Ups and Downs Challenge: Assurance
Title: Assurance
Author: joonscribble
Characters: Harry Dresden, Malcolm Dresden
Prompt: Ups and Downs
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Summary: On the road, Harry gets the flu.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing.
Author's Note: Short and fluffy. That is all.
Despite the numerous contagions and germs Harry faced when on the road with his father, he rarely got sick. Unfortunately, when he did, it was never brief or mild. The two Dresdens were exiting their bus in Seattle when Harry was no longer able to hide his coughing and couldn’t even notice that he was leaning heavily on his father to remain upright.
“M’fine, dad,” he mumbled anyway, though he couldn’t find it in himself to protest when his father picked him up to carry him. His father’s heavy footfalls didn't help his pounding headache, but the warmth of the strong arms encircling him was warding off the chill he’d begun to feel. Closing his eyes against the afternoon light, Harry decided a short nap was probably what he needed before his father’s show tonight.
Later, when he woke up, the 10 year old found if anything he felt a lot worse. Keeping his eyes screwed shut against the aching feeling in his limbs, Harry realized he was lying down in what felt a lot like a bed. Since when did club owners put beds in the dressing rooms of their second headliners? Granted, the mattress felt lumpy and a spring was digging into his back. But still.
He shifted a little to try and move away from the persistently hard spring when he felt a hand press against his forehead. Blinking his eyes open, Harry saw his father’s face hover into view.
“Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” Harry insisted, despite the fact his voice was barely recognizable.
Malcolm grimaced sympathetically. “Yeah, you sound it. Feel hungry at all?”
At the mention of food, Harry’s stomach issued a warning in the way of a sharp tremor. “Not really,” Harry attempted to say before a fit of coughing attacked him. Each one tore at his throat and he barely registered Malcolm propped him up to a sitting position to help ease his breathing. When the hacking finally subsided, Harry groaned, keeping his eyes shut and concentrating on the hand soothingly rubbing his back. When he finally did re-open his eyes, a glass of water was in front of him.
“Here, drink this,” Malcolm offered. When Harry feebly reached for it, the magician pulled it out of reach from the shaking hand and pressed it instead to his son’s lips. Harry eagerly drained the glass, feeling the cool water ease the burning sensation in his throat. He gave his father a grateful look that Malcolm returned with a smile. “Here, let’s take your temperature,” said Malcolm. “I wanted to do it earlier, but you’ve been sleeping for hours.”
“Hours?” Harry frowned. He took a better look at his surroundings for the first time and realized they were in a small motel room instead of a dressing room. It looked like the countless others they’d stayed in with an ancient radiator that wheezed out heat and a TV set that looked like a relic from the 50’s. He also noticed that the curtains were drawn. “What time is it?” he asked.
Malcolm glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he shook out the thermometer that he‘d earlier excavated from his suitcase. “About half past nine.”
“Nine?!” Harry exclaimed, dangerously provoking another coughing fit. “Dad, you’re late! You’re supposed to be on!” He pushed the blankets away to get up, trying to ignore the buzzing inside his head.
“Harry, calm down,” said Malcolm, stilling his son’s movements. “Don’t worry about the show, okay?”
“But dad-”
“No buts,” said Malcolm, firmly. “Now open up.”
“But we can’t afford it,” Harry protested, shamelessly ignoring the ‘no buts’ command.
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied, frowning at Harry’s out of order priorities. “I’ve got it covered. Open.”
“How-mmf.”
The older Dresden took the opportunity of Harry asking the question and popped the thermometer in the opened mouth. Instinctively, Harry clamped his lips around the plastic stick, even as he gave his father an insistent look to answer his question.
“Don’t worry,” Malcolm repeated. “No, end of discussion,” he stated when Harry tried to talk around the thermometer. “I canceled the gig and explained. The owners understood.”
The misery Harry was already feeling at his physical state doubled when he realized his father had to cancel because of him. His face, which already felt hot from his rising fever grew only hotter at the prickling sensation behind his eyes. He kept his gaze focused downward as Malcolm took back the thermometer.
“101,” the magician read out loud. “Yeah, that’s a fever alright.”
Even at his age, tears were a rarity for Harry and he felt a little mortified as his vision blurred and cleared as they fell onto the blanket. He couldn’t afford to get sick. This Seattle job was the first one in months after a worrying dry spell. And now they’d lost it on the account of him getting ill.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Malcolm said, misinterpreting the dejected look on his son’s face. “It’s the flu, but you’ll be better in no time,” he assured.
Harry shook his head a little before realizing that was a bad idea as the room dangerously tilted. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to get sick.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you didn’t mean to get sick. It just happens.”
