Work Text:
The raft was, somehow, still in one piece.
Actually, it was a bit better than “in one piece”. Sure, it wasn’t a yacht, or a cruise, or anything else that Jimmy would have liked to be on, but it wasn’t bad. Joel and Fwhip had steadily added to it as they drifted across deep blue waters. It was big enough now and the seas were calm enough that Grian was lying down on one of the beds, relaxing in the midday sun. He’d been on nighttime shark watch, to be fair.
So had Jimmy, but that didn’t matter.
Standing at the edge of the raft, he held the hook in his hand. Thankfully, unlike Grian, Joel and Fwhip wouldn’t question if Jimmy should sleep. They wouldn’t question if he had had any water recently, or if he had eaten recently. Besides, Jimmy didn’t matter.
He cast his hook out across the water, watching it sink down into the waves. They hadn’t been able to catch much in the way of bait. Instead, most of it had been them catching a little bit of luck and managing to get a small…what was it called? A bobber? Whatever it was, it looked like a small, shiny pink worm with ribbed sides and sparkles stuck in the gel material it was made of. Since Joel and Fwhip were working on the little garden and storing up more water to boil the salt from, Jimmy would work on fishing. He could work on fishing.
He wasn’t even hungry. (Never mind the fact that Jimmy didn’t get hungry, not like other people did. When he was hungry, then his hands would begin shaking. His stomach felt like it was stabbing him. He got nauseous quicker, he got headaches, he found himself shaking easier.) He would be fine. If he needed food, then he would know. He could figure things out.
Looking at his hook as it bobbed up and down, Jimmy settled back on his heels. The fish would bite eventually. When they had a surplus, then he would eat. When the others didn’t need to worry about food, when there was more. When the others were okay. When he had earned it. He didn’t need a ton of food, anyways.
He would be fine.
The sun beat down on their backs, and Jimmy was pretty sure that he was sick.
His skin felt too hot. It ached where his clothes, stiff with salt where the ocean had splashed him, touched him. A shiver wracked his shoulders every so often. Swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat, he threw the hook again. There was a box floating not too far away, some leaves in another direction. He could catch something. Surely he could catch something. Then the others could rest. They needed more material for sleeping bags, for beds. They could make something. If they could just—handle it—
Shaking off the fatigue weighing his shoulders down, Jimmy licked his lips and swallowed again. The last time he had shared a look with Fwhip or Joel, both of them had looked worried. His lips were cracked, raw, split in at least one area. He knew it. They knew it. It didn’t matter. Cracked lips were the least of their worries. All they had to do was prove it was look around, they were stranded in the middle of the ocean. It was hard to get worse than that.
Jimmy pulled in the box. His arms shook as he dragged it onto the raft. When he tried prying the lid off, his hands slipped. There was a strike of pain, a long slice along his palm. Wincing, he stepped back. “Hey, hey, let me handle that. Let me do it.” Fwhip was at his side, gently moving the box away.
Nodding, Jimmy cast out his line again. He could hear Fwhip grunting. The salt water stung his palms. His fingers were raw. His mouth was dry. The heat beat down on him. When he blinked, the sun reflecting on the water left spots dancing in his eyes. Shaking his head, Jimmy focused on his line. If the others could handle the discomfort, then so could he. After all, they were working harder than he was. They were doing more than he was. He could handle a little bit of exhaustion, a little bit of hunger, a little bit of thirst. It didn’t matter. He could handle it. He would be fine.
He just needed to hold on.
Behind him, he could hear the others working as well. Joel and Grian were discussing how to figure out planting food, if they needed to at all. Meanwhile, Fwhip was keeping an eye out for that stupid shark as he worked on that box.
Another bit of plastic caught on his line. Reeling it in, Jimmy frowned when he found his line slick. A glance down showed—oh. That slice across his palm was worse than he thought. Frowning, Jimmy shook his head. “Do we happen to have any bandages?” He asked, turning and glancing back at the others. His voice was rougher than it should have been, he wasn’t talking much.
Behind him, Joel and Grian were looking over the items in the box.
Sighing, Jimmy pulled the plastic on board. Well, can’t be dripping blood in the water. That shark might come back, he decided. Glancing around, he paused. His gaze landed on the edge of his own shirt. He didn’t see any other options.
