Newt can’t get his SSRIs refilled for some asinine reason and starts withdrawing. How does Hermann help him with the crying jags, nausea, suicidal thoughts, vertigo, etc.?

Hermann stirs, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just- stay there.” Newt doesn’t open his eyes, feels the fragile sense of composure tremble like glass, if he moved at all, it would shatter completely.

Hermann presses closer, puts his arms around him. Newt feels his lip tremble, the tear threatening to overflow again, even behind his closed eyes. “I’m- I’m so, so fucking sorry, dude-” his voice cracks.

His diaphragm trembles, misery and nausea rising together until he desperately wants to bury his face in Hermann’s chest- and can’t, in case he throws up on him.

Hermann seems to feel it coming, and gets Newt’s head over the side to the bowl on the floor. Newt retches- but there isn’t much more to come up after the last spasms, and he just brings up reeking, searing bile.

“All done?” Hermann says gently.

No. He could spend the next week hanging here, bringing up anything that dares to touch his stomach. But he nods anyway, and Hermann draws him back in, stroking his hair and holding him.

Newt closes his eyes, trying to just- sink into him and not move and maybe if he’s still enough he can just stop existing until Tendo can get his meds back from whatever maniac had stolen them.

But he’s still moving. He rises and falls with Hermann’s breathing and even the slight height of lying on him sets his head spinning. Newt grits his teeth and rolls himself off, curls up in a ball against the wall. Just that is enough to get his head spinning until Newt isn’t sure what he’s lying on any more.


Newt grits his teeth and fists his hands into the blankets to hold himself in place. His body rigid and still as iron.

“I-” And oh god, Hermann sounds broken. Newt opens his eyes and has to close them again as the world sweeps and sways around him.

“I’m sorry,” Newt croaks. “I’m so, so sorry-”

“No.” Hermann says wretchedly. “Don’t say that.” He sighs. “I just hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this.” Newt manages.

Hermann gives a small, sad chuckle. “I’m sure.” He sits up, the bed dips and Newt feels like if he isn’t careful he would roll off the bed and off the edge of the world. “I’ll go and see if the infirmary has received anything that could help-”

“No-” Newt opens his eyes again, Hermann’s face fractures around him. “Don’t go-”

He hears Hermann pause. “Alright.” His chair squeaks, pulled over to the side of the bed. “I’ll call Tendo and see if he can find anything.”

Newt nods, and regrets it at once. Hermann sits beside him, and rests his hand on Newt’s.

That works. That feels good. The weight pins his hand to the bed and acts as a- pinion. He can’t go flying off as long Hermann is holding him. He hears the murmur of Hermann’s phone call, a little off focus as he focuses everything he has on just staying on the bed and not go flying off or being sick again.

“Tendo has your medication.” Hermann says finally. “He’ll have it over in a few hours.”

Time doesn’t mean anything right now- but it’s good news, at least.


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