Archive of Our Own ^beta

The coffe pot hissed softly, steam curling upward as Sue leaned her hip against the counter. Reed was already there, shirt sleeves rolled, carefully buttering a slice of toast with more focus than needed.

“You’re going to miss your calling,” Sue said, amusement tugging at her mouth. “Could be a chef.”

Reed gave her a look, dry but fond. “And abandon the thrill of paperwork and the stars? Not a chance.”

She laughed under her breath, reaching across to smooth an unruly strand of his hair back into place. 

The gesture lingered, fingers brushing against his temple, and Reed let the smile slip in return before pressing a kiss to Sue’s lips. 

For a moment, the kitchen was all quiet comfort—warm light, the smell of toast and coffee, the familiar rhythm of their mornings together.

Then the sound of slow, dragging footsteps on the hardwood pulled them both from the moment. 

Sue turned first, already sensing it. 

Johnny.

Eleven years old but looking younger at that moment. He stood in the doorway with his pajama top crooked and his cheeks flushed with fever.

“Hey, buddy,” Reed said gently, setting down the knife. “Rough morning?”

Johnny gave a half-hearted shrug, his voice muffled. “Don’t feel good.”

Sue was at his side in a moment, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. The heat there made her frown. 

“You’re burning up, sweetheart.”

Johnny leaned against her automatically, heavy and warm. He hated slowing them down, but it was hard to hide how miserable he felt.

“I’ll get the thermometer,” Reed said quietly, already reaching for the drawer.

Reed crouched beside him a moment later, sliding the thermometer gently under Johnny’s tongue. 

“Easy, buddy. Just hold still for me a minute.” His other hand brushed damp curls off Johnny’s forehead, thumb lingering to check the heat there.

The thermometer beeped. Reed withdrew it, frowning at the results.

“101.3. You’re staying home today.” His hand stayed steady at Johnny’s temple, soft but certain.

Sue sighed, rubbing Johnny’s back. “And of course I’ve got the conference this morning—”

“And I have back-to-back meetings,” Reed finished for her, quiet but firm. 

His gaze lingered on Johnny, who was watching them with tired, watery, guilty eyes, as though waiting for them to be upset.

Reed crouched down by the table, lowering his voice. “Hey. None of that, okay? It’s not your fault.”

Johnny blinked at him, unsure how to answer, and let his eyes drift shut again.

Sue glanced at Reed, torn. “I can try to push the conference—”

He shook his head. “You’ve been preparing for weeks. I can take him with me.”

Her brows rose. “To the lab?”

Reed shrugged, almost casual. “It’ll be quiet. He can rest in my office, and I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Johnny stirred at that, lifting his head just enough to look between them. “I won’t get in the way?”

Reed reached out and rubbed Johnny’s back. “Not possible.”

That earned him the smallest flicker of a smile before Johnny slumped back down.

Sue hesitated, then nodded, relief and gratitude softening her features. She bent to kiss Johnny’s head.

“Okay, sweetheart. You stick with Reed today, and I’ll come find you after work and we can all curl up on the couch tonight with soup. Sounds good to you?”

Johnny made a small noise of agreement, pulling himself enough to sit upright when Reed slid the plate of toast in front of him. He reached for it, determined, but his hand wobbled halfway and the knife nearly slipped.

“Here” Reed said, steadying the plate before anything could topple. He cut the toast into smaller triangles, sliding one onto a napkin and setting it in front of Johnny. “Easier that way.”

Johnny ducked his head, embarrassed, but took a bite. 

Sue brushed a hand over his curls as she passed, filling her travel mug. “Just a few bites, sweetheart. That’ll be enough.”

He nodded, too tired to argue, and nibbled until only the corner of toast was left. Reed kept an eye on him from the sink.

“Go get dressed, bud,” Reed said gently once Johnny pushed the plate back. “Comfy clothes. You’ll be with me all day.”

Johnny slid off the chair, feet dragging as he shuffled down the hall. 

Reed watched him go, a crease of worry between his brows, glancing at Sue, seeing the same look in her eyes.

By the time Johnny came back, he was in soft sweatpants and an oversized hoodie—that was definitely stolen from Sue or Reed—the sleeves covering his hands. He was holding his backpack like he wasn’t sure if he’d need it.

Sue crouched in front of him, brushing her hands over his shoulders before fixing his sleeves. “You have your book and your blanket, right?”

Johnny nodded. 

“Good.” She kissed his forehead,. “I’ll come pick you both up as soon as I’m done.”

Reed came over then, crouching just enough to tug Johnny’s hood up and straighten it around his face. 

“I’ve got snacks at the lab too,” he said, softer. “You’ll be all right.”

Johnny looked between them, something nervous but grateful flickering in his eyes. “Okay.”

Sue stood, grabbing her bag and jacket. She paused at the door to look back at them—Reed with his hand on Johnny’s shoulder, Johnny leaning just slightly into the touch. Her smile was warm, quiet.

“See you boys tonight.”

“Bye, Sue,” Johnny mumbled, tugging on the end of his sleeve.

Reed lifted a hand in farewell. “We’ll manage.”

Sue’s eyes softened. “I know.”

The car carried a faint blend of spilled coffee and the sterile tang of Reed’s cleaners, a scent that reminded Johnny of a doctor’s office. 

