The outsiders

Sick

I took a deep breath in the morning, I hadn't slept at all. Soda kept me up with his nightmares, he either woke up in a cold sweat and screaming or he couldn't breath. That scared me more than anything, I had to calm him down enough so that he could breath. He was sound asleep now though, the poor thing hadn't slept any either. I noticed he was shivering and sweating. I put my hand on his forehead, he was burning up. I gently kiss him on the forehead, his eyes fluttered open slowly. He groaned, clutching his forehead.

"I feel horrible." He said, his voice horse and weak.

"You're burning up. You might be sick." I say, pulling the blankets up around him

He groaned "I can't be sick, I have work today." He said, trying to sit up.

"There is no way on Gods green earth you are going to work, you have a fever." I say pinning him down by his shoulders.

"Darlin' I'm fi-" He was cut off by a coughing fit.

I walk to the kitchen and got him some water. I get back and he's already got his DX shirt on and is struggling to get dressed without falling over.

I pick up the phone and call Darry.

"Hello?" He says.

"Hey its Bree, I need a favor." I said, trying to ignore Sodas questioning look.

"Hey Bree, what is it?" He asks, warily, as if he expects me to tell him the worst of news.

"Sodas sick and he's trying to go to work." I say with an eye roll.

"I'll take care of it." He says, sounded as if he expected as much from his little brother.

"I need to work." Soda protested, when I got off the phone.

"You need to stay home." I say, pulling him back on the bed.

"No, really, I'm fine." He said, trying to hold back his coughing fit.

I pulled him to where he was laying on the bed. I run my fingers through his hair slowly, it was sticking to his forehead because of the sweat. I gently kiss him on the forehead, again, feeling him get hotter. I really hope it wasn't the flu...there isn't really a good hospital in 1966.

I wrap my arms around him and gently rub his back. He coughed hard, I gently kiss him again on the forehead.

"D-don't baby, you're g-gonna get sick." He said, having to pause to cough some more.

"Don't worry about me." I whisper, still rubbing his back slowly.

"Its my job to worry about you." He protested, shivering lightly.

Knowing I couldn't win in this argument, I just give him some water and asprin and held him as he slept.