Codes

All that was left to do was stare at the ceiling and struggle. He tries keeping his chest still, to keep the coughs in so he can try to breathe without loosing control. No one was in the house to hear him, so why did it matter? It doesn't help, his torso just convulses slightly before he begins hacking again, but he likes to think it does.

Thinking.

At this point, thinking is the enemy. Thinking turned to worry, more stress and that would make this worse. But what if-

Stop. Thinking.

He stares at the ceiling, focused on feeling nothing until the next wave hits. A bit of moisture slips out of his eyes in the next fight.

...

He'd brushed it off. He'd been fine. Other than the blood. He knew he coughed some at night after all these years. The blood was new. In the mornings he'd look at the wall his bed was pressed against and the pillow cases. It looked like someone had misted over the surfaces in the ugly brown color. Soon it was on his comforter. All in all, it looked like a small amount, that was okay according to his mother, who was a nurse. So he ignored it and washed his bed sets. It was just cold. That's why his airways were agitated. Just fine. The area covered began increasing and denser. The extra paleness could be explained by the lack of sunlight, it was still winter.

That was winter. Things started to get better by his standards.

...

The air still burned his lungs but he refused to stop and walk. He wasn't a weakling, dammit. No walking. Just jog. It's just a mile. Just keep moving. The little blue inhaler in his pocket bounced against his leg mockingly.

Not yet. Not yet.

The wheezing became more audible as he went, slower than most, but at least not in the back of the class. He'd gotten past that phase last year. Never again would he be the last. He hated the looks he'd get running in with his fellow slow runners. They could just pass it on to being, there really was no sugar coating it, morbidly obese. He on the other hand was fairly thin, looked like he'd make a great sprinter.

No. He couldn't. His lungs screamed, his own wheezing was driving him insane. When he lapped around and passed the coach, they told him to slow down. Lukas just shook his head. He couldn't do that. He didn't want to look as weak as he really was. He had to be healthy. Asthma doesn't slow everyone down. World class athletes have asthma. Then why was it taking him so long to get over it. He even had to take the violin, though he now loved it, instead of a woodwind because his breathing got in the way. All his life. It wasn't fair. He kept pushing.

He finished his mile, and began walking, hating the sick copper scent and liquid dripping down his throat. Too hard, he'd pushed too hard again. He was tasting and smelling his own blood in his throat. He spat some out in the grass, careful to not let his classmates see. He wasn't weak. It was the damn winter's fault. Oh how he wanted spring to come. It'd get warm and he'd be fine and could go faster.

...

His running got better. He passed within the state requirements for his mile run for the first time. He'd been proud of himself, still slower than most but this improvement was quantifiable. He went home that day with a spring in his step, odd for the usually apathetic male but he had his reasons. He made dinner for himself and Emil and the two settled into their usual spots in the living room until bed time. They had their routines around their parents. They typically had time for a 'hi' or 'bye' in passing. Some said this was sad, but it was perfectly normal for the boys. They understood that their parents worked. They were content minding themselves.

...

The gusts of February passed, and with that, Lukas thought he was in the clear. He'd stopped spraying blood in his sleep in mid-January. All was well. School was busy, but he was capable of keeping up with the flurry of projects.

All until the end of the first week of March. He had a cough. A small one. A nuisance. Not enough to warrant the inhaler but enough to bother him. A day turned into a week. Now he could not keep his pen steady while writing notes for class and people stared as he tried to keep the coughing down. He started losing his voice, it squeaked horribly. He could only breathe through his mouth now. His chest ached from heaving. He used his inhaler now in between block periods.

His mother took notice of his slight hacking at night. She told him to take it easy for the day and sent him to go read. He did this for a few days before holding the book still became too much of a challenge. The coughing to his horror was getting worse. Emil didn't like the sound an avoided him. His mother told him to rest. His father told him to stay home from school. He declined and persevered. Just a little cough.

...

The second week, he caved and stayed home half of the week. Wednesday Emil had had to help keep him standing while he fought the fetal position he was being scrunched into by his retching. It was getting out of control now. The next morning his mother offered a trip to the emergency room. He hated the emergency room. The last time was 5th grade for an asthma attack. He was having a few now, but he didn't want to go, he got them under control after a few minutes. She sent him a text later informing him of his appointment the next afternoon.

...

Why he was still in the pediatrics department was a mystery. A teenager did not need Elmo to tell him to stick his tongue out.