He sat in the passenger seat with the blanket pulled tight around him, backpack clutched to his chest. His hood was up, shadowing his tired face.

Reed kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift. “Seatbelt on?”

A faint click was his only answer. Then, after a pause, Johnny mumbled, “Yeah.”

They pulled out of the driveway, the heater filling the silence with a low hum. For the first few minutes, Johnny just stared out the window, watching the blur of houses and trees. 

He shifted occasionally, trying to find a position that didn’t ache, finally curling sideways so his temple pressed against the cool glass.

“You hungry at all?” Reed asked after a while.

Johnny gave a slow shake of his head. “Not really.”

“All right.” Reed glanced over briefly, then back at the road. 

Johnny coughed and tucked further into his blanket.

The quiet stretched again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

Johnny’s breaths evened out, and his grip on the backpack loosened until it slid to his lap. At the next stoplight, Reed leaned across just far enough to tug the blanket higher over Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny cracked one eye open. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For… making you take me.” His voice was raspy, almost lost in the rumble of the engine.

Reed kept his eyes on the road, but his tone was steady. "It’s not a problem. I love having you with me.”

There was a beat of silence. 

Then Johnny shifted, laying his head sideways against the seat instead of the window, closer to Reed. His eyes slid shut again.

When Reed pulled into the lab’s parking lot, Johnny was drowsy enough that he didn’t move until Reed touched his shoulder.

“Hey,” Reed murmured. “We’re here. Think you can walk, or should I carry you?”

Johnny blinked blearily, shaking his head. “I can walk.” His voice was quiet but firm. 

“All right.” Reed rounded the car to open the passenger door. Johnny climbed out, clutching his backpack, the blanket slouching off one shoulder. 

The pavement seemed to tilt under his feet, but Reed’s hand was steady at the small of his back, guiding him toward the entrance.

The fluorescent lights inside were bright and cold, buzzing faintly overhead.

Johnny tugged his hood lower and leaned into Reed’s side as the elevator carried them up. Reed’s hand found his shoulder, and a faint smile tugged at his mouth.

At the office, Reed turned a key and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said gently, leading Johnny inside. The boy shuffled toward the small couch near the window, letting his backpack drop to the floor.  “Sit,” 

Johnny sank down with a tired sigh, curling his knees up. Reed spread the blanket over him, tucking it in around his shoulders.

“If you need anything, just say it. Otherwise, you rest.”

Johnny hesitated, “I won’t get you in trouble?”

Reed shook his head, matter-of-fact. “No one’s going to mind. You’re with me.”

Then he paused, crouching in front of the couch. His hand came up, cupping Johnny’s cheek for a moment. 

The boy’s skin was warm under his palm. Reed brushed a strand of hair from Johnny’s forehead, smoothing it back gently.

“Rest,” Reed said quietly. “You’ll feel better.”

Johnny blinked at him through heavy lids, too tired to answer, but something in his face softened—like the last of his tension was gone. 

He curled onto his side and let his eyes fall shut.

Reed lingered another second, his hand still resting lightly against Johnny’s hair, before he eased back. 

He stood, moved to his desk, and settled into his chair. The room filled with the scratch of his pen, the hum of the computer, and the steady, reassuring sound of Johnny’s breathing.

For the first hour, Reed kept glancing over every few minutes, checking the slow rise and fall of Johnny’s chest under the blanket. 

The boy hadn’t stirred, his lashes dark against flushed cheeks, his mouth slightly parted in sleep.

Work came in waves. 

A knock at the door, a colleague with a folder. 

Another voice calling from the hall, asking Reed to weigh in on a set of numbers. 

Reed moved between desk and doorway, always careful to lower his tone, always casting one look back at the couch before turning away.

Johnny never so much as twitched.

It was almost remarkable, Reed thought, the way the boy slept straight through the comings and goings, through the scrape of chairs and the shuffle of papers. 

But then again, sickness had a way of stealing a body’s defenses, pulling it deep under. Reed found himself grateful for it—grateful that Johnny’s rest wasn’t broken.

At one point, mid-afternoon, Reed crouched beside the couch again. Johnny had kicked the blanket half-off in his sleep. 

Reed pulled the blanket gently back into place, then let his hand linger, cupping Johnny’s face. The heat still radiated against his palm, stubborn and worrying.

It struck him as strange—ever since Reed had known Johnny, the boy usually ran cold. Always reaching for a hoodie, tugging sleeves down over his hands, curling close to any source of warmth.

Now, the fever had turned that familiar chill into a furnace.

Johnny shifted faintly at the touch, a small whine slipping past his lips. Reed brushed the damp curls from his forehead again, his thumb sweeping gently across his temple.

“Easy, baby,” he whispered, the nickname falling from his lips without a second thought. “I’ve got you.”

An hour orr so later, Johnny stirred under the blanket, a small, restless sound escaping his throat. 

He shifted onto his back, blinking at the ceiling, then turned his head toward the steady scratch of pen against paper.

Reed sat at his desk, one hand moving in careful lines across a notebook. His shoulders were hunched slightly, posture intent, his sleeves still rolled at the elbows.

A mug sat forgotten at his elbow, steam long gone.

