Very late Saturday December 4th into early hours of Sunday December 5th

---

A blissful Saturday night. Johann had cooked dinner that night, completely focused on the job while he stepped over The Fates who fluffed about hoping for scraps. Then, after all was consumed and the washing up done, the evening had wiled away entwined with Balfour in varying notions. Exactly the remedy of a long week rushing around, anxious over plans[1] in foreign lands, chasing up details on family matters. Somewhere in the middle of it he had fitted in enough hours on Level 5 to afford Wednesday's Almasy assignment abroad. All in all, he felt rather naturally fatigued, but even then, nothing could be quite assured.

At Balfour's bathroom sink, he measured carefully four doses of Somniculose. A growing tolerance to other more reliable potions had driven him to switch to it, only it was a complete pain to get hold of. His research into the Drammes lines had brought to his attention that several London apothecaries were supplied with the larger bottles that contained 7 doses rather than a measly 2, and he had been swift to target them, alternating between them so as not to draw attention to his more than weekly purchase habits.

The bottle was safely stowed away in his bag once more after quickly scribbling in the blue log for Arcturus as he crouched on the bedroom floor in the shadows, toothbrush poking out the corner of his mouth. He would undoubtedly get an earful for this latest switch, but it had been too difficult a week to focus on clearing his mind. He'd not had coffee in days… Balfour's awkward French press was languishing unused. Johann's excuse to Balfour had been to explain it as a personal challenge over his younger colleague, Pinn saying he couldn't cope without it.

Johann slid the log back into place in the low light, and wandered back to the bathroom to finish cleaning his teeth. His toothbrush found its place back beside Balfour's. These days he had three: one here, one in his own place and one in his bag for all the times he travelled around for work. As he left the bathroom, extinguishing the lights to come and crawl into bed with Balfour, his stomach grumbled. This wasn't an unusual occurrence after sleeping potion. Sliding between the sheets, he put a hand to his bare stomach and rubbed gently, hoping it would pass before too long so he could settle. A moment later, he moved to press himself to Balfour's back, settling down to sleep, an arm looped loosely around his lover's waist, and forehead resting contentedly on the back of the other wizard's shoulder. Bliss.

Well, it would have been had the unease in his stomach waned. After five minutes, he rolled away again and turned his back, hoping not to disturb Balfour. He would much prefer to lie close, it helped him drop into slumber, but his stomach was troubling and he felt feverish. His skin was cold, and sweat prickled at the back of his neck and his forehead. He curled into a ball, still facing away from his lover, with his arms protectively wrapped around his stomach. There was an increasing nausea the longer he lay there, like the room was pitching and tossing like a boat on water. He often felt unwell are imbibing sleeping potion, but it either passed, or he had to get up to throw up. He tried very much to avoid the latter as it meant he had to wait out for another dose, wide awake.

Despite himself, a low groan escaped him in protest of the sharp pain, and he screwed up his face, pressing it into the pillows, hoping he hadn't roused Balfour in the early stages of his sleep. For a moment, he felt as if he wasn't in Balfour's flat at all, but downstairs in his own, and raised a hand to his head, confused.

He had barely enough time to unwind from his ball before his body took matters into its own hands and heaved. One arm thrust out on the mattress to push himself up off it, but the side of the bed caught the worst - noisily and very suddenly vomiting. The room span, and Johann managed to push himself to sit upright, regarding the scene with trepidation. His right hand pressed to his stomach while his left wiped at his mouth, only to pull away and stare at the fact it was glowing.

His hand was glowing… the bed was … glowing.

"That," Johann managed to vocalise at last, realising that Balfour was wide awake again, "Is not normal."

1.	Fake, Forge, Fabricate

He did not dream.

The day had been a slow, languorous one for Balfour - lacking in the heady momentum accompanied by long afternoons of sprinting between offices and sanctuaries and perilous marshes. Saturdays involved none of that. A few months ago, this was a death sentence to restlessness. Lately it has been a deep pleasure. He blamed Johann entirely for the anticipation of weekends; for lazy attitudes of love and lust, and for being able to drift into the blackness of his mind's eye knowing that when he woke there would be a beautiful man slept right next to him.

So when a low, distinctly pained groan wrenched the wizard from deep slumber it was in a temperament of annoyed confusion that he rolled over to see through the darkness. Was Johann having another nightmare? He blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes, sitting up in bed to look over at the other side... and woke up proper when his lover started hurling.

Hell! Balfour stared, all at once the floating jellyfish above them flashing a myriad of confused purple-blue shades as their translucent tentacles caught the gentle illumination of---

-- of glowing vomit. This wasn't the first time he had been roused by a bed partner getting sick but glowing sick was decidedly new. He instinctively went for his wand on the bedside table, other hand reaching for Johann. "That," said the other man, "Is not normal." Which was a relief because now would have been an awkward stage of their relationship to confess to regularly regurgitating phosphorous substances.