The technician took his vitals, the doctor popped in and listened to his breathing, a nurse came by and put him on the nebulizer. The freaking nebulizer. Hadn't had to be on one for over 6 years. He drooled all over the stupid mouth piece. He'd hated the machine then, and he hated it now. But he continued to inhale the vapor as best he could, in the vain hopes that this would make it stop. He continued hacking throughout the treatment. And then began hyperventilating. Damn machine made things worse. The doctor prescribed him three things. One stuck out to him. The drug was called 'Tylenol 3', a mixture of acetaminophen and codeine. Codeine was a freaking opiate.

...

He groaned before drawing up the baby syringe to the '10' line. He squirted the orange liquid into the back of his throat trying not to taste the fermented puppies and tears of small children. With that little success, he then swallowed the two new pills and went off to bed, coughing as he went. This stuff was supposed to make him drowsy too. He tried texting a bit to his friends before crashing.

...

This went on. Apparently codeine was used to relieve coughing. It worked some, for the first few hours. Then it slowly crept back upon him. To the point of he was waiting for the hours to be up when he could take his medications again, awful taste or not, it made things bearable for a time.

Emil was left to be with friends and his parents went off, leaving him with his phone with periodic texts to check on him while he laid in his bed.

He tried texting the few friends he had. Matthias, Tino, Berwald, Stefan, and Arthur. No one had responded that afternoon. He felt alone, and though he was typically very much used to this, he didn't want to be alone then.

Later on he got replies. Arthur was with his brothers. Stefan hadn't had service in his basement that he'd been cleaning. Apparently there'd been a soccer game that Berwald, Matthias and Tino participated in and they all crashed afterwards and asked him what was up. He didn't bother answering them at that point, too tired to type out a reply. Two more hours before he could take more. This was pathetic. He sounded dependent on the drugs after two days. He hacked, idly wondering if he could try eating again without choking. He was hungry and tired but unable to change from his current state of uselessness on his bed. His chest ached, he was so sore from struggling.

He'd only been getting worse, the medication masked it for a few glorious hours before the reality came crashing back down.

The doctor just said his asthma was acting up with the seasonal change. But what if it wasn't. He'd been fine for years, improving without their help and now one lousy 'seasonal change' was knocking him down?

He was making himself paranoid. He needed to stop. He was fine. A cough. That was it. He'd get over it and go back to playing chess with Emil on Sundays and go to school where his friends remembered him and it was noisy but he wouldn't be alone then.

Just. Don't. Think.

A fit rolled over him then. He coughed wildly and struggled to exhale afterwards.

…

His face had a permanent flush now, a heavy contrast to the shadows under his eyes. He had to use his old clunky nebulizer everyday now in addition to the other medicine. He hated it. So loud and still tasted unpleasant. He'd gotten past the horrid taste of the other medicines in the knowledge of they'd make him feel better. The taste was a small price to pay for the temporary relief.

For now, he stared at the ceiling. Emil had barged in earlier and sat next to him on the bed. Spring break started soon and Lukas was already getting to miss school. Emil complained at him a bit before settling into silence. This quiet was fine with Lukas, he had company. It was nice. All too soon, Emil left after giving his brother an awkward hug.

After a while, Lukas stared disdainfully at his phone. They didn't text him. His friends hadn't bothered to try to reach him while he was stuck there. In the back of his mind he knew that wasn't how friendship worked, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

His chest continued to ache as he heaved in and out, a new weight settled on top. The loneliness would eat him alive soon. He stared at the ceiling and let his thoughts come back to him as he heaved.

...

Finally managing to haul his body from the bathtub, he laid on the floor in exhaustion, gasping in the steam. The showers weren't helping much either. He's afraid to figure out how long the fits have been going on. Not more than two weeks, but it felt so much longer than that. He's colder than before, yet continued to sweat from the effort it took to breathe. He'd given up on his phone. He struggled to keep still and practiced breathing through his nose. He lasted three breaths before he coughed again or had to open his mouth.

…

That night his father came in while Lukas was "asleep". Asleep to him now meant a hazy, lay with his eyes closed and being forced aware whenever the coughs came back. He was tired and sore but he had hardly left his room.

While he laid there, his father crossed the floor and put his hand on his back and began rubbing in slow circles.

"My poor little guy." He'd said, more to himself than the supposedly sleeping Lukas.

Little guy. His father hasn't called him that since he was small.

He stayed a few minutes, rubbing circles until Lukas began coughing again. He'd kept his eyes closed to try to be asleep. His father brushed some of his bangs back from his face before leaving. "Poor little guy."

...

