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after the encounter with the shambling mound

[ishotyouuu]

[When Wade awakens a few days later, it's in an unfamiliar room. Well, unfamiliar to him, anyway-- all rooms start to look the same after you've been stuck in one place for more than a few months. He's hungry. And thirsty. And every nerve in his body aches. Wade gingerly rises to a sitting position, swaying a little as a wash of vertigo briefly overtakes him.]

Th' hell did I do last night...?

[Still, it's better to parse out such mysteries on a full stomach. Wade slips out of the bed, takes one step-- and immediately decides to get up close and personal with the floor with a loud, furniture-shaking thud. Wade remains where he's fallen, waiting for the stars to stop firing off in his vision. Awesome start, but definitely needs improvement on the dismount.]

...Ow.

[murderpotato]

[The past couple of days have been... well, boring as fuck, really. It's not exactly thrilling to watch a guy sleep off a month's worth of being slowly digested by a compost pile. Watching Wade sleep is like watching paint dry or something.]

[He knows that the guy's awake, though, when he hears the thud of a heavy person hitting the floor. He makes his way over to the source of the noise, holding a mug of... mostly coffee.]

And he fuckin' sticks the landing.

[Olympic-level skill there, Wade.]

Welcome back to the land of the fuckin' living.

[ishotyouuu]

Amazing bedside manner you've got there, Gren. You're a regular Florence Nightingale. With effort, Wade manages to sort of roll-shift into a sitting position, squinting up at the swarthy soulpatched man in dated clothing.]

...I take it this ain't my room, then?

[Not the most coherent or intelligent thing he could have said, but he's not exactly firing on all cylinders right now.]

[murderpotato]

[Gren knew that Wade was going to be fine after they'd pulled him out of that compost pile and he'd had enough of a brain left to be a little shit. After that it was just a matter of giving him time and a place to sleep it off.]

No, you're at my place.

[He even put you in his own bed, Wade, be grateful. He could've dumped your heavy ass on the couch or something.]

You want somethin' to drink?

[Guy's gotta be thirsty after hanging around for a few weeks inside of a plant monster.]

[ishotyouuu]

[...Okay, that doesn't seem too out of the ordinary. Seems like they both end up at each other's place one way or another. Doesn't really explain why he feels so weak, though. Speaking of which...]

God yes. My throat's dryer'n Joan Rivers's cootch right now. Gimme whatever you got.

[Please have the good sense to give him water, Gren.]

[murderpotato]

[Nice image there, Wade.]

[He goes out into his kitchen and starts to get a glass of water, then thinks better of it and just gets a whole goddamn pitcher of it. The guy's been dry for a couple of weeks, slamming as much water as possible through his kidneys will probably do him some good. Even with the healing factor, it's pretty amazing that the guy's still ticking after everything he's been through.]

[When he returns, he hands the pitcher off. Drink up.]

I got whiskey if you want some stronger shit, but maybe try some of this first.

[ishotyouuu]

[Honestly, this will probably be the first and only time Wade will choose water over something stronger. When Gren comes back with a large pitcher of water, Wade would've teared up at the sight of it if he wasn't so dehydrated to begin with.

He grabs it from Gren's hands with an urgency bordering on desperation, tipping the pitcher up and taking great hearty gulps of the cool clear liquid. The pitcher's a third of the way empty before he's drunk his fill, and he exhales in a gusty sigh as he sets it down on the floor.]

Oh, man. That hits the spot.

[His voice is breathless.]

[murderpotato]

[There's something a little alarming about how Wade grabs that pitcher and chugs it like his life depends on it; but, well, so long as he gets some water in him, it's fine, right? Whatever, that's not the point. The point is that now that Wade's awake and moving around and drinking prodigious amounts of water, Gren can go back to being fucking pissed off at him.]

[Because there's still that little issue of Wade running off without telling anybody and getting eaten by a goddamn plant monster.]

You've got a lotta fuckin' nerve, Wade Wilson, you know that?

[He's got a lot of nerve, sitting on the floor and drinking his water and not even looking a little bit apologetic. Gren went into the fucking caves and tore out a wampa's goddamn throat for this asshole, and does he appreciate it?]

You go and wander your fuckin' ass into the caves without tellin' anybody like a fuckin' idiot and disappear for a goddamn month. Who the fuck does that? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Did it ever occur to you to maybe leave a fuckin' note so that somebody might know what happened to your dumb ass? Or did you think that nobody was gonna fuckin' notice that you had fucked off for a few weeks to spend time in the middle of a fuckin' walkin' pile of compost?

cw for emetophobia

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade's memory of the event is patchy at best. He remembers going into the caves to blow off some steam, and he and he remembers getting jumped by something that looked like a demented version of those animal topiary things from Edward Scissorhands. The rest of the month's kind of a blur, apart from the point where he suddenly found himself sprawled onto the cave floor, looking up at Sans and some weird hairless yeti-looking thing.

Sans must've told Gren, after the fact. Must've been how Wade wound up in the man's house to begin with. As he listens to Gren's heated tirade, he feels his insides twist a little with guilt... and something else, an unbearable pressure rising from his stomach.]

