self-imposed sickness

by grinningnightmare

Summary:

"Take it easy, kid." A gentle voice soothed, holding a napkin to his lips. In any other state, Nezha would be extremely embarrassed- but he was far too tired to care at that moment.

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very very mini fics of disabled nezha + sickfic whump and caretaking bc my boy needs to just have a bad time and then be cared for <3
also disability projection

Chapter 1

It wasn’t long before the battle against the Brotherhood. Wukong’s house was abuzz with tension and barely contained magic as everybody got ready for this final confrontation- well, except for Nezha, but it wasn't really his choice.

The lotus prince laid on his side on the simian’s couch, barely moving and curled up in on himself. His entire body felt clammy, and hot- and moving his limbs took far more energy than he cared to exert. Add that to his fresh stitches beneath his bandages and the others busy preparing for the upcoming battle, it seemed best for him to silently lay there and wait for the episode to pass. 

But someone, out of goodwill, got concerned by his episode, and aggressively shook the prince. "Nezha??? Are you okay?" MK fretted, leaning over the marinating deity. His hand pressed against Nezha’s arm, and MK winced, jumping back. "Woah, you're burning up!"

Nezha startled from the sudden interruption, managing to shift from his good side to lie on his back. He looked up at MK, starting "I-"

"He's sick."

Wukong helpfully interrupted the conversation from his seat outside on the porch, sipping a drink and rereading his ‘battle plan’ with practiced casualty. MK immediately shifted into worried younger brother mode at those words, wringing his hands as he stood over Nezha.

Nezha shifted himself up on one arm to glare at the monkey. "Wukong."

Wukong raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink even louder. "Yessssss?" He drawled.

"I don't remember asking you to share my medical history with the world." Nezha snapped, glaring even harder at him.

Wukong sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, Nezha," he set down his cup, "the kid would have found out eventually anyway. You never tell anyone what's wrong with you til it's actually an issue."

 "Says the 'Great' Sun Wukong." Nezha muttered sarcastically, but finally brought his attention back to MK, who'd just been standing there worried the entire time. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine, MK. I am just… permanently sick." He sighed. "Sometimes I will occasionally overheat and that’s…” he doesn’t want to say ‘weakness’- because he cannot be weak, cannot be a liability, cannot be a failure any more than he already has- “-an issue. It’s nothing you should worry about.”

"What?!" MK jumped up, staring at the deity. "Of course it is!" He turned around, rushing off to yell at Sandy, "Hey Sandy! Do we have any ice packs here?”

“Wait, there’s more important things right now-” Nezha lifted a hand towards MK to stop him, but the monkey kid had already scampered off to find the gentle water spirit. Nezha stared after him, expression equal parts cross, touched, and tired. Wukong just laughed from his spot outside the doorway, picking up his cup with his tail.

"Welcome to the crew, Nezha." Wukong smirked. "They make the whole 'I can take care of myself' spiel very hard to keep up; trust me, I should know." 

Nezha grumbled to himself as he laid back down, and Wukong simply pretended not to hear. The mighty lotus prince would come around eventually.

Chapter 2

Summary:

pt 2 👍 get this bitch
(also i don't write 'younger' nezha although pigsy would call basically anyone kid lmao, but nezha is an adult on lmk and in his own myth is even older than wukong!)

When Nezha next awoke, someone was gently coaxing his mouth open to try and pour something down his throat. He couldn’t tell what it was- he was still feverish and only half there, and his lack of taste from his flu didn't help. He couldn't quite open his eyes enough to recognize the hand trying to coax his mouth open, but it was surprisingly gentle. Nezha obediently tried to follow the instructions, but struggled once something warm and liquidy hit his lips.

Ah, soup. Probably. He couldn't really taste it right then.

He coughed, swallowing down the soup with a grimace. He could feel it splattering somewhere over the blankets, but he couldn't quite process it.

"Take it easy, kid." A gentle voice soothed, holding a napkin to his lips. In any other state, Nezha would be extremely embarrassed- but he was far too tired to care at that moment. Besides, 'kid?' He was probably older than whoever was talking to him... Who was talking to him?

Distantly, he thought he recognized the voice. It was... someone he knew. Someone who made good soup broth. But that was all his sickness-addled brain could conjure up, as he was too busy trying to ponder that to really focus on what the voice was saying to him, although he understood the gist.

"You gave us all a scare, especially MK. I don't know what'd the kid do if he risked losing someone else again." The voice sighed, distantly shaking their head. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

Nezha grunted, trying to force his eyes open and understand what's going on. But his body wouldn't follow his command, and he groaned, sinking back into the bed. He didn't feel good before, that much was obvious, but the soup broth that was settling into his stomach made him feel worse. Way worse.