Emil had made cookies for him and left them on the bedside table when he actually managed to sleep. They sat untouched while he focused on the next breath. He wanted to get better. He was so tired of coughing and being left by himself.

A bad fit kicked up and Emil rushed in. He hasn't seen his little brother for a while. He was normal and able to run around for his spring break.

Emil turned him on his side and brushed his hair out of his face. He coughed for a good forty seconds before being allowed to inhale. His fingers clutched at the sheets and fought for air. Emil stayed near and helped him sit up and propped up his pillows. This made him both relieved and angry at the same time.

Emil was younger. He needed his big brother to be strong, not a quivering ball of uselessness. Emil shouldn't have to see him like this. Emil was still young, he shouldn't have to see. But at least Emil was here. Emil hadn't completely forgotten him or he would've left already. Emil snatched up his brother's phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, I'm not gonna be coming over today. I've got stuff to do." The other end began talking. Emil nodded. "Cool, thanks. Later."

Emil put the device away and gave Lukas one last look before disappearing down the hall.

Emil was...staying?

His mind was perplexed by the colors of the spines on his shelves, so being confused by his brother's actions didn't come as a surprise to the part of his mind that kept its reasonability.

Emil returned wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, a stack of pillows and extra blankets in hand as well as a little box. Emil began pressing some of the pillows against the wall to act as a cushion and helped readjust Lukas's pillows against the headboard before helping him lay down. Next, he produced pins from the box and the lighter blankets were tacked to the wall and draped over and tacked onto the next wall.

A fort, Lukas realized.

Once Emil dubbed his work satisfactory, and they were entrapped in the tent made out of sheets, Emil sat down beside him. He pulled the others up and made a nest out of the old quilts and rewrapped Lukas. He realized that these were indeed the special soft blankets that their mother hid for herself. How Emil found them he didn't know.

Emil reached over and plugged something into an outlet. It was the heating pad they fought over in the winter that they would use to heat up their beds. He put it between a layer of blankets on Lukas's chest.

"I heard it was supposed to help with the coughing." was his only explanation.

Emil brought the rest of the blankets up and around them both before laying beside Lukas and draping an arm over his chest. Lukas shifted and pulled him in so the younger's head rested partially on his chest and partially on his shoulder. Emil carefully wriggled closer to his brother and they held each other. Emil's arm drifted over his brother's waist and Lukas brought a hand to rest on the younger's shoulder blade while the other brushed through the child's hair.

They didn't speak, holding one another. Emil's soft and Lukas's ragged breaths were the only sounds to fill the fort.

"I'm sorry." Lukas managed.

"For what?" Emil questioned.

"I'm sorry you have to stay here and look after me." Lukas choked and coughed. "It isn't fair, you should be out playing-"

"I'm here because I want to be. I shouldn't have been leaving you alone while mom and dad are gone. That probably wasn't very fun. Now stop talking, you'll make yourself worse."

"Emil-" he whispered, taken back.

"Go to sleep Lukas." His brother said with a slight smile on his face. "We can argue when you're better."

They settled into the quiet, Emil convinced he'd won and Lukas with tears swimming in his eyes.

He was the big brother. He was supposed to take care of Emil. He'd done so for years and now Emil was left to try to take care of him.

Lukas slipped a hand in his own shirt and touched at the scars on his ribs from the surgery he'd received as an infant.

Paranoid. He was paranoid. Nothing would happen. He'd get better and they'd go to the beach or the zoo later this week while his parents were working. They'd have fun and Lukas would breathe fine and be able to smile without cracking his bloody lips further.

He was tired. The boy shifted some while Lukas's body shook. Emil ran his fingers along his brothers ribs while they jolted, his eyes wide with fear. Lukas couldn't help but be afraid too.

He had a little brother. He had to get better. Be big and strong for his brother who he loved so much even if he didn't show it well.

"In... Out... In... Out-" Emil whispered in his ear and squeezed Lukas's hand.

In the little makeshift fort that shielded them from the world, Lukas held onto his younger brother.

"In..." He murmured. "Out..." He exhaled and Emil nodded his approval.

"In..." he whispered, before falling into another fit of coughing.

...

I wrote this while I was sick and bouncing in and out of the hospital with bronchitis. I'm assuming that's what Lukas has. Bronchitis can be deadly. Heating pads can help the muscles relax and ease breathing. I'm sure Lukas gained plenty of abdominal muscle tone like I did from coughing so much. Codeine is used to inhibit coughing. Great in some aspects. Not so much in others. Good news: You aren't coughing. Bad news: you can't cough. I don't own hetalia.