I--

[It's all he manages to get out before his eyes widen in urgency. Wade suddenly pitches forward as he begins to vomit, all the water he had drunk expelling from his body in a violent rush.

Rest in peace, Gren's socks.]

[murderpotato]

[There is a moment before Wade actually spews all over Gren's feet that he sees what's coming, and knows that there's nothing he can do to stop it. He's been in Wade's position enough times to know what 'I'm going to vomit' looks like.]

[The fact that it's mostly water should probably be of some comfort, but it's really not.]

[Gren closes his eyes and takes a breath. He shouldn't be pissed, he gave Wade the water and didn't make sure that he drank it slowly. This is partly his own damn fault. He should know better than to give a severely dehydrated man a pitcher full of water and expect him to not drink until he throws up.]

Get your fuckin' ass back in that bed, Wade Wilson, or so help me God I will put you back where I fuckin' found you.

[He will find that same goddamn compost monster and shove your dirty ass right back into its chest, do not test him.]

[ishotyouuu]

[Honestly, if Gren had decided to just haul off and whack him a good one on the back of his head, it wouldn't have made him feel any worse than he does right now. Shame causes his face to grow hot; he retreats miserably from where he's sitting on the floor, grasping the bed to steady himself and gingerly making his way back into it.]

S-sorry... [His words are slurred; there's a bitter taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the fact that he's just vomited.] 'm sorry.

[murderpotato]

[Really, Gren wishes that he could just haul Wade off and give him a good smack and be done with it, but apparently speaking sternly to Wade goddamn Wilson is too rough. He's too much of a delicate flower to take that level of scolding.]

For fuck's sake.

[While Wade hauls himself into bed, Gren shucks off his socks and tosses them into the hamper to get washed and goes to get a towel. He comes back with the towel, a washcloth and a glass; the towel goes down on the floor to mop up what Wade chucked up-- thankfully, mostly water. Once that's done with and the towel also tossed into the hamper, he goes back to the bed that Wade's busy being miserable in.]

[He wets the washcloth with some of the water left in the pitcher and sits on the edge of the bed.]

Face.

[Nobody throws up without making a little bit of a mess of their own face. Since Wade's practically an invalid now, Gren'll have to clean him up.]

[ishotyouuu]

[Let's hope Wade's too sick to hear that delicate flower comment in the brackets or it's just going to be insult to injury. He already feels awful about making a mess of Gren, Gren's floor, and generally being a useless sack of shit, and Gren's nursemaiding is only making it worse.

Sullenly, he hoists himself up into a sitting position, marveling at how even that small amount of effort causes a wave of vertigo to wash over him. God, he's weak. That dalliance with the arboreal abomination must've taken more out of him than he'd thought.

Regardless, his face is in a better position to receive Gren's ministrations, loath though he is to leave the cleaning up to someone else. God. Feels like back when he had cancer. Wade doesn't exactly miss that feeling of helplessness.]

[murderpotato]

[He wipes up Wade's face with a few brusque wipes, more businesslike than tender. The guy's a mess and he cleans it up; Gren doesn't play nursemaid often, and he's more practical than gentle about it.]

[The washcloth gets tossed back into the hamper with the rest of the vomit-covered things, and then he takes the pitcher and the glass and fills it up. Time to water Wade again, but this time with less chance of rapid expulsion.]

Slow this time. [He sits on the bed again and holds the glass up to Wade's mouth, since he can't trust the guy to modulate his own intake.] I don't want to have to fuckin' wash my sheets today, too.

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade obligingly allows Gren to position the glass to his mouth, happy to have something to do to distract him from his overwhelming hallucination. At Gren's instruction, he takes it slow-- though the urge to gulp is as strong as it ever had been-- taking little measured sips from the glass and pausing frequently to allow his stomach the chance to get used to having something inside it again.

It goes much smoother this time. His hand gently grips Gren's wrist for some measure of control, and when he feels he has drunk enough for the time being, he indicates it with a small nudge of the glass.]

...Thanks. [A small, still embarrassed mumble.]

[murderpotato]

[There; that's better, that actually got some water into Wade. He needs to keep his hydration on the inside, not spew it all over Gren's possessions.]

[Gren pulls the glass away when Wade presses on his wrist and puts it on the bedside table with the pitcher. They can let that water settle in him and get absorbed or whatever it is that bodies do with water.]

Think your stomach can handle a little real food?

[If he's this dehydrated, he's probably also starving. Maybe he shouldn't eat anything too heavy, but he remembers what Holly told him about feeding a tender stomach-- bland, easy to digest shit like bananas and rice or whatever. He probably has some broth laying around? That's mostly water and would give him some nutrients.]

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade doesn't answer-- not at first. Though he's taken it a lot more slowly this time, there's a part of him that doesn't trust his stomach not to violently eject its contents like it did last time. Finally, enough time passes that he's confident enough to answer Gren's question.]

Maybe... maybe a liquid diet to start with. Just to be safe. An'... some Saltines, if you got 'em.

