American Gods Oneshots

I Told You So: Technical Boy - American Gods

Technical Boy & sick!gn!reader, could be platonic or romantic

You get sick and are miserable about it. Technical Boy takes care of you and is miserable about it.

TW/CW: Sickness, begrudgingly helping

Word Count: 948 words

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Roughly a dozen or so blankets wrapped around you as you sniffled. You sneezed before ruffling through your layers for the tissues. A cup of honey-ginger-lemon tea sat on your nightstand but all you wanted was to pass out and never awake again. The pain didn't let you. Under your ears throbbed, feeling full and the pressure only mounted. Your throat was sore and scratchy. It hurt to talk, to even swallow and breathe. Each cough felt like sandpaper was being shoved down your throat. A stuffy nose did nothing to help with your breathing issues.

You whined and tried to burrow deeper in your blanket burrito. It didn't work.

The front door slammed shut as someone with a key came in. You hadn't remembered inviting anyone over. Why would you when you were sick?

"Hey, Y/N," you heard someone shout. "You here?"

Trying to cover up your face, you pulled one of the blankets up.

Your bedroom door opened. Technical Boy stood there with a bag in hand. He looked as ridiculous as ever.

Taking one look at you, your bed littered with tissues you didn't have the strength to throw into the trash and a cuppa in your favourite mug sitting on your nightstand, Technical Boy sighed.

"I told you," he said.

"Shut up," you said, muffled by the blankets and deepened by the cold.

"I did tell you though."

"Shut the fuck up."

"But I fucking told you."

"If you don't shut up and leave, I'll lick you."

The god recoiled, disgusted. "Please don't."

You groaned, trying to get comfortable. That proved to be impossible with the pain permeating through every part of your head and neck.

"I did tell you to wear more layers, eat more vitamin and zinc-rich food," Technical Boy said, setting down his bag on the edge of your bed and rustling through it. "Oh, and I told you to wash your fucking hands." He flung his hands in the air. "But, no, of course, you don't listen to me."

Looking at the mess on your bed, he helped your miserable little self by clearing all the tissues away and into the trash.

"Thank you," you mumbled, even though it hurt.

He shrugged. "Just rest, okay? I'll make you some more tea."

Rustling through his shopping bag some more, he pulled out a bag of dark chocolate and tossed it at you. A pill bottle slipped into his pocket as he pulled out a jar of Vick's.

He left quickly and returned a few minutes later with a glass of water and some pills. You took them without complaint before you realised there was oreganol in the water. It tasted like shit, but you knew it would help. You giggled as you sat back, watching him open the bottle of Vick's.

"I see the delirium has set in," he said before sitting in front of you.

You whined, trying to get away.

He placed a hand behind your head, forcing you to stay still as he applied the greasy vapour-rub.

Sniffling and whining some more, you tried to curl up and go to sleep. He just shook you back awake.

"Tea then sleep."

He took your mug before disappearing into the kitchen.

When he came back, a few minutes later, he slipped the cup into your hand, watching as you drank. When it came to getting sick, you were more stubborn than him. He had to watch and make sure you were actually drinking it.

You drank. But not all at once, having to stop every once in a while for a tissue or breath.

When you did finally finish, you expected him to leave. You hated being taken care of so you thought he must have hated having to take care of you. When sick, you were a mess of a human being. Why would anyone want to deal with that?

But he didn't immediately leave. Yes, he was scowling and obviously upset. You couldn't tell over what. At first, you thought it was because he had to take care of you. But when he didn't leave, you had second thoughts.

When you burped, there was a weird fuzziness in your ears like static. It was really uncomfortable.

Taking the empty mug, he set it on your nightstand and turned off the light.

You could hear him shuffling in the darkness.

"What are you doing?" You asked as he settled next to you on your bed.

He didn't answer, just pulled you and your blanket-burrito close. "Rest, Y/N," he whispered. "I'll see you in the morning."

You wanted to and you probably could, but your mind wouldn't let you.

"Tech, why are you still here?"

"Do you not want me to be?"

You snuggled closer to him. "No, I do," you said. "But, I don't want to spread it. Plus, ya know, I thought you hated taking care of others."

Even through the blankets, you could feel him rubbing your back.

"If I get sick, you'll just have to take care of me."

Since he didn't answer the second part, you thought you must have been right. You weren't. He just needed to think how he'd word it.

"I don't like taking care of others, but," he said, resting his head on yours in the darkness. "I don't mind when it's you."

"You just seemed to be in a bad mood."

"I hate seeing you sick, that's all."

"Oh, okay."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Your pain calmed, at least for the time being, and your mind satiated, you fell asleep in his arms.

Yeah, you hated being taken care of, but, well, it wasn't so bad when it was him.