Glad You Came

Down With the Sickness

Tim hated being sick. His head hurt, the rest of his body ached and not to mention that his whole body felt like it was on fire; causing him to sweat profusely yet shiver from the cold it brought all at once. Tim sniffled, pulling the blankets around his shoulders as he tried yet again to get into a comfortable position in bed -- which seemed fruitless, as no matter what he did, Tim couldn't seem to get comfortable. It didn't help that Brian was gone on a shopping trip for the essentials with Liu. Brian was probably the better care giver of the three (Tim blamed that on his aspirations of becoming a nurse; he would have made a fantastic one if not for, ahem, current events) and while Tim appreciated anything Toby tried to do as while he meant well, the ticking killer was obviously not well trained in taking care of others as the other two were.

It wasn't like he was horrible at it or that he didn't care. If anything, he was suffocating in his attempts to take care of the other two whenever they were in a rut. It was made quite clear to Tim as he shifted to face the outside of the bed; several full cups of water and used cups of cold medicine that had been brought to Tim within the last hour alone sitting on the bedside table, with a bowl of soup on the way downstairs. Tim smirked. It was the thought that counted, right? He supposed he couldn't be too mad about it. At least he was trying.

Speak of the devil, the bedroom door slowly creaked open (as if any faster would make Tim sicker somehow) and Toby poked his head in.

"Tim?" Toby asked, voice barely above a whisper. "You awake?"

"About as awake as I was when you were in here ten minutes ago," Tim grunted, moving to prop himself up on an elbow.

Toby quietly shuffled his way into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him before shuffling to the bed. The bowl almost seemed too hot in Toby's hands, steam visible from the soup inside. Tim wouldn't have been surprised if they'd found Toby had burned his hands from carrying the hot bowl. Tim moved to sit upright as Toby neared -- only for the brunette to start scorning him as he sat the bowl on the bedside table.

"You shouldn't be moving around so much," Toby huffed, helping Tim to sit up more properly as so he could stack pillow upon pillow for him to sit back on.

"I'm sick, Tobes," Tim snickered, "not broken."

"Still!" Toby huffed, motioning for Tim to sit back once the pile of pillows was made to his liking. "Brian said you be resting!"

"I think I'll be fine sitting up," Tim replied, leaning back into the pillows and pulling the blankets well over his stomach.

Toby sat himself on the edge of the bed then, grabbing the bowl of soup and half turning to Tim. The dark haired man made to take the bowl from him -- however Toby pulled it away from his grasp, giving him a stern look (the pouting didn't help his case). When Tim gave him a confused look, Toby lifted the spoon slightly filled with soup and gestured it towards his mouth -- all without allowing Tim to grab it himself.

"Really?" Tim huffed. "You're gonna spoon feed me?"

Toby nodded, again gesturing the spoon at him. Tim sighed, relenting after a firm moment and opening his mouth -- only to crack up with laughter as Toby began making 'airplane' sounds much like you would when feeding a toddler, which turned quickly into a coughing fit as Toby pulled the spoon back.

"Careful!" Toby playfully scorned as he sat the bowl back down to trade it for a cup of water and handing it to Tim. Tim took it gratefully, chugging it once he was sure he wasn't simply going to spit it back out with a cough.

"If you'd stop making me laugh," Tim chuckled as he sat the now empty cup among the still full one.

"Didn't LJ say laughter's the best medicine?" Toby smirked as he picked the bowl back up.

"Don't think that's the best advice to get from a killer clown," Tim sighed. Toby shrugged and nodded after a moment of thought.

"Now c'mon," Toby urged as he gestured the now full spoon to him.

Tim rolled his eyes before again opening his mouth, glad Toby didn't make the same airplane noises as before. The soup wasn't too hot, at least -- and it was some old style type of chicken noodle, which he could never complain about. He just couldn't wait for Brian to get home; at least he wouldn't be forbade from getting from the bed like he was with Toby. But he supposed that's how the ticking killer showed his affection, he couldn't complain. He'd just get him back when he got sick in the future, if he and Masky had anything to say about it.