“But you’re supposed to be on tonight,” Harry insisted, not able to keep the wobble out of his voice. Tears were now falling at an embarrassingly fast rate as illness drastically lowered his ability to control his emotions.
“Harry, it’s just a show,” Malcolm replied. “There’ll be other shows. And there’s only one of you.” Harry continued to study the pilled fuzz-covered blanket on his lap until his father tilted his head up with a gentle hand, forcing his son to look at him. “We’re going to be fine, kiddo,” he assured. “Things’ll work out. Okay?”
There was so much confidence in his parent’s eyes that in the moment, Harry could believe it was true. That everything would turn out just fine as long as his father was there telling him so. He would take care of everything, including Harry. The younger Dresden felt his misery ease a little, even though his body continued to ache. “Okay,” he murmured back, remembering not to jostle his head this time.
“Good,” said Malcolm, smiling. “You sure you’re not hungry?” he asked again, moving his hand from Harry’s cheek back to his forehead. “I want you to eat something before you take this.” He held a children’s Tylenol bottle in his other hand.
“I don’t think so,” Harry grimaced as his stomach insisted there was no room for negotiation on this.
Malcolm nodded, seemingly understanding from experience that being badgered to eat something while sick was not going to help anyone. He settled Harry back down on the bed and brushed a hand over his son’s forehead one last time. “Get some sleep,” he said, gently.
And Harry did just that.
As the days and nights wore on, Harry’s fever persisted before it finally relented and faded away. During those days, the comforted sensation Harry felt at his father’s presence never waned an instant. Even during his fever-induced slumber, he could sense his father near him. Not leaving him alone at any point.
When Harry finally resurfaced from his sleep, he found himself now lying on something much less lumpy and that the intrusive spring was gone. He blinked his eyes opened and found his father sitting by his bed, reading a book. Only the mattress of his bed was now covered in his father’s own comforter, evening out the surface. The nightstand was also covered in every kind of cold and flu medication known to the Western world along with several bottles of the cranberry juice Harry liked so much. The younger Dresden stared at the supplies, dimly wondering how it was his father managed to get everything without leaving the room.
“Magic?” he asked in a hoarse whisper when his father felt his forehead to find the fever was gone.
Happy his son had rejoined the land of the living, Malcolm gave him a fond grin. “Parenting.”
THE END
Author: joonscribble
Characters: Harry Dresden, Malcolm Dresden
Prompt: Ups and Downs
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Summary: On the road, Harry gets the flu.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing.
Author's Note: Short and fluffy. That is all.
Despite the numerous contagions and germs Harry faced when on the road with his father, he rarely got sick. Unfortunately, when he did, it was never brief or mild. The two Dresdens were exiting their bus in Seattle when Harry was no longer able to hide his coughing and couldn’t even notice that he was leaning heavily on his father to remain upright.
“M’fine, dad,” he mumbled anyway, though he couldn’t find it in himself to protest when his father picked him up to carry him. His father’s heavy footfalls didn't help his pounding headache, but the warmth of the strong arms encircling him was warding off the chill he’d begun to feel. Closing his eyes against the afternoon light, Harry decided a short nap was probably what he needed before his father’s show tonight.
Later, when he woke up, the 10 year old found if anything he felt a lot worse. Keeping his eyes screwed shut against the aching feeling in his limbs, Harry realized he was lying down in what felt a lot like a bed. Since when did club owners put beds in the dressing rooms of their second headliners? Granted, the mattress felt lumpy and a spring was digging into his back. But still.
He shifted a little to try and move away from the persistently hard spring when he felt a hand press against his forehead. Blinking his eyes open, Harry saw his father’s face hover into view.
“Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” Harry insisted, despite the fact his voice was barely recognizable.
Malcolm grimaced sympathetically. “Yeah, you sound it. Feel hungry at all?”
At the mention of food, Harry’s stomach issued a warning in the way of a sharp tremor. “Not really,” Harry attempted to say before a fit of coughing attacked him. Each one tore at his throat and he barely registered Malcolm propped him up to a sitting position to help ease his breathing. When the hacking finally subsided, Harry groaned, keeping his eyes shut and concentrating on the hand soothingly rubbing his back. When he finally did re-open his eyes, a glass of water was in front of him.
“Here, drink this,” Malcolm offered. When Harry feebly reached for it, the magician pulled it out of reach from the shaking hand and pressed it instead to his son’s lips. Harry eagerly drained the glass, feeling the cool water ease the burning sensation in his throat. He gave his father a grateful look that Malcolm returned with a smile. “Here, let’s take your temperature,” said Malcolm. “I wanted to do it earlier, but you’ve been sleeping for hours.”