He hadn’t noticed Johnny was awake.

Johnny watched quietly, his body heavy with sleep and fever. 

There was something steadying about Reed’s movements—the way he paused now and then to cross-check something on the computer, or leaned back just far enough to flip a page. 

Each motion had its own rhythm, calm and sure.

Finally, Johnny spoke, his voice hoarse and small. “What are you doing?”

Reed looked up immediately, pen poised mid-air. “Hey buddy,” he said, voice softening the moment his eyes landed on him. “You’re up.”

Johnny tugged the blanket up around his shoulders, nestling into it like armor. “Mmhm. Just… watching.”

Reed leaned back in his chair a little, his gaze steady but gentle. “I’m going over some data from an experiment last week. Mostly making sure the numbers line up.”

Johnny sniffled, squinting toward the open notebook. “Looks… important.”

Reed’s mouth twitched faintly. “Sometimes it feels that way. Other times it feels like chasing shadows. Today’s a little of both.”

Johnny frowned softly, considering that. His voice was scratchy, but sincere. “You’re good at it.”

The corner of Reed’s mouth lifted just slightly. He didn’t answer right away, just looked at him for a moment, as though the words meant more than Johnny realized. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, quiet but certain. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Silence settled in again. 

The hum of the computer filled it, alongside the faint tick of the clock and Johnny’s own uneven breaths. 

Reed turned back to his notes after a while, pen moving slower now, though his eyes flicked toward the couch more often.

Johnny stayed curled for a long minute before he stirred again, restless. 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes with a fist, the blanket slipping from one shoulder. His legs swung down, toes brushing the floor, before he stood.

Reed glanced up immediately. “Do you need water or a snack?”

Johnny shook his head, voice muffled. “No.” He shuffled closer, blanket dragging behind him, until he stood just beside the desk. For a moment, he chewed on his lip, his eyes fixed on the edge of Reed’s notebook rather than his face.

Reed didn’t move, didn’t press. He simply turned his chair slightly toward Johnny, the invitation unspoken.

Johnny hesitated another beat, then leaned against the arm of the chair. 

His shoulder brushed Reed’s sleeve, and when Reed didn’t shift away, Johnny let out the faintest sigh, like a held breath finally easing out.

Reed tilted his head. “Okay?”

Johnny nodded, voice no louder than a whisper. “Yeah.”

He stayed like that, standing with his weight pressed into Reed’s side, until his knees gave in and he shifted closer still. 

Reed slid his chair back a little, giving Johnny more space. 

That was all the boy needed—he edged carefully onto the broad arm of the chair, then, after a long pause, swung his legs across Reed’s lap as though testing how far he could go.

Reed adjusted without a word, steadying the blanket so it covered Johnny again.

Johnny lingered on the arm of Reed’s chair, small legs dangling, blanket slipping as he leaned just barely against Reed’s shoulder. 

Reed could feel the tension in him—the way his fingers gripped the edge of the chair, the way his breaths came unevenly, shallow through his stuffy nose. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched him from the corner of his eye.

Then, slowly, Reed set his pen aside and turned fully toward him. 

His hand came up, gentle, cupping Johnny’s cheek. 

“You’re burning up a little,” Reed murmured. 

Johnny ducked his gaze, shoulders hunching. “M’okay.”

“Come here,” he said softly. No pressure, just quiet certainty.

The last of Johnny’s resistance melted. 

He curled into Reed’s lap, blanket and all, tucking his face against Reed’s chest. Reed drew him in without hesitation.

Reed’s arms settled around him, one hand supporting his shoulders, the other anchoring the blanket. He bowed his head slightly, brushing his cheek against Johnny’s curls.

“There,” Reed whispered. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Johnny gave the tiniest nod against him, too tired for words, but his grip on Reed’s shirt tightened just a little.. 

Reed kept working, the scratch of his pen on paper filling the quiet room. He didn’t notice Johnny’s heavy, sleepy eyes tracking him, soft and unwavering.

Then Johnny’s voice broke through, rough and hoarse but steady. “When I grow up… I wanna be like you. Like you and Sue.”

Reed froze. His chest tightened, and for a moment, the words caught in his throat, stubborn and impossible. He blinked hard, swallowing against the sudden lump.

A small, tired sigh slipped from Johnny’s lips as his eyes fluttered closed before Reed could think of a response.

Reed’s heart clenched. He lingered a moment longer, thumb tracing lightly along Johnny’s hairline before lowering his hand to hold the blanket in place.

“I got you, Johnny,” he murmured, voice a bit thick with feelings.

Johnny floated somewhere between the pull of fevered sleep and the steady thrum of Reed’s heartbeat beneath his ear.

The scratch of the pen, the faint shift of paper—he noticed them all, but more than anything, he felt the solid warmth of Reed’s arms, the blanket tucked snug around him.

“Hey, Reed, I need your help with—” A pause, then a softer voice. “Oh. Aw, man... Is your son sick?”

Johnny stiffened instantly, fingers curling hard into Reed’s shirt. His breath caught, but before he could even think what to do or even open his eyes, Reed answered.

“Yeah, he is,” he said, steady and matter-of-fact.

The words landed in Johnny’s chest like something solid and warm.

