Tags & Trigger warnings: Emetophilia, vomiting, sickfic

Summary: In which after a very tiring workday Scaramouche and Childe find themselves sick. (Part 2 of the Chiscara agenda series)

Posted to Ao3: November 11th 2021

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Snezhnaya was one of Teyvat's more technologically advanced nations, having developed things such as rifles with the help of their military research division. While few of those inventions ever made it into the hands of the public, one such invention did, cars.

Although they weren't all over Teyvat, they were heavily used in Sneznhaya's main cities and Childe was never more thankful for them than now as he walked out of one of the ruin guard manufacturing facilities with Scaramouche at his side.

They'd just finished completing a rather large series of jobs for the Tsaritsa and by the time they exited the manufacturing facility it was nearing sunset, a crisp yet gentle breeze flowed brushing across Childe's skin.

Childe sighed, running a hand over his face for a moment, feeling a headache coming on if the dull ache that'd settled in his skull was anything to go by. Which isn't surprising considering the busy yet infuriating day he just had and not surprisingly Scaramouche hadn't helped Childe in the least.

He'd often just wandered off from Childe repeatedly or just, in general, ignoring Childe as well as the task he was supposed to be doing. Which meant Childe had to do everything by himself.

As the car pulls up to get them and take them back to the palace Childe glances down at Scaramouche, a scowl on his face. He was irritated and normally he'd be being incredibly petty towards Scaramouche in any way he could.

However, between his own exhaustion and an oncoming headache he decides against it for once, besides during the entire trip Scaramouche had been quiet which was admittedly a bit eerie to Childe considering Scaramouche often acted like he couldn't shut up at times.

Childe enters the car first, sitting in the back of the car, the opaque partition is up separating them from the driver who of course was also in the Fatui.

Scaramouche removed his hat before entering the car, placing it on the seat beside him as he leaned back against his seat with a sigh, his eyes closed. Childe, who had been staring at the window glanced over at him.

Under the dim lights in the car, he can't help but think that Scaramouche looks a bit paler than usual, but he ignores it, turning his attention back to the window. He wasn't going to let this rare opportunity for peace and quiet slip by.

Scaramouche opens his eyes slightly, only to quickly close them, swallowing thickly when a wave of dizzying nausea washes over so intensely that it makes his vision swim for a moment and leaves him feeling lightheaded.

It is uncomfortably hot, sweat cloaking Scaramouche's skin and he's pretty sure that his clothes are soaked with it considering how they feel as though they're clinging to his skin, practically smothering him. He's never been more thankful that he's wearing dark clothing.

His stomach is absolutely killing him and practically in knots, feeling as though it were in a vice grip. This horrible ache is only compounded by the fact that his lunch seems to be heavily sitting in his stomach like a rock, and he can't help but curse himself for stupidly thinking eating something would help the nausea he'd been feeling all day.

When he first realized he was sick he'd admittedly been terrified and panicked trying to find some sort of solution, thinking that maybe if he ate something that the nausea would fade and his stomach would shut up. He hadn't even had an appetite in the first place but that fear and desperation had pushed him.

Scaramouche had never dealt with illness well, when he had spent all of those years alone and wondering Inazuma it had always been a strange unknown he'd never had an answer for. This fear had only gotten worse when the Fatui found him and he had, had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Dottore.

Scaramouche would rather die before admitting it but he was afraid of Dottore, the man had always looked at him as though he were a tool or object to toy with rather than an actual person. This fear of Dottore and of illness, in general, was Scaramouche's deepest secrets, one that he did everything to hide.

Much to Scaramouche's horror Childe was one of the only other people who knew about this deeply held secret, having found out by accident one of the times Scaramouche was sick and Childe had been ordered by Dottore to find him. Thankfully Childe had chosen not to take Scaramouche back to Dottore to get examined instead choosing to take care of the man himself.

He'd expected Childe to tease him for his weakness or blackmail him for something but he hadn't, which honestly shocked Scaramouche. He and Childe weren't exactly close although they did sleep together and occasionally spar, it was used more of a distraction than anything when both of them were bored and didn't have any work to do.