"Christ, I would hope not." Balfour heard himself say as as he squeezed Johann's shoulder and studied his face worriedly. "I don't think this is normal by any standard." His mind was racing through their evening, already aware that they'd shared a meal, amongst other things. He leaned in, wrinkling his nose while he looked closer at the glowing vomit splattered across the dark sheets and dripping on to the carpet.

There was a particular smell to human vomit that distinguished itself from the pungent, earthy ones of beast excrement. A sour sharpness. Expelling anything as such was a sure sign of toxicity - some herbivorous creature having eaten the wrong plant or root. Or a stomach bug, as any in childhood. Balfour slid his hand perfunctorily up along Johann's neck and jawline, feeling for a temperature but meeting only cold sweat.

"Are you alright? Do you feel any better for it?" He had completely shaken off the idea of sleep by now - a keen mixture of concern and pragmatism pinching him awake, into activity. Outside the closed bedroom door they could hear Whiskey pawing away, whimpering.

Balfour's hand found his bare shoulder, and Johann looked round left hand still hanging in the air before him, glowing not really sure what the protocol was for doing something like this in a shared bed. This wasn't attractive, or sexy. He'd have to get up and clear things up right away. His wand was around somewhere, where was he again? Balfour, Balfour was there, he was at Balfour's. Where was that again? The noise in his head was like a badly tuned radio, moving between stations.

"I don't think this is normal by any standard." Balfour agreed. His voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of the flat. His arm reaching out to Johann's shoulder seemed to stretch infinitely. Johann blinked, trying to dismiss what was clearly a hallucination. He was more surprised to feel the bed behind and beside him sink as his lover leaned in to examine the vomit. Working with beasts gave him a strong stomach, Johann presumed. His mind did not linger on it, as the bedside table had just started to tap-dance.

"Not sure yet," Johan admitted, wincing as his stomach clenched again but didn't go the whole way. It was as if it was down there assessing what it was up to after the first wave. "I meant, the glowing isn't normal, rather than the vomit. With all I take, it happens." He elaborated with a shrug, not aware of how that sounded to Balfour. He had taken such care to hide things. "I best-"

The second wave came without any warning again. The left hand, complete with smear of blue glowing vomit, braced him against the mattress, leaving a luminous handprint on the sheets beside the initial pool. His right hand clapped over his mouth almost futilely as he coordinated long legs out of bedsheets and near fell into the bathroom. Here the tiled floor was freezing cold beneath his knees and the third wave came almost immediately.

"Balfour!" he called as he was able to gasp for breath, sounding panicked, panting. The bath had just turned into a boat and it looked like there was water rushing across the tiles to let it sail away. Johann stared at it with an unfocused gaze in the low light, his angular face lit from the ice blue effulgent contents of the toilet bowl beneath his chin.

"No, this is not right. I need-" The fourth wave interrupted his demand and left him slumped up against the sink after the reflex reaction released his muscles. He clutched his stomach with both hands, torso flecked with incandescent specks as his eyes looked for his lover, keenly aware that he would need to rely on him to get him out.

"I need to get to St Mungo's, third floor, I haven't," he managed to suppress what could have been an attempt at a fifth, "time to explain. Just bring my bag. I need your help Balfour. Oh Merlin…"

Although his stomach wrenched, nothing came this time, so perhaps the worst was over for the moment. Even if the bath had just drifted out of the door into the bedroom in full sail…

Balfour didn't stop to think.

He might have, fleetingly, at with all I take, it happens. but the instant Johann began scrambling off the bed there was no time to process implications at length, although questions surged into his reluctant consciousness - what was he taking? Why? How often that vomiting was normal?

... and why hadn't Balfour noticed.

Like a more nimble and coherent shadow, he quickly followed Johann through to the bathroom and stopped abruptly at the doorway with hands fasted tensely against the frame: watching only to ensure the other man didn't slip and crack his head against a marble ledge while chucking up more of the phosphorous spew. There was something patently off about the way Johann was speaking, the leaps of logic and unfocused gaze, the muddled and rushed movements. This wasn't the same as dealing with an emergency on the field, this was his bloody home, but his head swarmed with the same sense of mortal urgency. They had to get to the hospital and they had to be there five minutes ago. Balfour let the motions run through his head once, rapidly, the order in which to do everything so that he wouldn't stop in distraction.

When Johann called his name, voice and tired eyes pleading for help, it felt like a slap to the face. Right. Wand. No time.

