One of many one-shots that will be posted this summer... so be on the lookout!!
Disclaimer on profile.
Ken sniffled as his mother patted his head lovingly before leaving him in his room, alone and sick. He rolled over to face his blank wall, groaning, as each movement caused his head to feel like there was a giant woodsman chopping at his skull with an axe.
The front door slammed shut, signalling his parents' departure from the house and to the local drug store where they planned to fetch Ken something—preferably anything—to stop this awful cold. If he had to live in a wad of his own used tissues anymore, Ken was going to go bloody insane. No amount of coddling from his mother, or sympathetic looks from his father could make this persistent illness leave his body in peace. Five million pounds of snot resided in his sinuses, and Ken was positive that all this coughing was making his throat rawer than a slab of uncooked meat.
It just wasn't healthy, is what it was.
Ken could feel a sneeze coming on now—any second it was going to try and blow his head off. He threw his arm around to try and find that damned tissue box, only to come across some day-old toast that was sticky from something he'd rather not care to find out about. Without any other methods of containing this monstrous sneeze, Ken screwed his eyes shut and grabbed onto his head to brace himself. He could feel it coming now—it was building up in the back of his nose, tickling him incessantly. And now it was creeping forward, bit by bit along the passages of his sinuses. Ken sucked in a big breath, almost eagerly awaiting the moment when this terrible feeling would exit his system and leave him to rest. Just when the impending sneeze tickled the tip of his twitching nose, it stopped.
It freaking stopped.
Ken couldn't believe it. After all that build-up of torturing his poor, hurting nose, the sneeze went away. Just like that! Without any warning, it just flew off like a stupid leaf on a tree.
Where was the fairness in this world?
Just as Ken contemplated taking his pillowcase, forming a noose with it, and hanging the person who dared to unleash this sickness on his being, Wormmon shuffled into the room and caused the door to creak open; thus interrupting Ken's violent fantasy.
"Ken?" Wormmon asked quietly.
Ken grunted at the Digimon, reduced to caveman-speak as his vocal cords rebelled against him.
"I brought some tea for you."
Wormmon dragged the tray filled with a teapot, cup and saucer into Ken's darkened room. He poured the hot drink for the boy genius and somehow managed to crawl his way up the side of the bed without spilling a single drop. Ken blearily looked down at his friend, offering the beverage to him.
"I want coffee," was what Ken meant to say. With the cold filtering his words, it came out mumbled and jumbled. Wormmon, being a miracle-friend and having lived with Ken through his best and worst, understood what the poor thing meant to say.
"Sorry, Ken, but your father finished off the last of the coffee this morning with your breakfast. But don't worry; I'm sure I heard him mention something about buying coffee while they were out."
"ARGH!" Ken screamed, fed up with all of this. He was sick, for crying out loud! Did no one in this household care enough to at least leave him a cup of coffee?
He sat up abruptly—ignoring the way it made the cleaver in his head multiply—to shove aside all the snotty tissues and crawl his way out of bed. Standing up proved to be a difficulty, but wasn't that the sort of challenge that genii thrived on? Having the satisfaction of accomplishing a difficult task was the most rewarding experience a genius could experience, right? Ken couldn't recall at the moment what exactly that accomplished feeling felt like, but he was sure that it would come to him as soon as the room stopped dancing around and just stood still like it was supposed to… come to think of it, walls weren't supposed to prance like unicorns, right?
The door to his bedroom grew alarmingly close as Ken swayed in the non-existent breeze of the house. The television was off, the radio was unplugged—the house was dead silent, but for the sliding of Ken's feet across the floor and Wormmon's scuttling as he trailed behind his partner.
"Ken," he pleaded, "don't do this. You'll only hurt yourself."
"I need it." Ken mumbled. "I need a cappuccino, Wormmon. Go get me a cappuccino."
"But, Ken… don't you think you're being unreasonable? Couldn't you wait until this cold goes away?"
Groaning, the boy wiped his nose with his sleeve and slumped to the ground, defeated. Random tears trailed down his face. Wormmon crawled up onto Ken's shoulder, petting his head gently.