With a shrug and shaking hands, Jimmy ripped off a section of his shirt. Just the hem. The white fabric was sweat-soaked, stained in a few places, and salt-crusted. Whatever. Salt would help keep the wound clean, wouldn’t it? Holding the line against his side, he wrapped his palm. The wound stung slightly, and there was still blood dripping off of his fingers, but the blood wasn’t exposed anymore.
He cast out his line again.
Night fell.
With it came the cold. Shivering, sitting in the middle of the raft, Jimmy looked out across the waters with narrowed eyes. The spear was settled in his hand. Somehow, the others hadn’t noticed his bloody fingers or his bandaged hand. Knees pulled to his chest, he sighed. Holding the spear tighter, he shifted. Behind him, Joel, Grian, and Fwhip had tangled their sleeping bags together to sleep in a lump. He’d only come over after they had fallen asleep, because as much as he would like to pace that would just pitch their raft unevenly and he didn’t want to do that to his friends. They didn’t deserve that.
Sighing, Jimmy glanced at the moon. Hopefully, Scott and Lizzie would be able to find them. Even if the Watchers had put them out this far, then Lizzie and Scott should be able to seek them out. They were water-type shifters. Lizzie was a sea dragon, Scott was a siren. They were quick swimmers, and with his and Grian’s broken wings, Joel’s lack of flight stamina, and Fwhip’s current lack of magic, they weren’t going to go far from each other. They just needed to be found…
Please find us soon, Jimmy prayed, looking back at his friends. They were all sleeping soundly, faces lit by the flames crackling in the water purifier. He had some water boiling, because…well, he was thirsty, and they were asleep. They would need the water in the morning, they needed the sleep now. But he could have a drink.
With a final glance at the waves, Jimmy slung the spear carefully around his back and then went to fetch the boiled water. The cup was cold in his hands. The moon and stars reflected in the water, even looking at it made his throat and mouth ache.
“Jimmy?”
Holding the cup, Jimmy turned. Joel had pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes. “Hey.” Walking over, Jimmy crouched. Then, he pushed the cup into Joel’s hands. “Come on, you need to drink. I saw you giving your water to Grian earlier.”
“What about you?” Joel asked, though he did take the cup anyways. Looking at him, Jimmy smiled. His lips were dry, cracked. His tongue was thick in his mouth.
“I’ll be fine.” He turned away. If he had to look at Joel, then he might look too thirsty, too hungry, too…anything. He would be fine. They needed it more than he did.
Quietly, he could hear Joel sipping. He coughed softly, then audibly winced. Settling back down with the spear in hand, Jimmy turned. “Jimmy. Have you had any water?” Joel asked.
“Had some earlier. I told you, I’ll be alright.” Jimmy said. In front of them, the waves spanned to the horizon. He reached out, adjusted the rudder as it began to turn. Hopefully, they could find an island—Fwhip had been pretty sure he’d seen some green on the bottom of some distant clouds earlier. Surely there was an island somewhere. If there was, and there was enough space and enough food, then maybe…they could stop for a little bit. They could spend some time on the island. If it was safe, they might actually want to wait there…
Settling his chin on his knee, arms crossed and holding the spear, Jimmy took a slow breath. His eyes fluttered. Mmm…no. Gotta…keep my eyes open. Gotta stay awake, he lifted his head. Behind him, Joel started up some more water. Then, he settled down. On the sleeping bags, Grian let out a content sigh in his sleep. The bags rustled. He could feel eyes on his back, and then Joel was asleep and they were gone.
Just…stay awake…
He wanted to be back with Tango. His fiancé. His Rancher. He would kill to be by Tango right now, taking in his warmth. But, no, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t want Tango here. Tango wouldn’t do well here. Jimmy could survive. Tango wouldn’t.
But he—Void, he wanted him.
Wavering, Jimmy lifted his head. His chin was falling against his chest, his eyes kept closing when he didn’t want them to. If he could just--
(He missed Tango’s hands on his cheeks. His Rancher was there, right there in front of him.)
He had to stay awake.