"Stay, don't move. Don't choke." He was off in a solid heartbeat, flicking his wand in different directions - Johann's bag gathered itself  and sped off in the direction of the foyer, nearly colliding into the coat that was being fetched in the opposite direction. Balfour was in his pyjama trousers but allowed himself the good sense of grabbing the closest sweater, not even his, and pulling it on before going to meet Johann's familiar blue coat where it hovered impatiently.

When he reappeared in the bathroom he smoothly slid down on his knees next to Johann, pulling the coat around his partner with utilitarian briskness. The social awkwardness of leaving the flat, neither of them decently dressed, was a distant and faint concern.  "I'm here, I'm going to get you to St.Mungo's. Don't panic, breathe. I need you to get up right now." Balfour slipped an arm around Johann's lanky waist and with a powerful tug, easily heaved them both up on to their feet.

He cursed Atreus and its non-apparition wards. By the time they reached the front door Whiskey had twice narrowly missed being chucked on by Johann. The German Shepherd barked at their heels concernedly but Balfour - grabbing Johann's bag in one hand - snapped at him to shut up. He threw a final glance back into the apartment before letting the door slam shut: three pairs of glowing cat eyes stared back from the darkness, watching indifferently.

The elevator door was already open, expectant, its bright and mirrored interior at the end of the corridor showing Balfour the sight of them - tartan bed slippers as good as glowing, Johann's tangled curls sticking up and long, pale hands clutching at his stomach. He pretended not to see because seeing meant having to make conjectures and he couldn't, he couldn't let his mind veer off the goal of getting Joh out of here.

"We'll be there soon." Balfour murmured determinedly as soon as the doors slid shut. His arm, loosely wrapped around the other wizard, squeezed slightly to reassure.
***

Don't choke. The thought hadn't crossed Johann's mind but the moment it had planted, it added to his concerns. How was it that a potion he'd taken for a week or more at irregular intervals could suddenly give him such a reaction? Had it somehow built up in his body? Was this like one of the warnings Arcturus had given his mother when they had seen him November that he just couldn't remember?

He shouldn't have rearranged that appointment from Thursday, damn having to go Aruba to accompany a diplomatic visit into Friday. It might have been in the high twenties and beautiful weather, glorious for early December, but had he seen Arcturus, this might not have happened. It was one of the last few, fully formed thoughts he managed. It was hard to keep track of things and he shivered.

One of his long coats was pulled around him, Johann obliging without realising what he was doing. Balfour hauled him to his feet with his strong arms, and Johann gripped whatever came to hand as his head got used to being upright. His lover's words were soothing, keeping away the rising panic. This was really really wrong.

The stagger down the passageway, Johann's bare feet having trouble remembering the correct order they should advance in, was punctuated by two attempts to hurl. Whiskey had turned into a shetland pony that barked. Johann decided it might be better to close his eyes but he didn't dare in case he walked into something. He was glad Balfour was holding him up, he felt out of touch with his limbs. They were like distant family members who never owled.

Balfour's shout at Whiskey echoed oddly to Johann's head but he did his very best to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, adrenaline fighting hellebore.

"We'll be there soon." Balfour told him as they made it into the lift. Johann raised his head to reply, and looked queerly into the corner of the lift beside the door.
"Merlin," Johan whispered, as if they might be overheard "I can see my father…" His face screwed up and he shut his eyes tight. "He's not there. But I can…" He pressed his clammy face into the jumper Balfour had thrown on, deciding it was safer.

They almost made it out of the lift without further incident, but as Johann stumbled out he stared wildly at where his father had appeared. Balfour's slippers became a further casualty as a new wave of nausea hit and the lift floor caught it too. Had he been able to string together an associated thought along with the bright blue glowing vomit, he'd have considered an apology to Ira. Instead, he just trailed sloppy blue footprints into the foyer.

Arriving in the foyer of St Mungo's from apparating was crippling. Johann let out a pained moan, arms wrapped tightly around himself over the coat. At some point it had been buttoned to hide his modesty. Glowing vomit splattered in all directions on the floor, and at least had the perk of being assisted up to the third floor without delay.

"Sleeping, can't sleep, can't fly, fly, fly…" Johann babbled incoherently as they went, occasionally deviating from English to other languages, mostly repeating the same words and phrases. His mind, trapped inside an increasing muddle of words, hallucinations and inability to control his limbs efficiently was fighting like a rider on a bolting horse.
"Balfour!" He suddenly cried, as if back with them, "Yes, Balfour, wonderful, dragons! Dragons!"

A little boy with a bright purple rash was milling around nearby, grasping a cuddly toy dragon to his chest. He looked up at Johann's exclamation of dragons, recognising the word, but even he was not safe from the bright blue vomit… There were noisy accusations, yells from the parents, a howl from the child who moved too late… Johann thrust out his arms trying to apologise, or so he thought. Outwardly it was more a violent flail towards the father who was already angry for the wait. All reminiscent of a time last November for an approaching figure.

