Can someone turn me into wood.

"And they call me dramatic!" Stan laughed as he threw the last blanket over his brother's shivering body. Ford grunted as it fell on him.

"Y-y-yes, Stanley. Th-th-they do," Ford quipped, his voice rasping. If he wasn't sick, perhaps it would have sounded snarky, but for the most part, it merely made Ford seem even more pathetic than before. He rolled over in bed, coughing as he moved.

"Your throat sounds like it's gotten worse," Stan stated, his eye's lined with worry. Walking back toward the door, Stan nodded to the lump of blankets behind him. "I'll be back with some tea or somethin'. Sound good?"

"Mmm." Ford's hum was quiet, but Stan heard it just fine. He huffed, shaking his head. Ford never took well to illness. {Some people, like Stan, could just power through it, even get themselves to work harder. Ford was not one of those people. However, in Ford's defense, Stan was eighty percent sure he had Strep throat and even Stan didn't feel like existing whenever he had Strep.}

He moved down the hallway quietly, almost on his tiptoes. It wasn't late, in fact, it was almost noon, but their parents didn't tolerate much noise, especially while they were working. He made it to the kitchen doorway, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He got to work, putting the kettle on the stove. Both Ford and him had gotten sick enough in the last seventeen years, that Stan knew what he was supposed to do, even if he had never done it before.

Can't be that hard, right?

It didn't take long for the water to boil and he shut off the stove before the whistle could reach his parent's ears. He poured the tea, adding a generous dollop of honey, wrapping it with a cloth. The mug was hot to the touch, steam hitting Stan in the face. He carefully maneuvered himself and the tea back into their bedroom, only stopping to curse once as a drop hit his bare foot.

"Stan...?"

"Yeah Sixer, it's ya good ole Stan the man. Didja miss me?" Stan asked, smirking when Ford began to laugh.

"Sta-Stan! don't make me-" Ford coughed, eyes clenched as they began to water. "Laugh." He finished.

Snickering, Stan set the mug on his nightstand, right beside where Ford's glasses sat. For convenience, Stan let Ford have his bed. This meant that Stan would be sleeping on the top bunk tonight, but he preferred to worry about that later when it was more pertinent.

Ford groaned, turning toward the mug, one eye open to stare at it.

"What are you doin', bro? It ain't gonna start flying. Probably." Stan said, glancing between Ford and the mug. Ford sighed, slumping further into the mattress.

"Contemplating." He whispered. Stan was sure Ford hadn't meant to whisper, but that's what a sore throat did to you. Stan nodded in understanding.

"C'mon. I'll help ya." Stan sat on the edge of the bed, slumping so as to not hit his head. He grabbed Ford's hand, pulling him up. Ford coughed as Stan threw another pillow behind Ford's head. "Better?" He asked, pulling the blankets up to Ford's shoulders. Ford grunted.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." Stan picked up the steaming mug and brought close to Ford's hands. "Ya think you can hold it," Stan teased, "Or do I gotta spoon feed ya?"

"Haha very funny." Ford sniffed, taking the mug into trembling, six-fingered hands. Stan slowly let go of it, smiling when Ford managed to keep it steady.

"I know, right? I'm hilarious!" He continued, trying to keep Ford distracted long enough to actually swallow something.

"Hey, Sixer? Remember when we found that sewer? And we thought the Jersey Devil was using it as it's secret lair?" Stan grinned, his eyes bright. He internally celebrated when Ford shifted forward in interest.

"Yeah, that was back...when we were what? Seven? Ten? I don't remember. But I could'a sworn we were onto somethin'..." Stan continued the story, embellishing it and adding details that Ford knew definitely didn't happen. A good example would be the four-foot rats. Even so, it was captivating. They were only halfway through the tale when Ford set aside the mug, having emptied it. He noted it but didn't stop talking, watching as Ford's breathing evened out toward the end of the story. Ford had fallen asleep.

Stan's smile fell and he ruffled his brother's hair, feeling his forehead at the same time. Ford still had a fever. He got up and stretched. He needed to get a cold rag for Ford's head and then maybe something to eat. Soup, maybe.

Back to the kitchen, I guess.

...

Hanging up the phone, Gigi got up. She'd had more phone calls than usual that day, which in her opinion, was the universe screwing her over. Her child was sick in bed and she was stuck giving other people what they wanted. Not an ideal situation.

Fortunately, her work hours were over, and she cut off the last customer, dropping the phone into the receiver. Stanford was going to need attention. Last she checked his fever still hadn't broken, and his tonsils were swelling. She went swiftly to the kitchen, intending to make some tea and get Stanford something to eat. She was sure he hadn't gotten enough nourishment since that morning.

She walked in through the door, stopping abruptly a few feet in.

Stanley was already in the kitchen, humming as he stirred a small pot.

"Dee dop doo, making broth for my bro, dee dum doo, how does cooking work la dee da."

Gigi had to keep herself from snorting at the song. It wasn't too hard. She smiled, her heart warm.

She had raised such good boys. sometimes she wondered if she deserved them. She walked up behind her son, "Perhaps, I'd better take over."

Stan jumped, turning with a ladle in hand. He visibly relaxed after glancing Gigi's happy smile.

"Hey, Ma! Good day of work?" He asked, handing her the ladle.

She shrugged. "You seemed to have a better one," She said, giving him a knowing look. He laughed, rubbing at his neck.

"Heh, I guess. I'm...gonna go get that cold rag."

Stan ran off, leaving Gigi grinning behind him.

Never stop being you, Stanley. She thought as she took a taste of the soup.

"Not bad..." She laughed. "Not bad at all."

What is this?

What have I created?

Stan: Well I dunno, why ya askin' me?

Ford: I don't think she was...

Me: Yeah I was sorta screaming into a void if ya know what I mean.

Stan: ...No. I don't.

Me: Oaowjcfaowpejf aiwjroiaew

Ford: ...I'm gonna...leave now...*Exits through a portal*

Stan: WAIT TAKE ME WITH YOU *jumps in after him.*

Me: ...well that was unexpected and now I'm lonely again. Yay.

Okay, so this was supposed to be the MM (Miss Mystery) prompt for "Stan takes Ford's place at school when Ford gets sick" But it turned into this so screw you universe I'm gonna post it anyway.