The coworker stepped closer, voice full of sympathy. “Poor kid. He looks wiped out. Flu?”

“Something like that,” Reed replied, glancing down at Johnny, brushing a curl off his damp forehead with a practiced tenderness. “Fever, cough. Just needs rest.”

Johnny felt himself swayed gently, almost without realizing it—Reed was rocking him in the smallest motions, like the movement wasn’t even conscious. 

He burrowed closer, comforted by the rhythm.

The coworker chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you like this. You’re usually so—” He waved vaguely at Reed with a grin. “You know...You?”

Reed gave the faintest smirk as he shrugged, still rubbing Johnny’s back in slow circles. 

Johnny’s lips curved in a drowsy, half-hidden smile against Reed’s shirt.

The coworker lowered his voice. “You need me to cover anything so you can take him home?”

Reed shook his head. “No. He’ll rest here fine. I’ve got him. Sue’s gonna be here soon and we're gonna head home together.” His hand stilled protectively over Johnny’s shoulder as he said it, his tone quiet but unshakably certain.

For a moment, there was only the hush of the room again. the pen abandoned on the desk, Johnny’s breath evening out, Reed’s arms rocking him gently like he’d done it a thousand times.

“Alright,” the coworker said finally, backing toward the door. “Holler if you change your mind. Hope he feels better soon.”

“Thanks,” Reed murmured.

The door clicked shut, and the lab settled back into silence. 

Reed adjusted Johnny’s blanket, tucking it up under his chin.

Johnny felt it—the certainty in Reed’s voice, the warmth of his arms, the word son still echoing quietly in his head—and let his last bit of tension go and went back to sleep.

Time blurred into something hazy and strange for Johnny.

He drifted in and out of fevered sleep, the steady rise and fall of Reed’s chest against his ear the one thing that never changed. 

The lab’s sounds came and went: the hum of a machine, the scratch of a pen, the soft shuffle of papers, a low voice asking a question.

Once, he woke just enough to hear Reed’s clipped, precise voice.

“Those numbers don’t add up. Try running the sequence again.”

Johnny’s eyes slipped closed again, lulled by the slow rhythm of Reed’s hand brushing circles across his back. The rocking, unconscious and steady, moved him gently between sleep and wakefulness.

A while later, another voice cut in—a coworker, carrying the same rushed, half-distracted tone as before. Johnny didn’t catch all the words.

“No, I’ll finish this. He’s fine here,” Reed said, calm and steady.

A pause, then softer. “I’ve got him.”

Johnny’s small hand tightened weakly in Reed’s shirt. 

Those three words, simple and sure, wrapped around him like the blanket tucked across his shoulders. His body relaxed, sinking further into Reed’s lap as sleep pulled him back under.

Hours passed in laps of consciousness. 

Johnny caught snippets of conversation and activity—Reed’s low, muttered numbers, someone asking about protocols, the faint hum of the computer. 

Every sound was softened by the fever and the haze of sleep, but Reed’s voice stayed clear.

“Almost there… yes… that sequence should align…” Reed muttered at one point, scribbling carefully with one hand while the other continued its unconscious rhythm over Johnny’s back.

Johnny shifted faintly, burrowing closer. 

Occasionally, he murmured small sounds—half-words, half-breaths—but Reed never responded with anything but quiet reassurance, continuing the slow, gentle circles that seemed to lull Johnny back into that twilight between sleep and consciousness.

The lab’s door opened once, a coworker stepping in briefly, and Johnny caught fragments again.

“Reed, I need—oh… sorry. Didn’t realize…”

“No problem,” Reed’s voice replied, clipped but calm. “What do you need?”

Johnny let himself fully fall back asleep with Reed's voice comforting him.

Johnny floated in that warmth, his edges soft and unfocused, until the murmur of voices slipped into his dreams. A hand brushed gently through his hair, grounding him, coaxing him back toward waking, whether he meant to rise or not.

“…lab’s been a mess all afternoon,” Reed was saying quietly. “Two machines crashed, and we’re still behind on sequencing.”

Sue’s voice followed, soft and steady, brushing him more awake. Her hand smoothed across his curls.

“I had three meetings run long. Barely had time to eat lunch. But coming here, seeing him like this…” She trailed off, a smile audible in her voice.

Reed shifted, rocking Johnny unconsciously, his thumb tracing slow circles against his shoulder.

“He’s been good,” Reed murmured after a pause. “Quiet. Just wanted to be near me. I didn’t mind.”

“You never do,” Sue replied gently, amusement curling at the edge of her words. “It’s sweet.”

Johnny let his cheek sink into Reed’s shirt, soothed by the steady rumble of his voice.

“But I do miss his questions,” Reed admitted softly. “The chattering.”

“Tomorrow will be better,” Sue promised. “We’ll take turns, make sure he doesn’t push himself.”

“Mmm.” Reed’s hum was low and certain. “He just needs rest. That’s all.”

Their talk blurred after that. Little things Johnny couldn’t quite follow. He didn’t need to. 

His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded. 

From Reed’s lap, he tilted his head, catching the faint smile softening Reed’s usually serious face as he looked at Sue. She sat close beside them, her hand still moving gently through his curls. 

