Jon groaned as he slowly came back to awareness. His limbs felt heavy and there was a sharp smell in the air that immediately told him he was in the infirmary. Cautiously, he twitched his fingers, and when that didn't result in any sort of negative feedback, he closed his hands into fists a couple of times. Once he was sure his arms were in decent enough shape, he wiggled his toes and rolled his ankles.
So far so good.
Feeling adventurous since nothing was screaming at him, he blinked his eyes open and sighed softly at the sight of a familiar ceiling. He was really hoping he'd been wrong about being in the infirmary. Turning his head to the side, he spotted the familiar auburn mop that was Robb's hair resting on the bed by his head.
Not good. That meant Robb hadn't felt comfortable leaving him alone and had stayed with him long enough that he'd fallen asleep. Jon gingerly pushed himself up just enough to take a sweeping look around the infirmary and, sure enough, no Tormund.
Not. Good.
With a soft groan he let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes, willing the sudden nausea and headache away. Familiar fingers pushed his hair back and away from his forehead and he hummed contentedly.
"Good to see you awake," Robb said as calloused fingers slowly pressed down on Jon's forehead. He couldn't have stopped the sigh of relief if he'd tried. "Better?"
Jon hummed. They were silent for a few minutes as Robb continued to apply pressure on various points throughout Jon's head and face. Finally, Jon managed to crack an eye open and looked over at his cousin.
"What happened?" he rasped.
Robb frowned and handed him a glass of water. "Robert Baratheon happened."
Jon sighed as he took the glass and sipped it carefully. "DADA?"
"What’s the last thing you remember?"
Jon closed his eyes, thinking back. He remembered getting up earlier that morning (or what he assumed was that morning, for all he knew he'd been unconscious for hours and it was already the next day), Tormund snuggled close behind him. He remembered going to breakfast and Ygritte throwing pieces of bread at him from across the table and Yara making gagging noises as Tormund kept adding food to his plate. They'd had double Charms lesson, and then… lunch?
"Did we have lunch right after Charms?" he asked, a little skeptical.
Robb's frown deepened. "No. We had Herbology and then lunch."
"Oh." Jon could feel himself shrinking and looking around the room. "Where's Tormund?"
"Pycelle kicked him out a few hours ago. He almost put up a fight but he was afraid to wake you," Robb explained as he reached forward and started running his hand through Jon's hair again. "Hey, it's okay if you don't remember. You took a hell of a knock to the head."
Jon could feel the nausea trying to make a come back and closed his eyes again, letting himself drift for a few minutes as he concentrated on the feeling of blunt fingernails scratching his scalp.
"What happened, Robb?" he finally asked, eyes still closed.
He heard Robb sigh softly. "We had DADA after lunch. Baratheon was teaching us how to counter non-verbal spells."
"I can see where this is going," Jon mumbled, and grunted when Robb pulled on a lock of hair.
"That's what you said when he called you to the front of the class for a demonstration."
"Let me guess. He used Flipendo or Everte Statum?"
"Probably Everte. You didn't cast a shield in time and you went flipping back. Except…" Robb paused.
Jon waited a few seconds and cracked an eye open when he didn't continue. Blue eyes were staring blankly at the hand that was still absentmindedly petting his hair, brows and lips pulled down into a frown. Jon reached a hand up and laced his fingers with his cousin's, squeezing tightly until he focused back on him.
"Except?"
"The curse was too strong. You hit the wall on the other side of the room, head first. There was this… crack," Robb said, his voice breaking on the last word. "You…" He paused and swallowed, taking a deep breath to collect himself. "You just sort of… crumbled to the ground." Robb paused again and Jon squeezed his fingers and held them tightly. "There was so much blood."
"Robb," Jon whispered, throat dry at what his cousin was describing.
"Tormund lost it. I mean, lost it. Got right up into Baratheon's face and started screaming bloody murder. Dany was the first to get to you and she started casting some sort… I don't know… suspension spell? It made the bleeding, like, stop? Sort of… I’m not really sure. We were afraid to move you but we… Your skull was…" Robb turned an unhealthy mix of bone white and green beneath his freckles. "We could see your brain," he whispered.
Jon could feel the nausea roaring back and his blood draining from his face. He turned over the side of the bed and threw up, choking on the dry heaves and gasping from the snot running down his throat.
"Fuck! Jon!" Robb shouted, and Jon felt fingers squeezing his shoulders and pulling his hair back. "You're okay. Breathe."
