Author Notes: This is an alternative ending to the season 1 episode Turk Flu. After re-watching it recently, I felt the issue over Allan actually eating that plant was let unfinished, and so this was the result! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Nothing I write about is mine...

Nightshade

Allan walked three paces behind John, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other on the uneven forest floor. Robin had run off with Much and Will after that Djaq boy had said one of the miners were going to kill Marian, leaving the more incapacitated pair to make their way back to camp alone.

John seemed okay, Allan mused detachedly, but then, the mountain of a man was probably secretly indestructible.

Allan stumbled, but quickly recovered his footing, the incident too fleeting for the larger man to notice. What the hell had he actually swallowed? He had known Robin had said he would be fine as long as he only chewed, but the plant was so disgusting that it had been a reflex action. He vaguely recalled Robin amending his statement when he realised Allan had actually swallowed the plant. He had promised he would be fine regardless, just feel a bit sick for a day.

His vision skipped for a second, but Allan blinked and managed to focus, brushing it off as a come-down from the high of the mine rescue.

He trusted Robin. Robin wouldn't do something that would endanger his men.

Allan coughed in an attempt to clear his throat, but it didn't seem to work. He coughed again, but his throat seemed even more clogged with that black gunk.

He stopped, frowning. But he didn't breathe the stuff...

His vision skipped again, and John's silhouette in front of him seemed to tilt. He tried to draw a breath again, and found himself gasping, coughing more forcefully. Dimly, he thought he felt his palms hit the cool dirt of the forest, and might have heard something else other than his own struggling breath.

It was irrelevant really.

Something clasped his cheek, but he had seemed to have lost control of his neck muscles as his head suddenly felt so heavy.

Surely it wasn't night already? They couldn't have been walking for that long.

An odd sensation swept his body, but after that? Who knew?

John's mind had been on the others in Nottingham when he heard the coughing behind him. He smirked bleakly. No doubt A Dale would have trouble ridding himself of the taste of the plant for many a day to come. The coughing persisted, and John turned to check Allan was still following. He frowned. The young thief had stopped.

Allan's eyes looked strange, as if he was not fully aware he was coughing at all. John frowned as the coughing became more laboured, "Allan?" He took a step towards the boy as he swayed. That kind of hacking cough was not normal, that much John knew. Allan pitched forwards, hitting the ground with all fours. He was really retching now, coughing desperately, trying to regain control. John was not used to coping with situations like this. He panicked. If only he knew what plant it had been that Robin had given him.

Falling to his knees, he called Allan's name again, taking the boy's head in his hand, trying to get some sort of response, but he was no healer, and since the bump on the head he had received back in the mine, his thoughts had seemed slower, more sluggish.

And then Allan's head fell forwards as his eyes rolled back into his head. John didn't know what to do, but then-

"Move over!" The slight Saracen boy from earlier skidded down the leaf strewn slope, pulling away John's grasp from Allan and replacing it with his own, trying to look into Allan's eyes.

And then John recoiled as Allan's whole body suddenly tensed, and began shaking violently and erratically, "By God..."

The Saracen was trying to keep a hold of Allan's head while attempting to lie the thrashing man down, "Help me! Now!" His command was short and sharp, laced with a hint of fear, whether from the idea of ordering around a much larger man, or for Allan's condition. John was willing to bet the former was not a problem for this boy.

"What do I do? What's wrong with him?"

"I do not know." The boy – Djaq? – his accent was thicker from the stress, "It may have been from the plant your leader gave him. We must keep him still until the shaking passes, or he will hurt himself further – hurry!"

The last command was enough to get John to move from his frozen state, and he clasped down on Allan's arms. A part of him felt as if he was betraying the man. This wasn't what happened. They found a problem, they dealt with it – maybe with a few hiccups – and they went back to camp. They did not die. Especially not this soon after Roy.

After what seemed like an age, the shaking stopped, but Allan did not wake. His breathing was raspy and taken in short snatches, and his eyes flickered beneath their lids. "Why doesn't he wake?"

Djaq did not look up from Allan, "Your friend is very sick. You were heading to your camp, yes?"

"Aye..."

