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[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.

[murderpotato]

Is that what this shit is about?

[He stands, Wade's pissy tone chafing him. That whole... date thing with Rosen bothers him like a rotting tooth; irritating and impossible to leave alone. It bothers him that Wade went on that date with another man, and it bothers him that it bothers him. The stupidest cycle of annoyance.]

Fine, whatever, you're right. You can do whatever the fuck you want. [It's a true statement-- Wade can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. They're not exclusive.] Happy now?

[ishotyouuu]

[The statement might be true, but that doesn't mean that the tone of Gren's voice doesn't get Wade's dander up in the worst way possible.]

Seriously, what the fuck is even your problem? Did I impose on some weird-ass fuckbuddy code or something?

[murderpotato]

I ain't got a problem.

[That's a lie, Gren has many problems, and his issues with Wade are only some of them. He stands up and moves away. He feels like he really needs a drink.]

I don't tell you what to do. You can do whatever the fuck you want with whoever you want.

[ishotyouuu]

You fucking--

[Whatever the end of that sentence was is suddenly lost in a soft groan as, momentarily forgetting himself, Wade attempts a sudden, angry lunge forward. An immediate wave of vertigo washes over him, reminding him why he shouldn't make such sudden moves just yet, and he falls impotently back onto the bed, the bowl of broth sloshing with the movement.]

Ffffuck... [His voice is hazy with exhaustion.]

[murderpotato]

[Wade's angry, and that's fine. He's allowed to be pissed or whatever, Gren can't tell him what to do or how to feel about it and all that shit. He can be as angry as he wants to be.]

[So he's not surprised by the cursing, but when Wade starts listing back, his voice trailing off, Gren turns and takes an aborted step towards him. He should be angrier, at his own stupid reactions if not Wade's. The stupid way that he wants to help.]

Be pissed at me later. [He rescues the broth from its precarious position; he doesn't want to have to change the sheets. Or he could let Wade sit in a wet spot, out of spite.] At least eat whatever you're gonna and get some sleep so you ain't fallin' over.

[ishotyouuu]

Y-yeah... yeah.

[Anger is forgotten in the midst of his whirling vertigo. He's only faintly aware of Gren taking the bowl of broth from his nerveless fingers, but only in the sense that he's suddenly free to sink back fully against the pillows with a groan. He's still hungry-- he feels that old familiar ache in the center of him, but even moving his head feels like a chore.

Help a guy out, would you?]