"Hair!" Johann suddenly yelped, and pitched forward, vomiting luminous blue bile straight over Arcturus Hollingbury.

Perfect way to greet a friend.

Normally making potions and researching cures would have made him a happy cat, but the deaths on the floor had rattled his cage. Arcturus stared at the cauldron bubbling in front of him, hair dishevelled from running his hand through it, the solution inside a cloudy grey. The third failed experiment to find out what was going on, and his brain felt just as cloudy as the viscous liquid simmering in the black pot.

He turned the fire off and left it to cool as he sat down on a stool and ran his hands through his hair yet again. Why? What was going on with the floor, let alone the entire hospital?! He'd already been unfortunate enough to see the small bodies, before he'd found out what was going on. Two deaths. A third was being lost when he'd sprinted into the potion rooms with the blood he'd collected from one body. There would be more, and they were running out of time.

Arcturus covered his face with his hands. Had someone accidentally used the wrong batch of ingredients? Where was the source? But, more importantly, what could they do with at least identifying what had gone wrong? He felt lost, remembering the vow he took. The words seemed so empty now, sinking into some black bottomless sea and he with it.

Sitting here and staring at the cauldron will accomplish nothing.

The healer got to his feet, heart heavy, and stepped outside of the potions room. His colleagues were running about looking harassed and panicked. There was a commotion up ahead, some shouting filled with swear words that made Arcturus wince even through his depressive state of mind. He was glad to shift his attention to something else for the time being, although when he arrived on the scene that opinion changed very quickly.

"Sir, calm down, it'll be fine--" His colleagues were already trying to restrain the man. Arcturus gave the blue glowing-spattered child a weird look before turning around. For a moment his heart nearly stopped at the sight of both Balfour and Johann, and then his mind kicked him. What in the world was Johann doing? He stopped, bewildered, and stopped too long.

His world went blue, and warm, and sour. Arcturus' expression went from worried to blank.

After a moment - perhaps taking that moment to tell himself that yes, his friend had just been sick all over him - Arcturus wiped the vomit off his face and looked at the dripping bile on his hand. Vomit, not even the glowing variety, was not the worst thing he'd have thrown on him, but at least he could figure out something based on this. Free sample from a raving madman, perfect.

He retrieved his wand from his sleeve, as much as it pained him to get vomit all over it. "Accio bucket." The bucket flew across the ward, was deftly caught and held in front of Johann as the man retched again.

"Please tell me it was something he ate," he said to Balfour. "What happened? Get him to a bed, and hold this bucket for him, please. I need both my hands."

Balfour Spectre had never been so relieved to see a Healer in his life, and he'd nearly been ripped in two this time last year.

Glowing vomit everywhere. Everywhere. A bubble of hysterical laughter had been simmering in the wizard's chest ever since they had desecrated the elevator in Atreus but he had reined it in with little difficulty, sobered by Johann's obvious delirium. Seeing dead fathers was not a reassuring symptom, nor was the disjointed bounds of (il)logical exclamations falling from his partner's smeared blue lips as they'd been helped up to the third floor of the hospital.

He hadn't been able to stop himself from yelling Johann's name in reprimand when he chucked up all over a child. A bloody child! Probably a sick bloody child! And right after that a Heal--

Arcturus.

Balfour, a strong arm around Johann's waist and another clasped to his shoulder - amalgamation of supporting and restraining him - gaped at the other man for a second before clamping his mouth shut. The laughter was becoming a real threat, now. Better not to say anything until the feeling subsided. He took over the bucket with a flick of the wand, charming it into his lover's line of trajectory wordlessly. Balfour had to ignore the general commotion around them to collect his thoughts, shifting Johann's bag uncomfortably under his arm.

"It was something he took-" Balfour managed to cough out as he trickily kept pace with the lime green figure, headed down the hospital passageway towards the closest ward. "- it's in his bag. I don't know what." He had to talk through Johann's delirious interjections but by this point his attention was still reeling from the last few minutes of activity, from trying to connect what Joh had said in the flat to what was happening right now.

His phosphorous bed slippers slapped wetly against stone floors as they made it into the ward, Balfour going straight for the closest  empty bed. He didn't waste time being gentle in relinquishing Johann to it. "He was in pain, I think he's hallucinating. Saw Wolfgang on the way over." Balfour glanced at Arcturus worriedly.

