Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You felt like roadkill. A small marching band was circling the inside of your brain, the drum beat its own heart. Your muscles ached as you typed away on your keyboard. The screen fuzzed in and out every now and then, but you blinked through it as best you could. You were physically incapable of breathing through your nose and got a dull ache in your sinuses whenever you tried. You coughed like your lungs had mistaken your ribs for bars on a cage and were trying to escape their prison.

You were absolutely, most definitely, 119% sick. Sick as a dog. So under the weather you could be considered in the ground.

And yet, here you were, at work. Because you had only three sick days left and you were not wasting them on a simple cold. Besides, it wasn’t like you had a fever or anything.

It was fine. Your day was almost done and you could go home and drink as much cold medicine as you physically could and then sleep the whole weekend. You could make it. Just a few more hours to go.

“Hey, Sugar.” Your coworker called sticking their head into your part of the cubicle. “Heard you hacking up a lung from all the way across the floor. Thought you could use this.”

They set down a steaming cup of tea, likely from the break room. You grinned behind your mask. “Ugh, thanks. Maybe this’ll help me through the day.”

“Yeah, just don’t go spreading it to me, all right?” they teased as they started heading back to their own desk.

You chuckled, coughed and then groaned. The tea tasted burnt somehow, but it soothed your throat so you sipped it as best you could. 

The hours slipped by like watching paint dry, but you managed to at least pretend to be productive while time passed. When the clock struck your time for freedom, you happily gathered up your things and headed out the door. 

The wind blew hard and freezing, tearing through your lightweight jacket easily. You’d been meaning to get a thicker coat since your old one finally ripped, but you hadn’t gotten around to it yet. You decided, as you shivered violently on the way to your car, you would do that as soon as you recovered from your cold.

You clambered into your rusty old tank and grumbled at the broken heater. You really needed to get that fixed before winter hit. You sneezed loudly, vision blurring for a few moments from the sheer force of it. 

You drove home without much difficulty, and collapsed on your couch with a groan of relief. You were so tired you could barely keep your eyes open. Your stomach growled, but you didn’t have the energy to cook.

You eventually managed to force yourself up and to the kitchen to take the largest dose of cold medicine you could without overdosing on it. You downed it, gagged at the taste, and shuffled to your bedroom. You barely managed to change into your fluffiest pajamas before falling face first into your bed. You were out before your head even hit the pillow.

And you definitely didn’t notice the red and white eyelights watching you.

Chapter Text

Cross scrolled through the endless list of memes Epic had sent him and tried his best to tune out the rest of Nightmare’s idiots. A task that proved nearly impossible with Killer sitting so close he was practically in Cross’s lap. 

The more deranged of the two leaned even closer and simpered at his fellow monster. “What’s got Mr. Grumpy extra grumpy today?”

“None of your business.” Cross grumbled, just barely heard over the racket Dust and Horror were making over their video game. He’d slide away if he could, but he was firmly squashed between the maniac and the armrest as it was. “Go bother Dust.”

“Aw,” Killer cooed this time actually flopping over into his teammate's lap. “Miss your girlfriend, Crossy?”

Cross stiffened and shoved the bastard off. Killer always knew how to hit the right nerves to tick off the people around him, and unfortunately for Cross, he was more than willing to use that to get some free entertainment while he waited for his turn on the controller.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” he hissed at Killer, praying that the rest of his team hadn't heard the murderer's comment. He did not need Horror, or worse, Dust, poking around in your business because the resident psycho wanted to get a rise out of him.

“Nooo,” Killer snickered from his heap on the floor. “You just watch her all the time and memorized her schedule and break into her house to ‘protect her’ and all that junk.”

Cross rolled his eyes and kicked Killer out of the way, ignoring the loud whining that called after him. Clearly the only quiet time he was going to get was in his room. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered with coming out in the first place. He absentmindedly trailed through the halls of the castle till he made it to the only place no one else but him was allowed. The knight closed the door to his room and sighed at the ceiling in near tangible relief. The chaos of the castle finally muffled behind stone and wood. 

Cross, not for the first time, considered just moving into that apartment Nightmare offered him. It would certainly reduce the amount of times he considered murder in a day.

Cross grumbled, Killer’s words stuck in his head, circling like sharks. Maybe he hadn’t seen you in a while. He’d actually managed to be busy this week, so he hadn’t had the chance to check in on you yet. The fact that Killer managed to pick up on his stress was almost more frustrating than being stressed.

Dream would call it separation anxiety. Cross just called it 'knowing how self-destructive you were'.

Ever since Nightmare had called the truce, the whole gang’s jobs had fractioned. No more hunts. No more schemes to stir up trouble. Nothing but the usual chores. The others found it refreshing, having the ability to pursue things they enjoyed, and all the time in the world to do them. Cross, on the other hand, had been driven up the wall with spare time and boredom. He wasn’t content with aimlessly wandering the multiverse like Killer was. He didn’t have a billion hobbies to spend time on like Dust. And he definitely wasn’t interested in taking a normal job like Horror had, even if he appreciated the spare baked goods brought back by the murderer turned baker.

So Cross had tried doing odd jobs for Nightmare and the Stars. It helped a little, but the tasks were all fairly easy. Groceries, patrols, message deliveries. Most of them were almost as boring as having nothing to do.

