist across his chest in apology, guiding the passenger towards a nearby depot agent with a hand at the small of their back. From the corner of his eye, Ingo saw them watch, fascinated, as he conveyed the issue through sign, apologizing again.

“Not a problem, Boss Ingo.” The agent flashed him a kind grin. “I’ll sort this out in a jiff.” Ingo nodded in thanks, patting the youth gently on the head and offering them his version of a smile before returning to his post.

It was his own stubborn resolve that forbade him returning to their shared office.

“--Ngo!” He surfaced from the bottom of a deep well to Emmet repeating his name. Not touching. They’d learned the hard way that Ingo couldn’t stand to be touched when he was like this. Not until he'd come back from wherever he'd gone anyway. Sluggish, his eyes slipped from Emmet’s face to his Noble. Traitor. Though he couldn’t be mad. He’d needed help. She’d fetched it. “Hullo!” Forced cheer and a megawatt grin.

He’d been back for months. At work for weeks.

Struggling for days.

Why now did it feel as though everything was impossible? Emmet’s smile softened in understanding.

“We will go home.” Ingo shook his head, already halfway to the office by the time his untrustworthy mind sorted out what his younger brother was saying, words still caught somewhere in the short length of his throat. Lady Sneasler chirped in worry when he went to fingerspell with shaky hands and Emmet only paused in his stride to hold them still as the crowd broke easily around them, like water flowing around stones. “It is alright.” He continued to reassure, speaking slowly and signing alongside when Ingo had visible trouble keeping up. “You are not well.” And when that didn’t work, “you promised.” Though the sting of his reminder was tempered by the brush of a palm beneath the brim of his cap. “Yup. Not at all.”

Oh.

Is that why he felt so tired? Eyes hot and skin clammy? That made a certain amount of sense. It wouldn't be the first time Ingo pushed through an illness without noticing. Drove Calaba and Irida and Melli up cliffs. Ingo's chest felt hollow with remembering. Filled up with sorrow and loss and for once he allowed it to derail him.

Gently, Emmet guided Ingo down to the office couch, displacing at least half a dozen Joltik on the way, and coaxed him into taking some medicine before starting the somewhat lengthy process of buttoning up the station.

Cool hands woke him and Ingo only felt worse for his nap, head packed with Jumpluff fluff and thoughts sticky and slow like Combee honey. The tickle in his throat blossomed into a cough and tumbled into a choking fit, those same hands pushing him forward so he could catch his breath. He whimpered low when moving hurt, a thousand aches lighting up like there were pinpointed Swift stars at the ends of each of those careful fingers. Water touched his lips, soothed the threat of another attack.

“Ingo?” His own name nearly slipped away from him and he didn’t catch what followed, too disorientated by the change in gravity as he was lifted into Lady Sneasler’s capable claws. So he drifted. Accepted the pills offered up with another swallow. Turned his face away from the noise and the harsh concussions of too many consonants and into soft warm fur and the comforting beat of his Lady’s heart.

“Thank you, Elesa.” Absent-mindedly, Emmet tried to keep hold of his manners while directing Lady Sneasler in loading his older brother into the gym leader's car. She hushed him, buckling Ingo in from the other side before removing his cap and gloves. Though his complaint was nearly soundless, his shivering was profound, and Elesa spared the time to card delicate fingers through his silver hair. “This came on so quickly.” Emmet fussed, tucking his own station master jacket around Ingo’s shoulders and pressing the back of his hand against a hot cheek, smile wan when rewarded with a brief flash of gray.

“He’ll be okay, just a bad flu or something, I’m sure of it, Emmet.” He wasn’t convinced, fretting a moment more before tugging Ingo into his arms. Lady Sneasler folded herself into the seat beside, mindful of her claws and the delicate upholstery and Elesa tapped her driver on the shoulder, sparing a glance at the packed backseat. “Clinic, please.”

“Breathe in.” Emmet mimed with his hands, holding Ingo’s bleary gaze like a lifeline as the doctor passed the smooth diaphragm of the stethoscope over the scarred planes of his back. Behind them Elesa nibbled her thumbnail, leaning against the wall and watching in worry. “Again.” It was the second time she’d listened in that spot, expression creased but unreadable. Sneasler chuffed impatiently as her Warden shivered in the thin gown. Next, she removed the earpieces, slinging the whole instrument around her neck, before bending close and thumping her fingers alongside his spine.