"Hair, hair, hair, badger, hair…" Johann muttered between hurls into the bright orange bucket that floated before him. It shifted from a bucket to a rather fancy top hat and then back again as the other two spoke and they muddled along. Sometimes Johann's feet took paces forward a lot quicker than he wanted and then they forgot what order they were meant to move in again. It was not altogether a million miles away from how he'd staggered to bed against Balfour after celebrating Liam's birthday, only he'd been rather more loveable and coherent.

"It was something he took-"

"Marigolds are lovely, cream cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese! You know don't you? Cheese!" Internally, Johann was attempting to tell them both that it was in the log, that he was sorry for all of this with what wits he had left.

"-It's in his bag. I don't know what."

He landed awkwardly on the bed, the orange bucket bouncing off his face as it tried to interpret the new horizontal axis of Johann's body while not spilling the sick onto the hospital floor.
"Gerrof!" He protested at it with both arms, still wearing just his coat. His long bare feet were black from dirt and streaked with blue. The bucket bounced away, and came flying back, the delirious linguist was locked in a battle of man vs sick bucket, especially as it had turned into a bright orange tiger.
"Get it away from me!" He rolled over, attempting to get off the bed in the opposite direction to the one he'd arrived on to escape it.

Balfour's description and Johann's erratic behaviour sent Arcturus straight back into worry territory. Hallucinations? They'd not seen each other since the last appointment and already Johann was getting busy with dooming himself considering what happened last time?

"Dammit, Johann," he muttered under his breath, as the aforesaid man tried to escape from the bucket, then said louder to Balfour, "Wait a moment, please." He went around the other side of the bed and caught Johann around the chest in one arm. The bucket tried to squeeze its way between them; Arcturus shoved the bucket forcefully away and took the time it needed to right itself and catch all the spillage before it hit the floor to push him back onto the bed. Belts snaked up from beneath the bed and caught the man's wrists and ankles.

"Give me the bag and please help me to hold him down," he said rather curtly to Balfour. He was having memories from a year ago when he had to deal with the same thing, but he was certain that it wasn't withdrawal this time. Johann wouldn't have brought his log if it had been. "With a bit of time I can send for some Draught of P-- no, γαμώτο, that's not available to us right now. Excuse me."

With bag in hand, the healer rummaged around and found the book while Balfour did whatever he had to do, standing with his back to the scene. He flipped through the book quickly, his eyes searching for the info he needed, skimming the pages with Johann's writing in blue. Amongst the man's penned notes, he found what he needed.

"Somniculose," he muttered. "τι στον διάολο." Normally he wouldn't be swearing, but at this time he was stressed enough to even just start rattling off every Greek swear word he knew and it still wouldn't be enough to express how frustrated he was with everything right now. What did Somniculose have that was in common with the other patients' signs and symptoms? The glowing vomit was also present from anyone who'd taken Draught of Peace earlier...

Arcturus looked over his shoulder at Johann, his brow furrowed. It was not something they'd eaten, because Balfour was fine. Had to only be something Johann took, and now his body was throwing it out as much as possible. He beckoned two healers-in-training, who were standing nearby nervously and gawping a little, to him. "Get some water for this patient. Just water, nothing in it. Tell any healer to start working on isolating the ingredients of Draught of Peace, and--" He stopped, rummaged in the bag some more, and found what he was looking for, pulling out the bottle and giving it to one of them. "--this. If things start matching, we have a lead."

"Er, do which one first?" asked one of them.

"All of it." Arcturus turned away, and then looked back. "And someone bring a dressing gown, please."

He pointed his wand at Johann when he was finally within range. "Vomito confuto. Good, now we're not going to have a problem. However, we will find his hallucinations a problem to deal with - or rather, you," he addressed this to Balfour, "will, as I've dealt with this last year. I suppose he has yet to tell you? Or do you know? Either way, we have to stop him from hurting himself or anyone else in the ward, there's no space to isolate him right now like we did last time."

No sooner had he attempted to escape the orange bucket but it was gone and a familiar person hauled him back into place without a word. He undoubtedly looked a state, smears of blue vomit on his hands, feet and splattered on chin and coat. Had he been four and not thirty-four one might have thought he'd been eating some sort of ridiculous blue food. Instead he was quickly restrained before he could comprehend what was going on with the slim wits that remained. It was disorientating, along with the delirium, but at least the bucket was no longer banging at his face. Still, he pulled and tugged, trying to move against the new restraint.

"Down, down, down, down…" He repeated, bright blue eyes staring up at the ceiling without blinking. The cluster of glowing orbs that lit the ward were swimming around up there, changing to the jellyfish from Atreus. The swam across the ceiling, pearly white and rather serene.

"Balfour?" He spoke aloud in a calmer voice, gaze fixed middle distance. Johann wasn't quite sure where he was again, whether they were back home, or up in Edinburgh, but the jellyfish here were beautiful. He wasn't sure if Balfour could see. "Aren't they beautiful?" The moment of eloquence amongst it all was quickly ruined by another oncoming retch which although didn't come to fruition, made him involuntarily yank at his wrists as he tried to sit up.