(“Jimmy,” Tango whispered, smiling in that effervescent way. His eyes were sparkling like polished rubies against red carnelian, bright and pretty and—)
He’d been awake for nine days, taking Shark Watch every night when the others weren’t looking. It didn’t matter if his watches were longer than theirs, right? He could handle it. He could handle…
(Jimmy reached out to him. When he did, his hands seemed to phase through Tango’s form. That didn’t make sense. Tango was right in front of him. He was…he was right there…Jimmy was…)
But he was so tired.
(But Tango was right there.)
No. No, I need to—
“Jimmy,” Tango whispered to him. His arms were wrapped around Jimmy’s waist, they were lying in bed together. Warm sunshine beamed down on his back. Taking a slow breath, Jimmy hummed. He tipped his head back. There was a ghost of a kiss against the back of his neck, smiling lips and—“Jimmy, wake up.”
He didn’t want to. Rolling over, Jimmy turned. He wrapped Tango in his arms, pulled him to his chest. There was gentle laughter, the smell of woodsmoke thick in the air. Void, he loved the way his Rancher smelled. Gentle and heady and smoky all at once. He could breathe it in and never get tired of it.
“Jimmy—”
“Leave him alone, he’s sleeping.”
“Yeah, but we need him to be casting out a line—”
“Fwhip, he had Shark Watch last night—”
Wait.
Shark Watch?
No. No, no, no, I fell asleep!
Jimmy shot upright in—a sleeping bag? When did he—
The sun was bright, shining in his eyes, not even a full handspan above the horizon. Whipping his head around, Jimmy looked for where the moon had last been. It had been over his head—it was just setting now. He was—how long was I asleep?
“Fell asleep during Shark Watch, Timmy.” Joel laughed, standing at the edge of the raft with his spear in hand. “Lucky for us, I was still up.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so—I’m so sorry.” Jimmy said, moving to push himself up. The world spun with dark spots. I’ll do better. I have to be better. He thought. They need sleep more than I do. They need—
“Whatever, mate. Just—get some blimmin’ water or something.” Joel huffed, shaking his head. “Not like we’ve got much to do anyways. This is entertaining.”
Staring at Joel’s back, heart sinking in his chest, Jimmy gulped.
The sea was quiet, her husband was still missing, and Lizzie was dragging Scott behind her.
Despite his own webbed talons and his own siren form, he couldn’t keep up with her. Wings catching the underwater currents, Lizzie surged ahead of him. She had him in her talons now. Tucking him to her chest, tail working as a rudder, she kept her eyes on the surface. The rippling waves were dappled with sunlight.
It didn’t matter how many sharks they passed. How many rocks they spotted. How many islands they searched. They couldn’t find them. The Watchers had taken them, They had taken her husband and her friends. If she knew Joel, then he was stressed out of his mind—and she and Scott were both worried about Jimmy. They knew him too well. They needed to find them, and fast, because otherwise…
Jimmy was going to keep sacrificing himself for the others, and they probably wouldn’t even know it.
Things came to a head eight days after the incident with Jimmy falling asleep during Shark Watch.
Grian should have realized something was off. Something about Jimmy was off. He didn’t remember him eating anything in the past five days. Worse, during the past two days, he had been taking the Shark Watches. Grian’s plan was to force him to sleep, volunteer for the night to make sure that Jimmy was able to rest. He should have moved faster.
Jimmy was at the edge of the raft, casting his line out as Joel and Fwhip worked through the boxes that he had already pulled. When Grian had asked about the bandage on his hand—and “bandage” was a generous term for it, Grian was pretty sure that Jimmy had ripped off part of his shirt. He couldn’t prove it, because Jimmy had ended up using his shirt for bandages again, this time when Joel and Fwhip had ended up with some pretty bad rope burns a few days before, and some sunburn. Of course, Jimmy was sunburnt, too. He just wasn’t treating it. Grian didn’t remember seeing him rest. Or eat.
“Jimmy,” Grian started. Jolting, Jimmy turned to him. Smiling, Grian held up one of the fish he had. “Come eat. You haven’t had anything.”
Shaking his head, Jimmy mumbled something. Frowning, Grian looked at him. It was something about…eating earlier. But he knew Jimmy hadn’t eaten earlier. Then, suddenly, Jimmy wavered. His eyes fluttered oddly. Face paling, way too much, Jimmy suddenly staggered. His hands flew out.