The world tilted as Reed slid one arm beneath Johnny’s knees and the other firm around his back. He rose carefully, shifting Johnny’s weight against his chest like it was second nature.

“Got you, champ,” Reed murmured, checking the blanket so it stayed snug around him. Johnny gave the faintest whine of protest, but his arms went slack a second later, trusting.

Sue trailed close, watching with worried eyes. “He’s heavier than he looks—”

Reed shook his head, rocking Johnny in the smallest unconscious rhythm as he started toward the door. “Lighter than I expected. He’s fine. I’ve got him.”

Johnny wanted to protest, but his words slurred slightly, sticking in his throat. A wave of a nausea rocked through Johnny's body, his small body trembling just enough that Reed’s arm adjusted to hold him more securely.

Sue’s hand brushed through his hair again, gentle where Reed’s hold was steady.

“He’s just tired. He’ll bounce back once the fever breaks,” she murmured.

Reed hummed agreement, voice almost inaudible. “I know. It was… nice, actually,” he admitted, surprising himself.

“Nice?” Sue teased softly.

“Yeah.” Reed rubbed slow circles between Johnny’s shoulders. “Having him with me all day.”

Johnny’s chest ached at that—at hearing Reed enjoyed having him there, said it when he thought Johnny wasn’t listening. 

He curled closer, arms weakly folding against Reed’s chest, molding himself into the safe space there.

The words went around him, grounding, warming. 

His eyes slipped shut again, lulled by the sway of Reed’s stride, the thrum of his heartbeat, and the murmur of their voices like a wave pulling him under.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Sue’s hand brushed Johnny’s hair as they moved together, her voice soft. “He’ll feel better once he’s in bed.”

Johnny’s small hand clutched faintly at Reed’s shirt. 

Reed adjusted the blanket, rocking him gently as they moved. Fever tugged him toward sleep.

Once they reached the car, Johnny barely stirred. Reed eased the door open and settled him carefully inside.

“Almost there,” he whispered, palm resting lightly on Johnny’s back in a quiet promise he wouldn’t let him fall.

Johnny’s head lolled, eyes half-closed. 

“Car…” he mumbled, barely audible. Reed hummed in acknowledgment, buckling him in with care.

Sue leaned close, brushing his forehead. “We’ve got you, sweetie. We’re going home.”

Johnny sighed at her touch, nuzzling faintly. Reed adjusted the blanket once more, his arm still steady around him until he was secure.

The rocking gave way to the low vibration of the engine, the hum of the road beneath them, and the quiet comfort of two people who always seemed to know exactly how to hold him.

The apartment was dim and familiar. Reed shouldered the door open, carrying Johnny carefully through, and Sue followed close behind.

She set her bag by the entryway, slipping her shoes off without taking her eyes off her baby brother.

Reed lowered Johnny gently onto the couch, keeping the blanket wrapped snugly around him. 

Johnny stirred, a faint frown twitching across his face, before he relaxed again into the cushions.

“There,” Reed said softly, almost to himself. He brushed the blanket smooth, then straightened, giving Sue a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll get the soup going.”

The kitchen light flicked on a moment later, casting a golden square across the floor. The low sounds of cupboards opening, the scrape of a pot being set on the stove, and the soft hiss of gas followed soon after.

Sue didn’t move. 

She perched on the edge of the couch, tucking one leg beneath her, and leaned over Johnny. His face was pale except for the high flush in his cheeks.

“Hey baby,” she murmured, brushing her fingers lightly across his temple. “You made it home.”

His lashes lifted just enough to see her, hazy and heavy. A sleepy smile crossed his face. “…Susie?”

Her chest tightened at the nickname. He hadn’t called her that in years now.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She smoothed his blanket higher, fussing without thinking. “You scared me earlier, you know that?”

A faint sound—half a huff, half a hum—escaped him. He curled a little toward her touch, eyelids already sagging closed again.

Sue shifted closer, easing herself down until his head could rest against her shoulder. 

He went willingly, yawning quietly. She cradled him there, her arm wrapped protectively around his back.

From the kitchen came the faint clatter of a spoon against a pot, the sizzle of butter hitting a skillet. The smell of soup began to spread, tomato and herbs warming the air.

Sue knew Reed was reheating the frozen soup she had made a few months back instead of using some canned stuff.

Her heart warmed at that.

Sue bent her head, pressing her lips gently to Johnny’s hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Reed’s heating up some soup for you”

Johnny’s hand twitched under the blanket, a weak, uncoordinated attempt to hold onto her sleeve tightly. “Don’t—” His voice cracked, rough and small. “…don’t leave. Please.”

Her throat tightened. She caught his hand, lacing her fingers carefully through his, and squeezed. Then kissed the back of his hand as her eyes started to burn a bit. 

“Never,” she promised. “I’m right here. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at her words, his body going heavy against her side. 

His breathing slowed, warm against her collarbone. Sue rocked him a little, back and forth, a motion as instinctive as breathing.

Reed’s voice floated from the kitchen, gentle but practical. “Soup’s almost done.”

Sue glanced toward the doorway but didn’t move, her gaze fixed on Johnny’s sleeping face. She stroked her thumb over his knuckles, her heart aching with both tenderness and relief.

“Take your time,” she called back softly, her voice low enough not to disturb the boy nestled against her.