“Well??” Ingo jumped at Emmet’s demanding tone and Emmet couldn’t find it in himself to feel too badly about it, not when he needed answers and Ingo desperately needed rest. She indicated his folded clothes set aside for the exam, stepping aside to wash her hands as Emmet helped guide Ingo back into his undershirt and button down. With a groan, his forehead came to rest in the hollow between his younger brother’s neck and shoulder as he finished up the buttons.

“As long as the fever is manageable with medication, he can recover at home.” She fixed them both with a stern look. "If you can't get it down or he becomes confused or has trouble breathing, call an ambulance."

“Emeh–” Ingo coughed, deep and painful and wet, muffled breathlessly against Emmet’s collarbone and behind closed lips, sliding limp fingertips from his ear to the corner of his ever-present frown before his hand dropped listless in his lap.

“I am Emmet. We will go home.” Ingo shuddered, burrowing closer.

“Before you leave, I’d like to administer an antiviral.”

“Another delay?” Elesa held up her hand in a placating gesture, motioning for Emmet to be calm and wait.

“Just how long would that take, Doctor?”

“Fifteen minutes or so. Long enough for his additional prescriptions to be filled here at our pharmacy. I really do think it would be for the best, considering how hard these symptoms are hitting him.”

“Emmet?”

“If you think it will help.”

“I do.” She nodded. Decisive. “He can lay down for the procedure, I’ll be right back.”

Both Emmet and Lady Sneasler grew increasingly concerned (agitated) when the physician couldn’t find a suitable vein in Ingo’s arm. Dehydration. Not uncommon, she explained, with the flu, they would just add some IV fluids at the same time. That would go a long way to making him feel better and he didn’t even have to move. Could just stay where he was curled loosely against Emmet, watching through half-lidded eyes limned with shadow as the doctor slid the catheter home into the top of his hand, securing it with tape before patting it gently.

“You just rest for a few moments, Subway Boss Ingo.” Elesa followed her out with the intention of completing the necessary paperwork, leaving the twins and Lady Sneasler to their quiet. The large Pokemon wasted no time in butting up to Ingo’s other side, stoking her engine and grooming his face with gentle swipes of her rough tongue. He sighed, the remaining rigidity in his trembling frame melting away pressed as he was safe between them.

“Careful, just here.” Emmet helped Ingo sit on the rim before dipping his hand into the tub to test the temperature of the water. Not too hot, not cold enough he’d catch a chill.

“Can. I can…do it.” Eyes still closed, Ingo plucked at his buttons with clumsy fingers.

“I am Emmet!” He rolled up his own sleeves before lending his assistance. “Of course you can!” Emmet braced his brother when he threatened to tip sideways. “But some help would be nice, right?” Slipped his socks off with one hand, trousers next, helping Ingo swing his legs into the tub, the one with the stiff hip giving them both some trouble. Elesa was putting together a simple meal and feeding their Pokemon while Emmet helped Ingo in the bath. He was sleepy, mumbling soft incoherent things as Emmet worked shampoo into his hair and rinsed, tipping his head back over his arm to keep soap out of his eyes. “Nice, hm?”

“...Nice.” Emmet chuckled, swiped a damp cloth over his shoulders, cataloging the scars there, ones he knew nothing about, and cleansed away the last of the fever sweat. Dried with the fluffiest towels they had and dressed in the softest of his pajamas, Ingo sipped Elesa’s soup from his mug all bundled up on the couch, nearly nodding off listening to the conversation happening around him.

“Could’ve brushed his hair, Emmy. He's as shaggy as a Shaymin.” Manicured nails scratched lightly over his scalp and Ingo leaned into her touch. “Little Nuzzleleaf here.”

“Elesa, no.”

“Ingo used Cuddle.” She lifted the ceramic out of his hands before he dropped it in favor of falling into her lap, hoping for more attention and very handsomely rewarded.

“Nooo.”

“It’s super effective!” Emmet whined.

“This is verrry bad.” Ingo chuffed at Emmet's discomfort, the traitor. “You are going to make him worse with all your bad jokes!!"

Ingo didn’t know what woke him. Perhaps Little Lady or Mirage rustling around the yurt, but he felt pinned like one of the Professor’s specimens by the heavy exhaustion in his limbs. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dark and his breath caught in his chest, painful, like taking a Focus Punch to the ribs.

Where was this place?