"Your feet are sticky, Wormmon." Ken pointed out. "They're ripping out my hair."
Wormmon blushed and retracted his feet, deciding to instead wrap himself around Ken's neck like a scarf. He nuzzled his friend, earning a sigh and a pat on the head.
"You don't have to go get me a cappuccino, Wormmon." Ken told him, now reasonable. "I'm sorry I got angry at you. I shouldn't have… you've done nothing but help me and care for me all along and I…" A fresh batch of tears exploded from Ken's eyes, startling Wormmon. "I've done nothing but hurt you and use you and I was so mean to you!" Ken wailed.
"Oh, please don't cry, Ken. Your parents will be home soon and I'd hate for them to see you like this."
"I don't care! They don't know what I've done to you, Wormmon! And somehow, even after all that, you're still here right beside me. I don't deserve you. You shouldn't have come back after… after you died."
Alarmed, Wormmon once again resumed petting Ken's hair in an attempt to soothe the emotional boy.
"I don't… I don't deserve you. You're too kind and nice and friendly and forgiving and kind… and I'm mean and not nice and unfriendly and mean…"
Ken continued to blab nonsense as his internal temperature increased. Wormmon tried coaxing him back into bed, but only managed to go as far as the couch. With Ken arranged on the furniture in what he hoped was a comfortable position, Wormmon rushed off to fetch a damp cloth. Ken watched him go, sure that it was symbolic of when he'd thought that Wormmon had left him forever. No more tears leaked from his eyes though; he deserved this, he was worthy of nothing kind or gentle in this world. It only made sense, after all, seeing as how he nearly destroyed the Digital World… and all because he thought it was a game. Ken scoffed mentally at that lame excuse.
Wormmon watched in silence as Ken lay on the sofa, worn out from this illness of his. Placing the cool, moist cloth on the boy genius's forehead, he frowned in worry and prayed that Ken's parents would return home soon.
As Wormmon's face loomed eerily overhead, Ken noticed that his eyesight was getting worse as the sickness raged on. He blinked a few times, and noticed that the light reflecting off of the chandelier looked a lot like—
"Bubbles," Ken blurted out. Automatically, his mind took him back to the last time he had blown bubbles. Coincidentally, that was before his brother's death when…
"Ken? Are you alright?"
He tugged his eyes away from the shining lights to look into Wormmon's eyes. This involved a bit of a crossed-eye look, but Ken didn't care about that right now.
"When I'm feeling better," he said, practically delirious, "we need to go blow some bubbles, okay?"
Wormmon agreed, if only to get Ken to shut up. His partner's skin was flushed and sweaty, and yet his body shivered as if it was cold. Wormmon might not have been an expert on humans, but he knew that Ken's sickness was not healthy. It needed to be treated right away, and he needed to get better.
The lock on the door clicked open as Ken's parents walked in, laden down with bags of medicine and tins of coffee.
"Ken?" his mother called out.
Without waiting for a reply, she reached in the plastic grocery bag and pulled out a bottle labelled 'Cold Medicine'. Wormmon supposed that not all humans could be as creative as others. And without further ado, Ken was administered the cure in record time, and fell asleep soundly, dreaming of plastic straws and soapy water.
A week later, Ken found himself sitting on his balcony beside Wormmon as large, transparent bubbles drifted into the air around them. He smiled, relaxed and happy to be sharing this special activity with someone he loved. He couldn't remember why he'd never blown bubbles after Sam had taught him how to. He supposed it was just one of those things you had to do with someone else. Glancing over at the bug Digimon beside him, Ken was thankful that he did have someone to share this with. Drawing in a deep breath, Ken knew that this would become a regular occurence from now on.
"Hey, Wormmon?" Ken asked.
"Yes? What is it, Ken?"
So... Ken's a little OOC, but sick, so I think that makes up for it a bit. And, uh, lame ending. Not gonna lie.
Anyways, reviews are appreciated! Thanks!