Lately, however, Scaramouche often found himself not being annoyed by Childe's presence as much. Letting Childe get away with more of his usual teasing without retaliating, not feeling annoyed when asked for the usual sparring request.

Swallowing thickly in an effort to clear the near river of saliva building up in his mouth, Scaramouche quickly glances over at Childe but Childe isn't even looking at him. Instead, Childe is almost absentmindedly staring out the window, a scowl on his face.

Scaramouche grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of nausea washes over him, a deep ache practically punching him in the gut. His stomach makes a loud gurgling noise and he quickly forces himself to relax when the noise makes Childe look over at him.

"Was that your stomach?" Childe asked.

Scaramouche gives a soft huff. "I don't know what you're talking about, you must be hearing things." The response is almost reflexive at this point and it takes him a moment to realize his mistake.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to actually explain himself, only to close it, covering it with his hands when a loud, rumbling burp tears from his lips.

As his face flushed red with embarrassment and he quickly looks away when Childe laughs at him.

"Well look at that, for someone so small I didn't even think you could make a sound like that. Then again you do have a loud mouth," Childe chuckled, amusement still in his voice.

Childe's head still hurts and he can feel a slight queasiness settled in his stomach but his mood is lifted slightly.

Yawning, he rests his head against the cold glass of the window absentmindedly watching the scenery fly by. Maybe he is catching something because he can't help but think the cold glass feels amazing on his skin.

He quickly dismisses the thought however, he'd woke up feeling fine and had only started to feel sick while he was at the manufacturing facility, so it was more than likely just stress causing his headache and the headache in turn was causing the slight nausea he felt.

Everything would be fine once he was back home and could finally rest and put this day behind him.

Scaramouche shakily lowers his hands from his mouth, his eyes wide. He's panicking as he places a hand on his stomach, cringing slightly when he can feel his stomach churning fiercely beneath his fingers. It feels bloated and taut, his fingers sinking slightly into the soft flesh there.

A grimace flashes across his face when his stomach makes another loud gurgling noise, the organ practically rippling beneath his fingers sending that deep ache streaking across Scaramouche's stomach.

Another wave of dizzying nausea washes over him and he squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly when the stop, start motion of the car makes his stomach feel as if its contents are sloshing inside of him, brushing against the walls of his stomach.

Fear hooks its sharp cold talons into him as he cracks his eyes open and glances out the window, they're far, far out from Sneznhaya's main city and where Zapolyarny palace was. Scaramouche knew that Dottore was waiting for him at the palace and the man would notice something was off with him the moment he looked at him.

Insane or not, Dottore was still a doctor. That fear has him frantically looking back over at Childe but Childe seems to have dozed off. Childe was a light sleeper, Scaramouche knew this from experience but at the same time, he finds himself unable to reach out. To wake him.

Scaramouche grimaces, wrapping his arms around his stomach when that horrible pain punches him directly in the stomach, leaving him temporarily stunned and breathless. Squeezing his eyes shut, he curls in on himself trying to take slow, shallow breaths in, in an effort to calm the wave after wave dizzying nausea washing over him.

It feels as if the car is boiling him alive, the contents of his stomach practically curdling inside of him. He feels something warm trickle down his chin and shakily wipes it away realizing much to his embarrassment that he was drooling, and yet no matter how much he swallows the drool continues to build up in his mouth.

It sits on his tongue feeling strangely heavy and tasting vaguely sour.

Scaramouche grimaces again when his stomach makes a low sickly growl. The noise is loud, however, so loud that he has to glance over at Childe to see if it woke him up. Air bubbles at the back of his throat suddenly and Scaramouche's fear spikes sharply as he hiccups, clamping a hand over his mouth.

The noise is wet, sickly but thankfully brings nothing with it. Leaning back with a soft groan, Scaramouche closes his eyes, his hand still resting on his gurgling and violently upset stomach. He continues hiccuping his small frame jolting slightly, each one sending pain streaking across his stomach.

Scaramouche tries his damndest, but he can't help the warm tears that are beginning to gather in his eyes as his fear mounts every motion of the car making him feel sicker and sicker.