It. This wasn’t. The walls weren’t the right shape. Or the right height and the shadows. All. Everything was wrong. Gone were the soft shapes of his yurt, replaced with the odd geometry literally boxing him in with its four strong barricades.

Ingo wrinkled his nose against the odd smell of this place and tried to rise, heel of his hand pressed to one aching temple, only to fall off of the raised platform he’d been sleeping upon and into the arms of Lady Sneasler herself.

“Lady, I. There is.” He was cut off by a harsh fit of coughing and she braced him through it, concern clear in her expressive face. “I. This–” Ingo cut himself off in frustration, anger. Everything was muddled, confusing. He hurt, felt ill, weak. What had he allowed to happen to himself? How could he put his Noble in such danger?

He had to get them out. Escape this prison. Even as he shook with cold and wasn't all that certain he could stand unaided.

Where were his clothes? What was he wearing? Thin things. Unfamiliar things the color of night sky. His shoes had been taken. Pearl Clan tunic nowhere in sight now that his blurry vision was becoming somewhat adjusted to the darkness.

It was a room. Sparse. Unknown. He staggered on newly hatched Stantler legs, grasping the offered claw to steady himself.

“Ingo?” A sharp line of light cracked one dark wall in two. A stranger silhouetted in flickering purple flame. “We heard– what is wrong?”

Sneasler could see the moment it all broke bad in the air thick with tension between the twins. The mistrust and disbelief that bloomed in her Warden’s face at home with the flush high in his cheeks. His accusation a damning whisper.

“Zoroark?”

“Wha– no!” Emmet stepped forward, hands up, open, and Ingo, her brave and ever stalwart guardian, stepped between.

“Stay back!”

“Okay, I can do that, yup, I am Emmet. You are Ingo.” The younger offspring stepped back, now framed in the doorway. Chandelure peeked over his shoulder in concern. “You have not been well.”

“We are leaving.” Ingo’s strength was waning; sweat darkened the hair at his temples and dripped from his chin with the effort of standing.

“No!”

It was the wrong move.

Ingo leapt, a coiled spring, shoving his brother aside hard and casting frantically around for an exit in the home he no longer recognized, and she followed, afraid of what might happen should he disappear from her sight. He collided with the door, using it to hold himself up, grasping at the knob and fumbling with the now unfamiliar locking mechanism all while buying Emmet precious seconds to pick himself up off the floor.

“Chandelure! Hypnosis!”

“Lu’lure?” Her hesitation was Ingo’s freedom and the bang of the door was loud as Lord Electrode’s Self Destruct as they left the pair behind them.

Ingo slowed, stumbled to a stop, his breath ragged and wet in her ears. The acrid smell of the adrenaline on his skin faded as he pulled her into one of the small green spaces next to the dark path. For a brief moment, it made her heart long for open sky and the swathes of green nestled between mountain peaks. The cries of familiar Pokemon carried on the breeze instead of the rumbling roar of metal machines. She’s jolted out of her reverie by her Warden all but collapsing to the ground, tucked into the shadows of a small shrub she didn’t recognize and shaking fit to fly apart.

“My Lady…” She settled in beside him, lending her warmth to his feverish body. He relaxed into her with a cough, a shallow, hard-won wheeze, and the scent of illness enveloped her senses. Thick. Cloying. It wasn’t good for her human to be out here in this cold. Not when he was so sick.

“Snea.” Said softly, placating.

“Need to.” He swallowed, wilting. Flickering. “Figure…wh’where…”

They needed help and she made to stand, laying a claw on him as a message to stay put, dismayed when Ingo merely clung to her.

“L’Lady…please, please stay. Cannot, I cannot–” cut off by violent chills, the rest of whatever he was going to say choked by groans of pain between clenched teeth. Sneasler didn’t know what to do. She could track her way back, they hadn’t gotten far, not in her Warden’s condition. He’d been so scared when he bid them run. So confused and upset. Trying to keep her safe. Gently, she licked his too-hot face, smoothed back his sweat damp hair with her sandpaper tongue as he pleaded with her to stay, please stay.

But her Warden needed humans. They would know what to do with their medicines and rituals. Like that wrinkled old female from the Pearl Clan. Like how the strange humans in white coats had cared for him when they first arrived in this strange place.

“Snea, snea…” She tried to soothe, to explain, nuzzling the pulsepoint in his neck. But his trembling fingers tangled in her fur and while she could easily dislodge him, it seemed cruel to do so. Ingo’s littermate would be beside himself by now considering what happened between them. He never liked it when Ingo drifted too far out of his sight.