He dropped to the floor, head smacking into the raft with a nasty-sounding crack.
“Jimmy!” Grian, Joel, and Fwhip cried out at the same time. Immediately, Grian was running for him. He dropped down by Jimmy’s side, rolled him onto his back. “Jimmy, shit, Jimmy, what happened?” He brushed Jimmy’s hair back out of his face.
Jimmy was sunburnt. He was also thin. When did he lose so much weight? What happened? Hasn’t he been eating—he paused. No, he didn’t remember Jimmy eating. He didn’t even remember him drinking water except when Grian handed it to him. Despite the burns, though, Jimmy’s lips were pale. His whole face was pale, really. “Jimmy.” Joel whispered, hands hovering over Jimmy’s arm and chest. He didn’t touch him, though. Instead, he glanced over at Fwhip. “Get to the closest island so we can anchor there and get him some help!”
“On it!” Fwhip rushed to the rudder and started moving the boat.
Jimmy wasn’t breathing. Feeling his pulse, Grian grimaced. He could feel Jimmy’s pulse, but it was slow and he wasn’t breathing. “Come on, Jimmy. Please.” He begged, “Just open your eyes.”
With a jerk, Jimmy started breathing again. Under his fingertips, Grian felt Jimmy’s pulse speed up. A few long moments passed. “Jimmy.” Joel breathed.
“Joel, go get him some water and some food. He needs something to eat and drink—he hasn’t been doing that.”
“What? He’s been—” Joel frowned. Then, shaking his head, he hurried over. “What do you think would be best?”
Grian wracked his brain. “Something with high sugar content. Uh—fruit. Something easy to eat.” Nodding, Joel rifled through their supplies. He came back with their supply of red berries—the ones that they had found on their last island—and then their water cup. “Perfect, Joel. Thank you.”
Nodding, Joel said, “I hope it’s enough.”
Settling Jimmy’s head in his lap, pushing him into the recovery position, Grian brushed his hair away from his face. Jimmy felt hot, feverish. His skin was dry. “Oh, Jimmy.” He murmured, thanking Cleo for all her lessons on first aid when she had had the chance. He used to hate them. Brows furrowing together, Jimmy rasped in a breath. His eyes flicked open, hazy. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned. “Jimmy. Jimmy, can you hear me? You’re okay.”
Jimmy’s lips formed a word, pulling back into a grimace. “Mmmmm—my head.” He slurred the words, badly. Panting, he curled in on himself. Grian brushed a hand over his hair.
“I know, you hit your head pretty hard. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” He said, smoothing Jimmy’s hair out again. “We’re going to get you some food, okay?”
“Nnn—” He groaned again. “No. You—can’t. You need it more.”
“We don’t.” Joel whispered. “You’ve got to eat, Jimmy.”
“Tango?” Jimmy whispered. There was a weird, hazy look to his face. When he reached up to push Joel’s hand away, his own hand was shaking violently. Hypoglycemia. He hasn’t eaten in too long. He needs to eat now, Grian frowned. Grabbing some of the berries from Joel’s hand, he crushed them in between his fingers, shoved them in Jimmy’s mouth.
Eyes fluttering, Jimmy gasped quietly. His hand dropped against his stomach. He was shaking, he was shaking terribly, and Grian cupped the back of his neck to gently tip his head back. Carefully, he tipped water into Jimmy’s mouth.
Jimmy drank it hungrily.
“You’re going to be okay, Jimmy.” Grian whispered to him. Looking up at him, Jimmy wheezed. His chest heaved, he was still so pale, and they needed to get him help. Medical help, not something they could give. “Just hold on, Jimmy. Hold on.”
Eyes half-lidded, Jimmy groaned and then slumped into Grian’s hands.
He didn’t remember much.
What he did remember was pain. It rocketed through his shoulder, down his chest and across his arm. His ribs ached. Bright sunshine beamed down into his eyes, he was resting on his back on warm sand. There were hands on him, his face, his arms, skating across his chest. Water was tipped into his mouth, cool and—and so, so good. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly, there was never enough of it.