They're tears of not only fear but also pain and frustration as well. Frustration that this situation is out of his control no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, the fear that something absolutely horrible would happen to him since he was sitting in this car.

Instantly his panicking and distraught mind goes to two things, when he'd been roaming Inazuma as Kunikuzushi how he would occasionally get sick whether that be to illness or his own stupidity. The second thought his mind goes to is more sinister, being strapped to Dottore's exam table in this condition, Dottore's typical cold yet giddy smile in place as he raised a scalpel ready to dissect Scaramouche.

Too carve him to pieces, to see what makes him tick .

Maybe it's the fever clouding his mind, helping to feed his anxiety while his anxiety in turn feeds into his near overwhelming nausea. Whatever the reason, Scaramouche practically begins hyperventilating, soft shaky whimpers leaving his mouth as tears begin rolling down his face.

He can't go back to Dottore, Dottore could never ever know.

Childe hears a soft whimpering noise almost like that of a wounded animal, opening his eyes he grimaces against the light of the sunset coming in through the car window when it feels as though it's stabbing him in the eyes. Massaging his temple with one hand in an effort to soothe his headache, Childe scowls when he hears a strange wet gurgling noise and another strange noise as if someone was choking on liquid.

Still slightly dazed from his nap he looks over at Scaramouche and Childe's eyes widen in shock when he sees the state he's in.

Scaramouche is practically curled into a ball, his eyes squeezed shut and both of his trembling hands clamped over his mouth. There are tears gathered on his lashes and rolling down his sweat-streaked face. He was pale as a sheet with an almost slight green tinge to his skin and his cheeks were bulging out as he took shallow, shaky breaths in through his nose in some last-ditch effort to keep himself from being sick.

"Whoa, whoa, wait, okay," Childe said frantically, clearly alarmed by Scaramouche's sudden deteriorated state.

Childe leans forward his fingers fumbling to find the button to lower the partition so he can speak to the driver.

Scaramouche gives a low whine in his throat, his entire body trembling from the effort of trying to stop himself from being sick. His stomach makes a loud, harsh growling noise as it heaves again forcing more of its contents into his mouth, a tiny bit of vomit squirting past his tightly sealed lips and dribbling down his hand through the cracks in his fingers.

It feels hot, almost searing on his hand and disgustingly sticky Scaramouche absolutely hates it.

As the car suddenly jerks to a stop Scaramouche whimpers again when his stomach seems to slosh sickeningly with the motion.

He hears Childe open the door but is too busy trying to choke back the contents of his stomach and terrified to really do anything.

Childe quickly grabs Scaramouche's arm and begins trying to pull Scaramouche out of the car. Maybe the motion is too sudden, or maybe Childe didn't move quickly enough either way Scaramouche's stomach has clearly had enough.

It heaves again, forcing up more of its contents into Scaramouche's mouth and bursting past his tightly sealed lips.

The surge of lumpy pale and green vomit sprays through the cracks in his fingers, coating his hand in the disgustingly thick smoothie-like slurry as it splatters onto his lap and the floor of the car.

Childe sighed, muttering a curse under his breath. Scaramouche shakily lowers his hands from his mouth looking at them with wide tearful eyes a moment before he cups his vomit-covered hands beneath his mouth and screws his eyes shut, whimpering when a gurgling burp slithers past his lips forcing up another large wave of thick lumpy vomit into his cupped hands. It feels absolutely disgustingly warm, almost searing against his skin and chunky as the slimy mess drips through his fingers and into his lap.

Childe mutters a curse under his breath then he reaches out laying a gentle hand on Scaramouche's back, a soft hiss leaving his mouth when he notices the pure heat rolling off of Scaramouche's skin. He clearly had a high fever, the type of fever that didn't just spontaneously happen.

Scaramouche clearly had to have been feeling sick for at least a day or two for it to get this bad and now that Childe thinks about it, it made his behavior from earlier make sense as well.

"Just get it up, I'm right here," Childe told him gently as he rubbed his back, trying not to cringe when the sight of Scaramouche retching up another wave of that thick lumpy vomit has Childe's own nausea growing stronger.