“Stay, stay, stay…” Words a garland strung along a shuddering breath, eyes bright, overflowing, with tears, begging her to stay here where it was safe. Where he could keep her safe and when he finally succumbed to the heady combination of fever and weariness she apologized in her way before taking off to find Emmet.

She had to go. Had to bring him here.

Emmet crashed hard to his knees, cradling Ingo’s unresponsive face in both hands before freeing one to call an ambulance. Under the incandescence, like a steam engine beneath his palm, he detected a languid heartbeat, slow and thready. Ingo gasped, breathing agonized and labored.

“Ingo? Brother?” He shook his head, panic blooming in the shaky smile across his face. “I am Emmet, you are okay. I am here, I am here, Ingo, I am here and everything is going to be alright.” Sneasler’s sensitive ears picked up on the klaxons heading towards them at speed. “Lady…he is. He is so hot.” Distraught, fear scent rolling off him in waves, Emmet ran his thumb over the bone of Ingo’s cheek. “I knew. Knew he was not feeling one hundred percent operational, and I–” He couldn’t tear his eyes away, as though Ingo might vanish. “Ingo, please.” No response. So deeply unconscious he didn’t so much as twitch when Emmet tipped him into his arms. Shadows hung cavernous and deep below each eye above cheeks painted with the bright, hectic flush of fever. The damp, furnace heat of him sweltering through both their sets of clothes. Emmet boxed up the panic threatening to overwhelm him and put it out of his mind. He’d be no good to Ingo if he lost it. “Soon, now. Soon now, and it will be alright.”

“Sneasler snea.” The Noble echoed his tone, ear twitching in the direction of the oncoming sirens.

Emmet had to grab Sneasler by both arms to keep her from attacking the emergency personnel lifting Ingo onto the gurney and out of their sight when they would not let them follow.

“Lady, they will help. They will help him.” He provided the name of the hospital and promised her they would meet him there but there wasn’t room in the ambulance for the both of them no matter how badly Emmet wanted to go with.

The scene in the hospital room was chaos.

Ingo, surrounded by staff, was huddled in a ball at the head of the hospital bed, fingers clasped over his ears, eyes wide and unseeing as he rocked and shook. Someone was talking, hushed and calm, trying to coax him off the ledge.

But he was panicking, his hoarse voice crying out for Lady Sneasler, the beating of his heart like a scream over the monitor.

“Shh, shh, Brother.” Emmet rushed forward, gathering him up, fragile and light and this somehow both was and wasn’t his Ingo. “You have to breathe. Your Lady is here. She is safe. You are safe.” He let Ingo sob against his shoulder, glaring at the doctors and daring them to try and separate them. Lady Sneasler bathed his face with her sandpaper tongue until there was no more than the occasional shuddery, exhausted inhale. Emmet was sweating where Ingo’s body was pressed against his own, chin resting on his shoulder. Chest to chest, Emmet could feel each struggling attempt for air, each overheated exhale humid and fast against his pulsepoint. “Okay. Alright. I am Emmet and you are alright.”

“Whe…” gasping, deadweight. “Lady Irida…Cal–” he was gearing up for another panic attack, Emmet could feel it in his bones, the way his muscles twitched and jumped beneath his hot skin. “Who’re…? Em?” A nurse stepped forward, mindful of the large Pokemon towering over him, a promise in his sympathetic expression and a needle in his hand.

“This will help.”

Hidden and still beneath hospital sheets and ice packs, Ingo was nearly a stranger. Still Emmet stayed with him. It did not matter that Ingo had not recognized him. It did not matter that he ran. He was sick. Confused.

And it was Emmet’s fault.

Gently, as though he were made of glass, he traced the myriad scars. Some he knew. Some he didn’t. A nurse pushed another round of cool fluids in an attempt to stem the tide of whatever it was ravaging Ingo. The sound of heels clacking on the tile heralded the fall of tears from his eyes.

“Emmet, I came as quick as I could.” Elesa framed his face in her soft hands, urging him to look at her. “Arceus, are you okay? Emmet?”

“They. They do not know what is wrong.” His voice cracked. “Elesa, they. Do not know how to fix it.”

He was going to lose him and he’d only just been found.

