Dimentio skipped lunch the next day, though it was not intentional. He simply forgot to eat while doing all the research he possibly could. Not that he cared all that much. Back at Castle Bleck, lunch was hardly ever served. Plus he could eat an extra big dinner to make up for the missing meal. The only thing that concerned him about missing the meal was the fact that Mario or Luigi might have found it somewhat suspicious. He WAS spending quite a lot of time hiding away in his room just reading.

He still wasn't getting too far along the lines of finding a way to stop his seemingly inevitable fate, but he tried not to lose too much hope. He was still early on in the project. There was a world's worth of information out there, and he had only just dipped his toe into the pool of knowledge.

What he really needed was to stay focused and not lose hope or faith. Isn't that what all the heroes did when focusing on an end goal? Stay hopeful and stay determined. Even if it seemed idiotic at times, it seemed to work pretty well for those good guys. If he were to lose hope, he'd lose everything.

So he stayed hopeful. Or at least tried to, until dinner came that night.

Just to be clear, there was nothing wrong with the meal. He checked multiple times, being sure to ask for all the ingredients used when making it. (not that it mattered. He had no real allergies and though he avoided meat, for the most part, it would never actually make him sick.) The food also was fully cooked. It had been properly stored before the meal and everything. There was literally nothing wrong with it!

However, something still felt off. He was only able to get through the bread roll appetizers before he felt a sinking sensation within. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it. He had been sick before during his lifetime, as have many people, but it's hard to remember how one feels while the sickness is taking hold.

He suddenly felt very... horrible. That was the only word he could think to describe the feeling.

It was the only word he could think of period!

While his mind was somewhat peaceful less than a moment ago, it was now screaming at him, telling him that he needed to do something, anything to make the horrible feeling go away!

He had been feeling better for quite a few days. He was almost convinced that some miracle had happened and that he had been healed somehow, so the fact that he was suddenly hit with this wave of pain felt like he was being shoved to the ground by two strong hands.

He didn't know what to do, so he just sat at the table, staring at the food that had been placed in front of him, far too afraid to even think about taking a bite. The thought of ever eating anything ever again made him want to throw up.

Even though he had hardly eaten that day, he had never felt so full.

"Dimentio?"

The voice sounded like it was underwater. He couldn't tell who it came from. Logically, the voice should have belonged to Mario or Luigi, but his brain was far too busy screaming about how horrible he was feeling for him to register that.

"Dimentio?"

The same voice again... Dimentio wasn't sure if someone was actually talking to him, or if it was all in his mind. The voice sounded so far away, that it very well could have been imaginary. He truly could not tell.

"I... I'm gonna go to sleep...." He breathed, shocked by how exhausted he felt after simply saying a few words. He felt as if he ran a mile. He could tell that whoever else was at the table, (he didn't even know anymore) was saying something, but he couldn't tell what. It just sounded like distant babbling.

He could hardly feel his own movement as he stood up and turned away. It almost felt ghost-like. His head felt way lighter than usual, however at the same time his limbs felt oddly heavy. His movements were slightly sluggish and his steps were uneven.

He noticed, but couldn't seem to correct his errors.

As he walked back, his ankles felt as if weights had been tied to them. His feet dragged and the simple step took way more effort than he predicted. He had never missed his ability to teleport so much. On top of that, it felt like the whole world was tilting to the left, then to the right, then back to the left. He grasped the railing tightly when he got to the stairs, pushing himself up them as quickly as possible.

I have to get to my bed. Everything will be better once I get back to my bed, he silently told himself, his own voice slithering through all the screams of pain in his mind like a nail scraping across a chalkboard.

By the time he got to the hall and his room was in sight, his whole body began to shake. It looked as if someone turned the whole world's brightness down. There were black spots cutting through his vision, each getting bigger and bigger. His whole body burned, but he couldn't tell if he was freezing or overheating. He stumbled to the left, leaning on the wall for support and telling himself that he just needed to make it to his room. Everything would be okay once he made it to his room.

The burning sensation within his chest worsened. He felt it all over, but that's where the pain seemed to originate. Right in the center of his chest, below his throat.

It was hard to even think at all anymore. He couldn't recall any memories or any feelings other than the pain he was currently in. There was only pain. Everything around him felt distant and unreal. He wasn't sure if he was even awake, or if this was all perhaps some sort of horrible dream.

Everything seemed to go blank for a moment as if time paused.

Then, he finally registered a sturdy arm on his shoulder. He didn't feel the touch as it initially happened, so he had no idea how long this person's hand had been there.

There was a voice, getting louder and more clear, repeating itself until he could finally recognize the words being said.

"Dimentio. Are you okay?"