"Vomito confuto." The feeling to be sick subsided instantly and Johann let out a gasp. His shoulders returned to the bed and his eyes half closed in expression of great relief, blue lips resting apart. For the moment he fell quiet between the other two wizards, panting gently. He was aware of people milling around him, the chink of glass, sound of material rustling. The jellyfish continued to swarm, though nobody else could see them.

The voices nearest to him belonged to the two closest people to him in terms of confidence. Arcturus was doing most of the talking, but they were not the hands that reached for him now. Someone slid a firm pillow beneath his head and shoulders while the other, carefully unbound his wrists as he was sat a little more upright. Somehow they wrestled off his coat, his hands and wrists grasped and released as the hospital dressing gown replaced it. Then they were pinned again. All the while he protested quietly, making little sense. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, idiot, idiot."

He felt like someone had just knocked the air right out of him.

The Healer's greek swearing passed right over Balfour's head as he instinctively went to keeping Johann in the ward bed, stuffing a pillow below the dark curls while his head raced alongside everything Arcturus was saying. And what was this Draught of Peace business? No, that was allowing himself to be distracted, that wasn't the problem here.

"He hasn't told me. Anything" Balfour finally recovered breath, terse, as one of the earlier trainees returned with a hospital gown and began undoing the restraints. "I know he was in here last year. That's it." The wizard pressed his lips together and decided not to say anything else - he leaned precariously against the bed, carefully pushing off the soiled coat and helping the trainee pull the gown on to that lanky frame. Christ. Johann looked terrible. A sickly mess, Odin knew what was holding him together.

If he had looked any healthier or more coherent, it might have been easier to feel angry.

And Balfour was very angry. He didn't even know when to begin. Perhaps with couldn't have mentioned your ex is your Healer? or why the fuck didn't you trust me enough to say you were having this problem? And what was this problem, exactly, that Arcturus knew well enough: down to the very contents of the bag? Had it been this bad the 'last time'? He felt like he was clumsily navigating the dark but it was a darkness into which someone he cared about had intentionally thrown him.

Johann, though continuing in his delirium, had calmed down some. Balfour sat at the edge of the bed and ran his hand along the side of that long neck - catching a smudge of glowing blue sick - and into the mess of curls. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, idiot, idiot." His lover mumbled and Balfour tightened his grip.

"You are," he agreed in a gentle voice before soothingly tousling the hair. "Idiot." Shit. His expression was tight with concern - he found that he could not look down at Johann's face without feeling wrought by either annoyance or pity, so his gaze shifted up towards Arcturus, with a countenance as steady as the sun. He'd need a cigarette after this. Or something stronger. The Spectres were good enough breeding for him not to lose his head in public.

Plenty of opportunity for that later when he's cleaning up the vomit at home.

"He was logging sleeping potions. He's addicted?" Balfour wasn't certain if Arc would be able to confirm it, considering confidentialities, but he didn't need a verbal response - only to say it out loud himself. "Don't answer that. Never mind." He breathed out slowly. "What is it that you need me to do right now? And what's the matter with him? Is it poison? Glowing vomit isn't... he said it wasn't normal, even for what he takes."

For a moment Balfour recalled the way Johann had said his name in the bathroom, flooded by genuine fear, and his heart foundered anxiously at the memory.

For a moment, when Balfour mentioned that Johann hadn't told him anything, Arcturus looked at him in surprise. He'd assumed Johann had told Balfour, considering they were together now. Sure, Arcturus had known about the problem - and dealt with it personally - beforehand, but it shouldn't have been any different.

The other feeling that sprouted little gloating tentacles was a thought of looks like Johann doesn't l-- but the one rational part of his mind stomped it underfoot like crushing a cockroach. Even he felt angry at himself for allowing that thought to spring up.

Though he did have half a mind to tell Balfour exactly what was going down with Johann, he refrained. It was Johann's sole responsibility, and he was staying out of it. More things were at stake here, including - he grimaced a little - people's lives. Children's lives. What time was it, even? He didn't want to look at the clock, no, he didn't want to answer that question at all. He just felt that the time he slept was very far away right now.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another patient being admitted to the ward. Another child. The healer closed his eyes for a moment to pull himself back together.

"Patients are reacting to specific remedies very badly," he said, hearing the weight in his voice as he opened his eyes. "By 'very badly', I mean that they've died. They were taken in for unrelated reasons and were present when they received our remedies, meaning that it's somewhere in...there. I don't know where. I haven't had the time to trace the source or match ingredients."