Ingo didn’t wake when Elesa brushed her fingers over his hot, dry skin. He was an engine overheated with coals banked and burning inside the cage of his ribs like a furnace. Familiar panic gripped Emmet in its angry fist as his eyes remained fixed to Ingo’s inert face. It was hours before they saw any change, before the efforts of the hospital staff made any difference. They watched his head loll to the side and a sliver of washed out gray appear between barely parted lashes underscored by ink-dark shadows. Ingo swallowed, tongue darting out to wet chapped lips.

“Emme’– ” Breath stolen, Ingo struggled to get it back.

“You know me?”

“Mm.” Ingo didn’t need to be reminded that he’d run from his brother in a blinding panic almost a day ago. It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all the pair of them. Instead, he pressed a cold cloth against the galloping pulse in his neck, offering up a spoonful of ice chips for his dry throat. “‘M…”

“You don’t need to talk.” Soft and low, Elesa smoothed his hair back, pressing her lips to his blazing forehead.

An alarm chirped, some monitor attached to one of the many leads, lines, tracing a map that Emmet could not follow.

Delirious - Adam Stanheight / Reader

Adam Faulkner sat up frantically, his body rigid and his mind reeling, his hands grasping uselessly at the edge of his confines, his hair plastered to his face, and his mouth filled with grimy water. He spluttered, trying to breath without getting water in his lungs, and his fingers fumbled inconveniently all along the edge of his restraints. Coughing, Adam hauled himself out of the tub. He was weak and fatigued, but most of all he was scared. In a few frightening moments, that seemed entirely too long, he tried pounding on the walls; first slowly then gradually getting faster with every passing second. Through the darkness, Adam could feel the freezing tile on his fingers, and the sharp sting as he slapped his palms against it. When this proved futile, Adam backed away hesitantly, spinning 'round and 'round as if trying to find something that wasn't there, and then resorted to screaming. His attempts at being heard were unavailing, but he kept at it anyway mostly for the sake of his very own sanity; if he remained silent he was sure to lose his goddamn mind.

"No one can hear you," came a sudden voice from the darkness. It sounded so dismissive; in fact it almost pissed Adam off how apathetic it appeared. "Just calm down. Are you hurt?"

Adam's mind struggled to form a single coherent thought. Between his confusion and his fear, thinking was made difficult. He stuttered over his words for a couple short seconds. "I-I-I-I don't- don't know." He looked over himself, even though he couldn't see anything. "Yeah?"

There was a faint sound of stumbling around, and then a high-pitched buzz filled the room. In an abrupt flicker the darkness was replaced with a bright yellow light. The ceiling lights had come on, and Adam groaned, shielding his eyes away from the brightness. "I couldn't find them before..." The man apologized.

When Adam could see clearly again, he glanced over at the object to his right. Immediately upon seeing the results, he wished he had been a little more thoughtful on that prospect, for keeping him grounded was a metal chain connecting him to a metal pipe protruding from the tile walls. What calmness he had left evaporated all together and once again he found himself panicking. Adam yanked and tugged but it didn't matter, he wasn't going anywhere. "Holy shit. You did this, didn't you!?"

His companion pressed himself against the wall in alarm. "I haven't done anything!" He exclaimed defensively. "But we're going to have to trust each other if we want to get out of this. I mean, clearly someone didn't want us going very far."

Adam huffed. "But what the hell did I do?"

"Apparently you did something, or you wouldn't be here. Now, what's your name?"

That's a personal question, Adam thought. Why does he want to know?

Looking the man up and down suspiciously, Faulkner muttered carefully, "My name is very fucking confused... What's YOUR name...?"

"Lawrence Gordon," Gordon answered practically.

Adam laughed. "Sounds like a doctor's name," he whispered wryly.

"I AM a doctor," Doctor Lawrence snapped.

Adam stared at him awkwardly. Neither of them spoke a word to each other for a couple of never-ending minutes, then Lawrence stood up. "Here, let me try the door."

"Why didn't you?" Adam retorted, not expecting a reply. He was aware of the fact that, with the lights off, it was impossible to see your surroundings. Lawrence ignored him, but did cast him an annoyed look, as if echoing Adam's exact thoughts. He got to his feet.

Adam watched Lawrence stretch himself along the wall, reaching for the door. It was locked, but even if wasn't, Lawrence's chain didn't stretch far enough to get him to the handle. "Well fuck," Adam uttered hopelessly.