Scaramouche whimpers clearly terrified, tears rolling down his face as a loud gurgling burp has another large surge of vomit falling from his lips, overflowing his cupped hands as it drips onto his lap and the floor.

Scaramouche hates this with every fiber of his being, he can feel the mess seeping into his clothes and coating his hands, warm, sticky chunks of his regurgitated lunch slipping through his fingers. The sensation of it has him gagging, threads of drool dripping from his lips like a faucet.

"You're sick," Childe told him softly, a scowl on his face.

Scaramouche shakily nods, tears still rolling down his face as he continues gagging emptily and dry heaving for a moment.

Childe sighs again, racking his brain for a moment, which is slightly difficult to do with the headache still wreaking havoc on him. They were still a good ways away from the palace, but if Scaramouche went back there in his current state Childe had no doubt that he'd be immediately hauled off to Dottore's office. The one place Scaramouche was terrified of.

There was another option though, there were quite a few inns and hotels around this area mostly for tourists. So hopefully if they stayed at one of them they wouldn't be recognized by anyone, then again even if they were Childe could always threaten them into keeping their mouths shut.

But first, he needed to help Scaramouche clean up a bit, considering the front of his clothes were completely coated in vomit.

"Alright, come with me real quick," Childe told Scaramouche softly as he carefully began helping him out of the car.

Once outside Scaramouche shudders, coughing and sniffling as he shakes the mess from his hands, cringing when it splatters onto the ground.

His stomach is still killing him and he wraps his arms around it almost reflexively when that deep ache seems to punch him in the stomach. It brings a wave of nausea with it that leaves Scaramouche light-headed swaying in place as he groans.

Not wanting him to fall, Childe quickly guides Scaramouche to sit down on the ground nearby.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" Childe asked with a scowl. He walks over to where Scaramouche is sitting by the road, his small body trembling from the cold which was only compounded by the fact that his clothes were wet.

"Felt off yesterday, I was gonna stay home but..." Scaramouche mumbled as Childe grabbed one of his wrists. Childe's vision glowed faintly as he began running water over Scaramouche's hands.

"You and I got ordered to come out here to the manufacturing facility," Childe finished with a scowl.

Scaramouche merely nods looking away. Childe knew of his secret, his fear of illness but that didn't mean he wasn't ashamed of his current situation, his weakness.

He looks at Childe however when Childe removes the jacket of his own uniform, along with his scarf leaving him in his red long-sleeved shirt as he wraps both around Scaramouche.

"I know you're not human but you still need to dress like you live in Snezhnaya," Childe told him, sounding slightly cheerful.

Scaramouche doesn't know if Childe is trying to cheer him up or what but figures there's no harm in not going along with it, giving a small scoff at Childe's words. "Idiot," he muttered but said nothing else.

"We'll stay in one of the nearby hotels or inns," Childe told him as he cleaned up the mess in the car the best he could. Normally he'd ask the driver to do something like this, wanting nothing more than to lay down and rest with how badly his head was hurting, but he was very sure that Scaramouche wouldn't want the Fatui soldier to know about his current state.

At least having a hydro vision makes it easier to clean the mess, although Childe has to close his eyes every so often, taking deep breaths to calm his own nausea. He makes a mental note to get some medicine for the both of them when they get to the hotel.

Childe didn't think he was sick, in fact, he figured it was just a migraine, he got them often after all, but it was better safe than sorry considering Scaramouche couldn't even take care of himself when sick he didn't need the added stress of trying to care for Childe.

With the car finally as clean as he's going to get it, Childe walks back over to where Scaramouche is. Scaramouche has gone silent and is staring into space sniffling, he has a hand on his stomach clutching it, practically clawing into it.

He looks up at Childe with glassy almost unfocused eyes as Childe helps him carefully to his feet. Scaramouche is still shivering in his grip, his legs shaking beneath him.

Once back in the car Childe instructs the driver to go to the nearest inn, before turning his attention back to Scaramouche when he gives a soft hiccup.