The words weren't laced with worry like Dimentio expected them to be. They were spoken slowly and clearly as if whoever the voice belonged to was trying to make their voice as understandable as possible.

Dimentio's vision was too darkened for him to truly see which brother had come to his aid. He would have assumed it was Luigi since Mario refused to even look him in the eye, however, the lack of fear and concern in the voice made him wonder if it might have actually been the man in red.

It didn't matter either way. All that mattered was finding a way to make the horrible feeling vanish.

He blinked a few times, hoping his vision would improve. It didn't, so he settled for leaning his head against the wall. His skin still felt incredibly hot, yet cold at the same time. He could feel a thin layer of sweat covering his neck and forehead. He would have been embarrassed about appearing so weak, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. His mind was too busy screaming about how he needed to find a way to stop the pain.

"Here, let's just sit down, okay?" The voice asked, taking a firm hold on both of Dimentio's shoulders and slowly helping Dimentio to the ground. Dimentio nodded, then coughed a few times, feeling that burning sensation in his chest somehow grow worse.

"Did... did I pass out?" Dimentio quietly asked, somewhat shocked by how far away his own voice sounded.

"No," the voice assured him. Dimentio wasn't sure if this made him feel better or worse. If anything, it made him feel confused. He DID black out for a moment, even though he was still standing. It FELT as if he had passed out.

His mind was telling him so many things, it was hard to keep track. He was even more confused when a plastic bag was placed in his hands. He felt whoever was helping him shift next to him, gently patting his back, with a hint of awkwardness.

"It's okay," the voice assured. "Everything's okay."

Dimentio doubted that, but somehow the words made him feel better.

Even so, it turned out things were not okay, and Dimentio could see why he was so generously gifted the plastic bag. He found himself leaning over it, coughing and throwing up only a short moment later. He hated the burning sensation and the utter humiliation that came with the moment. His entire body shivered and his mind was screaming so loudly that he wished it could just shut off. He couldn't even tell what his mind was telling him. Everything was just so loud, yet muffled. He hated it.

But after a moment, the pain slowly subsided. He coughed a few more times, then blinked and twisted the bag closed, not wanting to look at, smell, or even think about what just happened.

"Luigi went to get some medicine," the voice said, confirming that this was in fact, Mario. Dimentio wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

Mario's voice cut him off before he could decide. "I thought we should have taken you to the doctors, but Luigi argued that you probably wouldn't want to go since you've been being cautious about who does and doesn't know you're here. Did he make the right choice?"

Dimentio nodded, being silently grateful for the fact that Luigi didn't turn him in for a reason as ridiculous as this.

"I'm f-"

"You're not fine," Mario interrupted. "I don't know who you're trying to fool. Maybe yourself. But you're not fine. But it's okay. It's okay not to be fine, you know? I think you just need to get rest."

Rest...

Rest sounded good.

Dimentio was honestly just so relieved that Mario wasn't questioning how or why he was so sick all of the sudden. He was 90% sure Mario was passing this off as the common flu or something of the sort.

Mario helped him up and to his room, then left, deeming his work done. Dimentio debated thanking him for the help but decided against it since he and Mario weren't exactly close, and he felt thanking him would only make things awkward. It was far easier to be silent.

Maybe he'd find the courage to thank him later.

_______

Sleep didn't come, no matter how exhausted Dimentio was. He desperately wanted sleep to take over, he wanted the darkness to take him to a peaceful place, but that comfort never found him.

He spent what he could guess was one hour lying in his bed on his side, softly crying and whimpering as the horrible burning feeling from before came in waves. He moved the waste basket closer to his bed, just in case he would throw up again.

Which he did about ten minutes later. After that, the feeling subsided again. He truly thought he was better, and tried to actually more sleep.

But he wasn't better. Instead, about fifteen minutes later he found himself rushing to the bathroom to throw up some more. He wasn't sure how his body managed to scrape together anything to throw up, since he had eaten so little, but somehow it did.

After that, he returned to his bedroom for another twenty minutes, before rushing back to the bathroom. After throwing up another time, he decided to save himself another trip and just take a blanket into the bathroom to save all the hassle of making trips back and forth.

As he lay down on the bathroom floor, the cool tile felt nice.

He threw up another four times that night, each time feeling a horrible burning sensation within his lungs. He prayed that he didn't wake anyone else. No one came to check on him, so he was pretty sure he was safe.

Even so, he continued throwing up until he was certain there wasn't a single thing left in his stomach.

A small voice in his mind told him this was it. He was dying. This was the end, and his body would keep rejecting any food or water it consumed.

He was scared.

He was scared, and he felt alone.

Nothing about this felt okay.