The Frog Prince

[Pippi]

((Dean Puchero continued from Generation Loss))

Dean woke up with a start, tangled in his bedsheets, utterly drenched in sweat. He sat up for a few seconds, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the deep blue enveloping his room, before he groaned and flopped backwards onto his pillow, rolling onto his side to grab his phone on his nightstand. He blinked again as he blasted bright light directly into his bleary eyes, failing to swipe in his password pattern three times before getting lucky the fourth time. He could just about make out his phone background, a candid photo of the football team getting into a heated argument about whether Coke or Pepsi was better during a meal out, and the date and time beaming happily at him.

2:17am
Friday, June 1st

He groaned again, falling back down to stare up at the ceiling, letting his phone fall to his side. Great. Real good start to the trip, waking up in the middle of the night feeling like he was in a furnace. Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, blinking back sleep and yawning as he did so. He wanted to look on the bright side of all this – at least he could fall asleep on the coach up to Washington easy peasy now – but it was hard to see that past how gross he felt, his whole body slick with sweat.

He rolled on to his other side, trying to readjust himself and find some facsimile of comfort again. Whatever. He just needed to get back to sleep as soon as possible. Then, in the morning, he could hop in the shower, and everything would be a-okay again.

Two hours later, Dean was hunched over the toilet, his one arm steadying him from collapsing on the bathroom floor, skin pale and a cold sweat dripping from his forehead and the tip of his nose, and things were very definitely not a-okay.

His dad had popped in to check what was going on, a few minutes back, and had offered soothing sympathies as soon as he figured it out, but little more than that. Dean wasn’t upset. That was just how Jackson Puchero worked; he was loving and supportive of his family, but also incredibly focused on efficiency and, to be honest, pretty awkward half the time. Besides, what was he supposed to do? Magic Dean back to full health? Teleport all the vomit away?

After a few more minutes of feeling like his guts were being yanked out of his body with a fishing hook, Dean shakily got to his feet and staggered back to his room. He blinked again, and his eyes would have widened in surprise if it didn’t give him a splitting headache to move them. His bed had fresh sheets, and there was a large glass of water and two pills sitting on his nightstand.

That was also how Jackson Puchero worked. The behind the scenes guy who stopped the entire world from falling apart.

Dean crawled into bed, popping both pills into his mouth and downing a large swig of water. It was only as he flicked off the desk lamp next to his bed that he realised something, and his heart sank. There was absolutely no way he was gonna be able to make the trip in this state. He could barely even walk, and he could already feel his sweat seeping into his pillow again.

He let out a sigh, that came out more as a low rasping noise, before grabbing his phone again. He scrolled through his contacts, finding all the people he cared most about that would be heading to Washington in a few short hours. Amelia, Forrest, Siyanda – ze were going on the trip, right? He couldn’t remember, not in his current state – all of the football team. All of them got the same message; a hasty few words letting them know he was currently dying in bed, that the previous sentence had been a joke, that he wouldn’t be able to make the trip, and that he hoped they all had a blast.

That being done, Dean placed his phone back on his nightstand, and sank back into his pillow with a deep, heavy sigh. Well, there went all his plans for the entire week. The hell was he gonna do with himself now? Stay all curled up in bed with chicken noodle soup and water, for the most part, he guessed. Maybe he could… spend the time he wasn’t asleep playing Overwatch, or something. By himself. Whilst everyone else was out in the sun, having fun exploring Washington.

Man, the stars really weren’t in his favour today, huh?

Dean closed his eyes, and soon enough, exhaustion carried him away to sleep.

((Dean Puchero continued in Meanwhile…)