Reed’s answer was the quiet sound of a pan shifting on the stove, and Sue let it fade into the background, all her attention anchored to the rise and fall of Johnny’s breathing, the steady weight of him tucked safe against her.

Sue’s arm ached a little from holding Johnny so close, but she didn’t move. 

Her eyes unfocused, her fingers combing automatically through Johnny’s curls. And without meaning to, she slipped back in time.

Another couch. Another living room. One that had gone too quiet too suddenly.

She had been fifteen, her knees pressed into the scratchy carpet, her shoulders aching from bending over the couch. 

Johnny was five, feverish and curled small against a pillow that seemed too big for him. His cheeks burned scarlet, his curls plastered wet against his forehead.

Their mother had only been gone a week. 

The funeral lilies were still wilting in the kitchen, their father already halfway disappeared into his own grief—or maybe into the bottle. 

The house had felt hollow, stripped of its anchor.

And then Johnny had gotten sick.

Badly.

Sue remembered the panic—the sharp, crushing terror that she wasn’t enough. 

That she didn’t know how to do this, how to be mother and sister and caretaker all at once. 

She’d fumbled with the children’s Tylenol bottle, checking the dosage three times before daring to pour the syrup into a spoon. 

She’d pressed a wet washcloth to his forehead, her hands clumsy but desperate to help.

Johnny had whimpered, his small hand finding hers in the dark. 

“Susie?” His voice had been hoarse, small. “Is mama coming back?”

The memory still stole her breath, even now. She’d swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking back tears she couldn’t let him see. 

“No, baby,” she’d whispered, stroking his hair with trembling fingers. “But I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

He’d cried then, fever-hot tears streaking his face, and clung to her like she was the last steady thing in the world. “Don’t leave me too, Susie.”

And she hadn’t. 

She’d stayed the whole night and every single one that followed, curled on the edge of the couch with him in her lap, humming lullabies she only half remembered, heart pounding every time his breathing hitched. 

She hadn’t slept, hadn’t dared.

Because if something happened, there was no one else. Their dad was off drunk and gambling somewhere else. 

Just her. 

Fifteen years old and holding her whole world in her arms.

That was the only time Johnny asked her about their mother.

The memory bled back into the present, into the weight of Johnny now—older, taller, heavy against her shoulder but still hers. 

His hand twitched weakly under the blanket, curling into her sleeve in the same instinctive way he had back then.

Sue bent her head, pressing her lips into his hair, tasting the salt of her own tears before she quickly wiped her eyes.

From the kitchen came Reed’s voice, warm and steady: “Soup’s ready.”

Sue blinked, dragging in a breath, grounding herself in the smell of tomato and butter, in the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. 

She and Johnny had Reed now.

She wasn’t that scared fifteen-year-old girl anymore.

But she still held Johnny just as tightly, as if making the same promise all over again.

Reed’s footsteps padded softly as he crossed the living room, balancing two trays with bowls and three plates stacked with grilled cheese halves. The smell of buttered bread and tomato soup filled the air, warm and grounding.

Sue blinked quickly, brushing her thumb under her eyes before he could see the tears that had slipped free. 

But Reed noticed anyway—of course he did. 

He crouched beside her, setting the trays down on the coffee table, his hand brushing hers where it rested in Johnny’s curls.

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for her.

She forced a small nod. “Yeah. Just… remembering.” Her throat tightened on the word, but she swallowed it down, straightening. “It doesn’t matter. He needs to eat.”

Reed’s gaze lingered, soft but searching, as if he wanted to say more. But he let her change the subject, let her gather herself in the way she always had—by taking care of Johnny first.

“Johnny,” she coaxed softly, brushing his cheek with her knuckles. “Time to wake up for a bit. We’ve got soup.”

He made a faint sound, halfway to a groan, but his eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded. “Soup?”

“Tomato,” she promised, lips quirking. “Your favorite.”

That earned the faintest ghost of a smile. “Mm… yeah. ’S the best one.”

Sue guided him upright with gentle persistence, keeping an arm behind his shoulders until he was propped against her side. 

She reached for the bowl, but Johnny’s hand came up, shaky but determined. “I can do it,” he mumbled, his voice scratchy.

She hesitated—instinct tugging to keep fussing over him—but then let him take the spoon. 

His fingers trembled as he dipped it into the soup, lifted it to his lips. 

“Good?” she asked, searching his face. This was the most awake and healthy she had seen him all day.

 He slurped it noisily, then made a faint, satisfied sound. “Yeah… really good.”

Sue couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth. 

Reed, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them, leaned forward. 

“You know,” he said gently, “there’s an important scientific reason tomato soup tastes better when you’re sick.”

Johnny squinted at him. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Reed smiled a little. “Because someone special made it”

Johnny groaned, though it dissolved into a chuckle that made him cough. “That’s so corny.”

“Corn goes with tomato,” Sue teased, rubbing his back while the cough eased. “It works.”

“It definitely doesn’t go with tomatoes—What?”  Johnny replied.

“Actually I think your sister is right!” Reed chimed in, a small smile on his face.

Johnny gave them both a mock glare, but his spoon was already diving back into the soup. Between slow bites, he leaned heavier into Sue’s side, warmth soaking into her shirt. 