Lawrence gave him an apologetic look, but didn't say anything to reassure him. It was then that Adam's eyes found the chainsaw resting right next to Lawrence's feet, and that's when everything changed. He started freaking out. In flashbacks he saw THAT moment replaying over and over again in his head, and he reacted violently, twisting his body and lashing out against his restraint.

The pictures burned his eyes, at least it felt like they did. With each passing second the flashbacks became more clear. He could almost feel Lawrence's pain when he cut through his flesh. Adam screamed. Agony ripped through his temples and he doubled over.

Lawrence's longing and flustered exclamations were lost on poor Adam as he writhed miserably on the tile floor in capable of regaining himself, his tormented mind struggling to cope with the memories. "Hey! I think I've found something! Pass me that tape."

Adam kicked, and flailed, but didn't hear Lawrence.

"What's wrong? Will you at least tell me your name?"

Still, Adam couldn't get the vision out of his eyes. It lingered there like a bloodstain on a white dress. It refused to put him at ease.

"Adam!" Lawrence threw his wallet at him. "Adam!" His voice was starting to blend into the buzz of the lights. "Goddamn it, Adam! What's happening?"

Faulkner tossed and turned. His heart was beating so fast in his chest he was sure it would pop at any given moment. His temperature was so high it was like he was in an oven that was set to self-destruct. His shirt and flannel were drenched in so much sweat, he could have easily been rolling around in the wet grass before arriving.

"Adam!" Lawrence threw something else at him. Was it the package of cigarettes? "Sit up! Sit up!"

Adam tried to latch onto what Lawrence was telling him, but he felt fried. His mind was so exhausted...

"Adam!" Gordon's voice was gone completely now, as well as the images that he had been seeing before. Adam was plunged straight back into darkness, and then THAT voice reached his ears. The melodic voice of his significant other.

In a frenzy, hastily and dazedly, Adam Faulkner exploded from the covers, his face burning up with fever. He was hotter than he had ever felt in his entire life. He gasped, paranoia engulfing him. His eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings quickly, fearfully. He was not where he expected to find himself. He was not with the person he was expecting to be with. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him fidgety, but finally he brought his attention to his partner. You were leaning over him, terror in your bright eyes.

Adam's breath slowed down audibly, once he realized where he was. You pushed him to the pillow again. You had tears on your cheeks but Adam wasn't in the mental state to be concerned about that right now. He let you adjust him on the bed, as you whispered, "You're so hot, baby. I tried to stop the fever, but... it just kept rising, and... You scared me, I thought for sure... Never mind. You were kicking and sleep talking. I don't what you said, though."

Adam stared ahead, grabbing hold of your hand. He held it so tightly you whimpered. You had to use all your strength to rip your hand out of his grasp. "What time is it?" He choked.

"Twelve AM. It's hasn't even been two hours yet."

"I... I can't go back to sleep. I need a walk." But Adam knew it was a lie. And he knew what you would say.

You stared into his face. His eyes had dark circles under them, they were bloodshot already themselves, and his skin was ghostly white. You frowned at him in dismay. Lately, he had stopped sleeping. His trauma was getting to him again, and you knew that was the only reason for it; his dreams were haunting him too much. "No, Adam," You said firmly this time. You weren't going to allow him to do this again.

Adam shook his head. "Let me. It helps."

"You are going to kill yourself one of these days," You growled, and gently held him down. You didn't want to cause him to feel trapped, that would only make things worse, but you didn't want him to get up. "You need to sleep, baby. You have a fever tonight."

"Maybe that's good?" Adam asked halfheartedly. He hadn't meant to alarm you.

You felt sick. "No." You combed your fingers through his hair. "Relax, Adam. You're going to be just fine. I know it, you know it."

Adam relaxed under his partner's soothing strokes. "I feel so cold..."

You gazed at him sadly. "A hundred and one degrees, Adam."

"Me?"

"No, the cat," You snapped sarcastically.

"Oh..."

Adam could feel himself losing himself to sleep. He was afraid of what would happen next in his dreams, but he trusted you to take care of him. Your careful caress was enough to put him back under. And as he wandered through a blurry haze of darkness, he heard your soft voice one last time. "I love you." A kiss was planted on his lips and when he started dreaming again, it was with you.

You in your favorite attire.

You with your prettiest smile.

You with your pleasant laugh.

And he leaned right into that beloved and charming kiss. All the while you stayed awake in the night, protecting him, keeping him away from his fears, and allowing your precious boyfriend to gather up on his much desired sleep.