Work Text:
Dr. Henry Jekyll knew how to help people. Why, it was practically his job to help people. He had come to the aid of many wayward scientists and knew how to provide an ear to those who needed it.
Oh, he was amazing at taking care of others.
However, he was rather quite shitty at taking care of himself.
"Hyde, don't be vulgar!" Jekyll hissed at his reflection, earning an eye roll from it.
'Don't be rude, doctor. You completely interrupted my monologuing,' Hyde snarkily remarked. 'Remember, you're the one who got us into this situation.'
Said situation wore an obnoxious purple vest and piss-yellow cravat that showed off the ugliness of the chubby cheeks of its "concerned" face.
"Henry, are you alright? Are you running a fever?" The pretentious prig asked, pressing a hand to the good doctor's forehead.
Jekyll tried to avoid his hand. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm quite alright. Really, we should just get back to w-"
"Henry, you've been spacing out every couple of minutes, glaring at the papers as if they're hurting your eyes." The cocky gentleman crossed his arms and judgementally raised his eyebrows. "You can't tell me that you don't need a break."
While the good doctor's expression remained placate, Hyde didn't bother to hide his glare from the mirror.
As much as he would like to deny it, the uptight prick was right. There was a fog in the back of their head that made it almost hurt to think. They kept trying to ignore it, but the fog was persistent, always there, sneaking up on them whenever they dropped their guard.
"I don't need a -"
"Nope!" Lanyon plastered his gross hand over Jekyll's mouth. "Can't say it!"
Jekyll gave an incredible counter-argument, only dampered by the hand muffling anything that came from his mouth.
Lanyon nodded as if he could understand what Jekyll said. "Hm? Yes, you're quite right. You should get some rest. And, oh, what's that?" The snooty money bag tilted his head closer as if straining to hear.
"I'm a great friend who has great advice that should be adhered?" The overly-dramatic man - hmph, you're one to talk, Hyde - placed a hand to his chest and gasped, "Why, I am so glad to hear you say that. Now, if only a certain workaholic would listen to said advice…"
Jekyll rolled his eyes as Hyde stuck out his tongue.
Pulling Lanyon's disgusting fingers away from his mouth, Jekyll admitted defeat, "Alright, I'll lie down on the couch."
He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows teasingly, "Would that make you happy?"
"I would be more happy if you actually slept," Now it was his turn to roll his eyes in one those stupid sidelong glances that he thought made him look so charming. Ugh.
"You can relax, my dear friend. I will sleep for a bit."
Lanyon raised his eyebrow, "'A bit'? Jekyll, really, you shouldn't do the bare minimum for your health just so that you can get back to work faster."
"You needn't worry. I'm a doctor; I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Hyde snorted at the obvious lie, resulting in a quick glare from Jekyll.
The snarky upper-class man opened up his bacteria-infected mouth as though about to say something more, but he closed it, thank goodness, and pressed his hand against his mouth to compose himself after his little mistake.
"Very well. I'll leave you to it then," the extravagant coward said. He turned and began to walk towards the door, only to stop, cast a look of pure hatred at the pile of bills stacked on the desk, and steal the papers.
Jekyll weakly protested as his workload made its way to the door. "However, please forgive me if I do not trust you to not work the moment you deem yourself 'suitable' for it," Lanyon called over his shoulder before closing the door with a quick snap. The stressed doctor stared at the door in despair as Hyde snickered. Finally, Lanyon did something right.
Jekyll, finally accepting his loss, sighed and pushed himself away from his desk. He stood up quickly from his chair, only to nearly collapse onto the desk. His shook his head to clear out the fog and made his way to his couch. Finally listening to the overly confident no-good-do-well, Jekyll laid his head down and attempted to sleep.
The key word here being "attempted".
You see, in order for someone to sleep, first their breathing must even out. But that was the one thing that Jekyll's breathing refused to do. Usually, breathing is automatic; however, Jekyll found himself having to manually control his breathing. Every breath hurt. Each inhale he took pushed against his weak heart, resulting in a stabbing pain.
Jekyll tried to ignore it. If he kept focusing on it, he'd never be able to go to sleep. He realised that, when he took big inhales, it hurt, so maybe if he just took smaller breaths, then he'd be fine!
…Shit. That wasn't enough to breathe.
He still had to take normal-sized inhales even if it hurt.
In. Out. In. Out. Repeat and do again.
And eventually, the good doctor fell asleep.
His eyes opened blearily. His heart beat rapidly against his chest like a bird trying to escape from its cage. BEATBEATBEATBEATBEATBEATBEATBEAT
Then it returned to normal. Exhaustion buried the doctor's body like a warm blanket, heavy but cosy nonetheless. Everything in his body told him just to go back to sleep. Everything except for the wrongness that suffocated his heart.
He forced his tired eyes open. Awake! He needed to be awake! The weak heart fluttering in his chest would stop if he dared to sleep! He was so tired. He needed to sleep. NO! NONONONONONO YOU HAVE TO BE AWAKE! YOU NEED TO WAKE UP!
Cough! Cough! Weak coughs forced themselves out of the doctor's mouth. He had to cough. He had no choice. But every time he coughed, he couldn't breathe. Cough! Cough! Cough! Cough! HE COULDN'T BREATHE.
Taking a strangling breath, he forced himself upward, barely managing to sit up as his weak heart struggled against the coughing that rattled his chest. He needed something. Anything that could just distract him from this pain. He looked at his desk, but Lanyon had taken away his paperwork from him. There was nothing there for him.
His frantic eyes moved onto his bookshelf. Maybe!
He desperately stood up, and, ignoring his dizziness, he grabbed the first book he could reach. He immediately plopped back down on the couch. He didn't bother reading the cover. He flipped straight to the middle of the book and began reading out loud. He was slouched over, looking at the pages with out-of-focus eyes as the fog fought to take over all of his brain. It took every ounce of energy he had to just read the book aloud with every exhausted limb in his body asking to just give up and give into dangerous sleep. He refused. He needed to be alive.
He read. And read. And read. He read for hours.
Finally, daylight shone through his windows. He put down the book and rubbed at his tired eyes. His heart, while still weak, felt stable enough. He lied back down on the couch and closed his eyes, quickly falling into a deep slumber.