Just a cute (hopefully) little oneshot sick fic. Warning: there is vomiting.

Dipper woke up one morning feeling like he'd swallowed a dead frog.

Not that he knew for sure the difference between swallowing a dead frog and swallowing a living one, because he'd never done either, but he'd bet this was what the aftermath of swallowing a dead one felt like.

His head seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, and throbbed as he sat up in bed. His eyes stung every time he blinked, his arms and legs trembled as he sat up, and when he managed to catch the scent of breakfast cooking downstairs, his stomach churned with nausea.

Mabel was at either Candy or Grenda's house for a sleepover, he forgot which. After the incident with the carpet, they'd come to a few ground rules: Dipper would try to do his summer reading more quietly and do his laundry more often, and in return Mabel would a) let him know in advance that she was planning a sleepover, or else go to her friends' houses, and b) try not to totally destroy the room if they did come to the Shack.

In a way, this was a relief right now; he needed to have a peaceful day, and with the way they partied she'd probably be in bed until ten. Maybe if he was lucky he could get a few extra-

"DIPPER! Come and get it before it gets cold!"

With a small groan Dipper forced himself out of bed and made his way downstairs.

He managed to get a few bites of breakfast in, surreptitiously feeding the rest to Waddles.

Then he went back upstairs to get dressed and ready for work.

If Grunkle Stan noticed that he seemed more sluggish than usual, he didn't comment on it. Surprising, that; Dipper was sure he'd be ragging on him for being lazy when they had customers to sucker, or whatever. But he seemed lost in thought about something today, barely sparing a moment to remind Dipper that it was his turn to clean the windows in the gift shop.

That suited the boy just fine. He was sure Stan would tell him that sickness was for wimps or whatever if he realized he was under the weather, and he didn't want to deal with that right now.

For a while, things were fine.

Well, not fine, exactly, Dipper still felt completely lousy, but it was somewhat manageable. But soon enough, the smell of cleaning spray began making his nausea worse, and he had to stop and lean his head against the windowsill for a few minutes, feeling sweat dripping into his bangs and trying to breathe through his teeth.

Just a few more minutes, he told himself. Just finish the windows, and then go find somewhere to lie down before Stan-

"Hey, no sleeping on the job!"

The familiar tap of a newspaper lightly clipping the back of his head had Dipper forcing himself to straighten and lift the rag and spray bottle.

He gritted his teeth.

Just a few more minutes…

A few minutes later, though, Stan was telling him to dust and polish a few of the exhibits, and then to put up some fake cobwebs on the ceiling to enhance the creepiness of the rooms, and then-

But then some tourists showed up, and Stan rushed off to show them "attractions, the likes of which the world has never before seen," allowing Dipper to slow his working pace a little. He slumped back against the wall with a groan, pulling his hat down over his eyes. Everything was too bright, and his head was starting to throb-

His stomach lurched again, more violently than before; the kind of lurch that said emphatically, "Reversing gears!"

Dipper tried to swallow it down again, but this time it would not be denied. He collapsed onto his knees, emptying out his stomach all over the floor.

Dipper didn't know how his tiny body could hold so much stuff, especially when he'd barely eaten a thing all morning, but there it was.

Eventually he made it to just dry heaves, and tried to straighten up so he wouldn't land in his own puke. Great; his stomach felt a little better, but now he had another mess to clean up before Grunkle Stan-

A pair of very familiar brown loafers was standing in the doorway.

Dipper groaned, and his gaze fell back to his mess.

I'll clean it up, Grunkle Stan, don't worry.

Before he could say the words, however, Stan spoke first.

"Aw geez, kid."

The tone was...surprisingly more sympathetic than he'd been expecting.

So were the warm hands that out of the blue were under his arms, lifting him and carrying him to the bathroom, allowing him to rinse his mouth out with some water and then using a damp washcloth to clean his face; so was the thermometer that was placed under his tongue, and the declaration that his temperature wasn't that high, but high enough that he could probably take a day off; so was the clean shirt he was helped into before being tucked back into bed, with a bowl placed next to it just in case, followed by the promise of being checked on further as soon as Stan got rid of this group of suckers, and an admonishment to try getting some sleep, wouldya ya little nocturnal gremlin?

Dipper was bewildered...but in a pleased way.

Maybe he was more to his grunkle than just cheap labor after all.

Of course you are, Dipper!

I figure that Stan's still hung up over finding Ford's glasses in the secret room and stuff, and that's why he doesn't realize Dipper's sick at first.

Any questions?