"Mr. Stark," an elderly voice scolded from the end of the room as Pycelle made his way to them, waving his wand to clear away the vomit from the floor. "What did I say about exciting Mr. Snow?"
"I wouldn't call it 'exciting' Maester Pycelle," Jon mumbled as he slumped back in the bed. He accepted the damp cloth Robb handed him and wiped his face. "How long…"
"Three days," Robb croaked.
“Three--” Jon gagged and bent over the basin Robb thrust into his arms, dry heaving painfully for a few seconds before spitting out some saliva and bile. “Water?” he croaked, and took the proffered cup.
He used the first couple of sips to rinse out his mouth into the basin and then swallowed the next couple. Robb gently took hold of the basin and cup, and Jon fell back against the pillows bonelessly. He felt utterly drained and didn’t even have the energy to flinch back from Pycelle as he ran his wand over him. A soft wind blew over him and he hummed in contentment, feeling infinitely cleaner and better for it.
“Well, Mr. Snow. Another night and I think it will be safe for you to return to your dormitory,” the old healer pronounced.
"Okay," Jon whispered as his eyes closed. He could feel consciousness slowly slipping away and the voices around him fading.
The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the soft glow of the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. He blinked them a couple of times to clear away the fuzz and blurriness, and groaned when a spike of pain shot through his head.
"Here," someone said as a glass of clear liquid was thrust into his face. "Maester Pycelle said you should drink it when you woke up."
"What is it?" Jon asked, even as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and took the glass. He sniffed it cautiously and looked at Arya as she laughed at him.
"It's just water. He said you might be dehydrated."
Jon took a few cautious sips before downing half the glass; he hadn't realized how thirsty he was. But even that much water was enough to bring back a low level nausea, and he handed the rest of it back to his cousin. She placed the glass down and sat on the bed by his hip. Without having to ask, Jon shuffled to the side as Arya took off her shoes and swung her legs up so she could tuck herself next to him, one arm thrown over his chest as she looked up at him.
"Robb said you woke up earlier." Jon nodded. "How much do you remember?"
"He didn't tell you?"
"I meant of your talk with him."
"Oh. Hm, most of it? Things get a little fuzzy after he told me I'd been…"
"Unconscious? In a coma? Take your pick," she said, voice dripping venom at her own descriptions.
"Aye, that," Jon mumbled.
"That's about when he said you fell back asleep."
A comfortable silence settled between them as Jon absentmindedly ran his hand up and down Arya's back. Minutes passed until Arya shuffled in his arms and he looked down at the mop of brown hair tucked into his chest.
"You should tell Father," she said, voice clear and matter of fact.
Jon sighed and let go of his loose embrace on his cousin. "No."
Arya shot up and turned around until she was sitting cross legged on the bed facing him. "Why not? This is the fourth time he's put you in the infirmary from a 'demonstration' spell!" she complained, her brows furrowed into deep frown lines. "Why won't you say anything?"
Jon pushed himself up into a sitting position and reclined back onto the pillows. "You really think the headmaster would care that I'm laid up in the infirmary?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Father would care," she shot back.
"I know he would. But what could he do? Complain to the headmaster who hates me? Complain to the Board of Directors that's currently controlled by Cersei Lannister, who ‘s married to Baratheon and hates Father?"
Arya was silent, worrying her bottom lip for a few seconds before shrugging. "He could try talking some sense into him," she finally grumbled.
Jon huffed out a soft laugh. "I'm disappointed you don't think Uncle Ned hasn't been trying for the last 16 years. Robert Baratheon is nothing if not an utterly stubborn man with a mile wide grudge."
"It's not even your fault!" Arya exclaimed as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Jon shrugged. "Sins of the son."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. It's not your fault Aunt Lyanna decided to marry Uncle Raeghar instead of that arse."
Jon smiled and ruffled her hair, laughing when she let out a squawk of indignation. "Thanks."
Arya smiled. "Don’t tell Robb, but you’re my favorite."
“Don’t tell Robb, but so are you,” Jon grinned back and winked.
A high pitched squeal from across the room made the two of them startle and Jon had just enough time to catch a glimpse of long red hair before he was tackled back onto the bed.
“Jon! You’re awake!”
“Hi Sansa,” Jon croaked as his cousin squeezed his ribs tightly.
Sansa pulled back and moved her hands to his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length as she ran an assessing eye over him. “Well, you’re looking much better than the last time I saw you.”
“Thanks, I guess...”
“I don’t ever want to see Professor Lannister levitating you again,” Sansa replied as she swatted him on the shoulder.