"Still feel sick?" Childe asked with a scowl.

Scaramouche just nods his hand still clawing at his stomach. He feels absolutely miserable, his stomach is in complete knots, and while he doesn't feel as if he's going to start gagging immediately the waves of nausea still washing over him leave him feeling incredibly dizzy. The fever wreaking havoc on his body isn't helping either, cloaking his mind in a fog making it a struggle to think.

Scaramouche doesn't even realize he's closed his eyes until he feels himself being moved and realizes that Childe is guiding him to lay down in his lap. "What are you..." Scaramouche begins sounding confused as he cracks his eyes open slightly to look at Childe.

He closes them again, however, another hiccup leaving his mouth when the world swims sickeningly before his eyes.

His stomach is churning like a whirlpool and he hates it.

"Just try to rest, for now, I'll let your know when we get there," Childe reassured him.

Scaramouche is quiet for a moment save for the soft hiccups leaving his mouth then he grimaces and gives a small sigh. "Fine," he mumbles almost begrudgingly.

Childe smiles at that his fingers carding through Scaramouche's hair, gently brushing the purple strands away from his face. Scaramouche doesn't say anything but from the peaceful look that settles on his face, Childe can tell that it helps.

Eventually, Scaramouche's body relaxes in Childe's grip as he settles into a peaceful sleep.

~~~

The car is just pulling up to the nearest hotel, which had been about 40 minutes away, when Scaramouche begins whimpering in his sleep.

His small form writhing as he practically clawed at his stomach with his hands. Frowning, Childe doesn't wake Scaramouche up as he climbs out of the car, instead picking him up in his arms which causes Scaramouche to curl up against his chest almost instinctively.

Childe walks through the front door of the hotel and up to the counter. Ignoring the look of sheer shock on the woman's face he gives her the best smile he can manage given the situation. "Hello, I'd like a room please."

Once Childe has the key he quickly goes to the room, having to stop every so often when his vision blurs slightly. Taking a deep breath he pushes on.

Scaramouche first, he'll rest, take some medicine, and lay down after he makes sure that Scaramouche is alright.

~~~

Scaramouche doesn't know what time it is when he wakes up again, his stomach still throwing a tantrum inside of him as he carefully sits up with a scowl slowly blinking. It's hot, way, way too hot but he doesn't know if that's because of the numerous blankets he's covered with or the fever he knows he has.

He's in an unfamiliar room and as he sits up he realizes that his clothes have been changed. Scaramouche can't help but be surprised as he looks to his left. Childe is sitting in a chair by the bed, despite it clearly being big enough for them both, his head resting on his arms and he's sound asleep although his breathing is labored and there's a red, feverish blush coating his cheeks.

Frowning Scaramouche reaches out, placing a hand on Childe's forehead. The fact that Childe doesn't instantly wake up at the contact like he usually would is already worrying. Scaramouche isn't sure considering he has a fever as well but he thinks Childe's skin feels hot.

He jumps slightly, instantly drawing back when Childe groans and his eyes open slightly his eyes are glassy and glazed over, completely unfocused. Childe doesn't move, however, merely blinking a few times before his eyes begin sliding closed once more.

Scaramouche hesitantly reaches out again, his hand shaking as he grabs Childe's shoulder and shakes him. Scaramouche can't help the fear that crops up inside of him, he knew that humans got sick it was just something that happened to them but there was something almost wrong about seeing Childe so docile and weak.

"What," Childe mumbled as he opened his eyes again, squinting when the lowlights of the room felt as though they were stabbing him in the eyes.

His head is killing him, pounding fiercely in time with his heartbeat and he groans low in his throat as he massages his temple with one hand. Childe squeezes his eyes shut when a wave of nausea makes his stomach practically flip inside of him.

"You're sick too," Scaramouche whispered and Childe frowned, cracking one eye open when he noticed something that sounded like sorry and fear in his voice.

Scaramouche is looking at him with fearful wide eyes, his hands shaking as he clutches the blankets in a near death grip.