So maybe Cross turned to watching you a little more than he had previously. You were an interesting human, someone who had patched him up after a rough mission and failed attempt to portal back to Nightmare's castle. It was only natural for him to return the favor.

And really, you needed all the help you could get.

Seriously, and he had thought the gang was bad.

You wouldn’t replace anything unless it was obviously broken. Even then, there was a solid chance you would push it off until you had no choice but to fix it. You ate a diet that even a broke college student would wince at. Some days you would forget to eat at all! You stayed up till midnight for no reason other than binge watching the same shows you’d seen a thousand times (or, worse, doom-scrolling). Your social circle was strictly made up of ‘work-friends’ and even calling them that was a stretch.

Before he knew what was happening, though, what had started as keeping tabs on a small crush had grown to a full blown stalking situation. It started with discreetly fixing, or even replacing if he could get away with it, things you were ignoring. Then he was making alarms on your phone for things you'd usually forget to do. He left food in your cabinets, hoping you'd actually eat something that wasn't the dietary version of plutonium. 

Cross chewed on one of his claws in frustration. Maybe he should visit you. It had been a handful of days. He doubted you could get yourself into too much trouble. It would ease his nerves and get him out of the castle for a while.

Chapter Text

You were sick. Cross ground his teeth together and did his best not to growl in frustration, rubbing his hands over his face like it would stave off the impending stress migraine he could feel building. Of course. He leaves you alone for less than a week, and you get yourself sick.

You curled up in your bed, passed out and buried under a mountain of blankets. It would’ve been cute, if you weren’t lightly wheezing with every breath. An empty cup of what he hoped had been either tea or water sat precariously on the nightstand. A half empty bottle of cold reliever lay beside it.

Your heater wasn’t even on. Cross may not have been as affected by temperature changes as you, but even he could tell that it was far too cold for a human in your apartment. He huffed and turned the dial up. The vent in your room made an odd clicking noise but still warmed when he checked it.

He carefully pulled the blankets back over your shoulders and checked your forehead. The knight sighed. You definitely had a fever.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He mumbled, tucking your hair out of your face.

Once he made sure you weren’t going to freeze to death, Cross made his way over to the kitchen. He didn’t really know what he expected, but your cabinets were as painfully barren as always. If you didn’t count the woeful box of cereal, half eaten bag of pretzels, and suspiciously alone jar of peanut butter. Oh, there was one very lonely can of soup hiding behind the pretzels.

The fridge wasn’t much better, considering it’s sole contents consisted of take-out from various places. 

Cross closed his eyes and sighed, “How in star’s name did it manage to get worse?”

Your place was a mess, though he didn’t know if that was carelessness or because you were too sick to clean. The skeleton tossed the various blankets on the floor onto the couch and noticed your dead phone in the pile. Before he could grumble at the air more, he heard harsh coughing coming from your room.

Cautious of if you were awake or not, Cross made his way back to your door. You sat up, swaying lethargically, and coughing so hard that the knight was getting really concerned. He stayed quiet, ready to shortcut out of your view if you left your room. 

You stood up and reached for the glass, frowning in hazy confusion at it’s empty state. You shivered violently despite the new found warmth in the room. He flinched and barely managed to suppress the reflex to steady you as you staggered toward the door. 

Cross shortcutted behind you as quietly as possible, his worry only rising. You mumbled quietly to yourself. Something about your throat and heat. He definitely didn’t appreciate the way you stumbled around, clutching the wall for support.

Cross followed you as you made your way to the kitchen, it becoming increasingly clear to him that you were far too out of it to notice much of anything. You started to fill the glass with steaming water, and clutched the edge of the sink as you waited. 

You chugged the first glass, then refilled it. Cross felt a vaguely passive aggressive thought bubble up from beneath his concern that at least he didn’t have to worry about your hydration levels. 

Before he could think anything else, you turned from the sink and attempted to walk away. Attempted, because, before you could manage a single step, you swayed and collapsed.

Abandoning stealth, Cross grabbed you and did his best to shield you as glass shattered. You crumpled into him, coughing even harder than before. 

As he carried you over to the couch, it occurred to the knight that this was the first time Cross had been close enough to touch you since your first meeting (if you didn’t count the times he’d carried you to your bed after passing out on the couch). He didn’t get to enjoy it though, as he was busy simultaneously looking you over for shards and panicking at finally being found out.

You were surprisingly still in his arms, not freaking out or screaming at the stranger in your home. Cross finished brushing off the last of the glass from your pajamas and carefully counted the scratches he’d have to treat. Finally, he turned to look at your face.

You were shivering again. Your glassy, blood-shot eyes barely managed to focus on him as you frowned up at him in confusion. Your breaths sounded more like rasps than anything else.

“Stars, you’re burning up bad.” He mumbled, feeling your forehead again. He didn’t know a ton about human sickness, but you seemed really sick.

You started to say something, likely ask why there was a random monster in your kitchen, but you were cut off by yet another round of hacking coughs. He rubbed gentle circles on your back through the fit. Once you’d finished, you whined in pain and curled up even closer to him.

Yeah, no. Cross had enough of this. He was not leaving you alone while you were this sick. You were coming with him.

Cross stood up, receiving little more than a sleepy mumble from you and switched on his portal device. 

He hoped you didn’t freak out too much when you regained your senses.