Disclaimer #1: I don't feel well, so this is both a crack!chapter and a sick!fic.

Disclaimer #2: If I owned P:tL…*evil maniacal laughter*. As things stand, I own nothing, not Philip, Nick, Jon, Ellen, Julia or Tylenol.

In Which Nicholas Is Sick, Jon Is Drunk, and Philip Plays Nursemaid


Darn Those Child-Proof Caps!

Philip didn't need the Sight like Derek to notice something was not right at the Boyle residence. For one, the door hung open at an awkward angle, as if it had been slammed off its hinges. For another, an eerie hacking sound, like a cross between an axe on wood and a cat with a hairball, echoed down the staircase. With a shiver, Philip fingered the rosary in his pocket for luck and then gingerly stepped through the doorway.

"Mother of God…"

Jonathon Boyle lay on the couch completely upside-down, with his feet in the air and his head on the tattered carpeting. Shards of glass reeking of alcohol lay around him; from his limited experience with such beverages, Philip hazarded a guess that Mr. Boyle had enjoyed just a little too much whiskey. This theory seemed proven when Mr. Boyle saluted him, albeit upside-down, and roared, "Row, me bully boysh! We're in a hurry boysh! We've got a long way to go!"

"Erm…yes, sir?" Philip said tentatively. "I'll just, um, head upstairs t' talk t' Nick now, all right? Ye'll be fine here? Eh…good." Slowly, he edged around Mr. Boyle's frantically waving arms. As soon as he was out of the drunken man's reach, Philip took a deep breath, crossed himself, and bounded up the stairs toward the awful hacking sound.

"Row, me bully boysh, row!"

"Row, me bully boys, row!" echoed a voice at the top of the staircase. "Row, me bully—" Suddenly, the wobbly singing upstairs was cut off by a series of low, rumbling coughs. With a wince, Philip knocked on the door they came from and then nudged the door open with his foot. "Row, me—Philip?"

Nick lay in the middle of what looked like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. Videotapes and eight-tracks were strewn haphazardly across the room, and a pair of dirty socks appeared stuck to (Philip flushed and quickly glanced away) a Playboy spread on the wall. Even more disgusting was the two-inch-thick layer of used Kleenexes that carpeted the floor of the room. As Philip watched, Nick sneezed violently and sent more Kleenexes spiraling lazily across the room to land at Philip's feet.

"Pilib?" the younger boy snuffled. "Pilib, I tink I'm sig."

Philip sighed. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Nick, if ye're sick, then why are ye singin'?"

Nick wheezed thoughtfully. "It drowds Dad out a bid!"

This silenced Philip momentarily. Then, after a quick prayer heavenward for guidance, he said gently, "Don't ye have enough sense t' take some medicine?"

"Yes!" Nicholas yelped indignantly. "I just couldn't open da package, Pilib."

"Oh, it's child-proof!" Philip grinned wickedly and ducked just in time to avoid being knocked unconscious by a bottle of acetaminophen. "I understand now. D'ye want me t' open this for ye, little boy?"

Nick buried himself under the pile of Kleenexes. After a moment, a muffled, "I'b tirteen, Pilib! I ab dot a child!" floated back to Philip. The Irish boy took that as a "yes," so, with a smirk, he picked up the bottle of Tylenol. "I'b warning you, dat ting's ebil!"

"It's possessed?" Under ordinary circumstances, Philip would have laughed the statement off, but his short time with the Legacy had already shown Philip that nothing was impossible. Gingerly, he put the medicine bottle at eye level and scrutinized it. "I don't know, Nick. It looks pretty normal t'—argh!"

With a sound like a gunshot, the bottle exploded open. While, downstairs, Jon plowed on with his song, upstairs, the teens sat in stunned silence as the remnants of the acetaminophen rained down on them..

Once the last pill fell to the ground, Nick poked his head out of the sea of Kleenexes and snuffled. "I told you, Pilib! Dat ting was ebil! I—EEK! Help! Demons!"

"Hi, Nick! What was evil? I like your dad's singing today. Row, me bully boys, row!"

"Singing definitely beats his usual style. Hey, Philip. Woops, did we scare you?"

For a moment, the sea of Kleenexes only quivered. Then, Philip poked his head up with a gasp. "Mother of God, Julia, Ellen! Ye didn't so much scare us as…um…"

Ellen and Julia raised their eyebrows before bursting into giggles. "Philip, you're horrible at lying!"

"That means I spend less time in Confession," Philip muttered darkly. "How did ye two get in here?"

"The door was open," the girls answered simultaneously. "What's evil, Nick?"

The thirteen-year-old poked his head out of the Kleenexes again. "I'b sick. Da Tyledol was possessed. It wouldn't let me open it, and it exploded when Pilib tried!"

For a minute, the only sound was Jon's song. Then Ellen and Julia fell victim to such helpless giggles that they fell to the ground and rolled amidst the piles of clothes and Kleenexes.

"Isn't this great?" Ellen cried. "Now we have our proof!"

"I know," Julia snickered. "Boys are so helpless. They can't even open child-proof caps!"

Nick looked wildly at Philip. "Now dey tink we're losers! Have any divide inspiration?"

"Well, maybe," Philip hissed back, "if ye're willing t' sing in harmony…"

A smirk spread over Nick's face. "Man, I've been practicing dat all day. Ready?"

Phillip took a deep breath, "It's row, me bully boys!"

"We're id a hurry, boys!"


As the boys' off-key voices began to follow Jon's bellows, Ellen and Julia laughed even harder…and then began to sing along. "We'll sing and we'll dance and bid farewell to France!"