Just another fluffy little Pines sickfic to go with the lousy current world situation and hopefully stave off some of the unhappiness for awhile.
“You’re a sick man, Stanley.”
Stan managed to lift his head from the railing of the boat. “I’m f-” he gagged a little- “I’m fine.”
Ford gave him his most disapproving stare. “You literally just vomited all over the new paint job.”
“...Sorry.” The word came out somewhere between sheepish and annoyed.
Ford groaned. “N-I’m not looking for an apology, I’m just asking you to come and lie down before you fall overboard!”
Stan gurgled by way of response, before quickly turning his head and continuing to add his own decoration to the Stan O’War II.
****
“‘M just a little seasick,” he mumbled when he finally came up for air, flopping to the deck like a sack of wet cement.
Ford sighed, and approached him with a water bottle and damp cloth in hand. “I’m not surprised, considering.”
The ocean had been particularly turbulent for the last week, and even Ford had gotten queasy from it. All the same, he put the back of his hand against Stan’s forehead, just in case.
“You’re a little warmer than normal,” he mused, handing him the cloth so he could wipe his face, “but not enough to be truly worrying.”
Stan grumbled something indiscernible at him, but he cleaned himself off and sat up enough to get a mouthful of water and spit it out over the railing-clearly to get rid of the awful aftertaste.
“I thought you weren’t the medical kind of doctor,” he finally said, after taking a sip of water that was barely even a mouthful; Ford suspected he was worried about anything he swallowed coming right back up.
“Neither are you, but you’re still diagnosing yourself,” he retorted.
“I know what being sick from other stuff is like,” Stan retorted. He seemed content to lay where he was, even if the deck was made of hard, uncomfortable wood. Well, if Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain…
****
Ford sat down cross-legged next to him, and then abruptly grabbed him by the shoulders and tugged.
“What the heck-”
The next thing Stan knew, his head and shoulders were being laid to rest in his brother’s lap. He wanted to protest, especially considering how bony Ford’s legs were, but then six warm fingers were running through his hair, and he inadvertently melted into the touch. And he forgot all about the way his stomach kept lurching and churning as the waves rocked the boat up and down, or how his brain seemed to be trying to throb its way right out of his skull. He just went limp against his brother, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he sighed peacefully.
“Thanks, Nurse Poindexter,” he murmured.
He heard his brother’s snort of dry amusement. “I hope you’re not going to expect me to start wearing a nurse’s outfit.”
Stan inadvertently shuddered. “If it’s the kind I’m thinking of, then definitely not.”
“Ugh, what’s wrong with you?” The fingers paused for a moment to flick the side of his skull, before they went back to running through his hair.
“D’you want me to list-yawn-categorically or alphabetically?” Even as he asked Stan could feel himself falling asleep.
Ford just laughed softly and began making little circles against his scalp.
****
What can I saw-I’m a sucker for mother hen!Pines stories, especially ones involving these knuckleheads.