His stomach hurt, twisting in its place. He was so hungry. He just--he wanted to eat. He wanted food. He wanted—he wanted Tango, and soup, and water. Tango first. The other two could be whatever order. He wanted to drink the entire lake.
At some point, he threw up. He didn’t remember that. He remembered…pain. A bad taste in his mouth. More hands on him, and then—nothing.
(Later, he’d find out he’d had a seizure. Multiple seizures, actually, because dehydration, hypoglycemia, and heatstroke all came with the risk of seizures and what little treatment Fwhip, Grian, and Joel could give him wasn’t enough for how severe it was. He’d needed help they couldn’t give.
He would have died if Lizzie and Scott hadn’t shown up when they did.)
Things had happened fast after that. He remembered a portal, the cool air of—of the End, of all things, they had been that desperate. Someone had made an End portal, because the Nether was too risky, too hot. They’d pulled him out, and then he was in an infirmary. He didn’t remember much of that, either. There had been cold air, pain in the crook of his elbow.
And then he woke up with something shoved to his face, air pushing against his nose.
Blinking, dimly realizing his eyes were open, Jimmy swallowed. His mouth was still dry, but not…he was better. He wasn’t parched, or starving, or any of that. There were bandages all over his arms. Slowly, he took stock of his limbs. He still had all his fingers, all his toes. His left hand wasn’t throbbing anymore.
Slowly, raising his hand, Jimmy blinked. There, wrapped in bandages—fresh, clean bandages, not his sweaty and seawater-soaked shirt—was his hand. The whole thing was bandaged. There wasn’t any exposed skin, the white gauze stretched all the way up to his elbow, where a small gap left enough skin for an IV to be put under them, and then they disappeared under his hospital shirt. His other arm was in the same state. Just barely, he could feel more bandages, ones on his face and his neck and—just everywhere. The air was cool. The blankets were tucked around his chest.
Tilting his head to the side, Jimmy looked around. The room was empty, except for him. It was—weird. The walls were a soft, pale blue. A private recovery room, then, not a hospital server. The cream curtains were parted, showing Hermitcraft’s lands stretching outside. It was morning, he assumed. The sky was partly cloudy, pale blue. Sucking in a breath through the oxygen mask, Jimmy grunted. He touched the plastic mask. He could feel the shape under his fingers, but not—not the actual feel. Maybe that was a good thing.
He was in the typical Hermitcraft infirmary outfit, a loose hospital shirt and soft sweatpants. He had socks on. That was weird. Actually, that kind of meant his feet were sweaty, but after the raft—his toes had been freezing, now that he thought about it. He hadn’t even realized until—
Blinking again, Jimmy tilted his head the other way, looking over at Tango. Taking another deep breath, he swallowed. Tango was there. His Rancher was there.
“Tango.” He rasped.
Looking at him, smiling, Tango replied, “Hi, Jimmy.”
Something flooded through his chest. Whimpering, eyes watering, Jimmy raised his hands, reached for him. Tango moved forward carefully, wrapped his arms around Jimmy. Whatever had been holding steady in his chest cracked.
Sobbing, Jimmy buried his face in Tango’s neck and shoulder. “Tango.” He whispered. “Tango, Tango. Oh my gosh. Tango.”
“I know, I know.” A hand ran through his hair. “I know, you’re okay.” Hot tears dripped against his skin. Tango’s tail wrapped around his arm, very gentle and just hanging there. Turning his head, he kissed Jimmy’s cheek. Then, pressing his face into Tango’s jaw, he exhaled shakily. “I don’t—please don’t do that again, Jimmy. Don’t sacrifice yourself. I know you’re a phoenix but—my heart can’t handle this.”
“What happened?” He asked.
“You were—we could have lost you. You were—there were seizures.” Tango held him tighter, but still delicate, like he was worried that Jimmy might break. “You were dehydrated, and—and your electrolyte levels were so wrong, and—I’m sorry, I just.”
“Hey, I’m here.” Turning his own head, Jimmy buried his nose in Tango’s hair. He took a slow, deep breath. Hands clung to his shirt. He tangled his own fingers in Tango’s hair.
Tango clung tighter to him, still crying.