5SOS Sickfics

Don't Tell Santa-☃️😫

@all_american_2003 requested this for LAST Christmas and I'm so sorry. Better late than never, hey?
Note: This (and any others marked with an '😫') is really late because I forgot I keep all of my old requests. I (almost) never break a promise.

Not spell-checked, correct me in the comments :)

xx

Mikey's POV:

Once, in royal David's city
Stood a lowly cattle shed.

Christmas Eve had fallen upon the small town in which I had grown up and the church bustled with carol singers. I stood next to my mother and I sang a hymn to which I knew the words by heart. The organist played on as the group took a breath.

Where a mother laid her baby
In a manger for his bed;
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ her little child.

For several verses we sang as a united community, and then, when the song was over, we cheered and clapped; the organist took a bow.

After the service, as we left the church, I began to feel a strange tingling that started in my stomach and worked it's way up slowly but surely. I coughed as the cold air hit me in the face at full force; my nose became itchy and sniffly. Though it was cold outside, I felt strangely sweaty and shivered, teeth chattering.

"Are you okay, Michael?" Mum asked, putting her arm around my shoulder as we walked the route home.

"Just cold," I said. I didn't believe myself.

-

Morning came, and I felt only worse. A migraine had a strong grip with its iron hands around my skull; my muscles ached and my nose was running a marathon. Coughs rampaged through my chest and as much as I tried to remind myself that it was Christmas Day, I could not bring myself to be anything less than miserable. Not even the thought of the wonders that awaited me downstairs could encourage me to take the leap of faith and go downstairs, and yet, I must.

With all of the strength that I had pulled together- with the scraps from the bottom of the bowl- I found it within myself to push my tired torso up and swing my legs from underneath the covers. I had to stop, leaning against my bedside table for support, when I tried to stand because a cough that made the breath in my lungs rattle fought its way up my throat and into the air.

I tumble down the stairs and fumbled my way into the living room, where I found my parents sat, fully dressed, expectantly watching a large pile of wrapped presents. My mother's gaze turned to me as I entered the room; my father's stated fixed on the pile.

"Present time!" She clapped. Excitement filled her eyes and glistened on her teeth. I could already tell that this was going to be a long day.

-

We were about halfway through Christmas dinner when I realised that something was wrong. I sat in my new plaid shirt at the table, pushing food around my plate and occasionally taking small bites.

A tingling in my head began, running down my spine, and, as it trickled like a single drop of ice water with the power to kill, I shivered, arching my back in an attempt to save myself. I fell my entire brain go on a carousel rift within my skull; I dropped my fork. My hands gripped the edge of the table, force turning my knuckles whiter than was healthy, even for me.

"Mike, are you okay, son?" Dad leaned in, but I wasn't watching him.

"Have some water, honey," mum picked up the jug and reached for my empties glass. "You look faint."

"I need to go-" I stood as best I could, and, with my most uneasy steps since infancy, left the room. In the hallway was where it happened.

First it was my knees, then my right hip, an elbow, shoulders, chin. I lay in a puddle of illness as a swarm of flies reigned my brain- I had no power of movement. Suddenly, it seemed strange that just seconds ago I had been sat at a dining table. It seemed peculiar that those events had taken place, as if, in another universe, a parallel version of myself had done those things. Now, what I was left with was déjà-vu.

"Michael! Mikey!" Mum shook my shoulders. Reluctantly, I opened an eye. "Thank goodness you're alright. Are you bruised? Do you need fever reducer?" Her hands groped my forehead. "Should I call an ambulance? Are you still hungry? Why didn't you tell me that you weren't well?"

"Mum, I'm fine..." I choked out, coughing and sitting up, opening my other eye. "Just get me a blanket and a mince pie by the fire, I'll soon be on the mend."

"One step ahead of you, mate," I looked up to see my dad with a huge fluffy blanket and a cardboard box in his hand. "I'll put the fire on."