"Then, if you can carry him, we must take him there. You have water there? And it will be more comfortable for him. I will try and help all I can, but until I know what your leader fed him..." The Saracen trailed off.

A fleeting thought of leading a stranger to camp crossed John's mind, but he dismissed it in an instant. Without another word, he nodded, and lifted Allan into his arms as gently as he could. Djaq waited for him to set off in the right direction, but he frowned, "He's still shaking."

The Saracen leant forwards, nodding grimly as he rested a hand on Allan's cheek. The outlaw was warm, yet shivering, "His body is reacting badly to the toxins in the plant – much worse than I'm sure your leader anticipated. I am more concerned about his breathing, however..." He trailed off, fixing John with a stare of disturbing clarity. He nodded sharply, and set off at a quick pace, easily ignoring his injuries from the mine by focusing on the task at hand, all the time dreading the inevitable conversation with the others.

Djaq dabbed at Allan's forehead with a soaked cloth in an attempt to do something for the fever that had come upon the outlaw. The big man next to her was jittery, clearly worried but unsure of how to portray himself with her around. She sighed quietly, wishing that Robin Hood would hurry up. While she was not familiar with English plants as well as those from her homeland, she needed more of an idea what it was that Allan had swallowed.

"Why are you helping him?" The big man suddenly spoke up, "You were following us, that I know."

Djaq paused before answering, after a beat deciding on the truth, "I was interested in joining your gang." She did not elaborate, "And this man was the one who risked his life for us, who got into that wooden prison without any real protest. He did not have to, I could have done it."

The large man did not reply. She knew he was probably refraining from mentioning how the story might not have worked had it not been a white man to say it. She appreciated it.

"What's going on?" The shrill voice of the one called Much pierced through the clearing as the three other members of the gang approached.

The young dark haired boy – Will, she thought they said his name was – called out to John as they came towards them, "What's she doing here?"

Djaq was not impressed. So much for her disguise – she had been hoping the boy would keep his mouth shut. Much looked at him incredulously, "What do you mean 'she'?"

Robin snorted, "I had thought that might be the case." His amusement turned to a frown, "What are you-"

He froze as he saw the shivering form that had previously been hidden behind John's huge frame. Silence encased the little glade. Djaq raised her eyes to regard Robin, "Your friend is very sick. He collapsed in the forest. I may be able to help him, but I need to know the properties of the plant you gave him."

Robin moved swiftly forwards, and John moved aside to let the leader through. Panic ran riot through the minds of the men. Robin shook his head, unable to keep the fear off his face, "It should not have affected him this badly. Admittedly I told him he shouldn't swallow it, but he should feel no worse than if he had eaten old meat..."

Djaq could already see the guilt falling as a shadow over the man's face. Calmly, she clasped his arm, "And yet it has, and we must try to help him. What was it?"

"A root from the Hangman's Noose. It's a weed that grows in forests like this."

Djaq looked at the man in disbelief, "And you gave a plant such as that to one of your own men?"

Robin snapped back, "It's only named so because of the shape of the leaves and the skin irritation they can cause. It may make you ill if you actually eat it, but I have never known it to kill!"

Djaq shook her head grimly, "Well, soon you may."

Robin had nothing to say in reply. Will stepped forwards, his face pale, "Can't you do anything?"

Djaq did not look up, resuming her duties with the damp cloth, "I do not know. His fever is getting worse, and his breathing is no better." She paused, and then made up her mind, "I need water, lots of water, and I will also need all of your help."

Much, Will and John jumped to the task, John especially pleased to have something to do. Robin asked quietly, "What are you planning to do?"

"We will try and flush the poison from his body."

Robin looked at her sharply, "But Allan has not woken."

"No."

There was a long silence, before Robin nodded as if nothing had been said, "May I have your fire-glass? He's shivering badly."

Djaq nodded to the pouch on the ground beside her, and Robin smiled gratefully, "Thank you for everything you are doing, you did not have to help."

"Yes, I did."

"Allan?" Robin gently patted the man's cheek in an attempt to rouse him. A frown flitted across the fevered brow, but Allan made no sign that he had heard. Robin sighed, "John, I need you to help me sit him up. Let him lean against your chest, and make sure you hold his arms."