Jon flinched back and raised both eyebrows as he smoothed a hand over his shoulder. “What?” he said dumbly.
“Robb didn’t tell you?” Sansa asked disapprovingly. “He told me he told you what happened.”
“I mean,” Jon started, looking to Arya for help. She stared back impassively. “He told me what happened in the classroom. Not anything… after.”
“That liar,” Sansa huffed, crossing her arms.
“To be fair, I fell asleep after I… well…”
“Had a panic attack?” Arya asked and Jon flinched again, his cheeks flushing. “That’s what it sounded like when he described it.”
“I guess,” Jon mumbled.
“Well, who can blame you?” Sansa asked. “I thought I was going to have a panic attack when I saw you.”
“When you saw me here?”
“No, Jon. I was across the hall having a History of Magic lecture when we heard the shouting. Professor Lannister started complaining about it when it didn’t stop and he threw the door wide open. I won’t repeat what Tormund was yelling at Professor Baratheon, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that scared.”
“Robb said he got into Baratheon’s face.”
Sansa scoffed. “That’s putting it mildly. I’m amazed he hasn’t been expelled for the things he said. Professor Lannister marched in there and he just… Stopped. And then he started shouting profanities too! So of course everyone in my class tried to crowd into your class and that’s when I saw you. Dany was crouched beside you muttering spells and Robb was holding your head in his hands, and both of them were covered in your blood.”
Sansa stopped for a moment and Arya placed a hand on hers, squeezing it tight. Sansa took a deep breath and smiled at her sister.
“Professor Lannister rushed to you and started demanding what happened. And after that, he started to mutter spells, one after the other. And then he levitated you and rushed you down to the infirmary. When we got here, Ygritte was already here and Maester Pycelle had already gotten a bed ready. After that, Tormund, Robb, Ygritte, and I were kicked out and they wouldn’t let us back in until well after dinner.”
“Oh,” Jon exhaled softly as he stared at his cousins’ somber faces.
“You should tell Father,” Sansa said seriously, her blue eyes piercing Jon’s dark grey ones.
He looked at Arya but the Slytherin girl was resolutely staring at his bedsheets, her fingers tightening and pulling at the fabric. He sighed and looked down at his own hands. “No.”
“Yes, I thought you’d be stubborn about it and say that. Sadly for you,” Sansa continued as she stared him down, “I took the liberty to owl him as soon as Maester Pycelle said you’d be fine. He’s made some arrangements and should be here by tomorrow morning.”
“Sansa!” Jon chastised her but she looked completely unrepentant.
“I’m disappointed you don’t think Father would stand up for you,” Sansa said, echoing his words to Arya.
Jon flushed lightly. “Thank you.”
“On that note, I think it’s time for Arya and me to make our departure,” Sansa announced and Jon frowned at her.
He opened his mouth to ask why but stopped when he spotted the man standing by the entrance to the infirmary. Wild red hair shone copper in the dying light of the late afternoon and icy blue eyes held him frozen in place as he locked his gaze with him.
“Tormund,” he whispered, unconsciously raising his hand.
In a flash, Tormund was sitting by his side and pulling him against his broad chest. He didn’t even notice as his cousins made their exit, too busy burying his nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. He could feel the tension in his shoulders loosening and closed his eyes as strong fingers buried themselves into his hair.
“My little crow,” Tormund sighed as he pulled the two of them down.
“I’ve missed you,” Jon whined as he threw an arm over a broad chest. “Where have you been?”
Tormund grunted and let out a soft laugh. “Detention.”
Jon looked up and Tormund laughed at his clearly puzzled look. “It’s a small price to pay considering the things I yelled at that brute. Besides, it’s with Tyrion, so it’s not so bad. I’m just reorganizing his library without magic.”
“Tyrion?”
“He sends his best wishes. You should have seen his face when he barged into the classroom and saw you on the floor. Not every professor in this bloody school hates you, you know.”
“I guess,” Jon shrugged and tried to snuggle closer. Tormund laughed and pulled him so he was half laying on top of him. Jon hummed contently and yawned. “Urgh, why am I still so tired? I slept for like, three days.”
Tormund carded blunt fingernails through inky black hair and smiled as Jon went nearly boneless. “No, you were unconscious for three days. You’ve only really slept for a few hours. Go back to sleep, Jon,” he encouraged as he leaned down and kissed him softly on his crown. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”
“Okay,” Jon mumbled and was asleep before he knew it.