[He feels his face grow hot at that request-- it makes him feel like a little kid again, sick in bed with the stomach flu and not being able to keep anything down except the salted crackers his mother would offer him. Strange what memories bubble up to the forefront of your mind sometimes.]

[murderpotato]

[Gren's really never had to take care of anyone but himself, so the shift is... odd. If anything, someone else would take care of him when he drank too much or messed around with mundy drugs a little too much; he remembered Holly's disapproving face all those times she found him coked up or falling-over drunk or that one time that he tried those weird mushrooms and probably shouldn't have. He wasn't usually the person doing the caretaking.]

[Well. There's a first time for everything, right?]

I'll see what I got.

[He gets up and goes to his kitchen to do just that-- see what the fuck he got. His cupboards aren't exactly what one would call well-stocked, but after sufficient digging he's able to scrounge up a can of broth and some crackers, so, hey, good enough. He cracks open the can of soup and dumps it into a mug to heat it up in the microwave.]

[Hope you like nuked soup and dry crackers, Wade, because that's what your boyfriend fuckbuddy is bringing back for you.]

[ishotyouuu]

[Not exactly the sort of fare he's used to, but at this point in time, a meager meal of nuked soup and dry crackers is just about all he can trust himself to handle right now. Wade smells the soup before Gren even enters the room-- just simple chicken stock, nothing too fancy.

His stomach gives a plaintive gurgle, and Wade hates that he can't tell whether that's a sign of hunger or a sign he's about to make an embarrassment of himself again. Possibly both.

A wobbly grin is on his lips once Gren has once again situated himself at his side, and Wade tries not to let his apprehension show on his face. He's still not fully healed, and healing takes calories. Eventually, he's just going to have to take the plunge and risk eating.]

Heh. Smells good. Hope you didn't go all out on my account.

[A joke that is as much a jab at his own pitiful state as it is a ribbing of Gren's cooking skills.]

[murderpotato]

[He has to set the soup down on the bedside table to get the crackers out from where he'd shoved them into the crook of his arm. Being down on your carrying capacity by half really made things kind of difficult, like carrying more than one goddamn thing at a time.]

[There's this apprehensive smile on Wade's face when he sits down, plopping the sleeve of crackers down onto the injured man's lap. He figures he's going to have to help Wade with the whole eating thing, since he'd had so many issues with drinking and Gren doesn't want to have to wash his sheets.]

This is probably about as all out as your fuckin' stomach can handle.

[That is to say, not at all. He picks up the mug and holds it up for Wade.]

So. What's the deal with this shit?

[The whole running off into the caves thing, he means. Somebody doesn't wander off into murdercaves just for shits and giggles.]

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade hesitates for a few seconds, but when it's apparent that Gren's trusting him not to overdo it, he takes the mug from the other man's hands and takes a cautionary sip. The smell of the broth hits him before the taste does, making his stomach clench painfully with hunger, but Wade's careful not to take more than a sip at a time.]

What's the deal with what shit? S'not like I asked to take a vacation in the chest cavity of a fucking Ent.

[He knows he's being unfair, but embarrassment over his predicament has quickly given way to sullenness. Whether he knows it or not, Gren has power over him now, and he doesn't exactly enjoy that feeling of helplessness and shame.]

[murderpotato]

[He's monitoring Wade's intake, and he'll take back that goddamn mug if he sees him start to overdo it. The main objective here is to keep the food on the inside, Wade; don't fuck it up.]

[He makes an annoyed little chuffing noise, because stupid is a bad look on Wade.]

So, what, you fuckin' accidentally wandered your ass into the caves?

[ishotyouuu]

[Wade risks a bite of a cracker, chewing slowly.]

Wasn't technically an accident. I wanted a place to be alone and blow off some steam and the caves seemed like the perfect place to do it. S'not like I can just head to a local Planet Fitness or anything, y'know? I thought it'd be smooth sailing-- I mean, I'm not some kinda milquetoast.

[He takes another sip of broth, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.]

...Alcohol might've had somethin' to do with it.

[murderpotato]

[Gren is, at least, well aware that the combination of alcohol and poor judgement creates Bad Times. It'd probably be hypocritical of him to get on Wade's case about it, since he's made his fair share of poor life choices while under the influence of something or other, but that would also require him to be self-aware of his hypocrisy.]

Well, maybe give somebody a fuckin' heads up next time in case you need a goddamn assist. Then maybe you won't spend a fuckin' month being digested by a compost heap.

[Because, y'know, he'd be out looking for him before three weeks go by.]

And plug in your fuckin' phone.

[ishotyouuu]

[There's only so much of this tongue-lashing Wade can take. He's already exposed and vulnerable, prone in Gren's bed the way he is, and it seems to him that Gren's taking the opportunity to kick him while he's down. Either way, he hates the sense of superiority he feels coming from the man, whether it's imagined or not, which is what prompts him now to run his goddamn mouth.]

Maybe if someone didn't get so fuckin' butthurt about who I spend my time with, I wouldn't pull a goddamn disappearing act.