John nodded silently, Will stepped forwards, "Why does he need someone to hold his arms? He's sick!"

Much took his arm, shaking his head, uncharacteristically quiet. Djaq spoke up, "He must drink as much water as possible, but he does not know that."

Will frowned, still uncomprehending. Robin tried to ignore him, leaning forwards and taking Allan's head in his hands, tilting it back slightly. Allan murmured something, and his back arched against John's chest. His eyes were screwed up and he subconsciously tried to shift out of John's grip, the heat from the surrounding bodies suffocating him.

In one smooth movement, Djaq reached forwards, forcing the water skin to Allan's lips and pouring it into his mouth. Immediately, he was coughing and thrashing, spitting it back up. There was a flash of fever-bright eyes, wide in fear and confusion, "Stop it, you're hurting him!" Will yelled, disturbed by seeing his friend so distressed. Much silently kept his hold.

Robin was muttering something, as was John, both men trying to keep Allan calm, to persuade him they were not trying to hurt him. Allan began crying out unintelligible words in his delirium, but the three did not desist. Will pulled away from Much and turned, making his way back up through the camp, unable to watch, unable to listen.

The process seemed to last for an eternity, long and arduous, and the worst part was that Djaq was even completely certain any of this would truly help Allan. She paused, drawing back on her heels, before her eyes widened, "Turn him on his side, quickly!"

John and Robin immediately complied, and Allan was coughing again, trying to curl in on himself as he vomited up much of the water, now a dirty black. Allan weakly tried to pull away as the retching continued to shake his body, "Why are you trying to kill me?" His voice was raspy and defeated, "I ain't done nothing wrong. Please..."

Robin looked at Djaq in despair. She nodded in defeat, "We have hopefully helped his body enough, but we can do no more. His body is already weak..." She trailed off, hating that she couldn't help further, but without any remedy to a supposedly harmless plant, there was nothing more she could suggest.

"Then what now?" Robin asked quietly.

"We wait, and hope his fever breaks on its own."

"Wait?" Much snapped, "He could die!"

John silenced the man with a look, pointedly nodding towards the youngest member of the group, who sat not far away.

Robin scrubbed his face with his hands, "It's getting late, and we should get some sleep, especially after a day like today. I'll take first watch."

Reluctantly, the others separated off to their makeshift beds. Djaq was the last to move, "Wake me if there is any change."

Robin nodded, gently arranging a blanket over Allan's restless body and taking up a more comfortable position. He listened as silence fell over the little camp, the only sound from the crackling fire. Somehow, the others had managed to fall asleep, most likely from the exhaustion rather than lacking in thoughts to keep their minds awake.

Guilt roiled in the pit of Robin's stomach. It should have been him to step into that mine. He knew in his heart that the guards would have recognised him in an instant, but no amount of logic would keep this thought from whirling around his head. Allan had volunteered. He had trusted that Robin would not put him any more into harm's way than was necessary. And now what? Allan lay dying and there was nothing they could do. Not from a sword, but from something his own leader – his friend – had given him.

Allan continued to shift in his sleep, his face flushed with fever, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. Robin did not know how long he sat there, watching for the time when Allan's chest would cease to rise and fall in its uneven pattern, but the moon was high in the sky when a noise drew him from his thoughts. His head snapped up, and he saw the silver shadowed figure of Will picking his way carefully towards him, making little sound. He sat down without a word, his unreadable eyes taking in everything of Allan's condition.

Robin continued to watch him, until finally Will was satisfied that Allan as still alive, and he met his leader's eyes, "I couldn't sleep."

"He's strong, Will. He'll make it." Robin put far more conviction into his tone than he actually felt.

Will didn't answer, watching as Allan shifted, his face taunt with some fevered nightmare. The young man reached forwards, and gently began stroking Allan's hair. The act seemed to calm both of them. At Robin's questioning look, Will gave a mild smile, "My father always found it was the best way to calm me and my brother down when we were ill. He may not really know what is going on, but we can at least be there for him." Robin nodded. Will continued, not looking up from his sick friend, "You should try and sleep. I doubt I'll be able to tonight."