He looked down at Johann. "Seems the potion he took also had traces, somehow. With any luck, the concentration of dosage he's gotten isn't fatal, but I can't say. The best we can do now is let him throw up all of it, keep him hydrated and keep him bound because he might get violent with hallucinations. Two people up in Spell Damage showed the same symptoms and signs that he does. They were in fairly good health; as far as I know, Johann may not be in such a...a fortunate position as them, but without knowing the concentration..."

Blood check? He sighed.

"I'm going to take a sample of his blood, and then come back to you in maybe twenty minutes." Arcturus detached the case from his belt. "What you need to do is help keep an eye on him, restrain him . I hope you have enough sleep to wait it out. I can't guarantee we can find a cure tonight, or even for the next few days." His voice was getting more tired; Arcturus knew his exhaustion was showing, but he had little energy to hide it. "The blood might be able to tell me what to do next. Keep your fingers crossed."

Despite his tiredness his hands remained steady as he swiftly drew Johann's blood. Thank Merlin the man lay steady enough for him for the moment, though Arcturus silently (and guiltily) used his invented charm to make doubly sure that Johann wasn't going to make any sudden movements. It was already enough that the man was going through all of this, he did not need an additional gash in his arm. He immediately took the charm off as soon as he was done, again in silence and all in the space of about a minute.

Arcturus would have turned away then, but the sight of Balfour and himself made him stop. He gestured wordlessly to the wizard to stand up, only opening his mouth to mutter "Evanesco" at the visible splatters of the incandescent upchuck drying on Balfour's clothes. After doing the same to himself, he left Balfour to tend to Johann and do the tests in the office.

Usually the tests didn't take very long, but he also went to see the new addition to the ward they'd set aside for this problem. It had not gotten any better. Timothy Dale, five years old, had his mother's pesticides within reach and left unattended, mixed them together and tasted the mixture out of curiosity a few days ago. He had been getting better, and now he'd slipped into a deep sleep no healer could wake.

Arcturus would have gone into his office and hurled something breakable at the wall if the rational portion of his mind hadn't intervened with That's not going to wake him up. He didn't get that much of a dosage compared to the others due to minimal poisoning. Losing it won't help. Check your tests.

And he did. But before he returned to Balfour, he sat down in his office and took a moment to compose himself.

He was aware of the touch on his clammy skin and turned his head towards Balfour, eyes trying to focus on the reality of the wizard beside him and filter out the hallucinations. The familiar cadence of his voice, although not particularly comforting for the rhythms at that exact moment, were familiar and something to latch onto. He wanted very much to reach up and hold onto Balfour, or his clothes. His hands were bound either side of his waist, and when he tugged to do so, he strained against them, frustration growing.

In trying to explain his frustrations, he ranted a little of ladles, before descending into German, becoming even less coherent to the two wizards talking over the top of his babbling. He tried to sit up a little against the pressure of Balfour's hand, but felt the resistance and fell back against the pillow. Suddenly his left arm went dead. He turned as best he could to look at is and only saw a large badger. Much as he tried to move away from it, he couldn't move his arm at all.

All of a sudden the badger was gone and he could pull at his arm again. He looked about himself animatedly, as Arcturus cleaned up after everything. There was a figure standing at the end of this bed, arms tucked behind him, grey hair curling above a lined forehead. Brilliant, bright blue eyes beneath lowered eyebrows, stare unrelenting.
"Go away, leave me!" Johann moaned, the recognition and the way he slid from one hallucination to another like a rapid dream was nauseating. Had the charm from Arcturus not been in place, he would have brought up more bile right then. The figure was moving up on the right, Balfour's side of the bed, only he couldn't see Balfour for a moment, transfixed on the figure ascending towards the head of the bed, and the grip.
"Don't touch - don't touch - don't-!"

As suddenly as he had appeared, his father disappeared, and there was Balfour in his place. Of course Balfour. The auditory hallucinations were dwarfed by the visual ones but were there are a dull murmur beneath it all.
"Balfour. Balfour," So muddled and confused he began to sob quietly, so utterly frustrated at not being able to express himself with words coherently. Words were what he did, how he explained and communicated. Without them he was locked out, and so exhausted.

The touch of his lover despite his earlier protest not aimed at him, held him steady a moment.
"Don't - don't leave - I can't - I lo- I - I love you." Bright blue eyes stared up at Balfour without true focus on his face, and as such it was hard to tell where the words had come from or whether they were part of the incoherent ranting. A moment later Johann's eyes fluttered shut. Not sleeping, but trying to ride out the churning movement of the room around him.

People were dying from this?