"I took some medicine when I gave you some," Childe sighed trying to reassure Scaramouche. Childe really didn't think he could deal with him potentially having a panic attack right now, especially not when he felt as if his head was splitting open.

"Oh," Scaramouche muttered Childe's words making him relax slightly. "Where are my clothes?"

Childe gives a soft hum. "They're being washed so I put you in that so you wouldn't be cold," he muttered then he smiles slightly although Scaramouche can't help but think that smile looks strained. "You and my younger brother are about the same size," Childe chuckled to which Scaramouche scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up," Scaramouche huffed.

Giving a small snort Childe stands up quickly reaching out to steady himself, his eyes fluttering as a wave of dizziness and nausea slams into him like a truck.

Childe swallows quickly, almost convulsively but as the saliva in his mouth takes on an almost metallic taste he realizes that he is fighting a losing battle with his body.

"Be right back," he quickly chokes out, his words slurring as he turns as staggers into the nearby bathroom.

He manages to close the door, practically slamming it shut as he collapses to his knees in front of the toilet. The moment he does a harsh, gurgling retch tears from his lips, a near torrent of drool dripping from his mouth and into the toilet.

Groaning Childe shakes his head slightly, getting only the briefest moment to breathe before another harsh retch claws its way up his throat, causing him to lurch forward as a trickle of pale yellow vomit leaves his mouth.

He burps, the noise loud and wet, practically echoing in the bathroom as a large surge of slightly watery, yellowish, vomit gurgles up his throat. It was as if someone had uncorked a wine bottle as the soup-like slurry poured from his lips in a near stream, not giving him the chance to catch his breath.

Coughing and spluttering, Childe retches emptily over the toilet for a few moments. His head is throbbing so violently that his brain feels as if it's rolling around in his skull.

Sighing he grabs some tissue and wipes his mouth, severing the threads of drool hanging from his lips.

He still feels slightly nauseous but not like he's going to start gagging on every breath, so he shakily gets up flushing the toilet. Childe splashes some water on his face before opening the bathroom door.

Shockingly he finds Scaramouche standing there, before Childe can say anything Scaramouche grabs him by the wrist and begins leading him back to the bed.

There's a deep scowl on Scaramouche's face and Childe can feel the hand gripping his wrist shaking slightly.

"I'm fine you know, it's just a-" Childe begins in an attempt to calm Scaramouche down.

"Shut up," Scaramouche practically snapped. And Childe does, because he can't help but notice the fear and worry hidden beneath the anger in Scaramouche's voice.

"Lay down in bed. It's not like we haven't shared one before," Scaramouche ordered as he looked at Childe.

"Fine, fine, fine," Childe mumbled as he sat down on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes. Once that's done he lays down his eyes widening slightly when Scaramouche pulls the blankets up over him, he doesn't say anything though far too exhausted for their usual teasing.

With a sigh Scaramouche returns to bed as well, he doesn't struggle when Childe wraps his arms around him pulling him close. Cuddling wasn't exactly something either of them did, never the type of couple for soft words and loving touches but admittedly the feeling of Childe's arms around him like this is comforting.

And reassuring as well considering Scaramouche was always so used to spending the time he was sick alone locked up in his room.

It's comforting for Childe as well as coming from a big family he wasn't used to being alone when he was sick. Although he is a bit surprised when instead of pushing him away like he figured he would, Scaramouche instead snuggles up to him resting his head on Childe's chest.

"I wonder which one of us caught it first," Childe suddenly mumbles.

Scaramouche opens his eyes slightly and looks up at Childe for a moment. "Not everything is a competition you moron," he huffed before closing his eyes. He's quiet for a few moments before speaking again. "Probably you, you're one of the strangest humans I've ever met, who knows what else is clinging to you."

At that Childe smiles slightly, his fingers running through Scaramouche's hair. "And yet you keep coming to this strange human each time. What does that make you?" Childe said softly.

"Insane," Scaramouche mumbled but Childe sees a very faint smile briefly cross his face. It's his first time seeing Scaramouche's genuine smile and he can't help but be slightly surprised simply staring at Scaramouche as he falls asleep.

"Goodnight," Childe told him softly as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as well.