“Hours?” Harry frowned. He took a better look at his surroundings for the first time and realized they were in a small motel room instead of a dressing room. It looked like the countless others they’d stayed in with an ancient radiator that wheezed out heat and a TV set that looked like a relic from the 50’s. He also noticed that the curtains were drawn. “What time is it?” he asked.
Malcolm glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he shook out the thermometer that he‘d earlier excavated from his suitcase. “About half past nine.”
“Nine?!” Harry exclaimed, dangerously provoking another coughing fit. “Dad, you’re late! You’re supposed to be on!” He pushed the blankets away to get up, trying to ignore the buzzing inside his head.
“Harry, calm down,” said Malcolm, stilling his son’s movements. “Don’t worry about the show, okay?”
“But dad-”
“No buts,” said Malcolm, firmly. “Now open up.”
“But we can’t afford it,” Harry protested, shamelessly ignoring the ‘no buts’ command.
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied, frowning at Harry’s out of order priorities. “I’ve got it covered. Open.”
“How-mmf.”
The older Dresden took the opportunity of Harry asking the question and popped the thermometer in the opened mouth. Instinctively, Harry clamped his lips around the plastic stick, even as he gave his father an insistent look to answer his question.
“Don’t worry,” Malcolm repeated. “No, end of discussion,” he stated when Harry tried to talk around the thermometer. “I canceled the gig and explained. The owners understood.”
The misery Harry was already feeling at his physical state doubled when he realized his father had to cancel because of him. His face, which already felt hot from his rising fever grew only hotter at the prickling sensation behind his eyes. He kept his gaze focused downward as Malcolm took back the thermometer.
“101,” the magician read out loud. “Yeah, that’s a fever alright.”
Even at his age, tears were a rarity for Harry and he felt a little mortified as his vision blurred and cleared as they fell onto the blanket. He couldn’t afford to get sick. This Seattle job was the first one in months after a worrying dry spell. And now they’d lost it on the account of him getting ill.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Malcolm said, misinterpreting the dejected look on his son’s face. “It’s the flu, but you’ll be better in no time,” he assured.
Harry shook his head a little before realizing that was a bad idea as the room dangerously tilted. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to get sick.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you didn’t mean to get sick. It just happens.”
“But you’re supposed to be on tonight,” Harry insisted, not able to keep the wobble out of his voice. Tears were now falling at an embarrassingly fast rate as illness drastically lowered his ability to control his emotions.
“Harry, it’s just a show,” Malcolm replied. “There’ll be other shows. And there’s only one of you.” Harry continued to study the pilled fuzz-covered blanket on his lap until his father tilted his head up with a gentle hand, forcing his son to look at him. “We’re going to be fine, kiddo,” he assured. “Things’ll work out. Okay?”
There was so much confidence in his parent’s eyes that in the moment, Harry could believe it was true. That everything would turn out just fine as long as his father was there telling him so. He would take care of everything, including Harry. The younger Dresden felt his misery ease a little, even though his body continued to ache. “Okay,” he murmured back, remembering not to jostle his head this time.
“Good,” said Malcolm, smiling. “You sure you’re not hungry?” he asked again, moving his hand from Harry’s cheek back to his forehead. “I want you to eat something before you take this.” He held a children’s Tylenol bottle in his other hand.
“I don’t think so,” Harry grimaced as his stomach insisted there was no room for negotiation on this.
Malcolm nodded, seemingly understanding from experience that being badgered to eat something while sick was not going to help anyone. He settled Harry back down on the bed and brushed a hand over his son’s forehead one last time. “Get some sleep,” he said, gently.
And Harry did just that.
As the days and nights wore on, Harry’s fever persisted before it finally relented and faded away. During those days, the comforted sensation Harry felt at his father’s presence never waned an instant. Even during his fever-induced slumber, he could sense his father near him. Not leaving him alone at any point.
When Harry finally resurfaced from his sleep, he found himself now lying on something much less lumpy and that the intrusive spring was gone. He blinked his eyes opened and found his father sitting by his bed, reading a book. Only the mattress of his bed was now covered in his father’s own comforter, evening out the surface. The nightstand was also covered in every kind of cold and flu medication known to the Western world along with several bottles of the cranberry juice Harry liked so much. The younger Dresden stared at the supplies, dimly wondering how it was his father managed to get everything without leaving the room.
“Magic?” he asked in a hoarse whisper when his father felt his forehead to find the fever was gone.
Happy his son had rejoined the land of the living, Malcolm gave him a fond grin. “Parenting.”
THE END