❤️💜18k oof💜❤️

Cross woke up with a headache. His skull was pounding and his body felt hot and clammy, his clothes sticking to his sweaty bones. He tried to move, only to find he couldn't, his limbs having turned to bricks. Why couldn't he move? Why did he feel so horrible?

He tried to call out for Nightmare, but only a dying wheeze resulted from it. He was starting to panic, his throat clogging up as he tried to force some sort of noise out of his throat to no success. What the hell was wrong with him?!

He was dully aware of his throbbing right leg, the mark where Ink had stabbed him being on fire. It felt as if the knife was still embedded deeply into the bone, twisting deeper and deeper every few seconds. A whimper managed to escape his burning 'lips' and he tilted his head to the side to try catch sight of Nightmare.

He was curled up on the floor, his head resting on one of his many backpacks while the sleeping bag was draped over him like a blanket instead of him actually being inside it. His tentacles had curled around his body protectively, the tips brushing over and covering his face from view. He looked pretty content if you ignored the fact that he slept with a knife gripped in his relaxed hands.

Cross stared at him and shifted weakly, managing to force his left leg a few centimetres to the right by Nightmare's head. He tipped it to the side, trying to tap his skull with the toe of his boot. He missed the first few times, too far away to physically reach him. Groaning internally, he moved his leg closer. This time he was successfull, gently butting Nightmare with his boot.

The teen mumbled something under his breath and shifted about a bit. But he didn't wake up, simply settling down again with his head at a slightly different angle which made it even more difficult for Cross to reach him.

Letting a whimper of frustration escape him, Cross heaved his leg closer to Nightmare. He underestimated how far his leg would get and his eyes widened in surprise as his shoe slammed itself right into Nightmare's face.

The skeleton shot up instantly, the knife in his hands stabbing into the ground a centimetre away from where Cross' shoe was now. He looked around him for any sign of his attacker, only to find none other than Cross. "Huh?!"

Staring helplessly at him, Cross tried to indicate in some way to the taller that his body felt like it was collapsing on itself.

Nightmare blinked softly, looking him up and down with a frown. "Cross? You don't look too good."

He let out a weak groan in response before a choked cough escaped him and he doubled over, clutching his chest tightly and gasping for breath. The coughs kept forcing their way up his throat, feeling like they were physically tearing it apart.

The octopus jumped up in concern, kneeling by Cross' side and dragging his pack over. He thumped the smaller on the back until he'd finished his coughing fit and then gently pushed him back against the wall, rolling the sleeping bag he'd been using as a blanket as a backrest for him. He then pulled open his pack and grabbed his half full water bottle. He tilted Cross' head back and slowly poured the water into his mouth a few sips at a time. He did that until the water bottle was empty, rubbing small circles on the back of his skull. "You okay...?"

Cross managed to shake his head weakly and closing his eyes as Nightmare pressed the back of his palm against his burning forehead.

"You have a fever." Nightmare muttered, looking him up and down and taking note of his flushed bones that were slick with sweat. Cursing under his breath, he reached out with his tentacles and dragged over all his different packs. He looked through Cross' first, giving a curious glance at the small greasy pot at the bottom. He placed it to the side while shoving everything back in, something telling him it was important or could be useful.

The second pack held nothing useful at all, being full of all the food he'd accumulated over the week. A week? Yeah, that was around about how long they'd stayed in the arena so far. And there were still ten Tributes left. God this game was a slow burner. The third pack had a roll of bandages which he quickly put down next to the small pot. Other than that, there was nothing else he could use to help Cross. Dragging the third pack onto his lap, he stared through it unblinkingly. There were knives and wire along with a tightly packed raincoat.

He was beginning to give up hope until he remembered the small little jar resting at the bottom. He reached in and grabbed it, pulling the clear glass from the bag. It had been a gift from his sponsors when he'd pricked himself on some poisonous plant that had sent his whole body into a state of near-paralysis. He'd been limp on the floor out in the open for around an hour before the soft ringing of a sponsor parachute rang out and a metal box fell by his side. Inside had been this small jar full of medicine. He'd forced about half of it down his throat before blacking out for god knows how many hours. But when he'd woken up again, the paralysis was gone.

He had no clue if this medicine would be any use for Cross. And he also didn't have a clue whether this medicine was more than one use. Maybe it wouldn't work for something like a fever.

Turning back to the oreo, he held up the pot of slave. "What's this for?"

Cross stared at him weakly, attempting to force the words out of his mouth. "...W...W-Wounds..." He rasped, his voice dry and less than a whisper.

Nightmare raised a brow but nodded, crouching down by Cross' leg where he'd been stabbed. The fabric of his trousers had been ripped, revealing the mess beneath. Yes, there were skeletons, so there wasn't any mangled flesh or bits of skin missing. Thank god. But there was a deep chunk missing from the bone in his lower thigh, cracks spiderwebbing across it like a web. Despite being skeletons, they did have some form of blood in their bodies, and currently all of Cross' was leaking out onto the floor and absorbing into the tattered fabric of his clothes. And the bone around it looked red and raw, probably infected with something which had then given him the fever.

He cringed slightly and unscrewed the lid of the pot, staring at the greasy contents within. The feeling of his fingers dipping into it was horrible, not going to lie, but he dealt with it and gently rubbed the grease onto the wound.

Cross let out weak hisses of pain and discomfort, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. But he didn't struggle or try to kick him when Nightmare wrapped the bandage around his leg, over the fabric of his trousers. He didn't fancy the thought of undressing the smol in his weak and vulnerable state. That would just be wrong on so many levels.

Once it was bandaged up nicely Nightmare took the jar, holding it up to Cross's 'lips' and unscrewing the cap.

Cross stared at it distrustfully, shaking his head a bit and pressing his 'lips' together tightly.

"C'mon Cross. This'll help, I promise." He rubbed the back of Cross' hand gently, bumping the jar against his mouth. "This will be easier for both of us if I don't have to force this down your throat. And yes, I would do that."

The smaller shuddered and stared at him, the two of them in some sort of competition before Cross finally gave in and broke eye contact, opening his mouth a bit.

"Thank you." Nightmare muttered, tilting the jar so that the thick brown liquid slid into Cross' mouth.

He clearly didn't like the taste of it judging by his expression, but he swallowed it anyway, shivers running through his small body. He sunk back into the sleeping bag, his eyes closing and his arms hugging himself.

The teen sat down next to him, searching through his packs for the dead bird he'd shot yesterday. "I'll collect some wood and make a little fire, and then we can eat, yeah?"

But he got no answer, Cross having already fallen asleep.

Sighing and shaking his head Nightmare gave the smol a small pat on his head before draping his raincoat over him as a sort of blanket for warmth. "Sleep well, Cross."

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Yummy Crossmare uwu

Gotta love some Nightmare x Sick Cross. Classic clichés that we'll hold onto till the day they die

:3

Thinking about how many chapters I have left to write, I'm thinking around 15 maybe? It could be more or less, not sure yet.

Ngl, I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot

Anyways, enjoooyyyyyyyy

-Jess-