A wip on what I’m planning to hopefully finish in the future. Madara and Itachi as War and Conquest/Pestilence, 2nd and 1st horseman of the apocalypse. Going to continue with Famine and Death.
I realized this only after I was already finished, but I might have made Madara a lefty. I’m ambidextrous personally, so things like that don’t matter to me, but, damn, I seem to be making this mistake really often. idk, actually which hand Madara prefers. I might have done the same thing to Itachi as well, I’m not really sure.
You blow your congested nose for the thirty-billionth time that hour. Schonkkkszzzzfffshsk. You toss another tissue into a plastic bag filled to the brim with snot rags. “Ugh,” you sniffle. Your adopted brothers, Sam and Dean, had thankfully begun to notice your ever growing cold during a hard bout of research of the Mark of Cain.
“Y/N? You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, Sam. I’m good,” you mutter fatigued. “Just…little tired.” You wipe your nose and turn to the next page of the Gaelic bible you were attempting to study. You “Did you guys turn up the heat or something?”
Dean looks at you concerned. “No, it’s same as always. Why?”
“Really? It’s really hot in here.”
Sam puts down another thick book on the Bunker library table and walks over to you. “Your cheeks are pretty red,” he notes. He places his hand on your forehead.
“C’mon, Sam. What am I, five?” The rest of your comment is lost in the bout of nasty coughing that erupts from your throat. You turn away and hack into your elbow.
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Wow, Y/N. You’re really hot.”
“Comes with the job description,” you mutter in return.
“Not what I mean. All right you, off to bed.” Sam starts shooing you away from the library table.
“What is this? I’m fine, Sam. I can keep going.” A sudden wave of heat washes over you and you start to feel faint. You stagger trying to regain your footing.
“Hey, careful Y/N.” Dean comes over to where you are and helps steady yourself. “You’re pretty clammy. How long have you felt like this?”
“I-I don’t know. My head’s a little fuzzy.” You place the heel of your palm up to your forehead, twist it back and forth in place. “I’ll be fine. Lets just get back to work-” You just about completely keel over in Dean’s arms.
“Woah there.” Dean scoops you up bridal style. “That’s a pretty high fever you’ve got there. You’re going to bed and I’ll grab you something to help. Okay? You with me?”
“Mmhph.” You grumble. Honestly? You are just too tired and too hot to care about what happened next. You nod to Dean and he carries you down the hall to your room.
He spoke to you in a softer voice. “Y/N, don’t burn yourself out while we look for stuff on the Mark. You don’t have to do that for me.”
“Yeah I do. You’re my brother, ya idjit.” You manage to get a small smile out of your surrogate bro.
“Just take care of yourself also.” Dean gently sets you down on your bed. “Stay here, I’ll grab something for your fever.”
Pretty much as soon as Dean walks out of your room, your head registers that your pillow is much softer than a table. Your brain completely takes over sending a you-will-sleep-now signal to your whole body.
By the time you woke up, your fever had escalated into a full blown, bed confining case of the flu. And that’s where you are now: stuck in bed, honking your brains out into an ever growing pile of tissues, trying to find something about the Mark of Cain for Dean.
A soft knock on your door stirs you from your slow research. You look up. “Rudolb sbeaking. Was ub?” Talking with a stuffed up nose was worse than torture.
Sam enters. “Hey. Just wanted to see how you were doing. You had Dean and I pretty worried when you passed out on the bed last night.”
“I’b fine now, Sam.”
He smiles. “Your nose says otherwise.”
“Leabe the bose out of thib!”
Sam puts his hands up defensively smiling. “All right. Nose, you’re out of this.”
“Shut ub.” You burrow back under the blankets. “What bo you wanb?”
“Nothing. Just to make sure that my sister was resting up and getting better.” Sam sits on the bed next to you. “There anything I can get you?”
“Nah. I’b goob for now.” You turn away to let loose a wet cough. “Ugh. You sure Pestibance isn’b loose?”
“The horseman? Pestilence?” Sam laughs. “I can barely understand you with your nose all stuffy.”
“Bose says go abay.”
“Nose says go away?” Sam translates with a grin. “Okay, Nose. I’m going.” Sam stands back up and walks to the doorframe. “Take everything easy for a while, okay? Dean and I are gonna stay here until you get better, so you don’t have to worry about any hunts for a while.”
“Bhanks, Bam.” You smile as he walks away from your room. You open back up the Men of Letters book again, a smile on your face with the knowledge that whatever happened to you, your brothers always had your back. Even for days like this.