The saliva in his throat felt thick, and his stomach roiled in protest at being made to digest anything. With the little strength he had left, Nezha rolled over to the side of something- a mattress?- and deposited the contents of his stomach to his right.

“Hey-!” The voice exclaimed, reeling back from Nezha’s side. The god’s head swam as he stared down at the vaguely yellow pile on the sheets, groaning. He collapsed back into the cleaner side of the bed, face scrunched in a grimace. The bed was warm- maybe too warm. The little light from the room still seemed too bright as hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him away from the blankets with a huff. Nezha blinked a few more times before his eyes started to slide shut once more, breathing in and out heavily.

A short silence settled over the little cabin container as Nezha passed out once again. Cats lingered around Sandy’s bunk bed, watching the interaction with mild curiosity. One of the cats went to sniff the leftover bile, and subsequently got pushed off the mattress by the owner of the voice from before.

“Geez…" Pigsy sighed as he pushed away another cat. He had adjusted Nezha to lie in his lap to avoid any remnants of sickness and sweat across the bed. "So, you’re not even able to hold down fluids…" He murmured to the unconscious god, turning to call for Sandy to change the sheets.

Now, why was Pigsy at Sandy’s boat, you may ask? Well, how they even got here in the beginning was kind of a long story. When Wukong had called them all to Sandy’s boat a few days ago, none of them had expected him to burst through the door with a feverish deity practically bridal carried in his arms. According to Wukong, he’d gone to catch up with Nezha’s jade-emperor-power-protection duties in the Celestial Realm, and had witnessed Nezha collapse in real time. “Overworking himself to not-death,” he’d said, and brought Nezha to the first people he thought of.

It’d been days since then, and although Nezha was no longer making the cabin a sauna with a 330°F fever (which Sandy had attested to being a “magic fire user thing”), MK had been worried sick about him. The boy hadn’t been able to focus on deliveries through his worry, and so Pigsy decided to step up. With most of the orders already made, Pigsy had offered to go check on Nezha in MK’s place to calm them both down.

Sometimes, Pigsy forgot that even deities were just people.

Sandy shook the pig demon out of his stupor as his loud footsteps approached, a bundle of clean bedding in his arms. “Heyo, Pigsy.” He smiled, gingerly stepping over the cats lounging on the carpet of the room. Sandy stole a glance at the sick god, brow furrowed with concern. “How is he?”

Pigsy sighed as he lugged Nezha away from the futon so Sandy could strip the bed sheets and clean them. "He's not doing so hot."

Sandy paused from picking up the vomit-soiled sheets, tilting his head in his very Sandy-esque way. "I mean, I think he is pretty hot." One large blue finger pointed at the lotus prince practically radiating heat.

Pigsy sighed, putting his hoofed hand up to his forehead. "No, I meant- Alright, I walked into that one." Pigsy huffed, shaking his head. "I mean, despite not physically burning people anymore, he's still burning up." He pressed the back of his hoof against Nezha's forehead, watching as the god's shoulders visibly relaxed upon cooler contact. "I know Wukong said tha' immortals can't die from illness unless it's celestial, but still…"

Sandy started to reapply clean sheets as Pigsy took to doing a second wipe down of Nezha's face just to get rid of any residue vomit, gently smudging away dried-up red huadian. Sandy stared at the pig man for a moment, smiling slightly.

"...Wha'?" Pigsy asked.

"I guess not even someone being a god can stop the Dadsy instincts." Sandy teased lightly, a goofy grin spreading across the water spirit's face. "You're acting like you did when MK was a kid."

"Wha- HEY!!!" Pigsy spluttered, face turning red. "Look," he pointed a hoof at Sandy, "if ya had told me 3 years ago that I'd be takin' care of a terribly sick god, I would'a never believed you!" He protested. Pigsy then sighed, his dramatically aggravated tone (oh, Tang really HAD rubbed off on him) subsiding.

Pigsy tried his best to fix Nezha's hair, watching the man breathe in and out, his face red and splotchy. To think even a god could overwork themself to the point of being this sick…

Pigsy sighed, lugging Nezha back onto the now clean bed. "Well, maybe I ne’er would’a believed you, but the dude's sick and needs help. And although this is perhaps a little more personal than I had expected…"

Sandy gently laid a blanket back over Nezha, who still laid mostly unresponsive on the bed. Pigsy looked down at Nezha, arms folded but face a bit softer.

"...Well, he's saved our asses enough that I think I can give 'im this."