Balfour absently and soothingly tousled his partner's curls as he stared at Arcturus, trying to quickly process the surge of information. Little details trickled to the back of his mind for a later hour - that the hospital itself might be hurting people - but the one that flooded to the forefront of his mind was the possibility of Johann not surviving this. No. This was too sudden. He couldn't just... couldn't just die. They'd only met. There were still things he wanted to do, wanted to say. Christ.

He chewed this over silently, barely paying attention to the Healer as blood was quickly taken. Arc had been surprised to see that Johann hadn't told him anything. What did that mean? Did Johann talk about them to him? Why hadn't he said something? Balfour quietly thanked Arcturus for the clean up; his feet suddenly dry of the viscous wetness of glowing sick seeping into the material. Twenty minutes.

They were in a ward - others were busily and calmly going about their tasks - but somehow he felt like he'd been left all alone with Johann. "Balfour, Balfour." The wizard looked down, placing a hand on Johann's chest and rubbing it rhythmically. His heart pulled, tugged him lower to softly press his lips against the sickly brow. He couldn't stand the way Johann said his name. It split him, equal parts of calm and wildness. It made him weak with feeling.

The anger in his chest sunk away for now, a match in the tide. It was impossible to be angry.

"Johann." Balfour said softly, staring intensely in response to the sobs, wishing he could do something. He slid his hand up and tried to wipe away what tears he could catch. There was a reprieve. And then-- "Don't - don't leave - I can't - I lo- I - I love you." The look on Johann's face was open, lost in the delirium.

It didn't make the words any less easier to be maimed by. Balfour felt them in his gut; a maelstrom of doubt, of fear. Fear that he didn't mean as much to Johann as Johann did to him. Doubt of his own faith in the other man. And a keen sense of something delighted shifting beneath it all, threatening to show itself.

He smiled darkly, fingers still grasping Johann's hair, and lowered his voice to a rough whisper.

"It's alright. You can weather this." Balfour sat up and released his hold with care. "I'm not going anywhere." And as he said it, he knew it was a truth. He wondered, to  return the sentiment or not, but left it to simmer in his chest. When this hellish night ended - perhaps he might slip out that memory. Play it over in his mind. I love you.  I love you. Right now that would have to wait.

Balfour had to be present for this, not losing himself to extremes.. He looked over the bed and singled out the book that Arcturus had taken from Johann's bag. A twitch of the wand brought it over to him, and he spared his bedmate another glance as he took one of the restrained hands. Thumb running slow, relaxing circles over the pale knuckles. Balfour opened the book with his spare hand, balanced it on his pointed knee precariously. There must be more in here that could tell him about what Johann was going through.

He opened it to the closest day in memory that he could accurately recall - morbid with curiosity, hungry for the pain of knowing what must have been skilfully hidden from him. Balfour read.

Arcturus did not go straight to Johann's bed when he emerged; rather, he dropped by little Timmy's bed instead. His family was there, mother in tears, father looking angry but was at least composed. Earlier on someone's parents had shouted at the healers on the floor for not having answers. Sometimes the healer just wanted to forcefully remind them that the healers here were only human as well. Not everything they knew. If they did, they probably wouldn't be working here.

Timmy Dale was just barely hovering. Arcturus could only wish his family luck before hurrying away. Admittedly the boy was one of Arcturus' patients and of course the healer had a soft spot for him, but in general he believed that children didn't need to suffer that way. Learn what death was, sure. Not experience being close to it.

He reached Johann's bed after quick visits to the other patients to check on how they were doing. Some of them were near death, and the other healers were struggling to keep them in the world of the living. Arcturus had left them quickly before the full impact of that could hit, but the creeping, lurking darkness waiting, a curtain of dread, would fall later. He knew. He'd lived with it long enough to know when it would shake his core.

"Well, I have some...better news," he said as he approached Johann's bed. Balfour was reading the log, but the man's attention snapped to him. Arcturus wasn't bothered about Balfour reading the log - he was now of the opinion that since Johann had told Balfour nothing, it was on them now. "The concentration of the ingredients in the Somniculose is not as high as the potions available here, which means he'll recover. He is in good health," barely, "and most of our victims are children and the elderly.

"On the other hand, he'll be having to vomit as much as he can tonight, and then the rest of it is waiting for him to excrete whatever remains in his blood. That part is responsible for giving him the hallucinations, and as long as it circulates in his body he'll continue to have those hallucinations." Arcturus looked down at the barely coherent man lying on the bed. "I'll give him twenty-four hours, and then we'll go from there.

"Other than that, I am afraid I can't do anything more for him." Arcturus' voice was uncharacteristically heavy. "I can teach you the Vomit Inducing and Vomit Suppression charms, because I really have other places to be at the moment, but only if you consent to. Otherwise I'll take over and periodically check on him. If you need to go home and sleep, I can do it." He gave Johann a worried look. "It's your choice."