“You’re both dorks,” he mumbled, but his mouth tugged upward.

“Maybe,” Sue said. 

For a while, the only sound was the scrape of spoon against bowl and Johnny’s 

He finished nearly all of it before slumping back against Sue with a little sigh. His eyes stayed open, though. Too wired with fever and lingering adrenaline to fall asleep just yet.

Sue brushed her thumb across his hairline. “Still hungry?”

He shook his head. “No. Just…Off?”

Reed glanced toward the grilled cheeses still on the plate. “We’ll save them for later, then.” He looked at Johnny with quiet fondness. “You did well.”

Johnny blinked at him, half-smile, lazy, and a little crooked. “Not a kid, you know. I can eat soup by myself.”

“We know Johns,” Sue said, leaning down to kiss his temple. “But I’m still proud of you.”

Johnny wrinkled his nose. “You’re so weird, Susie.”

“And you love me anyway,” she shot back without missing a beat.

He didn’t argue, just curled tighter into her, blanket drawn high. His cheeks were still pink with fever, but his breathing had steadied. 

For a few minutes, he was quiet, blinking heavy-lidded at nothing in particular. 

“Can we watch something… about the stars?” Johnny asked suddenly.

Sue smiled faintly, unsurprised. “Stars, huh?”

Johnny gave the smallest shrug, stubborn even in his exhaustion. “Yeah. Space stuff.”

Reed’s mouth tugged upward at the corner. “That makes sense.”

In a few clicks, the TV screen shifted to a quiet documentary—deep black skies filled with glittering constellations, galaxies swirling in slow pans across the cosmos. 

The voiceover was calm, steady, filling the room like a lullaby.

Johnny’s eyes caught on the first burst of starlight, his lips tugging into the faintest grin. 

“That’s better,” he mumbled, already sinking heavily against Sue’s side.

She smoothed her hand through his hair, kissing the crown of his head. “Figures you’d pick science when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“Still counts as resting,” Johnny muttered, gaze glued to the screen even when his eyelids started to droop.

Reed chuckled quietly from his chair. “Just fascinated.”

Sue looked down at Johnny, at how fever-bright eyes tracked every star drifting across the screen. “Always were,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

Reed leaned back in his chair, the glow of the stars reflecting in his eyes. His voice softened, steady and sure, like he’d done countless times before. 

“That’s Orion there,” he said, pointing faintly toward the screen. “See the three in a row? That’s his belt.”

Johnny’s fever-bright eyes followed his hand. “Yeah… I remember. You showed me that. A long time ago.”

Reed’s lips quirked. “You never forgot.”

Johnny gave the smallest hum, half smile still lingering. “You said it’s one of the easiest to find. Even in bad skies.”

“That’s right,” Reed murmured, warmth lacing the words. “And over there—that’s Cassiopeia. Like a big ‘W’ in the sky.”

Sue glanced between them, something tight in her chest loosening as she watched Johnny lean into Reed’s words as much as her arms.

The documentary drifted to a shot of the Milky Way, and Reed’s voice went quieter. 

“Every star you’ve ever seen, every planet we’ve studied—it’s all there. Isn’t that neat?”

Sue was sure Johnny was going to poke fun at Reed for saying ‘neat’.

But instead Johnny blinked slowly, eyes caught on the sweep of light. His voice was faint, but sure: “That’s my favorite part.”

Sue smiled down at him, her hand brushing his temple. “Mine too.”

Reed let the silence stretch then, broken only by the calm narration and Johnny’s soft, uneven breaths. 

The boy’s eyes stayed on the stars, but they were growing heavier by the minute.

The credits began to roll, soft music replacing the narrator’s voice

“Alright, Baby, bedtime,” Sue mumbled, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s temple as she brushed the hair from Johnny’s forehead.

Johnny whined faintly, eyes half on the TV. “I already slept half the day. At the lab. Reed made me.”

Sue glanced over at Reed, who lifted his brows.

“I didn’t make you. You laid on the couch and slept. Clearly, you needed it,” Reed said simply.

Johnny huffed, rolling his head back against Sue’s shoulder, kicking his feet out. “So why do I still need rest? I’m not tired.”

Sue arched her brow. “You say that, but your eyes are practically closing.”

“They’re not,” Johnny protested weakly, blinking them wide open for emphasis—only to yawn halfway through.

Reed chuckled under his breath, leaning back in his chair. “You sure about that champ?”

Sue smiled, brushing her thumb along Johnny’s temple. 

“Just because you napped earlier doesn’t mean your body’s done needing sleep. Fever doesn’t work on a schedule.”

Johnny grumbled something incoherent, clutching the blanket tighter, as though sheer stubbornness would keep him awake. 

“Not tired,” he muttered again, even softer this time.

“Uh-huh,” Sue said, kissing his hair. “Not tired at all.”

Sue shifted a little under his weight, tightening her hold. “Come on, Johnny. Bedtime.”

Johnny shook his head against her shoulder, hair tickling her chin.

“Yes, Johns.” Sue soothed, standing slowly with him still tucked close. He clung stubbornly to the blanket as she coaxed him up into her arms. “Right now, you need sleep.”

Reed pushed himself up from the chair, watching the effort it took her. 

