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"Massster..." this came from a disembodied head floating in front of Raistlin's desk. The archmagus didn't look up immediately, busy scratching writing onto a piece of flattened parchment, the quill in his thin golden fingers practically vibrating with the speed of his notes.

Genessia was a land of fascinating marvels. He'd be sure not to forget a single one.

"Masssster pleasssse," the head tried a second time.

Finally, Raistlin glanced up, impatient at the interruption. "What?"

"Therrrre is an intruderrr in the Grrove."

That. That was interesting, and Raistlin's hand finally stilled. "In the Grove, you say?"

"Yesssss. The defenderrrssss have not been able to kill it..."

Extremely interesting. Something from Genessia, no doubt, nothing else would make sense. The blackrobe dabbed the last of the ink off the feather quill onto a pad and set the instrument aside, and then took the time to carefully close up the inkwell. This could take a while.

And so it was that whatever this stranger was doing, he suddenly wasn't the only living creature in the dark, ancient grove. Raistlin lurked in the deepest shadows, silently watching.

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A nod was all Raistlin could manage at the moment, hacking up another bout of too-hot blood into the front of Wade's shirt. The inhale after that one was particularly shallow and bubbly.

But it was an inhale! So he stayed conscious, still. Take that, lungs.

No that wasn't good at all, nope. He almost choked right then. He almost ignored the request not to go to the hospital. Raistlin might never be aware of it; the pause was only half a second long.

But he'd be deposited into bed, carefully, before Wade would go to step away, utterly lost for what to do next.

Raistlin dug feebly into an inner pocket of his robes, and just barely, barely managed to produce the pouch of foul-smelling herbs from previous meetings. All he could do was half drop, half fling it in Wade's direction. "Tea."

That foul shit was medicine. Why else would he stomach it?

Oh. The stuff he said smelled like an herbalists armpit.

... He's not sorry he said that, it does fucking smell, but he'd generally accepted that all medicine kind of sucked. Now was not the time for peanut gallery level commentary on meds though, he snatched it up, and quickly left to make some smelly-ass dirty leaf water.

However long it'd take for him to make it, he'd be back, looking for a place to set it down. No matter where he'd put it though, once he was done, he'd... go back to moving away again. What the fuck else was he supposed to do?

Get grabbed by Raistlin as he moved away, for one thing. Thin fingers with their weird extra heat latched onto Wade's wrist with perhaps surprising strength, especially for someone so close to death's door.

And with another rattling inhale, "Stay."

Words were so much effort. So, so much effort. But that was going to be one of them.

He stopped short as thin, far too hot fingers snagged his wrist. No, he made no motion to pull away, he didn't even stand and consider it for a moment.

He just moved back again, right back to the bedside. Not sitting on it, not moving away.

Fine. Stay. Got it.

Just as well, too, because Raistlin was probably going to need some more help here. He was in a pretty bad way.

Even getting the tea in himself was going to be a joy. Raist let go of Wade's wrist in favor of grabbing the cup the man had brought, and then fighting to get his head up enough to actually drink the very very hot liquid.

Wouldn't be the first time he downed this shit near-boiling.

Wade took a breath. Just one. Like he'd thought of saying something.

Instead, just a burst of air back out. No, never mind. The silence in the room would just have to remain deafening.

It was only when he was sure that the other man was finished drinking that he'd actually talk.

"... Got a chair?"

The room was so dark, and Wade only had his little penlight. Other furniture in the room would be hard to spot without at least a clue, especially since everything was black. Raistlin pointed toward the fireplace, where an overstuffed, comfortable armchair lurked in the shadows.

And hey while you're over there, "Fire." Fire would be good. Heat and light!

Well lucky lucky, Wade might not be a wizard, but he also had a lighter. Never knew when you might need a lighter.

Especially when one was in the habit of blowing shit up.

It'd take a moment. Build the damn thing, set the spark, get it going good... And then going to sit down in the chair.

Now it was his turn to stare, watching Raistlin with a great amount of intensity.

Mostly, really, to ensure that the man kept breathing.

Not Raistlin's first time being stared at this way, for certain. He stared right back, of course, in between bouts of coughing that forced him to shut his weird, oddly-reflective eyes for the duration.

His own stare was challenging, despite his condition.

Wade had showed no sign of being an asshole about the mage's health, but, it was all he was used to getting from others. Even his own twin. Often especially his own twin.

The sweat that was collecting on him was starting to show faintly in the firelight too, wispy white hair flattening down over his head and sticking to his skin. The fever wasn't improving.

"What."

What are you thinking, staring at him like this? Best to get it over with.

What? Well that was easy.

"Look man, sometimes I can't tell if you're breathing anymore. I can't always hear that shit."

He didn't want to just... imagine he still heard Raistlin breathing. That was entirely possible.

Why do you care.

That's what Raistlin might have said, if he could spare the air. Instead, that glittering stare narrowed slightly. Suspicious.

Not unlike Wade sizing up a laboratory table from the doorway, in many ways.

He knew that look anyway. Well... He knew what it felt like when he wore it.

Seen it once or twice on the faces of others.

He just shrugged.

"Friends don't let friends cough their lungs up?"

"Friends."

That wasn't a confirmation, he spat the word out like it bit him. Like it lives perpetually inside quotation marks.

Raistlin Majere does not have friends.