Reluctantly, Robin nodded, once again marvelling at the strange friendship that had grown between the pair – the one who talks too much, but never actually says anything, and the one who only ever speaks when it is required.

Allan did not die that night, but it was too more moonsets before the camp could breathe easily once again. Will had fallen asleep by his friend's side, lack of sleep finally catching up on him. Something had woken him, and he blinked stiffly as he tried to unfold himself from the awkward sitting position he had slept in. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but the soft voice was definitely there, "'M not being funny, but I think your leg's gone dead."

Will blinked stupidly for a second, staring into the now clear eyes of his friend, who was sleepily watching him. He immediately tried to move, but fell back down, "Ow." He muttered, but could have jumped for joy when Allan snorted weakly.

"Told ya."

Will smiled ruefully in return, asking softly, "How do you feel?"

"Like crap. But 'least I'm alive, right?" He shifted slightly, blinking owlishly up at Will, "Remind me never to eat anything Robin gives me again..." He yawned widely, like a cat, and missed the dark shadow that flitted across his friend's face as sleep once more overtook him.

Will rose slowly, checking Allan was okay, and smiled as he saw he was breathing deeply and evenly for the first time since his collapse. After a beat, he went to wake Djaq.

Relief had swept through the camp like wildfire. Allan was still very groggy, and kept complaining that he felt as if he had the worst hangover in the world, and it hadn't even been caused by alcohol. But he was complaining, and for once everyone was happy to hear it. He still wasn't very hungry, even after a day, but as long as he drank water anytime Djaq gave it to him, they let him be.

It was two days later, and Allan was almost himself again. He wasn't as tired, and was beginning to join in again about the daily food complaints over Much's cooking. Will had stuck closer than he usually did, as if he were afraid Allan would just drop dead on the spot. Allan let him. In a way, it was nice to know they all cared that much, but he also knew that Will needed to do it. With his father and brother so far away, they were his family now, and unlike Allan, who always knew to take the concept with a pinch of salt, Will held family as a top priority.

Allan knew that Will was struggling to find someone to blame for what happened. It was hardly John or Much's fault, and Djaq had worked so hard to save Allan that any anger towards her had been fleeting. Allan was almost certain that at some point while he had been ill Will had blamed him for getting himself into the situation in the first place, and he also knew that Will had blamed Robin for a rather long time before finally resting on himself, believing that he should have volunteered for the task.

Allan, for his part, let him work through it. If he was still feeling guilty tomorrow, he'd slap some sense into him. He himself thought that he was just seeing it as a new event in his life, over, done and moved on from, until Robin pulled him to one side. It was surprising to Allan how a nobleman like Robin could trip over his words so much. He interrupted the floundering man, "Seriously Rob, I ain't being funny but none of this mess was your fault."

"You almost died Allan!"

He shrugged, "Been there, done that, more times than I'd like to remember. It's fine, Rob, honest. Just drop it, yeah?"

Robin nodded slowly, turning his head to respond to Much's call for them to hurry up, "Coming!" He sighed, "Alright, let's go."

As Robin turned his back and strode off, Allan found himself hit by an indescribable emotion.

Robin only said anything to allay any lingering guilt.

But that wasn't true. Robin did care, about all of them, Allan knew that.

He's only doing this for the fame, for what he will receive when this is done and over.

Allan pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders as he made to catch up with the others, a light drizzle of rain clouding the morning air. He shook off the unsettling thoughts, putting them down to the darkening weather.

You are expendable, you are nothing. You have nothing, and when all this is done, you will be left in the shade.

Allan viciously shook his head, falling into step next to Will, the other man's calming presence washing away the dark thoughts much better than the rain. These men – and woman, now, he amended – were his friends, his extended family. They would never desert him, as he would not them. He exchanged a fleeting grin with Will. They were in this together.

If only the lingering doubt in the back of his mind had actually gone away.

If only he actually believed Robin could be trusted to treat them as equals.

If only he believed he would come out of this into the light.

FIN

Author Notes: So, what did you think? This was sort of designed to be the beginning to Allan's doubts, and what happened in season 2 when he wasn't rescued and turned to Guy instead. Hope you liked it, and I'd love to know your thoughts!