“You want me to carry him?” His tone was gentle, not questioning her strength, just offering.

Sue tightened her grip, drawing Johnny closer. “No. I’ve got him.”

It had been years since she’d last carried her baby brother, but the muscle memory was still there. And now, with him heavy and fever-warm against her shoulder, she wasn’t about to let go.

Johnny gave a faint whine of protest but let her lift him, the blanket trailing like a cape behind them.

Sue adjusted Johnny on her hip, tucking the blanket closer around him as she stepped into the hallway. His small hands fisted lightly in her shirt, and she felt the faint, fevered warmth pressing against her.

“You know,” Sue murmured, mostly to herself, “I haven’t carried you like this in… years.”

Johnny hummed softly, half-listening, eyes drooping but still catching the faint glow from the hallway.

Sue let the memory drift in, soft and golden. 

She remembered how, when he was little, Johnny had been basically glued to her hip. She had carried him more often than not, through rooms, through errands, through everything. 

Now, years later, she felt that same determination as she held him again. Fever-bright and restless though he was, he still needed her just as much. 

Her muscles protested faintly, but she didn’t mind. 

Johnny was hers to protect, to soothe, and she would do it, just like she always had.

Sue paused at the door, taking a breath, savoring the warmth in her arms. 

She set him down gently on the bed, letting the blanket settle around his small frame, brushing the hair from his forehead one last time.

“Alright, little star-gazer,” she whispered, voice soft and steady, “time to rest.”

Johnny blinked at her, the fight fading, and murmured, “Not tired…”

Sue kissed the top of his head. “Yes, you are,” she said gently, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “Even stars need to sleep sometimes.”

He gave a faint sigh, curling closer under the blanket. Sue lingered a moment longer, letting her hand rest lightly on his chest, tracing the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

Johnny’s eyelids sagged, but every so often they popped open again, fever-bright. Sue stayed close, hand resting lightly on his chest.

Reed appeared in the doorway, voice low. “How’s he doing?”

“Still fighting it,” Sue whispered.

Reed crossed the room, crouching beside the bed. He smoothed the blanket one more time and laid a broad, cool palm against Johnny’s forehead. The boy shifted faintly at the touch, then relaxed.

“You’re burning up, champ,” Reed said softly, thumb brushing across Johnny’s temple. “But you’ll feel better soon. Just sleep.”

Johnny made a small, content sound and nuzzled deeper into the pillow. Reed lingered a moment, his hand steady against Johnny’s hair, before pulling back.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” he promised. His tone was quiet, but unshakably certain—the kind of promise that didn’t need to be questioned.

Sue nodded, her gaze fixed on Johnny. “Thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

Reed touched her shoulder briefly in passing, then slipped from the room. The blanket still held the imprint of his careful hands, and Johnny’s breathing had already settled into something steadier, safer

“Susie…” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and still slightly scratchy.

She smiled, brushing his hair back from his eyes. “Yeah, baby?”

He hummed softly in reply, yawning before his lips twitched with a half-smile. “…Reed… knows about Orion… remember?”

“I do,” she whispered, smoothing a hand over his arm. “And I’ll tell him you’re doing a fine job following the stars in your dreams.”

Sue let him drift there for a moment, half-listening, half-musing over how he had always clung to her words, to her presence.

 “I’ve got you,” she whispered, wrapping the blanket snugly around him again. “I’ll stay until you’re ready to sleep.”

He let out a soft, sleepy sigh, head tilting back slightly against her shoulder. “…youre the best Susie…”

“I know, little one,” she murmured teasingly, smiling down at him. Her thumb brushed over his temple as his murmurs slowly faded into gentle, incoherent sleep-talk. 

He shifted a few times, curling closer to her, and finally, the weight of his body and the warmth of the blanket settled into a steady rhythm.

His lips twitched into a tired smile. “…thanks Mom…”

Sue froze, her heart catching in her throat. 

“…Mom?” she breathed, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah…” he murmured, eyes half-closed, tugging the blanket closer around him. “…thanks mom.”

Sue felt a lump rise in her throat, a mixture of warmth, pride, and the ache of love swelling through her. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said softly, voice quivering just a little. “I’ve got you. Always.”

Johnny shifted under the blanket, mumbling again, “love you.”

Sue swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling the tears that were threatening to fall, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. 

“I love you too,” she murmured back. “Now close your eyes, little one.

Minutes passed with soft murmurs, half-formed words, and gentle breathing. Sue felt her chest loosen as Johnny’s energy finally melted away, the fever and stubbornness giving in to quiet sleep.

An hour later, Reed quietly opened the door, expecting to check on them. 

He paused, watching Sue still seated on the edge of the bed, hand lightly resting on Johnny’s back. 

The boy’s murmurs had mostly subsided, his breathing slower, though occasionally a soft word would escape him in his sleep. 

Sue’s eyes were closed now, a peaceful, protective presence beside him.

Reed stepped in softly, careful not to disturb them. 

“…Looks like someone finally gave in,” he whispered to himself, a small smile brushing his lips.

Sue shifted slightly in her sleep but didn’t wake. Johnny let out a faint mumble, curling closer, as if seeking her warmth. 

Reed left quietly, the cocoon of warmth and murmurs wrapping around them.