"Yeah. Friends. Last I checked, people who hate me don't tell me I'm smart."

That's because other people are stupid, Wade.

Or that's the argument he might have made, had words been more of an option.

Instead, back to the staring contest, Raist's eyes slowly getting glassier and glassier as the fever just kept on building, until finally, he closed them. Miserable.

Thick velvet was real awesome with a fever. And his baseline temperature was already so high... but he'd wait until he was absolutely sure it was necessary, before he rasped out an even fainter, rougher, "Help."

A lot of people would probably have told him to fuck off, after he threw 'friends' back in their face.

Fortunately for Raistlin.... that was a fairly common response when Wade suggested he was friends with someone. Mostly, like now, from people he'd never had to threaten before.

So this was familiar, well tread ground by now. That, and being asked for help not too long after 'friends' had been hurled back in his face.

Up again, at his side.

"Yep, what's up."

Raistlin was already feebly trying to unhook the heavy belts full of spell components from his waist and across his shoulder, but his hands were quickly losing their impressive levels of dexterity, so it was a real shit-show. Lots of fumbling and he even bared his teeth in frustration, eyes still shut.

"Feverworse."

Look, two words! Smushed together though, because he only had so much breath at a time around the wet glass shards and sand that was the state of his airway, supplied by his shattered lungs.

Fever worse, too hot then. Had to find a way to- Oh.

Well.

Yeah.

He was being asked to do this. Sorry, Raistlin, there's really no un-awkward way to help someone get undressed in a situation like this. He'd move right in sans commentary, save for a simple, short "Yep." He knew what to do. Off went the belt, Wade actually taking care not to fuck around with any of the pouches. Anywhere he'd be directed, he'd go, working on layer after layer with easy, quick efficiency.

Again, it'd certainly seem like it was something he'd done before. Perhaps not in exactly the same context.

But with the degree of speed and care he was taking, it probably wasn't a particularly sexy context then, either. After all, certain chemicals from certain, supposedly banned weapons tended to soak into clothes. Stuck to the skin too long, it'd surely cause worse than just an idle chemical burn.

Raistlin definitely wouldn't be his first rodeo.

First wizard, though! So many fucking belts full of pouches and pockets on him it was like he'd also been designed by Rob Liefeld.

It was a wonder either of them had feet!

Spell components off, the dangling bones clattering quietly together at the movement. Then the heavy, hooded cloak, which Wade would have to drag out from under him. The shoulder drape, and already they were getting into damp-with-sweat territory.

The actual robe was a lot more involved to peel off than it looked, hidden ties everywhere. But eventually it would come free, too, and that left an even smaller Raistlin in plain black trousers and a simple black tunic, laced closed at the base of his thin, golden throat.

And that was right around when he just sort of dropped off the movement train and went limp. Breathing, however poorly and shallowly, but out. Drenched in sweat and burning up even more than normal, which was saying something.

Definitely not his first rodeo. He did his best to get him undressed with minimal shifting about. The fact that the wizard was still awake certainly helped, the man could assist with disrobing.

But... eventually... He knew when he passed out, the instant it happened. His fingers moved for a brief second to the other man's neck to feel for a pulse, lowering his head to catch the sound of breathing, then of a heartbeat.

Once assured... Well, he'd keep going, of course. Damp and sweaty clothes wouldn't be helping the situation. Who knew how long the man would be out, and dampness wasn't exactly the best thing for skin that was pressed against a bed.

Not even healthy skin, which Raistlin's certainly was not.

Clinical, quick, once he was finished, he'd keen Raistlin's modesty firmly in mind; a sheet would be draped across him. A solid favor deserves another back, the other man had been so kind to cover him up, after all.

As for these sweaty clothes, well, Wade didn't know where the fuck he'd wash them. And he wasn't about to leave. He'd been told not to, after all.

So they'd be draped across whatever he could find to dry out, before Wade would take up his position again in the chair, to wait.

Not super healthy, no. Not cancer-riddled, but burning with that intense heat of his plus the fever, and mottled in a network of bruising in different shades of brown and purple. He really did fall against things, if not all the way down, on a regular basis.

And didn't eat on a regular basis, just as suspected before. Visible ribs! What meat was on his bones was wiry, lean. Not skeletal like he saw himself, but a far cry from beefcake.

Raistlin stayed passed out only for a few minutes in total before a particular spasm in his breathing ripped him back into consciousness, the mage turning onto his side to hack up a little bit more blood with his coughing.

But Gods, he felt a lot better in the fever department, in dry sheets.

Oh good he woke up, he'd have been concerned if he'd been out too long. A fever too high could result in a coma, nothing quite like cooking a brain in it's own juices.

Between coughs, Raistlin might hear Wade speaking.

"Hey buddy, hung your stuff up." Right where he could see them all too, just to ensure that nothing was missing. The unspoken 'if you need anything else' was there as well, of course.

Wet sucking inhale, wheezy exhale with a hitch, but at least it wasn't yet more coughing. Honestly a lot of that blood had probably come from his throat, which had to be raw as hell with all the strain it was always under.

"Appreciate it." Oh hey, that wry humor. And two words that weren't rammed together and barely audible, if still extremely strained. The tea was working. Speaking of, the mage reached for the cup with a shaking hand, not remembering that he'd drained it.